Sunday, March 4, 2012

The Foundations of Ethics: Marx on Epicurean Materialism and the Domination of Sensuous Experience


Originally published in Found Object, Winter/Spring Issue, Number 2 (January/February 2001)

The Origins of Ethics in Marx's Writings

How are we to understand the ethical content of Marx's work? Is there a socialist ethic or an ethics of socialism? Of course, these are not new questions within the marxist tradition. One hundred years ago, debates over "ethical socialism" coincided with those over accumulation, imperialism, organization and party. Although the question of ethics has been raised most recently by neo-liberal and neo-authoritarian critics, the turn to the question of ethics has not occurred for intellectual reasons. It is occasioned by the passing of state capitalism in the USSR and by the simultaneous critique of the adaptation by the Left of the discursive categories of bourgeois science in the forms of scientific socialism and the science of historical materialism. However, to raise the question of ethics is one thing, but to uncover its location within critical theory is quite another.

  Broadly speaking, responses to the question of ethics have displayed two theoretical tendencies. In the first tendency, there is a moralization of Marx through the construction of the "young Marx." This tendency identifies the entirety of Marx's critique of morality with his readings of Hegel and Feuerbach, the assumption being that Marx's critique of morality is restricted to these early works, leaving the impression that his materialism is at best discontinuous from his critique of morality, and, at worst, simply derived from a previous, enlightenment moral theory.

The second tendency is that of the so-called orthodox marxists who hold that ethics are merely the reflection or representation of economic determinations, simply a transparent feature of the base/superstructure model. This view also displays strong evolutionary arguments (see Kautsky and cf. Habermas). Like the first tendency, the effort here is to restrict ethics to Marx's early works. However, the goal is not to moralize the works but to transform the later works into Promethean discourses of modern science, what Max Horkheimer called "Traditional Theory." The reduction of historical materialism to a science of social development attempts to remove ethics from consideration because of its "unscientific" nature. The very fact that ethics exist as unscientific simply means that at least one aspect of critical theory can not be reduced to the disciplining of science -- and it also means that there are possibly many more. Of course, these tendencies are not mutually exclusive, and evidence of both can be found in the writings of marxists as different as Althusser and Habermas, but to answer the question of ethics in Marx is to also critique the moralization of Marx, as well as the adoption by marxists of the techniques and discourses of modern science. For Marx, ethics and morality do exist scientifically, i.e., they exist both historically and materially. Marx's view of ethics is, in other words, an active expression of a materialism that holds the promise of emancipation.

This essay, by starting with Marx's later works, and particularly with the Grundrisse, departs from the two aforementioned tendencies by deriving Marx's ethics from his materialism, demonstrating that if we open the question of ethics in the later works, the ethos that emerges provides little comfort to those who would turn Marx into either a moralist, or a scientist of the social. Marx's project of "ruthless critique of all things" certainly included the critique of bourgeois ethics and morality. It is precisely because ethics are most often sought after or confined to Marx's "early works" that the question of ethics allows us to touch on the issues of the "young Marx" and the idea of an epistemological break, Marx's critique of morality, the place of this critique within the entirety of his development of materialism, and the relation of ethics itself to materialism. By beginning with the later works, I make an implicit argument for a large measure of continuity in Marx's project. It is true that works like the Holy Family are more overt critiques of morality, and we will discuss this work in more detail later. It is also true, I will argue, that these works should be seen as moments in Marx's overcoming and exposing of bourgeois morality and that the results of this critique are to be found within a later work like the Grundrisse. It is, to be sure, a critique different in style and depth than that found in the early works. Marx himself is often critical of these early efforts, but they are nonetheless continuous with his development of a materialism praxis. We can find a discourse on morality and ethics in the Grundrisse, but it is a discourse that pointedly avoids all sentimentality, development, or predetermined categories such as good and bad. It is a discourse in which ethics are derived from the practice of struggle. The struggles around morality are not a struggles over values, but conflicts in which each class is expressed in their means of reproducing the very struggle that creates them -- and finds emancipatory expression in their practices of resistance, pleasure, and authority, i.e., in their sensuous social activity.

Marx moved beyond the question of human nature or essence, Althusser notes, and towards a critical analysis of the reproduction of the everyday world of capital. If we do not identify this critique with bourgeois political economy, then we are obliged to view the concept of an epistemological break -- despite its value in showing Marx's overcoming of Hegelianism -- as concealing the continuity and development of Marx's materialism. By taking production as his stating point, Marx attempts to address a fundamental problem of all previous materialist philosophy identified in the First Thesis on Feuerbach as the problem of sensuous activity, pleasure and freedom. While Marx's rejection of Hegelian idealism was complete, his rejection of Feuerbach's critique is not a rejection of materialism. "The separation from the Hegelian School was here also the result of a return to the materialist standpoint" (Engels 1941:43) and the practical tasks of materialism, which always consist of "denouncing all myth, all mystifications, all superstitions" (Deleuze 1994:270), and ultimately changing the world.


The "Young Marx"

The ethical question is not a question of a "young Marx" vs. a mature Marx. Althusser was correct to see the construction of the "young Marx" as both a theoretical problem as well as a practical tactic of social democrats opposed to the Bolshevik party ideologies within the Cold War Left. Instead, the ethical question is fundamentally, "Which Marx? The Hegelian or the materialist?"

Althusser rightly noted that Marx systematically rejected both Hegel's idealism and Feuerbach's materialism, purging his work of both humanism and essentialism. This means that he rid himself of any ethics based upon an abstract notion of human nature or rights. Althusser maintained, however, that what remained after this revolution of subjectivity was a science of historical materialism. Aronowitz decisively critiques this move on the grounds that Althusser mistakes materialism, which is always a revolutionary ideological practice, for bourgeois science (Aronowitz 1988). There is indeed, one might say, a Hegelian Marx, else Marx and Althusser would not have spent so much time exorcising him. Nor would Lenin have suggested that one read Hegel's Logic to understand Capital. Of course, the Grundrisse was unknown to Lenin, but to follow up on a suggestion made by Nicolaus, with the Grundrisse it is no longer necessary to see Marx through Hegel, but instead as a materialist who gave us an alternative understanding of the dialectics of history and materialism.

At the same time, some writers like McCarthy in his otherwise admirable Marx and the Ancients, attempt to transform Marx's work into the discourse of Greek philosophy, as though Marx simply returned to the Greeks. These works exaggerate the continuity and at the same time they forget that what Marx said about Greek art is equally true of Greek philosophy: "One can not become a child again without becoming childish" (1973:103). In his dissertation, Marx critiqued Epicurean philosophy as an ascetic and contemplative philosophy that justified a withdrawal from the everyday world into the garden of philosophy.1 To find the ethical content of the Grundrisse, we can look to the example of Epicurus, who derived his ethics, including an egalitarianism and freedom quite uncharacteristic of most Greek philosophers, from his physics. In much the same way, we must derive Marx's ethics from his materialism. This is in fact how Marx undertook his own work on Epicurus: ". . . instead of presenting moments out of the preceding Greek philosophies as conditions for the life of the Epicurean philosophy, I reason back from the latter to draw conclusions about the former and thus let it itself formulate its own particular position" (1975b:493).

As we mentioned earlier, because the Grundrisse begins with the production of difference, it also has indeterminacy at its center. Determinism, Marx noted in the dissertation, is a crucial question of materialism. In his study of Democritius and Epicurus, Marx concluded that despite what he understood as Epicurean materialism's contemplative stance, it was a major advance over the Democritean system, which viewed the fall of the atom as determined, and removed chance from the workings of nature. While Democritius held that the atom fell in a straight line, and hence the experience of the world was essentially determined, Marx notes that Epicurus advanced the thesis that instead of falling in a straight line, atoms are subject to spontaneous swerves because of their effects upon one another. In this spontaneous swerve of the atom, Epicurus located his argument for the immanence of freedom in nature, and a world not determined for people, but made by them (Marx 1975). It is instructive to note that De Santillana (1961) sees the same element of freedom in Epicurean materialism that Marx discerns, and also goes further to interpret Epicurus and his more famous follower Lucretius within the political context of their time (a task that Marx did not do in his dissertation). Rejecting the repressive weight of Hamlet's "dread of something after death, the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns, puzzles the will," De Santillana seconds the traditional view of Epicurus as the first to bring humans to the status of god, or god to the status of human invention, and thereby free us of this myth: ". . . the man who destroyed the whole foundation of religious faith and overturned the altars and the temples of the gods, not by manly force, as Xerxes did, but by the force of argument" (Cicero 1972:116). And in doing so, the determinism and unity of divinity gave way to a materialism that located spontaneity and difference in nature. For materialism, chance is

an initial element of indeterminacy, of spontaneity, at the core of the atom, so that it should work out as freedom at every point, in nature and specifically in life. . . . The message, in any case is clear: freedom does not come . . . from above, and to the elect as Plato would have it in his Laws; it comes from the very core of things, within life itself. Hence it is every man's [sic] inalienable inheritance. (De Santillana 1961:291-292)

But we can not really say that Marx returned to Epicurus. Marx had long before, in his dissertation, condemned even Epicurean materialism as a contemplative and ascetic philosophy (which is also how Nietzsche would later describe it).2 However, it did have some very positive elements that Marx highlighted. It derived its ethics from its materialism, and more importantly, Epicurean materialism lacked essentialism. It placed all humanness into the sensuous experience of an indeterminate nature.3 Marx is particularly impressed with Epicurus locating freedom in nature itself, in the spontaneous swerve of the falling atom, and not in a transcendental category or in an essentialized Human Nature. Humans, from their sensations to their thoughts, never stand apart from nature. Epicurean materialism immersed all humans in the sensuous experience of an indeterminate nature. Marx in the Grundrisse does the same with the social relations that make us human.

The Grundrisse and Capital begin at a very different moments.4 Capital, for reasons of political practice, begins with the commodity and with the fetishism of commodities. I.I. Rubin convincingly places the fetishism of commodities at the center of Capital. "The theory of fetishism is, per se, the basis of Marx's entire economic system . . . revealing the illusion in human consciousness which originated in the commodity economy and which assigned to things characteristics which have their source in the social relations among people in the process of production" (Rubin 1993:5). But it is not Marx's economic system-- for he proposed no such theory -- but "the many capitals of capital" that spread with the commodity form to every corner of the social world. Capital begins with difference, with the multitude of commodities that appear as one vast accumulation, as the unity that reveals the imperialism inherent in commodity production (Luxemburg 1964). In the relentless drive by capital to overcome all limits, production must be subsumed under the commodity form. Rubin's analysis shows how Capital is an immanent critique, starting necessarily from the capitalists' own understanding of the world as a world of commodities. As described by Marx, it is the fetishism of commodities that gives the appearance of an infinite market of difference, but this difference is a mystery whose solution reveals the unity of capital accumulation made real by its essential imperialism. In the Grundrisse, Marx replaces the fetishistic difference of commodities with the real difference of production.

The Grundrisse is first distinguished by the fact that it is not written from the perspective of the capitalist. Instead, it is written from within capital, by an active opponent of capitalist relations. The Grundrisse does not begin with commodities but with "material production. Individuals producing in society -- hence socially determined individual production by an animal which can individuate itself only in the midst of society" (1973:83-84). But in starting with production, Marx avoids the error of bourgeois political economy, which also starts with an abstract discussion of production. Instead, he opposes the a priori totality of "production in general." Horkheimer further reminds us that for "traditional" or "scientific" theory, "production is the production of unity, and production is itself a product." Classical political economy is marked by a "determinative, ordering, unifying function" that serves as the "sole foundation for all else, and towards it all human effort is directed." This unifying function expresses itself as the "consciousness of the bourgeois savant in the liberal era" (Horkheimer 1972:198), and is opposed to critical theory, which holds that production is the production of difference. Political economy, in both its marxist and its bourgeois forms, aims to describe production "as encased in eternal natural laws independent of history, at which opportunity bourgeois relations are then smuggled in as the inviolable natural laws on which society in the abstract is founded" (Marx 1973:97). Marx's work is a critique of political economy. Horkheimer is simply paraphrasing Marx's statement that "the whole profundity of those modern economists who demonstrate the eternity and harmoniousness of existing social relations" lies in forgetting "that each determination is itself segmented many times over and splits into different determinations" (1973:85). The "essential difference" within any determination should never be forgotten. Production as an abstract unity, "production in general" did not concern Marx. And if "there is no production in general, then there is no general production, or it is always a particular branch of production, or it is a totality [comprised of many branches of production]. Production is also not only a particular production, rather, it is always a certain social body, a social subject, which is active . . ." (1973:85).

Production -- material production -- is the production of difference. But the production of difference is at the same time the consumption of this difference. In fact, it is this dialectic of production and consumption that Marx uses to demonstrate both his debt to and his overcoming of Hegel's dialectical method. For Marx states that "there is nothing simpler for a Hegelian than to posit production and consumption as identical" (1973:93), but it is not Marx's goal to prove this identity, but to critique it, to expose the non-identity of capital and labor, and thereby show that production is not merely consumption, but also the consumption of difference: "productive consumption" Marx calls it. In maintaining that production is the production of difference, Marx does not close off dialectical development, but opens it up to spiral ever further, acknowledging a fundamental indeterminacy to social relations. In a world of socially individuated humans producing in society, production is never the abstraction of "production in general," but is always expressed in material difference, i.e., in class. And ethics are inherent in the determinations of class, for Marx does not allow us any generalizations, even that of society. "This so-called contemplation from the standpoint of society means nothing more than the overlooking of the differences which express the social relation ( of bourgeois society). Society does not consist of individuals, but expresses the sum of the interrelations within which these individuals stand" (1973:264-265).

The Grundrisse is best understood as the foundation of a materialist critique. If we want to understand ethics in the Grundrisse, then we must see it as the foundation of a materialism that derives its ethics from the experience of social bodies immersed in the historical activity of the production of difference. For the Grundrisse has difference at its center, in other words, it has the historical indeterminacy of class struggle at its center. And Marx, to emphasize the point again, is not writing about this struggle from the perspective of the capitalist. Thus, it is difference that allows us to derive the ethical content from a work that rarely mentions the word "ethics." For the entirety of this essay, I take seriously the possibility that the Grundrisse is truly the foundation of an exposition of materialism. My argument will proceed bearing in mind that any discussion of ethics is obliged to avoid the trap of searching for moralizing statements in Marx's texts, and instead locate the ethical content in the critique itself, i.e., within materialism. Morality, Marx said, is a particular mode of production (1978:85). 

 The Critique of Bourgeois Morality: life as sensuous activity

In some ways,
The Holy Family is the first work of Cultural Studies, or at least of Critical Theory. All of the concerns are there, popular culture and the media, the "mass," authority, morality, punishment and ethics, the method of immanent critique that is to form the basis of the critique of political economy, and the technique based upon immanent critique and close reading. The texts (Sue's novel, the newspaper, the review of the novel) are deconstructed and recombined, with the addition of Marx's critique, into a new text. One moves from the review of a popular novel to the critique of Hegelianism itself, as well as a Nietzschian critique of morality. Certainly, it is a defiant rejection of bourgeois morality, ethics, and sexuality. Perhaps this is what is so important about The Holy Family, that it is where Marx takes up the problems of ethics and ethical life, following Rudolf through Parisian society in much the way one follows "ethical self-consciousness" in the Phenomenology through its development (another turning of Hegel on his head).5 It is also a critique that is never again given an extended, or explicit, treatment -- although one does hear it in the Manifesto in Marx's denouncement of marriage as a respectable form of prostitution and slavery. It is a critique that Marx himself critiques for its humanism, but the critique itself, as a ruthless critique of ideology, is never renounced. Indeed, The Holy Family was written at the same time as the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts, and so it is not the result of a youthful Marx's naiveté or an early Hegelianism, as it was at this time that Marx overcomes Hegel. A certain indeterminacy lies at the heart of Marx's critique of morality, but Marx realized that to critique morality was not enough. Marx therefore carries over his critique of the social relations of morality to his critique of political economy and social relations in general. The multiple determinations and overdeterminations of historical relations express the indeterminacy of nature and our attempts to control and rationalize it, first through others (slavery), and then directly (commodification, management, and supervision) and which has its expression in new forms of discipline and control (Marx 1973; Marx I, 1976; Deleuze 1994).

Marx establishes his position, which is an essential aspect of materialist philosophy, that there is no good or bad. The opposition of good and bad is not a dialectic, he says, but only a "mystery" of bourgeois morality. This view goes to the heart of his critique of Proudhon as having merely modified Hegel's Dialectic, making "every economic category" have two sides

. . . one good, the other bad. He looks upon these categories as the petty bourgeois looks upon the great men of history: Napoleon was a great man; he did a lot of good; he also did a lot of harm. The good side and the bad side, the advantages and the drawbacks, taken together form for M. Proudhon the contradiction in every economic category. The problem to be solved: to keep the good side, while eliminating the bad. [Marx then mocks Proudhon.]
Slavery is an economic category like any other. Thus it also has two sides. Let us leave alone the bad side and talk about the good side of slavery[!]. . . . (1978:104-105)

Marx accuses Proudhon of having read Hegel's ethical development of the spirit as expressing essential ethical qualities of good and bad. For Marx, ethics exist in the material situation itself, in this example, in the institution of slavery. The good of slavery is that without it, you would have no cotton, and no modern industry, and no world trade. "The value of slavery is not in any good inherent in the abstract concept of its thesis -- we have left aside its 'bad' side -- and it seems that the 'good' side is good only relative to whether you think that it is 'good' to have a system built upon slavery at all" (Marx 1978:105).

To remain within materialism, and not be reduced to the negative abstraction of good and bad, ethics must be derived from sensuous experience. Bourgeois morality seeks to limit sensuous experience at every opportunity because such limits are seen, as Freud pointed out, as the essential foundation for social life. This limit is a limit not of nature -- which the very indeterminacy of its material existence endows it an almost infinite productive potential (Epicurus 1964:11) -- but always a limit of capital. Freud later found, but could never admit, that the limits of the human psyche that he discovered were the products of the social relations of capital and specific to the bourgeois and petite bourgeois classes, and that even the Oedipal relation, supposedly so universal, was experienced first as a deployment within the bourgeoisie for the purpose of controlling itself and only later universalized to the other classes.6

It is sensuous experience that Marx takes up in the Holy Family, his first collaboration with Engels. Interweaving a critique of Szeliga's review of Eugene Sue's Mysteries of Paris with his own close reading of the text, Marx's critiques the authority of morality using sensuousness as the basis for human emancipation and not as a transcendental ideal. 
 
Marx rejects the science of his day which regards degeneracy as an explanation for poverty, deviance, and other social problems and conflicts. Degeneracy is only a mystification that conceals the real social conditions that are expressed through the bodies of humans producing socially. Marx finds the limit to human freedom not in the "mystery of degeneracy," but in the experience of capital relations in the everyday world. Marx speaks of Szeliga: "He proclaims as mysteries degeneracy [criminals, prostitutes, the poor, etc.] within civilization and rightlessness and inequality in the state." Marx sees no mystery in these conditions, after all "the credo of most states starts . . . by making the high and the low, the rich and the poor unequal before the law" (1943:70). Szeliga proclaims degeneracy in civilization and rightlessness in the state to be mysteries, which Marx says dissolves them into the "category mystery" which takes on an abstract existence apart "from present world conditions": "Having produced the category "Mystery" out of the real world, he produces the real world out of this category (75-76).

Rudolph, the Sue's protagonist, roams the streets of Paris, encountering representatives of the various social classes. But in Szeliga's review, even Sue's bourgeois morality, which at least recognizes the existence of other classes and moralities, is reduced to the category of "mystery." Of course, Feuerbach also used the metaphor of mystery, "but whereas Feuerbach disclosed real mysteries, [Szeliga] makes mysteries out of real trivialities. His art is not that of disclosing what is hidden, but of hiding what is disclosed" (Marx 1980:70). Rudolph's journey through the mysterious social hierarchy of Paris consists precisely in this hiding of what is disclosed, for no sooner is a "mystery" exposed than its expressive, affirmative aspect is subsumed under the sign of bourgeois morality and an ethic of bad conscience and revenge. In fact Marx effectively shows the role of revenge and punishment in Rudolph's administration of justice, thereby putting punishment at the center of Rudolph/Sue/Szeliga's bourgeois morality.

Rudolph's is a reactive stroll. The stroll has become familiar in some genres of critical theory. Closely associated with urbanism, the stroll, which dates as a theoretical subject to Simmel, Baudelaire, and Benjamin, is often conceived of as an emancipatory experience, an example being Deleuze and Guattari's discussion of Buchner's "Lenz" (Deleuze and Guatarri 1983:4-5). Lenz on his stroll is removed from the conditions that require that he "constantly situate himself socially, in relationship to the god of established religion, in relationship to his father, to his mother," and to the reproduction of capitalist relations. On his stroll Lenz experiences "not nature as nature, but [nature] as a process of production" (Deleuze and Guattari 1983:2). His stroll "emancipates him from the jail-yard of individual relations" (Emerson 1887). Conversely, Rudolph's stroll can be read as the steady accumulation of the very limits that Lenz seeks to momentarily escape. Rudolph seeks to enforce limits, especially to limit social production to proscribed paths (and hence conceal production's essential difference by giving it a false identity). Possessing the ability to reform even the most wretched person in accordance with his "impartial judgment" (Szeliga), Rudolph sets about reforming the lives of all the nere-do-wells he meets. In order to accomplish this task, he either punishes them in accord with the "ruthless . . . thought of pure criticism" (Szeliga), i.e., punishment and torture; or Rudolph brings them into the strictures of bourgeois morality, where "the ethics of political economy . . . acquisition, work, thrift, sobriety" (Marx 1978:97), dictate that they, like the characters he "reforms," should willingly die for their "master," having no other need than to serve him.7 Rudolph goes to a ball and finds the aristocracy in its everyday condition. He talks to two of the "most beautiful among the beautiful" and he expects to hear from them their joy regarding "the blessing of beloved children and the fullness" of a life spent seeing to the "happiness of a husband." At the very least, since he is amongst the aristocracy, he expects a certain moral supremacy that comes with political power. Instead, they gossip about adultery and the very real and decadent, morality of their peers, opening up a space for Szeliga/Sue's speculations on love and sensuality.

It is here that Marx reverses the terms of the discussion and unmasks real relations that are so easily proclaimed mysteries.8 Marx puts forward the materialist view that it is through sensuous activity -- in love and in labor -- that humans experience the world. It is within sensuous activity that we experience the production of desire, the utilization of human impulses, and the historical materiality of human relations. This sensuous activity has, since the end of feudalism, been increasingly expressed in the production of the general ideological practices of capital, commodity fetishism and the concealment of bourgeois morality through the production of the "mystery of speculative love." This is aptly shown by the character of the parson in Sue's novel. Marx points out that the parson's idea of love conforms to the institutional design of the church (1980:81) and not the actual sensuality of sex. The parson uses the metaphors of love -- which Marx deconstructs into the real social power of the church -- to conceal the real sensuousness of love, and to deny the very real things of sex. Szeliga asks:

What is the mystery of love? . . . Not the shady paths in the thickets, declaims the parson, "not the natural semi-obscurity of moonlight night nor the artificial semi-obscurity of costly curtains and draperies; no the soft and enrapturing notes of the harps and the organs, not the attraction of what is forbidden. . . . All this [curtains, draperies and organs] is only the mysterious. The mysterious in it is what excites, what intoxicates, what enraptures, the power of sensuality" (1980:81 interpolation by Marx).

To which Marx acidly replies: "Curtains and draperies! Soft and enrapturing notes! Even the organ! Let the reverend parson stop thinking of the church! Who would bring an organ to a love tryst?" The parson states that the "mysterious in [love] is what excites, what intoxicates, what enraptures, the power of sensuality." Sensuality therefore invokes the experience of these things. Marx argues that our sensuality is excited, intoxicated, enraptured in our experience of the world. He says

The parson advises us, after the fashion of speculative theology, to recognize sensuality as our own nature, in order afterwards to dominate it, i.e., to retract recognition of it. True, he wishes to dominate it only when it tries to assert itself at the expense of Reason -- will-power and love as opposed to sensuality are only the will-power and love of Reason. The unspeculative Christian also recognizes sensuality as long as it does not assert itself at the expense of true reason, i.e., of faith, of true love, i.e., of love of God, of true will-power, i.e., of will in Christ (1980:81).

The parson does acknowledge that sensuality "has such a tremendous power over us" because we will not recognize it as a part of our nature. For Szeliga, the mysterious power of love is not to be explained but why this refusal? "It is true that we [the parson or the church?] do not like to admit the power of sensuality. . . ." According to Szeliga

If then love ceases to be the essential element of marriage and of morality in general, sensuality becomes the mystery of love, of morality, of educated society -- sensuality both in its narrow meaning, in which it is a trembling in the nerves and a burning stream in the veins, and in the broader meaning, in which it is elevated to a semblance of spiritual power, to lust for power, ambition, craving for glory. . . . (Szeliga in Marx and Engels1980:81).

Marx then gives his final blow contra Szeliga, Sue and Hegel:
The parson hits the nail on the head. To overcome sensuality he must first of all overcome the nerve currents and the quick circulation of the blood.. . . . As soon as there is no more nerve current and the blood in the veins is no longer hot, the sinful body, this seat of sensual lust, becomes a corpse and the souls can converse unhindered about "general reason," "true love," and "pure mortals." The parson debases sensuality to such an extent that he abolishes the very elements of sensual love which inspire it -- the rapid circulation of blood, which proves that man does not love by insensitive phlegm; the nerve currents which connect the organ that is the main seat of sensuality with the brain. He reduces true sensual love to the mechanical secretio seminis and lisps with notorious German theologian: "Not for the sake of sensual love, not for the lust of the flesh, but because the Lord said: Increase and Multiply" (1980:82)

Love and labor are for Marx the real sensuous experiences of everyday life. The experience of Homo sapiens who are made human through their social production. Love is not a spiritual bond, nor does it represent the internal development of an absolute love in the ideas of humans. It is nature itself in humans and it must be dominated as nature is dominated. Even before labor there is sensuous activity, and this remains even after it becomes human sensuous activity through social labor. It is that part of us that is nature, not human nature, but nature-as-nature, which is historically prior to human social relations, although the two are historically linked.

The passion of love is incapable of having an interest in internal development because it can not be constructed apriori, because its development is a real one which takes place in the world of the senses and between real individuals . . . what Critical Criticism combats here is not merely love, but everything which is immediate, every sensuous experience, any and every real experience, the "whence" and the "whither" of which one never knows beforehand. (Marx 1980:30)

Hence Critical Criticism combats the everyday world of individuals producing in society, the "whence and whether" we can not know precisely because it is material production, and therefore, indeterminate. It is the production of difference. The particular production that concerns us is capitalist production, which is a historically situated domination of social production through the seemingly unlimited expansion of wage-labor and the concurrent commodification of the everyday (Marx 1980: 322-324). It is the particular character of domination that is found under capital that necessitates that we turn our attention towards the most terrible of expression of "moral" order, slavery.

Morality and Slavery

The domination of sensuality, or the domination of sensuous experience, is also the domination of human labor -- since it is labor that is so much a part of us and through which we create ourselves (Lefebvre 1991:74-75). Under capital, the domination of sensuous experience has its particular form in the work of supervision and management-- authority-- that pervades both family and work.9 However, as authority "necessarily arises where the direct production process takes the form of a socially combined process . . . it takes on two different forms" (Marx 1976 [III]:507). In the one, the increased cooperation inherent in the historical division of labor, authority can appear as a "
governing will . . . like the conductor of an orchestra" (Marx 1976 [III]:507; emphasis added) who leads, but is not the composer. The division of labor necessitates authority, but the expression of authority is specific to any process of social production. This is the second form of authority and it is the specificity of capital production that concerned Marx. While chattel slavery is the "high point" of the concentration of supervision, capital has its own concentrations of authority. The work of supervision and management is as "indispensable in the capitalist mode of production" as it is under slavery. Moreover, there is in both the tendency for supervision and management to become separate from ownership. In the case of Roman slavery, this tendency resulted in the villicus, the manager of a slave estate. In the case of American slavery, it is found in the position of the overseer, and in the separation of the house from the field slaves. Under capital, it is the slavery of the wage. But under capital, there is a multiplicity of supervisory positions so that even the individual capitalist can appear to another as a worker, for example, the industrial capitalist might appear as such to the financial capitalist. Marx actually applies Aristotle's description of the slave holder to the capitalist. The interpolated comments are Marx's:

'For the master' -- the capitalist -- 'proves himself such not by obtaining slaves' -- ownership of capital, which gives him the power to buy labor -- 'but by employing slaves' -- using laborers, nowadays wage-laborers, in the production process. 'There is nothing great or sublime about this science but whatever the slave is to perform, the master must be able to order. Whenever the masters are not compelled to plague themselves with supervision, the overseer assumes this honor, while the masters pursue public affairs or philosophy' (Marx 1976 [III]:509, quoting Aristotle, De Republica, Book I, 7).

Marx explains the importance of this science:

What Aristotle is saying, in very blunt terms, is that domination, in the economic as well as the political, imposes on those in power the functions of dominating, so that in the economic domain, they must know how to consume labour-power. And he adds that this supervisory work is not a matter of very great moment, which is why the master leaves the "honour" of this drudgery to an overseer as soon as he is wealthy enough (1976 [III]:509).

In the social domain, the critique of capital relations is also the critique of slave relations, there is, after all a reason why it is called wage-slavery. In a sense, Marx reveals to us the paradox of Hegel's statement that "A slave can have no duties; only a free man has them" (Hegel 1967:261). The "free man" is free to submit to duty. In other words, the free man has his freedom determined by his duty, his unfreedom. The slave, having no freedom, also has no duty. And having no duty, can not be fully human. But this does not go far enough. The specific aspect of capital's social domination in the capitalist mode of production is that the slave and the "free man" become one and the same. It is not a question of the contradictions between abstractions, but, of the conflicts around the ownership of production and the apparatus of supervision and administration (e.g., the state, the boss, the teacher, the doctor, etc.). The capacity to command the labor of others permeates the labor process in general, so that even the capitalist appears as "a functionary of capital, as a simple bearer of the labor process in general; as a worker, and a wage-worker at that" (Marx 1976 [III]::505). Marx draws this comparison of the slave and the "free worker":

The slave is the property of a particular master; the worker must indeed sell himself to capital, but not to a particular capitalist; and so within certain limitations he may choose to sell himself to whomever he wishes, and he may also change his master. The effect of all these differences is to make the free worker's work more intensive, more continuous, more flexible and skilled than that of the slave quite apart from the fact that they fit him for quite a different role. The slave receives the means of subsistence he requires in the form of naturalia which are fixed both in kind and quantity -- i.e., he receives use values. The free worker receives them in the shape of money, exchange values. . . . [The free worker] learns to control himself [his conversion of "money into whatever use-values he desires"] in contrast to the slave, who needs a master. (Marx 1976 [I]:I, 1032-1033)

At no point does Marx condemn slavery on the basis of abstract ethical concepts of good and bad. Instead, the critique of slavery serves to underscore the need to understand the ethical content of Marx's work in light of the materialist practice of deriving ethics from the conditions of life. The creation of capital's "free man" as the bearer of capital's authority -- who is in all senses the child of the Enlightenment -- has an important place in Marx's critique of morality, especially that of bourgeois discipline and punishment. The critique of bourgeois punishment is continuous with Marx's discussion of the work of supervision and management. This is, of course, ineluctably tied to the domination of Reason over sensual experience, which in turn intersects with human attempts to dominate nature, and which has been shown by the impressive research of the Frankfurt School to be a necessary aspect of the domination of humans by other humans. Of course, this form of domination is itself the domination of the everyday life of the person. It is in this sense that the domination of the finite time granted by life becomes the means by which we can understand capital as the crystallization of dead labor (Gulli 1996; Krysl 1997).

The versatility of the worker is the result of h(er/is) freedom and h(er/is) freedom is the result of the subsumption of h(er/is) work to the relations of capital. Versatility is an immediate result of the worker subsumed under capital. Capital colonizes differences so that instead of producing freedom, they produce the desire for exchange values. The alienation of the person's labor (and their labor from that of others), becomes a desired object (commodity) that stands outside, and above, the labor that produced it. Difference, the origin of freedom, instead is produced so as to deny freedom. The versatility of the worker under the societies of discipline, already the denial of the freedom of the free worker, gives way to the continuous difference, the constant "retraining" of the present societies of control (Deleuze 1990).  

Remarks

In the preface to his dissertation, Marx quotes Aeschylus' Prometheus defiantly responding to the god's messenger: "Be sure of this, I would rather not change my state of evil fortune for your servitude, / Better to be the servant of this rock, / Than to be the faithful boy to Father Zeus." Of course, it is easy to see this rock as a metaphor for materialism itself, which Marx never abandoned. The contradiction between freedom and the duty of the "free man" might also be seen in this passage. Someday, we must ask ourselves why so many editions of the "early works" begin with letters from Marx to his father. Or why we are to find Hegel looming over Marx, providing the only avenue for understanding Marx. "One must read Hegel to understand Marx." If it is not a father relationship that we often try to present in our genealogies of Marxism, then it is certainly a chronology of master and servants. Marx would have had none of this. He sides not with Hegel, but with Epicurus, for whom chance/spontaneity, and therefore freedom, was immanent in all of nature. Determinism, then, is a crucial question of materialism. Marx's epistemological break with Hegel is a meaningless question if there was never a clear unity.

There is no single ethics that covers all time and places, Engels notes (1941). Engels gives a later statement (which can used if his scientism is adequately critiqued; see Aronowitz, 1988):

We therefore reject every effort to impose on us any moral dogma whatsoever as an external, ultimate and forever immutable ethical law on the pretext that the moral world, too, has its permanent principles which stand above history and the difference between nations. We maintain on the contrary that all moral theories have been hitherto the product, in the last analysis, of the economic conditions of society obtaining at the time. And as society has hitherto moved in class antagonism, morality has always been class morality . . . we have not yet passed beyond class morality. A really human morality which stands above class antagonisms and above any recollection of them becomes possible only at that stage of society which has not only overcome class antagonism, but has forgotten them in practical life. (1978 :726-727)

Ethics are specific to the social bodies engaged in struggles around the production of sensuous activity, what we might now call "everyday life." It is not that Marx was a relativist any more than Nietzsche was one. He was not. But he did recognize difference in social production, and therefore ultimately rejected any universal of human nature, or transcendental category (except those segmented by multiple determinations, e.g., labor). Thus, Marx can assail slavery not on moral grounds, in terms of good or bad, right and wrong, etc., but on the grounds of pleasure, desire, and freedom, which exist materially.

Negri says that "to go back must be a passage into politics" (1991:103), and I think that this is the way to understand and prepare to answer the question of ethics in the Grundrisse. Like Capital, it is a political intervention. But by starting with production, the Grundrisse marks the return to materialism as political action. Therefore, any ethic in Marx must first be seen as an ethic of struggle and resistance.10 Ethics are derived from political practice, and the fundamental production of difference means that the political is particular to each class and segmented within each. To venture beyond this point would be to enter into a discussion of ideology in general, which I can not do here. But it is important to remark that the ethical question in the Grundrisse is inescapably linked to questions of ideology and class. However, we can also say, regarding the current ideological struggles within the left over the ethical question, that the moralization of Marx by Habermas, Benhabib, Taylor, MacIntyre, and others, is an attempt to work through the problems of materialism, and historical materialism, outside of the context of the very conditions that gave rise to the contradiction in the first place. An ethic that serves as the justification for bourgeois morality on the basis of Marx having been an "enlightenment thinker" ignores Marx's materialism. Marx is not an Enlightenment thinker. In going beyond Feuerbach, Marx also went beyond the Enlightenment totalization. As Marx said in a circular letter, when one joins the proletarian party, "the first requirement is that they do not bring any remnants of bourgeois, or petty bourgeois prejudices with them. . ." (1974:374). It is for this reason that I have avoided mention of alienation, so as to avoid any confusion of my position with those who make the ethical content of Marx rest solely upon the Feurerbachian idea of alienation, and in so doing reduce Marx's theory of the fetishism of commodities to an abstraction.

An affirmative ethics can derived from Marx, one that is emancipatory, that finds the ethical in the materiality of pleasure and that constantly opens new avenues of desire that are not limited by the needs of capital production, the morality of bourgeois authority and family, or even by the needs of a party. All such political practice is reactionary, as Marx points out, because it is not predicated on emancipation.


Notes
1 Epicurus' school was known as the Garden, much in the same way that Plato's school was known as the Academy.

2
George Sarton disputes this reading, arguing that the Epicureans, by their practice of gender equality and their public attacks on religion and superstition, were quite conspicuous to the authorities and were therefore ultimately viciously slandered and repressed. "Let the common people have all the superstitions they want, Plato and his disciples would have said, they are too stupid to contemplate the truth, they prefer lies. That may be true, but the immense difference between Plato and Epicurus consists in this vary fact, that the former was ready to exploit popular ignorance and credulity, while the latter does his best to eradicate them. [Epicurus was] the first to proclaim the social danger of superstition and the primary need of fighting it. The people must not be lied to according to the Platonic method; they must be told the truth; if they are not sufficiently educated for that, then they must be educated; the truth will make them free, naught else" (Sarton 1952:593).

3
Cornell West (1991) has mentioned what he calls Marx's "anti-foundationalism." However, I believe that the very use of the term transforms the question of ethics into a question of relativism. While this is clearly West's intention, and his work is an excellent critique of Kautsky in particular, West derives Marx's "ethical dimension" from his "historicism." The Hegelianism of this attempt is obvious and even quite bold, but West utterly neglects the place of both Epicureanism and materialism in general in Marx's writings.

4
Because of splits in the international movement, the Grundrisse remained virtually unknown until about thirty to forty years ago. So it is not surprising that it was eclipsed by Capital as the final word from Marx. Some would say for good reason. Once the Grundrisse began to circulate, it brought the inevitable comparison to Capital. It is in this comparison that we can find the avenue towards the materialism from which any socialist ethics must be and is derived. Many commentators acknowledge the separate importance of the Grundrisse, while at the same time find its unfinished condition unacceptable (a problem they curiously do not have with the second and third volumes of Capital). Others have complained that the Grundrisse is unreadable or an abandoned rough-draft of Capital, "a kind of intellectual, personal, and often indecipherable shorthand" (Hobsbawn in Negri 1991:1). Martin Nicolaus, characterized it as a rough-draft executed mainly for the purpose of "self-clarification" (1973:). In his commentary, Nicolaus points out that the Grundrisse can be thought of as Capital turned inside-out. This makes the two companion works, but works that differ because of Marx's method of presentation. The key difference being that "the Grundrisse and Capital have opposite virtues of form. The latter is the model of the method of presentation, the former the record of the method of working" (1973:61). But Nicolaus notes that much of the content of the Grundrisse is not carried over into Capital. Indeed, in the scheme of Marx's project, Capital was a popular political exposition of a much larger project It is entirely plausible that the Grundrisse and Capital are two different works. The plan of the Grundrisse shows it to be the foundation of a much larger project, touching on the entirety of Marx's effort to infuse materialism with history.

5
Foucault adds that "our age, whether through logic or through epistemology, whether through Marx or through Nietzsche, is attempting to flee Hegel" (Foucault 1971:235).

6
The family in Marx and Engels' Communist Manifesto is distinguished by its class relation. Often when speaking of the family, they are referring to the bourgeois family. More specifically, they are refereing to the bourgeois family is an institution for the exploitation of women: "Prostitution both public and private." See also Foucault's History of Sexuality (1980: ), and Marx's "Greed for Surplus Labor" in Capital (1976 [I]).

7
"Needlessness as the principle of political economy is most brilliantly shown in its theory of population. There are too many people. Even the existence of men is a pure luxury; and if the worker is 'ethical,' he will be sparing in procreation. (Mill suggests public acclaim for those who prove themselves continent in the sexual relations, and public rebuke for those who sin against such barrenness of marriage. . . . Is not this the ethics, the teaching of asceticism?) The production of people appears as a public misery" (Marx 1978:97).

8
"Spinoza belongs to a great tradition: the practical task of philosophy consists in denouncing all myths, all mystifications, all superstitions, whatever their origin. I believe that this tradition always involves a naturalist philosophy. Superstition is everything that keeps us cut off from our power of action and continually diminishes it. The source of superstition is the concatenation of sad passions, fear, the hope linked to fear, the anxiety that delivers us over to our phantoms. Spinoza knows, like Lucretius, that there are no joyful myths or superstitions. Like Lucretius, he sets the image of a positive Nature against the uncertainty of gods: what is opposed to Nature is not Culture, nor the state of reason, nor even the civil state, but only the superstitions that threaten all human endeavor. . ." (Deleuze 1992:270).

9
Thus calling into question Habermas's claims of a social life bifurcated into public/private, purposive/communicative, lifeworld/system.

10
It should be remembered that Marx quotes Prometheus Bound in the forward to his dissertation: "be sure of this, I would not change my state of evil fortune for your servitude. Better to be the servant of this rock, than to be faithful boy to Father Zeus" (Aeschylus 1942:140). This view is diametrically opposed to the words of Homer, which Plato uses to justify his authoritarianism: "Better to be the poor servant of a poor master, than to live like them the masses of people" (Plato 1924:216).



References and Bibliography
Aeschylus. 1956. Prometheus Bound in The Complete Greek Tragedies: Aeschylus II. Trans. David Greene. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Althusser, Louis. 1979. For Marx. New York: Verso Editions.

Aronowitz, Stanley. 1988. Science as Power: Discourse and Ideology in Modern Society. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

Buchner, Georg. 1977. "Lenz." In The Complete Works. New York: Avon Books.

Cicero. 1972. On The Nature of the Gods. New York: Penguin Classics.

De Santillana, Giorgio. 1961. The Origins of Scientific Thought from Anaxinmander to Proclus, 600 BC to 300 AD. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Deleuze, Gilles. 1990. "Postscript on the Societies of Control." October. (also published as "Poscript on Control Societies" in Gilles Deleuze: Negotiations (1994) New York: Columbia University Press.

____________. 1992. Expressionism in Philosophy: Spinoza. New York: Zone Books.

Deleuze, Gilles and Felix Guattari. 1983. Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo. 1887. "The Poet." In Essays: Second Series. Cambridge: Riverside Press.

Engels, Frederick. 1941. Ludwig Feuerbach and the End of German Classical Philosophy. New York: International Publishers.

Epicurus. 1964. Letters, Principal Doctrines, and Vatican Sayings. Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Company.

Foucault, Michel. 1972. The Archaeology of Knowledge and the Discourse on Language. New York: Pantheon Books.

_____________. 1980. The History of Sexuality, Volume I: Introduction. New York:Vintage.

Freud, Sigmund. 1961. Civilization and Its Discontents. New York: W.W. Norton.

Gulli, Bruno. 1996. "Time, Dead Labor, and Capital." City University of New York, Unpublished Manuscript.

Hegel, Georg F. 1967. Hegel's Philosophy of Right. Trans. T.M. Knox. New York: Oxford University Press.

Horkheimer, Max. 1972. Critical Theory: Selected Essays. New York: Continuum.

Krysl, Simon. 1997. "Time and Capital." Duke University, Unpublished Manuscript.

Lefebvre, Henri. 1991. The Critique of Everyday Life. New York: Verso.

Lucretius. 1966. De Rerum Natura with an English. Trans. W.H.D. Rouse. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

Luxemburg, Rosa. 1964. The Accumulation of Capital. New York: Monthly Review Press.

Marx, Karl. 1973. Grundrisse. Trans. Martin Nicolaus. New York: Penguin Press.

________. 1974. "Circular Letter to Bebel, Liebkneicht, Bracke, et al." In The First International and After: Political Writings, Volume III. New York: Random House.

________. 1975. "On the Difference Between the Democritean and Epicurean Philosophy of Nature." In Karl Marx and Frederick Engels, Collected Works, Vol. 1. Moscow: International Publishers.

________. 1975b. "Notebooks on Epicurean Philosophy." In Karl Marx and Frederick Engels, Collected Works, Vol. 1. Moscow: International Publishers.

________. 1976. Capital. Trans. Ben Fowkes. 3 vols. New York: Penguin Press.

________. 1978. "Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts of 1844." In The Marx-Engels Reader, 2nd ed. Robert C. Tucker, ed. New York: W.W. Norton.

Marx, Karl and Frederick Engels. 1980. The Holy Family or The Critique of Critical Criticism. Moscow: Progress Publishers.

Negri, Antonio. 1991. Marx Beyond Marx. New York: Autonomedia.

Nietzsche, Friedrich. 1974. The Gay Science: With a Prelude in Rhymes and an Appendix of Songs. Trans. Walter Kaufmann. New York: Vintage Press.

Plato/Jowett. 1924. "The Republic," in The Dialogues of Plato in 5 volumes. Trans. Benjamin Jowett. New York, Oxford University Press.

Rubin, I.I. 1993. Essays on Marx's Theory of Value. Montreal: Black Rose Press.

Sarton, George. 1952. A History of Science, Volume One: Ancient Science Through The Golden Age of Greece. New York: Wiley & Sons Science Editions.

Thoreau, Henry David. 1962. "Life Without Principle." In Thoreau: Walden and Other Writings. New York: Bantam Books.

West, Cornell. 1991. Ethical Dimensions of Marxist Thought. New York: Monthly Review Press.

Monday, February 20, 2012

Library of Congress archive: American Environmental Photographs, 1891-1936



The Library of Congress has an excellent online archive of environmental photographs taken by Chicago field ecologists during the formative years of ecology and the Chicago school of Sociology.


[Left:  Mesophytic forest, Cold Spring Harbor, New York, http://hdl.loc.gov/loc.award/icuaep.nyp9 ]


 
"Overview
 This collection consists of approximately 4,500 photographs documenting natural environments, ecologies, and plant communities in the United States at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century. Produced between 1891 and 1936 by a group of American botanists generally regarded as one of the most influential in the development of modern ecological studies, these photographs provide an overview of important representative natural landscapes across the nation. They demonstrate the character of a wide range of American topography, its forestation, aridity, shifting coastal dune complexes, and watercourses. Comparison of early photographs with later views highlights changes resulting from natural alterations of the landscape, disturbances from industry and development, and effective natural resource usage. The photographs were taken by Henry Chandler Cowles (1869-1939), George Damon Fuller (1869-1961), and other Chicago ecologists on field trips across the North American continent."

Friday, January 20, 2012

New blog project: Cultural Studies - Introductory Essays


New Project:
Cultural Studies - Introductory Essays

A new project, and one that brings some of my activities to a close.  I have decided to write out my Cultural Studies lectures and put them online for my students.  These will be written over the next few months and will no doubt be edited from time to time.  My students have asked that I make my notes available, but that was always impractical and would no doubt be confusing, but in this form both present and past students (and other interested readers).  These will not be the actual lectures, which of course changed and developed over the thirteen years I taught the class, but they will give some idea of the course and some reminders for those who sat through my through my class over the years.  It is doubtful that I will teach on this subject again, as my interests have as is proper moved on to other subjects.
Lecture One: On the Question “What is Cultural Studies?” is already up.  


Below is from the the "About these lectures" page of the blog.


"We all fail in our efforts to present the essentials of culture to our students.It remains for their genius to convert our failure into success" 
Alfred North Whitehead


After over a decade of teaching and lecturing on Cultural Studies, the realization that a certain rigidity had enveloped the course became an inescapable conclusion. This rigidity had occurred despite a good deal of effort to the contrary. These lectures were given from notes and in a extemporaneous manner, but even so what might have appeared to others as improvisation became scripted by habit and repetition. For this very reason, the extemporaneous manner of delivery was not a long term solution. As it turned out, nor was the constant revision of the syllabus in response to student interest as well as my own changing interests and interpretations. My writing these lectures shows these efforts to have been, in the end, both a failure and a success. The remains of this work consists of a fairly impressive archive of notes, fragments, and other materials steadily accumulated amid the ruins of these remarks and revisions.

Now, one response to this problem of authority would be to revolutionize one’s syllabus and lectures, but a condition of permanent revolution can not, for obvious reasons, be maintained by a finite person and besides, these limited revolutions of necessity begin to take on a certain sameness as the encounters with this personal limit become increasingly frequent.

A different response provides the reasons for writing these lectures: one might embrace the view that perhaps one has said enough and that the many classes and talks had congealed into something that made sense even as Cultural Studies itself experienced great changes with its acceptance and institutionalization in American universities and culture industries. These changes were also found in miniature in the institutionalization of Cultural Studies at Pratt and directly affected the course.

Without a doubt the orientation of the course changed as well. After some years of teaching about an “emerging field” of Cultural Studies, I thought it better to go back and look at the different disciplines, fields of knowledge, schools, texts, authorities and politics that coalesced into Cultural Studies. Gradually, the course moved toward tracing the genealogy of Cultural Studies along with some limited speculations on its future in the academy. It must be said that this genealogy had to take into account the social changes that made possible the movement of Cultural Studies from being marginalized critiques to being commonplace or even farcical term: witness the New York Times “Style” section column titled “Cultural Studies” or the recent exchange in the Chronicle of Higher Education over the status of Cultural Studies that managed to carry the air of both a graduate school debate and an argument at a funeral. All too often, critique has given way to mere criticism. In terms of everyday life, we are in a historical moment that nicely bookends Cultural Studies between its origins in the social dislocations of the 20th Century and those of the present. If it is true that we have moved from Raymond Williams posing the question of the future of Cultural Studies to Hall’s eulogy on its theoretical legacies, then there is ample justification for writing these reflections in the form of lectures.

Because these lectures were presented as extemporaneous class talks, they varied from semester to semester and year to year. Those who attended the course in the early years will not recognize some aspects of these summary lectures, but much will seem familiar or at least make a bit more sense of what you heard. And so the second justification for writing down these lectures is to give students present and past the opportunity to revisit or have clarified points that might have been missed, unclear, or skipped due to the pressures of the classroom.

Of course, everyone will notice the absence of any of the autobiographical references that I might have made in class. Students from the class will immediately understand the reason for this absence. For those other I might refer you to the little essay “Against Autobiography” written for the student journal. Besides, there is never a reason to give your detractors words to use against you but at the same time one must have an implicit trust of one’s students and so in print there will be no autobiographical content. I have, however, attempted to retain as much as possible hints of the extemporaneous mode of presentation.

The third reason for writing these lectures stems from the essential commitment of Cultural Studies to education as well as critique. It is the habit of professors to guard their lectures rather jealously, but this is antithetical to the history of Cultural Studies. Thus, the public nature of these writings are a nod to the many interventions into education that are found in such different locations as Adorno’s radio talks, Birmingham’s commitment to worker education, the labor movement, and the Center for Cultural Studies. Teaching the Cultural Studies course gave me the opportunity to interact with all of the first year students in the Cultural Studies/Critical & Visual Studies major in conjunction with my duties as Director/Coordinator. With our coming curricular changes, it is now appropriate that the students share a wider common experience.

Every semester, I began by asserting that I have a particular view of the genealogy of Cultural Studies and that my view is not shared by everyone, even among my colleagues here at Pratt. I encouraged them to seek out other faculty to get their views on any questions or disagreements. Just as important, to take courses from a range of faculty especially in those areas such as Feminism that I could not adequately cover in the short time allowed us, or ideas such as “postmodernism” which I do not use. The goal of the course was never, however, to present an established set of texts or to invent a new discipline. The goal, simply put, was to present students with sometimes difficult materials that call into question our usual assumptions and call engage them over the course of many years. Epicurus said that as teachers “we should not raise children,” by which he meant we should not prepare our students for their subordination to authority.

The course ended with students reading work by faculty at Pratt who are affiliated with Cultural Studies. Students enjoyed the opportunity to read the work of their own teachers. I was always surprised by the degree to which students were excited by the assignment and would typically engage some of the most difficult work. The Fall 2011 question was the following:

Final Essay Question:
The final essay requires that you read Hall's essay on Cultural Studies and its Theoretical Legacies. Then you are to choose 2-3 examples of work by professors here at Pratt and analyze them based upon Hall's critique of American cultural studies. Does the work of the faculty support Hall's contentions? Essays contributed by Pratt Faculty are on the course LMS site. The essays are by Professors Ivan Zatz, Lisabeth During, May Joseph, Jon Beller, Suzanne Verderber, Michael Eng, Chris Vitale, Miriam Greenberg, etc. You may chose other works by faculty in the department as well, but the faculty member must be in the School of Liberal Arts.

It should be the obligation of all senior faculty to teach at least one 1st or 2nd year class and these lectures fulfilled that obligation. But for many years my interest in Cultural Studies has been eclipsed by other specific work. The writing of these lectures allows me to turn my attention to these other studies and courses while leaving behind this artifact from the accumulated debris.

BRBIII
New York City



Tuesday, December 13, 2011

The Song of the N. H. Volunteers: Captain Paul Whipple and the 7th Regiment New Hampshire Volunteers

 Captain Paul Whipple 
and the 
Seventh Regiment New Hampshire Volunteers

Regimental Colours after the war. National Archives.
Recruitment Poster


On December 13, 1861 Paul Whipple was first mustered into the First Regiment of NH Volunteers, for three months. After being mustered out when that unit was disbanded, he immediately enlisted in Company K of the 7th under Captain. W. E. F. Brown.  He was promoted to Sergeant and then First Sergeant shortly after “for good conduct and strict attention to duty”. 
Captain Paul Whipple, brother of J. R[eed]. and J[ames]. B. Whipple, who was born here in 1840, is another man eminent in another line. At twenty-one years of age he enlisted in Company K, Seventh New Hampshire Volunteers, served throughout the war, and was discharged captain in August, 1865. He at once returned south to Darlington, S. C, and with the aid of several hundred colored hands, men, women, and children, he cultivated his own plantation of 5,000 acres. On his estate are fifty cabins, a church, and school-house, for his help, for whom he supports a teacher and pastor. He has won the love of the Southerners who at first were his bitterest foes, and has been honored by them with public office.
From the Granite State Monthly: A New Hampshire Magazine Devoted to History, Biography, Literature, and State Progress.  Volume XXII, Concord, N.H. Published by The Granite Monthly, 1897. 
http://www.archive.org/stream/granitemonthlyne22dove/granitemonthlyne22dove_djvu.txt 

Song of the New Hampshire Volunteers. 
By Marian Douglas.
Respectfully Dedicated to the Seventh New Hampshire Regiment.

From hill-top and mountain
We press to the fight;
Up, up with our Banner,
For God and the Right!
We dare not stay weakly
And trembling at home;
The moment for action,
For conflict, has come!

chorus.
The fire sweeps the prairie,
The tempest the sea,
But nothing can conquer
The hearts of the free!

'Tis ours to keep burning,
On hill-top and glade,
The fire on the altars
Our fathers have made.
Our hearts beat together,
And shall to the last;
Who fears for the future,
That thinks of the past?

chorus.
The fire sweeps the prairie,
The tempest the sea,
But nothing can conquer
The hearts of the free!

Then up with our Banner!
'Mid sunlight or shade,
Before we would suffer
Its brightness to fade,
Amid the wild tumult
Upon the red plain,
Our hearts, with their life-blood,
Would dye it again!

chorus.
The fire sweeps the prairie,
The tempest the sea,
But nothing can conquer
The hearts of the free!

[Van Nostrand. New York, New York. 1862.]
http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus:text:2001.05.0077:chapter=4&highlight=Seventh+New+Hampshire%2C
Annie Douglas Green Robinson (a.k.a. 'Marian Douglas' 1842-1913) poet and author from Plymouth, New Hampshire. She published the collection of verse entitled Days we Remember (1903), and several works for children such as Picture Poems for Young Folks (1872) and Peter and Polly; or, Home Life in New England a Hundred Years Ago (1876).



Friday, December 2, 2011

Theodor Adorno on Theory and Practice.


Theodor Adorno, Self-portrait.


Theodor Adorno on Theory and Practice.
From Problems of Moral Philosophy.  Stanford University Press, 1995: 4-5. [Lectures: May 7, 1963 - July 23, 1963.]

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I urge you therefore to exercise a certain patience with respect to the relations between theory and practice.  Such a request may be justified because in a situation like the present - one about which I do not entertain the slightest illusion, and nor would I wish to encourage any illusion in you - whether it will be possible ever again to achieve a valid for of practice may well depend on not demanding that every idea should immediately produce its own legitimizing document explaining its own practical use.
The situation may well demand instead that we resist the call of practicality with all our might in order ruthlessly to follow through an idea and its logical implications so as to see where it may lead.  I would even say that this ruthlessness, the power of resistance that is inherent in the idea itself and that prevents it from letting itself be directly manipulated for any instrumental purposes whatsoever, this theoretical ruthlessness contains - if you will allow this paradox -- a practical element within it.  Today, practice - and I do not hesitate to express this in an extreme way - has made great inroads into theory, in other words, into the realm of new thought in which right behavior can be reformulated.  This idea is not as prardoxical and irritating as it may sound, for in the final analysis thinking is itself a form of behavior.  In its origins thinking is no more than a form in which we have attempted to master our environment and come to terms with it - testing reality is the name given by analytical psychology to the function of the ego and of thought - and it is perfectly possible that in certain situations practice will be referred back to theory far more frequently than at other times and in other situations.  At any rate, it does no harm to air this question.
It is no accident that the celebrated unity of theory and practice implied by Marxian theory and then developed above all by Lenin should have finally degenerated in [Stalinist] dialectical materialism to a kind of blind dogma whose sole function is to eliminate theoretical thinking altogether.  This provides an object lesson in the transformation of practicism into irrationalism, and hence, too, for the transformation of the practicism into a repressive and oppressive practice.  That alone might well be a sufficient reason to give us pause and not be in such haste to rely on the famous unity of theory and practice in the beleif that it is guaranteed and that it holds good for every time and place.  For otherwise you will find yourself in the position of what Americans call a joiner, that is to say a man who always has to join it, who has to have a cause for which he can fight.  Such a person is driven by his sheer enthusiasm for the idea that something or other must be done and some movement has to be joined about which he is deluded enough to believe that it will bring him a kind of hostility towards mind that necessarily negates a genuine unity of theory and practice."




Monday, November 14, 2011

Text and Slides from SLAS Seminar on "Until Darwin" blog


The text and slides of "Until (and a bit after) Darwin" my portion of the SLAS Faculty Research Seminar with Chris Jensen of Math & Science are now up and available on the Until Darwin website.  Click here or on the image above to go to the page.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

SLAS Faculty Research Seminar: Diversity, Culture, Theory, and Data: Science on Human Variety. Monday, November 7th from 12:30-2:00.



Please join us for this semester's faculty research seminar, which is being held on Monday, November 7th from 12:30-2:00 in Dekalb 206. This is a brown bag affair, so bring your lunch. We will provide coffee. Below you will find a description of the seminar. I hope to see you there.
Andrew W. Barnes, Ph.D.
Dean
School of Liberal Arts and Sciences
Pratt Institute
200 Willoughby Avenue
Brooklyn, NY 11205
718.636.3570

Diversity, Culture, Theory, and Data: Science on Human Variety
B. Ricardo Brown and Christopher X J. Jensen

Human variety plays a pivotal role in history: how we interpret human diversity dictates what kind of society we construct. Over the last three hundred years, science has played an increasingly influential role in explaining and interpreting human variety. How has the rise of science influenced our conception of human variety? Does science shed light on the nature of our differences or simply legitimize prevailing cultural conceptions of difference? Through this talk, we will address these questions by considering the historical trajectory of how science conceptualizes human variety. Starting with the battle between the monogenists and the polygenists of the 18th and 19th centuries, Ric will describe how the cultural conflict over slavery was reflected in battles between scientific camps. He will discuss how prevailing culture influenced the questions scientists asked, the theories they posited, and the way they used data to validate these theories. Ric will explain how increasing access to information about the natural world -- paired with changes in the way science was pursued -- eventually led to the key insights of Charles Darwin, whose theories in large part displaced previous conceptions of human variety. Chris will then consider how post-Darwinian science has conceptualized human variety, beginning with eugenics and ending with the revolution in genomic technologies. Shifts in the culture of science and the culture in which science operates, as well as increased access to genetic data, have all transformed how we interpret human variety. Nonetheless, echos of past scientific shortcomings still reverberate through the present-day science of human genomics. The talk will conclude with the opportunity for the audience to discuss how present-day science influences our understanding of human variety.
 
  

Sunday, September 11, 2011

The Study of Community in American Sociology, c.1900 - c.1975: Part VII - Conclusion: Social Formations, Systems of Classification and Social Evolution

Conclusion: Social Formations, Systems of Classification and Social Evolution
In sociology there have been at least two discursive formations in the investigation of community.  Of course, they are not mutually exclusive in time and so have always coexisted, though one predominated in the time before 1975 and the other became dominate in the years since.  During the first period, which dates roughly from 1945 until 1975, the discursive formation regarding community was  organized by the relation of four obects of study: definition, classification, evolution, and territory.  Discussions of community constantly referred to these as forming the parameters of sociological study during the period when the definition of community and the classification of definitions became a primary research activity.  Of course, definition had been important prior to this period, for writers such as Giddings and Tonnies, whose vision of social progress brought together evolutionary and taxonomic aspects of classification in the service of social reform.  This vision of social progress did not survive the realities of an era book-ended by trenches and camps.  However, it was the “normative-meliorative” vision of social progress that infused the discipline of sociology that gave rise to the myriad definitions of community. 

The sociological study of community had come to an impasse.  Researchers had no idea if they were speaking about the same object of study and there were seemingly as many definitions as there were researchers.  Hillery’s oft cited work did not offer a definition of community, only a classification that brought order to the chaos of idiosyncratic conceptualizations.  His classification was intended to bring order to the definitions that had preceded him, but he also established the boundaries of the sociological study of community for decades to follow.  At bottom, his classification of definitions constituted a representation of a scientific consensus.  Hillery’s  lesson is that neither the definitions of community nor the utopias it produces correspond to any particular community of the past or present.  Like him, we confront a moment in the history of sociology when community is expressed not as something “out there” but as an object constructed through the norms of sociology itself.

Franklin Giddings noted that
“the subject matter of classification may consist of concepts only.  The dichotomies are made in thought only.  Societal facts are actualities.  Classification of them is a sorting of them into actual, or as we usually say, factual, groups, the dichotomies of which have been actually made by processes which men have observed and may now observe” (Giddings 1924:69). 

The point is not to denounce classification, but to understand that the sociological definitions of community are also constitutive of the community it seeks to investigate.  The meaning or truth of community can not be understood apart from the ways in which we express its meanings.  Hillary assumed that the definitions he found in the library reflected real communities and therefore to classify definitions is the same as classifying real communities.  Then, as the definitions and classifications became synonymous with --- but also detached from --- real social relations, each tended to recapitulate the other and this repetition give validity to conceptions of social evolution.

Giddings argued that because “plants, animals, and human beings do not behave forever in the same way,” classifications must also change.  To understand these changes, any classification of social facts (concepts) must be articulated along with a scheme of “social genesis..... in sociology a study of societal variability, carried out into a classificatory scheme, and thereby checked up, is of correlative importance with the study of societal genesis, in a like manner carried out” (Giddings 1924:76).  Classification is necessary for a scientific study of community that centers on social evolution, and it is this evolutionary aspect that unites community with territory.  Definition and classification, evolution, and territoriality were essential for the sociological study of community.  They can not be connected in a broader or even utopian social formation without each undergoing significant transformation.  Neither does placing them in new discursive formations always deprive them of their oppressive force.  

The consolidation of any discipline carries with it changes in the production of knowledge.  In the case of sociology, its consolidation as a discipline brought with it a reliance on specific scientific ideologies (Canguilhem 1991).  Sociologists have often misread both the theory and the substance of the history of science.  There are no better examples of this than the sociological tendencies which have embraced forms of positivism, Spencerism, and orthodox Marxism.  But to misread is not necessarily to get it all wrong.  Hillery and others may have misread the ability of science to speak the truth about community, but they recognize the fundamental importance of classification in the practice of science and in the acceptance of scientific ideologies.  Systems of classification like Hillery's were necessitated by the demand that sociology be more than a mere scientific ideology.  Whenever experimentation is impossible, as is usually the case in social research, classification becomes the necessary foundation of science.  Classification became essential for legitimizing theories of social evolution by providing first a means for linking the sociological study of community to the production of the most “advanced” forms of scientific knowledge and secondly an evolutionary trajectory for  human society.  In some it compelled a historical movement: Gemeinschaft gives way to Gesellschaft, tradition to modernity.  In others, community became a utopian vision of social progress made possible by the precise application of sociological knowledge to social problems.  In still others, the problem of community was speed of social evolution and the constant danger of degeneration. 

Social evolution was believed to operate within the territorial boundaries each community established and maintained through either force or the internalization of a “consciousness in kind,” or consanguinity. The sociological problem of establishing the boundary and government of a community in time and space was one whose solution was sought in a consensus on the classification of types to express either to social evolution or degeneration. This solution was mandated by the needs of the day, proved inadequate to the challenges posed by the new conditions of authority and resistance in the post-war period.  The demise of this consensus was a signal announcing the appearance on the horizon of Gouldner’s coming crisis of Western sociology.

The middle of the 1970s,  definition, classification, evolution, and territory, formed the limits of the sociological study of community.  These objects of knowledge were decentered, but did not cease to exist.  They were transformed or replaced by new objects:  Identity as redefined by multiculturalism and postcolonialism; new social movements combined with identity to produce new struggles over everyday life as well as new forms of academic knowledge; degeneration reemerged as the threat of the underclass to a bourgeoisie no longer confident in its authority or destiny; new enclosures of community expressing an anxiety of loss and a reterritorialization of community not with the poor and working classes, but within the newly expanded middle classes.

Sociology, like all disciplines, rest upon particular regimes of truth.  A common element in these regimes is that the origin of the discipline in question is always to be found in a genius having lived, a discovery being made “out of the blue,” a theory and prediction being put to the test, or a group of texts establishing an entire field of knowledge.  The moments become the mythical history of a discipline, its “report, naming, the narration of a Beginning,  but also presentation, confirmation, explanation” (Horkheimer and Adorno: 1969:8).  Sociology is no different, its origins reveal the precariousness of its history --- a precariousness and a forgetting that is a general condition in the history of the disciplines.  Examples of unseemly origins abound in the disciplines: take geography, with its legacy of environmental determinism, or Indo-European studies and historical linguistics, which were often allied with  scientific ideologies supportive of Germanic/Anglo-Saxon supremacy (Gossett 1963).  As for sociology, it had amongst other tendencies its” eugenicist “normative-meliorative” reformism, its Spencerism and “Social Darwinism” ---- and all of these have been forgotten, minimized or treated as aberrations in the histories of the discipline.  Take for example Gouldner’s  periodization, where we find no mention of Spencer or Sumner.  A subtle reminder that the work of forgetting sociology’s  past “scientific ideologies” is not limited one’s political and ethical commitments. 

If the crisis of Western Sociology continues to haunt us --- and like all disciplines sociology is always in crisis --- then it demands genealogies of sociology and its interventions into public policy.  “Sociology has a venerable genealogy”  wrote Albion Small in 1924.  It is indeed true that sociology has come to acquire several genealogies intersecting to produce its specialized fields.  Although it only addresses the narrow question of community in sociology, this essay has presented a possible alternative to the usual history of sociology and its study of community.  The history of sociology, like the history of any science, is as much the history of errors as it is the history of truths and like the history of any science, it is also the history of forgetting. 

Previous posts in this series:


Friday, September 9, 2011

The Study of Community in American Sociology, c.1900 - c.1975: Part VI - A Break


A Break

Essays by Effrat and Gusfield in 1975 are among many that mark the transformation in the study of community in sociology. Gusfield’s invocation of the communal ideals of the New Left was located in the utopian forms of communitarianism, while Effrat identified community with a politics of localism and participatory democracy. Because Effrat provided a summation of sociological work, and it is best to begin with her analysis.

Central to Effrat’s analysis is the assertion that conceptualizing community was akin to “trying to scoop up jello with your fingers” (1975:1). Faced with the same heterogeneity of definitions that Hillery had already found, but with twenty intervening years, Effrat too attempted to bring order to the chaos of sociological definitions. Instead of producing categories of definitions as Hillery had, she commented more broadly on the “process of debate” within post-Chicago School sociology was responsible for the current chaos because sociologists had avoided the “controversial issues” surrounding community: territoriality and function. Because of the reluctance to engage those two aspects of community, sociologists had come to enveloped community within
a gelatinous mess of hypotheses, research, and value judgments.... The term “community” is frequently invoked in tones of profundity by ideologues (social scientists as well as “laypersons”) from the far left to the far right. Like motherhood and apple pie, it is considered synonymous with virtue and desirability. Indeed, much of the problem in identifying the various definitions lies in separating the content of the conception from the value-laden imagery of warmth and camaraderie attached to it in many cases (1975:1-2).

Effrat recommended a more empirical approach because the study of community had shifted away from the ecological concerns of territory and population which should have remained central to the sociological study of community. Instead, the study of community was understood as a problem of identity and not about conflicts in the everyday existence of an ideology whose function it was to unite a population within a territory. Only when territoriality was reduce to being a mere theoretical problem could sociologists ask “whether community must be grounded in a particular, delimited place, or whether it can exist among people who are territorially dispersed” (1975:6). The authority of sociology to effect social policy and reform rests upon such fundamental questions.

Although Hillery acknowledged that territoriality and social interaction are common characteristics of community, his own classificatory scheme could not fully “separate [out] the value-laden imagery” because it depended upon the same value-laden language. While aware of the political aspects of definition and classification in relation to evolution, Effrat wanted to separate out “the content of the conception” of community and highlight the conflicts between definitions of community while Hillery highlighted the points of agreement. To complete her task, Effrat presented a history of four traditions distinguished by their reliance on territoriality and the size of the population. The focus of studies on municipal power in urban and suburban areas with large populations characterized this investigation of the territorial community. However, newly emerging traditions without a strong territorial grounding, “community as society” and “personal community” are based instead on occupation, leisure, lifestyle, and professional associations as forces/institutions of social cohesion.

Gusfield’s typology of intellectual concepts reveals a series of disciplinary paradigm shifts. The 
development of sociological theories centered on the fundamental difference between “community and society,” or “concepts and counter-concepts” although this distinction is an artificial one, for 
community and society are always idealized concepts. For Gusfield, “the concept ‘community’ [has]
significance in three dimensions. In one dimension, it points to and describes a specific form of human association. In another it is part of a theory of social evolution. In still another dimension, it is part of an ideological debate over the value of the present as compared to the past and to possible alternative futures.... the concept of community” as “part of a system of accounts used by members and observers as a way of explaining or justifying the members behavior. (1975:21)” This ”consciousness of kind” formed the implicit basis of the concept of community that Gusfield compared to class consciousness: both are ”facilitated by the capacity to evoke symbols of community. Within the emergence of a consciousness of kind is the rise of a collective experience; a sense of participating in the same history” (1975:35). Community in this sense can not be separated from ideology and discourse. It is ”a system of accounts” to be drawn upon depending on one's social status and cultural capital, and the very phrase reminding us that the everyday experience of community is indistinguishable from the community of money.

Despite his invocation of a Left utopia, Gusfield’s analysis emphasized the traditional binary of community and society. “I use the idea of system to characterize the concepts of “community” and “society” and “tradition” and “modernity”.... Community must decline if society is to grow. “Tradition” and “modernity” are in struggle and one must give way to the advantage of the other” (1975:54). At the same time Gusfield also proposed that “this use of the community-society dichotomy as a theory of social evolution distorts and confuses processes of social change....We can better understand change by emphasizing the mixture and interpenetration of types than we can by emphasis on conflict between systems” (1975:55). By juxtaposing community and society, Gusfield removed them from the “dialectical” development of modernization and progress that he believed united community and society into a single object of study.

Gusfield once again quickly modified his view: “The persistence and continuation of communal elements and the emergence of social institutions and activities are not necessarily in conflict” (1995:55 [emphasis in original]) because they interpenetrate each other. He then suggested an additional conception of community: as a utopia that is nothing less than “an anguished cry against those facets of modern life in which men and women are categorized, isolated, typed and in which their specific qualities as human beings and as emotive and dependent persons is ignored” (1975:104).

In contrast to Effrat, Gusfield concluded that “the scientific, semantic meanings of sociology are not sufficient to grant significance and moral direction on their own. But the infusion of dramatic, poetic, even distorting, meaning is essential for the vitality of scientific concepts and their significance for relevant human concerns. That the concept of community has had so constant a usage is testimony both to its power and to the ubiquitousness of its ideal” of a “utopian communitarianism” (1975:104). These communes served as potent critiques of contemporary life. “Each age is the judge of its own utopias.... the ideology of community and the utopian communitarian movements are expressions of the concern of modern men [sic] with the specific quality of life today” (1975:102). As critiques, communalism and “utopian communitarianism” point toward the possibilities for social change inherent in their resistance to the community of money, including the possibility that they might become reactionary movements.



In the period preceding Effrat and Gusfield’s reassessment of community, the sociological work had centered on the concern for a scientific or rational definition of community. This search was organized around and greatly aided by the dichotomy of community and society. There was an emphasis on classification, definition, evolution, and the territorial aspects of community. The taxonomies of community existed alongside the broader sociological studies on the evolution of society. Not only did the community/society dichotomy contain an assumption of a progressive movement, but the task of classification necessitated a continuous search for intermediate types that might prove to be the links in an evolutionary development. Territory became a mandatory characteristic of community within which teemed a consciousness-in-kind rooted in a geographical landscape and sense of place. The positive aspects of this “sense of place” have been quite extensively explored by geographers (James 1972, Johnston 1983) and so too have its reactive aspects found obvious practical expressions, for it is not difficult to move from an emotive sense of belonging to an ideology of consanguinity and soil.

For Effrat, the study of community ---like much of sociological theory--- was straining under the weight of questions that could no longer be incorporated within the discipline’s structures. In a last attempt to preserve the integrity of the four traditions she described, Effrat proposed an system of four traditions, with each inhabiting its specialized niche. In Gusfield’s work, community became both an abstraction and aspiration.



If there is a typology of ideal (symbolic) types, along with a classificatory regularity, then there must also be criteria for their inclusion. Loomis gave three criteria which for Parson’s had to be met for a social group’s inclusion in a classification of community: history, derivation, and content. Hillery used several criteria to select the definitions of social groups for inclusion in his classification of community. Gusfield recognized how “the dichotomy between ‘community’ and ‘society’ has played a significant role in the development of such theories, especially in the distinction between ‘tradition’ and ‘modernity.’ In positing ‘community’ as opposite ‘society,’ ‘tradition’ as opposite ‘modernity,’ both the evolutionary sociologists and the modernization theorists have given us a simplified and distorted picture....” (Gusfield 1975:80-81).

Hillery’s method for producing his classification of definitions further illuminates the methods and problems early researches encountered. Much like Borges” librarian, Hillery literally browsed the available literature on sociology on the shelves of the library. He first looked up the definitions that the are regularly referred to as important works. Then he used the cited references in that first group of important works to uncover additional definitions in less well known works. In the course of tracking these definitions down, he perused the nearby shelves for interesting titles and included these in his classification. He does not mention that the indexes of the texts and the bibliographical order of the library catalog provided a preexisting classification. Nor did he in anyway question how a work comes to be important. Hillery’s work was not theoretical; he was not testing a hypothesis or theory, his empiricism was descriptive and yet his study remains a fundamental reference because he captured the extent of sociological opinion regarding the definition of community, but never reaches a final true definition.



Gusfield shared Effrat’s desire to produce a classification of all previous sociological work on community. Effrat’s very different scheme limited the question of community to social theory or associate it with particular types of community. The break marked by the very different essays by Effrat and Gusfield was the shifting away from a classification of types and definitions of community toward reinvestments in and revaluation of identity, politics, and locality. Now proceeded a gradual deterritorialization of community as “a place where one’s life may be wholly lived within” (MacIver and Page in Hillery 1955) in favor of an identity which one lived in every setting. The era of the New Left ended, to be replaced by the emergence of the New Social Movements and an understanding of multiculturalism in which giving meaning to community became an explicitly political and organizational imperative: a style of life.

Next: Community: Discursive Formations, Systems of Classification and Social Evolution

Previous posts in this series:
Part I: Introduction
Part II: Understanding Community
Part III: The Reception of Tonnies Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft [Community and Society]
Part IV: Hillery and Hollingshead: Two Conceptions of Past Sociological Studies

Part V: The "Societal Community" of Talcott Parsons

Sunday, August 7, 2011

The Study of Community in American Sociology, c.1900 - c.1975: Part V - The "Societal Community" of Talcott Parsons

    Parsons’ general concern was to understand the fundamental mechanisms maintaining the stability of societal communities as self-regulating entities.  Parsons argued that the similarity between biological and social “classes of living systems lies in the applicability to both of the fundamental concepts of adaptation and integration.”  In this work, Parsons followed Durkheim, who he praised as “probably the most seminal theorist in the field of studying the integration of social systems....”  We can see the influence of 19th century evolutionary theory in Durkheim’s famous duality of the “normal and the pathological” carried over into Parsons’ analogy of social and biological systems.  It is at this same moment in the history of the discipline that we encounter the figure of the sociologist as the physician of society interwoven with discourses of degeneration and recapitulation.  If we see society is an organism, then we must also conclude that the division of labor is a process of adaptation and  specialization and integration of systems.  These systems provide the functional needs of the social organism and maintain social equilibrium, i.e., normalcy. 

    When Parsons remarked that no one in his own day read Herbert Spencer anymore, the reason for this neglect was not due to Spencer’s evolutionism, but because of Spencer’s “extreme individualism,” naïve positivism and confidence in the direction of social change.  Parsons’ later writings on the “societal community” sought to cleanse the evolutionary aspects of Spencerian sociology of their association with individualism and determinism.  It is from this perspective that in his later writings that Parsons sought to bring together an understanding of both the reproduction of social life and the process of social evolution.  The social order is “the patterned normative order through which the life of a population is collectively organized [as a] ‘societal community’” (1966:7) built upon the everyday experience of its legitimacy to govern that population.

    Drawing upon the 18th and 19th Century scientific ideologies, Parsons used the body as a metaphor for the societal community to refer to “the body of social theory and knowledge of empirical fact”   that evolves in the sense of its immanent properties unfolding according to an established sequence.  Parsons regarded the societal community as “an organic whole” (1968:15) recapitulating in itself the development of a “body of social knowledge.”  This is the reason that no one reads Spencer anymore, “the body of social theory” evolved beyond his preliminary remarks.  Spencer’s cosmic philosophy was merely the “victim of the vengeance of the jealous god, Evolution” (1968:3).  Parsons’ earlier Structure of Social Action is rooted in the development of an organic “body of knowledge.... in this case the evolution of scientific theory.”  It is the study of the “anatomy”(1968:39) of a single body of knowledge whose development recapitulates the development of scientific theory itself.  The Structure of Social Action can be read as a general theory of scientific change comprising two distinct moments “the definition and classification of the elementary units and the determination of the relevant relations of the units in systems” (1968:39).  It is an early elaboration of a theory rooted in the belief that the progress of scientific knowledge consists of the “cumulative piling up of discoveries of fact” (1968:6).  Only sociology and ecology can so easily speak of social organisms and of the significance of a Nature as a social order and a social order that is natural.

    It almost goes without saying that Parsons and Durkheim based their views upon a commitment to  modernity and to the special role that sociology could now serve in the promotion of modernity.  Both had a deep attachment to the institutions of liberal democracy and its companion traditions of Enlightenment.  In Parsons, this commitment shows through quite well in his essays on National Socialism, where he defended liberal institutions from both the right and the left.  Reason played for him a greater role in the evolutionary progress of societal communities than morality.  Whenever we are discussing community, Parson argued, we are discussing “a legitimation system [that] is always related to, and meaningfully dependent on, a grounding in ordered relations to ultimate reality.  That is, its grounding is always in some sense religious” (1966:11).   While the norms of religion, race, and law can establish social equilibrium, the norms of religion and race are at the same time frequent sources of conflict or “disequilibrium.”  Parsons argued that in modern societies such as the United States, the focus of legitimacy is the legal system and it was precisely this central normative code that was in peril.  Parsons’ envisioned a procedural ethic of communication inspired by courtroom procedure: interrogation, confession or disavowal, judgment, punishment and reform.  It is the legal jurisdiction that structures a community’s  territoriality.  Cowan summarized Parsons” position:

Jurisdiction, says Parsons, refers to obligation.  Obligation implies enforcement.  Enforcement entails sanction.  Sanction to take effect must reach its object.  The object to be reached must have a location in space.  We start with jurisdiction and end with space.  In between we have obligation, enforcement, sanction.  It adds up, a political theorist might say, to a notion of territorial sovereignty (1959:181).
    Alvin Gouldner would later assert that evolutionary theory had little importance in Parson’s  sociology, but  Gouldner’s  assessment came when Parsons was only just beginning to elaborate his theoretical “critique of unidimensional accounts of social evolution.  He did not believe that modernity is a matter of unleashing private interests, the consequent destruction of community, and its replacement by new class and bureaucratic ties” (Mayhew, 41).  Modernity would not bring an end to community.  Indeed, community could be easily allied with Modernity.  Rather than an assumption that they are always in opposition, the two forces of social cohesion might instead reinforce each other.

Next:  "A Break"

Previous posts in this series:
Part I: Introduction
Part II: Understanding Community
Part III: The Reception of Tonnies Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft [Community and Society]
Part IV: Hillery and Hollingshead: Two Conceptions of Past Sociological Studies