Monday, 22 April 2019

In the Belly of Neoliberalism: Notes on Transparency and the Crystal Palace



“You believe in the Crystal Palace, eternally indestructible, that is, one at which you can never stick out your tongue furtively nor make a rude gesture, even with your fist hidden away.” DostoyevskyNotes From Underground, Pt 1 Ch X (1864)

“The Crystal Palace is perhaps the only building in the world in which the atmosphere is perceivable by a spectator situated either at the west or east extremity of the gallery…where the most distant parts of the building appear wrapped in a light blue halo. The first triumph of the commodity takes place under the sign of both transparency and phantasmagoria”. Giorgio Agamben – Means Without Ends (1996)

"Transparency is not produced by friendly light that allows the particular to appear in its particularity, the arbitrary in its lovely arbitrariness, that is the other in its incommensurable otherness. Instead, the general politics of transparency makes otherness disappear by eliminating what is other. The violence of transparency ultimately expresses itself as the reduction of the other to the same, as the elimination of otherness. It draws on re-semblance. The politics of transparency is a dictatorship of the same". Byung-Chul Han - Topology of Violence (2011)


♗ A hundred and fifty years after Dostoyevsky published his Notes from Underground and over eighty after the real building in London burnt down, the West is threatening to bring its global Crystal Palace to completion. This utopia under the sign of transparency represents for the authors cited above a kind of perversion, a noble idea taken to grotesque extremes. The concept of a transparent building, illuminated solely by natural light, penetrating through clear glass walls, allegorizes the idea of a transparent society which was bequeathed to us from the 18th century Enlightenment; in particular, via the French revolution. For the Jacobin revolutionaries there was a dream of a free and equal society, where no dark corners remained and where Man and Truth would be definitively revealed. There were to be no secret societies of aristocrats plotting the restoration of the monarchy; no clergyman undermining the “age of reason” with their Popish propaganda. No zones of disorder or privileged bastions of the Ancien Régime; a society visible in all its parts.

But just as the abolition of distance does not bring everything close, so too has this regime of permanent visibility failed to bring a "New Man" into the open. As it did during the French Revolution, the clamor for transparency and the concomitant atmosphere of tension and paranoia manifests in an increasingly securitized and anxiety ridden response. During the Terror, Robespierre spoke repeatedly in the National Convention of treachery and plots being hidden behind masks and veils. The prevalence of denunciations and the bypassing of all but the minimum of due process transformed the Enlightenment dream into a killing machine of nightmarish proportions. In the minds of today's conspiracy theorists and an increasingly broad spectrum of the public, all forms of political power are viewed as a kind of veiling or covering up, and thus they cannot but see shadowy elites and grand plots even in the midst of the most chaotic and  uncertain times. Today in all areas of governance and social life, the will toward transparency manifests itself, from CCTV surveillance and the monitoring of online activity, to endless auditing and the amassing of ever larger quantities of data about citizens by both public and private powers. All this is routinely justified by reference to concepts such as security, confidence and visibility; which is little more than a self-referential circle. Similarly there are ever greater demands for transparency from public institutions, reflecting the collapse of boundaries around individuals, whose lives are rendered ever more transparent and available for monetization through social media and mass data collecting. Only in the last year or so have questions finally begun to be asked about the power of social media and the disparity that exists between the openness demanded of users and the opaque workings of multi-billion dollar businesses like Facebook and Google. As with so much in the lives of the modern Western subject: from who or what we are meant to be protected is less certain.

♞ On multiple levels the drive towards transparency has becomes an end in itself quite apart from any obvious benefit. The now ubiquitous exposure by individuals, to online public scrutiny, of what used to be considered private life, is sufficient to confirm the thesis that the neoliberal subject coincides with the transparent subject. Much of the public discourse on these issues take as its object the question of limits. For example where the boundary is between public and private property when using internet resources like Facebook or Twitter; to what degree governments should be permitted to access our personal data or use technology to monitor and record our daily movements; or what safeguards should be in place to protect individuals from press intrusion or having their personal data stolen by criminals or sold to third parties. However, framing the problem as a uniquely contemporary one, or leaving it at the level of legislation, misses the deeper significance of the concept of transparency for the development of globalization and the enclosure of the world into a single system of governance enabling the free unhindered flow of capital.


At the foundation of the entire undertaking, remarkably enough, rests the principle that such a work must be backed not by the state but by the free activity of its citizens ... The great new thought found a great new form. The engineer Paxton built the Crystal Palace ... It is in the highest degree remarkable and significant that this Great Exhibition of London - born of modern conceptions of steam power, electricity, and photography, and modern conceptions of free trade - should at the same time have afforded the decisive impetus, within this period as a whole, for the revolution in artistic forms ... We see now that it was the first great advance on the road to a wholly new world of forms ...When did this idea make its triumphal entry into the world? In the year 1851 , with the Crystal Palace in London“. Julius Lessing, Das halbe Jahrhundert der Weltausstellungen (Berlin, 1900) pp. 6-10. As quoted in Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project

This reign of opinion, so often invoked at this time, represents a mode of operation through which power will be exercised by virtue of the mere fact of things being known and people being seen in a sort of immediate, collective and anonymous gaze. A form of power whose main instance is that of opinion will refuse to tolerate areas of darkness”. Michel Foucault – Power/Knowledge (1980)

♖ Despite long running concerns about possible misuse of the massive hordes of data culled from European and American internet users, the revelations about possible interference in elections by UK based Cambridge Analytica and their proxies, by utilizing Facebook's technology,  have seemingly come as a shock. This latest 'big data' controversy came at the same time as the now completed Mueller investigation into possible Russian influence in the election of Donald Trump. Only now, when it appears that "democracy is under threat", are questions about the role of data collecting by social media companies and the whole nature of a transparent big data driven economy, finally being raised. In fact security breaches and large scale loss of data have been commonplace for years, usually being perpetrated by criminals seeking access to bank details and other sensitive information. It's only the scale and the ultimate motive of the perpetrators that has shifted in the case of Russia and Cambridge Analytica. In a development analogous to that identified by Carl Schmitt, the full scale assumption by states of the possibilities of big data for nefarious activities is comparable to the shift during the early modern period from piracy to "corsair capitalism". 

♟ These data scandals coincide with the recent publication in English of several volumes by the German-Korean philosopher Byung-Chul Han, whose short, almost manifesto like texts have caught the attention of some areas of the press. For Han, criticisms over privacy and democratic oversight miss the real significance of transparency and big data for our times. For Han, beneath the rubric of the society of transparency lies the society of exhibition, of acceleration, of pornography and ultimately a society of control, marked by what he has termed "Psychopolitics". This development, which hinges upon the concepts of big data and transparency, takes us - he argues - far beyond the notions of disciplinary and biopolitical power theorized by Michel Foucault in the 1970s and 80s. In effect, the ability of an agent - whether state or non-state - to harvest vast amounts of data and use it to micro-target individuals with tailored messages aimed at influencing preferences, marks a significant shift in the architecture of power in modern societies. The target is no longer the body or the will, but instead political power aims directly at our pre-reflective responses; at the psyche itself.

For Han, the advent of big data has had a radicalizing effect analogous to the development of statistics during the 18th century. Then as now grand claims to the predictive power of analysis have led some to prophesize the end of politics and the ascendency of an algorithmic technocracy. Where disciplinary power affects the soul by way of the body, and Biopolitics operates upon life at the level of the population, psychopolitics - expanded into every area of social life - intervenes directly at the level of the unreflective will. This is the mode by which big data coalesces with habits of consumption to "nudge" voters or customers, towards new content, or purchases. There is however an important distinction in the way in which this data is meant to be used. Unlike the promise of large scale statistical analysis - especially as it was applied to national economies in the early 20th century - big data is not a tool to be used for top-down planning. In complete contrast, its application is geared solely to the management of  individual preferences, whether those for products, for people (as in the case of online dating) or for political views.


"Great masses of industrialised peoples today still cling to a torpid religion of technology because they, like all masses, seek radical results and believe subconsciously that the absolute depoliticization sought after four centuries can be found here and that universal peace begins here. Yet technology can do nothing more than intensify peace or war; it is equally available to both. In this respect, nothing changes by speaking in the name of and employing the magic formula of peace. Today we see through the fog of names and words with which the psycho-technical machinery of mass suggestion works". Carl Schmitt, The Age of Neutralizations and Depoliticizations (1929)

"Inasmuch as it expends a great deal of energy to force people into the straightjacket of commandments and prohibitions, disciplinary power proves inefficient. A significantly more efficient technology of power makes sure that people subordinate themselves to power relations on their own. Such a dynamic seeks to activate, motivate and optimize - not to inhibit or repress. It proves so effective because it does not operate by means of forbidding and depriving, but by pleasing and fulfilling. Instead of making people compliant, it seeks to make them dependent".
Byung-Chul Han - Psychopolitics (2017)

♤ Joseph Paxton's designs for the Crystal Palace were originally rejected by the London Building Committee ahead of The Great Exhibition of 1851. Appropriately, it was by means of mobilizing public opinion that Paxton's vision of a vast structure of glass and steel came to be realized. Paxton - gardener to the Duke of Devonshire - published his designs in the London News. The public response was so favorable that the London Building Committee reversed its decision to reject them.

♣ The civil war,  in which - according to Martin Heidegger - we have already been defeated for centuries, is intensified under the regime of digital overload and mass communications technologies. This scientific/technical intensification is only the most recent step in a process with a long history. The connections between the development of the sciences and the multiplication of techniques of surveillance and discipline have been posited for some time. The link with security apparatuses was famously posed by Michel Foucault in his discussion of Bentham’s Panopticon; a prison design that subjected its inmates to a regime of permanent visibility, regardless of whether anyone was in fact watching. From the perspective of the French revolutionaries who made Bentham a citizen in 1791, the brightly lit structure of the Panopticon was a humane triumph over the tortuous darkness of the Bastille where prisoners were sent to suffer out of sight. The prospect of observation, categorization, even re-habilitation of prisoners was simultaneously the possibility of knowing and reforming the character of humanity itself. The expansion of industry, the reform and extension of education and rapid changes in the management of health led (so the thesis goes) to the general deployment of these techniques to a gamut of other institutions. Hospitals, schools and workplaces; all were placed under the regime of “power through transparency”, “subjection by illumination”. But it wasn’t the production of “docile bodies” that was the aim of these techniques for the age of Enlightenment. Instead, by removing the darkness that obscured humanity - the ignorance that clouded the mind - humanity would finally be able to speak its truth; this truth was public opinion.
The ruins of the Presidio Modelo prison in Cuba. Photo by Tod Seelie.
♡ In Bentham's designs we should recognize a prototype for the paradigm of the Crystal Palace, both of which mobilize transparency and visibility within an architectural form. Both of which, by means of enclosure, sought to render palpable a revolutionary change in the management of people and things. And both, of course, were the product of England's cult of utility and spectacle. The key difference was that in the case of the Panopticon there was no doubt about the ultimately oppressive nature of the idea. It was a prison, and it was first and foremost by the negativity of physical restriction and limitations to movement that the "soul" of the inmate would be made available for disciplinary refashioning. In contrast, The Crystal Palace - as Byung-Chul Han alludes to in his writing - is a space of compulsive positivity. It's architecture is characterized by unrestricted (or deterritorialized) flows. The building seems to float on air, its glass structure blurring the boundaries between inside and outside. From within it appears like a vast uninterrupted smooth space, lacking in clear demarcation. As the art historian Julius Lessing noted at the turn of the 20th century, the artistic form of the Crystal Palace instantiated an idea of global free trade, where each producer would sell their wares in an environment of clear air and light, free from the distortions of protectionism and tariff walls. From his perspective, half a century after the Great Exhibition of 1851, this noble idea had been buried beneath the rubble of rising nationalism. His vision of an enclosed, yet open and transparent space for trade, where capital and goods would move freely, unencumbered by the democratic architecture of nation states, would become a key motif for the group of economists (Including Ludwig Von Mises and F.A. Hayek) who emerged out of post-Imperial Vienna to lay the foundations for global neoliberal capitalism. 

♦ The era of big data really began during the interwar period with the rise of statistical analysis of international economic data by institutions such as the League of Nations, the International Chamber of Commerce and the Vienna Institute.  Here too we find the demand for transparency - this time directed at the previously sacred world of the businessman. The collection of global economic data was itself a "globalizing" activity, producing a single "world picture",  which altered the mentality of the economists themselves, turning them more and more toward the idea of global interdependence and the world as a giant economic organism. What the neoliberals brought to the fore in the post-war period was the idea that no amount of data would ever provide the economists with a total picture of the global market sufficient to plan from above. Instead, as we have increasingly seen in the digital age, data was to be used solely to give an indication of the present preferences of market actors and to correlate those preferences with other similar market choices. This is the basic algorithm - the "if you like that, try this" - which has become the driving force of big data capitalism and psychopolitical manipulation.

♧ Fast forward from Bentham's Panopticon to the modern home - wired up for the internet of things - and the groundwork for today's unholy alliance between  corporate data monopolies and the State can clearly be seen in these early experiments in institutional surveillance. Today CCTV, already ubiquitous in towns and cities, is now able to deploy facial recognition software rather than bored human observers. Technologies of observation and security have become such an everyday part of life that people barely recognize let alone question their presence. Tap in, tap out, contactless records our movements and our purchases. Cash money is expected to vanish within a decade. With every new step down the big data hyper connected road we are required to hand over an ever greater quantity of personal information to governments and corporations just to go about our daily lives. Biometric data is incorporated into travel documents, online activity is monitored to an unprecedented degree and stored by ISPs, state agencies, and data monopolies like Google, Apple and Facebook. People are now willfully bringing surveillance devices such as smart speakers into their homes. We are encouraged not only to become our own jailors but to be our own informants too.  Transparency, security and economy have become synonymous. And yet despite this reign of transparency Western societies remain gripped by a creeping sense of paranoia and anxiety.

♠ There was a missing piece of the puzzle in Foucault’s early work on discipline. In the reformed character of the prisoner, in the productivity of the worker, the effects of discipline on the soul could only be approximated. What was missing was a direct avowal of the soul, a confession, repentance. The agent, the speaking subject, was absent, viewed by a strong reading to be a mere effect of the power relations in which they were situated. The transparency offered by big data technologies eliminates the necessity for an avowed preference in favor of mere correlations. Through the operationalized language of big data the "speaking subject" is overthrown and in its place comes the "clicking subject" whose motivations and inner world - like the ineffable world market itself - cease to be an object of politico-economic interest. Modern psychopolitics does not believe in a "soul of man" that needs redeeming.

♢ The hidden centre of the dream of a transparent society was the dream of a pure form of communication, one unsullied by the multitude of misunderstandings, irrationalities and everyday human failings that prevent the sharing of information and consequently the formation of preferences. There have been numerous attempts to realize this idea. Some, like the failed project of Esperanto had utopian aspirations of world peace and cooperation at their heart. But just as the dream of using data to effect wide scale top-down planning of the world economy fell into abeyance after WW2, so too did the teleological notion of a universal communication for a global community. Instead what has come about is the subordination of human language to the overload of mass data collection and algorithmic correlations. Alongside this development has been the slow leveling out of communication into forms which valorize the lowest common denominator. Corporate language, with its empty buzzwords signifying nothing but the mere presence of hierarchic power, is undoubtedly familiar to most Western subjects. Mass communications technologies have accelerated concision to the point where locution and grammar have all but been abandoned. In their place now stands the impoverished hieroglyphs of emojis and memes. A language of ideograms appropriate for globalised idiocy. 

 

"The world exhibitions have lost much of their original character. The enthusiasm that, in 1851, was felt in the most disparate circles has subsided, and in its place has come a kind of cool calculation. In 1851, we were living in the era of free trade... For some decades now, we have witnessed the spread of protectionism ... Participation in the exhibition becomes...a sort of representation...;and whereas in 1850 the ruling tenet was that the government need not concern itself in this affair, the situation today is so far advanced that the government of each country can be considered a veritable entrepreneur." Julius Lessing, Das halbe Jahrhundert der Weltausstellungen (Berlin, 1900) pp. 29-30. As quoted in Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project

"...it is the natural mechanism of the market and the formation of a natural price that enables us to falsify and verify governmental practice when, on the basis of these elements, we examine what government does, the measures it takes, and the rules it imposes. In this sense, inasmuch as it enables production, need, supply, demand, value and price, etcetera to be linked together through exchange, the market constitutes a site of veridiction, I mean a site of verification-falsification for governmental practice. Consequently, the market determines that good government is no longer simply government that functions according to justice. The market determines that a good government is no longer quite simply one that is just". Michel Foucault - The Birth of Biopolitics (1978)

"Culture has provided a great variety of cultural niches in which that great diversity of men's innate or acquired gifts can be used. And if we are to make use of the distinct factual knowledge of the individuals inhabiting different locations on this world, we must allow them to be told by the impersonal signals of the market how they had best use them in their own as well as in the general interest". F.A.Hayek - Law Legislation and Liberty Vol 3: The Political Order of a Free People (1979)

♔ Benjamin's arcades were already defunct by the time they caught on in Paris. Their architectural trick, rendering a consumerist hot-house as urban connective tissue between Haussmann's boulevards, did not aim at the cosmic level. Their internal logic still incorporates the basic dichotomy between inside and outside, whilst holding the consumerist spectacle captive within a hall of mirrors. The function of natural light in their case is solely so that those passing through might be granted enough illumination such that the phantasmagoria of commodities functions at a level above ground, thus obscuring their "metaphysical subtleties ". A nascent "global artistic form" must, even in such an inchoate state, reach for the skies which are its destiny.
The Passage des Princes, Paris (Built 1860)
♛ It would be a mistake to consider the advent of a global Crystal Palace to entail the elimination of hierarchic forms of organization. Undoubtedly this mistaken belief is linked to the predominant technophilia emanating from silicon valley and popularized by the likes of Facebook and Google. Sections of the Left have also fallen for this reasoning on occasion. What has in fact occurred is an intensification of complex legal and constitutional restraints at both the national and global level, representing a stratified order designed to guarantee the free flow of capital, while actively restricting the horizons of alternative forms of organization. Hierarchy too in the form of massive inequality abounds in the World Interior, permitting a tiny class of international super rich to bypass legal constraints for the supposed benefit of the "general economy". The paradigm for this form of exceptionalism (like hierarchy itself) originates in Christian theology. Today's financial scholastics however do not concern themselves with justifying God in the face of the existence of evil, but instead busy themselves justifying the global economic order  as "the only possible world", in the face of increasing hardship, corruption, and the near collapse of social mobility in the most developed economies. The "Greek lesson" which saw the spiritual heart of European culture reduced by the EU and their colleagues in global finance to the level of a debt colony, provides a salient lesson for those who still speak of the community of all nations. 

♕ Within the confines of the Crystal Palace of 1851 the ideal of world trade was staged in microcosm. Hayek's vision of a stratified system of economic constitutional constraints operating at the national, transnational and global level, is the clearest exposition of the fully realized 'World Interior'. This "global economic constitutionalism" which purports to act only negatively, by insulating markets from democratic "interference", in fact both encourages and legitimates today's big data dystopia. All social life dissolves into the endless accumulation of information.

♚ No building better summarizes the current iteration of the Crystal Palace than London's Shard of Glass. An outpost of the Qatari royal family, who hold a 95% stake, rising out of one of London's oldest and historically most deprived boroughs. The vertical palace encompasses hotels, offices, restaurants, luxury apartments for the superrich and a viewing gallery. It is equal parts corporate and military architecture. It's role is to "take the land" drawing everything within its locale into its unbounded interior. There is here an important correlate to the way creeping bureaucracy (itself reducible to the ancient idea of hierarchy) tends towards assimilation at the margins. Like a military watchtower standing in the Green Zone of an occupied territory, the 310 meter glass tower looms over the old Borough Market and Victorian streets of Southwark. And like a medieval Cathedral consecrated to the glory of international finance it rises from a wide base, tapering as it stretches for the heavens following the conventions of gothic architecture.  The development has coincided with "regeneration" of the surrounding area, which, like so many similar developments across London amounted to maximizing retail space while pushing out any semblance of community or individuality. The architecture of the Shard, radicalizing as it does the form of the Crystal Palace, has a dislocating effect on anyone within proximity of it. The anomic corporate space and identikit retail experience, the sense of being at the intersection of any number of anonymous capital flows. The tower's smooth glass exterior perfectly allegorizes the faceless world of price signals and an international class who are at home everywhere and no-where on the upper levels of the Crystal Palace, far above the captured city and its bewildered population, staring into the screens of their phones.

♘ A significant effect of the advent of big data is that public opinion no longer requires a will (let alone a general will) to express it. It is the immediate kneejerk reactions of the isolated clicking, swiping individual that shall collectively provide the political opinions of the future. And since the Political Will ceases to be an object for power,  we will not be able to say that the will is overthrown by repression or coercion, but instead it is merely pre-reflectively nudged towards the desired preference, be that democracy or dictatorship. 


♝ The life of the transparent subject in the World Interior is conditional upon maintaining as few borders around the self as possible. Permeability is expected of the precarious. In an era in which the separation between public and private, state and non-state, outside and inside are all but dissolved, the transparent subject becomes a node in the network of digital affects and constant micro-capital extraction. As Byung-Chul Han and the late Mark Fisher both saw, this dissolution of the self into the network of boundless digital possibilities results in a slate of very modern affective disorders. Anxiety and depression, narcissistic personality disorders and ADHD have exploded across populations of the most developed economies. It is now often heard that the UK faces a mental health crisis, that the impact of social media on the self esteem and self image of users is driving the rise. More than just social media, the entire nature of modern connectivity is driven - like the vampire capitalism described by Marx - to monetize every aspect of our existence; extracting ever more capital from our accelerating lives; from our preferences, our hopes and our desires. Fisher's desciption of the paradigmatic state of the modern subject as "depressive hedonia" rings ever more true.

♙ The neoliberal utopia of a perfectly transparent globe, allowing the free and instantaneous communication of price signals, has reached its apogee in the modern transparent subject; someone who, by means of being permanently plugged into the network, is always available as a feedback relay in the global cybernetic system; continuously sending out data on preferences while ready to receive the latest nudge towards the New. 


"The gigantic is rather that through which the quantitative becomes a special quality and thus a remarkable kind of greatness. Each historical age is not only great in a distinctive way in contrast to others, it also has, in each instance, its own concept of greatness. But as soon as the gigantic in planning and calculating and adjusting and making secure shifts over out of the quantitative and becomes a special quality, then what is gigantic, and what can seemingly always be calculated completely, becomes, precisely through this, incalculable. This becoming incalculable remains the invisible shadow that is cast around all things everywhere when man has been transformed into subjectum and the world into picture". Martin Heidegger - The Age of the World Picture (1977)

"Where everyone is the other and no one themselves, humans are cheated of their ecstasy, their loneliness, their own decisions, and their own direct connection to the absolute outside, namely death. Mass culture, humanism and biologism are the cheerful masks that, according the insights of the philosopher, conceal the profound boredom of an existence devoid of challenge. The task of philosophy would then be to shatter the glass roof over one's own head and directly make the individual the monstrous once again". Peter Sloterdijk - In the World Interior of Capital (2005)

"How little pleasure men must nowadays take in themselves when such a tyranny of timidity prescribes to them their supreme moral law, when they so uncontradictingly allow themselves to be ordered to look away from themselves but to have lynx-eyes for all the distress and suffering that exists elsewhere! Are we not, with this tremendous objective of obliterating all the sharp edges of life, well on the way to turning mankind into sand? Sand! Small, soft, round, unending sand! Is that your ideal, you heralds of the sympathetic affections?" Friedrich Nietzsche, Daybreak, Book III, Aphorism 174 (1881)

Image from Lawrence Lek's Shiva's Dreaming (2014)


Monday, 11 February 2019

The Other Side of Hauntology: Land and the Impotentiality of the Origin



1).
In a recent BBC radio documentary, Jonathan Freedland described the experience of the decade immediately after the fall of the Berlin Wall as like a “holiday from history”. That is, of course, for us in the West. The 90s undoubtedly have a far darker significance for the peoples of the former Yugoslavia and Ruanda, where two separate instances of genocide during the decade confirms with Hegel - contra the West’s sabbatical from temporality - that post-Soviet history was to remain a slaughter bench. It was particularly interesting to recall how much of the news media which dominated the period displayed a marked shift from stories about external threats to those of a parochial, even frivolous nature. Clinton’s affairs, the sagas of princess Diana, the OJ Simpson trial; all became emblematic for a time when fears of impending catastrophe seemed to have faded from public consciousness. It was also the era of Brit-pop, which cultural critic Mark Fisher characterised (quite rightly I think) as the last hurrah for a form of white male braggadocio harking back to the most asinine rock of the 1970s. As we know, the spell was violently broken by the jets crashing into the World Trade Center on September 11th 2001.

The End of History has itself long since come to an end. What I’m going to call the ‘hauntological thesis’ – itself originally germinated in the aftermath of the fall of Soviet Communism – came to prominence as a way of looking at popular culture just at the moment when its core assumptions were beginning to collapse; after 9/11 but before the financial crash of the late 2000s. Two recent additions to the hauntological cannon have got me thinking again about this subject and in particular a recent branch of the field which takes the British countryside and our relationship to the land as its point of departure.

Hauntology - to recap -  is generally understood to involve the present being “haunted” by the ghosts of the past; more specifically the unrealised or erased potential of certain cultural and political movements. The idea of “lost futures” is frequently cited in this context and has had special resonance in the era of neoliberalism, when until recently the idea of an alternative to global capitalist hegemony seemed unthinkable. And it’s on account of this political aspect that hauntology has found an audience among the Left, especially so as it was Jacques Derrida’s mid 90s text Spectres of Marx (1993) which coined the term. It is not without significance, I think, that the original source of this idea was birthed in an atmosphere of defeat for the Left and against the backdrop of all that End of History rhetoric that accompanied the fall of the Berlin Wall. It's perhaps worth bearing in mind Nietzsche's remarks on ressentiment, especially considering the standard formulation of hauntology as to do with lost "progressive" futures. Every lost future is, after all, an Eden from the perspective of the vanquished.

Mark Fisher
The late Mark Fisher did more than most to popularise the idea of hauntology as a way of interrogating late capitalist culture. In Ghosts of My Life (2014) he offers up a general working definition which construes hauntology as “the agency of the virtual, with the spectre understood not as anything supernatural, but as that which acts without (physically) existing". I find this a particularly useful starting point since it makes no claim as to the political character of the spectres we are meant to be haunted by. After all, why must the lost futures haunting the present necessarily be progressive? Was not the Europe of the 1920s and 30s haunted more by the spectre of fascism than any other political possibility? And could one not argue that today, as the global political consensus continues to collapse, that it is spectres from both the Right and Left which are stalking us?

Paul Wright’s recent “archival remix” Arcadia (2018) uses old film footage and contemporary music to weave a complex narrative about the history of the British countryside and the communities that have worked and made their lives on the land. It's a quintessentially hauntological work in the way it dramatises time itself as shot through with a strange kind of folk enchantment and spectral possibility. Mixing clips from Cecil Hepworth's 1903 short film adaptation of Alice in Wonderland with footage of unexplained and often bizarre local British festivities amplifies this sense of time being “out of joint” (to appropriate the famous line from Hamlet which Derrida dwelt upon so assiduously in Spectres of Marx). The prologue, which shows a dark static silhouette of a person passing across a field, functions as the opening and interpretive key. A voice tells us "the truth is in the soil".  Similarly, Stephen Prince’s A Year in the Country: Wandering Through Spectral Fields (2018) - which brings together several dozen articles from the blog of that name – deals in what the author calls “otherly pastoralism” and like Arcadia, draws on the tradition of folk horror to bring to light the more arcane and weird side of the British countryside and its traditions. Continuing Mark Fisher's cultural explorations, the book also functions as a fine resource on a host of out-there, underground and avant-garde music, TV and films.


2).
Both these projects take the land as an originary and near primordial source for their encounters with British culture. Characteristically, for hauntological works, they instantiate a feeling of melancholia towards elements of the past; a sense of what Fisher describes as a "failed mourning", an inability to rid oneself of the lost objects of Britain's history. For Stephen Prince this takes the form of an antiquarian and mildly scientific exploration of the fringes of esoteric folk culture and its latter-day revivalists. The cultural objects he draws in upon are imbued with that hint of queasiness and dread that sometimes accompanied old children's TV programs or public information broadcasts. Small boys falling into tanks of farm slurry to the sound of grim electronic effects; the psychedelic messages hidden in episodes of the Magic Roundabout; that sort of thing.

The unifying trait drawing together much of the writing featured in the book is the short lived and liminal iteration of modernism that flourished in the UK from the end of the war up to the early 1970s. It's an era which, for better or worse, has come to be associated with the tenure of Tony Ben as the Minister for Technology and later Secretary of State for industry. Jonathan Meades once dedicated an episode of his Even Further Abroad (1997) to this period which saw him travelling the country measuring various brutalist industrial edifices with a mock-up instrument he called a Benometer. Much of the music covered by Prince could be described as being haunted by the spectres of that era, and in particular the form of electronic music that came to be associated with the BBC Radiophonic Workshop.

Modern acts like those on the Ghost Box or Polytechnic Youth labels hark back to the aesthetics of that time, to its sense of educational paternalism and possibility, to its wilful embrace of the avant-garde and rejection of mediocrity. All a far cry from the commercialism and dead-end monotony that characterises much of the BBC’s output and a good deal of electronic music today.  A Year in the Country have themselves put out a series of themed compilations of hauntologically inclined electronic music, featuring the likes of Howlround and Listening Center. The titles include: The Forest / The Wald, The Restless Field, and The Corn Mother. 

The esotericism hinted at by these titles is echoed throughout Paul Wright's superb Arcadia which is broken up into several chapters with titles like Into the Wild, Winter Solstice and Blood in the Soil. As you would expect with a film made up of collaged archive footage, the narrative is imposed and at times quite resolutely didactic; as when images of an Edenic nudist colony are juxtaposed with early footage of what could be the London rush hour circa 1920. The message from the outset - emphasised by the opening chapter title Amnesia - is that something has been lost, forgotten, and we are still living with the consequences. One of the things which makes Arcadia such a treat is the way it weaves together a loose historical narrative about the Industrialisation (and later financialisation) of Britain while at the same time hinting at stranger and more occult goings on beneath the surface; something reaching back into the deep history of the British Isles.

Scenes of local festivities which fill the chapter titled Folk are beguiling equally for their uncanny quality and for the way they depict a world now almost entirely lost. The clip of an "ancient Cornish custom" in St Ives from 1921 could be an outtake from The Wicker Man. And the scenes in Lerwick (Shetlands) of locals dressed as walruses creeping up the beach is remarkably surreal, belying the stereotype of dull, humourless islanders. The pace quickens as we enter the 20th century and the chapter titled The Turning. It's a time of enclosures (ancient and new), of industrialisation, intensive farming and pesticides. In a clip we see 17th century True Leveller Gerard Winstanley's commune routed off the land they have tilled by soldiers of Cromwell's New Model Army. The consequences are made clear in the subsequent chapter, Blood in the Soil. We're on the ground with fox hunters thundering across fields, the land quaking as hooves and dogs tear through hedges and woods. We see accidents on huge industrial farms and we see the country poor, no longer able to support themselves and considered a blight by those seeking to maintain an idyllic image of the countryside.

But we also see the rise of the worker's movement in Britain and the sense of solidarity between workers across town and country. The film's depiction of deindustrialisation and the neoliberal take-over strikes a grim note; "the end of everything", as one unseen voice whispers near the film's conclusion. But it's not all gloom. Wright repeatedly returns to a lovely visual metaphor in the growth of rhizomes and fungi, shown here in old footage, sped up under high magnification; always growing beneath the surface; finding new pathways and forging new networks; awaiting the moment when green shoots will rise up to meet the new dawn. The film ends with scenes of fresh green growth, hard shoots breaking through concrete, the dead rising again (no seriously) and a female voice:  "The past is gone. The future is unwritten". It's an ending full of messianic and salvific promise. The truth is in the land.


3).
While Wright's film stages a constant dialogue between town and country, highlighting the evolving nature of that distinction, Stephen Prince’s A Year in the Country deploys a more straight forward separation. In one of the early chapters the author evokes an important orientating distinction between popular and folk music. The latter, he claims, citing the music journalist Rob Young, is to do with the Volk in the Germanic sense of being to do with the wood, the wild, and resolutely opposed to the settled urban environment in which we find both the populous - the mass of people - and pop music. Pop music in contrast to folk (or volkish music) is entertainment for the masses and concomitant with mass socialisation, cultural homogenisation, consensus and levelling. Furthermore, the importance of the relationship of the volk to the land sets up a normative criterion which valorises organically rooted, historically authentic forms of life and traditions. Prince is at pains however to note that this does not constitute setting up an absolute dichotomy between an evil urban/mass/pop culture and a good country/local/folk culture. In my estimation, reading through the many short essays and reviews in the collection, this distinction is the basic orientation in a way not mirrored in Arcadia. In the film, the dialectic between town and country is depicted almost as a pact of mutual ruin. The alienation of people from the land is echoed by their alienation from each other in atomised urban conurbations.

A comparison might be made between these projects and the work of film maker Patrick Keiller or the writer Iain Sinclair. Both take the lived environment (and by association the land itself) as an object of historically mediated intensities. Both of them deal in what Sinclair has termed "occluded histories", using ideas from psychogeography to unearth lost pathways and forgotten stories in the countryside and urban environment. The difference for me between their work and hauntology is in the genuine sense of loss that pervades many of their reflections on the past. Their work of cultural memory does not admit the sort of potentially redemptive quality that the hauntological thesis maintains. It's not for nothing that Iain Sinclair's recent book is titled The Last London (2017) and laments the city's transformation, wrought under the twin banners of the 2012 Olympics and totalised gentrification, which have left it unnavigable and unwilling to yield up its stories of the past; history teetering on the edge of erasure.

Taking the land itself as a possible redemptive source of “lost futures”, as it seems both Paul Wright and Stephen Prince do in their projects, is a rather different approach compared to Mark Fisher’s pop cultural sifting or the psychogeography of Sinclair and Keiller. And since contemplation of the historical sense of the land is inextricable from that land’s relationship with historical peoples, we must acknowledge that along with restitution of the memory of lost traditions and communities, come more problematic ideas such as nativity, authenticity, and the modern obsession with culture and identity.

The problem of the land - to use an insight of Martin Heidegger's - is the problem of what constitutes a proper dwelling for humanity in the technological age. There is something of the 'Fourfold' in all these hauntological reflections on the land; that obscure Heideggerian notion consisting of the relation between earth, sky, gods and mortals. And just as Heidegger saw that the threat held over our relation to the land consists in our forgetting to preserve the essential relation between things as they appear in the fourfold, so too does Paul Wright's film begin with that shadow of a slumbering figure passing across a field; an image of originary forgetfulness. Nevertheless, Arcadia ends with images of rebirth, literally rising out of the ground. The land as an "origin", as a site of inexhaustible primordial potentiality, is never used up, never truly lost; though it can be forgotten. The origin is not something in the past but something that is always carried with us, as a wellspring of renewal.
 
Image from Kevin Brownlow and Andrew Mollo's Winstanley (1975)
The last article in Stephen Prince's collection draws a pertinent comparison between Ben Wheatley's film A Field in England (2013) and Kevin Brownlow and Andrew Mollo's biopic of Gerrard Winstanley (1975), clips of which appear in Arcadia. Beyond the visual similarities of these two films - both set during the period of the English Civil war and bearing that era's distinctive apparel; both shot in black and white - Prince notes the thematic congruence which locates both in the English countryside. Winstanley, with his short-lived commune of True Levellers up on St George's hill at Weybridge (now the site of exclusive estates and a golf club) and the characters in Wheatley's film, who do battle with powerful cosmic forces within the confines of an ordinary English field. Prince takes the comparison further and draws inferences from the signal event of the Miner Strike in the mid-1980s - the battle of Orgreave - dubbed the English Civil War Pt2 by artist Jeremy Deller. Here again, in a field in England, the forces of a progressive, socially minded and communal nation came up against their opposite in the privileged classes of the emerging economy, of financialisation, of Thatcher and Reaganomics. In each case the land plays the role of a site of struggle; whether as the True Levellers "common treasury for all, both rich and poor" or as the locus of eschatological powers in Ben Wheatley's film (a messianic timbre which Arcadia shares). Finally, the land is both the source of the miner’s labour and the site of their defining battle. In each case the ultimate meaning of the land as origin is struggle.


4).
“To be free is not simply to have the power to do this or that thing, nor is it simply to have the power to refuse to do this or that thing. To be free is (...) to be capable of one's own impotentiality, to be in relation to one's own privation. This is why freedom is freedom for both good and evil”. (Giorgio Agamben (1999) – Potentialities: Collected Essays in Philosophy, Stanford University Press, Stanford California, pg183)

By taking the land as an ontic category, as a thing that might be contested, or owned, or carved up, we unavoidably run into the problems of nativity and historical peoples; unavoidably evoke parochialism, borders and territories. In doing so we are thrown back onto the plain of the subject of rights and claims for recognition. This has understandably been the strategy of post-colonialism in its approach to the experiences of first-peoples around the world and the defence of their traditions and historical land rights, which were often trampled upon during Europe’s colonial period. However, in non-colonised countries like Britain, that approach risks leading to a racialised discourse of so-called "white culture", and British indigenous identities. It’s difficult to argue that rallying round arcane customs and experiences of country life, in opposition to urban cosmopolitanism, is a good starting point for so-called “progressive futures”; at least insofar as those futures are meant to aim at a degree of political universalism fit for 21st century Britain. It’s noticeable how so much of the past recalled by writers on hauntology (with some notable exceptions) is of a pale monocultural type, pre mass immigration and exemplifying the kind of exclusory strategies that only during the last few decades (indeed during the neoliberal period) have been eroded.

There are perhaps other ways we might conceive of the idea of the land as an Origin. Withdrawal to the land, to the Origin, is an archetypal form of renewal, not only in a geographical sense, but also through the utilisation of memory. Machiavelli wrote of the historical memory of the founding of every state - its origin in that first breaking of the soil - as an eternal point of renewal that periodically needs to be evoked to shake up institutions and breathe new life into the citizenry. He had in mind Livy's political mythology of the founding of Rome, when Romulus carved out the sacred boundary of his new city (the pomerium) using a plough. Re-founding has forever had connotations of renewal linked to a return to the grounding principles upon which things stand. This idea is more political ontology than history. 


The land is also a site of refuge which gives us the time to remember. Montag's flight out of the city in Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 leads to an encounter with memory in a forest, by the light of a camp fire. Former academics, turned into living books after the destruction of their libraries, are ready to re-found civilisation after the coming nuclear apocalypse. "We're going to meet a lot of lonely people in the next week and the next month and the next year. And when they ask us what we're doing, you can say, We're remembering. That's where we'll win out in the long run". The retreat to the land is a retreat to memory.

The parable-like ending to Bradbury's book brings together elements of radical eschatological renewal and a concern with technology; with humanity’s fate in the face of the annihilating power of that technology. From this perspective the return in-land, this anabasis, is a reversal of the historical movement which opened human existence into new spaces and new global political constellations over the last half millennium; from the turn to maritime existence during the early modern period, through the nuclear age of aeronautics and space exploration, up to the contemporary colonisation of the digital, virtual realm. "Run to the hills" is in fact a statement of metaphysics. And as metaphysics, it is potentially open to far less “progressive” readings, as it is contested across the political spectrum.

The German jurist Carl Schmitt wrote extensively and attributed great weight to the distinction between terrestrial and maritime cultures, viewing it as politically decisive to the march of technology and key to understanding conflicts such as those between Britain and the European powers in the 19th and 20th centuries and the Cold War. Interestingly in his war-time text Land and Sea: A World Historical meditation (1942), he attributes special significance to the transformation he identifies in England during the 16th and 17th centuries when "the children of the Lion" opted to become "children of the sea". England - Schmitt claims - was unique in achieving a "planetary spatial revolution", in displacing itself away from the land and deciding for a maritime existence. In doing so it opened the way not only for Britain’s global empire, but for the Industrial Revolution itself. In a fashion analogous to Heidegger's critique of technology, Schmitt links together in a fundamental way, the technological fate of a people with the "space" it occupies. "The human receives a particular historical consciousness from his "space" [lebensraum], which is subjected to great historical transformations. The variegated forms of life correspond to equally differentiated spaces".

Battle Of Trafalgar by Louis Philippe Crepin
By the time of Schmitt's post-war Dialogue on New Space (1958) the conflict between the two nuclear powers of Russia and the United States - each standing on one side of the Land/Sea distinction - had grown due to "unencumbered technology" to enclose the fate of the whole planet. And yet despite humanity penetrating the cosmos and harnessing the power of the atom, Schmitt sees only a repetition and intensification of the elementary separation which occurred when England abandoned the land and decided for the sea. He has Mr. Altmann (a character meant to ventriloquise Schmitt's historical sense) state: "For me, the human is a son of the earth, and so he shall remain as long as he remains human". Today's challenge - according to the same character is "The binding of unencumbered technology ... It is from that direction that I hear the call, the challenge of the present".


5).
The global historical movement sketched here by Schmitt is a dark one, pregnant with the revolutionary conservatism that characterises his work. The land is where we find "house and property, marriage, family and hereditary right, all that is built upon the foundations of a terrestrial mode of being...". For the people of a maritime culture we instead find the ship, drifting from place to place upon the shifting and uncertain surface of the sea. Against the repose of the house, the restlessness of an uprooted technological existence, constantly alienating itself from its origin. These are classical conservative statements of a type which radicalise a volkish perspective on terrestrial existence and the signal importance of land for specific historical peoples. What is important for us in all this is how - like the hauntological sources we've been considering - Schmitt frames the land as a primordial Origin out of which and in which resides the fate of humanity as a whole. 

Schmitt's reflections on "the challenge of technology" and the question of taming it within the horizons of a "terrestrial existence" are pertinent for us in the 21st century, when new communications technologies are threatening to collapse human relationships altogether into the virtual world, and rampant capitalism continues to drive the environment toward catastrophe. But we should stop short of endorsing his conservative metaphysical reading of the originary quality of the land, which in Schmitt’s account is shot through with barely veiled Germanic chauvinism and a kulturkritik which pre-figures today’s far-right attacks on both Muslims and non-Europeans as culturally incompatible with Western society.

In Arcadia, clips from the Winstanley film offer up a different notion of the relationship between humans and the land, one that does not tie it to either a historical people or a specific tradition. This is in stark contrast to nationalist (or worse, National Socialist) ideas which connect the land (or soil, boden) to the historical consciousness of particular peoples, construed in either cultural or racial terms. Even after the holocaust, at the time Schmitt was writing his dialogue on New Space, he retained his anti-Semitism and like Heidegger never successfully disentangled his gloomy political ontology from the fate of particular nations and peoples, namely the Germans. His grand theories remained parochial and chauvinistic even when addressing “world historical movements”.


In concluding this brief analysis, we should recognise that the originary quality of the land is not politically specific, not open solely to ideas of progressive political and social renewal. As a metaphysical operator rooted in the deepest experience of our species with its environment, it is open to all, and its ultimate meaning remains contested and perhaps ultimately undecidable.

The antidote to much of the rightwing interpretation (and the risk of nostalgia, parochialism, anachronism) is to recognise the Origin not as locatable to any particular time or place, but as that eternal wellspring of human potentiality which is always carried with us. The Origin is not an ontic but an ontological category and hauntology is the study of that spectre which haunts humanity in its form of Being-Historical. If so, what hauntology calls the spectre is in fact the other side of that original potentiality, the side that doesn’t fall into non-being but remains active beneath the surface, like the rhizomes in Arcadia. Borrowing a term from Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben, we might call this other side the “impotential” of the origin. The impotential is the revenant, the left over that remains after the potency of the origin has passed into historical actuality and been extinguished. It’s that part of every potentiality that withholds itself and never fully passes into the actual, maintaining its being within the realm of the virtual.

Is not every possible future a spectre from the side of its impotentiality; its capacity not-to-be? If so, then the term “lost futures” must be a misnomer. Rather than falling into non-being, the potentiality implicit in any political moment at its point of defeat goes underground, withdrawing into the impotential; into its capacity not-to-be. This capacity is itself a positive value which resides in all political life, awaiting its moment to return. It is from out of this positive quality of the virtual, from the other side of the possible, that the spectre calls to us, haunting the present with its never exhausted, but endlessly deferred promise of other possible worlds and forms-of-life.