December 17, 2000
Deconstructing the
System
In the final volume of his writings, Foucault
explores the nature of power.
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Author: Michel Foucault
First
Chapter: 'Power'
By EDWARD W. SAID
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POWER Essential Works of Foucault, 1954-1984:
Volume Three. By Michel
Foucault. Edited by
James D. Faubion. Translated by Robert Hurley and others. 484 pp.
New York: The New Press. $30.
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hen he died of
AIDS in 1984 Michel Foucault was 57, perhaps the most celebrated
public intellectual in Europe and extremely well known elsewhere. He
had been an itinerant professor of philosophy in places like Tunis,
Uppsala and Warsaw until 1970, when he gained one of the chairs at the
Collège de France, the most sought-after and elite teaching positions
in the country. Though without registered or degree-seeking students,
the Collège is where 50 professors lecture formally to anyone who
wants to listen without questions or discussion. Although his first
book, ''Madness and Civilization,'' has still never been fully
translated into English (only an abridgment), Foucault has benefited
from an extraordinarily attentive audience of academic readers in the
United States for whom the long, unbroken succession of his many books
has been a resource of quite seminal theoretical and historical
importance.
In such works as ''The Order of Things,'' ''The Archeology of
Knowledge,'' ''Discipline and Punish'' and ''The History of
Sexuality,'' plus several volumes of essays and interviews, Foucault
propounded fascinating, highly original views about such matters as
the history of systems of thought, delinquency, discipline and
confinement, in addition to introducing into the vocabulary of
history, philosophy and literary criticism such concepts as discourse,
statement, episteme, genealogy and archaeology, each of them bristling
with complexity and contradiction such as few of his imitators and
disciples have ever mastered or completely understood.
Of Foucault's work it is, I think, true that it leaves no reader
untouched or unchanged for two main reasons. One, because, as he has
said, each book was an experience for him of being enmeshed,
imprisoned in ''limit-experiences'' like madness, death and crime, and
also of trying rationally to understand ''this involvement of
oneself'' in those difficult situations. Second, his books were
written ''in a series: the first one leaves open problems on which the
second depends for support while calling for a third. . . . They are
interwoven and overlapping.'' Even those readers in whom he has
produced a distaste that goes as far as revulsion will also feel that
his urgency of argument is so great as to have made a lasting
impression, for better or for worse.
While it is probably too early to say that Foucault is as radical
and strong a figure as Nietzsche, the revolutionary German philosopher
is the writer closest to him. During much of his career, Foucault
studied, commented on and took up Nietzsche with a rare affinity of
spirit. ''Power'' contains a long essay, ''Truth and Juridical
Forms,'' whose best section is also a remarkable meditation on
Nietzsche's thought.
This volume is the latest addition to the list of Foucault's
posthumous writings to appear in average (in some cases somewhat below
average) English translation. Shortly after his death, two of
Foucault's closest friends collected all his miscellaneous shorter
works in four large volumes that were published by Gallimard as ''Dits
et Écrits, 1954-1988.'' Three English-language volumes have been
selected and compiled from the Gallimard edition. They have been
arranged, according to the series' editor, the Berkeley anthropology
professor Paul Rabinow, quoting Foucault, as follows: Volume I,
''Ethics,'' about ''the way a human being turns him- or herself into a
subject,'' that is, a self or ego; Volume II, ''Aesthetics, Method,
and Epistemology,'' ''organized around Foucault's analysis of 'the
modes of inquiry which try to give themselves the status of the
sciences' ''; and now ''Power,'' about ''the objectivizing of the
subject in dividing practices,'' or, Rabinow adds, ''power
relations.'' I would guess that ''dividing practices'' means the way
by which, for instance, psychology is distinguished or divided from
biology as a science, and the way the thinking ego or individual
scientist in one case is a different persona in different situations.
To the untutored
reader even the introductory notes to this collection, while somewhat
helpful, require decoding, since they depend on familiarity with a
whole world of philosophical investigation inherited and assumed by
Foucault. Take ''the subject.'' Classical European philosophy from
Descartes to Kant had supposed that an objectively stable and
sovereign ego (as in ''cogito ergo sum'') was both the source and
basis for all knowledge. Foucault's work not only disputes this but
also shows how the subject is a construction laboriously put together
over time, and one very liable to be a passing historical phenomenon
replaced in the modern age by transhistorical impersonal forces, like
the capital of Marx or the unconscious of Freud or the will of
Nietzsche. Each of these explanatory forces can be shown to have a
''genealogy'' whose ''archaeology'' Foucault's histories provide.
Foucault's studies furnish the evidence for this dismantling, in
addition to showing how various powerful social institutions like the
church, the public health and medical professions, the law and the
police, as well as the processes of learning themselves, actually have
built and administer the power that rules the modern Western state.
For him, what matters is not the individual writer or philosopher but
an impersonal, continuing activity he calls discourse, with its rules
of formation and possibility. Those rules mean that users of the
discourse must have qualifications and academic accreditation -- plus
a specialized technical knowledge -- that not just anyone can either
possess or provide.
Thus, to contribute to early-18th-century medical discourse one
would have had to think in very specific, even confining terms and be
able to form statements according to prescribed lines, rather than
freely making direct and immediate observations that correspond to a
patient's actual physical malady. Foucault's interesting idea is that
''health'' and ''disease'' are never stable states, or matters of
truth and reality, but are always constructed to suit the type of
medical ''gaze'' that the doctor has, whether that is therapeutic,
punitive, providential or charitable.
Truth is not a fixed absolute, Foucault says provocatively, but an
effect of the scientific discourse, which sets up a working, albeit
contingent, distinction between true and false. And all of that
depends on how the socially constructed networks of hospitals,
clinics, laboratories, medical schools and governmental
administrations function together at various historical moments, which
Foucault's work strives painstakingly to describe and demystify,
moment by moment, step by step. The net result is nothing less than a
history of truth seen, in the final analysis, as an art of government.
It is quite evident from this brief summary that Foucault's
interest in such things as penology or mental illness or even sciences
like philology and economic theory can be traced back to his lifelong
fascination with confinement, punishment and the micromanagement of
details by an at times insinuating, at other times dominating power.
''Power'' is full of essays and interviews that show in often
compelling and ingenious terms the way a Renaissance sovereign
personality like the king or cardinal slowly disappears, in order to
reappear as the legal minutiae of a penal code administered by
impersonal committees, theoreticians of surveillance and punishment
like Jeremy Bentham or guilds of scholars and experts who guard their
''fields'' with jealous alertness against intruders. Whereas Louis XV
had a would-be regicide slowly tortured to death before his impassive
gaze, the modern wielders of power are scattered along many strands of
the social fabric, invisible, impersonal, but just as cruel when they
deal with transgressors and delinquents. No one more than Foucault has
studied the workings of these systems of power, and the way in which
we have all become ''governable.'' No one more than he has understood
the dangers posed to the system by renegades and rebels like Sade,
Nietzsche, Mallarme and other great transgressive artists.
FROM THE ARCHIVES
"French intellectual life is a scenario. It has its
stars and histrionic polemics, its claque and fiascoes. It is
susceptible, to a degree remarkable in a society so obviously
literate and ironic, to sudden gusts of lunatic fashion. A
Sartre dominates, to be followed by Levi-Strauss; the new master
is soon fusilladed by self-proclaimed 'Maoist-structuralists.'
The almost impenetrable soliloquies on semantics and
psychoanalysis of Jaques Lacan pack their full houses. Now the
mandarin of the hour is Michel Foucault.
". . . an honest first reading produces an almost intolerable
sense of verbosity, arrogance and obscure platitude. Page after
page could be the rhetoric of a somewhat weary sybil indulging
in free association. Recourse to the French text shows that this
is not a matter of awkward translation. . . .
"One asks these questions because Foucault's claims are
sweeping, and because, one supposes, he would wish to be read
seriously or not at all. His appeal, moreover, to contemporaries
of exceptional intelligence both at home and in England (this
book appears in a series edited by R. D. Laing) is undeniable.
This is no confidence trick. Something of originality and,
perhaps, of very real importance, is being argued in these often
rebarbative pages."
-- George
Steiner's review of "The Order of Things," (Febr. 28, 1971)
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There are
many problems and questions that come to mind as one reads Foucault,
but one thing is never in doubt: he was a prodigious researcher, a man
driven by what he once called ''relentless erudition.'' Perhaps the
most riveting extract in ''Power'' is ''Lives of Infamous Men,'' a
short introduction he wrote to a collection of early-18th-century
records of internment (police blotter entries most likely), about
quasi-anonymous men and women convicted of particularly horrible
crimes -- infanticide, cannibalism, incest, dismemberment and the
like. These minimal biographies, he says, are ''singular lives,
transformed into strange poems through who knows what twists of fate
-- this is what I decided to gather into a kind of herbarium.'' In
other words, they are gems gathered by him from the leavings or excess
of his bibliophilia. These not-quite-anonymous people ''were able to
leave traces -- brief, incisive, often enigmatic -- only at the point
of their instantaneous contact with power,'' a convergence that
produced a ''blend of dark stubbornness and rascality . . . lives
whose disarray and relentless energy one senses beneath the
stone-smooth words.'' Just as their memorialist Foucault displays
remarkable literary flair, responding brilliantly to the grisly
semi-secrecy of their lives, their macabre presence on the fringes of
society, simultaneously menacing and gripping.
It is that exercise of imagination focused on the marginal and
shadowy, harnessed to a formidably ascetic work ethic, that so
distinguished Foucault as a philosopher and historian. I saw him
lecture once at the Collège de France in the early spring of 1978,
when he addressed a very large and quite motley crowd drawn from the
beau monde all the way through the academic ranks down to the
clochards (or tramps) who had wandered in for shelter. Dressed in a
white shirt buttoned to the very top, tieless and in a black suit, his
completely bald (perhaps shaven) head glistening in the poor light, he
strode in quickly, sat down and began to read from his redoubtably
well-prepared text. No jokes, small talk, hemming and hawing. His
performance that day was an exercise in stark, concentrated
asceticism, his severity of learning and dedication keeping every word
taut and in place. The subject was ''governmentality,'' and the
lecture is in ''Power,'' where it is identified as part of a yearlong
course on ''Security, Territory and Population.'' Though this was just
before he had openly espoused the gay politics and
self-experimentation of his last years (probingly investigated by
James Miller in ''The Passion of Michel Foucault''), one could sense
in his lecture a coiled-up energy as he surveyed the pastoral and
police element in modern government that, I now feel, he was
highlighting in order to undermine later.
Unfortunately, not all of the material in ''Power'' is of equal
merit, neither in the way it is presented nor in its substance. In
order to make shorthand generalizations about major social and
epistemological shifts in several European countries, Foucault resorts
to maddening, unsupported assertions that may be interesting
rhetorically but cannot pass muster either as history or as
philosophy. Too often, grand statements about society as a whole or at
its extremes are presented without evidence or proof (Foucault seems
to have had an addiction for the beginnings of centuries, as if
history ran in hundred-year periods, of which the first part was
usually where the important events occurred), while at other times
complicated interviews that were conducted with him about a specific
situation in Iran or Poland are left to stand gnomically, without
explanation or context, and, sad to say, seem very dated. At other
times, a lamentably literal translation, as in ''One of the great
problems of the French Revolution was to bring an end to this type of
peasant plunder,'' delivers approximate meanings that may be funny but
aren't very helpful. Can you imagine an energetic bureaucrat called
''the French Revolution'' bustling around like the March Hare trying
to do something about a ''problem'' called ''peasant plunder''?
Some of these difficulties have to do with editors, translators and
a publisher who out of a worthy respect for Foucault's memory and
achievement probably thought they should leave the great man's words
as they were, even when they were delivered hastily or far too
allusively. While this assures completeness of texts, it doesn't help
the reader, who is left to flounder unnecessarily in passages that
could have been eliminated altogether or improved considerably with
useful notes. On the other hand, to footnote a passage from an
untranslated essay in an unobtainable source by way of assisting the
reader is, finally, a silly conceit. That occurs too. But despite
these flaws there is no doubt that at least half of ''Power'' is well
worth having and making the effort to understand.
What I found specially valuable in the collection were the
unexpected pleasures of essays like ''Lives of Infamous Men'' and a
magnificent long discussion, ''Interview With Michel Foucault,''
originally published in Italy around 1980. Not only can one hear him
elaborate on the continuity of his thought and its relationships with
the Frankfurt School, Freud, Marx, Gaston Bachelard and Georges
Canguilhem (his main teacher, the eminent French historian of
science), but we are also given a rare opportunity to see how a great
and original mind produces its work as well as itself at the same
time, clarifying issues while discovering new problems in thought and
in life. Foucault's extraordinary blend of energy and pessimism gives
a remarkable dignity to his work, which is anything but an exercise in
professorial abstraction.
Rather, as Foucault puts it, his thinking is animated by the
frightening realization that ''the Enlightenment's promise of
attaining freedom through the exercise of reason has been turned
upside down, resulting in a domination by reason itself, which
increasingly usurps the place of freedom.'' This impasse is the real
core of Foucault's work. Even more dramatically, it also illuminates
the impasse that his astonishingly intense, compacted life seems on
some level to have exhibited.
Edward W. Said, a professor of English and comparative literature
at Columbia University, is the author of the forthcoming book
''Reflections on Exile.''
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