Friday, August 25, 2006

The town drunk and its only philosopher

Hanging upside down on a length of rope tied to a bough, I awoke and saw a large figure stumbling towards me.

"You ain't dead yet," he mumbled to me, or maybe he was conversing with himself, couldn't tell initially, he talked into his chest. In any event, he stopped a couple of paces short and bobbed his head up and down, evidently examining the dangling body.

"You don't remember much do you?" he asked. After he finished slurring his words, I hurled, suffering from the inverted perspective; it certainly was not a commentary about my nameless interlocutor. As I can attest to, there is nothing quite as vile as vomiting while dangling upside down from a tree, especially if one is relatively sober. The rush of acid burns doubly when turned on one's head. And the smell! The smell was rank, inescapable and utterly unbearable. No, he was right. I didn't remember anything. I couldn't recall the night before. I couldn't recall the poisons I ingested, if any at all. And I didn't know how I ended up there.

"Boy, did you have quite a night," the nameless man said, evidently content to stand by and provide a running commentary, which, in retrospect, I was grateful for.

I tried to wipe the residue from my mouth, which proved to be a trying task. Sapped of strength and any semblance of dexterity, my right arm was foreign to me. It collided repeatedly with my chest, rapped my nose bloody, before finding its way to my mouth. Upon completing the rather absurd sanitary task, I asked him who he was.

"The town drunk and its only philosopher," he replied. I rolled my eyes in response.

"A philosopher, huh? I guess I should not ask you to cut me down."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Well, because you will ask why or why not until both of us are maggot food."

"That's rather parochial, but I don't judge people or justify what I do. I just do what's expected of me," he said, taking another swig from his paper bag. He offered me a sip; I declined. He took a few steps back and looked intently at the tree.

"A sturdy twig from the looks of it," he said, still giving no indication whether he was going to help me get down, nor was I going to ask; I was quite content to dangle from that uncommon view, at least for the meantime. With blood finally flowing to my skull, I was in a rather contemplative mood.

"Are you from the camp or the town?" he asked.

"The camp, but I think I ventured into town for the night," I replied, unsure whether that was the truth, or merely an anachronistic recollection about some other night on the town, or simply of a night that I had merely heard about. In any event, the drunken philosopher was not convinced.

"You're not from the camp," he said nonchalantly. "You ended up in the camp and couldn't find your way home."

"No, no, no, I'm from the camp. That is where I'm stationed," I replied sharply, slightly annoyed by the implication that he knew better than me about where I was from.

"Were you born in the camp?" he asked.

"Of course not!" I provided a loud rebut, growing further agitated by his questioning.

"Hmm. Hmm. Hmm." He continued in this manner for sometime, pacing back and forth, before walking right up to me.

"So you are not from the camp then now are you?"

"Well, if you want to get technical about it, I am from my mother's womb. Oh, but wait, that's not completely accurate either. I'm from my father's gonads as well. Oh wait, wait, I have it, I'm from my father's gonads, by way of my grandmother's cunt and grandpappy's come. I could go on you know." After I finished my rant, the drunken philosopher strategically positioned himself so that his crotch obscured my line of sight. He stood there a long while, without word or response. It may have been a minute or ten or twenty of silence. I was naturally concerned about my doubly precarious position - vomit below and a crotch in my face. And, I could not see his face. Looking up, I only caught the bottom of his prominent chin; and one can't read a chin. At last, he broke the silence.

"What is a camp?" he asked.

"See, this is what I mean about you philosophers; always asking questions when the answer is right in front of you", I said, motioning behind me to where I thought the camp was.

"Not the camp, a camp, what is a camp?" he asked again, growing more obtuse with every passing word. However, his question barely registered, as my mind wandered elsewhere. The stench of the man's crotch inexplicably aroused thoughts about death, that irrevocable fate of man. The stream of blood flowing from my nose halted; a development that provided me great comfort.

Assured that I wouldn't die of a bloody nose, I imagined death in all its forms, or at least the forms I could think up; a bayonet blade plunged into the throat; a bullet to the head; sleep without awakening; to die of exhaustion after a night of lovemaking; freefalling to the bottom of a canyon; trampled to death by a pack of buffalo, or bulls, or cows, or obese women; setting oneself on fire; incineration; starvation; bodies branded for annihilation; hangman's noose; executioner's axe; Judgment by the invisible hand; atrophy; entropy; an imploding sun; horsemen on the run; and so on and so forth. We all had to go sometime, or so they say; at least I didn't bleed to death dangled in front of a strange man's pungent crotch.

"A camp," I finally responded,"is a series of barracks, a mess hall or two, a shooting range, officer's quarters, and sometimes a gymnasium; all of it surrounded by a giant fence and secured by men with guns eager to shoot." He laughed at my response. I thought he, like any philosopher, dealt in abstraction and metaphysics, and was probably mortified by such a cursory account of surface phenomenon. Nevertheless, he appeared to be pleasantly amused by the description.

"Well, that's one answer," he said while pacing back and forth, at last removing his crotch from my face.

"The deciding factor, of course," he said,"is the possibility of being shot if one leaves without authorization. Is that what defines a camp? Being shot or reprimanded for acting contrary to authority?"

"I guess," I replied, now concerned about whether I exceeded my authorized leave. I waded through my shirt pocket and found the slip, but since I had no clue about the day or the time; the discovery provided me little comfort.

"Yes," I continued, "I'm free, namely not getting shot or disciplined, if I obey." The hulking man let out a hearty laugh.

"The outsider," he began again, "is lead into the camp, for training, for rectification, for quarantine, for indeterminate detainment, or for his ultimate demise; and for him, freedom is simply the other side of the fence."

"Obedience," he continued, "is merely done for the sake of survival." He turned around, looked up at the rope wrapped around the bough, and smirked. "Freedom always comes with risk," he said, "the possibility of failure or punishment or further incarceration comes with the possibility of freedom. Let me ask you: is this inverted noose your idea of freedom?"

I noticed that I had assimilated to my inverted perspective, and, alas, it lost its novelty.

"No, it was rather interesting at first, but now it's pretty inane."

"So you want me to slice you down?"

"Sure, but make sure I don't fall face first into my own vomit."

"I can't assure you of that," he replied, "its a risk you have to take."

"Alright, I want down anyways."

He disappeared from my sight. I looked around and caught him climbing up the tree. He navigated along the bough, pulled out his pocketknife, and, as he worked on the rope, I readied myself for the fall. He sliced through the rope and I started my descent, managing to avoid the vomit, and landing relatively unscathed on my side.

"Thank you!" I shouted, astonished by how ecstatic I felt about my release. He nodded to recognize my voice. Surprisingly, I got to my feet with relative ease in spite of earglier struggles with my arm. He jumped down from the tree and turned to walk towards town.

"Where are you heading to?" I asked.

"Back to work," he said.

"Really?"

"Yes, they need to see the town drunk living in abject squalor to confirm their place in society."

"And the philosopher?"

"Well, he's never been needed; it just happens that only the town drunk has the lucidity to philosophize. He's the marginal character, the rambling jester, paraded out as a comedic spectacle, for the rest to consume or ignore. The beauty is that both roles come with the same set of demands; hence, they are one in the same."

I smiled and waved goodbye, until I realized I needed to figure out the date and time.

"Wait, wait, I shouted to him, I need to head into town as well."

"Heading home?" he asked in a rather sardonic tone.

"No, I have to figure out the date and time."

"For what reason?" I pulled out my slip, only to realize that the information on it was utterly illegible. He looked over at the slip, held up by my trembling hands.

"Time, evidently, has no measure without the sovereign Word," he said.

I no longer was in a mood for his abstractions.

-----

I remember a young recruit, named Jeb or Jess; the name is rather extraneous to the story, so let's say he was named Jim. Jim tried to steal into town one night to visit his girl visiting from a town over. He navigated through an underground network of tunnels, built up over the years by men seeking clandestine nights in town, and all seemingly went as planned. That was until he unwittingly took a wrong turn. Rather than ending up in the utility shed outside the walls of the camp, safely obscured from the sightlines of the eager watchmen, he popped through the floorboards of the Commanding Officer's quarters, uh, let's say he was named Yanic, who had company at the time.

CO Yanic was a rather domineering and tough public figure. He would openly beat recruits he deemed disobedient or incompotent with his trusty metre stick. The violations would range from a loose shoelace to an untimely chuckle. But usually he didn't need particular provocations to whip out the stick.

"Man is the measure of all things," he would recite. "You boys don't measure up!" The distant sound of a tapping metre stick haunted the barracks long after he returned to his quarters. Well, returning to Jess', I mean, Jim's story, the details are rather unclear. First, we couldn't figure out why in the world there was a tunnel leading to the CO's quarters. If one's aim is to make it out of the camp, a tunnel leading to the CO's quarters is a rather cruel, and in Jim's case, a fatal joke. Second, we had no definitive account of what went on in the room that night, before and after Jim made his unexpected appearance. There were several accounts.

One, Yanic had a female companion, usually a particularly fetching prostitute imported from the town named Lorelai, or was its Lori? Anyways, just as Yanic gathered momentum, getting a lather going, as the saying goes, the jarring sound and sight of Jim popping through the floor made him lose his cool and he climaxed prematurely into Lori's experienced orifice. The prostitute, as the story goes, giggled at the officer's predicament, providing an unfavourable comparison of Yanic to a twelve-year-old virgin. Yanic, needless to say, was incensed, pulled out his metre stick, and beat Lori beyond all recognition, shattering several in the process, or, so the story goes. Jim's fate was considerably more drawn out and, well, cannot be delved into without sorting through some of the other accounts.

Another account purported Jim had found himself alone in the room with Lorelai. Well, the name itself probably tells the story. He was lured to bed by the alluring siren-whore, apparently abandoning all rational faculties - if he had them, he would have realized that CO Yanic would appear at any moment. And, of course, Yanic appeared on the scene readied to enjoy Lorelai's company, only to see a lowly recruit ravishing her rather expertly on his bed. Exhausted from his trip through the tunnels and the carnal encounter, Jim could not fight off Yanic, who easily subdued and violated him with his metre stick.

The official story held that Jim attempted to strangle the CO in his sleep only to be subdued by Yanic, who won a struggle with Jim. There was no attempt at explaining why Jim ended up in Yanic's room or why there were murderous intentions. They needed justification, no matter how erroenous or irrational, for the punishment to be meted out in private darkness. In any event, all we knew was that Jim was never to be seen again after his cruel turn in the tunnels. Not one of us in the camp could find out what happened to Jim; we could only imagine the reprimand or executions soon to be validated in order to kill innocents - innocents in the particular sense, not the universal.


Buber on Palestine

In 1925, Buber became an active member of the German chapter of Brith Shalom (The Peace Association), which means literally, the Covenant of Peace, an organization dedicated to cultivating mutual relations between Arabs and Jews in Palestine.[1] Buber later played an integral role in the League for Jewish-Arab Rapprochement and Cooperation, and headed the creation of an associated party, Ichud (Union), established in August of 1942.[2] Buber’s vision for Arab-Jewish relations in the Middle East was the creation of a bi-national state, consisting of direct relationships between Jewish and Arab communities. This vision, however, was not shared by the majority of Jewish Israelis who believed the central aim was simply the defense and security of the Jewish “homeland” from the supposedly imminent Arab threats. Buber, as it turned out, was tragically prescient in his warnings about the aggressive political tactics adopted by the Israeli government, most clearly expressed in his debates with David Ben-Gurion, who eventually would be named the first Prime Minister of the state of Israel.[3] Ben-Gurion and other political leaders, as Jewish historian Laurence Silberstein notes, “elevated the nation and the state to the level of ultimate value”.[4] In contrast, Buber did not see the bi-national state as an absolute solution; rather, it would create the conditions for dialogue, wherein the Jewish and Arab peoples could come to together to address problems and challenges – whether economic, cultural, political, or social.[5] Hence, in regards to the question of Palestine and the future of the Arab and Jewish peoples in the region, Buber called on the people of each nation to take an active part in the creation of a bi-national state, rather than allow political leaders, consumed by political illusion to dictate the future of the region. Alas, Buber’s call was and has largely been ignored, and the region, since the creation of the state of Israel in 1947, has been beset with political unrest, violence, and a growing distrust between the two peoples.[6]

As early as 1921, Buber believed the grounds for cooperation had to be cultivated through “intensive and systematic cultivation”.[7] What Buber meant by intensive and systematic cultivation was not the simple imposition of formula and program on the Jewish and Arab communities. Rather, he saw that the framework of a bi-national state, cultivated through Arab-Jewish rapprochement, would create the possibility for trust between the two peoples. The actualization of this trust, however, was not a task left to politicians, scholars, or bureaucrats; trust would be actualized through the participation of communities and its members in addressing common interests, such as economic interests. Rather than simply consenting to decisions and programs formulated by politicians such as Ben-Gurion, providing such political ends “the absolute form of unambiguous moral imperatives”[8], Buber, through his involvement in Ichud, actively tried to cultivate social and political relations between the two peoples; but such attempts failed, because the ‘majority’ of Arabs and Jews did not believe cooperation was possible, due in large part to the prevalence of political distrust, which painted the other side as threat or enemy.

The creation of the state of Israel, built upon a series of unilateral actions that neither acknowledged nor considered the claims of the Arab population, only reinforced a Palestinian Arab view of Jews “as invaders bent upon dispossessing the Arab masses”.[9] Therefore, politicians such as Ben-Gurion, in their “realist” approach to the situation in Palestine, willingly took on the stereotypes regular Arabs inscribed onto Jews, while considered the Arab population within and around Palestine to be threats to the security of the newly created Jewish state, and took political steps towards militarizing the new state.[10] Although Buber reluctantly embraced the new Jewish state, he insisted that the Jews’ historical re-entry into their homeland “took place through a false gateway”[11]. For Buber, without the possibility of trust, and its subsequent cultivation through dialogue between peoples of the two nations, there would be no lasting peace for the new Jewish state or its neighbours. This view, as Silberstein notes, would often lead Buber into direct confrontation with Israeli government leaders.[12] And as Buber points out in a January 1962 speech, “whoever considers war to be inevitable collaborates, willingly or unwillingly, consciously or unconsciously, in bringing about war,”; addressing directly the readiness of most Jews to accept the political illusions fed them by government and its leadership.[13]

Buber poses a challenge to the idea that the task of a citizen is to legitimate the current regime - through ballot, party participation, or activism, and tacitly consent to the actions undertaken by leaders – “Argue as much as you want and about whatever you like, but obey!”[14] This reasoned capitulation, argues Buber, leads humanity towards illusions and away from the actual life between persons. For Buber, political surplus, afforded by tacit consent, exacerbates political illusions by fostering and addressing phantom threats rather than confronting the actual problems that threaten the life of the interhuman. Let us turn our attention to an article by written Buber in May 1946 concerning the escalating tensions between Arabs and Jewish Israelis in order to explore this point. In the course of the article, Buber wonders why the emerging conflict had been framed as a zero-sum political game. Although real conflicts do arise between groups of people, these conflicts, according to Buber, can be resolved “within the domain of life itself”, a domain between persons not dominated by the political principle.[15] However, in modern politics, the ‘other side’ is assumed to absolutely untrustworthy until proven otherwise, entrenching the myth that conflict between groups are necessarily irreconcilable, the ineluctable divide between victor and defeated.[16] The assumption is that conflict and contestation is necessary for a regime to retain its distinctively political character.[17] This imbalanced need to sustain politics for the sake of politics generates illusory threats by exaggerating real conflict to grotesque proportions. In his short article, “A Tragic Conflict?” (1946), Buber writes, “The politics of a group produces within its members a sense of conflict with proportions much greater than those of the real conflict, and accords it a different, seemingly absolute, character.”[18]

In short, Buber acknowledged the real and central conflict between Arabs and Jews, namely, the necessity for both peoples to live together in the land known as Palestine, and contended that the existence of a Jewish state could not be secured without cooperation with the Palestinian Arabs. The political leaders of the Israel, however, held steadfast to the conventional political line; that Arab peoples surrounding Israel are assumed to be threats and enemies, whose potential aggression must deterred by the accumulation of Jewish military and political might. As it turns out, Buber and those who shared his view of a bi-national Palestinian state provided a warning that tragically went unheeded.




[1] From a 1925 document produced by the group, it states its object. “The object of the Association is to arrive at an understanding between Jews and Arabs as to the form of their mutual social relations in Palestine on the basis of absolute political equality of two culturally autonomous peoples, and to determine the lines of their co-operation for the development of their country.” And as Mendes-Flohr notes, the bi-national state the group had in mind, at least at this stage, “was a modus vivendi between Zionism and Palestinian Arab nationalism within the existing political framework of the 1920 British Mandate (which, in short, established the goal of a national home for the Jewish people in Palestine, elaborating upon the 1917 Balfour Declaration that initially set out this aim). Hence, according to Mendes-Flohr, “Birth Shalom envisioned as the most reasonable solution to the problem of Palestine a constitutional agreement whereby Jews and Arabs would enjoy political and civil parity within the unitary framework of the Mandate.” Martin Buber, “Brith Shalom”, A Land of Two Peoples: Martin Buber on Jews and Arabs. Paul Mendes-Flohr, ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005), pp. 72-75.

[2] In the program of the Ichud published on September 3, 1942, which Buber composed along with his colleagues Robert Weltsch and Judah L. Magnes, once again asserts the need for co-operation between Jewish and Arab peoples. Article 2 of the program states: “The Association Union (Ichud) therefore regards a Union between the Jewish and Arab peoples as essential for the upbuilding of Palestine and for cooperation between the Jewish world and the Arab world in all branches of life – social, economic, cultural, political – thus making for the revival of the whole Semitic world.” Buber, “The Ichud”, A Land of Two Peoples, p. 148-49.

[3] This debate between the two regarding the composition of a Jewish state is expressed clearly in an article entitled, “A Majority or Many? A Postscript to a Speech”. In the article, Buber explicitly disagrees with Ben-Gurion’s proposal for creating a Jewish majority in Palestine and politically justifying the creation of a Jewish state on those grounds. Buber, “A Majority or Many? A Postscript to a Speech”, A Land of Two Peoples, p. 164-68.

[4] Laurence J. Silberstein, Martin Buber’s Social and Religious Thought. (New York: New York University Press, 1989), p. 255.

[5] For example, in “A Majority of Many”, he contends that a “commonality of interests” would be beneficial in cultivating trust between Arabs and Jews. “The separate national economic systems should be replaced, as much as good economic allows, by one shared countrywide system, in whose success both nations are interested and whose shared development may well create mutual trust, that in turn will lead to far-reaching agreements.” Buber, “A Majority or Many? A Postscript to a Speech”, A Land of Two Peoples, p. 168.

[6] This is reflected by the most recent Middle East crisis between Hezbollah, a militia within Lebanon, and Israel in July and August of 2006.

[7] “In this land, whose population is both sparse and scattered, there is room both for us and for its present inhabitants, especially if we adopt intensive and systematic methods of cultivation.” Buber, “A Proposed Resolution on the Arab Question”, A Land of Two Peoples, p. 61.

[8] Buber, “A Majority or Many? A Postscript to a Speech”, A Land of Two Peoples, p. 165.

[9] Silberstein details some of these myopic actions on the part of the Jews, i.e., buying up land from wealthy land owners rather than negotiating with Palestinian Arabs about potentially common economic interests. Silberstein, Martin Buber’s Social and Religious Thought, p. 255

[10] In his May 1958 address to the American Friends of the Ichud, Buber recounts an event from the “unhappy partition of Palestine” that is particularly chilling. “It happened one day, however, that outside of all regular conduct of the war, a band of armed Jews fell on an Arab village and destroyed it.” In a footnote, Mendes-Flohr provides some further context. “On 9 April 1948, during the siege of Jerusalem, a combined force of Irgun and he Stern Gang attacked Deir Yasin, an Arab village commanding the road to Jerusalem, reportedly killing 254 of its inhabitants – men, women, and children.” Buber, “Israel and the Command of the Spirit”, A Land of Two Peoples, p. 292, 293, n. 4.

[11] In the May 1958 address, Buber affirms the factual reality of the State of Israel, but warns that without Jewish-Arab rapprochement, the unrest between the two would only persist. He says during the address, “There can be no peace between Jews and Arabs that is only a cessation of war; there can only be a peace of genuine cooperation.” Buber, “Israel and the Command of the Spirit”, A Land of Two Peoples, p. 293.

[12] Silberstein, Martin Buber’s Social and Religious Thought, p. 262, 328, n. 53.

[13] Buber, “We Must Grant the Arabs Truly Equal Rights”, A Land of Two Peoples, p. 299.

[14] Kant, “What is Enlightenment?”, Kant: Political Writings. Hans S. Reiss, ed., H.B. Nisbet, trans. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970, 1991), p. 59.

[15] Martin Buber, “A Tragic Conflict?” A Land of Two Peoples: Martin Buber on Jews and Arabs. Paul Mendes-Flohr, ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005), p. 187.

[16]Politics, seeking to retain its domination of life, has an interest in treating the interests of the various groups as if they were irreconcilable. But since this in fact is not so, politics has to make it so.” Buber, “A Tragic Conflict?” A Land of Two Peoples, p. 187.

[17] “The essence of all politics…is conflict, the recruitment of allies and a voluntary following. Weber, “Parliament and Government in Germany”, Weber: Political Writings, p. 173. To reiterate, Weber contends that political struggle is the crucible in which the modern politician is forged, sustaining individual initiative in the face of growing authoritarian and bureaucratic regimes. “But the given palaestra for the modern politician is parliamentary conflict and the fight for party in the country, and there is nothing of equal value which can replace such struggle – least of all competition for promotion…where the leader achieves power in the state.” Weber, “Parliament and Government in Germany”, Weber: Political Writings, pp. 173-74.

[18] Buber, “A Tragic Conflict?” A Land of Two Peoples, p. 187.

The different "I"

The I of I-It, or the ‘experiencing I’, is necessary, because man must experience the world in order to address Thou. Therefore, this 'experiencing I' cannot be regarded as evil, because without it man cannot be sustained in life. The danger of It-world experience is the immersion of the individual into It-world causality, i.e., approaching the world and others for instrumental use and experience. But, it should be pointed out that Buber does not advocate a purely spiritual existence. Because, as Friedman correctly points out, the I-Thou is not an unqualified good, since its lack of measure, continuity, and order threatens actual human life.[1] In other words, I-Thou does not and cannot remove man permanently from the world of experience, but simply helps actualize his life in it. Buber does not believe that mystical detachment from the known world can confirm human existence.[2] Hence, an absolute valuation of either the I-It or the I-Thou to the preclusion of the other may lead towards isolation and a noetic state of incompleteness. Although the I of I-It and the I of I-Thou are different, they are both necessary to an actual life between persons.

The differentiation Buber makes between these two ‘I’s can be elaborated upon. The ‘severed I’ is the individual immersed in experience or purely spiritual contemplation and the ‘engaged I’ is the person open to relationship with others and the world. The ‘severed I’ is burdened with conceit; specifically the belief the individual can confirm itself in monologue. In contrast, the ‘engaged I’ has no such conceit, because while open the I-Thou relationships, this I embraces an invariable return to the It-world of experience, changed by mutual encounter. The ‘severed I’ precludes either the realm of experience or the realm of spirit in favour of the other and, hence, keep human beings as individuals by neglecting or obscuring the potential for relationship.

The particular uniqueness of interlocutors engaged in dialogue is not absorbed into a single unity through I-Thou relationship. Rather, as Buber notes, uniqueness is affirmed through relationship.[3] In stepping into dialogical relationship, one is not immersed into a unity, once and for all. The relationship is a passing encounter that changes the way participants experience the world, i.e., destabilizing a stagnant impulse to simply use and apply experience for instrumental ends. Hence, the ‘severed I’ is different from the ‘experiencing I’. They are not one in the same. The ‘experiencing I’ is necessary, because man must experience the world in order to provide for his life. However, the ‘experiencing I’ can stagnate into a ‘severed I’ without the possibility of I-Thou relationship. Hence, the I of I-It and the I of I-Thou have the potential to become engaged with experience and spirit or severed from relationship when immersed solely in its respective realm. Therefore, the ‘severed I’ is the individual lost in causality. The ‘engaged I’ acknowledges the necessity of experience and relationship, and strives to actualize the life between persons, rather than merely within individuals.



[1] Maurice Friedman, Martin Buber: The Life of Dialogue. (New York: Harper & Row, 1960), p. 60

[2] This is why Buber, in “What is Common to All”, objects to the prioritization of an individualized “dream world” in Hindu and Taoist traditions above the common “waking” world and refutes Aldous Huxley’s claim that a mesculin trance allows an individual to transcend selfhood and the ephemeral world. Buber, “What is Common to All”, The Knowledge of Man, pp. 81-85, 89-92.

[3] “What the genuine saying of ‘Thou’ to the other in the reality of the common existence basically means – namely, the affirmation of the primally deep otherness of the other, the affirmation of his otherness which is accepted and loved by me…” Buber, “What is Common to All”, The Knowledge of Man, p. 86. Maurice Friedman provides some elucidation to Buber’s argument. “I-Thou is the world of relation and togetherness, each of the members of the relation really remains himself, and that means really different from the other.” Maurice Friedman, Martin Buber: The Life of Dialogue. (New York: Harper & Row, 1960), p. 61



Thursday, August 24, 2006

Pluto's a planet no more

Pluto's a planet no more,
and schoolboys rejoice;
one less to remember, they say.

The man in motion,
twenty trips around the sun;
a globetrotting cyborg rolls on.
Bomb plots defused,
unrest nevertheless the norm;
misery abound in this planet,
that we call home;
yet it is still a planet,
but according to whom?

Pluto's a planet no more,
dead,
erased,
snuffed from the chart;
for man prefers death,
willed by his own hand,
and exalted cogito.

Long after Chamfort*

Wit in fools has something shocking
Like cabhorses galloping.

-----

The trouble with tragedy is the fuss it makes
About life and death and other tuppeny aches.

-----

Better on your arse than on your feet,
Flat on your back than either, dead than the lot.**

-----

Live and clean forget from day to day,
Mop life up as fast as it dribbles away.

-----

Ask of all-healing, all-consoling thought
Salve and solace for the woe it wrought.

-----
Hope is a knave befools us evermore,
Which till I lost no happiness was mine.
I strike from hell's to grave on heaven's door:
All hope abandon ye who enter in.***

-----

sleep till death
healeth
come ease
this life disease

-----

how hollow heart and full
of filth thou art

- Samuel Beckett, 1975-76
(translated by the author)
-----

* adaptaions of the maxims of Sebastien Chamfort
**
Refers to an A.E. Houseman poem?
***From the original French: "Je mettrais volontiers sur la porte du paradis le vers que le Dante a mis sur celle de l'enfer: Lasciate ogni speranza etc."
- Samuel Beckett, 1975-76
(translated by the author)

Song

Age is when to a man
Huddled o'er the ingle
Shivering for the hag
To put the pan in the bed
And bring the toddy
She comes in the ashes
Who loved could not be won
Or won not loved
Or some other trouble
Comes in the ashes
Like in that old night
The face in the ashes
That old starlight
On the earth again.

- Samuel Beckett, 1962

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Private health care

Dr. Brian Day, who runs a private clinic in Vancouver, was elected the head of the CMA (Canadian Medical Association) today. This is surely a bad sign for the future of public health care in this country. Of course, this development will colour the CMA's approach to public health care. The sky may not yet fall. But be weary of it coming down some time in the near future. It's nice to know that most of my generation will likely suffer from cancer, diabetes, HIV, or AIDS without public health care. Either you're filthy rich, willing to go into debt to stay alive, or dead. It makes me want to go get a vasectomy, while I still can afford it.

Monday, August 21, 2006

Absinthe night

I woke up in the drain. Or not. No. It wasn’t the drain. It was the tank. I ended up in the tank. I looked around and saw the standard four-by-six furnished with a stainless steel commode and the bed that I was laying on. Beautiful. How the fuck did I end up here? I looked around and couldn’t make out a thing. They took my glasses, and evidently my pants as well. Fucking pigs. No, I shouldn’t be like that. They left me my grey briefs and socks. It was decent of them. There are decent pigs, except they’re the exception. Oh, oh, I had to use the commode. The smell of stomach acid and half-digested pepperoni pizza lingered for a good while. I went back to lay down, still unsure of whether I got a hummer from the bikini chick. I recalled her, but also her boyfriend, Bigfoot’s forgotten progeny, I suspected. Absinthe. Nasty shit. I still taste it now. Man, she had a nice rack and a pink tongue stud to boot. She was hanging on me, rubbing up, rubbing down. Hope I got something out of it. Yeah, the Absinthe…wormwood floating in a murky liquid, I still can’t recall much. Sugar on a spoon, blue flame, downed one, downed two, downed four…fade to black. Damn, she was hot. That’s a straight guy’s mind for you. Really, it was getting to be a tree-falling-in-the-forest thing. I just assumed the tree made a sound and went back to sleep. They'd have to fetch me eventually.

Friday, August 18, 2006

Clarity and precision is elusive

Clarity and precision is elusive. It is hard to be clear, when one's mind is filled with doubt. It is harder to be precise; the eternal question of why hinders precision. Why? Why am I? Why am I not? Precision, however, comes easier to those who move away from abstraction. A writer achieves precision by observing and experiencing the world. The writer, in a way, is part voyeur. Whereas voyeurs consume the image, writers do more than consume; they speculate beyond the surface.

Clarity and precision is difficult to achieve - descriptive narratives may serve as example. Although a writer can free himself from abstraction by writing about experience and observation, this move exposes him to another danger, banal verbosity. Descriptions ought to paint with generous strokes an adequate representation of reality, or at least a subjective interpretation of reality. The writer is entrusted by his audience to provide insight as well as description; in short, the task is to inform readers without falling into tedium.

Clarity and precision, hence, does not come from inspiration alone. For a piece of writing to achieve these two elusive qualities, the writer must approach the task as a labour of love - a task initiated by passion and sustained by discipline. Even when a writer goes gonzo, he is still expected to be clear and precise in thought; it all must lead somewhere and be coherent, if only in structure.

It is hard to write like Samuel Beckett. In spite of his ostensibly fractured narration, such as in Molloy, a careful reader ought to note the carefully plotted structure of the work. Hence, there is an aporetic quality to clarity and precision. On the surface, clarity of structure is not easily grasped when reading "schizo" prose. The narrator, possibly named Molloy, alludes to the point of the story - "to speak of things that are left, say my goodbyes, finish dying". And in spite of the ranting and wandering narrative, which some characterize as late modernist, insofar as it supposedly subverts the conventional structure of the novel, Beckett moves the story along through the recurrence of lack - no sense of time, no sense of place - "Molloy" often wonders where he is, and a general sense of uncertainty. Lack provides for mood. And of course, Molloy and Moran's narration, at times lacking consistency, does provide ambience. The intensity of this lack culminates with the infamous ending, "It is midnight. The rain is beating on the windows. It was not midnight. It was not raining," as if negating -- through this most assured of negations -- the entirety of the novel. The condition captured by the writer is a subjective interpretation; the question of whether it is an actual condition is often irrelevant. So what is clear or precise about imploding the novel with this negation at the end? Death is the highest negation. The novel finished dying. Possibly to begin again.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Shooting an Elephant - George Orwell

From George Orwell, Shooting and Elephant and Other Essays. (London: Secker and Warburg, 1950), pp. 1-10.


[1] In Moulmein, in lower Burma, I was hated by large numbers of people - the only time in my life that I have been important enough for this to happen to me. I was sub-divisional police officer of the town, and in an aimless, petty kind of way anti-European feeling was very bitter. No one had the guts to raise a riot, but if a European woman went through the bazaars alone somebody would probably spit betel juice over her dress. As a police officer I was an obvious target and was baited whenever it seemed safe to do so. When a nimble Burman tripped me up on the football field and the referee (another Burman) looked the other way, the crowd yelled with hideous laughter. This happened more than once. In the end the sneering yellow faces of young men that met me everywhere, the insults hooted after me when I was at a safe distance, got badly on my nerves. The young Buddhist priests were the worst of all. There were several thousands of them in the town and none of them seemed to have anything to do except stand on street corners and jeer at Europeans.

All this was perplexing and upsetting. For at that time I had already made up my mind that imperialism was an evil thing and the sooner I chucked up my job and got out of it the better. Theoretically - and secretly, of course - I was all for the Burmese and all against their oppressors, the British. As for the job I was doing, I hated it more bitterly than I can perhaps make clear. In a job like that you see the dirty work of Empire at close quarters. The wretched [2]prisoners huddling in the stinking cages of the lock-ups, the grey, cowed faces of the long-term convicts, the scarred buttocks of the men who had been Bogged with bamboos - all these oppressed me with an intolerable sense of guilt. But I could get nothing into perspective. I was young and ill-educated and I had had to think out my problems in the utter silence that is imposed on every Englishman in the East. I did not even know that the British Empire is dying, still less did I know that it is a great deal better than the younger empires that are going to supplant it. All I knew was that I was stuck between my hatred of the empire I served and my rage against the evil-spirited little beasts who tried to make my job impossible. With one part of my mind I thought of the British Raj as an unbreakable tyranny, as something clamped down, in saecula saeculorum, upon the will of prostrate peoples; with another part I thought that the greatest joy in the world would be to drive a bayonet into a Buddhist priest's guts. Feelings like these are the normal by-products of imperialism; ask any Anglo-Indian official, if you can catch him off duty.

One day something happened which in a roundabout way was enlightening. It was a tiny incident in itself, but it gave me a better glimpse than I had had before of the real nature of imperialism - the real motives for which despotic governments act. Early one morning the sub-inspector at a police station the other end of the town rang me up on the phone and said that an elephant was ravaging the bazaar. Would I please come and do something about it? I did not know what I could do, but I wanted to see what was happening and I got on to a pony and started out. I took my rifle, an old 44 Winchester and much too [3] small to kill an elephant, but I thought the noise might be useful in terrorem. Various Burmans stopped me on the way and told me about the elephant's doings. It was not, of course, a wild elephant, but a tame one which had gone "must." It had been chained up, as tame elephants always are when their attack of "must" is due, but on the previous night it had broken its chain and escaped. Its mahout, the only person who could manage it when it was in that state, had set out in pursuit, but had taken the wrong direction and was now twelve hours' journey away, and in the morning the elephant had suddenly reappeared in the town. The Burmese population had no weapons and were quite helpless against it. It had already destroyed somebody's bamboo hut, killed a cow and raided some fruit-stalls and devoured the stock; also it had met the municipal rubbish van and, when the driver jumped out and took to his heels, had turned the van over and inflicted violences upon it.

The Burmese sub-inspector and some Indian constables were waiting for me in the quarter where the elephant had been seen. It was a very poor quarter, a labyrinth of squalid bamboo huts, thatched with palmleaf, winding all over a steep hillside. I remember that it was a cloudy, stuffy morning at the beginning of the rains. We began questioning the people as to where the elephant had gone and, as usual, failed to get any definite information. That is invariably the case in the East; a story always sounds clear enough at a distance, but the nearer you get to the scene of events the vaguer it becomes. Some of the people said that the elephant had gone in one direction, some said that he had gone in another, some professed not even to have heard of any elephant. I had almost made up my mind that the [4] whole story was a pack of lies, when we heard yells a little distance away. There was a loud, scandalized cry of "Go away, child! Go away this instant!" and an old woman with a switch in her hand came round the corner of a hut, violently shooing away a crowd of naked children. Some more women followed, clicking their tongues and exclaiming; evidently there was something that the children ought not to have seen. I rounded the hut and saw a man's dead body sprawling in the mud. He was an Indian, a black Dravidian coolie, almost naked, and he could not have been dead many minutes. The people said that the elephant had come suddenly upon him round the corner of the hut, caught him with its trunk, put its foot on his back and ground him into the earth. This was the rainy season and the ground was soft, and his face had scored a trench a foot deep and a couple of yards long. He was lying on his belly with arms crucified and head sharply twisted to one side. His face was coated with mud, the eyes wide open, the teeth bared and grinning with an expression of unendurable agony. (Never tell me, by the way, that the dead look peaceful. Most of the corpses I have seen looked devilish.) The friction of the great beast's foot had stripped the skin from his back as neatly as one skins a rabbit. As soon as I saw the dead man I sent an orderly to a friend's house nearby to borrow an elephant rifle. I had already sent back the pony, not wanting it to go mad with fright and throw me if it smelt the elephant.

The orderly came back in a few minutes with a rifle and five cartridges, and meanwhile some Burmans had arrived and told us that the elephant was in the paddy fields below, only a few hundred yards away. As I started forward practically the whole population [5] of the quarter flocked out of the houses and followed me. They had seen the rifle and were all shouting excitedly that I was going to shoot the elephant. They had not shown much interest in the elephant when he was merely ravaging their homes, but it was different now that he was going to be shot. It was a bit of fun to them, as it would be to an English crowd; besides they wanted the meat. It made me vaguely uneasy. I had no intention of shooting the elephant - I had merely sent for the rifle to defend myself if necessary - and it is always unnerving to have a crowd following you. I marched down the hill, looking and feeling a fool, with the rifle over my shoulder and an ever-growing army of people jostling at my heels. At the bottom, when you got away from the huts, there was a metalled road and beyond that a miry waste of paddy fields a thousand yards across, not yet ploughed but soggy from the first rains and dotted with coarse grass. The elephant was standing eight yards from the road, his left side towards us. He took not the slightest notice of the crowd's approach. He was tearing up bunches of grass, beating them against his knees to clean them and stuffing them into his mouth.

I had halted on the road. As soon as I saw the elephant I knew with perfect certainty that I ought not to shoot him. It is a serious matter to shoot a working elephant - it is comparable to destroying a huge and costly piece of machinery - and obviously one ought not to do it if it can possibly be avoided. And at that distance, peacefully eating, the elephant looked no more dangerous than a cow. I thought then and I think now that his attack of "must" was already passing off; in which case he would merely wander harmlessly about until the mahout came back and [6] caught him. Moreover, I did not in the least want to shoot him. I decided that I would watch him for a little while to make sure that he did not turn savage again, and then go home.

But at that moment I glanced round at the crowd that had followed me. It was an immense crowd, two thousand at the least and growing every minute. It blocked the road for a long distance on either side. I looked at the sea of yellow faces above the garish clothes-faces all happy and excited over this bit of fun, all certain that the elephant was going to be shot. They were watching me as they would watch a conjurer about to perform a trick. They did not like me, but with the magical rifle in my hands I was momentarily worth watching. And suddenly I realized that I should have to shoot the elephant after all. The people expected it of me and I had got to do it; I could feel their two thousand wills pressing me forward, irresistibly. And it was at this moment, as I stood there with the rifle in my hands, that I first grasped the hollowness, the futility of the white man's dominion in the East. Here was I, the white man with his gun, standing in front of the unarmed native crowd - seemingly the leading actor of the piece; but in reality I was only an absurd puppet pushed to and fro by the will of those yellow faces behind. I perceived in this moment that when the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys. He becomes a sort of hollow, posing dummy, the conventionalized figure of a sahib. For it is the condition of his rule that he shall spend his life in trying to impress the "natives," and so in every crisis he has got to do what the "natives" expect of him. He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it. I had got to shoot the elephant. I had committed myself to doing [7] it when I sent for the rifle. A sahib has got to act like a sahib; he has got to appear resolute, to know his own mind and do definite things. To come all that way, rifle in hand, with two thousand people marching at my heels, and then to trail feebly away, having done nothing - no, that was impossible. The crowd would laugh at me. And my whole life, every white man's life in the East, was one long struggle not to be laughed at.

But I did not want to shoot the elephant. I watched him beating his bunch of grass against his knees, with that preoccupied grandmotherly air that elephants have. It seemed to me that it would be murder to shoot him. At that age I was not squeamish about killing animals, but I had never shot an elephant and never wanted to. (Somehow it always seems worse to kill a large animal.) Besides, there was the beast's owner to be considered. Alive, the elephant was worth at least a hundred pounds; dead, he would only be worth the value of his tusks, five pounds, possibly. But I had got to act quickly. I turned to some experienced-looking Burmans who had been there when we arrived, and asked them how the elephant had been behaving. They all said the same thing: he took no notice of you if you left him alone, but he might charge if you went too close to him.

It was perfectly clear to me what I ought to do. I ought to walk up to within, say, twenty-five yards of the elephant and test his behavior. If he charged, I could shoot; if he took no notice of me, it would be safe to leave him until the mahout came back. But also I knew that I was going to do no such thing. I was a poor shot with a rifle and the ground was soft mud into which one would sink at every step. If the elephant charged [8] and I missed him, I should have about as much chance as a toad under a steam-roller. But even then I was not thinking particularly of my own skin, only of the watchful yellow faces behind. For at that moment, with the crowd watching me, I was not afraid in the ordinary sense, as I would have been if I had been alone. A white man mustn't be frightened in front of "natives"; and so, in general, he isn't frightened. The sole thought in my mind was that if anything went wrong those two thousand Burmans would see me pursued, caught, trampled on and reduced to a grinning corpse like that Indian up the hill. And if that happened it was quite probable that some of them would laugh. That would never do. There was only one alternative. I shoved the cartridges into the magazine and lay down on the road to get a better aim.

The crowd grew very still, and a deep, low, happy sigh, as of people who see the theatre curtain go up at last, breathed from innumerable throats. They were going to have their bit of fun after all. The rifle was a beautiful German thing with cross-hair sights. I did not then know that in shooting an elephant one would shoot to cut an imaginary bar running from ear-hole to ear-hole. I ought, therefore, as the elephant was sideways on, to have aimed straight at his ear-hole, actually I aimed several inches in front of this, thinking the brain would be further forward.

When I pulled the trigger I did not hear the bang or feel the kick - one never does when a shot goes home - but I heard the devilish roar of glee that went up from the crowd. In that instant, in too short a time, one would have thought, even for the bullet to get there, a mysterious, terrible change had come over the elephant. He neither stirred nor fell, but every line of [9] his body had altered. He looked suddenly stricken, shrunken, immensely old, as though the frightful impact of the bullet had paralysed him without knocking him down. At last, after what seemed a long time � it might have been five seconds, I dare say - he sagged flabbily to his knees. His mouth slobbered. An enormous senility seemed to have settled upon him. One could have imagined him thousands of years old. I fired again into the same spot. At the second shot he did not collapse but climbed with desperate slowness to his feet and stood weakly upright, with legs sagging and head drooping. I fired a third time. That was the shot that did for him. You could see the agony of it jolt his whole body and knock the last remnant of strength from his legs. But in falling he seemed for a moment to rise, for as his hind legs collapsed beneath him he seemed to tower upward like a huge rock toppling, his trunk reaching skyward like a tree. He trumpeted, for the first and only time. And then down he came, his belly towards me, with a crash that seemed to shake the ground even where I lay.

I got up. The Burmans were already racing past me across the mud. It was obvious that the elephant would never rise again, but he was not dead. He was breathing very rhythmically with long rattling gasps, his great mound of a side painfully rising and falling. His mouth was wide open - I could see far down into caverns of pale pink throat. I waited a long time for him to die, but his breathing did not weaken. Finally I fired my two remaining shots into the spot where I thought his heart must be. The thick blood welled out of him like red velvet, but still he did not die. His body did not even jerk when the shots hit him, the tortured breathing continued without a pause. He [10] was dying, very slowly and in great agony, but in some world remote from me where not even a bullet could damage him further. I felt that I had got to put an end to that dreadful noise. It seemed dreadful to see the great beast Lying there, powerless to move and yet powerless to die, and not even to be able to finish him. I sent back for my small rifle and poured shot after shot into his heart and down his throat. They seemed to make no impression. The tortured gasps continued as steadily as the ticking of a clock.

In the end I could not stand it any longer and went away. I heard later that it took him half an hour to die. Burmans were bringing dash and baskets even before I left, and I was told they had stripped his body almost to the bones by the afternoon.

Afterwards, of course, there were endless discussions about the shooting of the elephant. The owner was furious, but he was only an Indian and could do nothing. Besides, legally I had done the right thing, for a mad elephant has to be killed, like a mad dog, if its owner fails to control it. Among the Europeans opinion was divided. The older men said I was right, the younger men said it was a damn shame to shoot an elephant for killing a coolie, because an elephant was worth more than any damn Coringhee coolie. And afterwards I was very glad that the coolie had been killed; it put me legally in the right and it gave me a sufficient pretext for shooting the elephant. I often wondered whether any of the others grasped that I had done it solely to avoid looking a fool.

Autumn, 1936

Hannah Arendt - Love and St. Augustine

(3) Three points of principle that govern and delimit any presentation of Augustine:

1) diverse trains of thought appear side by side;
2) dogmatic rigidity steadily increased as Augustine grew older;
3) there is a biographically demonstrable development that involves a marked change in the
horizon of Augustine's thinking.

(3) "Augustine's every perception and every remark about love refer at least in part to his love of neighbour."

(5) "For Augustine, authority commands from without what we would also be told by conscience, the inner law, if habit had not ensnared us in sin."

(9) "Every craving...is tied to a definite object, and it takes this object to spark the craving itself, thus providing an aim for it. Craving is determined by the definitely given thing it seeks, just as a movement is set by the goal toward which it moves."

(9) "Once we have the object our desire ends, unless we are threatened with its loss. In that case the desire to have (appetitus babendi) turns into a fear of losing (metus amittendi). As a quest for the particular good rather than for things at random, desire is a combination of "aiming at" and "referring back to."

(11) "Thus (what) the good love craves is life, and (what) the evil fear shuns is death. The happy life is the life we cannot lose. Life on earth is a living death, mors vitalis, or vita mortalis. It is althogether determined by death; indeed it is more properly called death. For the constant fear that rules it prevents living, unless one equates being alive with being afraid."

(11) "By putting an end to life, death is at the same time the cause of constant worry of life about itself -- the endless concern about it transient happiness -- and about life after death."

(13) "Every good and every evil lie ahead. What lies at the end of the road we keep walking all our lives is death. Every present moment is governed by this imminence. Human life is always "not yet." All "having" is governed by fear, all "not having" by desire...The future is by no means unknown since it is nothing but the threatening or fulfilling "not yet" of the present. However, every fulfillment is only apparent because at the end loom death, the radical loss. This means that the future, the "not yet" of the present, is what we must always fear. To the present, the future can only be menacing. Only a present without a future is immutable and utterly unthreatened. In such a present lies the calm of possession. This possession is life itself. For all goods exist for life alone, to protect is from its loss, from death."

(13-15) Note Arendt's exploration of time, remembrance, and expectation; is it related to what Beckett explores in Molloy's ending?

(15) "Time exists only insofar as it can be measured, and the yardstick by which we measure it is space. Where is the space located that permits us to measure time? For Augustine the answer is: in our memory where things are being stored up. Memory, the storehouse of time, is the presence of the "no more" (iam non) as expectation is the presence of the "not yet"(nondum).
Therefore, I do not measure what is no more, but something in my memory that remains fixed in it. It is only by calling past and future into the present of remembrance and expectation that time exists at all. Hence the only valid tense is the present, the Now."

(16) "Life, too, becomes a "thing," an object that disappears from the word, like all other objects of our desires, does not endure. From this perspective of desire, life is looked upon from the outside (from outside the living person) as something that occurs in the world and mutably clings to the immutable in order to gain permanence from it. Such permanence is granted by eternity, the object of desire."

(17) "As it takes an object to determine and arouse desire, Augustine defines life itself by what it craves. Life craves the goods occurring in the world, and thus turns itself into one of them only to find out that things (res), if compared to life, are of almost sempiternal permanence. Things endure. They will be tomorrow what they are today and what they were yesterday. Only life vanishes from day to day in its rush toward death. Life does not last and it does not remain identical. It is not ever-present and, indeed, is never present, since it is always not yet or no more."

(17) Love of the world?

(18) "Desire mediates between subject and object, and it annihilates the distance between them by transforming the subject into a lover and the object into the beloved. For the lover is never isolated from what he loves; he belongs to it."

(18) "The quest for worldliness changes man's nature. This quest transforms him into a worldly being. In cupiditas, man has cast the die that makes him perishible. In caritas, whose object is eternity, man transforms himself into an eternal, nonperishible being. Man as such, his essence, cannot be defined because he always desires to belong to something outside himself and changes accordingly. Hence, he is seen by Augustine in his isolation as seperated from things as well as from persons. However, it is precisely this isolation that he cannot bear."

(19) "Love that denies a worldly object, be it a thing or a person, is constantly frustrated in its quest for happiness."

(19) "For happiness, which is the reversal of isolation, more is required than mere belonging. Happiness is achieved only when the beloved becomes aa permanently inherent element of one's own being."

(19) "Hence, for happiness, which is the reversal of isolation, more is required than mere belonging."

(20) "Goods outside myself are not within my power, and among them is the highest good, life itself."

(21) God "circulating within us."

(22) "Augustine's uncritical use not only of Stoic but also of Neoplatonic categories could not help but lead him into inconsistencies, if not into outright contradictions."

(22) the question of space?

(23) Man cannot be absolutely fearless...merely a hyperbole?

(23) "To be sure, true being means "not being in want" and the corresponding attitude would be fearlessness. However, the specific quality of being human is precisely a fear that nothing can remove. This fear is no idle emotion, but rather the manifestation of dependence. Desire is not bad because the "outside" is bad. Rather, desire is bad and slavish because it entails dependence on what is, in principle, unattainable."

(27) "In other words, man's present life is being neglected for the sake of his future, and loses its meaningfulness and weight in comparison with that true life which is projected into an absolute future and which is constituted as the ultimate goal of present, worldly existence."

(28) "Since craving is the basic mode of human existence, men always "forget over something," namely, over whatever they happen to desire. Desire itself is a state of forgetfulness."

(28-29) "Insofar as human existence is temporal, its mode of being is from an origin toward an end. The transit achieves oblivion of the "from" over the "toward," whereby the forgetting of the origin obliterates the entire dimension of the past."

(34) " A life governed by caritas aims at a goal that, in principle, lies outside the world, and thus outside caritas as well. Caritas is but the road that connects man and his ultimate goal. Stretching out in this purposive direction, caritas possesses a provisional sort of eternity. By the same toek the world, as a mere means toward this end, loses its awesome character and gains some sense by being made relative through the process."

(35) "Caritas comes to terms with life and the world by "using" them freely, that is without being bound by them...Life on earth is not independent even in caritas. Life on earth remains subject to the fear of losing the "highest good." Hence, for the present time, human life remains tied to desire and fear...If we succeed in freeing ourselves from the world, we become the "slaves of caritas (servi caritatis) and subject to "chaste fear" (timor castus)."

(35) "Thus, the freedom of caritas is a future freedom. Its freedom on earth consists in anticipating a future belonging for which love as desire is the mediator. The sign of caritas on earth is fearlessness, whereas the curse of cupiditas is fear - fear of not obtaining what is desired and fear of losing it once it is obtained."

(36-37) "From the viewpoint of the anticipated future, the world is not only not eternal, it never exists for its own sake. Hence, man's proper attitude to the world is not "enjoyment" (frui) but "use" (uti).

(37) "The relevance of means and tools is determined by the ultimate purpose of the user. And so the world, which is harnessed to the "for the sake of," receives its meaning from the purposiveness of the user. Viewed from this perspective, the world is set into a definite order - it is the order of the relative importance of means toward a definite end."

(37) "In the search for his own self, human existence itself becomes the object of craving and desire; that is, a "thing" that is love as though it were objectively extant, a "true life" outside the present life. This "reification" of existence is completed precisely by its projection into a future of timeless stability. He who returns from the absolute future to regulate the world will see even his own present existence as a "thing" among things, to be fitted into the rest of what exists."

(42) "The establishment of the order that assigns to each thing its proper place can originate only from outside. This demands an objectivity and a basic lack of concern with the particular entities being arranged. The "outside" is the absolute future anticipated in hope.

(48) Memory undoes the past. The triumph of memory is that in presenting the past and thus depriving it, in a sense, of its bygone quality, memory transforms the past into a future possibility. What has been can be again - this is what our memory tells us in hope or in fear."

Monday, August 14, 2006

Spend the years of learning squandering

Spend the years of learning squandering
Courage for the years of wandering
Through a world politely turning
From the loutishness of learning.
-Beckett, "Gnome"?

My friend...

My friend,

I am far more honest on the page than in oration, for there is a limitless unease about hearing my own voice, as if the very sound of it compounds primal guilt. There are the fortunate ones who fall in love with the sound of their voices; well, they are gods amongst men or so they believe. But the question is: why is there this unease? Why must I feel ill-fit for the world? Why can I not stand, as Luther did before nailing the 95 theses, and proclaim that I can do no other? Is it because this feeling of unease is somehow natural to my disposition as so many have told me before? "You're just naturally a shy person." But that's not true at all. I would burst into flames if not for her gaze, or would her eyes arouse the brute and set me ablaze? Look at her as she tames the brute with a mere glance. But, in any case, the surface is not who I am, if knowing oneself is possible at all; or is knowing oneself simply a stubborn deception. Oh, it doesn't matter - the authentic self, that is; since I have too readily believe their prescriptions, and readily have lived the "type" while forgetting all else. Ah, settling into expectations, isn't that what poor little Sonya meant when she told her Uncle Vanya, "we shall find peace"? Go along as you are, and in the end, when everything is in the dustbin, you wirth on and within nothing.

For I cannot speak confidently without compromising my principled stance, if there is such a thing as principles; I choose silence after all. You see, I often find myself pressured into polemics, and forced invariably "choose" silence for the sake of logic. But with the passage of time and richer experience, silence has become an untenable choice, just as polemic remains ever more repugnant. If with convicted voice, I proclaim my truth from the highest mount or loftiest of pulpits, will I have not already revealed an ignorance otherwise concealed by silence? But pity me, pity poor old me, without ambition or drive, I do not want to be the superstar, much less a prophet or a god of transience. Time and experience has tutored me about such flawed assumptions - to be with the world demands public action, for private contemplation merely assuages and torments the individual soul. So why can I not act? Is there nothing but infinite postponement defining the condition of man? Any answer, if such thing is possible, cannot be unproblematic. My father taught me to distrust the man who peddles easy answers, definitive and parochial; they close off infinity to find a world no larger than the human eye and its cogito. Then again, the dictum peddled by father is an easy answer itself - should I disregard him, relegate that recollection to the dustbin as well? The world will go on without me; and I am left to depart simply to return.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Human distrust and decline of genuine dialogue

Human relationships, for Hobbes, can only exist legitimately within the normal conditions created by sovereign action. The necessity of the state is based on an assumption that distrust is rampant and insoluble.[1] With no assurance that others will not betray him, man cannot freely enter into contract with his fellows. The laws and structures of the modern state are constructed, through the common consent of its constituents, to alleviate this innate distrust between men.[2] The relation between ruler and subject operates on the assumption that the subject trusts the sovereign, because the sovereign secures the normal conditions under which the individual subject can be free and secure from potential external and internal threats.[3]

The individual, under such conditions, engages in the task of seeing-through and unmasking others. Living under the scope of political illusions – composed of grandiose threats, individuals attempt to expose the questionable allegiance of those who express dissent. Buber notes that these challenging spirits, who respond to the actual conditions of life, attempt to help a civilization towards change. But often, they are categorized as internal threats. This ‘sport’, as Buber calls it, is the site where the individual can indulge in a confirmation of itself vis à vis an object of his unmasking.[4] This self-confirmation of the individual withers away the “immediacy of togetherness” between people, leading them to retract into a crude individualism.[5] Buber would contend that this presumption of distrust draws one back only into oneself, neglecting I-You relation integral to human relationships.[6]

“Life is not lived by my playing the enigmatic game on a board by myself, but by my being placed in the presence of a being with whom I have agreed on no rules for the game and with whom no rules can be agreed.”[7] (BMM 197)

For Buber, unbridled suspicion and skepticism “strengthen what gives rise to suspicion, and even create new reasons for it”.[8] The distrust between people is exacerbated when they fail to acknowledge the demand of the hour, of the moment in which they live, in short, when they live solely for individual contentment. Those who disengage seek life in an illusory peace. “War has not produced this crisis,” Buber writes, “It is, rather, the crisis of man which has brought forth the total war and the unreal peace which followed.”[9] This crisis of man is the proliferation of distrust, an inability to genuinely engage or relate with others.[10] Distrust, hence, is the ground that breeds the disengaged individual.

At the end of “Society and the State”, Buber contends that thoughtful engagement is the primary means to resist the effects of propaganda. He posits social education as a means for thoughtful engagement between persons to destabilize the dominance of the political principle.[11] Buber places social education as an “exact reverse” of propaganda, which seeks to ‘suggest’ a ready-made will to members of society.[12] “Social education,” he writes, “seeks to arouse and develop in the minds of its pupils the spontaneity of fellowships…with the development of personal existence and personal thought.”[13] The danger of propaganda, as Buber notes, is that it proliferates a belief that the will of the sovereign is derived from the “innermost being” of citizens.[14] Propaganda help individuals to internalize “ready-made truths” as if they are immutable, and hence helps cultivate the passive, consenting citizen integral to the domination of the political principle. Propaganda facilitates an impersonal connection to ‘truths’ and social education, as Buber sees it, allows for personal engagement – to allow human beings share in the presentness of a shared existent condition.

In his essay “Instead of Polemics”, Buber calls on his fellows to become engaged with the problems that face their contemporary hour, “We must take upon ourselves repeatedly and continuously the hardest task: responding to both demands at the same time, the demand of the moment and the demand of truth”.[15] Actual life cannot be detached from the genuine relations. The ‘social principle’, as stated above, is animated by ‘social spontaneity’ – which brings forth the creative potential of human relations. In Hobbes, the sovereign, as legitimate representative of the will of the multitude, becomes the single decision-maker or the Great Definer.

In the Introduction to Leviathan, Hobbes refers to the state as an “Artificiall Man”, and in which “Sovereignty is an Artificiall Soul, as giving life and person to the whole body”.[16] Men authorize the sovereign to act on their behalf, because when each and every man acts without restraint – as he does in the state of nature – he pursues personal interest to the detriment of others. The multitude cannot define a common interest, since in its natural state it is nothing but a chaotic mass of particular interests ceaselessly in conflict. The sovereign, who is instituted as representative of the state, acts on behalf of citizens. Indeed, the sovereign brings the state to life, because without the sovereign, as Quentin Skinner points out, the state ‘is but a word’.[17] Buber, however, contends that the ‘political’ cannot be equated to the actual life between man and man. The dominant political principle subordinates society to the State; namely the assumption that in the absence of the state, there can be no society – since men harbour an innate distrust for each other.

The spontaneity of social engagement helps to produce a genuine transformation of society; allowing human fellows to respond to a varying contemporary condition rather than react to a priori doctrinal truths. As intimated in Chapter 3, any universal dictums regarding human action have force only if agents submit to them unconditionally and thoughtlessly. An individual who submits unconditionally is also one who inscribes and imposes universal dictums onto human reality. If tHoHohe ‘social principle’ were to stand in relation with the ‘political’, Buber argues that thoughtful and engaged human activity creates the world anew. Rather than indulge in the “empty abstractions” peddled in the name of the political, he implores human beings to engage with actual life.[18]

Norm and Exception: The Limits of Community?

The ostensible need for the sovereign to provide meaning and security for human society exacerbates the domination of the ‘political principle’. The domination of the ‘political principle’ entails the accumulation of ‘political surplus’ by the sovereign.[19] The justification of this ‘political surplus’ is derived from “the external and internal instability, from the latent crisis between the nations and within every nation, which may at any moment become an active crisis requiring more immediate and far-reaching measures”.[20] Buber contends that these potentially catastrophic crises invariably lead to the dominance of the political principle, because such crises threaten the existence of both the state and its citizens. In this section, we will further explore this point by explicating a response to Carl Schmitt’s conception of the political.

Carl Schmitt begins his book Political Theology with a devastatingly concise definition of sovereignty: “Sovereign is he who decides on the exception”.[21] Schmitt goes on to elaborate that the definition of sovereignty “must therefore be associated with a borderline case and not with routine”.[22] For him, the essence of the state’s sovereignty is not a monopoly over violence or coercion, but a monopoly to decide.[23] What does this “monopoly to decide” entail? The sovereign decision decides on the existence of the state, and by proxy, the existence of individual citizens. Hence, the sovereign decision is also an existential decision – one regarding life and death. Schmitt’s definition invariably places the sovereign state in a dominant place above society; namely that the sovereign decision defines the limit-conditions of society. While the latter can only exist under legal norms, the former is freed from all normative ties.[24] “The rule,” Schmitt writes, “proves nothing; the exception proves everything: It confirms not only the rule but also its existence, which derives only from the exception.”[25]

On a substantive level, a threat to the state is also a threat to the political. Without the sovereign decision, i.e. one regarding friend and enemy, the state cannot exist; hence the political does not exist.[26] Schmitt, possessing an extraordinarily sharp intellect, clearly states the grounds for the modern state. The ever-present possibility of threat provides the state its raison d’être. He clearly draws the limit-conditions of the politics, namely the borders under the aegis of sovereign authority. The ‘political surplus’ possessed by the modern state is justified in light of these ever-present threats.

Schmitt’s account of sovereignty poses a problem similar to one inherent in Hobbes: what are conditions for society? The limit-conditions of society for Schmitt are defined by the sovereign’s extra-ordinary preparedness to transgress those limits. Hence, as he articulates in Political Theology, a conception of legality that derives its authority solely from existing legal norms, much like Schmitt’s contemporary Hans Kelsen does, according to Schmitt, disregards the transgressive act of the decision.[27] “The exception in jurisprudence is analogous to the miracle in theology”, writes Schmitt.[28] The transgression of norms, done through a sovereign decision about the exception, is by definition an irrational act, an act that destroys both the normative limits and the norms. The legal norms cannot legislate for the decision to transgress its own limits, because that would be a move incongruent with the rational principles upon which norms are founded. The sovereign decision, hence, must be one “transcendent” of the existing legal order, made with authority not bound to the norms, i.e. comparable to a miracle from above. Hence, order does not come organically from associational ties. Schmitt’s criticism of associational theory attests to this – according to him, these theories have no conception of sovereignty, and by proxy, presupposes the existence of normal conditions for associative interaction without confronting the limit-conditions that ground them in a concrete situation.[29]

So the question can be posed to Buber: does dialogical thought operate solely within normal conditions? At the heart of this question is ultimately a question regarding the antimony between dialogical thought and the violence of the modern world. The problem of violence is not conjured away in Buber’s thought. Living in the It-world, the potential for violence is part of the unforeseen.[30] The work of dialogue involves a courageous turn to another, knowing full well the stakes involved in doing so. In his essay “The Validity and Limitation of the Political Principle”, Buber formulates a response to Schmitt – although never explicitly mentioning his name.[31] He reiterates that the state draws it cumulative monopoly over political power “on drawing profit from a…latent exceptional condition”[32]. This exceptional condition, however, cultivates the collective fear and anxiety of a group of individuals, exacerbating the mutual distrust between people. Unable to turn to each other in a spirit of openness and mutuality, fragmented individuals look to the Leviathan, the mortal God, or the sovereign-miracle for redemption. Such a turn towards the political illusion facilitate the domination of the political principle.

“Many states decree the division of mankind into friends who deserve to live and enemies who deserve to die, and the political principle sees to it that what is decreed penetrates the hearts and reins of men.”[33]

In I and Thou, Buber contends, “Nothing can doom man but the belief in doom…”[34] Those who subscribe to the essentiality of enmity only deepen the crisis of trust between people. This breakdown of interhuman trust alienates people from “presentness”[35]; allowing the crisis of man, a failure to trust and speak genuinely, to reach critical extremes. Once one sees no other way, when the illusory becomes reality; there is no option other than capitulation, allowing one to be dominated ostensibly for one’s own good.[36] As noted in Chapter 3, I-Thou relationship provides the space for personal transformation, as well as addressing and transforming the It-world. For Buber, the creative engagement that unfolds in the realm of the dialogue challenges stagnant It-world conceptions. It is through genuine dialogue that the limits of It-world causality are confronted and transformed.

Schmitt, in theorizing about limits, presupposes the dominance of the political principle by equating the political to the pre-eminence of the state.[37] As a leading jurist in Weimar Germany, a staunch critic of liberalism, and eventually a prominent intellectual figure of Nazi Germany, Schmitt transgresses Hobbes by contending that society on a whole must be politicized by the sovereign decision on the exception. In doing this, Schmitt pares the antinomical relationship between society and the state present in Weber’s thought down to a single concern: sovereignty. In facing the world in its factuality, people think about the paradoxical nature of human existence and see the world with a degree of complexity. Buber’s ‘narrow ridge’ – an approach that rejects homogenous unity or a radical relativism – shares affinities with Weber’s antinomical thought. While Buber calls on all those share in an existent human condition to consider the paradoxes that arise in actual life, Schmitt’s account reserves this ability to grasp complexity to the sovereign, who alone is able to decide on the exception – and by proxy, possesses the ability to decide on matters of life and death. Through this move, he perverts Weber’s account of ethics in pursuit of a homogenized collective.[38] While Weber sees the relationship between responsibility and conviction as an antinomy, Schmitt believes that a leader of pure conviction can bring into being a pure Volk.[39] Whereas Weber carved a sphere for social relationships separate of politics[40], albeit subordinate to the dominant political principle, Schmitt advocates total politicization of society in anticipation of internal and external threats. According to David Dyzenhaus, Schmitt sees politics as “a matter of elite determination with the aim of eliminating all internal enemies”, and believes that the glory of politics is cultivated in “the utter homogeneity of the nation state ready to do battle with other nation states”.[41]

In his “The Question of a Single One”, Buber provides a response to Schmitt. He critiques Schmitt’s indiscriminate definition of ‘enemy’, noting that the so-called ‘inner foe’ or ‘rebel’ works towards transforming and changing the society that he is a part of, to be differentiated from the ‘external foe’, who has no interest in preserving, much less advancing, the society.[42] Buber contends that order cannot be imposed upon a society, once and for all. For him, order is cultivated throughout the history of a commonwealth by the living persons of dialogue who constitute it.

“This striving, this wrestling for the realization of true order – wrestling between ideas, plans, outlines of true order – wrestling between ideas, plans, outlines of true order that are so different, but also a wrestling that is simultaneously common to all, not known, not be expressed – constitutes the political structure’s dynamic of order.”[43]

Hence, according to Buber, Schmitt’s equation of politics to a “homogeneous dynamic of order” is deeply erroneous, purging the transformative concrete relationships between man and man, and leaves the fate of a society to sovereignty’s ability to bring about a “judgment of God”[44]. Not surprisingly, Buber notes in the Foreword to Between Man and Man that “The Question of the Single One” attacks the life-basis of totalitarianism.[45] In “People and Leader”, Buber directly addresses the horrors of Nazi Germany. Writing in response to Hitler’s contention that “leader and idea are one”, Buber exposes the hideous cost demanded by the dream of united homogeneity, fully cognizant of the fate of his people.

“The leader alone knows the goal, but there is no goal. The leader embodies the idea, but there is no idea. The ‘superior race’ decides, and those who include themselves in it decide who belongs to it – provided that they are in power…’There is always’, according to Hitler, ‘only the fight of the racially inferior lower stratum against the ruling higher race.’”[46]

Dyzenhaus insists that any worthwhile scholarship on Schmitt’s political theory should seriously address the latter’s anti-Semitic views.[47] He contends that Schmitt’s conception of the political, intimately related to the apparent need for internal homogeneity, contributed to the radical exclusion of Jews from Germany society.[48] This need for homogeneity, for a unified Volk, legitimates the sovereign decider – who guards against internal and external threats through his ability to decide on the exception. The sovereign decider, hence, unites the Volk in preparation for triumph the conflict-duel, wherein triumph confirms that the “judgment of God” was destined to be theirs, willed into being by sovereign authority.

In “People and Leader”, Buber laments the rise Hitler and Mussolini to power – the rise of the man who thinks he has become God. Once the role of leader believes that he is “becoming God”, his position is contingent upon the production of docile and uneducated followers, rather than critical and “enlightened” subjects. “Successful leading without teaching,” he writes, “comes near to destroying all that makes human life seem worth living.”[49] If the role of citizens is merely to follow – legitimating the authority of the sovereign through capitulation, they are simply instrumental to the power of the “successful leader” or master demagogue. Rather than facilitating the space for education or enlightenment, as Kant believes his “enlightened sovereign” does, a leader, merely successful in the obtaining and sustaining power for power’s sake, provides only propaganda, in order to retrench and strengthen his sovereign grip on political surplus. The “successful” leader creates an environment advantageous to his exercise of sovereignty. And in the case of the sovereign decision on the exception, these conditions are emergencies and threats – exaggerated by propaganda or utterly fabricated – coming from internal and external sources.[50]

The architecture of totalitarianism constructs a radically insecure condition, where the sovereign, and the sovereign alone, can ostensibly assure order and security. Simply put, such an environment leaves individuals to live in radical distrust of all others within society. Under such conditions, people approach each other with suspicion, with the intention of seeing-through the intentions and exposing potential threats to the established order. As Buber notes in “Education and World-View” (1935), education allows people to approach the world in its actuality – to allow them to distinguish between appearance and reality.[51] But as noted earlier, once individuals are left simply as individuals, alienated from his fellows and unable to engage the world in its presentness, the grip of political illusion grows ever stronger.

Let us revisit two points made in sections 2.3.3 and 2.3.4 above. First, Buber believes that the simple immediacy of togetherness is the most effective form of action. And second, he posits this form of action – which unfolds through direct and immediate relationships – destabilizes the political illusions reinforced by state propaganda, precisely because immediacy makes present the world in its actuality. As we recall from his stirring article “A Tragic Conflict?”, people must come to understand and deal with the real conflicts that arise between groups, rather than be frightened into inaction – trusting political mechanisms more willingly than interhuman immediacy – and allow exaggerated illusory conflicts to consume life.

Buber considers Schmitt’s transposition of the classic duel situation onto political conflict to be indicative of, what he calls, “political surplus conflict”. If an ‘enemy’, including ‘inner foes’, needs to be annihilated for the sake of assured peace and security, spaces for meeting and human contact in society would become radically politicized. These politicized spaces, indicative of the growing grip of the political principle over society, are not places conducive to social education and meeting. On the contrary, they are simulated public spaces; designed to reinforce political illusions, galvanize individuals in support of the state’s Cause, and strengthen the grip sovereign authority has over society.[52] The mass political rallies of Nazi Germany are examples of these simulated public spaces. “The totalitarian mass marks not only the end of personal life, it is also the end of the life of a people,” writes Buber.[53] The point Buber conveys is that these simulated public spaces destroy any possibility for social spontaneity between persons, by stimulating and manipulating an individuated emotional attachment to Nation and People. Social spontaneity, as we recall, is rather integral to the transformative encounters between people. Hence, left alienated from fellow human beings, isolated from human contact and meeting, individuals are forced to find a false confirmation in the collective, i.e. homogenous unity, concocted by political propaganda to unify and galvanize a group in opposition to a common enemies.

In “Community and Environment”, Buber makes the following contention.

“The secret longing of man for a life in reciprocal mutual confirmation must be developed through education, but the external conditions it needs in order to finds its fulfillment must also be created. The architects must be set the task of also building for human contact, building surroundings that invite meeting and centers that shape meeting.”[54]

For Buber, simulated public spaces are not simply the result of political machinations, but are a consequence of the tacit and explicit compliance of citizens to sovereign authority. If we recall section 2.4 above, Buber contends that any normative valuation of “what should be” should not be detached from a critical and fundamental relationship to the existing condition of humanity.[55] Through this contention, Buber makes two points. First, the “architecture” of spaces conducive to human meeting cannot be left to political forces external to immediate human relationship; and second, the building of spaces for human meeting are built upon the critical relationship to a shared existent condition. As demonstrated above, the spaces for social education cannot be left simply to sovereign authority, which manipulate such spaces in an effort to reinforce its own grip on power. Buber notes that those bound to the body politic and aware of the personal responsibility for human address should strive to make the “crowd no longer a crowd”.[56] “Even if he has to speak to the crowd he seeks the person, for a people can find its truth only through persons, through persons standing their test,” writes Buber.[57] This courageous turn toward other persons is fundamental to the creation of public spaces. If the simulated public space is the crowd or totalitarian mass, the genuine space for human meeting comes to being through the courageous personal address – working to revive personhood in the midst of the crowd. And, as noted in Chapter 3, although this address at times may end in mis-meeting and the failure of dialogue, the price of silent capitulation is far more calamitous.

At the beginning of his 1953 address entitled “Genuine Dialogue and the Possibilities of Peace”, he engages with implications of the Holocaust. In the course of his reflections of the German people, he expresses reverence and love for those who stood up and spoke out against the horrendous crimes.

“There appears before me…some who have become as familiar to me by sight, action, and voice as if they were friends, those who refused to carry out the orders and suffered death or put themselves to death, and those who learned what was taking place and opposed it and were put to death, or those who learned what was taking place and because they could do nothing to stop it killed themselves. I see these men very near before me in that especial intimacy which binds us at times to the dead and to them alone.”[58]

In the course of the address, Buber reiterates that a human voice addressing his others in a spirit of mutual trust moves the life of humanity towards transformation.[59] A great and lasting peace, in his estimation, cannot be achieved in ignorance of human relationship.

Peace is not achieved through the imposition of sovereign authority over a group or many groups of people. The sovereign, accepted by Hobbes and Schmitt as the central guarantor of internal peace and stability, provides only an illusory peace. The purgation of an internal ‘political surplus conflict’, accomplished through the consolidation of political power, including emergency powers, claims to impose peace upon the innate and limitless enmity between men. But this assumption that man is innately evil is in of itself an illusory conflict – one that pits man against his own humanity.[60] In the Third Reich, the sovereign power, in the person of the Führer, creates a homogenous and unified populace through the force of its executive will, secures peace for the polity by purging and annihilating internal foes, and it seeks to defeat external enemies, i.e. external ‘evils’, in cultivating global peace for the Aryan race. Dreams of ‘great peace’ have been based on a similar fascination with sovereign power, hinging on a dominant political principle.

Buber writes, “The great peace is something essentially different from the absence of war.”[61] The great peace is not Pax Romana or its contemporary variant, Pax Americana. The proliferation of imperium does not lead to peace; it only prepares the way for future conflicts that drive humankind closer to the brink of annihilation. It is only through the cultivation of trust between peoples that humanity can take on the difficult task of engaging the world in its presentness – which presents paradox and contradictions that demand genuine human thought – rather than indulging in visions of an illusory peace.

Conclusion

Buber begins the Afterword to Between Man and Man with the following quote:

“In all ages it has undoubtedly been glimpsed that the reciprocal essential relationship between two beings signifies a primal opportunity of being, and one, in fact, that enters into the phenomenon that man exists. And it has also ever again been glimpsed that just through the fact that he enters into essential reciprocity, man becomes revealed as man; indeed, that only with this and through this does he attain to that valid participation in being that is reserved for him; thus, that the saying of Thou by the I stands in the origin of all…human becoming.”[62]

Buber indicates that the dominance of the political principle effaces the possibility for human becoming, deprives persons of those creative and transformative encounters integral to actual life. Buber’s thought, however, does not attempt to dissolve the antimony between state and social. His thought, well aware of the necessity of the It-world, does not seek to do away with the political principle. He wishes only to free social spontaneity from the dominant grip of politicization. Schmitt’s definition of sovereignty, however, does away the possibilities of social engagement and community.[63] Schmitt envisions a wholesale politicization of society. In this politicized society, individuals are accepted as “friend” if they legitimate sovereign authority, adhere sovereign decisions, and reinforce the homogenous composition of the polity. Others who question the decisions of the sovereign or are, by virtue of their ethnicity or beliefs, repugnant to the sensibilities of the homogenous unity are considered ‘inner foes’ to be excised. Life, through engaged and participatory activity, is foreign to Schmitt’s definition of absolute sovereignty, since order is supreme above all.

In a brief article entitled “Abstract and Concrete”, Buber responds to criticisms that his address to Carnegie Hall entitled, “Hope for this Hour” dealt with an “abstract philosophical” question rather than a “concrete political” one.[64] He rebuts by contending that his work appeals directly to the genuine concrete – the actual life of actual persons, which has become “smeared over and crusted with the varnish of political fictiousness”.[65] Of course, this response is reflective of Buber’s approach to modern political thought. In returning to a point explored in Chapter 1, abstractions are the result of indiscriminate politicization, often used to unite and galvanize a group of citizens, whose tacit consent to a collective cause also legitimates the political surplus wielded by sovereign authority. And within the text of “Abstract and Concrete”, Buber once again calls for a thoughtful response to crisis – in his context, the Cold War – rather than merely reinforcing political mechanisms.[66] He believes that transformation of the situation starts with those who will “begin to speak with one another – not as pawns on a chessboard but as themselves, partakers of human reality”[67].

As this chapter showed, it is the thinkers who reinforce the dominance of the political over society – Schmitt, and to a lesser extent, Hobbes – who are dealing in abstractions. In spite of Schmitt’s rhetorical fixation on real and concrete situations, namely the conditions which the sovereign exception addresses, his thought relies on the almost otherworldly ability of the sovereign formulate the decision on exceptions – in response to grotesquely exaggerated political conflicts. Buber defiantly envisions the decision as a work of dialogue unfolding between persons. The act of decision is made on the most elemental existential level, a response to a human voice, responding to the address of a fellow, and responding to existent conditions.[68] Decision, hence, is not simply a singular “miraculous” ordinance of a sovereign. Schmitt’s conception of “the political” sharpens the sovereign decision into a decision regarding life and death. The decision, motivated by the urgent necessity for it, is left to the sovereign. If individuals continually delegate a personal responsibility for response, the crisis of man is pushed to the verge of total annihilation.



[1] “And because the condition of Man…is a condition of Warre of every one against every one; in which case every one is governed by his own Reason; and there is nothing he can make use of, that may not be a help unto him, in preserving his life against his enemyes; It followeth, that in such a condition, every man has a Right to every thing; even to one anothers body. And therefore, as long as this naturall Right of every man to every thing endureth, there can be no security to any man, (how strong or wise soever he be,) of living out the time, which Nature ordinarily alloweth men to live.” Hobbes, p. 190

[2] “The final cause, end, or designe of men (who naturally love Liberty, and Dominion over others) in the introduction of that restraint upon themselves (in which we see them live in Common-wealths) is the foresight of their own preservation and of a more contented life thereby; that is to say, of getting themselves out from that miserable condition of Warre which is necessarily consequent (as hath been shown) to the natural passions of men, when there is no visible power to keep them in awe and tie them by fear of punishment to the performance of their covenants and observation of those laws of nature…” Hobbes, p. 223

[3] “For by this Authoritie, given him by every particular man in the Common-wealth, he hath the us of so much Power and Strength conferred on him, that by terror thereof, he is inabled to forme the wills of them all, to Peace at home, and mutual ayd against their enemies abroad.” Hobbes, p. 227-28

[4]Buber, “Hope for this Hour,” Pointing the Way, p. 224

[5] Buber, “Hope for this Hour,” Pointing the Way, p. 224

[6] In “Hope for this Hour”, Buber contends that the need for confirmation (or recognition) exists for modern man. However, he seeks confirmation in two ‘false ways’. These two false ways, according to Buber, is confirmation by oneself or confirmation within a collective to which he belongs. Buber, “Hope for this Hour”, Pointing the Way, p. 225

[7] Buber, “What is Man?”, Between Man and Man, p. 197

[8] Buber, “We Must Grant the Arabs Truly Equal Rights”, p. 298

[9] Buber, “Genuine Dialogue and the Possibilities of Peace”, from Pointing the Way, p. 236

[10] “The man in crisis will no longer entrust his cause to conversation because its presupposition – trust – is lacking.”

[11] “Society and the State”, p. 176

[12] “Society and the State”, p. 176

[13] “Society and the State”, p. 176

[14]“…to implant in their minds the notion that such a will (ready-made will) derives from their own, their innermost being.” “Society and the State”, p. 176

[15] Buber, “Instead of Polemics, from Mendes-Flohr, p. 271

[16] Hobbes, p. 81

[17] Refer to Skinner, “The purely artificial person of the state”, in Skinner, Visions of Politics: Hobbes and Civil Science, pp. 177- 208

[18] “The represented will not be bound with their representatives in empty abstractions, through the phraseology of a party program…but concretely, through common activity and common experience.” Buber, “Comments on the Idea of Community”, A Believing Humanism, p. 92

[19] “All forms of government have this in common: each possesses more power than is required by the given conditions: in fact, this excess in the capacity for making dispositions is actually what we understand by ‘political power’ […] I call it the ‘political surplus’. “Society and the State”, p. 174

[20] “Society and the State”, p. 174

[21] Carl Schmitt, Political Theology, p. 5

[22] Schmitt, Political Theology, p. 5

[23] Schmitt, Political Theology, p. 13

[24] “The exception reveals most clearly the essence of the state’s authority. The decision parts here from the legal norm, and (to formulate it paradoxically) authority proves that to produce law it need not be based on law”. Schmitt, Political Theology, p. 13

[25] Schmitt, Political Theology, p. 15

[26] “The concept of the state presupposes the concept of the political.” Schmitt, The Concept of the Political, p. 19

[27] “Kelsen solved the problem of the concept of sovereignty by negating it. The result of his deduction is that “the concept of sovereignty must be radically repressed.” Schmitt, Political Theology, p. 21

[28] At the start of the third chapter of Political Theology, Schmitt argues that all significant concepts of the modern theory of the state are secularized theological concepts, because of their systematic structure. In short, he appears to be contending that the theological concepts that the Enlightenment tried to do away with the ‘irrational’ concepts of sovereignty, such as the exception, or, in other words, to banish the miracle from the world. Schmitt, Political Theology, p.36

[29] Schmitt, Political Theology, p. 25

[30] “Good can be maximized not through the rejection or conquest of evil but only through the transformation of evil, the use of its energy and passion in the service of good.” Friedman, p. 15

[31] “Already at the beginning of our historical period we saw teachers of the law appear who, obedient to this trait of the times, defined the concept of the political so that everything disposed itself within it according to the criterion ‘friend-enemy’, in which the concept of enemy includes ‘the possibility of physical killing.’ The practice of state has conveniently followed their advice.” Buber, “The Validity and Limitation of the Political Principle”, Pointing the Way, p. 216

[32] Buber, “The Validity and Limitation of the Political Principle”, p. 216

[33] Buber, “The Validity and Limitation of the Political Principle”, p. 216

[34] Buber, I and Thou, p. 107

[35] “Ideas and values cannot become presentness for us, and every experience, even the most spiritual, can yield us only an It.” Friedman, Martin Buber: The Life of Dialogue, p. 70

[36] “Whoever is overpowered by the It-world must consider the dogma of an ineluctable running down as a truth that creates a clearing in the jungle. In truth, this dogma only leads him deeper into slavery of the It-world.” Buber, I and Thou, p. 107

[37] “What characterizes an exception is principally unlimited authority, which means the suspension of the entire existing order. In such a situation, it is clear that the state remains, whereas law recedes. […] The existence of the state is undoubted proof of its superiority over the validity of the legal norm.” Political Theology, p. 12

[38] Legal theorist David Dyzenhaus provides a brief, yet incisive, account of this in his book, Legality and Legitimacy: Carl Schmitt, Hans Kelsen, and Hermann Heller in the Weimar, pp. 14-15

[39] “And, according to Schmitt, the idea of the Volk has substance only when it is understood to refer to an utterly homogenous group.” Dyzenhaus, p. 14.

[40] Weber, “The Profession and Vocation of Politics,” Weber, “The Profession and Vocation of Politics”, Weber: Political Writings, p. 369

[41] Dyzenhaus, p. 95

[42] Buber, “The Question of a Single One”, Between Man and Man, p. 87

[43] Buber, “The Question of the Single One”, Between Man and Man, p. 88

[44] When addressing the “possibility of physical killing” central to Schmitt’s thesis, Buber contends that Schmitt transposes the classic duel situation onto public life. The conflict between two sides, as in the duel, is absolute, a conflict that must end in the destruction of the other. But the point Buber makes is very interesting. “Every classic duel is a masked “judgment of God”. In each there is an aftermath of the belief that men can bring about a judgment of God. That is what Schmitt, carrying it over to the relations of people to another, calls the specifically political.” Buber, “The Question of the Single One”, Between Man and Man, p. 86

[45] However, he adds, “the fact it could be published with impunity (in 1936) is certainly to be explained from its not having been understood by the appropriate authorities”. Buber, “Foreword”, Between Man and Man, p. xi

[46] Buber, “People and Leader”, Pointing the Way, p. 159

[47] In order to debunk Schmitt apologists, Dyzenhaus explicates Schmitt’s anti-Semitic views. He concludes that any honest and serious scholarship about Schmitt’s work views must deal frankly and fully with the latter’s anti-Semitism. Dyzenhaus, pp. 98-101

[48] Schmitt’s friend/enemy distinction is tied to his idea of substantive homogeneity, and was produced in a context where, as Schwab recognizes, these ideas had to end in the Jews being excluded from German society in some radical way. Dyzenhaus, p. 101

[49] Buber, “People and Leader”, Pointing the Way (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1957), p. 149

[50] Evelyn Cobley, in her interesting study about the relationship between postmodernism and totalitarianism, outlines how Hitler gained totalitarian control through the simulation of threats, i.e., the threat of Communism and the compromised allegiance of Jews to the German Reich, combined with a manipulation of legal precedents,, i.e., 1923 Ebert decree on ‘emergency situations’, gain the upper hand on the ‘apparent’ crises. Evelyn Cobley, Temptations of Faust: The Logic of Fascism and Postmodern Archaeologies of Modernity (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2002), pp. 206-09

[51] Buber, “Education and World-View”, Pointing the Way, p. 105

[52] Evelyn Cobley reads Arendt’s work as positing fascist totalitarianism not as a return to traditional despotism, but an attack on those traditional forms. She cites that traditional authority rested on the power of landed gentry; hence lines of power were present and an integral part to traditional despotism. But the point Arendt makes is that the very destruction of these traditional forms facilitated Hitler’s simulation of public space, hence controlling the channels of oppression and quashing the channels for resistance. Evelyn Cobley, Temptations of Faust: The Logic of Fascism and Postmodern Archaeologies of Modernity (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2002), pp. 226-27

[53] Buber, “People and Leader”, Pointing the Way, p. 155

[54] Buber, “Community and Environment”, A Believing Humanism, p. 95

[55] Buber, Paths in Utopia, p. 7

[56] Buber, “Questions of the Single One”, Between Man and Man, pp. 74-75

[57] Buber, “Questions of the Single One”, Between Man and Man, pp. 75-76

[58] Buber, “Genuine Dialogue and the Possibilities of Peace”, Pointing the Way, p. 233

[59] “Peoples must engage in talk with one another through their truly human men if the great peace is to appear and the devastated life of the earth renew itself.” Buber, “Genuine Dialogue and the Possibilities of Peace”, Pointing the Way, p. 235

[60] “In Schmitt’s view all “genuine” political theories presuppose that man is “evil”…” Buber, “Questions of the Single One”, Between Man and Man, p. 89

[61] Buber, “Genuine Dialogue and the Possibilities of Peace”, from Pointing the Way, p. 235

[62] Buber, “The History of the Dialogical Principle”, Between Man and Man, p. 249

[63] Buber, Paths in Utopia, p. 40

[64] “Among the statement that have reached my ears concerning my Carnegie Hall address, were some critical ones that have caused me to reflect. Almost all of them had the same import: I dealt with the ‘cold’ world war as an ‘abstract philosophical’ question instead of a ‘concrete political’ one…” Buber, “Abstract and Concrete”, Pointing the Way, p. 230

[65] Buber, “Abstract and Concrete”, Pointing the Way, p. 230

[66] “It is up to those on both sides who have not yet fallen into the total politicization to reflect on themselves, and in so doing reflect in wholly unphilosophical concreteness on existence.” Buber, “Abstract and Concrete”, Pointing the Way, p. 231

[67] Buber, “Abstract and Concrete”, Pointing the Way, p. 231

[68] “Harkening to the human voice, where it speaks forth unfalsified, and replying to it, this above all is needed today. The busy noise of the hour must no longer drown out the vox humana, the essence of the human which has become a voice. This voice must not only be listened to, it must be answered and led out of the lonely monologue into the awakening dialogue of the peoples.” Buber, “Genuine Dialogue and the Possibilities of Peace”, from Pointing the Way, p. 235