Gilles Deleuze was a philosopher who resurrected the ÔneglectedÕ
and unconventional figures of philosophy - such as the philosophy of Henri
Bergson - in order to reanimate some of the concepts and problems produced.
Ultimately, they point in different ways to one important concept; ÔbecomingÕ.
Being and matter are never stable: they are always caught in an endless process
of variation or becoming. ÔBeing is becomingÕ is thus a guiding principle in
DeleuzeÕs work. For Deleuze: ÒThe life of philosophers conforms to the ordinary
laws of succession; but their proper names coexist and shine as luminous points
that take us through the components of a concept once more or as the cardinal
points of a stratum or layer that continually come back to us, like dead stars
whose light is brighter than everÓ.
DeleuzeÕs Ôpractical vitalismÕ points to BergsonÕs Creative
Evolution (1911), where the fluid structure of the Žlan vital is described
as a form of materiality in process of becoming, which eludes intellectual
analysis and can only be comprehended through empathy and intuition; it is an
expression of the pre-individual, of the flux and indeterminacy of life, where
the constraints of identity are yet to be applied. As Bergson points out, the
intellect tends to spatialise, to immobilise the flux of life. In this way, the
perception of being is reduced and impoverished. Accordingly, Deleuze adopts a
mode of thought and a style of exposition subtle enough to penetrate the flow
of life: ÒYour writing has to be liquid or gaseous simply because normal
perception and opinion are solid, geometricÓ.
Deleuze adopts BergsonÕs model of perception, which conceives the
world as Ôflowing-matterÕ.
This involves a constant process of transformation, and a
metaphysics in which the light of consciousness is already in things
themselves, where Ômovement-imageÕ and Ôflowing matterÕ, Ôpure spiritualismÕ
(philosophical idealism) and Ôradical materialismÕ, converge. The universe is
conceptualised as a kind of Ômeta-cinemaÕ; a machinic rather than a mechanistic
universe. It is a universe without eyes, in which light is not reflected or
stopped: ÒIn other words, the eye is in things, in luminous images in
themselvesÓ. Bergson and Deleuze are machinic materialists, who consider
consciousness as immanent to matter. A monistic materialism that provides us
with Ôa world without a subjectÕ:
My eye, my brain, are images, parts of my body. How could my
brain contain images
The ancient Greek philosophers of the Ionian school thought the
principle of all things was in matter alone; for it is that out of which all
things are and from which they come into being, and into which, at the last,
they pass away. This they say is the element and principle of things.
The philosopher Thales singled out water as the primary substance
from which all else was derived and to which it returns. Many have questioned
as to why Thales took water as the primary stuff of nature, the essential
reality of all other phenomena. The philosopher Aristotle writes that Thales
observed that every living thing contains moisture. Plants contain moisture,
all foodstuffs contain moisture, whereas rocks are dry and cadavers very soon
desiccate. Thales saw the essential part played by water in nourishing life so
that the hot element could come from it, since what is alive has heat. Water is
also the essence of seeds. His favourite phrase was: ÒWater is the most
beautiful thing in the worldÓ. Thales also chose the moist element because of
his special studies of climatic conditions: water assumed such different forms
as ice, liquid, and vapour, and to the ancient Greeks the phenomena of
evaporation, mist, wind, animal breath, the germination of plants and the
origins of life were all intermingled and identified.
Aristotle also suggests that Thales might have been carrying
forward the primacy that Greek and Egyptian mythology accorded water, for he
had spent time in arid zones such as Egypt and Mesopotamia, where water-cults
were widespread, owing to the fact that agriculture and the very survival of
the population depended upon the flooding of the rivers. The Egyptians
worshipped the river Nile as a God. Thales also held that everything had a soul
and was therefore Òfull of godsÓ. This hearkens back to the animistic phase of
religion, the knowledge that the body has of its essential union with nature,
that sense of awe, wonderment and reverence towards nature as the outward,
physical manifestation of a purpose that is essentially spiritual, springing
forth from depths unseen. It is a picture of an enchanted world where every
tree and river has its local indwelling spirit, god or goddess. Thales
considered water to be the soul of the world, the universal essence of life: ÒA
divine power is present in the element of water by which it is endowed with movement.Ó
ÒEverything is in a flux, everything changesÓ observed the ancient
Greek philosopher Heraclitus. For nothing remains what, where and as it was:
everything is and also is not, for everything is constantly changing,
constantly coming into being and passing away. ÒAll things are flowingÓ and
change is universal, Òfor nothing ever is, everything is becomingÓ. This is a
world where concrete sensuous ÔlivingÕ opposites merge into one another.
According to Heraclitus, ÒSouls are vaporised from what is wet. To souls, it is
death to become water; to water, it is death to become earth. From earth comes
water, and from water, soul. Fire lives the death of earth, and air lives the
death of fire; water lives the death of air, earth - that of water.Ó
The impermanence and mutability of all things is expressed by
Heraclitus in his famous aphorism: ÒIt is not possible to step twice in to the
same river; for fresh waters are ever flowing in upon you: we are, and are
not.Ó
A radical follower of Heraclitus, the philosopher Cratylus, argues
against Heraclitus that it is impossible to step into the same river even once,
seeing that, while we are stepping into the river, it is changing, is becoming
another river. The extant being is, so to speak, dissolved in the very process
of becoming. Thus every existing state of things inevitably breaks up, and
every developed form is in fluid movement.
For example, picture an eternally flowing stream of molecules in
motion, joining one with another, and forming certain combinations, ÔthingsÕ,
ÔobjectsÕ. Such combinations are distinguished by the greater or lesser degree
of there stability, existing for a more or less prolonged period of time, and
then passing away, to be replaced by others.
In like manner, every organic being is at each moment the same and
not the same; at each moment it is assimilating matter drawn from without, and
excreting other matter; at each moment the cells of the body are dying and new
ones are being formed; in a longer or shorter period of time the matter of the
body is completely renewed and is replaced by other molecules of matter, so
that every organic being is always itself, and yet something other than itself.
This celebration of the fundamental fluidity and sacredness of
nature and hostility towards a disenchanted cold hearted rationalism cruelly
ignorant of a vital and sacred organic reality, beautifully and poetically
evoked in OvidÕs Metamorphosis:
As for Cyane, she lamented the rape of the goddess, and the
contempt shown for her
Everything becomes but nothing is. Like the
Lethe and Mnemosyne rivers, the streams of forgetfulness and memory, substance,
matter, is in a perpetual state of motion and change. The material ÔobjectsÕ of
the physical world exist for a moment of time only as temporary combinations
amidst the perpetual flux of Becoming. However, for however long as these
combinations remain the same, we tend to judge and define them as fixed, rigid
objects of investigation, given once and for all in accordance with the formula
of traditional logic: ÔEither yes or noÕ. Thus a thing either exists or does
not exist; and cannot at the same time be itself or something else. Natural
objects and processes are therefore perceived in rigid isolation, isolated from
their general context; they are examined not in their motion, but in a state of
immobility; not in their life, but in their death. This mechanistic point of
view is one-sided, restricted and abstract: individual things are perceived outside of their
relationships, in a state of rest devoid of motion, where, in the presence of
their existence, their coming into being and passing away is ignored. We cease
to see the wood for the trees.
Inevitably, however, in proportion as things change to the extent
to which they cease to exist as they did formerly, and to the extent that we
observe the movements, transitions, connections, rather than the things that move,
change and are connected, we must apply a very different kind of logic: the
logic of contradiction; we say ÒYes and no, they exist and they do not existÓ.
Things are now perceived in their fluidity: in other words, in their
connection, their interlacement, their movement, their appearance and
disappearance. Everything is and also is not, for everything is in flux, is
constantly changing, constantly coming into being and passing away.
This, while supplying a positive understanding of the existing
state of things, at the same time enables us to recognise that that state of
things will inevitably break up. Accordingly we are led to regard the things of
the natural world, and their concepts in the human brain, not as distinct,
unchangeable, rigid objects, given once and for all, but instead as transient,
in fluid movement, in their appearance and disappearance, in the perpetual flow
of their life.
Furthermore, we find upon closer examination that the two poles of
any apparent division or dichotomy, like subject and object, mind and body,
self and other, male and female, are inseparable, and interpenetrate; they are
two different aspects of a single entity, living, mobile, perpetually changing
themselves in to one another; an interdependence or unity of opposites, known
in logic under the name of principium coincidentiae oppositorium (the principle
of the coincidence of opposites). This unity of opposites is something more, however, than a mere
juxtaposition of opposing factors, but is, in the opinion of one philosopher,
Òthe root of all movement and life, and it is only insofar as it contains a Contradiction
that anything moves and has impulse and activityÓ.
We know that structurally the physical world exhibits a fluctuating
and dynamic equilibrium of opposing forces in all its forms, down to the
minutest combination of electrical particles. The very life processes of the
human body itself depend upon the interconnection of opposing processes: the
anabolic building-up processes and the katabolic, breaking down processes. And
the bodyÕs simplest movement involves an interconnected opposition of flexor
and tensor muscles. In like manner, we find that cause and effect are
conceptions which only hold good in their application to the individual case as
such; but as soon as we consider the individual case in its general connection
with the universe as a whole, they merge; they dissolve in the process of
universal action and reaction in which causes and effects are constantly
changing places, so that what is effect here and now will be cause there and
then, in a world where all things are linked and tangled a thousandfold and
every deed gives birth to countless others.
Ancient Greek philosophers such as Thales, Anaximander, Anaximenes
and Heraclitus promoted a ÔfluidÕ and poetic mode of thought, a reverential
approach to the substances of the natural world. An outlook where concrete,
sensuous, ÔlivingÕ ÔoppositesÕ are interchangeable, permitting the continuous
ÔflowÕ or transmutation of one element into another. Nature is experienced as a
living, all-embracing and magical entity. For these philosophers, matter
consisted of four primal elements: earth, air, water, and fire. Water is
opposed to fire but allied to earth, while air is opposed to earth but allied
to fire. By arranging these elements in pairs, four primary qualities evolve:
namely heat (fire and water), dryness (fire and earth), cold (earth and water),
and moisture (water and air). A conception later extended to the human body,
which was held to be composed of four fluids or ÔhumoursÕ: blood, phlegm,
yellow bile (or choler) and black bile (or melancholy), characteristic of the
four human ÔtemperamentsÕ: choleric (warm and dry, quick and strong), sanguine
(warm and moist, quick and weak), phlegmatic (cold and moist, slow and weak),
and melancholic (cold and dry, slow and strong). This is a world-view that
establishes an intimate and physical connection between the microcosm of the
human body, consisting of 70% water, and the macrocosm of the natural
environment.
The ancient Greek physician Hippocrates, known as Òthe father of
medicineÓ, investigated the link between disease and environment in accordance
with the theory that an imbalance in the four humours, or bodily fluids, was
responsible for disease. The voluminous writings of Hippocrates, totalling up
to sixty or so texts, amount to a palimpsest or Corpus of works extensively
elaborated upon by succeeding generations of physicians. Two texts, On
Regimen and On the Nature of Man, portray the human body as
eternally flowing in a condition of perpetual flux: health is a matter of
keeping the body within specific boundaries in order to ensure a proper balance
or equilibrium. Imbalance produces illness if it results in an undue
concentration of fluids in any particular zone of the body. What are being kept
in balance are bodily fluids or chymoi. Though naturally present in
the body, two fluids - bile and phlegm - are particularly associated with
illness, flowing immoderately from the body of the sick patient. Thus excessive
phlegm produces winter colds, surplus bile produces summer diarrhoea and vomiting,
and mania results from bile boiling in the brain.
Blood was regarded by Hippocrates as essential to life, yet even
blood could exceed its natural bounds, and was periodically expelled from the
body in menstruation or nose-bleeds. Such natural evacuation of excess blood
suggested the need to maintain a balanced bodily equilibrium of this
life-giving fluid through the practice of blood-letting, a therapeutic device
devised by the Hippocratics, systemised by the physician Galen, and serving for
centuries as a cure for a host of maladies.
In On the Nature of Man, Hippocrates describes black bile as
an important, though predominantly harmful, humour. Visible in vomit and
excreta, it contributes to the dark colour of dried blood. Observing clotted
blood, Hippocrates asserted that the darkest part corresponds to black bile,
the serum above the clot to yellow bile, while the light matter at the top is
phlegm. Hippocrates correlated these four bodily fluids or ÔhumoursÕ - blood,
yellow bile, black bile and phlegm - to the four primary climatic qualities:
hot, dry, cold and wet; to the four seasons; to the four ages of human
development (infancy, youth, adulthood and old age); to the four elements (air,
fire, earth and water); and to the four human ÔtemperamentsÕ (sanguine,
choleric, melancholic and phlegmatic). The four fluids or ÔhumoursÕ of the
human body are the organising principles employed by Hippocrates and his
disciples to situate the body into a coherent, symmetrical grid, a system of
binary oppositions guaranteeing secure boundaries, physical health, and the
established hierarchical order of society. For example, Hippocrates affirms the
ÔnaturalÕ superiority of men over women to the binary distinction between
wetness and dryness:
The female flourishes more in an environment of water, from
things cold and wet and soft.
The male flourishes more in an environment of fire, from dry,
hot foods and mode of life.
The medical treatises of Hippocrates are coloured by the
subservient role of women in ancient Greek patriarchal society. However,
research conducted by generations of historians, anthropologists, philosophers
and archaeologists; for example, Lewis Morgan, Johann Bachofen, Friedrich
Engels, Elizabeth Gould Davis, Mary Daly, and Marija Gimbutas, reveal, before
the onset of patriarchy, women had enjoyed an especially revered status. The evidence
of womenÕs pre-eminent role in ancient Greek matriarchal societies is recorded
in historical accounts of ancient religious rites involving acts of symbolic
death and rebirth linked with baptism in the waters of the Styx. The waters of
this underworld river, across which all souls had to pass after death, were
believed to possess the fecundity and sacred powers associated with the cyclic
flow of menstrual blood. The place where the river was thought to originate was
commemorated by a shrine at the city of Clitor, or Kleitoris, sacred to Gaia,
the Mother of the Earth.
The philosopher Luce Irigaray argues that the historically dominate
ÔmasculineÕ culture of the West idealises formal structural qualities above
everything else. According to Irigaray, this sterile formalism in turn seeks
and imposes unity, stability, consistency and completion, everywhere. Thus
everything incongruous, jarring, asymmetrical, random and unfinished become
terms of criticism, instead of praise. The emphasis on unity and stability of
form sees the production of fixed and final meanings as the supreme goal of
both philosophical reflection and scientific investigation. The idea that
anything may have a dynamically changing or polymorphous identity, or have
contradiction as its very essence or animating principle, is defined as
monstrous and abominable in a phallomorphic culture that can tolerate only the
homogeneous, the defined, knowable, consistent, and contained.
Irigaray argues for the values of an alternative ÔfeminineÕ culture
that subverts the traditional emphasis on unity and consistency of meaning and
identity. According to Irigaray, ÒÔSheÕ is indefinitely other than ÔherselfÕÓ:
there is no longer an insistence upon a strict dividing line between the
ÔselfÕ, and what is outside of it (the other). The armour of an alienating
identity, the fortress-like exclusion of the isolated ÔegoÕ or ÔmonadÕ, is
identified with the tension, paranoia and self-obsession of traditional
masculine, bourgeois society and philosophy. The alternative is described by
Irigaray thus: ÒÔsheÕ goes off in all directions in which ÔheÕ is unable to
discern the coherence of any meaning. Contradictory words seem a little crazy
to the either/or logic of reason, and are completely inaudible to those who listen
with ready-made grids and a code prepared in advanceÓ. This rejection of a
mechanistic, either/or logic culminates in the philosopher Julia KristevaÕs
assertion: ÒTo believe that one Ôis a womanÕ is almost as absurd and
obscurantist as to believe that one Ôis a manÕÓ. Thus it is not the sexual
difference between subjects that is important, as the sexual differentiation
within each subject: an androgyny celebrated by Kristeva in the following
terms: ÒShe was a man; she was a woman.......It was a most bewildering and
whirligig state to be inÓ.
Irigaray claims that the traditional disquiet about that which is
fluid is based upon an obsessive fear of anything that might disrupt the
apparent solidity of things, entities, and objects; anything that threatens
traditional notions of the self-identical, the one, the unified, the solid.
Within a phallomorphic culture female sexuality is regarded as an uncontainable
flow (associated with the menstrual flow); it is regarded as a threat to secure
boundaries, attesting to the bodyÕs permeability, its vulnerable dependence on
an outside, and to the precarious division between the bodyÕs inside and its
outside. Bodily fluids flow, seep, and infiltrate; their control is a matter of
perpetual uncertainty to the established order: ÒWhat she emits is flowing,
fluctuating. Blurring. Fluid - like that other, inside/outside of
philosophical discourse - is, by nature, unstable. It overflows the ÔsubjectÕ,
who attempts to congeal, freeze and paralyse the flow, subordinating it to
geometrismÓ. For Irigaray:
Fluids surge and move, and a metaphysics that thinks being as
fluid would tend to privilege
The school of thought established by the Swiss physician and
alchemist Philippus Aureolus Paracelsus (1493-1541) perceived the world as a
vast chemical laboratory. An internal fire located deep within the earth was
given as the explanation for the existence of mountain springs and streams,
which were understood as distilled by the earthÕs central fire from vast
subterranean water reservoirs. As heat from the earthÕs central fire vaporised
this water, causing it to rise and erupt through cracks in the earthÕs surface,
the result was the ÒdistilledÓ mountain spring. Through a complicated process
of distillation and fermentation, mountains acted as vast chemical alembics
responsible for the origin of hot and cold mineral springs and pure mountain
streams.
Nature, the striving to probe it and to know it, was for the
English philosopher and statesman Sir Francis Bacon (1561-1626) an
unquestionable law. In his view matter Òseems to attract manÕs whole entity by
winning smilesÓ. According to Bacon, scientific truth is impossible Òwithout
dissecting and anatomising the world most diligentlyÓ. In his treatise, Novum
Organum, Bacon describes nature as female, who has to be ÒvexedÓ and thus
Òforced to yield her secretsÓ. As the historian Carolyn Merchant points out:
Much of the imagery he used in delineating his new scientific
objectives and methods derives from the courtroom, and, because it treats nature as a
female to be tortured through mechanical inventions, strongly suggests the
interrogations of the witch trials and the mechanical devices used to torture
witches.....Bacon stated that the method by which
For Bacon, science exists as a means towards power and domination,
and the progress of science and technological innovation is assessed against
its capacity to subdue and control the natural environment; Ôbinding her into
serviceÕ, ÔconstrainingÕ and moulding her:
For you have to follow and as it were hound nature in her
wanderings, and you will be able
The English philosopher Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679), the systematiser
of BaconÕs scientific method, continued BaconÕs quest; and it is precisely with
Hobbes that knowledge Òbased upon the senses loses its poetic blossom, it
passes into the abstract experience of the geometrician. Physical motion is
sacrificed to mechanical or mathematical motion....Materialism takes to
misanthropyÓ.
This impoverishment and mortification of nature, its reduction to
geometrical and mechanical laws, meant that humanity itself was also
impoverished, was also regarded as a mechanism and was restricted by the same
laws. A world-view actively promoted by the French philosopher, Rene Descartes
(1596-1650). A major physicist, mathematician, and one of the creators of
analytical geometry and modern algebra, Descartes conceptualised the body of
nature as a mechanical device and the physical bodies of human beings
themselves as soulless and lifeless corporeal mechanisms directed by a ÔsoulÕ
which alone is endowed with intelligence and will. The Cartesian world-view
tears asunder and fragments the organic unity of living beings by establishing
the centrality of the individualised and atomised ÔegoÕ or ÔsubjectÕ, the
metaphysical opposition of the thinking being to nature expressed by Descartes
in his famous dictum: Cogito, ergo sum - Ò(I) think, therefore (I)
amÓ.
Descartes then proceeds to radically differentiate mind (Ôthinking
substanceÕ, res cogitans) from matter (Ôextended substanceÕ, res
extensa). Through detached visualisation, the disembodied rational
intellect apprehends Òclearly and distinctlyÓ the natural world of extended,
material substance. The mind of the rational (male) subject is proclaimed as
the incorporeal and transcendent Òlord and possessorÓ of corporeal nature,
which is perceived as a mechanical device, infinitely divisible into discrete
units; the cries and writhings of animals beneath the vivisectionistÕs scalpel
regarded as insensate, mechanical reflexes. The physical world of nature is
treated as lifeless stuff to be quantified and manipulated in accordance with
the rules of mathematics, geometry, and mechanics:
Lonely and lifeless nature lay prone, fettered with an iron
chain, strict measure and the arid number prevailed. As into dust and winds,
into dark words the immeasurable flower of life disintegrated.
According to Descartes the totality of nature can be reduced to
extended bodies differentiated by magnitude, configuration, situation and
motion, that is to say, the world can be reduced to a system of measurements
and mechanical laws. Like automatons, the movements of human beings are viewed
as the effects of mechanical laws that describe the actions within the human
body of the bony levers set into motion by the processes of muscular expansion
and contraction. Descartes duly compares the internal workings of the human
body to the novel mechanical artefacts produced by the developing science of
hydraulic engineering:
One may very well liken the nerves of the animal machine I have
described to the pipes of
Henri Bergson, a leading French philosopher at the beginning of the
Twentieth Century, was strongly of the opinion that life flows, and that any
attempt to cut this flow into segments kills it. Reality, according to Bergson,
is fluid, a fluidity that a mechanistic mind-set attempts to grasp within a set
of rigid, frozen concepts. Mechanism for Bergson is merely the external,
objectified form of an inner creative activity, a vital impetus (elan
vital); and we sense the flow of this creative life force through a
primary inner experience called intuition. To the
dominance in our thinking and mode of life of an Òesprit de geometrieÓ, Bergson
affirms anÒesprit de finesseÓ. This involves distinguishing between
the geometrical time that occurs in the theories of an overly analytical,
mechanistic scientific world-view, and the real time that we directly
experience in our consciousness introspectively, culminating in a fuller awareness
and a deeper understanding of reality as in a perpetual state of flux, a fluid duree of Becoming,
of which genuine understanding can only be had by a very different way of
knowing - through intuition, involving empathy, feeling and
participation. Thus it is possible to comprehend realityÕs fundamental
fluidity, on the wing, as it were, instead of freezing it, as was customarily
done, into fixed, ready-made categories:
There is one reality, at least, which we all seize from within,
by intuition and not by simple
Bergson condemns the mechanistic and geometrical notion of time as
lifelessly abstract and mathematical; it is measured by clocks, scales and
yardsticks. Time is represented spatially, and is broken up into homogeneous
units (years, hours, and minutes). This mechanistic and mathematical notion of
time neither flows nor acts. It exists passively. Most of Western humanityÕs
practical life in society is dominated by this conception, resulting in a loss
of spontaneity, and the rigidification of human responses to the stereotyped
and mechanical actions of automata. This overly abstract, intellectualistic and
mathematical approach to reality is at home only when dealing with what is static,
fixed, and immobile. The mind turns its back on the fundamental fluidity of
existence and solidifies everything it touches. Such an intellect freezes,
fixes, and coagulates movement into a homogeneous series of static concepts,
arbitrarily making abstract cuts into lifeÕs continuum. It invents ÒthingsÓ -
an artificial world of hard facts: the domain of the solid, dead, and inert.
Bergson perceives this tendency as expressing a technocracyÕs
tragically misguided attempt to assert power over nature through industry and
the mechanical automatism of the machine. And Bergson repeatedly takes the
large, impersonal business concern and the sub-divided, Taylorised tasks of
factory machine production to illustrate the life-denying economic rationalism
he is determined to criticise and devalue. For Bergson the abstract, degrading
and alienated life experience of the factory hand and office worker of today,
compared with the concrete, symbolic and humanly fulfilling activities of the
artisan and craft worker of a pre-industrial age, corresponds to the
disappearance of the qualitative, individual characteristics of work, and the
transformation of time from the concrete duration of creative activity into a
process subject to mechanical laws.
Consequently time loses its qualitative, changing, fluid character;
it freezes into a rigid, exactly delimited, quantifiable continuum, filled with
quantitatively measurable ÒthingsÓ (which are the mechanically objectified
ÒperformanceÓ and ÒproductionsÓ of the worker, wholly detached from their total
human personality); in short, time is transformed into abstract, exactly
measurable, physical space. The personality of the worker can do no more than
look on and suffer helplessly as merely a rationalised and mechanically
fragmented object of labour power, an isolated particle fed into an alien
system. The increasing mechanical disintegration of the process of production
into specialised sub-components also destroys those bonds that had once bound
individuals into a community in the days when work was still ÔwholeÕ and
ÔorganicÕ. Articulating it philosophically, Bergson points out that a
qualitative ÔwholeÕ consists of several quantitative ÔpartsÕ: a ÔpartÕ is that
of which many make a ÔwholeÕ; therefore, the part is less than the whole - and
the whole is always greater than the sum of its individual parts. Tragically,
the mechanical rigidification of industry reduces and fragments workers into
isolated, abstract atoms whose labour activity no longer brings them together
directly and organically; instead, they are overtaken exclusively and to an
ever-increasing degree by the abstract laws of a mechanism that imprisons them.
Nostalgia for an organic and integrated community in comparison
with the moral impoverishment and Ôtranscendental homelessnessÕ of the modern
world colours the cultural critic Walter BenjaminÕs most cogent essays. In ÔThe
StorytellerÕ, for instance, Benjamin compares printing and the dispersal of
feeling in modern urban society - what Benjamin describes as a growing inability
to exchange experiences - with the exemplary and authentic, highly personal and
entertaining forms of verbal art, which the modern world of industry and mass
media are in the process of destroying. Benjamin describes the yarns, the oral
narratives woven by the storyteller as a type of craft, Òan artisan form of
communication, as it were. It does not seek to convey the pure essence of the
thing, like information or a report. It sinks the thing into the life of the
storyteller, in order to bring it out again. Thus traces of the storyteller
cling to the story the way the handprints of the potter cling to the clay
vessel.Ó
Life, for Henri Bergson, is like a flowing torrent of creative
activity, a ceaseless flow of energy, an elan vital. Matter, the condensed
state of free activity, represents the cessation, the ÔobjectificationÕ of the
creative action. LifeÕs creative elan is ceaselessly solidified into
finite, material ÔthingsÕ or ÔobjectsÕ; calcified or crystalline deposits which
are, in time, dissolved and reabsorbed back into the stream of life, into its creative flow. Bergson
compares this process, and life itself, to a shell, bursting into fragments
which are again shells. A view Bergson reiterates and extends into a veritable
cosmology:
Let us imagine a vessel full of boiling water heated at a high
pressure, and here and there
It would appear, therefore, that for Bergson the manifestations of
Life (the elan vital) exist in perpetual conflict with ÒmatterÓ, in
any sense of that term in which it means something dead, inert, lifeless - in
short, the utter opposite of Life.
How, then, does Bergson derive matter from Life? By the device,
which is as old as Heraclitus, of balancing the upward movement of life by a
downward movement. For every upward push there is a downward fall, for every
tension of movement, a torpor or slackening of effort, for every creative urge,
the relaxation and listlessness of fatigue. So, again, an action which, when
first performed, was fresh and original, a new achievement in doing or thinking,
becomes, by repetition, a habit. Plasticity yields to rigidity, variation to
uniformity, effort to inertia.
Thus, we get matter - the burden against which Life is constantly
struggling, yet at the same time the very life-process itself. For Bergson,
evolution is not from matter to life, but from life to matter. Matter is
derivative from life, a deposit or sediment (as it were) of the cosmic flux or Elan, produced by
its slackening and receding from its own creations.
This is another aspect of BergsonÕs philosophy: like a river
flowing through an alluvial plain, we continue to follow the course which,
aeons ago, the water once carved out - only, with the passage of the years, the
original irregularities of the channel become exaggerated, the course more and
more elaborately curved, the rate of movement slower and slower. The river does
not change: it only becomes more and more characteristically itself. The
sedimentation and accumulated weight of these past external objectifications of
the human spirit express an endlessly flowing creativity concretised into
ÔthingsÕ that infuse and enrich our lives through the birth, internalisation
and historical transmission of the outward forms of ÔcultureÕ, as the stream of time moves on, inexorably.
ÒLife is a continuous stream proceeding through sequences of
generationsÓ. And what are human individuals? They are the bearers of this
process. Is life more than the totality of its bearers? Yes and No.
Life flows Òas these individualsÓ. But individuals are not continuous. Life is
continuous, yet it Òdams upÓ in individuals, or more generally as individuated
forms. All forms, social and cultural, represent the same sort of
crystallization and even rigidification of life. The forms (including
individuals) first appear as the ÒsubjectsÓ of life, but they turn out to be
instruments that are themselves transcended by the flow of life.
The colonist and explorer Bernard OÕReilly, in his autobiography Cullenbenbong, describes
the language of AustraliaÕs Blue Mountains Kanimbla people, an ancient people
whose culture expressed a direct, participatory experience of plants, animals,
and elements - the sounds of insects, the speech of birds, the tastes in the
winds, the flux of sounds and smells - in terms that seem to question the
dominion of European reason over a natural world construed as a passive and
mechanical set of ÔobjectsÕ:
The language of the blacks was not made for white manÕs tongue
and that is why it sounds
A strange thing this language of nature; a haunting echoing
softness might give way to unbelievable drama and there were dread words which
made your spine creep even though you didnÕt know their meaning. If you
listened to the Aborigines speaking together you didnÕt hear a mumble of
foreign words, you heard the sighing of trees, the voice of birds, the sounds
of storm and flood and wind, the rolling of rocks on a landslide; you heard
stark fear and infinite sadness.
K.Osmosis <S.P.K.> 2009
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