No More Learning

Our typical histori- cal account of sexuality, he argues, leans heavily on what he famously calls "the repressive hypothesis". We tend to think, that is, that the nineteenth century is marked by a growing discomfort with public discussion of sexuality. Sexuality happened only to those peripheral deviants, the "other Victorians", such as prostitutes, pimps and perverts. For the bourgeois classes, goes the popular historical perception, sexual- ity was taboo. The notion that the Victorian era marked a distinctively repressive origin in the history of sexuality enables a narrative extrapo- lation through the struggles of psychoanalysis with repression to the sexual liberation movements of the 1960s and 1970s and beyond: our problem is (and has always been) that we are uptight about sex, and we need to challenge our own silences and shame in order to liberate ourselves (ibid. : 3-7).
Near the beginning of History ofSexuality, Foucault tells us sardoni- cally that his:
aim is to examine the case of a society which has been loudly castigating itself for its hypocrisy for more than a century, which speaks verbosely of its own silence, takes great pains to relate in detail the things it does not say, denounces the powers it exercises, and promises to liberate itself from the very laws that have made it function . . . The question I would like to pose is not, Why are we repressed? but rather, Why do we say, with so much passion and so much resentment against our most recent past, against our present, and against ourselves, that we are repressed?
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(Ibid. : 7-8)
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He has three main doubts about the repressive hypothesis. First, a historical doubt: is repression such an incontrovertible fact about the history of sexuality? Second, a theoretical doubt: does power in fact always work through repression (does it always say "no"? ), as the hypothesis seems to assume? And third, a political qualm: is the "anti-repression" discourse of sexual liberationists actually all that dif- ferent from the very discourse of repression that it claims to expose? Foucault answers these questions, as he does in Discipline and Pun- ish, through a set of historical examples dating from the seventeenth through nineteenth centuries (mostly) in France. In the chapter "The Incitement to Discourse", Foucault identifies an explosion of ways of talking about sex in the late seventeenth century, key to which is the institution of the Christian confession. Just as the functioning of power in the prison becomes a metaphor and model for disciplinary power writ large, Foucault suggests, the idea of approaching a pastoral authority and revealing the hitherto concealed truth about one's sexual transgressions comes to represent a key mechanism in all of the dis- ciplines of sexual knowledge. As the eighteenth century rolls around, sex becomes, he argues, a central object of political, economic and technical administration, through, for example, the study of popula- tion (birth control, population growth, reproductive statistics etc. ), a fascination with the sexuality of children (especially analysing and preventing masturbation), the growth of psychiatry and its study and treatment of sexual disorders, and the criminalization of certain sexual practices (ibid. : 25-3 1 ) . Perhaps most important for Foucault's account of assujettissement, in Chapter 3, "Scientia Sexualis", he argues that the new science of sex produces its truth through endless incitement and confession. We are constantly urged to reveal our sexual desires, perversions and "identities", in a variety of practices that cause us to be made into "case studies" for the quasi-medical, scientific discourses that now surround sexual truth.
Foucault provides two primary examples of sexual individuals in History of Sexuality. 3 The first is his controversial story of Jouy, a "simple-minded" farmhand who, in 1867, enticed local young girls into "caresses". Jouy, Foucault implies, is on the cusp of the historical moment when such behaviour is met not with a smack in the face, or indifferent refusal, or viewed as "inconsequential bucolic pleasures" from which both parties can walk away without any particular conclu- sion being drawn about their status as "sexual victim" or "pervert" . 4 His behaviour attracts the attention of a girl's parents, and thence further authorities; Jouy was physically assessed and interviewed, and then incarcerated without being convicted of any crime as a "pure object of
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medicine and knowledge" (ibid. : 32). Indeed, Foucault's interpretation comes from the published "case study " of an early example of what we would now call a "paedophile". In a second example, Foucault argues that in this crucial historical period the idea that some people are essentially "homosexuals" is posited by sexology:
As defined by the ancient civil or canonical codes, sodomy was a category of forbidden acts; their perpetrator was nothing more than the juridical subject of them. The nineteenth-century homo- sexual became a personage, a past, a case history, and a childhood, in addition to being a type of life, a life form, and a morphology, with an indiscreet anatomy and possibly a mysterious physiol- ogy. (1990a: 43)
His arrival is announced with Foucault's most quoted line, "the sodomite had been a temporary aberration [relaps] ; the homosexual was now a species [espece]" (ibid. ). Discovering this identity becomes a per- sonal as well as a legislative project, in which the individual deciphers the truth of the self as homosexual, or (later) heterosexual, or another taxonomic possibility, even as, Foucault argues, these are not natural kinds of human being only now being "discovered" or "understood" but rather historically contingent forms of assujettissement.
Discipline and Punish and the first volume of The History ofSexu- ality, then, are the texts in which Foucault shows us most clearly how power creates subjects. They tackle different historical case studies, but their underlying philosophical arguments are closely connected. Each shows that by learning something about how a particular institu- tion functions we can learn something about how power functions to create certain kinds of individual; each aims to use historical enquiry to make the present less familiar (to unsettle our assumptions that prisons are, among other things, humanitarian institutions with no implications for "our" subjectivity, and that we are repressed about sexuality and talking about it is liberating and transgressive, respec- tively). Each also argues that this process of defamiliarization will actually invert our common-sense understanding of subjectivity: we discover that criminal justice in fact creates criminals rather than sim- ply punishing them, and that throwing off the repression of our sexu- ality in fact places us in thrall to a new kind of discursive control.
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Objections
Critics have suggested that Foucault's historical accounts are one-sided, s i m p l i s t i c , o r p l a i n w r o n g ( e . g . A l f o r d 2 0 0 0 ; Ta y l o r 1 9 8 4 : e s p . 1 6 3 - 5 ) . Foucault's writing is undoubtedly allusive and elliptical, sometimes tracking very large themes and theses in ways suspiciously like the grand historical narratives he disdains, and at other times for no apparent reason picking on a particular "scene" or exemplary text to make his philosophical point. In Nietzschean spirit, he claims to be offering only descriptive accounts of the emergence of subjectivity after discipline, and rejecting the endorsement of particular values, but there are hints of political allegiance and aspiration in his writing. Foucault was actively involved in the anti--prison movement in France, as well as being a prominent openly gay intellectual, and commentators have wondered just how his actions fit with his words in this regard (see Enns 2007: 73-98). Critics charge that Foucault posits the theoretical necessity of resistance within any account of power (Foucault 1990a: 95) but fails to provide concrete examples of what resistance looks like in practice (Hartsock 1990).
Here I will focus on just two philosophical objections that are spe- cifically directed toward Foucault's account of assujettissement. First, critics charge that Foucault's subject of power lacks agency, and hence the capacity to resist the effects of disciplinary power Foucault describes (e. g. Fraser 1989). Mainstream philosophical understandings of resist- ance to oppressive power typically require that one stand outside the system of power (at least in theory) to push back against it. Agency, on this more familiar view, is the capacity to act on one's own behalf, drawing on beliefs and desires that are properly one's own, yet if these beliefs and desires are the product of the power one also wants to oppose, agency (of this kind) may be impossible. As Linda Alcoff says, "Foucault's demotion of subjectivity to an analytic position posterior to power results in a conception of subjectivity deprived of agency . . . In the absence o f agency . . . resistance to domination is impossible and even conceptually incoherent" (1992: 73-4; see also Taylor 1984). Because disciplinary power emanates from everywhere and nowhere, there is no sovereign against whom resistance can be enacted. Dami- ens was executed for attempting to kill the king. His case is a literal instantiationofthemoremetaphoricalpointFoucault'scriticsmake: in the absence of a clear locus of power that can be challenged, and with the insistence that we are all part of the networks of power that both form us and limit us, it is not clear how to act, or whom to act against, especially if one is interested in advancing social justice.
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At one point in his work Foucault does suggest that domination is a particular limit-case of power, in which relations are "blocked, frozen" so that no resistance is possible (1997e: 283). To deny agency only in such extreme situations, however, does not help to justify claims about the illegitimacy of those relations of power that are less than complete domination, but nonetheless politically troubling. Foucault seems to be right that increasingly the forms of power that citizens of liberal democracies need to understand are not limited to abuses of sovereign power but rather include more subtle instantiations of disciplinary power that promise greater freedom without stipulating their own price. But if all his genealogies do is to describe, then he cannot be committed to making value-judgements about which rela- tions of power are the more oppressive, damaging, or unjust. Thus, in a second closely related objection, Foucault has often been charged with having no way of making normative claims, choosing among competing values, or with any grounds on which to argue for social change. For some critics this charge is advanced a step further: perhaps Foucault does make tacit appeal to values, but he denies this appeal while depending on it for the coherence of his position (Taylor 1984). This is often referred to as the charge of crypto-normativity, a term typically used in the Foucault-Habermas debates by those who wish to highlight Foucault's implicit appeal to humanist, objective values in his genealogical texts (see, for example, Habermas's own formulation of the problem [Habermas 1994: 94-8]).
That Foucault had political opinions (and reasons for holding them) seems beyond doubt. Both these objections share the sense that without positing an exterior to disciplinary power (a place where a stronger kind of agency is possible, or from which we might appeal to better values to effect social change) we are stuck in the modes of assujettissement Foucault describes, without control of our fate. Defenders of Foucault have responded to both these objections by pointing out that his genea- logical project is to unseat a humanist theory of the subject, without thereby replacing it with some new foundational account. Foucault wants to show us that our common perceptions of our own increasing autonomy, our overcoming of repression, our gradual march toward liberation, are all ways of thinking about our subjectivity that have historical roots and are guided by a particular configuration of power. Of course some things are enabled by this configuration and others are precluded, but as Foucault famously said in an interview:
My point is not that everything is bad, but that everything is dangerous, which is not exactly the same as bad. If everything is
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dangerous, then we always have something to do. So my posi- tion leads not to apathy but to a hyper- and pessimistic activism . . . I think that the ethico-political choice we have to make every day is to determine which is the main danger.
(Foucault 1997f: 256)
Sowhatis"themaindanger"? Iseetwoprimaryavenuesofresponse for Foucault's defenders. The first simply sidesteps this question. In Foucault's practice of critique we are not told what to criticize in advance of its appearance; because he considers any account of human nature to be an exercise of power within a regime of truth, we cannot list the particular modes of assujettissement that would make us unfree versus those that are liberatory. Instead, Foucault provides us with a practice by which the subject takes on the right to "desubjectivize" him- self: "critique will be the art of voluntary insubordination [inservitude volontaire], that of reflective indocility [indocilitie reflechie]" (1990e: 39). Thus there is no specific content to critique, only a method in which we alert ourselves to what our current subjectivity allows or limits (see Butler 2002). As Paul Patton argues, autonomy (understood as the capacity to govern one's own actions) will always be held back by situations that approach domination, and will always lead to oppo- sition: "it is not a question of advocating such resistance, of praising autonomy or blaming domination as respective exemplars of a good and evil for all, but simply of understanding why such resistance does occur" (Patton 1998: 73).
The second kind of response may be more satisfying to those critics who, like Charles Taylor, argue that we simply cannot make sense of Foucault's Nietzschean account of power without some non- Nietzschean concepts of freedom and truth. As Thomas Flynn argues, the kind of genealogical critique Foucault offers always appeals to its audience's shared values - of freedom as autonomy in particular - while showing that a particular practice of power fails to live up to them in ways we have not recognized (Flynn 1989: 196-7). This is the only foundation available: the realization that our cares and commitments, on the one hand, and our ability to make sense of ourselves, on the other, are at odds in ways that make us ineffective as the very kinds of agents we aspire to be (see Owen 2003). Foucault consistently resists any theory of the subject in favour of a pragmatic recognition that making power more flexible and multivalent will open up new possi- bilities for thinking and acting: a project we are already tacitly inclined to consider politically valuable, albeit for reasons that are very much contingent to our historical and political location.
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Weighty subjects
Thus Foucault argues that new subj ectivities have become available to us that are both ways to be an individual - to be distinctive - and to be sub- ject to the control of a range of extra-legal mechanisms. For some schol- ars, Foucault's example of homosexuality has been implausible : this may be for historical reasons (some critics argue that in fact the idea of "the homosexual" pre-dates Foucault's account) or scientific reasons (some think that biological explanations for homosexuality can be adduced). But for many less opinionated readers the suggestion that homosexuality is historically specific just does not feel convincing: even if Foucault were right, so much time has passed since the emergence of the homosexual "species", and the practices that consolidate the contemporary identity of "being" a homosexual have so much of a grip, that we cannot imagine things being otherwise. By contrast, the idea that one's weight might define a subject-position is, I have argued, much more recent, and still in the process of being sedimented in a variety of institutions and prac- tices. Let me conclude with this example, then, to show how Foucault's account of assujettissement might play out in practice. Any process of assujettissement happens at two levels: the management of the social body, and the disciplinary forces acting on the individual's body. At the level of population, obesity is now decried as a marker of corruption in the body politic (Herndon 2005) and a public health catastrophe. The strident, compulsive nature of public anti-obesity discourse is enabled by seemingly infinite statistical parsing and public policy strategizing about the population's "obesity epidemic". The very ability to construct such statistical and policy information of course depends on a range of disciplinary institutions and practices, from public health nurses who record the weight of schoolchildren to actuaries who analyse death rates. Of particular historical significance, the standard height/weight tables that were produced in the 195Os (based on actuarial rather than strictly medical evidence) provide a technique for analysing the population (how many more people are now "overweight" or "obese"? ) as well as a way for individuals to define their body mass index and weight status (Heyes 2007: 67-7 1 ; Gaesser 2002).
Thus at the level of the individual, weight is turned from an inciden- tal feature of a person into an identity. Being "overweight" becomes a numerically defined status as well as a marker of individual failure to regulate the body appropriately. This is made possible not just by the "disciplines" of public health and medicine, but also by endless confes- sional narratives detailing the consumption pattern, weight, fat distribu- tion, cholesterol level, caloric expenditure, exercise habits, and so forth,
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of each person. Some dieting internet discussion boards feature profiles introducing each person through opaque abbreviations that actually identify starting weight, current weight and goal weight; dieters discuss the minutiae of calorie-counting, carbohydrates and exercise options with reference to the weight deviations stipulated on the screen, invok- ing norms such as body mass index. The web is littered with video blogs of "my weight loss journey", in which ordinary people make of their biography an object worthy of representation, while also confessing the truth of their weighty selves, often dwelling on parts of their lives that might seem only tangentially related to dieting. Increasingly the identity "dieter" becomes as real as "homosexual". This consolidation of a subject-position requires that everything about a person be dragged within the remit of weight loss; the subject-position "dieter" becomes the lens through which personal identity is revealed (Heyes 2007). True to Foucault's predictions, the practice of dieting is not simply repressive (if it were, it would not be so popular) but is also enabling: people feel better about themselves (if only for a short time) , learn new information (about nutrition, for example) and develop new skills (such as how to describe and manage their personal "weaknesses"), at the same time as they are drawn ever deeper into a disciplinary system that can then exercise its control and management.
In this brief discussion I hope to have shown why Foucault believes that the modern individual is not just a fact of our humanity but is rather a historical product of disciplinary power in its overall form as well as in the specifics of the subject-positions we have inherited. My own analysis of discourses of weight has struggled with the two objections I identified: what kinds of value-judgements are justified by a genealogi- cal reading of dieting, and how can oppressed dieters fight back? In the end, I adopt both of the strategies I mentioned. I engage largely in practices of critique, showing how the intensification of power relations and the consolidation of subjectivity accompany a discourse that most of us assume simply aspires to increase our autonomy and liberate us from the demon fat. But I also show that our "cares and commitments" are in some ways at odds with the kind of subjectivity that dieting pro- motes, and that this gap between the kinds of people we aspire to be and those that our practices sediment can be exploited to ethical and political purpose.
Notes
1. "11 faut rappeler que le pouvoir n'estpas un ensemble de mecanismes de negation, de refus, d'exclusion. Mais il produit effectivement. Il produit vraisemblable-
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ment jusqu'aux individus eux"? memes. L'individualite, l'identite individuelle sont des produits du pouvoir . . . " (Michel Foucault, "Je suis un artificier" ["I am an artisan"], 1975 interview with Roger-Pol Droit, available online in French at http://foucault. info/documents/foucault. entretien1975. fr. html [accessedAugust 2010]).
2. Foucault admits the specificity of his history to the French penal system (see 1979: 309 n. 3). His translator Alan Sheridan also notes the distinctiveness of "supplice" - "the public torture and execution of criminals that provided one of the most popular spectacles of eighteenth-century France" (ibid. : "Translator's Note").
3. A third example is Foucault's reading of the memoir of Herculine Barbin, "a nineteenth century French hermaphrodite" (Foucault 1980b).
4. Feminist critics have suggested that in his haste to see Jouy as exemplary of a historical moment Foucault is too quick to characterize the power relations in which he participates as benign. See Alcoff (1996).
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? TWELVE
Practices of th ? self
Dianna Taylor
Previous chapters have illustrated that for Foucault subjectivity is not a state we occupy but rather an activity we perform. Moreover, it is an activity that always takes place within a context of constraint. We constitute ourselves as subjects (we are enabled) by way of vari- ous "practices of the self", which include activities like writing, diet, exercise and truth-telling. At the same time, we are constituted (we are constrained) in so far as the way in which we undertake these practices is shaped by institutions such as schools, courts of law, hospitals and the state security apparatus, as well as by the more general prevailing norms and values of the society in which we live.
Put differently, subjectivity is not distinct from but is rather formed in and through relations of power. There are not emancipatory institutions and norms that enable us, on the one hand, and oppressive or normal- izing institutions and norms that constrain us, on the other; rather, we are simultaneously enabled and constrained by the same institutions and norms. We therefore find ourselves confronted with the task of figuring out when and how we are enabled and when and how we are constrained, of determining ways in which existing practices have the potential to loosen constraints and thus resist normalization, and of employing those practices not only for that purpose, but also in order to develop new and different practices - new and different ways of relating to ourselves and others. We need, in other words, to be able to reflect critically on the very process of becoming a subject.
This critically reflective activity comprises a specific set of practices, which Foucault collectively refers to as "critique". In this chapter I provide an overview of Foucault's account of the origins of modern
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Western subjectivity in early Christian practices of the self. These prac- tices reflect an interconnection of power and truth, in the sense that one comes to know the truth about oneself and also gains access to the truth more broadly by way of a process of self-abnegation: subjectivity is achieved only by way of a sacrifice of self. According to Foucault, this element of self-sacrifice is retained within the modern hermeneutics of the subject, where it comes to characterize techniques of governmental- ity. In the second part of the chapter, we will see how the practice of critique functions as a Foucauldian response to the problem of the self- sacrificing modern subject. As he conceives of it, critique may loosen the relationship between truth and power that characterizes modern subjectivation (the process of becoming a subject) and in doing so facili- tate the development of new, emancipatory forms of subjectivity.
Subjectivity and self-sacrifice
Early Christian practices of the self were carried out within a relation- ship through which persons were guided toward salvation by another or others to whom they subordinated themselves (Foucault 1997b). Within a "salvation-oriented" relationship, the subordinate individual must submit to certain externally generated truths, such as religious doctrines and codes. But this acceptance is not merely passive; the subordinate individual also participates in various kinds of practices, "general rules, particular knowledge, precepts, methods of examina- tion, confessions, [and] interviews" in order to access and reveal the truth about her or himself (ibid. : 26). Through taking up these prac- tices, then, the individual also constitutes him or herself as a subject. Practices of the self thus possess a two-fold character: on the one hand they are manifestations of the norms and values of the society in which an individual lives and thus establish a relationship between the indi- vidual and others; on the other, in so far as the individual takes them up and incorporates them into the construction of his or her own subjectivity, these practices establish a relationship of the individual to her or himself.
Foucault shows that early Christian practices of the self, like their ancient and Hellenistic counterparts, entail a process of "conversion". To o b t a i n t h e r i g h t t o a c c e s s t h e t r u t h a b o u t o n e s e l f a n d t h e w o r l d , t h e subject must "be changed, transformed, shifted, and become, to some extent and up to a certain point, other than himself" (2005a: 15). In ancient and Hellenistic contexts, conversion takes the form of a "turn- ing" within the self: a kind of self-reflective taking stock of oneself
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through which one gains (a different) perspective. By contrast, early Christian conversion, metanoia, entails not a turning of but instead a break within the self; it is less a process and more an "upheaval", a single, sudden transition from one form of existence to another: "death to life", "mortality to immortality", "darkness to light", "the reign of the devil to that of God" (ibid. : 211).
The break that occurs i n metanoia i s thus a kind o f renunciation or sacrifice of the self, of one's "old" self, in the name of truth and salvation (ibid. : 250). A process characterized by self-practices comes into play, therefore, primarily after conversion has taken place. Post-conversion, practices of the self function to "decipher" the self in order to ensure that its thoughts are pure and properly focused on the truth and the light. This deciphering therefore involves practices that are intended to demonstrate that the old self has been renounced; it in fact involves a repeated and public sacrifice of the old self. Foucault identifies two prac- tices as being fundamental to this process of renunciation and sacrifice : confession and self-examination. In early Christianity, these practices look quite different from the modern sacraments of penance and the confession of sins (Foucault 1980h). Penitence is not a "determined act" but a status that involves the execution of a number of different practices which allow a person who has sinned to become reintegrated into the religious community (ibid. ). It is a public demonstration on the body through, for example, wearing a hair shirt, covering the head in ashes, and fasting, of the authenticity or truth of one's repentance (ibid. ). Hence the reference ofthe entire reintegration process as "exo- mologesis" or "manifesting the truth" (ibid. ).
Confession functions a s a similar manifestation. As i s the case with penitence, in order to be authentic, to reveal and thereby provide access to the truth, confession must be expressed to another. It performs a kind of check on self-examination in the sense that through confess- ing, one's thoughts and the condition of one's soul are expressed to another person who possesses the authority to interpret them. Unlike penitence, however, to which there is an identifiable end, Foucault argues that confession, with its requirement that one perpetually put the contents of one's soul into words ? that one ceaselessly verbalize - establishes a permanent relation of obedience to authority. But verbali- zation does not merely subjugate the speaker to the listener. According to Foucault, these particular acts of verbalization are simultaneously acts of self-sacrifice:
Verbalization is a way for . . . conversion, for the rupture of the self. It is a way for the conversion to develop itself and take effect.
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Since under the reign of Satan the human being was attached to himself, the verbalization as a movement towards God is a renunciation of Satan. It is for the same reason a renunciation of oneself. (Ibid. )
Thus, Foucault argues that both penitence and confession entail a "self-revelation which is at the same time a self-destruction" (ibid. ). One comes to know and tell the truth within a power relation i n which "[n]o truth about the self is without the sacrifice of the self" (ibid. ). In illustrating his point, Foucault tells the story of a young monk who, when he became gravely ill, was forbidden by his master to die (1980h). The monk "lived a few weeks more", at which time, commanded by his master to die, he did so (ibid. ). "Even when the monk is old," Foucault writes, "even when he is, at his turn, the master, he has to keep the spirit of obedience as a permanent sacrifice of his own will" (ibid. , emphasis added).
Self-sacrifice and governmentality
From Foucault's perspective, this same type of power relation - one in which access to truth is linked to the sacrifice of self - characterizes modern Western subjectivity. With the rise of modernity, practices that had once possessed solely religious applicability were adopted within secular contexts and thereby came to characterize modern societies more broadly. This generalization occurred in part as a result of the inadequacy of sovereign power in the face of the increasing complexi- ties of modern life. Given the social, political and economic restruc- turing that resulted from the "state centralization" and "dispersion and religious dissidence" (specifically, the Reformation and Counter- Reformation) of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries (Foucault 1 9 9 1 c : 88), Foucault asserts that "[f]ar too many things were escaping the old mechanism of the power of sovereignty, both at the top and at the bottom, both at the level of detail and at the mass level" (2003 : 249). Hence the concern within early modern societies with what Foucault refers to as the problem of "government". For Foucault, government includes but is not limited to the administration of a state and its peo- ple by a ruler. It also exists as a more general concern about how to direct the conduct of oneself and others. Government as a "general problem" pertains to "the government of oneself . . . the problem of personal conduct, the government of souls and lives" as well as to "the government of children" (1991c: 87), "beggars and the poor",
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"families" and "armies" (1997b: 27). Foucault argues that at this time one can observe a preoccupation with questions about "[h]ow to gov- ern oneself, how to be governed, how to govern others, by whom the people will accept being governed, [and] how to become the best pos- sible governor" (ibid. ).
It is not difficult to see how the two types of modern power Foucault identifies could emerge within a context characterized by a concern with government and, therefore, how early Christian practices of the self develop into modern governmentalizing techniques. Foucault's descriptions of prisons, army training and schools in Discipline and Punish, for example, illustrate how governmentalizing techniques func- tion in the service of disciplinary power. Within each of these contexts, particular types of efficient yet limited subjectivity (the delinquent, the soldier, the pupil) emerge. With respect to biopower, governmentalizing techniques take the form of, for example, analysis by state agencies of rates of transmission of infectious disease. Such analysis produces norms of normality (health) and abnormality (illness) and, hence, "normal" and "abnormal" subjects. A certain number of annual deaths from influ- enza, especially among certain segments of the population (the elderly, infants, persons with compromised immune systems), are expected and therefore considered normal; intervention into the population by health officials is intended less to prevent these deaths than to protect the "normal" or healthy segment of the population and, therefore, "defend" society as a whole (Foucault 2003 ) .
A whole host of societal institutions reproduce these subject catego- ries: prisons, schools, courts of law, hospitals, government agencies (i. e. the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention), social services agencies, and state and private mental health agencies and treatment centres. To the extent that individuals participate within or are subject to scrutiny by these institutions (and all of us, to greater and lesser extents, do and are), we also constitute ourselves in and through these same subject categories; in doing so we implicate ourselves more deeply in modern relations of disciplinary power and biopower. To be clear, even if we have not been diagnosed with, for example, some form of physical or mental illness, our constitution of ourselves as "healthy" takes place in and through broad categories of normality and abnor- mality that prevail within our culture. It is no coincidence that the techniques and practices we employ in such constitution include some of the same practices that characterized the Christian pastoral: physical exercise, self-reflection, self-writing and confession (whether to a priest, a therapist or a police officer).
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? Self-sacrifice and the Western philosophical tradition
Even though these modern practices of self-constitution are no longer linked specifically to a religious context, given their origins and the fact that they were for the most part uncritically adopted within secu- lar contexts as modes of individual and collective conduct, Foucault argues that they retain their self-sacrificing character. This modern interconnection between subjectivation and self-sacrifice has presented Western cultures with the problem of how to " [save] the hermeneutics of the self and [get] rid of the necessity of sacrifice of self which [is] linked to this hermeneutics" (1980h). Hence the concerted and sus- tained efforts within Western philosophy to construct and substitute a positive notion of subjectivity (i. e. the autonomous subject) for the self-sacrificing subject (ibid. ). Foucault has in common with the rest of the Western philosophical tradition the desire to break with the cycle of "unconditional obedience, uninterrupted examination and exhaustive confession" which underpins modern subjectivity (1999a: 157). Yet, unlike the tradition, Foucault wishes to move away from self-sacrifice not because it violates the subject's independence and autonomy, but rather because it cultivates a destructive and therefore harmful rela- tionship of the self to itself (ibid. ). For him, critique provides ways of negotiating modern relations of power that loosen the interconnection between truth and power that characterizes modern power relations and, hence, opens up possibilities for being constituted and constituting ourselves as subjects in ways that do not simply reproduce an abnegat? ing self-relation.
Critique
Critique, Foucault argues, emerges in response and is inextricably linked to the spread of governmentalizing techniques: it reflects a concern with the question of "how not to be governed" (1997b: 28). Rather than presenting itself as a simple opposition to the art of gov- erning, this question reflects a concern with how to navigate a con- text characterized by governmentality in ways that expand the field of possible courses of action and modes of thought. This response does not (nor does it aim to) avoid or release persons from governance. As Foucault makes clear, given the nature of modern power relations our aim is not to get outside of power, but rather to navigate those rela- tions differently. Critique can be conceptualized as a different kind of "art", which Foucault refers to as the "art of not being governed quite
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so much" (ibid. : 29). It is an art, he explains, "[of not being governed] like that, by that, in the name of those principles, with such and such an objective in mind and by means of such procedures, not like that, not for that, not by them" (ibid. : 2 8 ) . If governmentality is the "move- ment through which individuals are subjugated in the reality of a social practice through mechanisms of power that adhere to a truth", critique functions as the "movement by which the subject gives himself the right to question truth on its effects of power and question power on its discourses of truth" (ibid. : 32). As a response to governmentality, then, critique might be understood as an "art of navigating power relations". As one of those techniques and practices that challenge and thereby loosen the link between truth and power, critique character- izes and in turn promotes modes of subjectivity that likewise challenge self-sacrifice. It retains a critically (self-)reflective character and there- fore possesses emancipatory potential.
Let us be clear about how this kind of negotiation of power rela- tions is possible; that is, let us be clear that although we cannot com- pletely extricate ourselves from relations of power, we are not simply determined by them: we are not doomed to uncritically reproduce the prevailing norms and values of our society. If we were determined in this way I would, for example, accept and reproduce prevailing views about what it means to be a woman in US society. I would subordinate myself to men; I would behave in a passive and accommodating man- ner; and I would accept primary if not sole responsibility for caring for my (male) spouse, children and home. But I do not in fact do any of these things: I assert my equal standing with men; I am not passive and accommodating but instead argue, for example, that I ought to be paid the same wage for doing the same work; I am involved in a heterosexual marriage but I do not have children, I have a career, and my husband and I both work at making our relationship as egalitarian as possible. 1 Moreover, I even go a step further: rather than settling for equal status within the existing gendered order of things, I call into question the fact that we as a society adhere to a system of gender at all, and contend that there are other ways of organizing our lives that do not entail dominance and subordination. I am able to adopt a criti- cal perspective precisely because I am not merely constituted, but also constitute myself. I identify as a woman but, owing to my experiences constituting myself and being constituted in this way, I also identify myself as a feminist and constitute myself in ways that challenge prevail- ing gender norms: in so far as I am the one who takes up the norms and values of my society, I have the capacity to take them up differently, or not to take them up at all. As Foucault puts it:
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It may be that the problem about the self does not have to do with discovering what it is, but maybe has to do with discovering that the self is nothing more than the correlate of technology built into our history. Then . . . [m] aybe the problem now is to change those technologies, or maybe to get rid of those technologies, and then, to get rid of the sacrifice which is linked to those technolo- gies. (1980h)
Here Foucault reiterates the point made at the outset ofthis chapter, that part of what constituting ourselves as modern subjects must entail is critical analysis of precisely how we do this constituting. But for such critical analysis to be possible, we have to recognize that we actively participate in our self-constitution and thus possess the capacity to engage in such analysis. Subjectivity is not a matter of uncovering our "true self", a process which requires us to adhere to some pre-given, external definition of who and what we are; rather, it is a matter of calling into question such an understanding of what it means to be a subject, of investigating the effects that such a notion has on our relationship to ourselves and others, and of exploring possible ways of thinking and acting differently.
Critique as an emancipatory practice
Bearing these points in mind, we are in a position to better understand Foucault's assertion that subjects "give themselves the right" to cri- tique, a right that is, at the same time, always constrained and that is exercised within a context of constraint. Judith Butler articulates this point clearly and succinctly when she argues, "it is not the case that a subject is formed and then turns around and begins suddenly to form itself . . . the subject is both crafted and crafting, and the line between how it is formed, and how it becomes a kind of forming, is not easily if ever drawn" (Butler 2002: 225). Even more to the point: "The self delimits itself and decides on the material for its self-making, but the delimitation that the self performs takes place through norms which are, indisputably, already in place" (ibid. ). This conceptualization of critique is also consistent with Foucault's view of power and freedom as mutually constitutive. He conceives of freedom as the ability to navigate power relations in ways that mediate against and attempt to minimize constraints (such as direction and management) while maxi- mizing capacities, rather than as the ability to extricate oneself from relations of power. My constitution of myself as a feminist does not
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require that I extricate myself from the context that defines me as subordinate because I am a woman: just as critique emerges within a context of governmentality, so feminism emerged within a context of sexism. The fact that subjects are simultaneously enabled and con- strained by the same norms and practices may complicate but does not destroy possibilities for either freedom or subjectivity.
Now that we have a sense of how critique can facilitate the negotia- tion of power relations, let us explore in a little more detail precisely what it means to put critique into practice, as well as how its practice counters the self-sacrificing character of modern subjectivity and facili- tates new forms of self-constitution. We have seen that critique emerges from and responds to our present context, a context within which pre- vailing conditions present themselves as necessary conditions (gender is viewed not as a contingent sociopolitical system but as a description of women's and men's inherent natures), where our relationships to ourselves and others, as well as to knowledge and truth, are relation- ships of obedience to authority and, as such, are relations of power. Foucault refers to our stance relative to our present generally as an "attitude". For him, an attitude encompasses "thinking, speaking and acting", our relationships to "what exists, to what one knows, to what one does" - in other words, our relationship to ourselves - as well as "to society, to culture, and . . . to others" (1997b: 24). Critique, or a "critical attitude", thus comprises a particular way of responding to the present; specifically, a critical attitude entails thought, speech, acts and modes of relating that reflect "insubordination" against prevailing conditions, which reveal those conditions as contingent, and thus do not simply reproduce the same relationship between truth and power which leaves persons in a self-sacrificing relationship of obedience to the authority of prevailing norms (ibid. ) .
Taking into account these characteristics - critique is a practice that encompasses how we think, speak and act; critique establishes a way of relating to oneself and others within the context of one's present conditions; critique does not merely affirm and rearticulate those conditions - it is clear that Foucault, himself a cultivator of a critical attitude, is not simply going to tell us what a critical attitude looks like and how we need to go about practising it: to do this would be to undermine critique's insubordinate character and, therefore, its emancipatory potential. Nevertheless, Foucault does provide his read- ers with some clues or "tools" that we can utilize in ways that, given the challenges of our own present (which are not necessarily the same challenges of Foucault's), facilitate our insubordinate constitution of ourselves.
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? In a late interview, Foucault described himself as a "moralist", but he also made clear that he meant something very specific by this term. "In a sense, I am a moralist", Foucault explains:
insofar as I believe that one of the meanings of human existence - the source of human freedom - is never to accept anything as definitive, untouchable, obvious, or immobile. No aspect of real- ity should be allowed to become a definitive and inhuman law for us. (Foucault 1980g)
What Foucault describes here bears a strong resemblance to the "insubordinate" character of critique, and his articulation of the spe- cific "moral values" that underpin - and which he in turn seeks to articulate and practise through -- his work gives us an idea of how he thought a critical attitude could be cultivated. The first value Foucault identifies is refusal - specifically, refusing "to accept as self-evident the things that are proposed to us" (ibid. ). The second value is curi- osity, which Foucault describes as "the need to analyze and to know, since we can accomplish nothing without reflection and knowledge" (ibid. ). The third value is innovation: "to seek out in our reflection those things that have never been thought or imagined" (ibid. ). While Foucault initially refers to refusal, curiosity and innovation as val- ues, in the same interview he also refers to them as principles. Given their relevance to critique, and also taking into consideration that Foucault states that he both engages in and endeavours to promote them through his philosophical work, I think it is consistent with a Foucauldian perspective also to think of refusal, curiosity and innova- tion as techniques or practices.
Cultivating a critical attitude/countering self-sacrifice
The practices of refusal, curiosity and innovation illustrate that critique or a critical attitude opposes the self-sacrificing character of modern subjectivity. Self-sacrifice characterizes a mode of subjectivation that requires individuals to subjugate themselves to authority in order to gain access to truth. The first thing we notice about critique is that gaining such access is not central. Cultivating a critical attitude entails an oppositional or at least ambivalent stance relative to what is pre- sented to us as true, as given, as necessary. It emphasizes reflection and knowledge, as opposed to truth, with the result that self-constitution is an ongoing and continually evolving process, not a linear development
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toward a pre-established goal. The non-linear nature o f critique as a mode of self-constitution is further supported by the practice of innova- tion: critique functions in such a way as to develop new, different and unexpected modes of thought and existence; it does not move toward a pre-determined, identifiable end.
Considering a specific example from my own experience may help to illustrate how engaging in refusal, curiosity and innovation facilitates new modes of self-constitution - specifically, modes that do not entail self-sacrifice. A few years ago I began to experience physical pain that was unrelated to injury or, as far as I could tell, to illness. At an appoint- ment with my primary care physician I described what I was experienc- ing. He made a diagnosis and prescribed medication. After a few days I was still in pain, and so went to the emergency room that weekend. The ER doctor said that the specific way in which I described the pain was puzzling to him, but given the area of the body in which the pain was present, he agreed with my primary care physician's diagnosis. He wrote me a new prescription and referred me to a specialist.
Two doctors had now suggested that my pain was stemming from a certain condition, despite the fact that the way in which I was describing the pain did not exactly coincide with the way in which that condition usually manifested itself. At this point, I began to doubt my own experi- ence. Was I describing the pain incorrectly? Or did the pain in fact feel more like what the literature on this particular condition said it was supposed to ? When I met with the specialist a few days later I could tell by the expression on his face that what I was describing was unfamiliar to him. I stopped mid-sentence and asked, "Haven't you ever heard things described in this way before by other patients? " He replied that he had not, and that he ought to examine me to see what was going on. I agreed to the examination and subsequently to a procedure he said would provide me with relief.
For the purposes of our discussion here, what matters about my experience is not the success of the procedure or the competence of my physicians. What requires our attention is rather how I constitute myself and am in turn constituted as a subject. Within the context of the health care system I constitute myself as a subject in order to gain access to the truth about myself by way of a set of practices that subordinate me to authority (not only that of physicians, but also of system and hospital administrators, insurance companies and the like). Within this system, in other words, I both constitute myself and am in turn constituted as a "patient" (and also as a "consumer"). Through this constitution, I sacrifice a part of myself, specifically, the insubordinate part, the part that "gives itself the right to question truth on its effects of power and
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question power on its discourses of truth" (Foucault 1997b: 32). Such sacrifice, in so far as it curtails my critical capacities, results in the reinscription of my own subordination. Sitting in physicians' offices and the emergency room, I questioned myself instead on what it was about my situation that was making me question myself. I agreed to treatment (medication and a procedure) even though I was uncertain about whether I was being properly diagnosed. I was inhibited from asking questions of my physician and taking a more active role in my own physical health and well-being.
As noted earlier, it is not the case that "good" doctors do not subor- dinate their patients and therefore promote self-sacrifice while "bad" doctors do: there are not beneficial norms I can utilize and harmful norms that I can avoid. As "the patient", I constitute myself (and am constituted) through norms and practices that subordinate me. Given the relationship I have illustrated between self-sacrifice and being a patient, we might be tempted at this point to fall back upon a sovereign notion of power, and say that doctors possess power which they then wield against their patients, thereby subjugating them.