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Thursday 30 October 2014

The Crisis of University Education



The advent of globalization since the mid-twentieth century in India saw the rise of privatization in almost every sphere of commerce and even such resources as human intellectual capital is now being exploited as trained labor in the form of outsourcing and prospects being developed very deliberately in the field of engineering and medicine. As a parallel to that we have institutions that cater to the needs of the globalizing trend to keep up their market value such as the various engineering and medical institutes which are seen as the most prestigious colleges some among them being All India Institute of Medical Sciences and Indian Institute of Technology or commerce colleges such as the Indian Institute of Management. The complete professionalization of education in these branches has led to a never-ending demand manufactured by the corporations and reflected in the society by the manufactured aspirations of the mainstream population. This curbs the progressive forces which try to build themselves from within the society as the general consensus among the masses becomes that competition is the best self-checking and sieving mechanism that picks a few good men from a batch of rotten apples and even though the generalization is often crude and illogical, the critique of competition is never voiced in proper terms. The problem with competition lies in its very nature, being the driving force behind capitalism which again leads to globalization turning India towards a path of Western development creating the same illusions of egalitarianism through equal chances at competition turning the whole arena of varied social space divided by ethnicity, caste, race, gender and other forms of inequalities and creating an open market system at the risk of marginalizing the already oppressed classes. But the whole illusion of development is somehow preserved in the hearts and minds of the aspiring students through preservation of institutes such as those aforementioned with adequate autonomy. As we take a deeper look into this supposed autonomy, we come to realize that the autonomy that is so flagrantly proclaimed by the institutions and by which they earn their present reputation is actually only limited to the academia. Even less, as the idea of fruition in engineering courses is to get a proper placement in a private corporation along with a proper degree and the students are led to believe that the two come in combination and are inseparable from one another. If one is separated from another, for instance, if the degree is attained by a student but not an internship, all he sees before him is a market where his skills and all that he has learnt are inefficient in order for him to be productive to that market. Herein we witness the context to question the totality of study given in these forms of professional education to which completion is only attained when a proper place is accorded to each student as though he were a cog in a machine and leads to the regression of a utilitarian society. This framework is justified by the economical basis of capitalism and corporate concepts of supply and demand but what is really amusing to observe is the manipulation of culture and consent by forces of capitalism to such an extent that their sole basis of education becomes a market which only seems open to better opportunities and prospects but are constantly rigged by those with huge amassed capital. It is in this form of an analysis that we cease to see the society as stratified into various strata like that of a totem pole but divided into two classes which is the working class and the ruling class. The intellectual grounds or places of study set by the ruling classes are only to reap and harvest the intellectual labor of the working classes and in this manner even the spaces of universities are governed by the dynamics of open spaces where a direct master and slave servitude is seen if viewed properly especially the professional ones even the ones that are government regulated. This form of an education tends to alienate the student from his field of study as he is oriented not in his field of study as a virtue but in his field of study by virtue of market and hence is alienated from his labor in the same way a worker is alienated from his labor by the policy of minimum wages.
On the one hand are these universities where market forces reign supreme, and on the other hand there are Universities that teach sciences and humanities such as the University of Delhi, University of Calcutta, Jawaharlal Nehru University to name a few. But even in these universities we have a wave of opportunism that seeps in from the general economic percept of the society which has already been characterized earlier. This force creates the same hegemony over intellectual labor controlled by the ruling classes that jeopardize the space for organic growth of intellectuals. This form of hegemony is imposed not just on the students but also upon the teachers by the forces through the tool of administration that is given the sole function to control and regulate the intellectual production and oversee the development of proper products out of their machinery. For the most part, the teachers and students rely most upon the administration which again is regulated by the bureaucratic University Grants Commission which levels out systems of study and syllabus that have to be taught in the universities and the teachers have little say in it unless the hardly voice their opinion through unions. Even lesser regard in the formulation of courses and syllabi is given to students for they are seen as too imprudent to be considered for an opinion. This is how hegemony is imposed upon the students and teachers and is regulated by the administration.
Now we move on to describe what a crisis inherently is and how the crisis is different in this case and why one must apprehend all previous connotations attached to the word crisis in this specific case. When we talk about crisis in general, we talk of it with regard to a system. But here, as we have analyzed, the cause of the crisis is the very extension of system into university space. That being stated, to deal with such a crisis, one must not rely on a higher force which is the general protocol for dealing with a crisis. In this case, the solution to the crisis needs to emerge from within the working classes itself because it is their space that is being distorted by market forces and conventional dogmas. What is being stated here might seem as a superfluous extrapolation of class identity in university and to some it might even seem a futility but even as they might not agree with the class identity as mentioned above, the idea of the consumer culture and its negative impact on education ought to be intelligible to them.
Before moving on to solutions, we ought to take a deeper look into the various complex forms that this crisis has raised upon the life of an individual student from more personal perspectives. The first and most important point to tackle is the disillusionment faced by the students when they indirectly confront such a reality but never get the grasp of its actuality. Most common students do not properly know the difference between proper knowledge and commoditized knowledge but as an instinctual unconscious act can understand the difference between the two. When he begins to connect the proverbial dots and makes the conclusion that the knowledge is indeed for a specific purpose rather than for a general holistic purpose, he would immediately, in order to not just succeed but excel in his field of study would conform to that specificity. This will reduce his scope and consequently his capability to gather proper amounts of knowledge and rather than treating it as an idea of the mind to be meditated at, one would think of it as matter that is to be used not in terms of theoretical understanding and then moving to practical application but treating his acquired knowledge as a form of commodity to exploit or reap the benefits of. This would surely lead to his personal productivity but it would at the same time derail the effect of study on him. This creates a certain sense of nihilism and negations of certain forms of thought that are generally not permissible in the university space are legitimized such as desensitization towards gender and race and practice of class hierarchy in a socio-economic manner. In such a case, only due to a minor flaw in the system of education, which is just one of the aspects of the crisis, creates a huge impact on the complete secularity and sovereignty of the university.
The problems mentioned above and the System in which these problems exist is the very crises we should seek to resolve. A progressive refueling of students is needed to bring them to the necessary social consciousness required for them to fully understand their role not as a material cog but an entity capable of proper human thought and action. With the realization of this new role, they will seek to break free from their pre-existing roles in that they, as the working class would want to take ownership of the means of production, so would the students and teachers.

Sunday 21 September 2014

How Kropotkin Escaped Prison

The attempt had been settled for the next day. Further postponement would
have been dangerous. In fact, the carriage had been taken notice of by the hospital
people, and something suspicious must have reached the ears of the authorities,
as on the night before my escape I heard the patrol officer ask the sentry who
stood opposite my window, “Where are your ball cartridges?” The soldier began
to take them in a clumsy way out of his cartridge pouch, spending a couple of
minutes before he got them. The patrol officer swore at him. “Have you not been
told to-nigbt to keep four ball cartridges in the pocket of your coat?” And he stood
by the sentry till the latter put four cartridges into his pocket. “Look sharp!” he
said as he turned away.

The new arrangements concerning the signals had to be communicated to me
at once; and at two on the next day a lady — a dear relative of mine — came to
the prison, asking that a watch might be transmitted to me. Everything had to go
through the hands of the procureur; but as this was simply a watch, without a
box, it was passed along. In it was a tiny cipher note which contained the whole
plan. When I read it I was seized with terror, so daring was the feat. The lady,
herself under pursuit by the police for political reasons, would have been arrested on the spot, if any one had chanced to open the lid of the watch. But I saw her
calmly leave the prison and move slowly along the boulevard.
I came out at four, as usual, and gave my signal. I heard next the rumble of the
carriage, and a few minutes later the tones of the violin in the gray house sounded
through our yard. But I was then at the other end of the building. When I got
back to the end of my path which was nearest the gate, — about a hundred paces
from it, — the sentry was close upon my heels. “One turn more,” I thought — but
before I reached the farther end of the path the violin suddenly ceased playing.
More than a quarter of an hour passed, full of anxiety, before I understood the
cause of the interruption. Then a dozen heavily loaded carts entered the gate and
moved to the other end of the yard.
Immediately, the violinist — a good one, I must say — began a wildly exciting
mazurka from Kontsky, as if to say, “Straight on now, — this is your time!” I
moved slowly to the nearer end of the footpath, trembling at the thought that the
mazurka might stop before I reached it.
When I was there I turned round. The sentry had stopped five or six paces
behind me; he was looking the other way. “Now or never!” I remember that
thought flashing through my head. I flung off my green flannel dressing-gown
and began to run.

For many days in succession I had practiced how to get rid of that immeasurably
long and cumbrous garment. It was so long that I carried the lower part on my
left arm, as ladies carry the trains of their riding habits. Do what I might, it would
not come off in one movement. I cut the seams under the armpits, but that did not
help. Then I decided to learn to throw it off in two movements: one casting the
end from my arm, the other dropping the gown on the floor. I practiced patiently
in my room until I could do it as neatly as soldiers handle their rifles. “One, two,”
and it was on the ground.
I did not trust much to my vigor, and began to run rather slowly, to economize
my strength. But no sooner had I taken a few steps than the peasants who were
piling the wood at the other end shouted, “He runs! Stop him! Catch him!” and
they hastened to intercept me at the gate. Then I flew for my life. I thought of
nothing but running, — not even of the pit which the carts had dug out at the
gate. Run! run! full speed!
The sentry, I was told later by the friends who witnessed the scene from the
gray house, ran after me, followed by three soldiers who had been sitting on the
doorsteps. The sentry was so near to me that he felt sure of catching me. Several
times he flung his rifle forward, trying to give me a blow in the back with the
bayonet. One moment my friends in the window thought he had me. He was so
convinced that he could stop me in this way that he did not fire. But I kept my
distance, and he had to give up at the gate.

Safe out of the gate, I perceived, to my terror, that the carriage was occupied
by a civilian who wore a military cap. He sat without turning his head to me.
“Sold!” was my first thought. The comrades had written in their last letter, “Once
in the street, don’t give yourself up: there will be friends to defend you in case of
need,” and I did not want to jump into the carriage if it was occupied by an enemy.
However, as I got nearer to the carriage I noticed that the man in it had sandy
whiskers which seemed to be those of a warm friend of mine. He did not belong
to our circle, but we were personal friends, and on more than one occasion I had
learned to know his admirable, daring courage, and how his strength suddenly
became herculean when there was danger at hand. “Why should he be there?
Is it possible?” I reflected, and was going to shout out his name, when I caught
myself in good time, and instead clapped my hands, while still running, to attract
his attention. He turned his face to me — and I knew who it was.
“Jump in, quick, quick!” he shouted in a terrible voice, calling me and the
coachman all sorts of names, a revolver in his hand and ready to shoot. “Gallop!
gallop! I will kill you!” he cried to the coachman. The horse — a beautiful racing
trotter, which had been bought on purpose — started at full gallop. Scores of voices
yelling, “Hold them! Get them!” resounded behind us, my friend meanwhile
helping me to put on an elegant overcoat and an opera hat. But the real danger
was not so much in the pursuers as in a soldier who was posted at the gate of
the hospital, about opposite to the spot where the carriage had to wait. He could
have prevented my jumping into the carriage, or could have stopped the horse,
by simply rushing a few steps forward. A friend was consequently commissioned
to divert this soldier by talking. He did this most successfully. The soldier having
been employed at one time in the laboratory of the hospital, my friend gave a
scientific turn to their chat, speaking about the microscope and the wonderful
things one sees through it. Referring to a certain parasite of the human body,
he asked, “Did you ever see what a formidable tail it has?” “What, man, a tail?”
“Yes, it has; under the microscope it is as big as that.” “Don’t tell me any of your
tales!” retorted the soldier. “I know better. It was the first thing I looked at under
the microscope.” This animated discussion took place just as I ran past them and
sprang into the carriage. It sounds like fable, but it is fact.
The carriage turned sharply into a narrow lane, past the same wall of the
yard where the peasants had been piling wood, and which all of them had now
deserted in their run after me. The turn was so sharp that the carriage was nearly
upset, when I flung myself inward, dragging toward me my friend; this sudden
movement righted the carriage.
We trotted through the narrow lane and then turned to the left. Two gendarmes
were standing there at the door of a public house, and gave to the military cap
of my companion the military salute. “Hush! hush!” I said to him, for he was still terribly excited. “All goes well; the gendarmes salute us!” The coachman
thereupon turned his face toward me, and I recognized in him another friend,
who smiled with happiness.
Everywhere we saw friends, who winked to us or gave us a Godspeed as we
passed at the full trot of our beautiful horse. Then we entered the large Nevsky
Prospekt, turned into a side street, and alighted at a door, sending away the
coachman. I ran up a staircase, and at its top fell into the arms of my sister-in-law,
who had been waiting in painful anxiety. She laughed and cried at the same time,
bidding me hurry to put on another dress and to crop my conspicuous beard. Ten
minutes later my friend and I left the house and took a cab.
In the meantime, the officer of the guard at the prison and the hospital soldiers
had rushed out into the street, doubtful as to what measures they should take.
There was not a cab for a mile round, every one having been hired by my friends.
An old peasant woman from the crowd was wiser than all the lot. “Poor people,”
she said, as if talking to herself, “they are sure to come out on the Prospekt, and
there they will be caught if somebody runs along that lane, which leads straight
to the Prospekt.” She was quite right, and the officer ran to the tramway car that
stood close by, and asked the men to let them have their horses to send somebody
on horseback to intercept us. But the men obstinately refused to give up their
horses, and the officer did not use force
As to the violinist and the lady who had taken the gray house; they too rushed
out and joined the crowd with the old woman, whom they heard giving advice,
and when the crowd dispersed they went away also.
It was a fine afternoon. We drove to the islands where all the St. Petersburg
aristocracy goes on bright spring days to see the sunset, and called on the way, in
a remote street, at a barber’s shop to shave off my beard, which operation changed
me, of course, but not very much. We drove aimlessly up and down the islands,
but, having been told not to reach our night quarters till late in the evening, did
not know where to go. “What shall we do in the meantime?” I asked my friend.
He also pondered over that question. “To Donon!” he suddenly called out to the
cabman, naming one of the best St. Petersburg restaurants. “No one will ever
think of looking for you at Donon,” he calmly remarked. “They will hunt for you
everywhere else, but not there; and we shall have a dinner, and a drink too, in
honor of the success of your escape.”

Monday 9 June 2014

CIA Dope Calypso

 ~By Allen Ginsberg

In nineteen hundred forty-nine
China was won by Mao Tse-tung
Chiang Kai Shek's army ran away
They were waiting there in Thailand yesterday

Supported by the CIA

Pushing junk down Thailand way

First they stole from the Meo Tribes
Up in the hills they started taking bribes
Then they sent their soldiers up to Shan
Collecting opium to send to The Man

Pushing junk in Bangkok yesterday
Supported by the CIA

Brought their jam on mule trains down
To Chiang Mai that's a railroad town
Sold it next to the police chief's brain
He took it to town on the choochoo train
Trafficking dope to Bangkok all day
Supported by the CIA

The policeman's name was Mr. Phao
He peddled dope grand scale and how
Chief of border customs paid
By Central Intelligence's U.S. aid

The whole operation, Newspapers say
Supported by the CIA

He got so sloppy and peddled so loose
He busted himself and cooked his own goose
Took the reward for the opium load
Seizing his own haul which same he resold

Big time pusher for a decade turned grey
Working for the CIA

Touby Lyfong he worked for the French
A big fat man liked to dine & wench
Prince of the Meos he grew black mud
Till opium flowed through the land like a flood

Communists came and chased the French away
So Touby took a job with the CIA

The whole operation fell in to chaos
Till U.S. intelligence came in to Laos

Mary Azarian/Matt Wuerker I'll tell you no lie I'm a true American
Our big pusher there was Phoumi Nosavan

All them Princes in a power play
But Phoumi was the man for the CIA

And his best friend General Vang Pao
Ran the Meo army like a sacred cow
Helicopter smugglers filled Long Cheng's bars
In Xieng Quang province on the Plain of Jars

It started in secret they were fighting yesterday
Clandestine secret army of the CIA

All through the Sixties the dope flew free
Thru Tan Son Nhut Saigon to Marshall Ky
Air America followed through
Transporting comfiture for President Thieu

All these Dealers were decades and yesterday
The Indochinese mob of the U.S. CIA

Operation Haylift Offisir Wm Colby
Saw Marshall Ky fly opium Mr. Mustard told me
Indochina desk he was Chief of Dirty Tricks
"Hitch-hiking" with dope pushers was how he got his fix

Subsidizing the traffickers to drive the Reds away
Till Colby was the head of the CIA

Monday 2 June 2014

Marxism, Psychoanalysis and the Real

 ~By Eric Fromm

During the last 35 years, I have written many works, in which — under different aspects — I tried to explain that there are not only points where Marxism and psychoanalysis overlap but that there is also an intrinsic interdependency between the two. This means, I do not only believe that a synthesis is possible but also an existential necessity.

Freud and Marx have in common that both — the first contrary to pre-Marxist sociology, the second contrary to earlier psychology — are concerned not as much with superficial phenomena as rather with driving forces, which act in certain directions and with varying intensity, and evoke phenomena that are changing and temporary.

Psychoanalysis is the only scientific form of psychology, as Marxism is the only scientific form of sociology. Only these two systems allow us to understand the hidden driving forces behind the phenomena and to predict what happens to an individual in a certain society when, under certain conditions, the acting forces evoke phenomena that seem to be exactly the opposite of what they actually are. In the field of individual psychology as well as in sociology, non-dynamic thinking is surprised when deeply effecting, existential transformations occur, while dynamic thinking, which recognizes forces that remain invisible from the surface, is able to predict probable transformations.

This does not mean that Marx or Freud were absolute determinists. I believe, that from a philosophical perspective their position partially overlaps with that of Spinoza, who said that man would not be free if he was determined by forces acting behind his back and defining his fate. For Spinoza this thought is a central problem of ethics; for Marx it is the core of class consciousness and revolutionary action. For Freud this thought plays a major role in the conscious realization of subconscious conflicts in which his therapy based. It might be interesting to note, that already Rosa Luxemburg used the concept of subconsciousness; admittedly in the sense of blindly acting historical forces and not, as Freud did, for subconscious psychic forces.
However, Freud’s and Marx’s theories have a common element in the assumption that man is driven by forces. Realization and awareness of these will lead to liberation, even though only within the boundaries set by society and human nature.

I would like to add that Freud’s system was developed under the influence of 19. century mechanistic materialism, a philosophy that Marx had already overcome. As a result, Freud described man as an isolated mechanism driven by mere physiological needs. If we want to adjust psychoanalysis to the needs of social research, we need to break this narrow framework of mechanistic materialism and transport Freud into the framework of humanistic philosophy of history. Then, the primary focus is no longer only on man’s drives, in which his development differs the least from the animal — but about man’s relationship with the world.
Here, the most significant difference between Marx and Freud becomes apparent. For Freud, man is, as mentioned, an isolated being that needs other human beings only to satisfy certain physiological needs. That means, Freud’s concept of man is that of a bourgeois involved in the commodities market. Marx designed a very different concept of man as a complete being who needs the world and whose passions lie in man’s potential energy to achieve man’s goals.

I believe, that psychoanalysis, when modified in the described sense, can be quite useful for the explanation of different phenomena, for which Marxist philosophy has so far not fully developed an analysis. These are the forms of freely evolving human energy for the purposes and needs of a certain social structure. I consider the social character as an essential element of the social situation and at the same time as a bond between economic structure of a society and its concepts. The human energy is a productive force like all natural forces. It is, however, an energy which does not act as a pure natural force, but always in a certain social form and structure which I call — in a dynamic sense — social character.

I further believe, that one can psychoanalytically explain — and that in great detail — how the process to determine social consciousness unfolds, how social categories determine man’s consciousness, how the social filter works, and why certain elements reach the conscious and others are banned from it. This implies, that there is not only a social consciousness, but also a social subconsciousness, which covers everything that is contrary to the structure of a given society. Society is not simply satisfied when man does not do what he is not supposed to do, but society also demands that he will neither think what he is not supposed to think; because the thought is the key to the action.
Psychoanalysis thus needs a revision by means of Marxist concepts, but also Marxism needs the addition of psychological concepts, because otherwise one would discuss man, who is the major theme of the Marxist thought, only in abstract-philosophical terms.

The Problem of Alienation

Alienation is a good example for the necessity to join dynamic psychology (or humanistic psychology, which are synonyms) and Marxist thinking. Already the prophets of the Old Testament faced the problem of alienation in the context of idolatry. Here, this concept emphasizes that these idols are mere things, man’s creation. If man worships things, then he is lost and becomes himself a thing. I believe, that industrial production emphasizes this alienation even more since man creates such gigantic organizations and products that he feels weak and powerless when facing them and rather submits than that he attempts to rule them. There is no clearer and more striking symbol of alienation than nuclear arms. Not only are they made by man’s hand but are also the result of man’s ingenious thinking. Nonetheless, it is these weapons that represent the most serious threat to the existence of mankind itself.
This is precisely what Marx had in mind when he said that things and circumstances put themselves above and against man; or as the American philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson once said “things are in the saddle. And ride mankind”.

However, also psychological mechanisms come here into play. If we really want to understand what alienation is then we may not consider this term only in an abstract-philosophical manner but we(?) also have to see what happens to the alienated individual in an empirical and psychological manner: in what way he feels weak and powerless, what fears he endures and what kind of safety he finds in worshiping forces that become the more powerful the more helpless he feels. One can of course describe all this in philosophical terms. I am, however, afraid that there are limits to this. If we are not able to describe alienation psychologically and cannot experience what it means, then it becomes itself an alienated concept.

Psychoanalysis and Art

Psychoanalysis is very closely related to phenomena of art. But what is psychoanalysis actually concerned with? Ultimately, it aims to recognize what is really real contrary to what commonsense misleadingly considers to be real. Most of what is real is not conscious and most of what forms the content of our consciousness is mere fiction. When, for example, the analysis focuses on dreams, it deals with dream consciousness, which is all that what has been banned from waking consciousness because it did not pass the social filter. In sleep, man is both more intelligent and more irrational than when awake. We can, for example, see that many people are remarkable creative in their dreams; they dream small, great, and often very original dramas. However, the same people have, when awake, only the most profane thoughts.

This leads to the conclusion that “man knows much of what he does not know”. Social adaption makes man blind towards numerous facts, which he actually senses but of which he is not fully conscious. Furthermore, it seems apparent that man is more creative than society allows him to be. He is also more radical. Society’s interest does not lie in man’s free development. But in all past and current forms of society, the interest is simply to make man as useful and available as possible and to exploit his energy to the maximum for the purposes of the society.
Humanistic psychoanalysis, a revision of Freudian psychoanalysis, which is rather concerned with the totality of human experience than only with strivings and drives, can clearly show that in all past and current societies man has been only partially awake, and that the larger part of what he consciously thinks is fiction, given to him by society, not only as a component of unavoidable oppression but also positively as ideology.
Art has the same function. Its task is to get through to the reality. A great painter or a great dramatist is able to show us what is “really real” and not simply what is conventional, acceptable or pleasant. One could probably say that great artists have always been society’s court jesters, which were permitted to tell mankind the truth. And telling the truth means seeing the reality, not being blind. In history, art’s function was to keep mankind from slipping into total sleep and being constantly subjected to fictions of his consciousness. Great dramas and artworks always show that a reality exists, of which man is not consciously aware, which he can, however, experience — for minutes or whole hours — through the artist’s eyes.

If Hamlet had gone to a psychoanalyst, he would have said: my stepfather is a decent man and also my mother is without flaw, but still I have a bad feeling. The fact that his mother and stepfather are murderers is so inconceivable that it could not penetrate his consciousness. But only the ghost, the spirit of his father, can convince Hamlet that his suspicion is justified. Here, we face the paradox that an individual has to act in a mad way to see the entire truth, which is from the viewpoint of the so called commonsense improbable.
If Josef K. from Kafka’s “Process” had gone to a psychiatrist, he would have said: I am fine, I have a good job, lead a normal sex life. But last night, I had a dream which disturbs me. Then he would have told him what Kafka describes in the “Trial”. But what Kafka writes in his novel is Josef K’s reality. Josef K. is a normal individual who — exactly because he is “normal” — can not see the truth. And Kafka is actually such a great artist because he does show us the anatomy, the reality of this “normal” individual, who is actually very sick. The focus here is set on the pathology of normality.

What the psychoanalyst shares with the artist is that he sees every individual as the hero of the drama; whether this concerns a so called interesting individual is irrelevant. Every individual is a drama’s hero. He is an intelligent being, who was thrown into the world, and in conflicts with frightening forces and obstacles he tries to bring sense to his life. This attempt has usually a dramatic outcome. In the entire history, man has mostly been a dramatic hero. This hero is however interesting, not because he has this or that complex, but because he represents a specific human drama. The psychoanalyst is not an artist or dramatist, he is no Shakespeare, but he has to have the eyes of a dramatist to be able to conceive the reality of man. In what a great artist universally depicts, the analyst has to see what is “really real” in man.

Thursday 29 May 2014

What is Proletarian Culture?

Every ruling class creates its own culture, and consequently, its own art. History has known the slave-owning cultures of the East and of classic antiquity, the feudal culture of medieval Europe and the bourgeois culture which now rules the world. It would follow from this that the proletariat has also to create its own culture and its own art.

The question, however, is not as simple as it seems at first glance. Society in which slave owners were the ruling class, existed for many and many centuries. The same is true of feudalism. Bourgeois culture, if one were to count only from the time of its open and turbulent manifestation, that is, from the period of the

Renaissance, has existed five centuries, but it did not reach its greatest flowering until the nineteenth century, or, more correctly, the second half of it. History shows that the formation of a new culture which centers around a ruling class demands considerable time and reaches completion only at the period preceding the political decadence of that class.

Will the proletariat have enough time to create a “proletarian” culture? In contrast to the regime of the slave owners and of the feudal lords and of the bourgeoisie, the proletariat regards its dictatorship as a brief period of transition. When we wish to denounce the all-too-optimistic views about the transition to socialism, we point out that the period of the social revolution, on a world scale, will last not months and not years, but decades – decades, but not centuries, and certainly not thousands of years. Can the proletariat in this time create a new culture? It is legitimate to doubt this, because the years of social revolution will be years of fierce class struggles in which destruction will occupy more room than new construction. At any rate the energy of the proletariat itself will be spent mainly in conquering power, in retaining and strengthening it and in applying it to the most urgent needs of existence and of further struggle. The proletariat, however, will reach its highest tension and the fullest manifestation of its class character during this revolutionary period and it will be within such narrow limits that the possibility of planful, cultural reconstruction will be confined.

On the other hand, as the new regime will be more and more protected from political and military surprises and as the conditions for cultural creation will become more favourable, the proletariat will be more and more dissolved into a socialist community and will free itself from its class characteristics and thus cease to be a proletariat. In other words, there can be no question of the creation of a new culture, that is, of construction on a large historic scale during the period of dictatorship. The cultural reconstruction, which will begin when the need of the iron clutch of a dictatorship unparalleled in history will have disappeared, will not have a class character. This seems to lead to the conclusion that there is no proletarian culture and that there never will be any and in fact there is no reason to regret this. The proletariat acquires power for the purpose of doing away forever with class culture and to make way for human culture. We frequently seem to forget this.

The formless talk about proletarian culture, in antithesis to bourgeois culture, feeds on the extremely uncritical identification of the historic destinies of the proletariat with those of the bourgeoisie. A shallow and purely liberal method of making analogies of historic forms has nothing in common with Marxism. There is no real analogy between the historic development of the bourgeoisie and of the working class.

The development of bourgeois culture began several centuries before the bourgeoisie took into its own hands the power of the state by means of a series of revolutions. Even when the bourgeoisie was a third estate, almost deprived of its rights, it played a great and continually growing part in all the fields of culture. This is especially clear in the case of architecture. The Gothic churches were not built suddenly, under the impulse of a religious inspiration. The construction of the Cologne cathedral, its architecture and its sculpture, sum up the architectural experience of mankind from the time of the cave and combine the elements of this experience in a new style which expresses the culture of its own epoch which is, in the final analysis, the social structure and technique of this epoch. The old pre-bourgeoisie of the guilds was the factual builder of the Gothic. When it grew and waxed strong, that is, when it became richer, the bourgeoisie passed through the Gothic stage consciously and actively and created its own architectural style, not for the church, however, but for its own palaces.

With its basis on the Gothic, it turned to antiquity, especially to Roman architecture and the Moorish, and applied all these to the conditions and needs of the new city community, thus creating the Renaissance (Italy at the end of the first quarter of the fifteenth century). Specialists may count the elements which the Renaissance owes to antiquity and those it owes to the Gothic and may argue as to which side is the stronger. But the Renaissance only begins when the new social class, already culturally satiated, feels itself strong enough to come out from under the yoke of the Gothic arch, to look at Gothic art and on all that preceded it as material for its own disposal, and to use the technique of the past for its own artistic aims. This refers also to all the other arts, but with this difference, that because of their greater flexibility, that is, of their lesser dependence upon utilitarian aims and materials, the ‘free’ arts do not reveal the dialectics of successive styles with such firm logic as does architecture.

From the time of the Renaissance and of the Reformation, which created more favourable intellectual and political conditions for the bourgeoisie in feudal society, to the time of the revolution which transferred power to the bourgeoisie (in France), there passed three or four centuries of growth in the material and intellectual force of the bourgeoisie. The Great French Revolution and the wars which grew out of it temporarily lowered the material level of culture. But later the capitalist regime became established as the ‘natural’ and the ‘eternal.’ Thus the fundamental processes of the growth of bourgeois culture and of its crystallisation into style were determined by the characteristics of the bourgeoisie as a possessing and exploiting class. The bourgeoisie not only developed materially within feudal society, entwining itself in various ways with the latter and attracting wealth into its own hands, but it weaned the intelligentsia to its side and created its cultural foundation (schools, universities, academies, newspapers, magazines) long before it openly took possession of the state. It is sufficient to remember that the German bourgeoisie, with its incomparable technology, philosophy, science and art, allowed the power of the state to lie in the hands of a feudal bureaucratic class as late as 1918 and decided, or, more correctly, was forced to take power into its own hands only when the material foundations of German culture began to fall to pieces.

But one may answer: It took thousands of years to create the slave-owning art and only hundreds of years for the bourgeois art. Why, then, could not proletarian art be created in tens of years? The technical bases of life are not at all the same at present and therefore the tempo is also different. This objection, which at first sight seems convincing, in reality misses the crux of the question. Undoubtedly, in the development of the new society, the time will come when economics, cultural life and art will receive the greatest impulse forward. At the present time we can only create fancies about their tempo. In a society which will have thrown off the pinching and stultifying worry about one’s daily bread, in which community restaurants will prepare good, wholesome and tasteful food for all to choose, in which communal laundries will wash clean everyone’s good linen, in which children, all the children, will be well-fed and strong and gay, and in which they will absorb the fundamental elements of science and art as they absorb albumen and air and the warmth of the sun, in a society in which electricity and the radio will not be the crafts they are today, but will come from inexhaustible sources of superpower at the call of a central button, in which there will be no “useless mouths,” in which the liberated egotism of mana mighty force! – will be directed wholly towards the understanding, the transformation and the betterment of the universe – in such a society the dynamic development of culture will be incomparable with anything that went on in the past. But all this will come only after a climb, prolonged and difficult, which is still ahead of us. And we are speaking only about the period of the climb.
But is not the present moment dynamic? It is in the highest degree. But its dynamics is centred in politics. The war and the revolution were dynamic, but very much at the expense of technology and culture. It is true that the war has produced a long series of technical inventions. But the poverty which it has produced has put off the practical application of these inventions for a long time and with this their possibility of revolutionising life.

This refers to radio, to aviation, and to many mechanical discoveries.

On the other hand, the revolution lays out the ground for a new society. But it does so with the methods of the old society, with the class struggle, with violence, destruction and annihilation. If the proletarian revolution had not come, mankind would have been strangled by its own contradictions. The revolution saved society and culture, but by means of the most cruel surgery. All the active forces are concentrated in politics and in the revolutionary struggle, everything else is shoved back into the background and everything which is a hindrance is cruelly trampled underfoot. In this process, of course there is an ebb and flow; military communism gives place to the NEP, which, in its turn, passes through various stages.

But in its essence, the dictatorship of the proletariat is not an organisation for the production of the culture of a new society, but a revolutionary and military system struggling for it. One must not forget this. We think that the historian of the future will place the culminating point of the old society on the second of August, 1914, when the maddened power of bourgeois culture let loose upon the world the blood and fire of an imperialistic war. The beginning of the new history of mankind will be dated from November 7, 1917. The fundamental stages of the development of mankind we think will be established somewhat as follows: prehistoric ‘history’ of primitive man; ancient history, whose rise was based on slavery; the Middle Ages, based on serfdom; capitalism, with free wage exploitation; and finally, socialist society, with, let us hope, its painless transition to a stateless commune. At any rate, the twenty, thirty, or fifty years of proletarian world revolution will go down in history as the most difficult climb from one system to another, but in no case as an independent epoch of proletarian culture.

At present, in these years of respite, some illusions may arise in our Soviet Republic as regards this. We have put the cultural questions on the order of the day. By projecting our present-day problems into the distant future, one can think himself through a long series of years into proletarian culture. But no matter how important and vitally necessary our culture-building may be, it is entirely dominated by the approach of European and world revolution. We are, as before, merely soldiers in a campaign. We are bivouacking for a day. Our shirt has to be washed, our hair has to be cut and combed, and, most important of all, the rifle has to be cleaned and oiled. Our entire present-day economic and cultural work is nothing more than a bringing of ourselves into order between two battles and two campaigns. The principal battles are ahead and may be not so far off. Our epoch is not yet an epoch of new culture, but only the entrance to it. We must, first of all, take possession, politically, of the most important elements of the old culture, to such an extent, at least, as to be able to pave the way for a new culture.

This becomes especially clear when one considers the problem as one should, in its international character. The proletariat was, and remains, a non-possessing class. This alone restricted it very much from acquiring those elements of bourgeois culture which have entered into the inventory of mankind forever. In a certain sense, one may truly say that the proletariat also, at least the European proletariat, had its epoch of reformation. This occurred in the second half of the nineteenth century, when, without making an attempt on the power of the state directly, it conquered for itself under the bourgeois system more favourable legal conditions for development.

But, in the first place, for this period of ‘reformation’ (parliamentarism and social reforms) which coincides mainly with the period of the Second International history allowed the working class approximately as many decades as it allowed the bourgeoisie centuries. In the second place, the proletariat, during this preparatory period, did not at all become a richer class and did not concentrate in its hands material power. On the contrary, from a social and cultural point of view, it became more and more unfortunate. The bourgeoisie came into power fully armed with the culture of its time. The proletariat, on the other hand, comes into power fully armed only with the acute need of mastering culture. The problem of a proletariat which has conquered power consists, first of all, in taking into its own hands the apparatus of culture – the industries, schools, publications, press, theatres, etc. – which did not serve it before, and thus to open up the path of culture for itself.

Our task is complicated by the poverty of our entire cultural tradition and by the material destruction wrought by the events of the last decade. After the conquest of power and after almost six years of struggle for its retention and consolidation, our proletariat is forced to turn all its energies towards the creation of the most elementary conditions of material existence and of contact with the ABC of culture – ABC in the true and literal sense of the word.

Someone may object that I take the concept of proletarian culture in too broad a sense. That if there may not be a fully and entirely developed proletarian culture, yet the working class may succeed in putting its stamp upon culture before it is dissolved into a communist society. Such an objection must be registered first of all as a serious retreat from the position that there will be a proletarian culture. It is not to be questioned but that the proletariat, during the time of its dictatorship, will put its stamp upon culture. However, this is a far cry from a proletarian culture in the sense of a developed and completely harmonious system of knowledge and of art in all material and spiritual fields of work. For tens of millions of people for the first time in history to master reading and writing and arithmetic is in itself a new cultural fact of great importance. The essence of the new culture will be not an aristocratic one for a privileged minority, but a mass culture, a universal and popular one. Quantity will pass into quality; with the growth of the quantity of culture will come a rise in its level and a change in its character. But this process will develop only through a series of historic stages. In the degree to which it is successful, it will weaken the class character of the proletariat and in this way it will wipe out the basis of a proletarian culture.

But how about the upper strata of the working class? About its intellectual vanguard? Can one not say that in these circles, narrow though they are, a development of proletarian culture is already taking place today? Have we not the Socialist Academy? Red professors? Some are guilty of putting the question in this very abstract way. The idea seems to be that it is possible to create a proletarian culture by laboratory methods.
In fact, the texture of culture is woven at the points where the relationships and interactions of the intelligentsia of a class and of the class itself meet. The bourgeois culture – the technical, political, philosophical and artistic, was developed by the interaction of the bourgeoisie and its inventors, leaders, thinkers and poets. The reader created the writer and the writer created the reader. This is true in an immeasurably greater degree of the proletariat, because its economics and politics and culture can be built only on the basis of the creative activity of the masses.

The main task of the proletarian intelligentsia in the immediate future is not the abstract formation of a new culture regardless of the absence of a basis for it, but definite culture-bearing, that is, a systematic, planful and, of course, critical imparting to the backward masses of the essential elements of the culture which already exists. It is impossible to create a class culture behind the backs of a class. And to build culture in cooperation with the working class and in close contact with its general historic rise, one has to build socialism, even though in the rough. In this process, the class characteristics of society will not become stronger, but, on the contrary, will begin to dissolve and to disappear in direct ratio to the success of the revolution. The liberating significance of the dictatorship of the proletariat consists in the fact that it is temporary – for a brief period only – that it is a means of clearing the road and of laying the foundations of a society without classes and of a culture based upon solidarity.

In order to explain the idea of a period of culture-bearing in the development of the working class more concretely, let us consider the historic succession not of classes, but of generations. Their continuity is expressed in the fact that each one of them, given a developing and not a decadent society, adds its treasure to the past accumulations of culture. But before it can do so, each new generation must pass through a stage of apprenticeship. It appropriates existing culture and transforms it in its own way, making it more or less different from that of the older generation. But this appropriation is not, as yet, a new creation, that is, it is not a creation of new cultural values, but only a premise for them. To a certain degree, that which has been said may also be applied to the destinies of the working masses which are rising towards epoch-making creative work. One has only to add that before the proletariat will have passed out of the stage of cultural apprenticeship, it will have ceased to be a proletariat.

Let us also not forget that the upper layer of the bourgeois third estate passed its cultural apprenticeship under the roof of feudal society; that while still within the womb of feudal society it surpassed the old ruling estates culturally and became the instigator of culture before it came into power. It is different with the proletariat in general and with the Russian proletariat in particular. The proletariat is forced to take power before it has appropriated the fundamental elements of bourgeois culture; it is forced to overthrow bourgeois society by revolutionary violence for the very reason that society does not allow it access to culture. The working class strives to transform the state apparatus into a powerful pump for quenching the cultural thirst of the masses. This is a task of immeasurable historic importance. But, if one is not to use words lightly, it is not as yet a creation of a special proletarian culture. ‘Proletarian culture,’ “proletarian art,” etc., in three cases out of ten are used uncritically to designate the culture and the art of the coming communist society, in two cases out of ten to designate the fact that special groups of the proletariat are acquiring separate elements of pre-proletarian culture, and finally, in five cases out of ten, it represents a jumble of concepts and words out of which one can make neither head nor tail.

Here is a recent example, one of a hundred, where a slovenly, uncritical and dangerous use of the term ‘proletarian culture’ is made. “The economic basis and its corresponding system of superstructures,” writes Sizoy, “form the cultural characteristics of an epoch (feudal, bourgeois or proletarian).” Thus the epoch of proletarian culture is placed here on the same plane as that of the bourgeois. But that which is here called the proletarian epoch is only a brief transition from one social-cultural system to another, from capitalism to socialism. The establishment of the bourgeois regime was also preceded by a transitional epoch. But the bourgeois revolution tried, successfully, to perpetuate the domination of the bourgeoisie, while the proletarian revolution has for its aim the liquidation of the proletariat as a class in as brief a period as possible. The length of this period depends entirely upon the success of the revolution. Is it not amazing that one can forget this and place the proletarian cultural epoch on the same plane with that of feudal and bourgeois culture?
But if this is so, does it follow that we have no proletarian science? Are we not to say that the materialistic conception of history and the Marxist criticism of political economy represent invaluable scientific elements of a proletarian culture?

Of course, the materialistic conception of history and the labor theory of value have an immeasurable significance for the arming of the proletariat as a class and for science in general. There is more true science in the Communist Manifesto alone than in all the libraries of historical and historico-philosophical compilations, speculations and falsifications of the professors. But can one say that Marxism represents a product of proletarian culture? And can one say that we are already making use of Marxism, not in political battles only, but in broad scientific tasks as well?

Marx and Engels came out of the ranks of the petty bourgeois democracy and, of course, were brought up on its culture and not on the culture of the proletariat. If there had been no working class, with its strikes, struggles, sufferings and revolts, there would, of course, have been no scientific communism, because there would have been no historical necessity for it. But its theory was formed entirely on the basis of bourgeois culture, both scientific and political, though it declared a fight to the finish upon that culture. Under the pressure of capitalistic contradictions, the universalising thought of the bourgeois democracy, of its boldest, most honest, and most far-sighted representatives, rises to the heights of a marvellous renunciation, armed with all the critical weapons of bourgeois science. Such is the origin of Marxism.
The proletariat found its weapon in Marxism not at once, and not fully even to this day. Today this weapon serves political aims almost primarily and exclusively. The broad realistic application and the methodological development of dialectic materialism are still entirely in the future. Only in a socialist society will Marxism cease to be a one-sided weapon of political struggle and become a means of scientific creation, a most important element and instrument of spiritual culture.

All science, in greater or lesser degree, unquestionably reflects the tendencies of the ruling class. The more closely science attaches itself to the practical tasks of conquering nature (physics, chemistry, natural science in general), the greater is its non-class and human contribution. The more deeply science is connected with the social mechanism of exploitation (political economy), or the more abstractly it generalises the entire experience of mankind (psychology, not in its experimental, physiological sense but in its so-called philosophic sense), the more does it obey the class egotism of the bourgeoisie and the less significant is its contribution to the general sum of human knowledge. In the domain of the experimental sciences, there exist different degrees of scientific integrity and objectivity, depending upon the scope of the generalisations made.

As a general rule, the bourgeois tendencies have found a much freer place for themselves in the higher spheres of methodological philosophy, of Weltanschauung. It is therefore necessary to clear the structure of science from the bottom to the top, or, more correctly, from the top to the bottom, because one has to begin from the upper stories.

But it would be naive to think that the proletariat must revamp critically all science inherited from the bourgeoisie before applying it to socialist reconstruction. This is just the same as saying with the utopian moralists: before building a new society, the proletariat must rise to the heights of communist ethics. As a matter of fact, the proletarian will reconstruct ethics as well as science radically, but he will do so after he will have constructed a new society, even though in the rough.

But are we not travelling in a vicious circle? How is one to build a new society with the aid of the old science, and the old morals? Here we must bring in a little dialectics, that very dialectics which we now put so uneconomically into lyric poetry and into our office bookkeeping and into our cabbage soup and into our porridge. In order to begin work, the proletarian vanguard needs certain points of departure, certain scientific methods which liberate the mind from the ideological yoke of the bourgeoisie; it is mastering these, in part has already mastered them. It has tested its fundamental method in many battles, under various conditions.

But this is a long way from proletarian science. A revolutionary class cannot stop its struggle because the party has not yet decided whether it should or should not accept the hypothesis of electrons and ions, the psychoanalytical theory of Freud, the new mathematical discoveries of relativity, etc. True, after it has conquered power, the proletariat will find a much greater opportunity for mastering science and for revising it. This is more easily said than done.

The proletariat cannot postpone socialist reconstruction until the time when its new scientists, many of whom are still running about in short trousers, will test and clean all the instruments and all the channels of knowledge. The proletariat rejects what is clearly unnecessary, false and reactionary, and in the various fields of its reconstruction makes use of the methods and conclusions of present-day science, taking them necessarily with the percentage of reactionary class-alloy which is contained in them. The practical result will justify itself generally and on the whole, because such a use when controlled by a socialist goal will gradually manage and select the methods and conclusions of the theory. And by that time there will have grown up scientists who are educated under the new conditions. At any rate, the proletariat will have to carry its socialist reconstruction to quite a high degree, that is, provide for real material security and for the satisfaction of society culturally before it will be able to carry out a general purification of science from top to bottom. I do not mean to say by this anything against the Marxist work of criticism, which many in small circles and in seminars are trying to carry through in various fields. This work is necessary and fruitful. It should be extended and deepened in every way. But one has to maintain the Marxian sense of the measure of things to count up the specific gravity of such experiments and efforts today in relation to the general scale of our historic work.

Does the foregoing exclude the possibility that even in the period of revolutionary dictatorship, there might appear eminent scientists, inventors, dramatists and poets out of the ranks of the proletariat? Not in the least. But it would be extremely light-minded to give the name of proletarian culture even to the most valuable achievements of individual representatives of the working class. One cannot turn the concept of culture into the small change of individual daily living and determine the success of a class culture by the proletarian passports of individual inventors or poets. Culture is the organic sum of knowledge and capacity which characterises the entire society, or at least its ruling class. It embraces and penetrates all fields of human work and unifies them into a system. Individual achievements rise above this level and elevate it gradually.

Does such an organic interrelation exist between our present-day proletarian poetry and the cultural work of the working class in its entirety? It is quite evident that it does not. Individual workers or groups of workers are developing contacts with the art which was created by the bourgeois intelligentsia and are making use of its technique, for the time being, in quite an eclectic manner. But is it for the purpose of giving expression to their own internal proletarian world? The fact is that it is far from being so. The work of the proletarian poets lacks an organic quality, which is produced only by a profound interaction between art and the development of culture in general. We have the literary works of talented and gifted proletarians, but that is not proletarian literature. However, they may prove to be some of its springs.

It is possible that in the work of the present generation many germs and roots and springs will be revealed to which some future descendant will trace the various sectors of the culture of the future, just as our present-day historians of art trace the theatre of Ibsen to the church mystery, or impressionism and cubism to the paintings of the monks. In the economy of art, as in the economy of nature, nothing is lost, and everything is connected in the large. But factually, concretely, vitally, the present-day work of the poets who have sprung from the proletariat is not developing at all in accordance with the plan which is behind the process of preparing the conditions of the future socialist culture, that is, the process of elevating the masses ...

Saturday 10 May 2014

Excerpts from Communicative Ethics

 ~By Jurgen Habermas

With the devaluation of the epistemic authority of the God’s eye view, moral commands lose their religious as well as their metaphysical foundation. This development also has implications for discourse ethics; it can neither defend the full moral contents of religious intuitions  nor can it represent the validity of moral norms in realist terms.

The fact that moral practice is no longer tied to the individual’s expectation of salvation and an exemplary conduct of life through the person of a redemptive God and the divine plan for salvation has two unwelcome consequences. On the one hand, moral knowledge becomes detached from moral motivation, and on the other, the concept of morally right action becomes differentiated from the conception of a good or godly life.
Discourse ethics correlates ethical and moral questions with different forms of argumentation, namely, with discourses of self-clarification and discourses of normative justification (and application), respectively. But it does not thereby reduce morality to equal treatment; rather, it takes account of both the aspects of justice and that of solidarity. A discursive agreement depends simultaneously on the nonsubstitutable “yes” or “no” responses of each individual and on overcoming the egocentric perspective, something that all participants are constrained to do by an argumentative practice designed to produce agreement of an epistemic kind. If the pragmatic features of discourse make possible an insightful process of opinion- and will-formation that guarantees both of these conditions, then the rationally motivated “yes” or “no” responses can take the interests of each individual into consideration without breaking the prior social bond that joins all those who are oriented toward reaching understanding in a transsubjective attitude.

However, uncoupling morality from questions of the good life leads to a motivational deficit. Because there is no profane substitute for the hope of personal salvation, we lose the strongest motive for obeying moral commands. Discourse ethics intensifies the intellectualistic separation of moral judgment from action even further by locating the moral point of view in rational discourse. There is no direct route from discursively achieved consensus to action. Certainly, moral judgments tell us what we should do, and good reasons affect our will; this is shown by the bad conscience that “plagues” us when we act against our better judgment. But the problem of weakness of will also shows that moral insight is based on the weak force of epistemic reasons and, in contrast with pragmatic reasons, does not itself constitute a rational motive. When we know what it is morally right for us to do, we know that there are no good (epistemic) reasons to act otherwise. But that does not mean that other motives will not prevail.

With the loss of its foundation in the religious promise of salvation, the meaning of normative obligation also changes. The differentiation between strict duties and less binding values, between what is morally right and what is ethically worth striving for, already sharpens moral validity into a normativity to which impartial judgment alone is adequate. The shift in perspective from God to human beings has a further consequence. “Validity” now signifies that moral norms could win the agreement of all concerned, on the condition that they jointly examine in practical discourse whether a corresponding practice is in the equal interest of all. This agreement expresses two things: the fallible reason of deliberating subjects who convince one another that a hypothetically introduced norm is worthy of being recognized, and the freedom of legislating subjects who understand themselves as the authors of the norms to which they subject themselves as addressees. The mode of validity of moral norms now bears the traces both of the fallibility of the discovering mind and of the creativity of the constructing mind.

The problem of in which sense moral judgments and attitudes can claim validity reveals another aspect when we reflect on the essentialist statements through which moral commands were previously justified in a metaphysical fashion as elements of a rationally ordered world. As long as the cognitive content of morality could be expressed in assertoric statements, moral judgments could be viewed as true or false. But if moral realism can no longer be defended by appealing to a creationist metaphysics and to natural law (or their surrogates), the validity of moral statements can no longer be assimilated to the truth of assertoric statements. The latter state how things are in the world; the former state what we should do.

If one assumes that, in general, sentences can be valid only in the sense of being “true” or “false” and further that “truth” is to be understood as correspondence between sentences and facts, then every validity claim that is raised for a nondescriptive sentence necessarily appears problematic. In fact, modern moral scepticism is based on the thesis that normative statements cannot be true or false, and hence cannot be justified, because there is no moral order, no such things as moral objects or facts. On this received account, the concept of the world as the totality of facts is connected with a correspondence notion of truth and a semantic conception of justification. I will very briefly discuss these questionable premises in reverse order.
A sentence or proposition is justified on the semantic conception if it can be derived from basic sentences according to valid rules of inference, where a class of basic sentences is distinguished by specific (logical, epistemological, or psychological) criteria. But the foundationalist assumption that there exists such a class of basic sentences whose truth is immediately accessible to perception or to intuition has not withstood linguistic arguments for the holistic character of language and interpretation: every justification must at least proceed from a pre-understood context or background understanding. This failure of foundationalism recommends a pragmatic conception of justification as a public practice in which criticizable validity claims can be defended with good reasons. Of course, the criteria of rationality that determine which reasons count as good reasons can themselves be made a matter for discussion. Hence procedural characteristics of the process of argumentation itself must ultimately bear the burden of explaining why results achieved in a procedurally correct manner enjoy the presumption of validity. For example, the communicative structure of rational discourse can ensure that all relevant contributions are heard and that the unforced force of the better argument alone determines the “yes” or “no” responses of the participants.

The pragmatic conception of justification opens the way for an epistemic concept of truth that overcomes the well-known problems with the correspondence theory. The truth predicate refers to the language game of justification, that is, to the public redemption of validity claims. On the other hand, truth cannot be identified with justifiability or warranted assertability. The “cautionary” use of the truth predicate — regardless of how well “p” is justified, it still may not be true — highlights the difference in meaning between “truth” as an irreducible property of statements and “rational acceptability” as a context-dependent property of utterances. This difference can be understood within the horizon of possible justifications in terms of the distinction between “justified in our context” and “justified in every context.” This difference can be cashed out in turn through a weak idealization of our processes of argumentation, understood as capable of being extended indefinitely over time. When we assert “p” and thereby claim truth for “p” we accept the obligation to defend “p” in argumentation — in full awareness of its fallibility — against all future objections.
In the present context I am less interested in the complex relation between truth and justification than in the possibility of conceiving truth, purified of all connotations of correspondence, as a special case of validity, where this general concept of validity is introduced in connection with the discursive redemption of validity claims. In this way we open up a conceptual space in which the concept of normative, and in particular moral, validity can be situated. The rightness of moral norms (or of general normative statements) and of particular normative injunctions based on them can then be understood as analogous to the truth of descriptive statements. What unites these two concepts of validity is the procedure of discursively redeeming the corresponding validity claims. What separates them is the fact that they refer, respectively, to the social and the objective worlds.

The social world, as the totality of legitimately ordered interpersonal relations, is accessible only from the participant’s perspective; it is intrinsically historical and hence has, if you will, an ontological constitution different from that of the objective world which can be described from the observer’s perspective. The social world is inextricably interwoven with the intentions and beliefs, the practices and languages of its members. This holds in a similar way for descriptions of the objective world but not for this world itself. Hence the discursive redemption of truth claims has a different meaning from that of moral validity claims: in the former case, discursive agreement signifies that the truth conditions of an assertoric proposition, interpreted in terms of assertability conditions, are fulfilled; in the latter case, discursive agreement justifies the claim that a norm is worthy of recognition and thereby itself contributes to the fulfillment of its conditions of validity. Whereas rational acceptability merely points to the truth of assertoric propositions, it makes a constructive contribution to the validity of moral norms. The moments of construction and discovery are interwoven in moral insight differently than they are in theoretical knowledge.

What is not at our disposal here is the moral point of view that imposes itself upon us, not an objective moral order assumed to exist independently of our descriptions. It is not the social world as such that is not at our disposal but the structure and procedure of a process of argumentation that facilitates both the production and the discovery of the norms of well-ordered interpersonal relations.

The constructivist meaning of moral judgments, understood on the model of self-legislation, must not be forgotten; but it must not obliterate the epistemic meaning of moral justifications either.

Monday 5 May 2014

Of the Role of Passions

~By Charles Fourier

All those philosophical whims called duties have no relation whatever to Nature; duty proceeds from men, Attraction proceeds from God; now, if we desire to know the designs of God, we must study Attraction, Nature only, without any regard to duty, which varies with every age, while the nature of the passions has been and will remain invariable among all nations of men.
The learned world is wholly imbued with a doctrine termed MORALITY, which is a mortal enemy of passional attraction.

Morality teaches man to be at war with himself, to resist his passions, to repress them, to believe that God was incapable of organizing our souls, our passions wisely; that he needed the teachings of Plato and Seneca in order to know how to distribute characteristics and instincts. Imbued with these prejudices regarding the impotence of God, the learned world was not qualified to estimate the natural impulses or passional attractions, which morality proscribes and relegates to the rank of vices.
It is true that these impulses entice us only to evil, if we yield to them individually; but we must calculate their effect upon a body of about two thousand persons socially combined, and not upon families or isolated individuals: this is what the learned world has not thought of; in studying it, it would have recognized that as soon as the number of associates (societaires) has reached 1600, the natural impulses, termed attractions, tend to form series of contrasting groups, in which everything incites to industry, become attractive, and to virtue, become lucrative.

The passions, believed to be the enemies of concord, in reality conduce to that unity from which we deem them so far removed. But outside of the mechanism termed “exalted,” emulatory, interlocked (engrenees) Series, they are but unchained tigers, incomprehensible enigmas. It is this which has caused philosophers to say that we ought to repress them; an opinion doubly absurd inasmuch as we can only repress our passions by violence or absorbing replacement, which replacement is no repression. On the other hand, should they be efficiently repressed, the civilized order would rapidly decline find relapse into the nomad state, where the passions would still be malevolent as with us. The virtue of shepherds is as doubtful as that of their apologists, and our utopia-makers, by thus attributing virtues to imaginary peoples, only succeed in proving the impossibility of introducing virtue into civilization.

We are quite familiar with the five sensitive passions tending to Luxury, the four affective ones tending to Groups; it only remains for us to learn about the three distributive ones whose combined impulse produces Series, a social method of which the secret has been lost since the age of primitive mankind, who were unable to maintain the Series more than about 300 years.
The four affective passions tending to form the four groups of friendship, love, ambition, paternity or consanguinity are familiar enough; but no analyses or parallels or scales have been made of them.

The three others, termed distributive, are totally misunderstood, and bear only the title of vices, although they are infinitely precious; for these three possess the property of forming and directing the series of groups, the mainspring of social harmony. Since these series are not formed in the civilized order, the three distributive passions cause disorder only. Let us define them.

10th. THE CABALIST is the passion that, like love, has the property of confounding ranks, drawing superiors and inferiors closer to each other. Everyone must recall occasions when he has been strongly drawn into some Path followed with complete success.

For instance: electoral cabal to elect a certain candidate; cabal on ‘Change in the stock-jobbing game; cabal of two pairs of lovers, planning a partie carrée without the father’s knowledge; a family cabal to secure a desirable match. If these intrigues are crowned with success, the participants become friends; in spite of some anxiety, they have passed happy moments together while conducting the intrigue; the emotions it arouses are necessities of the soul.
Far removed from the insipid calm whose charms are extolled by morality, the cabalistic spirit is the true destination of man. Plotting doubles his resources, enlarges his faculties. Compare the tone of a formal social gathering, its moral, stilted, languishing jargon, with the tone of these same people united in a cabal: they will appear transformed to you; you will admire their terseness, their animation, the quick play of ideas, the alertness of action, of decision; in a word, the rapidity of the spiritual or material motion. This fine development of the human faculties is the fruit of the cabalist or tenth passion, which constantly prevails in the labors and the reunions of a passionate series.

As it always results in some measure of success, and as its groups are all precious to each other, the attraction of the cabals becomes a potent bond of friendship between all the sectaires, even the most unequal.
The general perfection of industry will spring, then, from the passion which is most condemned by the philosophers; the cabalist or dissident, which has never been able to obtain among us the rank of a passion, notwithstanding that it is so strongly rooted even in the philosophers themselves, who are the greatest intriguers in the social world.

The cabalist is a favorite passion of women; they are excessively fond of intrigue, the rivalries and all the greater and lesser flights of a cabal. It is a proof of their eminent fitness (for the new social order, where cabals without number will be needed in every series, periodical schisms, in order to maintain a movement of coming and going among the sectaries of the different groups.

12th. THE COMPOSITE. – This passion requires in every action a composite allurement or pleasure of the senses and of the soul, and consequently the blind enthusiasm which is born only of the mingling of the two kinds of pleasure. These conditions are but little compatible with civilized labor, which, far from offering any allurement either to the senses or the soul, is only a double torment even in the most vaunted of work-shops, such as the spinning factories of England where the people, even the children, work fifteen hours a day, under the lash, in premises devoid of air.
The composite is the most beautiful of the twelve passions, the one which enhances the value of all the others. A love is not beautiful unless it is a composite love, combining the charm of the senses and of the soul. It becomes trifling or deception if it limits itself to one of these springs. An ambition is not vehement unless it brings into play the two springs, glory and interest. It is then that it becomes capable of brilliant efforts.
The composite commands so great a respect, that all are agreed in despising people inclined to simple pleasure. Let a man provide himself with fine viands, fine wines, with the intention of enjoying them alone, of giving himself up to gormandizing by himself, and he exposes himself to well-merited gibes. But if this man gathers a select company in his house, where one may enjoy at the same time the pleasure of the senses by good cheer, and the pleasure of the soul by companionship, he will be lauded, because these banquets will be a composite and not a simple pleasure.
If general opinion despises simple material pleasure, the same is true as well of simple spiritual pleasure, of gatherings where there is neither refreshment, nor dancing, nor love, nor anything for the senses, where one enjoys oneself only in imagination. Such a gathering, devoid of the composite or pleasure of the senses and the soul, becomes insipid to its participants, and it is not long before it “grows bored and dissolves.”

11th. THE PAPILLONNE [Butterfly] or Alternating. Although eleventh according to rank, it should be examined after the twelfth, because it serves as a link between the other two, the tenth and the twelfth. If the sessions of the series were meant to be prolonged twelve or fifteen hours like those of civilized workmen, who, from morning till night, stupefy themselves by being engaged in insipid duties without any diversion, God would have given us a taste for monotony, an abhorrence of variety. But as the sessions of the series are to be very short, and the enthusiasm inspired by the composite is incapable of being prolonged beyond an hour and a half, God, in conformity to this industrial order, had to endow us with the passion of papillonnage, the craving for periodic variety in the phases of life, and for frequent variety in our occupations. Instead of working twelve hours with a scant intermission for a poor, dull dinner, the associative state will never extend its sessions of labor beyond an hour and a half or at most two; besides, it will diffuse a host of pleasures, reunions of the two sexes terminating in a repast, from which one will proceed to new diversions, with different company and cabals.

Without this hypothesis of associative labor, arranged in the order I have described, it would be impossible to conceive for what purpose God should have given us three passions so antagonistic to the monotony experienced in civilization, and so unreasonable that, in the existing state, they have not even been accorded the rank of passions, but are termed only vices.

A series, on the contrary, could not be organized without the permanent cooperation of these three passions. They are bound to intervene constantly and simultaneously in the serial play of intrigue. Hence it comes that these three passions could not be discerned until the invention of the serial mechanism, and that up to that time they had to be regarded as vices. When the social order for which God has destined us shall be known in detail, it will be seen that these pretended vices, the Cabalist, the Papillonne, the Composite, become there three pledges of virtue and riches; that God did indeed know how to create passions such as are demanded by social unity; that He would have been wrong to change them in order to please Seneca and Plato; that on the contrary human reason ought to strive to discover a social condition which shall be in affinity with these passions. No moral theory will ever change them, and, in accordance with the rules of the duality of tendency, they will intervene for ever to lead us TO EVIL in the disjointed state or social limbo, and TO GOOD in the regime of association or serial labor.

The seven “affective” and “distributive” passions depend more upon the spirit than upon matter; they rank as PRIMITIVES. Their combined action engenders a collective passion or one formed by the union of the other seven, as white is formed by the union of the seven colors of a ray of light; I shall call this thirteenth passion Harmonism or Unityism; it is even less known than the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth, of which I have not spoken.

Unityism is the inclination of the individual to reconcile his own happiness with that of all surrounding him, and of all human kind, to-day so odious. It is an unbounded philanthropy, a universal good-will which can only be developed when the entire human race shall be rich, free, and just.
Questions regarding gallantly and the love of eating are treated facetiously by the Civilized, who do not comprehend the importance that God attaches to our pleasures. Voluptuousness is the sole arm which God can employ to master us and lead us to carry out his designs; he rules the universe by Attraction and not by Force; therefore the enjoyments of his creatures are the most important object of the calculations of God.
I shall, in order to dispose others to share my confidence, explain the object of one of these impulses, accounted as vicious.

I select a propensity which is the most general and the most thwarted by education: it is the gluttony of children, their fondness for dainties, in opposition to the advice of the pedagogues who counsel them to like bread, to eat more bread than their allowance.

Nature, then, is very clumsy to endow children with tastes so opposed to sound doctrines! every child regards a breakfast of dry bread as a punishment; he would wish for sugared cream, sweetened milk-food and pastry, marmalades and stewed fruit, raw and preserved fruit, lemonades and orangeades, mild white wines. Let us observe closely these tastes which prevail among all children; on this point a great case is to be adjudged: the question to be determined is who is wrong, God or morality?
God, dispenser of attraction, gives all children a liking for dainties: it was in his power to give them a liking for dry bread and water; it would have suited the views of morality; why then does he knowingly militate against sound civilized doctrines? Let us explain these motives.
God has given children a liking for substances which will be the least costly in the associative state. When the entire globe shall be populated and cultivated, enjoying free-trade, exempt from all duties, the sweet viands mentioned above will be much less expensive than bread; the abundant edibles will be fruit, milk-foods, and sugar, but not bread, whose price will be greatly raised, because the labor incident to the growing of grain and the daily making of bread is wearisome and little attractive; these kinds of labor would have to be paid much higher than that in orchards or confectioneries.

And as it is fitting that the food and maintenance of children should involve less expense than those of their parents, God has acted judiciously in attracting them to those sweetmeats and dainties which will be cheaper than bread as soon as we shall have entered upon the associative state. Then the sound moral doctrines will be found to be altogether erroneous concerning the nourishment of children, as well as upon all other points which oppose attraction. It will be recognized that God did well what he did, that he was right in attracting children to milk-foods, fruit, and sweet pastries; and that, instead of foolishly losing three thousand years in declaiming against God’s wisest work, against the distribution of tastes and passionate attractions, it would have been better to study its aim, by reckoning with all those impulses combined, which morality insults singly, under the pretext that they are hurtful to the civilized and barbarous orders; this is true, but God did not create the passions for the civilized and barbarous orders. If he had wished to maintain these two forms of society exclusively, he would have given children a fondness for dry bread, and to the parents a love of poverty, since that is the lot of the immense majority of mankind in civilization and barbarism.

In the civilized state, love of eating does not ally itself to industry because the laboring producer does not enjoy the commodities which he has cultivated or manufactured. This passion therefore becomes an attribute of the idle; and through that alone it would be vicious, were it not so already by the outlay and the excesses which it occasions.
In the associative state love of eating plays an entirely opposite role; it is no longer a reward of idleness but of industry; because there the poorest tiller of the soil participates in the consumption of choice commodities. Moreover, its only influence will be to preserve us from excess, by dint of variety, and to stimulate us to work by allying the intrigues of consumption to those of production, preparation, and distribution. Production being the most important of the four, let us first state the principle which must guide it; it is the generalization of epicurism. In point of fact.

If the whole human race could be raised to a high degree of gastronomic refinement, even in regard to the most ordinary kinds of food, such as cabbages and radishes, and everyone be given a competence which would allow him to refuse all edibles which are mediocre in quality or treatment, the result would be that every cultivated country would, after a few years, be covered with delicious productions; for there would be no sale for mediocre ones, such as bitter melons, bitter peaches, which certain kinds of soil yield, upon which neither melons nor peaches would be cultivated; every district would confine itself to productions which its soil is capable of raising to perfection; it would fetch earth for spots where the soil is poor, or perhaps convert them into forests, artificial meadows, or whatever else might yield products of good quality. It is not that the passionate Series do not consume ordinary eatables and stuffs; but they desire, even in ordinary things such as beans and coarse cloth, the most perfect quality possible, in conformity to the proportions which Nature has established in industrial attraction.

The principle which must be our starting-point is, that a general perfection in industry will be attained by the universal demands and refinement of the consumers, regarding food and clothing, furniture and amusements.

My theory confines itself to utilizing the passions now condemned, just as Nature has given them to us and without in any way changing them. That is the whole mystery, the whole secret of the calculus of passionate Attraction. There is no arguing there whether God was right or wrong in giving mankind these or those passions; the associative order avails itself of them without changing them, and as God has given them to us.

Its mechanism produces coincidence in every respect between individual interest and collective interest, in civilization always divergent.
 It makes use of men as they are, utilizing the discords arising from antipathies, and other motives accounted vicious, and vindicating the Creator from the reproach of a lacuna in providence, in the matter of general unity and individual foresight.
Finally, it in nowise disturbs the established order, limiting itself to trial on a small scale, which will incite to imitation by the double allurement of quadruple proceeds and attractive industry.