Here is Bataille’s version of le demier homme (Bataille reading a portrait

of Hegel as an old man):

I imagine seeing exhaustion, the horror of being in the depths of things – of

being God. Hegel, at the moment when the system closed, believed himself

for two years to be going mad: perhaps he was afraid of accepting evilwhich

the system justifies and renders necessary; or perhaps linking the certainty

of having attained absolute knowledge with the completion of history-

he saw himself, in a profound sense, becoming dead; perhaps even

his various bouts of sadness took shape in the more profound horror of being

God.

This is the face of a Hegel on the verge of the inner experience, which is

what occurs when everything possible has been actualized, when nothing

remains but impossibility (nothing further can happen: history, like art, is

vergangen, all horizons have been surpassed – the Aufhebung has done

everything one can ask of it). Blanchot, writing on Bataille, comments:

“The interior experience insists upon this event that does not belong to

possibility; it opens in this already achieved being an infinitesimal interstice

by which all that is suddenly allows itself to be exceeded, deposed by

an addition that escapes and goes beyond [un surcroft qui echappe et excede

] . A strange surplus” ‘ A surplus of the negative, there

being nothing left to negate. A surplus that Hegel (as Bataille imagines

him) experiences in the form of a looming madness, an approaching horror

of being God, on a negative theologian’s theory of being God where being

such is existence without being – a mystical (that is, absolutely negative)

experience: “The experience of non-experience,” Blanchot calls it

 (Just think of it! God: an absolute surplus of negativity; or,

the death of God – as God imagines it. It would have to be a death that

went on forever.)

“What is a philosopher?,” Blanchot asks in “Connaissance de l’inconnu”;

and he answers, “borrowing words from Georges Bataille, it is

someone who is afraid”: afraid of the Outside, of the limit-experience,

of what remains irreducible to knowledge, of that which remains

unknown when knowledge has no further progress to make, of an existence

which, being without being, that is, not being the existence of this or

that being, is being that cannot be negated. As Blanchot explains in his essay

on Bataille: “Interior experience is the manner in which the radical

negation that no longer has anything to negate is affirmed”

(To be sure: “This has the air of a joke. But if we will grant that all modern

humanism, the work of science, and planetary development have as their

object a dissatisfaction with what is, and thus the desire to transform being

– to negate it in order to derive power from it and to make of this

power to negate the infinite movement of human mastery – then it will become

apparent that this sort of weakness of the negative, and the way in

which nothingness masks itself in the being that cannot be negated, lays

waste at one stroke to our attempts to dominate the earth and to free ourselves

from nature by giving it a meaning – by denaturing it”

Imagine therefore a time when the dialectic has overcome everything,

which means a time that has ceased to progress, a time without

progress or without a future (corresponding to a space without horizon):

call it a stop-time or “end of history” when everything has been accomplished

or fulfilled.

The difficulty is that for Blanchot temporality does not coincide with

history but exceeds it, interminably, as if at the end of history we were “delivered

over to another time”  (“What remains after the system

– the naught left over, still to be expended – is the push of dying in its

repetitive novelty” . In his essay on Bataille Blanchot asks

us to imagine living our lives twice, once according to the time of the possible

“as something we comprehend, grasp, bear, and master . . . by relating

it to some good or to some value” -some end or purpose; and another

according to an impossible, anarchic time or “time as something that escapes

all employment and all end, and more, as that which escapes our

very capacity to undergo it, but whose trial we cannot escape. Yes, as

though impossibility, that by which we are no longer able to be able, were

waiting for us behind all that we live, think, and say”.

The moral is (once more) that “possibility is not the sole dimension of our

existence”

Picture therefore Hegel sitting for the portrait that Bataille interprets.

This would be Hegel as the last man (a “Hegel living: the travesty of a

completed Meaning”) that is, Hegel passive and waiting

with nothing left to wait for: Hegel no longer coinciding with himself,

en detour to a nonrelation, becoming a visage without site or perspective,

framed by exteriority, thinking mad, Nietzsche-like thoughts (the only

thoughts left to think: “Nothing ends, everything begins again”;

 “There is nothing identical except for the fact that everything returns”

 By rights, or in keeping with the unitary rigor of

philosophy, Hegel ought not to have allowed himself to be turned into a

portrait (“Hegel the impostor”. In the event, availing himself

in this fashion, he opened a window in the history of reason, turned

himself into a presence that is no longer present: slipped, so to speak, into

the Outside. So it is not surprising that, on Bataille’s reading, fear is written

on Hegel’s face.

Maurice Blanchot – The Refusal of Philosophy

Gerald L. Bruns

Writing is forsakenness: being forsaken (not by others, says Kafka, but

by oneself) : carried away by a worldless existence, inhabiting- no, not inhabiting,

being lost, being at a loss, wandering in a place that is not a

world. Better to call it a space without a world: a placeless space, a surface

across which one is dispersed, no longer a resident of oneself but dispossessed,

turned out of oneself, identifying oneself with errancy, separation,

drift. “Wandering in the Wilderness” becomes Kafka’s watchword.  Blanchot

refers to this as “the Abraham perspective” (ELS2/SL7o). In “How to

Read Abraham?” Blanchot reads Kafka’s Diaries (particularly the entries

from 1922) as a document of this perspective, summarized by Kafka’s

remark: “I live elsewhere” (29 January 1922: Diaries, p. 409) , where elsewhere

is not a private, interior, subjective space: not an imaginary space, a

dreamworld, nor is it a place set part on the model of aesthetic differentiation:

a museumlike preserve free from the claims of knowledge. Rather it

is a place where these claims have been superseded by the claim of writing

itself.

This place is where art is. Art neither dreams nor creates, nor does it describe

things either true or imaginary. What is true has no need for art; it is

a plenum. The true exhausts everything that is. The same is true of the

imaginary (in either its Aristotelian or Sartrean versions), which pours itself

into every vacuum, exhausts every absence, consumes it with its power

of possibility. But the world of art is the nonidentical; that is, in a world in

which things are recognizable, identifiable, self-identical, part of language,

“there is no place for art” (EL89!SL75)’

For art is linked, precisely as Kafka is, to what is “outside” the world [ “hors”

du monde 1, and it expresses the profundity of this outside [dehors 1 bereft of

intimacy and repose – this outside which appears when even with ourselves,

even with our death, we no longer have relations of possibility. Art is the

consciousness of this “misfortune.” It describes the situation of one who has

lost himself, who can no longer say “me,” who in the same movement has

lost the world, the truth of the world, and belongs to exile, to the time of distress

when, as Htilderlin says, the gods are no longer and are not yet. This

does not mean that art affirms another world, at least not if it is true that art

has its origin, not in another world, but in the other of all worlds. (EL89-90/

SL7S)

Art is a “movement outside the true” [demarche hors du vrai]” (EL92!

SL77) . It neither dreams nor creates – it demands. In this event the writer

experiences art as an incapacitation, a pure passivity, insomnia, waiting,

dying- “not death, alas, but the eternal torment of dying” (Diaries, p.

302). This is a demand which presupposes, not the possibility of action,

but its impossibility: a demand that exacts a useless patience. Kafka calls

it, Beckett-like, the “old incapacity” (Diaries, p. 33).

Maurice Blanchot

The Refusal of Philosophy

Gerald L. Bruns

Coronavirus, Psychoanalysis, and Philosophy

The French philosopher Alain Badiou (2020), after specifying that this epidemic is nothing new or extraordinary, adds: “we know that the world market, combined with the existence of vast under-medicalized zones and the lack of global discipline when it comes to the necessary vaccinations, inevitably produces serious and devastating epidemics.” And he goes on to say that “the planetary diffusion of this point of origin [Wuhan]” is “borne by the capitalist world market and its reliance on rapid and incessant mobility.” He is hinting that epidemics due to the worldwide (capitalist) market are completely different from those that spread in pre-capitalist times! This is of course quite absurd. I wonder what the link is between the existence of medically under-served zones (which exist of course, especially in Africa) and the origin and spread of Covid-19. What is puzzling is that Wuhan is by no means an under-medicalized zone (in fact, the Chinese response to the epidemic was highly effective) and the virus first spread in the wealthiest parts of the world, where the health system is quite efficient. In fact, Marxist philosophers must be evoking all of these problems (the capitalist market, poor areas, etc.) as if reciting a litany, as a conditioned reflex, even if these problems have no clear connection with other kinds of ills we are dealing with.

Badiou, like others, is evidently mixing up modernization and capitalism. By modernization I  mean the expansion of technology and the application of scientific discoveries within society, a process that has historically coincided with the development of capitalism but does not necessarily identify with the latter. I wonder whether the anti-capitalism of so many actually conceals simply a rejection of modern technological society, a somewhat regressive aspiration.

The limit of every ideology – therefore also of the neo-Marxist or neoanarchist ones I am targeting here – is trying to force anything that happens into a predetermined framework. Of course, theories are indispensable to simplify the chaotic complexity of the world, but they always risk being a bed of Procrustes onto which reality is forced. Some refuse to admit that reality can refute or relativize their theories and will always come up with ways to find their ideas confirmed. Many academic “critical theories” lack any critical spirit. An epidemic, whether it was the plague, or cholera, and so on, used to be interpreted as a divine punishment for human sins. Today, instead, an intellectual elite interprets an epidemic as a punishment that human beings inflict upon themselves. Many think that “nature rebels against humans”. Nature has taken the place of God as the punisher. But for others, Homo sapiens ruin themselves for the sin of having generated capitalistic societies.

Sergio Benvenuto June 1, 2020

В ПАМЕТ НА ЦВЕТАН МАРАНГОЗОВ

СМЪРТТА е абстракция, твърде материалистическа може би, но по-скоро сингулярен свършек на сингулярна мирова точка, причудлива и неприобщена като планетата Планемо, извън хегелианските синтези, суперпозициониране на сингулярни точки извън идентичност и смисъл, извън заедност (каква противна дума за Цветан), по-скоро ефект на нелокалност извън негентропичните граматики, извън още по-жалките идеологически интерпелации, и нищо чудно ако само егоцентриците се окажат завършени алтруисти в това преливане на светове с илюзията за подреденост, по-скоро периодичност на хаоса (човекът е периодическо животно, Ницше), където този „исторически” свят е квантово неразположен и компрометиран, и произходът му е задължен на каламбури, в нелингвистичната сърцевина на невъзможно-Реалното, и там нищо не заслужава да бъде отслужвано в категорични императиви, too late to be legal, и в стоическа абстиненция чашата на масата прелива празна, както празният говор разобличава пълното говорене на християнски, комунистически и демократични аватари и псевдо-Спасители, самонаели се да изпият съдбовната чаша, която не съществува, освен в имагинерните им нарцисизми, и именно Цветан, последният егоцентрик на Последната вечеря, с проникновените си критики отваря път, за да го затвори, в безкрайния травматизъм на самодеструктивни светове с отсъстващи детерминанти и залози.

Златомир Златанов

It seems that we must eventually learn to live in a world with untrustworthy replicators. One sort of tactic would be to hide behind a wall or run away. But these are brittle methods: dangerous replicators might breach the wall or cross the distance, and bring disaster. And, though walls can be made proof against small replicators, no fixed wall can be made proof against large-scale, organized malice. We will need a more robust, flexible approach … seems that we can build nanomachines that act somewhat like the white blood cells of the human immune system: devices that can fight not just bacteria and viruses, but dangerous replicators of all sorts.

Gibson, Neuromancer

ЛЪВОВ МОСТ

Висиш на Лъвов мост

И как метафората ще  развиеш

Поднесена  е наготово

В метонимия звънтяща

На трамвайни релси

Историята мародерства

Под хълбока на Сердика

С оглозган камък

Всеядно стилизира

Липсата на стил

В ликвидни мизансцени

Руините орнаментира

Как мислиш

Може би реликви

Или пък франчайз

Или джентрификация

На  сувенирни медальони

Стоиш на моста

лъв император роб

лайф-стайлинговани фланьори

на реминисцентна Ulpia

балкански нобели

на мракобесие

под форма на емпатия

Как мислиш

Се лекува подаграта

С горещата вода

На  минерали

До репликата на хотел Максим

неаполинерно

Реката се изтичаше под моста

И  в кафене The Bridge

На островния тротоар

Си сменяха местата

Мостови клиенти

На разпадаща се темпоралност

поради липсата

на обективно време

Как мислиш

Дали все още

отсреща в сградата

пред  срутване на Гешев

(с предпазни тенти)

Стражарите играят

на ашици

С протезното   изкуствено око

на   Гео Милев

But what of suicide, which is simply a quickening of  a mandatory death? Death is an anti-teleology, to wait only for more nothingness. For there cannot be a final nothingness, one which could find any less or more meaning  than there has been up until now, there has been nothing  all along, and death shall alter nothing too. And so I found in the possibility of suicide nothing more than there was already, a decision of the same. Cioran said, “a book is a suicide postponed.” (A Methodology of Possession. On the Philosophy of Nick Land, James Ellis, 2020).

Вместо Чоран тук  Елис в новата си впечатляваща книга трябваше да цитира Бланшо, от когото Чоран очевидно е почерпил вдъхновение.

И тъй като не го прави, ще го направя аз.

To write one’s autobiography, in order either to confess or to engage in self-analysis or in order to expose oneself to the gaze of all, in the manner of a work of art, is perhaps to seek to survive, but through a perpetual suicide—total  insofar as fragmentary death. To write (of) oneself is to cease to be, in order to confide in a guest/host – the other, a reader—who will  henceforth have as charge and  as life nothing but your inexistence ( Maurice Blanchot).

СОЦИОЛОГИЧЕСКА ПРОГНОЗА

Тези единични красиви скали, издигащи се от морето, са вкаменени вулканични гърла на in-existent  гео-травма.

Изчезналият древен океан Тетида също е in-existent, но той е форсирал Индия от южното полукълбо на север и резултатът от сблъсъка е евроазиатският материк с пространна планинска верига по цялото протежение.

Продуктивното несъзнавано няма субект.

Примерно, вече се знае, че след 200 милиона години Африка по същия начин на субдукция (подплъзване между океанска и земна кора) ще се сблъска с Европа.

Също като океана Тетида Средиземно море, люлката на цивилизацията, ще изчезне.

Лицата на континентите са екзистенция на нещо, което е престанало да има екзистенция, но фактически ги е причинило.

Ако in-existent изчезне от дадено място, ще се появи на друго или ще се върне на същото място, за да го подсети за онтологическата му нестабилност

В случая Германия и Франция ще станат планински страни, Британия ще се отмести към северния полюс и кралицата вероятно ще морфира в ескимос, а някоя госпожа Меркел в Брунхилде или Кримхилде по избор.

Орбан ще прекоси унгаро-финската си фантазия за концлагерна идентичност.

Крим ще се присъедини към източна Сахара.

На мястото на Балканите ще се издигне огромен планински масив, на чийто ледников уейстленд мумифицирани зомбита ще се имплиментират в титулатурата на пропусната среща с Реалното.

Да мислим контингентното приютява възможността за нашето собствено не-битие.

Какви македонци, какви българи, какви исторически екзистенции? Зайците пресмятат ли колко лисици ще се появят напролет?

Гледах Жокера най-после, съвсем случайно.

Ако фабулата се бе задържала до неуравновесената майка и осиновеното дете (но всъщност това е цялата история), щяхме да имаме нещо, което изобилства в тукашното кино и литература.

Тоест киноразказ на равнището на желанието, което винаги е желанието на Другия.

Но оттук нататък филмът изцяло се измества, слиза на равнището на влечението, безфабулно, нелогично, деструктивно.

Всички влечения са влечение към смъртта. Todestrieb не се нуждае както българския от предлог. Един руски лаканианец предлага смъртовлечение.

Защо не скоросмъртница в българския вариант, това е схванато точно във фолк-психологията въпреки натурализма. Алкохолизмът е една от формите на влечение.

Теорията за различните нива на желание и влечение е добре известна, но не и на тукашните идиоти, един от които заявил, че може да играе по-добре от Хоакин Финикс. Няма българин, който да играе нищото на влечението.

Това говори какво е равнището тук във всички сфери, един културен фашизъм, но и това определение тук не е популярно, макар че усилено се практикува наистина във всичко псевдо-българско. Фашизъм  не като фашио, а като фелацио, и това трябва да се тълкува буквално – българското кино и литература са зализани като за пред Погледа, и самозализани като селски ерген, който е научил английски.

Но и за западния зрител облекчението настъпва, когато все пак вижда героя там, където му е мястото, в лудницата. Облекчение, но не и сублимация, нито катарзис.

И разбира се смехът без субект, акузматичният глас на влечението. Идиотът казва – и аз мога да се смея така. Но смехът не е негов, нито на Финикс. Смехът е на Жокера, който не съществува.

Човекът на изкуството измря, остана само шоуто.