No More Learning

II. Marbach Conversation
RAULFF: Mr Sloterdijk, to follow up and round off our first meeting of several months ago, today we should talk about some topics that we didn’t mention last time. I am thinking mainly about the symbolism of fate in early modernism, especially Fortuna with all her attributes, each of which is extremely interesting in its own right . . .
SLOTERDIJK: And each of which would merit a large exhibi- tion. Fortuna’s classical attributes are the helm, the sail, the wheel that rises and falls, the cosmos sphere on which the goddess bal- ances, the globe and its miniature versions, the ball and the lottery ball. Today, unfortunately, nobody gives a thought any more to the symbolic sources of the countless balls that we play with in present mass culture.
RAULFF: Except for Horst Bredekamp, who is interested in the ball games of the Medici . . . 14
SLOTERDIJK: Yes, he is one of the few contemporary scholars of visual imagery to have examined these topics. But the whole theme of balls, globes and spheres has a miserable existence in the margin of the official attention system.
RAULFF: What is the reason for this? Is it perhaps because, despite Huizinga,15 people haven’t taken the game seriously in terms of its function for cultural creativity? Or is it that playing games has always been associated with a kind of vagueness? With an inherent shakiness?
SLOTERDIJK: I think you’re right. For a very long period vagueness and shakiness were unpopular with theorists – they disliked them. One exception is Paul Valéry’s work, where we can still see the morose, classical-rationalist type of character with a visceral abhorrence of anything approximate. On the other hand, we can only understand something about the twentieth-century
14 Horst Bredekamp is a German art historian. Raulff is referring to his book: Horst Bredekamp, Florentiner Fußball. Die Renaissance der Spiele. Calcio als Fest der Medici (first published 1993; revised edition, Berlin: Wagenbach, 2001).
15 Johan Huizinga (1872–1945) was a Dutch historian and cultural theorist who played a major role in developing modern cultural theory.
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culture of rationality if we view it as constantly extending the zone of calculability. It is an enterprise to bring labile factors, all kinds of vagueness, enthusiasms and turbulences into the realm of exact thought. In the Europe of old, these unstable entities were treated as mythological forms; uncertainties were attributed to divine moods or predestination. But probability calculations began to appear in the seventeenth century, and since the twentieth century we have been able to apply chaos theory, fractals and algorithms to every- thing crooked, twisted and tattered.
We don’t talk about Fortune nowadays, of course, but about risk. That presupposes a leap into a different discursive order. For an author like Petrarch it was still right and proper to survey the whole field of existential instability with a collection of exemplary stories or novellas about good and bad luck. Research tells us that his gigantic book De remediis utriusque fortunae16 was one of the most frequently copied secular manuscripts of the pre-Gutenberg age. This shows, incidentally, that we can discern the beginning of modernity from the rise of the advice manual. Petrarch’s work shows him as the first great master of literary life training. He was completely abreast of his times because in the dawning modern age he understood that he could particularly arouse interest in the role of a fortune therapist. His approach was still completely Stoical- Christian. He appealed to his readers with the message: if you have to live in this world in which moody Fortuna throws her balls – the bewildering goddess Fortuna, who sometimes pampers you and sometimes lets you drop – you should start by learning to respond with indifference to the balls she throws. The best way is to practise keeping an equal distance from her so as not to cling to good luck too much and not to lament bad luck too much.
RAULFF: What do latter-day advisers who have started talking about risk have in mind? What is their goal? To limit risk using probability calculations? Do they want to win the game themselves? Or do they want to act as insurers and limit other people’s risk of damage?
SLOTERDIJK: This field of play involves various different types and positions: some people play for the sake of the game, and others to win, while a third group wants to play to win profit from others winning. A fourth group doesn’t play at all for fear of losing – they are the ones who don’t realize they have lost from the beginning. Anyone who hasn’t played loses without having had the chance to
16 Francesco, Petrarch, Remedies for Fortune Fair and Foul, trans. C. H. Rawski (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press), 1991.
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win. The fourth position is that of the eternal conservatives who are still around today, who think they can save their skin in the general competition by staying away from the current games of chance.
RAULFF: Moving upward historically from the medieval emblem of Fortuna – namely, the globe on which the goddess bal- ances – we get to modern techniques of controlling coincidence, from risk minimization to risk elimination. If we go backward from that, we get to the ancient pictures of the distribution of lots.
SLOTERDIJK: On this reading, the Fortune theology of the late Middle Ages and the early modern era would be something like the midpoint between the dark fatalism of the Greeks before the beginning of the first enlightenment, and the apparently complete elimination of risks in modern banking mathematics – although we know by now this can only function as massive deception of oneself and others. That middle position couldn’t be held without compli- cations: it was related to the almost insoluble problem of balancing up the fundamental anti-fatalist teachings of Christianity – which assert that after the resurrection of the Lord, Fate has no more dominion – with the persistence of the ancient, popular formulas for neutralizing chance and fate, which were almost indispensable. This is the only reason why Fortuna haunted the Christian Middle Ages, for which she actually had no residence permit. The strongest symptom of this insoluble tension was the Augustine teaching of predestination in which we can retrospectively recognize the matrix of Western neurosis. On the one hand, Augustine understood better than anyone else that faith in Fate is irreconcilable with the triune nature of God. That is why he wanted to sink any idea of Fate in the underworld of vanquished superstition. This, however, didn’t elimi- nate the problem that ancient belief in fate was developed to solve; the unfathomable inequality of human living conditions preoccu- pied the thoughts of Christians just as much as those of the people of pre-Christian antiquity. The riddle consisted of absorbing the real existing absurdity that yawns at us as we watch human beings wrestling with incredibly blatant inequalities from birth onward. To deal with this, Augustine hit upon a solution that turned out to be even more sinister than ancient fatalism had ever been – the theory of human beings’ divine predestination to salvation and perdition. To fend off pagan fatalism, the Church Father plunged into the murkiest adventure in the history of ideas: he invented a monothe- ist hyper-fatalism called predestination, which literally means the anticipatory determination of fate.
At the same time Augustine firmly adhered to the thesis of human freedom, because otherwise it would have been impossible to defend the penal character of being predestined to damnation. In his
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philosophy, predestination becomes a medium of divine selectivity that remains incomprehensible. Augustine’s finicky God was not a laughing matter. In real terms, the great majority of people have to anticipate belonging to the damned souls from the very begin- ning. This exactly reflects the ideological situation of late antiquity in which the Church, although it was formally the religion of state from the year 395 onward, barely had any influence on the lives of people in the Empire: the few convinced Christians who existed were well aware that they belonged to a tiny elite and that the gates of heaven would probably remain shut to the great majority. It is true that the Christian God is called the Merciful, and the word ‘mercy’ describes the exceptional right of the sovereign, but mercy for the many or, indeed, mercy for all, would not be plausible, even for a God that makes exceptions.
The ominous nature of Augustine’s version didn’t consist in its manifest elitism – Christianity is elitist, or it is not Christian. It was rather a matter of its depressive logic, because it eliminated the pos- sibility of contributing to one’s own redemption by making pious efforts. Piety itself is a result of mercy, not its cause. Augustine is formal on this point. Humans cannot obtain merits. Full stop. It took almost a thousand years until Anselm of Canterbury corrected Augustine’s erroneous thinking. In Augustine’s work, humans remain metaphysically in debit even after the redemption of Christ, because even after their baptism they continue being guilty of original sin, as their debt to God is infinite. This seems to make sense immediately: finite merit can’t redeem infinite guilt, because adding a finite plus to an infinite minus yields an infinite minus. The relevant scholastic theorem is: Inter finitum et infinitum non est proportio. In other words, one can’t bargain with the infinite, and Augustine knew that better than anybody. Yet a false conclusion crept into his calculation, and it was Anselm who first drew atten- tion to it indirectly with his theory of satisfaction in Cur deus homo. Anselm presented a discrete kind of theological mathematics that showed the way out of the depressive logic of the Middle Ages. Since then, theologians have been able to calculate differently, as follows – A: the children of Adam brought infinite guilt on themselves; B: the infinite guilt was redeemed by the infinitely satisfying sacrifice of Christ. Consequently, C holds: infinite guilt plus infinite satisfaction equals zero. The revised calculation had an enormous impact: from that time on, human merits have made a difference. They could be chalked up positively because they were no longer directly counter- posed to an infinite minus, for the latter is definitively balanced up by the deed of the God-man – and this balance marks the starting position of the believer. The horizon is now free for the active life;
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positive deeds count. All at once it is meaningful when Christian people want to make something out of their lives and are not always panting for infinite guilt. From this perspective, the road to the modern world began in an obscure theological tract shortly before the year 1100. Since that time, Augustine’s flight from ancient fate into the Christian Super-Fate called predestination has been brought to a standstill, at least wherever possible. That it persisted in Calvinism, and still persists, is a different matter.
RAULFF: What is modern about all this is probably the math- ematization or arithmetization of fate, the quantification of guilt and the idea that it is possible to do calculations on the terrain of morality. The ability to add and subtract such factors is typical of the modern age. Fate in antiquity was simply irreparable, and addi- tion, subtraction, etc. , were unthinkable.
SLOTERDIJK: These calculations became established at the dawn of the modern age. Each life was linked to an evaluation. The Last Judgement changed its structure. We can see this above all in the emergence of Purgatory in the description of after-death landscapes in the High Middle Ages. The harsh alternative between Heaven and Hell was relativized by the very popular creation of an intermediate region where people would be retrospectively purified, cleansed and upgraded to enable them to share in salvation even if they had accumulated big overdrafts on their moral account which made them strong candidates for Hell. Purgatory marked the begin- ning of the age of rational repayment procedures.
RAULFF: And the idea of reparability as well.
SLOTERDIJK: We could almost say that the modern therapy society made its debut with the invention of Purgatory. The idea of debt repayment, which had its natural prototype in the begin- ning of the credit transactions of the High Middle Ages, even pervades human relationships with the heavenly authorities. This offered scope for human initiative and merits. Only then did it really make a difference whether people had behaved well or badly – a difference that would have been impossible otherwise in the Augustinian world, which was deeply paradoxical and impenetra- ble. In that world, sinners could inexplicably be redeemed at the last minute and the purported saint could remain accursed if, and because, divine predestination had determined that in advance. In contrast, spaces for human achievements were created at the beginning of the modern age and the first approaches to merito- cratic thought could take root. One day, towards the end of the eighteenth century, a temple of enlightenment would be erected on Kaisersgracht in Amsterdam with a beautiful Greek facade; on the roof gable were the words Felix meritis, ‘Happy through
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merit’. The Dutch were the firstborn members of a world without Hell.
RAULFF: But how does Fortune fit into the picture? Doesn’t it stand for the fact that there is still fluctuation in this new arith- metized world, things still see-saw uncontrollably and can be overturned at any time for unknown reasons?
SLOTERDIJK: That is why the message until well into the late Middle Ages was: don’t be impressed by Fortune, and be aware that good fortune poses the greater danger. Fortune may seem to favour you, only to let you fall even further later on. Therefore, beware of good luck, but don’t be impressed by bad luck either. Petrarch expounded this approach in an immensely diverse manner in his work on medicine: he narrated around 125 stories with admonitory examples on both sides. We can well understand why life training in humanism and literature was so important for people of the fourteenth century. They felt that the message of the Gospels was completely under-determined in terms of modern conditions of life. People became increasingly interested in the supra-temporal or, rather, in the anachronistic elements of the statements of the Gospels. The characters of the New Testament were no longer contemporary, and even Renaissance painting, which persisted in behaving as if the Gospels could be visually actualized whereas they were becoming increasingly remote in moral terms, couldn’t change that. The Gospels were hardly relevant in the new world of labour, in emergent politics, in the arts, in the sciences, and at the beginning of global traffic and communications. An intermediary text had to be inserted to develop and express what remained undefined in the Gospels. This became the field of activity for humanist writers at the dawn of the modern age. Think back to the ancient story about Fortuna and Tyche. From the fourteenth century onwards, the near- empty reservoir of knowledge about luck and ideas about risk was refilled. A kind of Stoical-Christian people’s press concerned with the specific destiny of famous men and women emerged. Boccaccio’s De claris mulieribus of 1374 is a model text of the new casuist tendency, as is his most successful collection, De casibus virorum illustrium, in which he showed how the unlucky star – disastro – is capable of throwing the lives of the great and greatest off track. The whole world was suddenly crazy for case histories, as if people were fed up with the eternal legends of the saints. Perhaps, from a literary perspective, this typifies the whole secret of the modern age: what is interesting outdoes what is edifying. Then Machiavelli arrived on the scene and suddenly the tone changed. His advice to people was no longer to be stoical and show evangelical indifference to good and bad luck. Instead, he openly concluded that the point is to seize
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luck with both hands. If luck is a woman one shouldn’t hesitate for too long. His contemporaries, starting with merchants and adroit princes, understood that immediately. The affairs of Fortune took a great leap forward in the hundred years between Petrarch and Machiavelli. Machiavelli already talked like a trainer who wanted to make contemporary people fit for the really big match, the game of power and luck and success in the world . . .
RAULFF: We have to grab the right moment . . .
SLOTERDIJK: Machiavelli thought that everything depended on the moment, on opportunità, and it depended on the hand that grasps the opportunity – which raises the question of ball technique. Only somebody who is prepared to catch the ball of chance can be in the game at all. From that time on, it didn’t help to surrender to the tendency to flee from the world. Let’s not forget, people in late antiquity and the Middle Ages were always aware of the option of turning their back on the world. There was still the possibility of settling down in a remote, if uncomfortable, counter-world, in the school of philosophers or the community of saints, whether in the sense of a definitive separation from worldly things or whether one acted to improve the world from the counter-world. These options are not available in the same way to people of the modern age, because they can no longer wholly believe in an existence in the counter-world, but at best they can believe in holidays and emigration. On this point, even Luther who, God knows, was more medieval than the Middle Ages in many ways, scored the modernity goal and cast off his monk’s habit. From a philosophical viewpoint, modern philosophy begins with the thesis that human beings are innately a microcosm, an abbreviation of the world as a whole. If human beings themselves are the world in miniature, the idea of flight from the world becomes meaningless because the world is always with me. Where I am, I am completely and utterly the world. The consequence is that the philosophical mentors of modern indi- viduals, the literary life coaches we have mentioned, increasingly convinced their clients to join in the game of the world. This created a new kind of discourse about Fortune. It led to re-evaluation of humankind’s being-in-the-world from the perspective of being able to join in the game.
RAULFF: That would mean the advisers are spectators to some extent, giving their clients advance commentaries on their possible fate.
SLOTERDIJK: Literary advisers cast their vote in advance, whereas operative advisers offer counselling on the spot. Of course, it is no coincidence that in the fifteenth century, at the very time when the twilight of Fortune occurred, the career profile of the
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secretario emerged. It was the right name for him, as he was indeed party to the secrets of enterprising modern individuals. We have largely forgotten this because we think of secretaries as people who carry out menial tasks in the boss’s office. The job’s original high status survives only in titles such as ‘secretary of state’ or ‘general secretary’. The secretario of the Renaissance – Machiavelli was the prime example – is, if you like, the temporal version of the grand aumônier, the prince’s chaplain whom every powerful man had to have at his side, according to the psychogogues of the early modern era. In those days people had already realized that the powerful man simply can’t be powerful on his own – Schiller’s famous saying ‘The strong man is strongest when alone,’ is totally wrong. The strong man is strong, and only looks strong, as long as he is surrounded by realistic advisers and efficient ministers, and by his secretario, of course. The latter’s first task is to keep the prince’s conscience intact because it represents the commonwealth’s centre of moral strength. A prince who doesn’t believe he will be pardoned is lost from the start. As far as I know, the first person to state these ideas explicitly was Eugen Rosenstock-Huessy. 17 According to him, the real state secret is the intact character of the prince’s conscience. A prince who saw himself as a criminal would drag the whole state system into dis- repute if he doubted himself – and this would particularly apply to a guilty prince who couldn’t and wouldn’t confess even in his deepest self. Machiavelli understood that being a prince is a profession that cannot be pursued without wrongdoing. This is why the ruler needs a spiritually competent person at his side who is familiar with the sacraments of power. This person must act as a guard to keep the prince’s conscience intact in precarious situations – these are the situations we already mentioned, in which people can only choose between different evils. The office was usually performed by clerics – we involuntarily associate this with the archetype of the grey emi- nence, the notorious Père Joseph who was the spiritual watchdog at the side of Cardinal Richelieu, the most powerful man of the seventeenth century. Père Joseph was a paradigm case of the highest exercise of power from the religious wing. It was he who made the grey of the Capuchin monks’ habits the leading political colour in Europe. A glance at the Italian scene shows that this function can also be performed by a secular person who is capable of sharing the prince’s secret . . .
17 Eugen Rosenstock-Huessy (1888–1973) was a German-born American social philosopher and historian of law. He is particularly known for his contribution to Jewish–Christian dialogue.
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RAULFF: . . . sharing and guarding.
SLOTERDIJK: Indeed, ‘share and guard’ is the secretary’s oath. It is both his motto and the basis of his profession. He knows two things that the nation and the court should not know on penalty of losing their power: the first is that exercise of power includes willing- ness to contravene morality and the law, if necessary . . .
RAULFF: The willingness to be a criminal . . .
SLOTERDIJK: Perhaps it must be expressed in such a dramatic way. The second, maybe even more embarrassing secret, is that having power usually means not knowing what to do.
RAULFF: Helplessness increases as power increases?
SLOTERDIJK: That is precisely the secret that has to be shared and guarded. The secretario is the person who best understands the difficult position of the mighty. This is the origin of the second source of the modern consultation: it stops giving advice on life from a general literary standpoint and starts providing concrete consultation on power instead. The core idea is the insight that there is no continuity between a plan of action and its execution. When the powerful want to move into action, they are not standing at the beginning of a paved road but in front of a precipice or a wide gap.
The break in continuity means we can’t walk into action; we can only leap into it. The secretario is the person who helps the mighty to find the jumping-off point. There are almost always ditches of indecision, of hesitation, of risk awareness to overcome if we want to act practically, and nobody knows this better than the man in the exposed position. His intimate confidant knows it as well. Having power means always being conscious of how far things can go wrong.
RAULFF: This means we should look up the old literature on the secretary if we want to know what happened to fate once consult- ants and risk managers became involved in shaping it.
SLOTERDIJK: Recently I happened to look at one of the funda- mental books of the dawn of the modern era: Leon Battista Alberti’s Della famiglia – On the Family – written around 1460. It seems to be a simple text by the father of a family for use by his own offspring. In reality, this book reveals nothing less than the face of the eco- nomic modern age that is about to begin, reflected in the language games of classical philosophy. The author was one of the actors who had long since understood that people have to enter the playing field themselves if they expect Fortune’s favours – especially if they want to secure its favours on a long-term basis. The fourth part of the book is about friendship, which might make us think that the author is offering nothing but typical contemporaneous variations on the Aristotelian theme of philía. At first glance it merely seems to be a
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free restatement of the subject of friendship, using topical examples. In reality, we are looking at the first theory of networking. Alberti’s considerations have a clear starting point: to successfully conclude business in the widening world, the entrepreneur must have friends everywhere in faraway places. What is interesting here is that Alberti didn’t envisage the entrepreneur as the Faustian individual but as the active family, the power-conscious clan. At that time, the only method of ensuring the loyalty of employees in nearby and distant places of work consisted of situating one’s own family members at key points where possible. We should remember that, as had been common since Greek and Roman antiquity, the family and friendship circles at that time were still closely intertwined, linguistically and in real terms. Loyalty was the greatest asset for people at the centre of entrepreneurial clans. It was the mercantile variant of the classical philía. The loyalty and esteem of a house or a firm could only be preserved if the merchants knew that alongside monetary capital and monetary credit there was another, subtle capital, a second kind of credit that was probably more important than the first – a good reputation. The reputation capital ultimately determined the good or bad luck of a firm, that is, a solid, firmly established and viable entrepreneurial unit in the modern markets. In fact, economic relationships between distant partners can’t be established and can’t flourish in the long term without that good reputation and its carefully nurtured growth. The type of successful long-distance relationships that traders engage in are only possible in the long run if the partners have more reason to trust than to mistrust. Securing trust by making friends is one of the processes for domesticating Fortune. The other successful procedures are in the field of risk management, which was already taking shape at that time. That is what the merchants are talking about on the Rialto in Venice in Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice. This much is clear: a merchant couldn’t go far with the Gospels alone. Reflections on Christian teaching couldn’t make the new market predictable. That is why, around 1500, a perfectly functioning clandestine system of double theology was established in many places in Europe. For the critical moments in life there was Christianity, and for the business and private spheres there was the cult of Fortune.
RAULFF: In other words, people learned to be Christians and fatalists at the same time.
SLOTERDIJK: Yes, fatalist in the clear sense of the word. RAULFF: In the entrepreneurial sense?
SLOTERDIJK: In a very practical sense, in which both the busi-
nessman and the courtier always did what was necessary to gain and keep Fortune’s favours. But, as we have shown, at the beginning of
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the Enlightenment the suppression of such intellectual constructs had become unavoidable. The eighteenth century tried to break with feudal categories on a broad front, including the favouritism of Fortune. The ideology of equality had as little use for Fortune and its royal court as early Christianity had for Fate.
RAULFF: The early Enlightenment neutralized amor fati, while the democracy of the twentieth century doesn’t have a clue what to do with it.
SLOTERDIJK: All in all, we can rightly say that the modern age initially had to abolish fate because it brought the dawn of the period in which people decided to direct their own fate. We have discussed how this led to neo-fatalist movements and that it was equally inevitable that they would be clarified in the Enlightenment via enlightenment and counter-enlightenment. Yet the pattern of abolition, return and clarification of the idea of fate is ultimately unsatisfying. I think that the most important thing is missing in this smooth narrative. I admit I have only realized recently what the real fascination of fatalism for people of all periods consists in, and people of the modern age are no exception to this. Fichte once remarked that the philosophy we choose depends on what kind of person we are. He distinguished between determinists, who he regarded as slaves who enjoyed their lack of freedom, and ideal- ists for whom freedom was the most important thing. However problematic this distinction may be, it contains a significant psycho- logical discovery. Strangely enough, there are countless people who see the statement ‘There is absolutely nothing we can do’ as good news. Whereas others resist this thesis with every inch of their being, fans of fatalism welcome it as absolution from the requirement to do anything.
RAULFF: There is a desire to overcome things that yields a kind of relief. Roland Barthes invented a lovely phrase for it: ‘the will to hibernation’.
SLOTERDIJK: The tendency to hibernate at the nadir of the will doesn’t only exist in the form of the desire to overcome things. The quietist acceptance of fatality was just as attractive for countless people in the twentieth century. Many people are happy to obtain proof that simply nothing can be done. Everything goes as it goes; everything comes as it comes. I suspect this doesn’t only apply to the fatalism of ordinary people who want a quiet life; a large part of the intellectual movements of the twentieth century also felt the longing for hibernation. Switching off the subject is a curious theo- retical passion we always have to bear in mind, not only among the mystics of the Middle Ages but also among people of the modern era. The vulgar version of Marxism was a massive kind of fatalism,
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according to which the revolution simply had to come sooner or later.
RAULFF: The will to fatalism is present both on the left and the right wing. But in the latter case, the role of Fate is often taken by the homme fatal, a Duce, the strong figure of an aggressor . . .
SLOTERDIJK: . . . a personification of world destiny or national appeal. After the Second World War, fatalism changed camps and settled into theories with a quietist structure, without further refer- ence to the strong perpetrator. Since then, fate has anonymously determined the intellectual scene. Let’s remember the 1950s, when the ‘post-histoire’ theories that had been advanced in Cournot’s work in the nineteenth century and in the works of de Man and others in the twentieth century reappeared. 18 They argued that we had entered an era of crystallization, the historical alternatives had been exhausted and all that remained were minor variations. Gehlen’s phrase, ‘movement on a stationary basis’, sums up this view. At the same time Kojève once again reintroduced the idea of the end of history in the Hegelian sense. 19 Then came structuralism with its conviction that anonymous structures are ultimately deci- sive: humans imagine they are doing something, but in reality they aren’t doing anything because their internal structures are doing it. Back then, people celebrated the death of the author of structural- ism and rejoiced in the expulsion of the subject from the humanities. Still later came system theory made in Bielefeld. It elegantly rel- egated the whole of the old European semantics of freedom, will, decision-making, commitment and the like to the archive where doctoral candidates are busy with old European phantoms. Finally, our friends the neuroscientists entered the scene and put the lid on old European illusions of action. Maybe Marbach is the ideal place to come face-to-face with these developments. The history of the free subject comes to an end behind steel doors. The excitement is over and the era of shrugging our shoulders and happily saying ‘Can’t-do-anything-more’ can begin. Maybe this is the way we will arrive at the secret last horizon of our topic.
18 Antoine-Augustin Cournot (1801–77) was a French mathematician and economic theorist and a founder of mathematical economic theory. Paul De Man (1919–83) was a Flemish-born literary theorist and philosopher known as a leading representative of the Yale critics.
19 Arnold Gehlen (1904–76) was a German philosopher, sociologist and anthropologist and a leading proponent of philosophical anthropology. Alexandre Kojève (1902–68) was a Russian-born French philosopher and statesman whose ideas influenced French philosophy. He was a founding figure of the European Union.
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RAULFF: Is this the point where we should stop?
SLOTERDIJK: Yes, but without resignation. The best way to conclude would be to make a proposal to the contradictory spirit of the observer. I’m fond of quoting another statement by Fichte, who once sarcastically remarked that it would be easier to persuade most people to think of themselves as a piece of lava in the moon than as an ego. Fichte understood that naturalism is a kind of hypnosis we can’t wake up from without philosophical advice. Nowadays we would say it is easier to convince most people that they are an epiphenomenon of sticky nerve fibres than for them to be prepared to see themselves as free individuals. Anybody who talks about the brain is a traitor to freedom. We have earned the right to this pro- vocative attitude, haven’t we?
RAULFF: Wanting to be an individual is very exhausting.
SLOTERDIJK: The individual is a futile passion, but it should still remain a passion.
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HUMANS IN REPETITION The Twenty-first Century Will Be Acrobatic
For an anthropology of exercises Interview with Philippe Nassif*20
NASSIF: When Nietzsche proclaimed that God was dead at the end of the nineteenth century, he prophesied two centuries of nihilism. As a person who sometimes claims to be a proponent of ‘left-wing Nietzscheanism’, would your outlook for the twenty-first century be equally pessimistic?
SLOTERDIJK: When Nietzsche spoke of nihilism it was because he had understood that at the bottom of things one finds chance, and not the divine and wise necessity that was so highly esteemed from the beginning of time. Our age has caught up with this impor- tant intuition. In this sense, the inflation of ‘renown’ – or, better still, celebrity – which will be accepted as the most important expression of fate in the coming decades and centuries, is very illuminating. In the twenty-first century anybody can become a world star, and can do so for the most unpredictable and often most ridiculous reasons. In other words, it will be the century of the tyranny of chance. Of course, chance was always in power, but it has never been observed in its naked state before. As long as people accepted their fate in relation to what they couldn’t control, chance always appeared to them in a religious light, as a revelation of an act of God – la forza del destino, as it were. But the second half of the twentieth century produced a human species that is convinced that
* This interview between Peter Sloterdijk and Philippe Nassif appeared under the title ‘L’homme dans la repetition/Le XXIe siecle sera acroba- tique’, in Cles, Trouver du Sens, Retrouver du Temps, at: <http://www. cles. com/enque tes/article/le-xxie-siecle-sera-acrobatique>. Interview date: 8 July 2010.
Philippe Nassif is a French philosopher.
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the first human right consists of living in a world liberated from the moods of fate. The scandal of chance – that great creator of inequality – will have an increasingly strong effect in a rationalized world. It will be the act of God of the future. We can already see this in the culture of the twentieth century: inequalities, which merely express the reign of chance, evoke the feeling of living in an absurd world.
NASSIF: Still, the present age seems to be turning its back on the absurd. What is being expressed today has more to do with people wanting to create meaningfulness.
SLOTERDIJK: The individualism of the twenty-first century will actually be revealed in the desire to present chance as a deliberate and premeditated act. That will be a new form of eternal mystifica- tion. In the past, people lived with the feeling of an all-pervading necessity, a global providence that acted as the great director of the world and of the story of salvation. But then Nietzsche pulled aside the curtain for us: if we get to the bottom of things we find repetition and chance. That is the absolute novelty of modern thought.
NASSIF: A novelty that is difficult to digest.
SLOTERDIJK: It is easier to digest if we consider that alongside the comedy of absolute chance, whose culmination is the world as it is and I myself with all my characteristics, the increasing density of cultures on earth has become the other factor of fate that will shape the future. ‘Density’ means that the probabilities of encounters and clashes have become almost infinite. At any given moment you can have an encounter that will reshape your life.
NASSIF: In your Spheres trilogy you present the iconoclastic idea that the urban dweller is never alone, despite the huge growth of single households.
SLOTERDIJK: My project is based on a philosophical hostility to the ideology of the solitary individual. My thesis is that ulti- mately the individual does not exist. I reject the fallacious idea of ontological solitude that the society of the modern age is based on. In reality, Being always means being accompanied, but not neces- sarily by a visible companion. An invisible couple is always hiding in the apparent solitude of the individual. Being single therefore means forming a couple with a hidden Other – even if it is only my unknown ‘I’. Modern, urban, available and active subjectivity cor- responds perfectly to the idea of the inward-projected couple. The ability to live alone basically implies you have found the means, the media and the exercises to complete yourself self-referentially. I am never alone with my books; never alone with the music I want to hear; never alone with my interior polylogue. I discussed all these things in detail in Foam, the third volume of my trilogy. The
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Americans are aware of this: when they say ‘Take care’ to us on leaving, they are addressing our unconscious twin.
NASSIF: The French are more likely to say ‘Bon courage’ [‘Good luck’]. Should we take it as a sign that the idea of individual solitude is more entrenched here in Europe than on the other side of the Atlantic?
SLOTERDIJK: Why shouldn’t we see courage as a more or less faithful companion? My courage and I, we get on quite well together! Courage is the good spirit of everyday life.
NASSIF: If the public sees psychology as having had a great influence on philosophy in recent decades, could it be because it has proposed a model of the internal couple ‘Me and my unconscious’ instead of the idea of an autonomous, and therefore solitary, uncon- scious that philosophers have been tied to for years?
SLOTERDIJK: The whole problem of European First Philosophy stems from the fact that the Greeks called human beings ‘mortals’. When the decision is made to emphasize human mortality, the focus is on adults, on the finished version of the human being. Given that humans know they will die, we always have the impression that soli- tude is the ultimate truth of existence. However, it would be quite conceivable to focus on the other pole of human existence: birth. This theme was only appreciated at a late date in the history of ideas. It was raised in the twentieth century by Heidegger, Hannah Arendt and myself. From this perspective, it is no longer mortal- ity but the fact of being born that is decisive. Yet this has no trace of loneliness: being born means getting involved with a welcome committee. The proto-idea of the newborn human is usually: there are people here. First people, then things. In other words, there are newborn babies, and they experience this profound way of being received into the bosom of the family that shapes what will later become ‘the world’. From a philosophical perspective, we experi- ence a great turning point that leads from a priority of mortality to a priority of being born. The people of the twenty-first century will not be mortals but will be people who were born, natal beings. To rethink our state of knowledge in accordance with human rights, we have to imagine a kind of humanity beyond the dictates of pure mortality – a human race whose members express the will to come into the world completely.
NASSIF: Are you telling us to live our lives as a result of birth instead of as little deaths?
SLOTERDIJK: This leads us to take an additional step towards the demystification of fate. To borrow the morose but brilliant term used by the young Heidegger, Fate used to consist of being ‘thrown’ into the world. But the person who was thrown forward can never
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appropriate the forces that threw him or her, just as a missile can’t take possession of the gun behind it.
NASSIF: Does this mean that demystifying fate allows us to reappropriate the forces that threw us into the world?
SLOTERDIJK: Yes, starting with the biological gun, with sexual- ity. However, we should use the word ‘appropriation’ very carefully. It is not by chance that the twentieth century secularized sexuality: it was a matter of halting the destiny that fundamentally consisted in people producing children – and very often producing too many. They didn’t know what they were doing in bringing children into the world to whom they couldn’t promise what the Americans call ‘a decent life’. A decent life – that’s exactly what parents should be able to promise their children. In other words, handling procreation is the secret of destiny. Misfortune is usually an inheritance. These mechanisms have never been fully explained, but we now have enough information to know that it is possible to avoid necessarily creating a legacy for our successors from our physical and psycho- logical illnesses. The large range of therapeutic techniques today allows us to break the curse. And that is exactly what is at stake: the Enlightenment is an attempt to sabotage fate. We can interrupt the bad repetition. As we can see in Western countries in the second age of contraception, destiny can also be interrupted by eliminating the overproduction of human beings.
NASSIF: But isn’t it continuing everywhere else as it did previously?
SLOTERDIJK: Be careful! The twenty-first century will give rise to a new division of roles between the cultures that produce too many children and those that don’t produce enough. Currently, as far as I know, around sixty-two nations are shrinking demographi- cally and around 130 have a positive reproduction rate, whether moderate or excessive. Assuming optimistically that the twenty-first century will not experience a series of terrible catastrophes like the previous century, we can hope that the majority of those 130 coun- tries will soon join the club of those producing fewer children.
NASSIF: Tunisia and Iran, for example, have already fallen to the level of France.
SLOTERDIJK: That’s totally surprising, yet totally logical at the same time. Instead of discussing the madness of the ayatollahs, it would be better to talk about the extraordinary rationality shown by Iranian families in producing only two children for every married couple. This is something the ayatollahs have underestimated – a kind of biological strike by Iranian women. By conceiving not more than two children they are robbing the state of its future believers. And in that corner of the world being a believer means you can be
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sacrificed in a holy war. Still, there will be no holy war in Iran if there are no young men to fight it, even if the country’s leaders persist with the idea for some years to come. The Iranians are catching up with the French and Americans, who have long since represented the society of the only son. You can’t fight wars that demand heavy sacrifices with armies of only sons – which is why the art of warfare in the West is increasingly turning towards automatic weapons. In the past, a family with six or seven children could sacrifice one or two if need be, because nobody knew what to do with them anyway.
NASSIF: Aren’t you painting a very cruel picture of bygone cultures?
SLOTERDIJK: In world history, the second and third sons usually were the great troublemakers. Cultures with only a single son are more peaceful. Why did France abandon the idea of revo- lution in the 1880s and 1890s? Because it was the first country in Europe, and therefore in the world, that practised the principle of the two-child family. The other nations joked about the French way of love, for example, the way to prevent a third child when having sex. Europe sniggered about anal or oral sexual practices, which were seen as French adult secrets. However, this kind of love- making was pure pacifism because it meant people didn’t produce further children for waging war. You will object that this didn’t stop France from plunging into the First World War. Yet those who ended up in the trenches were actually from the generations born before the demographic change. One of the reasons France lost the Second World War was because the country was in a transitional phase in relation to Germany. The big fall in the birth rate took place somewhat later in Germany, at the beginning of the First World War, in fact. The last massive demographic cohorts, born between 1910 and 1914, were around twenty years old when Hitler came to power.