IMG_3595A few weeks ago I had the pleasure to speak at the Spinoza summer week, in one of the most rural and quiet places in the Netherlands. The theme of the week was Spinoza and Jewish tradition. A subject which I didn’t know very much about, but I interpreted it more widely, to be able to present my textual interpretations of the Ethics, the Short Treatise and the Theological-Political Treatise on Spinoza’s ideas about going beyond religious traditions, and still recognizing the importance of religion for human beings.

One of the benefits of giving the lecture was being invited for the one-day Spinoza tour through North and South Holland (the two provinces by that name) to see all the places where Spinoza lived, in his short life (1632 – 1677). Today I did the tour, with four other interested people, and our guide Jossi Efrat, a passionate narrator. DueIMG_3542 to his great knowledge on the Portuguese Jewish community in Amsterdam (we started out in the Portuguese synagoge over there) and our many questions, we lagged behind on our schedule, and had to skip the end, in the end, which would have included the two houses where he lived in The Hague and the New Church, where he was buried.

This is not a very philosophical post, I agree, but I allow myself this because it is summer, and I promised to two of my co-tour-walkers to write a post about it. It was a day with many impressions. After seeing the place at the Waterloo square, where once a house of the Spinoza family had stood, and the earlier synagogue where the ban against Baruch had been spoken, we went to the Jewish burial site at Ouderkerk aan de Amstel, where I was able to say a siIMG_3565lent salute to the remains of the woman who had given birth to this great thinker: Hanna Deborah. She died when Spinoza was six, and he was raised by his father’s third wife.

We took to the road once more, and came to the newly restored lovely little house in Rijnsburg where Spinoza lived after leaving Amsterdam, possibly because it provided him more opportunity to be in contact with scientists and philosophers at Leiden university, possible also because of his contacts with the Collegiant community (freethinker protestants). I had been to the Rijnsburg house before, the first time when I was still a student, so it must have been thirty years ago. I was invited by the secretary of the Spinoza society, back then, Theo van der Werff, who helped me through my dissertation years like a living pre-internet search engine, finding books and articles and bibliographical details. And providing a lot of support toIMG_3579o. Being in the little house once more was great. Anyone looking for a beautiful seventeenth century philosophical atmosphere should go there sometime. Although most of the interior is not original but reconstructed. For booklovers there are two bookcases filled with old leatherbound books, one the reconstructed library of Spinoza.

Finally we went to Hofwijck, the little palace of the Huygens family, where Spinoza worked together with son Christiaan on his scientific experiments, conducted supposedly in the attic. Some of the original instruments can be seen there. Our guide took us through difficult-to-find paths to show us how Spinoza had walked from the house where he lived in that time, in the village of Voorburg, along the Vliet, a canal connecting several cities, to Huygens’ place. Hard to find because nowadays a railway and a highway IMG_3603are built atop the old infrastructure.

Like I said, we missed out on the The Hague traces of Spinoza, which I however had also walked in the past. They mark the most political phase in Spinoza’s life, as he was involved in the struggle for the highest power in the Netherlands of those days, which was not just about the potential power of the Orange family, but also, which interested Spinoza more, about a more secular society or one in which calvinism had more prominence. Thinking beyond religious traditions, a society where everyone could think or believe as he liked, was one of the things Spinoza was most passionate about. One of his reasons being, I think, very much pro-religion: because belief that is based on duress cannot be true belief…

Although we steeped ourselve in Dutch society and politics of three centuries ago, I am still of the same opinion as I was in my PhD years: that reading Spinoza is to be advised for anyone who wants to develop his/her reflection on religion, freedom, and harmony in society.

 

Another shooting of a US citizen by US police is raising heated discussion – this time an armed citizen, apparently, who according to the police returned fire when she was shot at. Korryn Gaines, the 23 year old who was killed, posted a video some time earlier about her being stopped in her car, while driving without license plates. I was intrigued by her calm and her consistent asking the officer about his Delegation of Authority Order, which I never heard about, and the officer had neither. I wanted to understand what this was about. Some quick reading brought the concept in connection with management theory, legal structures of authority, so called sovereign citizen movements, and the question of freedom and responsiblity – which I felt the need to research further. Now, almost all discussions over the shooting of Gaines are about factual questions: whether she was mentally impaired, whether she was a good mother or not, what about her life, her age, her gun, her boyfriend; and then again about the actions of the officers, could they have done this or that, were they afraid or out to kill her – and tend to overlook the political and anti-political structures she obviously worried about before her death.

So what structures are regulating the relations between citizens and governing powers generally, and how do freedom and responsibility play out in them? And especially when police officers are concerned, who are supposed to be delegated public servants of those powers. Obviously, after bad experiences with being detained and a hostile bureacracy Gaines had decided to not recognize the authority of the police over her life any more. She had given up on the idea that ‘the law’ was lawful, and working for the freedom of herself as a citizen. She explained in videos and in written texts her reasons for not trusting the police and for not complying to their orders, and expressed that she would rather be killed than to cooperate with a system that could kill her also when she would cooperate. On her car she had a card saying ‘Free Traveler’,  and an officer said she acted as a ‘Free Person’,  suggesting that to be a special political position, instead of a general human condition. So who has decided over whose life and in which framework?

Delegation of authority functions in non-official managerial as well as in official contexts, where governing bodies exert power over people. The basic idea it represents is that authority is something else than force/brute power/violence. Authority is recognized as legitimate power, and in political terms it is based on representation. Governmental structures in a democracy are supposed to represent the people, and those working on behalf of the authorities are supposed to legally represent those. This is to make sure that officials will not act out of personal motives, nor be blindly driven by any systemic forces that may be at play in those structures. In businesses or non-governmental organizations the idea is to make a difference between personal responsibility of workers to work for the aim of the organization, and the responsibility of those who are leading the organization to officially back up those people who have the function to take certain decisions. In the course of my life I have observed several times, those in higher management positions to let someone lower in the hierarchy carry out actions that might cause negative reactions without officially delegating them. So when the negative reactions come, their subordinates will carry the responsibility, and not they themselves, as they never ordered them to do this. This shows the importance, in matters concerning the life, health and happiness of individuals that authority is properly delegated, in order for agents to be held accountable for their actions.

In the case of Korryn Gaines, her request for a DOAO was an attempt to protect herself against what she perceived as unlawful actions of the police. The point here is not to determine whether she was legally right or wrong, the question is that what is lawful in the last resort depends on what human beings in a community together hold to be so. What is lawful can in principle always be questioned and put up for discussion. The law can also be ignored or obstructed publicly by individuals out of protest (as in civil disobedience, which is something else than ignoring or obstructing the law for criminal actions). So what is clear is that, not just in the US, but time and again in all modern nations, and especially in the US because of the deadly violence with which confrontations are so often played out, people question whether the police is there for the citizens or for something else. They question, whether they represent a real authority, which implies being officially delegated by democratically recognized officials to do certain things, or whether they act out of other drives. So did Korryn Gaines.

When our modern national states were first being formed, political philosophers tried to make the authority of their governmental bodies understandable by referring to the ‘state of nature’ which was to be understood as a war of each against all – a state which legality should overcome by ‘the people’ transferring their natural right to fend and fight for themselves to the sovereign state power. The state power again was to be exerted by the government and its derived institutions. Spinoza, one of the important thinkers of natural right and the state, warned that in things political, individual people are not just moved by reason, but also driven by irrational passions – which are to be understood as emotional motives which fail to see my own good in relation to the good of others. Passions can be narcissistic, therefore, as well as self-destructive. Or both at the same time. He made clear that for all its power, a state is a fragile thing, continuously in threat of being undermined by individuals (citizens or officials) who do not base their actions on reason, but on passions.

Since the 17th century political philosophy has found new frames to understand political reality. At work in this situation is also something which is described, a.o., by Foucault, and Weber: the system, the complex, the bureaucracy, and its potential to bring generally sane individuals to despair. The system actually undermines authority, as described above, and the responsibilty and accountability that goes along with it. It obstructs the process through which individuals legitimize (ideally) state power through democracy, and through which the authority of the governmental bodies in its turn delegates responsibility to lower officials. How does it do so? Not by replacing reason by passions, but by replacing the (Spinozistic) reason that relates my good to that of the others by a simulacrum – an objectified body of abstractions of real relations. Installing a dense thicket of stamps, identifications, papers, postal services, etcetera, it silently subdues personal responsibility and freedom. The thing with bureaucracy is that, if used correctly, it can protect people, because it regulates and documents everything without differentiation between the status of persons. But used falsely, it can cover up, and even facilitate crimes from governments to the people who live on the piece of earth they rule over. This can be done by denying them (full) citizenship, or by blurring lines of delegation of authority – if no clear order has been given for a certain act of violence, nobody can be held responsible afterwards. We all know cases of encrypted orders like ‘solve the problem’ instead of ‘expell/kill/fire/detain person x’.

In this setting it is clear that there is freedom to act – for perpetrators of evil as well as for those standing up for what’s right. The ‘law’ strictly speaking cannot (and neither can the laws of bureaucratic management) determine human actions like laws of nature determine the movement of natural bodies. People can, and even have to, step outside the rules, to act freely – so they are responsible for their actions, and free – this is not an extraordinary situation and doesn’t depend on any factual aspects – it is the political situation, in which we put all rules and laws up for discussion again. So freedom and responsibility can be appropriated in the voids of laws and rule driven systems. And it is done, all the time, although laws and rules obfuscate that. Police officers take the freedom in the void where they can interpret a person as a danger to themselves or others, and then again are within the law to shoot. And someone like Korryn Gaines takes her freedom deciding to drive without license plates, or to resist arrest, as an act of civil disobedience. The law should protect her life all the same, and here is a conflict within the law between the perceived safety of the officers and the safety of the person they want to arrest. It is one of the voids where people are free and responsible, all of them, so calling her a ‘free person’ is superfluous. Of course she was. And so were the officers who killed her. Every individual, even though living under laws and bureaucracies, remains responsible for what they do. The state of nature is never far away, and no state power should make us forget that.

 

 

I took care to try and analyze just one aspect of this case, to clarify the issue of authority and freedom. This analysis of course leaves many other questions out, that also should be asked. Questions of historical violence by white people against black people, questions of social injustice, questions of the situation in prisons, for men and for women, where sexual violence is very common. But those questions again touch the factual – they regard why someone acted the way they did. They provide the content of actual political questions. I just wanted to discuss the formal aspects of the place and role of the political and the anti-political regarding the freedom of persons to act in this case.

 

Everyday nowadays, the news seems to bring some other shocking facts or events – innocent citizens bombed, partying people murdered, a new civil war, a secret military mission, a coup… being sad or claiming solidarity on the internet is not enough anymore. It is high time that we make more of an effort to understand more of what is going on. What is ISIS about, the state that aims to be without borders, and that claims so many attacks. What is happening in those countries that were said to live through an ‘Arabic spring’, even when they were not in Arabia, but in Africa. Spring was soon over, coalitions were formed, old rivalries that ‘the West’ not even knew about came to the fore, and chaos in most cases seemed the only lasting result. And now, the failed coup in Turkey. People are twittering for or against the putschists, both in the name of democracy – how is that possible? If the president makes an appeal for people to support the nation – what does he mean?

In my latest post I made an attempt to outline my father’s views on the nation state – which, he thought, had become obsolete, something of the past. His experience, on that not so fine day, of foreign soldiers just crossing the border and walking past your house as if they had the right to do so – made it clear that the naive trust that our country is a protected piece of the earth, safe, belonging to ‘us’, the people who have the right to live here, is just that: naive. The imagined protection by this country, which makes us call it ‘home’, depends on the strategies and secret actions of governments, secret services, international trading agreements, financial deals: all kinds of complex things out of the sight of the normal citizen. When people say: ‘we don’t want any more strangers to enter our country’,  they imagine that there is such a thing: a country which can be possessed, enjoyed as ours. It can, of course, but this enjoyment and its benefits depend on forces we may not even want to know.

And then, a government can pronounce the state of emergency and close its borders. Because there is a threat from within. There is an enemy in ‘our country’, and the state power promises to find it before it can escape, and – to use that so often misused slogan, ‘to bring it to justice’. If the borders are closed, every citizen can potentially be that enemy, this has to be found out, so what made the country safe in the imagination, the powers that represent the nation with its borders, now make it into a virtual prison. Not free to move, to get out. Or to get in.

Yesterday evening I started reading in the memoir of Raul Hilberg (1926-2007), the historian who was the first to try to understand the genocidal crimes of nazi Germany against the Jews, and others, by meticulously sifting through the German archives that were brought to the US after the war. The memoir relates of how this monumental work, The Destruction of the European Jews, which essentially determined his whole life, took shape, and what happened after that. I was struck especially by the first part of the memoir, in which he described how his fascinations as a child for geography, for maps, and for trains, eventually developed into deeply philosophical insights into the construct of the nation, the state, its inner workings, the balance of powers that keeps it floating, so to speak. I want to give you some quotations, which beautifully illustrate the kind of reflection we need to understand the complex events around states, borders, and powers, of our day.

“At the age of ten I was presented with a precious book. [..] The book was an atlas. A masterpiece of cartography, it was made for the eye, with maps so finely shaded that they highlighted the distinctions between major and minor rivers, deeper and more shallow waters, higher and lower mountains. Railroad tracks were always sketched in red, and cities were shown with circles and lettering denoting their size. Soon I leaped across the topographical features to the international frontiers. Here was something new: the political world, the world of power. Needless to say, Germany’s and Austria’s territorial losses in the First World War were indicated on several maps, and understandably Palestine was absorbed in an Arab desert.” (p. 41) The way this is written, Hilberg takes his reader from the wonder of nature, to the still relatively innocent wonder about human civilization, to another level of the map: the political struggles of nations over the land, to move on from there to the level where their recent wars, and the impending ones become visible, and finally to the way these wars use the technique of remembering old borders, or of emptying the map of stateless nations.

When the Hilberg parents, with their son, a Jewish family, fled Austria in 1939, Raul experienced the problem with borders and state power once more and described it in a very illustrative manner: “On April 2, 1939, we were on a train moving slowly across the Rhine bridge linking Kehl, Germany, to Strasbourg, France. A German woman approached my mother in the corridor of the railway car and, full of curiosity, asked my mother for her reactions to the Nazi regime. […] My mother replied that she would not speak until we had reached Strasbourg. A few minutes later we were free and – to be precise about our new status – refugees.” (p. 43) The train, moving over the earth, crossing a river, a bridge, a border, and on one side you could say ‘home country’, but not speak your mind;  on the other side of that imaginary line you could, but would be forever uprooted.

When a few years later Raul returned to Germany with the US army, and saw a field where so many young German man lay dead after a battle, he asked himself why they were still sacrificing themselves for that lost state, the third Reich. “I already knew that the state, and its political order, rests on the possibility of an ultimate resort to force by a government acting against its own citizenry. The men who, with barking officers behind their backs, made their suicide run were proof of the viability of this system.” (p. 55) Further in the book he described his outlook on life as without any hope, completely despondent. A despondency that flowed from seeing and understanding the workings of the powers that could change nations into prisons, and borders from instruments for protection into instruments of fear. But that also motivated him to dedicate his entire life to making what he saw visible for others too, in words. For if we do not understand, we might not be hopeless, but then we might be completely lost in the games that the forces around us try to play with our lives, and with our minds.

 

 

 

Yesterday was father’s day. Many friends shared pictures to honour their fathers (some of them deceased) on social media. To express what I owe to my father, I will share this piece, which I wrote some time ago, but for some reason kept stored in my computer…

When my father spoke about WW II, one story always returned. The story of that morning when he discovered that our country had been occupied by Germany. Living close to the border, that morning he saw German soldiers passing  his parental home as if they had the right to do so – which made him realize that borders can suddenly become futile,  imaginary. After the soldiers passed, the milkman came into the street and put bottles with fresh milk in front of the house, like he did every day. The absurdity of life going on. Only now do I understand why that story was so meaningful for him, kind of summing up the connection between his convictions and actions.

At that date, May 1940, he had just turned nineteen and had started his studies at the university not long before. In the following years, he tried to find his own personal response to the occupation – intellectually and in practice – which led him to take part, three years later, in underground activities. This was not a subject about which he talked much, and when he did, it was in an almost excusing manner. The cell didn’t accomplish much, and its members as well as their families paid the highest price. Only after a few months they were found out, three members were executed, my father survived in hiding. His brothers were taken hostage, and were made to suffer the concentration camps; his younger brother perished in Bergen Belsen. The family of the founder of the cell was burned to death in their house as retaliation by the nazi’s – among them a girl with Down’s syndrom. The activities of the resistance group were to help people get into hiding with false papers, and to print and distribute pamphlets to call the people of their city to join in the general strike  of April and May – a protest strike by the Dutch people against the occupying forces.

After the war, my father never went to meetings of ancient resistance people, and didn’t like the kind of self-congratulatory atmosphere surrounding much speech about ‘the resistance’. I always understood something of the emotional side of his discomfort, as he had to live with the unspeakable personal consequences of his actions. Only now am I beginning to understand there was also a principled side to it. His actions were never for ‘the fatherland’ and he would not have participated in armed actions against the nazi’s. For he had, in a sharp light, seen the futile and imaginary character of the idea of a nation connected to a piece of the earth. It was, in his eyes, not worth the fight. He spoke often about how he saw that the era of the nation-state was over, although the world didn’t yet understand that. He was a visionary idealist – his actions were aimed at stimulating the suppressed democratic potential of actual human beings, not at saving the Dutch nation.

During the last conversation we had about the war, a few months after his 94th birthday, he told me that his resistance work did not just start when he got involved in the group initiated by his friend Toon Fredericks, as I thought. His first ‘illegal’ action was in 1940, when he intentionally ‘lost’ his identity papers, to help a Jewish man to flee or go into hiding. Again, during the Christmas time of 1942, he assisted in helping a Jewish woman with her child (the wife of an Austrian artist, who already was hiding with friends) to go into hiding in a home for the elderly nearby. These were untold stories until the end of his life. He would never want to be in position that people would applaud him for such actions. Not just because no applause could ever make up for the loss and the destruction of that time. But also, I suspect now, because he felt a distance to any public honoring of helping Jews, such as that by the state of Israel. No state power, to his view, should morally appropriate the actions of individuals to stand up for their fellow human beings. In this vein we spoke about the Paris attacks, last year: how French government officials appropriated the protests against terrorism of grieving individuals, interpreting them as support for the French nation.

My father could no longer believe in the nation state, after that morning in 1940. In discussions on political philosophy, in which I put forward Seyla Benhabib’s thoughts on this matter, and Hannah Arendt’s, he granted me that nation-states – peoples seeking protection by claiming a piece of the earth, drawing and defending borders – perhaps were still a necessary institution (the lesser evil) in these times. I, for one, did not share his 1940’s idealist belief that the problems of a nation-state system could be overcome by creating a world federation or something of that sort. I was always more on the Nietzschian side, stressing that one always has to reckon with human irrationality – in whatever era we might come to live.

Having had a full philosophical training myself, whereas he did only some courses in philosophy while studying law, and later chose practical jobs above academia (jobs in which he tried to stimulate the potential of individuals: young workers, those seeking later in life education, and young people with learning disabilities) – my argumentation was stronger. So he usually let me ‘win’ on the theoretical plane. It is only now, when I see his life ‘from the outside’ so to speak, as he died last October 2015, that I understand the consistency between his beliefs and his actions. He did believe in democracy, he did believe in the necessity of reason to organize human relations, he did believe in furthering human potential. He was very cautious of any combination of state power and national sentiments, to say the least. His hesitations over against armed resistance sprung from the same source: it would, in his eyes, always be incorporated by some kind of nationalist state power, and could not support a free flourishing of human life. As much as I can see how this position is very idealist, perhaps not of this world, I acknowledge respectfully his silent consistent adherence to the experience expressed in that story of soldiers and a milkman, of early 1940: that no nation state can protect you, in the end, and that, in spite of that, life just goes on.

 

 

From the time I was in primary school, my father and I were in an ongoing conversation and discussion on philosophy, religion, politics, law and ethics. My philosophical work has to a certain extent been the critical exploration of presuppositions and foundations that showed in these discussions. This article is meant to say thank you (a thank you that is never enough) to my father for the intellectual and critical inspiration I got from him sharing his thoughts with me.

“What kind of relationships they may desire to have with us? And how can we, collectively, find new ways of co-existing?” These were among the questions in the Call for Papers of a short conference I attended last week, on Animal Agency: Language, Politics and Culture. It was the most interdisciplinary conference I ever attended – with speakers from Art History, Cultural Geography, Philosophy, Linguistics, and more fields. It was organized by Eva Meijer, who, during her PhD research on Political Animal Voices is very active to organize exchange among those working in some way or other with questions around our relations with animals. I learned a lot. About the history of certain cows in Urugay, who were brought early on by the Spanish, turned wild and reached 48 million and then were killed off for industry and trade when the country became more populated. It was the research by anthropologist Maria Fernanda de Torres Alvarez, currently working in Montpellier, which taught me that. Another researcher, Mihnea Tanasescu, working in Brussels, enlightened us about the Nazi history of the rewilded Aurochs that is prominent in a Dutch rewilding project, the Oostvaardersplassen. And there was more, on animal language, on painting elephants, on animals in poetry…

I had undertaken the experiment, for my presentation, to try to not talk about animals, but to let an non-human animal have the word. But how to do that?  I chose to use the method that is common to writers of novels, when they embody a person from another sex, age, or culture. It is comparable in a sense (although the setting is different) to the method used by traditional shamans, who enter a trance state to communicate with (a.o.) the spirits of animals. The animal invited to ‘speak’ uses my knowledge and language (that is why he sounds as a philosopher), but I have tried to suppress my point of view of the world, to let his shine through. The first one to come forward was an old crocodile. Just a few quotations:

“As the spirit of crocodile, I call myself ‘grandfather’, because you think that my genetic structures were earlier than yours, and we left some of ours, through the course of species-transformations, behind in your body and mind. So if I call myself grandfather, you can 1) understand our relationship, as you understand it biologically and 2) it will bring you (I hope) to have respect for me – as you should towards your human grandfather, even if he has no teeth anymore and spends his days in a boring home for elderly people.”

(when asked why he eats us)

“I am sorry, but how can you ask that – without being aware, the moment that you speak, of what you have done to us? You have not only eaten us, and continue to do so to this day. Look it up, please, on your internet – you can even buy, for instance in the UK (imported from South Africa), crocodile burgers – 2 for 3.99 pounds. So you eat us. But more, you have made shoes and bags from our beautiful skin. You have used our body for medicine. Considering me to be your grandfather – those are rather cannibalistic acts, aren’t they? And you have done more – you have discriminated against us, called us names. You have called us primitive and cruel. You speak about our heritage as ‘crocodile brain’ – and that is not meant as an honorable adjective, as I understand it!”

(telling something about himself and about us)

“I am the master of fearlessness. I lie still, sure of myself, that I will have to die, and having accepted that as long ago as I can remember. […] I lie and wait, still, very still, to be able to come into action in a split-second – with all the forces I master in my body, to catch what was coming toward me from eternity. I have a hard time believing you are the superior race, running around and mastering nothing, not even your own forces, not even your own body, or your mind. But what can I say. I didn’t see you coming, so I coudn’t catch you and kill you before it was too late. You came to destroy our habitat and kill without remorse. But now you have somehow grown strong in your foolishness, and I don’t know what to do about it…”

I slightly reworked these passages from my paper, and they will be reworked more as I hope to publish them somewhere else in the future.

After the conference I learned even more, as several contributors were so kind to send me materials connecting to my paper presentation. Certain of those will certainly be read more intensively by me in the future – the works of Australian environmentalist philosopher Val Plumwood, who lived through an attack by a crocodile, and we are lucky to be able to read what she learned from that. Not to hate crocodiles, that’s for sure, but to view our own species differently – “as part of the food chain – eaten as well as eater.” More about that another time perhaps.

As promised, I will come back to last week’s conference, held in a Seminary in Lodz, Poland – where I presented mIMG_3413y paper with the above title. As usual, I stuffed in many different things – a methodological question (deconstruction versus decolonization), the relation between speciesism and racism, a note on the history of philosophy/ideas, and the question what characterizes (our) animality. Yes, I managed to boil it down to a 15 minute presentation, and those present pointed out many loose ends to help me rework the paper for the submission for publication. So here is this short version (missing some of the argumentations, but presenting the main ideas) of this work very much in progress:

Aren’t we Animals? Deconstructing or Decolonizing the Human-Animal Divide

“From the influential Thomas Hobbes on, who claimed that ‘natural men’ were like wolves (taken as violent predators) to each other, Western philosophy has been characterized by a great distrust towards the animal aspects of our humanity, and a great trust in the salvaging aspects of reason and civilization, that would raise us above the animals. Several recent thinkers however have attempted to criticize and undermine this attitude. Among those I will discuss anthropologist Eduardo Kohn who aims to decolonize the Western approach to nature (plants and animals), and philosopher Jacques Derrida, who sought to ‘undefine’ the concept ‘animal’.

In my paper I will oppose these different approaches to the human-animal divide, and will also relate them to the work of postcolonial philosopher Emmanuel Eze, who has brought to attention that white Enlightenment thinkers and their successors have been interpreting embryonic evolutionism and theories of progress in the sense that some groups of humans would be less ‘human’ than others – and therefore could be used as slaves, or as objects of ‘civilizing’ projectswe would now describe as cultural genocide. I will conclude by presenting the thought of psychoanalytic thinker Frantz Fanon, who highlighted the consequences of ‘animalizing’ human beings in a certain manner.

 

Selves and signs – In his book How Forests Think, Eduardo Kohn explored Amazonian ways to understand animals and plants as ‘thinking’ – as living in sign worlds that overlap with ours, making communication on an equal level possible. He relied for this project on the philosophy of signs of pragmatist Charles Sanders Peirce. What Peirce did, Kohn explains, was to move beyond the understanding of signs as representation of something else (before an ideal rational subject) – taking them to “stand for something in relation to a ‘somebody’ [which] is not necessarily human […].” (Kohn 2013, 75) For selves are all ‘somebodies’ that are taken up in semiotic ‘activity’. Through many interesting examples taken from Amazonian village life he shows that not only animals, but also plants, and ‘spirits’ are selves – thus widening the ontological class of sign-users beyond the human to all ‘living’ beings, with or without bodies.

Deconstructing Animality – In a small, but profound study, Patrick Llored has made an effort to reinterpret the work of Derrida as, in effect, an enduring attempt to think animality. According to Llored, this is not a purely philosophical, but an existential matter to the philosopher of difference. Llored shows that early experiences of living in Algeria, especially in its ‘Vichi’ variety – leading to the expulsion of the Jew Jacques from school, formed the source of Derrida’s discovery of the link between racist and speciesist repression. And of its counterpart: the vulnerability of all living beings to violence (which is characteristic of animality).

In his own essay on the animal, Derrida indicated that deconstruction of the human-animal divide has three essential elements:

1) The divide (‘rupture’) doesn’t define two clearly separated domains – of ‘human’ and ‘animal’

2) The multiple and heterogeneous border of this divide has a history (the autobiographical history of anthropocentrist subjectivity) and should be traced as such

3) Beyond the human side (which is heterogenously lineated) there is not one category, ‘animal’, but a “multiplicity of organizations of relations between living and dead” (organic and inorganic). (cf. Derrida 2002, 399)

 

Enlightenment Racism – In Derrida’s work, we see the articulation of the intimate relation between speciesism and racism. This exemplifies his remark about the heterogeneous borders between ‘human’ and ‘non-human’ animals. Not only are the animals not all one group, but certain groups of humans also segregate themselves from others by calling them animals. Even today, racists repeat the same imagery tirelessly, calling their targets animals, monkeys, pigs, or cockroaches.

In his work on Race and the Enlightenment Emmanuel Eze has shown, through textual analysis, that the Kantian and Hegelian construction of the idea of humanity as the center of ‘our’ understanding of the world (‘all philosophy is anthropology’) – was built on the simultaneous construction of an ‘other’, a not-quite-human: the ‘savage’, the black man. This other was not granted a culture of his own, let alone a political or legal system. Thus Kant could think that “the lives of so-called savages were governed by caprice, instinct, and violence rather than law [which] left no room for Kant to imagine between the Europeans and the natives a system of international relations, established on the basis of equality and respect […]” (Eze 2001, 78) And Hegel that “The negro is an example of animal man in all its savagery and lawlessness […] we cannot properly feel ourselves into his nature, no more than into a dog.” (cited according to Eze 2001, 24

The Need for a Psychoanalysis of White Philosophy – In Black Skin, White Masks(1952), young psychiatrist Frantz Fanon gave testimony of the difficulties of a colonial subject, a black man moving to the ‘centre of the world’ – to Europe – to affirm himself as a man and as a human being. The gaze from the other, which makes him black, confined in his skin, empties him out before he can speak. His revolutionary book is not your usual philosophical discourse, building a thesis on assumptions and by means of argumentation. It is written in a form which expresses what it tries to do: to think not from general concepts, but from failures.

To rescue his black reader from the objectivaton and dehumanization even the social sciences do unto her/him, Fanon articulates the humanity of the black person, although this should not mean integrating himself into the European idea of a supposedly non-race-sensitive humanity. This ‘Hellenistic’ idea of humanity, namely, considers black persons to be like animals (Fanon 2008, 127) – biologizing and sexualizing them, whilst desexualizing the white man as universal reason. In order to evade this dangerous situation, Black Skin, White Masks, seeks to submerge itself into the shadow side of white culture, and to investigate the fake aspect of this ‘animality’.Thus, although Fanon has the black individual in mind for his liberative project, implicitly he also criticizes, pre-figuring the Derridian approach, the idea of animality (being described as predator behavior, being driven by sexual urges, etcetera) in general as an artificial biological objectification.

 

Conclusion – In the end, we may conclude that decolonizing and deconstructing the human-animal divide, although they are different approaches, aim, in concert, to what we need in our days: first, an appropriation of the position of thinkers and selves by those colonized and animalized, exposing those who called themselves civilized and masters, and making an end to their reign; second, and simultaneously, a becoming conscious of (white) Enlightenment philosophy of its own shadow – cultural and physical genocide, enslavement and dehumanization of others, and in the shadow of that shadow – the brute desubjectization, use and abuse of ‘animot’; third, the deconstruction of the ‘rupture’ that has turned a difference into an instrument to torture and kill, and to not hear the voices of those we supposed to be ‘on the other side’ of humanity – the supposed ‘savages’. But also: the thinking forests, the wild animals, even the ‘domesticated’ intimate strangers living with us – having been equally colonized, under the cover of the civilization of ‘humanity’”

Literature –

  • Jacques Derrida ‘The Animal that therefore I Am (More to Follow)’, Critical Inquiry, Vol. 28, No. 2. (Winter, 2002), pp. 369-418
  • Emmanuel Eze Race and the Enlightenment. A Reader, Blackwell Publishing, Malden, 1997
  • Emmanuel Eze Achieving our Humanity. The Idea of a Postracial Future, Routledge, New York, 2001
  • Frantz Fanon Black Skin, White Masks, Pluto Press, London, 2008 [1952]
  • Eduardo Kohn, How Forests Think. Toward an Anthropology beyond the Human, University of California Press 2013
  • Patrick Llored Jacques Derrida. Politique et Ethique de l’Animalité, Les Éditions Sils Maria asbl, Mons, 2012

I often realize how much this blog is a conversation not just with you, my readers, but also with myself. Keeping a log is a bit like keeping a diary, but with a more specific subject – it will not cover every possible thing experienced, but those experiences connected with a certain journey. A journey which has several aims – to discover, to experience, to learn, to gain certain benefits, and more of which one is not aware beforehand. This makes every journey an adventure. Just as with the journeys of the seafarers of former times, who wrote their logs while travelling the world seas.

My log covers adventures in philosophy, which, as my motto states, understands itself as involved, or engaged. All the same, I live my adventure as a member of academia. This brings with it that many of my days are filled with solving puzzles relating to study programs, new blackboard (the internet space with that name) features, keeping a balance between work and home life, getting to know new colleagues, keeping up with faculty politics and university policies et cetera et cetera. In between I try to focus my reading and writing to reflect on specific questions, and fields of investigation.

Concerning this lastmentioned activity, institutionally labeled as ‘research’, there are very different seasons. Just as Kuhn said about the scientific community, the individual researcher too lives through phases of ‘normal science’ – working out certain specific questions in a given framework – and phases of ‘revolution’ when one questions the frameworks themselves. Writing my blog makes me more aware of what I am doing at the moment. I became more aware especially of what happens in those times that I do not write very often: in those times I am often questioning the frameworks, perhaps not in a revolutionary manner, but certainly as a process of deconstruction and reconstruction.

Lately there are many conferences with themes that interest me, and I am lucky I can attend quite a few of them. This experience, of something ‘brewing’ around me, makes me happily aware that ‘my’ process is getting more interconnected with the processes of others, and can find a stronger momentum just by the force that interconnectedness creates. Suddenly my interests are all over the place: the relations of humans and animals, of humans and nature, questioning the concepts of ‘humanity’ and ‘animality’, questioning modernism as a result, and some of its neighbors – eurocentrism, scientism, and an imperialism which is political and epistemic at the same time.

While last week, in Utrecht, at a conference called ‘What is it to be human? On the Humanities and practical self-understanding’ I enjoyed discussions with mostly philosophers on the meaning of ‘humanity’, at present I am preparing to join scientists and theologians to jointly question human uniqueness. This will involve presentations considering extra-terrestrial life, the relation between human beings and their God, and understanding humanity in nature – with contributions considering Chinese philosophy, Buddhism, the Quran… a wonderfully diverse program. My own presentation will be on the human-animal divide, asking: what is the difference between deconstructing and decolonizing it? I will look into the differences between these two approaches, and will discuss wherein they overlap. There is only one little problem I still have to solve – how to summarize the substance of my five pages paper to a presentation of only ten minutes… I will keep you posted.

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