July 2012

For anyone who’s interesting, here’s an audio file of my talk at Independent College in Dublin on Lacan and Posthumanism.  I never really get to the posthumanism talk, but much of my critique of ontotheology, transcendence, patriarchy, Oedipus, sovereignty, and phallocentrism can be found here (I think there’s a whole series of structural isomorphisms here).  This is also the groundwork for my defense of ontological anarchism or immanence.  Lacan’s graph of sexuation has been an obsession of my thought for over a decade now and really gets at the political stakes of everything I’m trying to do in machine-oriented ontology or onticology.  At any rate, I hope the talk makes some sense.  I did it extemporaneously without a written paper.

The following is a response to a very good friend of mine who, I think, got a little bit irritated with an exchange we had in comments. You can read that comment exchange here.

Hi Jerry,

Your tone here sounds a bit irritated. I hope I didn’t provoke that as it wasn’t my intention. I don’t think I understood your point, but genuinely disagree with you. While I readily acknowledge that the cave painters were the cause of the paintings, I strongly disagree that the painters are a part of the being of the painting. Just as ones parents are the cause of one’s being while nonetheless the child is an autonomous being, the painting is an autonomous beings that have its own power that exceed any particular cultural or historical context. I don’t disagree that the question of what the paintings were for the cave painters is an interesting and important one, but in raising that question we’ve entered into a new machinic relation and are no longer talking about the paintings for themselves as autonomous entities that circulate throughout the world beyond their origins. What they were for a particular group is an important issue. My only point is that no work can ever be reduced– nor any entity, for that matter –can be reduced to what it is for another entity.

I confess I’m rather wounded by your evocation of Goethe, as you’re basically calling me superficial. One of the core theses of my work– the critique of correlationism or the thesis that being can never be thought apart from thought –is that no being can be reduced to what it is for an observer. Every being is in excess of however it might be grasped by another entity. Put differently, there are always depths to entities that escape observation (I call the contrary view “pornography”). In this context, the first chapter of The Democracy of Objects is entitled “Towards a Finally Subjectless Object”. The idea here is to reject that move that treats every entity as correlated with observers. Entities do just fine without being observed and don’t depend on their being on being observed. This does not entail, however, that suddenly we ignore observers. While I begin from the premise that no entity can be reduced to how it is grasped by another entity, I do engage in lengthy examinations of what takes place when one entity observes another entity in chapter 4 where I discuss the inner worlds of entities and their relations to other entities.

read on!


Yesterday I had the pleasure of doing an interview with Heather Duncan and Alex Reid concerning digital humanities, blogging, twitter, and to a lesser degree object-oriented ontology. With any luck it will be posted, alongside a host of other interviews (including one by Eileen Joy), in the Fall. During the course of our discussion, Heather raised questions about OOO and politics, remarking that initially she worried that OOO has no place for politics. Given that everything always comes back to politics for me, I was eager to know what gave her this impression. As she explained, when she first started reading OOO she was unable to see how issues such as race and gender could fit into this framework. As I outline in the introduction of The Democracy of Objects, this is exactly the sort of thing I want to avoid. I want a framework that’s broad enough to both integrate work like Butler’s performative theory of gender, or Foucault’s analysis of discursive fields with respect to the human science in The Order of Things, with a realist ontology of beings that is able to account for the differences they contribute to social fields. What I’m angling for is thus something like what Latour describes in the first chapter of We Have Never Been Modern.

The ozone hole is too social and too narrated to be truly natural; the strategy of industrial firms and heads of state is too full of chemical reactions to be reduced to power and interest; the discourse of the ecosphere is too real and too social to boil down to meaning effects. Is it our fault if the networks are simultaneously real, like nature, narrated, like discourse, and collective, like society? (6)

What Latour wants is a framework that is simultaneously able to think the real of the ozone hole, the power and interests surroundings discourses about the ozone hole, and the manner in which the ozone hole is narrated or signified. Rather than choosing one or the other of these options as the true one of which the others are an illusion– “narration is just an ‘effect’ of power and interest”, “power and interest are just ‘effects’ of discourse or narration”, “power, interest, and discourse are just epiphenomena surrounding the real of the ozone hole” –Latour wants to think the interplay between these three things. This is what I want as well and is what I try to theorize in chapter 4 of The Democracy of Objects. There I try to show how one object, say a scientific discourse, draws on flows from another object, structuring and forming that other object in a variety of ways. In this way, I’m able to both retain the reality of the object drawn on while also capturing the constructivist dimension of what takes place as it reworks these flows. The manner in which a medical discourse codes or forms the mad is not different in kind from what a cell does to the nutrients that pass through it. In short, we are able to retain the discoveries of the social constructivists while also maintaining a realism that acknowledges the reality of things such as the ozone hole.

What Latour articulates is thus a sort of Borromean knot, organized around the real, power and interest, and the discursive. In Lacan’s final teaching everything changes. Where before the symbolic held pride of place, subordinating the real and imaginary to its structurations, now the three orders (real, symbolic, imaginary) are on equal footing without one dominating the others. The key to the borromean knot is that the three rings of string are tied in such a way that no ring is directly tied to the other. If one ring is severed, the other two slip away because they aren’t directly attached to one another like a chain. Each order thus has its own autonomy.

I won’t get into the details of the borromean clinic here (follow the link above for a bit on that), but the more I’ve reflected on the borromean knot that more I’ve come to think that it is a helpful diagram for thinking the being of objects or what I’m now calling machines (more on machines in a moment). The dimension of the real would be the manner in which an entity irreducibly exists as a being in its own right. For example, it would mark the manner in which a bat is irreducible to what it is for another entity such as a hawk or the manner in which we classify it in a scientific taxonomy. The imaginary would be the manner in which that entity grasps, perceives, or relates to other entities. This would be the domain of what Harman has called “sensual objects” (which are objects that only exist on the interior of a real object). Thus, for example, the bat does not encounter the insect as the insect is, but as a sonic signature, a sonic wave that has a particular meaning for it.

The domain of the imaginary is the domain of what Bogost has called “alien phenomenology”, what Jakob von Uexkull called “ethology”, and what I have called “transcendental empiricism”. Alien phenomenology explores the phenomenological worlds of other entities, or what Morton has called “strange strangers”. In contrast to traditional phenomenology, it is not a phenomenology of these entities, but a phenomenology of how these entities encounter the world about them. It is not a phenomenology of how things are given to us— though all of that is retained –but a phenomenology of how the world is given to these beings. It is what Luhmann, Maturana, and Varela called “second-order observations”; an observation not of a thing, but of how that being observes. Alien phenomenology thus suspends the unquestioned totalizing tendency of the way in which we encounter the world.

There is a way in which Atari’s, mantis shrimp, bats, rocks, trees, men, women, people of various ethnicities and economic brackets, the media system, corporations, militaries, etc., encounter the world. Givenness is different in each instance for the entity in question. The drawing to the right taken from von Uexkull’s Foray into the Worlds of Animal and Humans gives us a nice example of alien phenomenology. The top drawing depicts how a field of flowers is given to us, while the lower drawing depicts how a field of flowers might be given to a fly. While we can never know what it is like to be a fly because we lack the appropriate organization, we can learn all sorts of things about how worlds are given to flies through the examination of how they’re put together, the observation of their behavior, etc.

It is clear that alien phenomenology is of tremendous significance. Lacan famously said that “all communication is miscommunication.” Part of this arises from an unaware totalization of our own way of encountering the world to all other beings. A woman’s boyfriend screams at and beats his girlfriend’s infant child on the premise that the infant is able to understand the disciplinary significance of these acts (one of the depressing things about working in children’s units in the hospital is that you encounter beaten infant after beaten infant, often to the point of causing severe brain damage). Fiscal conservatives are able to say that they got where they’re at simply through “hard work” and “having the right values”, denouncing the poor and disadvantaged as “lazy” and “lacking in morals”, all the while ignoring the circumstances in which the poor and disadvantaged live and all the while ignoring the ways in which they have benefited. We refer to the mentally disabled as disabled, treating a certain form of givenness as “normal”, rather than approaching the “disabled” as people to whom the world is given in a particular way. Cary Wolfe is particularly good on this point in his discussion of Temple Grandin in What is Poststructuralism. Political activists target the CEO of a corporation treating them as the entity that accounts for the actions of the corporation, ignoring the fact that a CEO is but an organ in a larger-scale entity, the corporation, to which the world is given in a particular way. This thereby generates the wrong sorts of strategies for dealing with these lethal animals that populate our world. Fisherman conclude that humboldt squid are intrinsically violent, failing to look at how their own actions in their habitat might bring on this sort of aggression.

Alien phenomenology– which has been practiced under other names for a long time, though not nearly as much as it should be –provides us with a set of techniques for better encountering strange strangers and for developing better responding to them and developing better strategies for responding to hostile strange strangers such as corporations. It is able to integrate practices such as what people in the 60s referred to as “consciousness raising”. It is able to integrate the sorts of phenomenologies of the subaltern practiced by theorists such as Sarah Ahmed. It integrates nicely with the work of queer and disability theorists who help us to explore the worlds of other bodies and how they encounter the world. It meshes smoothly with the work of the critical animal theorists, helping us to enter the worlds of animals and how the world is given to them, thereby allowing us to better attend to them. There is not phenomenology, but phenomenologies.

The domain of the symbolic becomes the domain of the ecological. The ecological is a field of structural couplings between withdrawn or operationally closed entities. In “Of the Refrain”, Deleuze and Guattari talk about how entities form territories that exist in contrapuntal relationships with one another. In Euclidean or Newtonian space, two entities– say a bird of paradise and a snake –might inhabit the same space, while nonetheless existing in very different territories. The ground that the bird of paradise clears, the leaves that it turns over, are a stage upon which it dances for females, while for the snake it is a field of hiddenness upon which it slithers in pursuit of its prey. These two territories signal back and forth to one another, but the signals produce entirely different meanings in each territory. I walk towards the wild ape smiling, a sign of friendliness in my territory. In the apes territory the smile and eye contact are a sign of aggression.

Maturana and Varela called this “structural coupling” (depicted in the diagram to the left above). For Maturana and Varela, machines are operationally closed, while structurally open. Structural openness means that the machine is open to stimuli from the outside. Operational closure means that they integrate this stimuli according to their own internal organization. Structural coupling is a relation in which two systems signal back and forth to one another and co-evolve or develop as a result, with the stimuli playing very different functional roles in the inner world of the two respective entities. In Capital, for example, Marx masterfully analyzed a relation of structural coupling in the relation between the worker and the capitalist. The worker follows the logic or process of C-M-C, while the capitalist follows the logic of M-C-M. Under the worker’s logic of C-M-C, the worker sells a commodity (C), his labor, in return for money or a wage (M), so that he might buy commodities (C) such as food, shelter, means of transportation, etc. Under the logic of the capitalist, money is placed in circulation (M), to buy a commodity (C) labor, so that more money might be made (M). Marx is able to show the manner in which these two logics encounter the world in entirely different ways and how they are at odds with one another– the capitalist will always seek to reduce cost in buying labor, while the worker will always seek to increase wages and benefits in the sale of his labor –despite the fact that the two systems are structurally coupled with one another. In recognizing that these are two heterogeneous territories, two heterogeneous universes, Marx is able to show that there is no harmony in this ecology– thereby undermining neoliberal fantasies pertaining to such an ecology benefiting all –but rather that it is riddled with contradiction. I could go on, discussing similar structural couplings between animals and humans or between various technologies, but I’ll content myself with this example for now.

Recently my good friend Jerry– we often dine and drink together (though not nearly often enough) and we have taught together —has criticized my replacement of the term “object” with “machine” on the grounds that the only real machines are what he calls “proper machines” such as automobiles, cell phones, coffee makers, etc. However, in the theoretical background I come from, this isn’t true. In the autopoeitic theory of Maturana and Varela, machine is a key term and the world is populated by machines of all sorts, some rigid like automobiles, others dynamic and plastic without designers such as flowers and cells. Machine is also, of course, a key concept in Deleuze and Guattari, where there are incorporeal machines like laws and procedures, rigid machines like cars, living machines like mantis shrimp, artistic machines, social machines, institutional machines, etc. As I remarked in my original post on machine-oriented ontology, we need an entire zoology of machines, a mechanology, that captures their differences and natures. Thankfully a lot of this work has already been done by others.

Although I already spoke about machines and engines in chapter 4 of The Democracy of Objects, there are a few reasons I’ve chosen to foreground them more in my recent work. First, I’ve increasingly found that there’s an ineluctable tendency for people to think of objects as things that 1) stand before a subject or are posited by a subject, and 2) that are inert clods that lack any dynamism. Since my objects are dynamic processes, since they are activities, and since even subjects are types of objects for me, I’ve been keen to emphasize this but language keeps getting in the way. The term “machine” avoids this problem (while generating problems of its own, to be sure), and has the benefit of emphasizing functioning. Second, I think the concept of machine helps to avoid vitalist and organicist tendencies of thought. Third, we live in the age of machines. Machinic language reminds us of this, drawing attention to the fraught relationship we share with these new strange strangers, so nicely depicted in “The Stoker” depicted in Kafka’s Amerika.

But finally and above all, I think pan-machinism helps us to ask the right sorts of questions in investigating the world around us. Machines function and produce. They need not function or produce for any purpose or aim– teleology is secondary or accidental to the being of a machine –but they do function. Pan-machinism encourages us to ask six interrelated questions: 1) What flow does a machine draw from to function? All machines require flows of some sort to function. A spinning wheel needs flows of foot energy and wool to function. Flowers need flows of sunshine, water, minerals, and carbon dioxide to function. A school needs flows of human bodies, etc. What are the flows? A machine detached from flows is a sleeping machine or a dormant machine. 2) What machines is the machine coupled to? Flows always come from other machines and are themselves machines. The flower, for example, is attached to the sun-machine from which it draws flows of light. 3) How does the machine transform these flows and how do the flows transform the machine? This is the dimension of trans-corporeality described so beautifully by Stacey Alaimo in Bodily Natures. Machines don’t leave the flows that pass through them unchanged, but rather– as Deleuze and Guattari put it –code or structure them in a new way. The flower-machine transforms sunlight into sugars. Boot camp transforms people into soldiers. Labor in capitalism transforms matters into commodities. Commercials territorialize desires onto commodities and create desires that weren’t originally there. 4) But as Alaimo notes through her concept of trans-corporeality, the flows that pass throughout a machine also transform the machine. There’s the obvious fact that machines suffer wear and tear from the flows that pass through them; especially in the case of rigid machines like the lathe. However, the flows that pass through a machine also modify the nature of the machine. The light that passes through my eye-machines is not simply coded into a perception, but rather that perception changes the nature of my perception. An artwork, for example, can lead me to see in an entirely new way. The food that I eat modifies the chemical composition of my body and what I am and am not capable of. Here we might think of Jane Bennett’s example of the impact of omega-three fatty acids on moods and behavior. The students of a college are not simply docile bodies formed into subjects of knowledge, but also modify the nature of that discourse through the entropy they introduce into it. 5) How is the machine organized, what are its parts, how does it function, what are its processes? Pan-machinism encourages us to look at all the gears and mechanisms, the functioning and processes at work in, for example, a revolutionary group-machine or a tree-machine. Finally, 6), what flows does the machine produce? What sort of flows is, for example, a university-machine producing? The degreed students are the flow produced by that machine, but what sort of flow are they and for what other machines? Are they autopoietic machines in the sense that the students themselves become scholars reproducing the academic-machine? Are they “good” nationalists? Are they workers? What sorts of machines are they and what other machines are they for? Pan-machinism, I think, leads us to focus on these sorts of questions. Enough for now. I’ll talk about the fourth ring– the event –on another day.

An artist friend of mine asked me what I’ll be discussing at The Matter of Contradiction conference in Limosine, so I thought it might be nice to post a few words here on where I’m going.  I’m a bit terrified by this talk as I’m not an artist and I believe that philosophers should recognize the situated knowledge and practices of other fields rather than presuming to legislate over them.  Following Badiou, I believe that philosophers should not so much seek to legislate or dictate to other practices, as hear their Truths.

My talk will be focused on three interrelated points.  First, I’m interested in emphasizing the materiality or real autonomy of art, or that it is not simply about something, but is something.  For me, works of art are objects or machines in their own right, that circulate throughout the world independent of their makers.  A work of art is no less a thing or machine than a person, rock, or tardigrade.  They take on a life of their own and have their own singular powers and properties.  In my view, there’s a tendency to ignore the powers of art per se, to always reterritorialize it on artists intentions and audience receptions, rather than exploring the being of the work of art as a real entity in the world as such.  While I agree with everything you say about the production of the work of art– that the production of art involves an immersion of the artist in the medium with which he works such that both artist and medium become something different in the activity of production and such that there isn’t a pre-existent model of the work of art in the artist’s mind that’s then simply placed in material embodiment –I want to argue that art works enjoy a sort of autonomy from both their makers and audiences.  We know little about the author of the Epic of Gilgamesh or the creators of the French cave paintings, yet these things are still nonetheless able to resonate and act in the world.  There’s thus a way in which, I think, works of art are in excess of all contexts (author’s intention, historical setting, audience reception, etc); and it is because they are in excess of context that they are able to endure throughout the ages.  Works of art are perpetually escaping all historical and hermeneutic horizons, all regimes of attraction, and falling into new regimes of attraction modifying them in all sorts of ways.  They are examples of the Lucretian clinamen or swerve and are inexhaustible in their ability to produce swerves.  This is what the historicists and hermeneuticians miss in their approach to art:  the excess of art over any and all historical context or horizon, the constitutive being of art as clinamen.

This excess over every horizon is possible because art is a material being.  To my knowledge, Deleuze and Guattari do the best job of emphasizing the being of art as object or machine.  In chapter 7 of What is Philosophy?, they claim that art preserves and is the only thing that preserves.  Paraphrasing them, they point out that Mona Lisa’s smile is preserved in oil for all eternity, or at least until the paint and canvas decay.  While I don’t share the view that art is the only thing that preserves, their point is nonetheless well taken.  They begin from the observation that art is a material being, an object, not a meaning.  In this vein they speak of art works creating blocks of affect and sensation.  Reference to “blocks” should be taken literally.  The art work does not represent a percept, affect, or sensation, it creates a percept, affect, or sensation that has now become an autonomous material being in its own right, liberated from dependence on the sense organs.  These blocks of affect are literally things out there in the world, not just experiences in the sense organs of a person.

read on!


I’ll be speaking at this event in France in early September. Chances are I’ll be discussing art as a machine, drawing heavily on Deleuze and Guattari. From there I head off to Dundee and Edinburgh to serve as an outside examiner on a dissertation defense and give a few talks.

Michael Norton reviews The Democracy of Objects here.  He’s the first!

So in response to a previous post, a lot of folks gave me grief about the following passage:

I do think, however, that OOO can problematize our current political thought and open new avenues of political engagement and theorization. As it stands, cultural studies is dominated by a focus on the discursive. We hear endless talk about signs, signifiers, “positions” or positionality, narratives, discourses, ideology, etc. Basically we see the world as a fetishized text to be decoded and debunked. None of this should, of course, be abandoned, but I do think we’re encountering its limitations.

In the few years I’ve been writing on these issues, I’ve been surprised to discover just how hard it is to get people to sense that there is a non-discursive power of things; a form of power that is not about signs, ideology (as text), beliefs, positions, narratives, and so on. It’s as if these things aren’t on the radar for most social and political theorists. I get the sense that the reason for this has something to do with what Heidegger diagnosed in his analysis of the ready-to-hand. Heidegger argues that when the ready-to-hand is working it becomes invisible. We don’t notice it. It recedes into the background. Us academics live in worlds that work pretty well as far as material infrastructure goes. We are, for the most part, in a world where things work: food is available, electricity and water function, we have shelter, etc. As a consequence, all this disappears from view and we instead focus on cultural texts because often this is a place where things aren’t working.

In response to these remarks, I was told that 1) of course no one has the naive belief that everything is text (what a relief! of course, the question is whether this belief registers itself in theoretical practice), and 2) that, in fact, these things are all the rage in the world of theory. I’m well aware that there is a tradition of theorists that don’t fit this mold, and perpetually refer to many of these theorists in my own work. Theorists that come to mind are figures such as Haraway, Stengers, Latour, Kittler, Ong, McLuhan, Elizabeth Grosz, Jane Bennett, Stacy Alaimo, Karen Barad, Kevin Sharpe, Jennifer Andersen et al, Cathy Davidson, Braudel, DeLanda, Pickering, etc. They exist.

The point is not that they don’t exist, but that these forms of theory, I think, have been rather marginal in the academy; especially philosophy. In discussing these things, I’m not making some claim to being absolutely original or to be originating something full cloth. I’m more than happy to play some small role in bringing attention to these things; things that I believe to be neglected. I think, for example, that the new materialist feminists predate OOO/SR by 5-10 years, have many points of overlap with OOO, and have not nearly gotten the attention that they deserve. I think Latour and Stengers are almost entirely invisible in the world of philosophy conferences and departments; and I think that there are systematic reasons for this pertaining to the history of continental theory coming out of German idealism, the linguistic turn, and phenomenology. In German idealism you get a focus on spirit and the transcendental structure of mind. In the linguistic turn, you get a focus on how signifiers and signs inform our relation to reality (for example, Lacan’s famous observation that the difference between the men’s room and lady’s room results from the signifier in “The Agency of the Letter”, and Barthes’ claim that language is a primary modeling system in The Fashion System). In phenomenology you get a focus on the lived experience of the cogito, Dasein, or lived body and how it “constitutes” (Husserl’s language, not mine) the objects of its intentions.

read on!


A lot of people ask what the political dimension of OOO might be.  I don’t have an answer to that not because I believe OOO and politics are mutually exclusive, but because I think it’s egregious to speak on behalf of struggling people.  The best philosophers can do is create weaponized concepts that might be taken up by others and deployed in their own projects.  It is not for the philosopher to be telling the artist, activist, scientist, etc., what they should be doing.  Just as the Lacanian analyst is an advocate of the analysand’s desire, creating a space in which the analysand might articulate her desire– the analyst does not give advice, harbor fantasies of what the analysand should be, etc –political articulation should arise immanently from within collectives themselves.  Intellectuals should not play the role of a “vanguard voice” telling the people what they “really” should be concerned about.  I suppose this is the influence of Ranciere on me.

I do think, however, that OOO can problematize our current political thought and open new avenues of political engagement and theorization.  As it stands, cultural studies is dominated by a focus on the discursive.  We hear endless talk about signs, signifiers, “positions” or positionality, narratives, discourses, ideology, etc.  Basically we see the world as a fetishized text to be decoded and debunked.  None of this should, of course, be abandoned, but I do think we’re encountering its limitations.

In the few years I’ve been writing on these issues, I’ve been surprised to discover just how hard it is to get people to sense that there is a non-discursive power of things; a form of power that is not about signs, ideology (as text), beliefs, positions, narratives, and so on.  It’s as if these things aren’t on the radar for most social and political theorists.  I get the sense that the reason for this has something to do with what Heidegger diagnosed in his analysis of the ready-to-hand.  Heidegger argues that when the ready-to-hand is working it becomes invisible.  We don’t notice it.  It recedes into the background.  Us academics live in worlds that work pretty well as far as material infrastructure goes.  We are, for the most part, in a world where things work:  food is available, electricity and water function, we have shelter, etc.  As a consequence, all this disappears from view and we instead focus on cultural texts because often this is a place where things aren’t working.

Perhaps I’m a bit more attuned to these things because of things about my background.  Around the age of 16 I went through a couple of months where I was homeless.  Homelessness is not fun.  In order to eat I had to work.  In order to work I had to wear a uniform, be clean, and have some way of getting to work.  But in order to get to work, have a clean uniform, and a clean body, I had to have money.  And in order to have money, I had to work.  During this period, existence itself was a form of contradiction and power.  I was trapped in a very limiting physical network that severely structured my possibilities of movement and action.  While all of this contained elements of discursivity, it was literally the things themselves that were exercising power here.  Everything became a broken hammer.

I have no desire to abandon critiques of ideology and continue to practice them myself.  However, discursive critique can only take us so far.  It’s possible to wipe away the ideological mystifications, reveal the obfuscations, etc., and still have unjust social hierarchy remain intact.  This is because there is also a power of things that structure action and social possibilities.  It’s this power of things– what I call “gravity” –that I’m trying to draw attention to in my work.  Such an attentiveness to the gravity of things requires that we cease speaking in generalities.  Our thought needs to become geographical in a very literal sense.  We need to know how this city is arranged, how the roads are organized, the fiber optic cables, water, food, education, train lines, foods produced and their qualities, etc.  We need to take seriously the properties of rice because the way in which rice grows has tremendous consequences for the form labor takes in a particular social assemblage.  Urbanists, design theorists, certain media theorists, materialist historians, and geographers have been doing these things for years.  We need to listen to them more.  Again, this is not a call to abandon discursive critique.  It still has its place and has made significant contributions.  But we do need to broaden our horizons and begin to see a world as if the hammers were broken.

Noticing the proliferation of neologisms in my thought lately– “phallusophy”, “Diotimatics”, “spectralogy”, etc. –I naturally found myself worrying whether or not there’s a structural psychosis at work in my theory.  This takes a little explaining.  The core of my thought is ontologically anarchistic.  Indeed, The Democracy of Objects probably should have been entitled The Anarchy of Objects (there will be a book or chapter entitled The Anarchy of Machines in the future).  Now what is an anarchic ontology?  It is an ontology that forecloses transcendent terms such as God, Platonic forms, a-historical essences, sovereigns, fathers, a-historical structures, transcendent subjects, etc.  All of these beings are treated as naturalistic, social, nation, and psychological transcendental illusions (cf. Difference and Givenness).  Within an anarchistic ontology, everything unfolds within immanence, without anything standing outside of history, becoming, time, etc.  An anarchic ontology is an ontology without fathers; or rather, it is an ontology where the name-of-the-father is foreclosed or banished both ontologically and socially as a necessary term.  It is a queer ontology.

The formal matrix of any anarchic theory– whether ontological or political –consists in the rejection of the masculine side of Lacan’s graph of sexuation (to the left, above).  The left-hand side of the graph of sexuation is the masculine side.  If we read the two propositions in the upper left-hand quadrant together we get “there exists an entity that is not subject to withdrawal” and “all entities are subject to withdrawal”.  Why does Lacan association this side of the graph with masculine sexuation?  Because what he has presented here is a highly formalized version of the Oedipus complex and the myth of the primordial father in Totem and Taboo.  Within this framework, the primordial father is not subject to “castration” in that he has free reign over all women, including his own mother and daughters.  The incest prohibition is not yet in effect, yet all of his subjects are subject to a limitation on their enjoyment:  the primordial father enjoys all the women, whereas the “band of brothers” is forbidden to do so.  By contrast, in the Oedipus, the father is the origin of the Law and therefore not himself subject to it.  Rather, it is the child that is subject to the Law and the limitations it imposes on jouissance. I deal with all of this in much more detail in the 6th chapter of The Democracy of Objects.

read on!


Oh how the humanists and human exceptionalists have bristled with outrage.  “OOO/SR hates humans!”  “OOO/SR wants to treat rocks as every bit as important as persons!”  “OOO/SR denies the agency of humans!”  “OOO/SR is nihilistic!”  No, I don’t hate humans, nor do I think the rights of rocks should be treated as absolutely equal with those of humans.  But perhaps, with this last charge of nihilism, the proper gesture is not one of disavowal, but embrace.  However, the nihilism here is not the subjective nihilism described so well by Nietzsche, but rather an objective nihilism characteristic of the material reality of our times.  It is our circumstances themselves, the material reality of our world, that has become nihilistic, not the thought of this or that thinker.  Indeed, I suspect that many of us are terrified and anguished by this objective nihilistic darkness that approaches and that may very have happened, as Timothy Morton suggests.  Perhaps we are already dead and we just don’t yet know it.

Everything hinges on asking why the critique of correlationism– the most contentious and controversial dimension of SR –has arisen at this point in history.  Why have so many suddenly become impassioned with the question of how it is possible to think a world without humans or being without thought?  It is such a peculiar question, such a queer question, such a strange question.  Why, after all, would we even be concerned with what the world might be apart from us when we are here and regard this world?  There are, of course, all sorts of good ontological and epistemological reasons for raising these questions.  Yet apart from immanent philosophical reasons, philosophy is always haunted by a shadow text, a different set of reasons that are not so much of the discursive order as of the order of the existential and historical situation and which thought finds itself immersed at a given point in history.  Over and above– or perhaps below and behind –the strictly discursive philosophical necessity for a particular sort of thought, is the existential imperative to think something.  Here the issue is not one of establishing how a certain philosophical imperative demands a response to a strictly philosophical question, but of addressing the question of why a particular question begins to resonate at all at this point in history and not in others.

read on!


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