London Conference in Critical Thought – Zizek and the Political

You are invited to participate in the inaugural London Conference in Critical Thought (LCCT), an interdisciplinary and inter-institutional event created to foster emergent critical thought and provide new avenues for critically orientated scholarship and collaboration. It welcomes diverse and interdisciplinary work from the humanities and social sciences including, but not limited to, papers drawing upon continental philosophy, critical legal theory, critical geography and critical theory, etcetera.

The conference is free to participants, and will take place at Birkbeck College, June 29th and 30th, 2012. It is supported in its inaugural year by the Birkbeck Institute for the Humanities.

Streams and Panels that you may propose a paper for include:

§  A Transdiciplinary Approach to Law and Culture

§  Radical Political Rhetoric

§  Common Life: Critical Perspectives on Authority, Experience and Community

§  Sovereignty at the Margins: Critical Encounters with Early Modern Theories of the Sate

§  Cosmopolitanism and the City

§  Textual Space/Spatial Text

§  Critical Art

§  The Object: Between Time and Temporality

§  Critical Human Rights

§  The Question of the Animal, the City and the World

§  Critique of Critical Theory

§  Thinking Egalitarian Emancipation

§  Deleuzian Theory in Practice

§  Zizek and the Political

§  Mapping the Concept: Developments in the Productive Power of Critical Theory

 

§  Marx and Marxism Today

§  Critical Education

 

Please see http://londonconferenceincriticalthought.wordpress.com/ for further information, or contact londoncriticalconference@gmail.com

On ‘Capitalism’s New Clothes’ by Colin Cremin

Crisis, contradiction and collapse are more evident within capitalism than ever. The global financial system, still staggering to its feet after the 2008 collapse (at least in its public effects), lurches from crisis to crisis through the continued instability of the Euro and capital’s remaining over-accumulation. These crises have brought other contradictions into a different light. Inequality within the Western world has risen as the wealthy have increased their dominance over the labouring classes, and structural unemployment is proving stubbornly resistant to government intervention. Moreover, global ecological degradation continues unfettered and largely forgotten in the so-called age of austerity. Whilst climate change predictions are affirmed in front of our eyes, and the interests of capital persist in thwarting Leftist ambitions, there continues to be no ready alternative to capitalism, both in a practical and imaginary sense.

 

While everyone ‘knows’ that capitalism is both unjust and increasingly untenable, we continue to act as if it is not. More than that, capitalism continues to be enjoyable, inducing compliance not through restrictive barriers, but by structuring the very horizon of our desires. Not only have the agents of capital commodified desire such that enjoyment, identity and indeed the Western way of life come to be defined by consumption, but capital has colonised political imagination such that, to repeat Fredric Jameson’s oft-cited quip ‘It is easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism’.

 

Yet, if both capitalism and our political imagination have reached a deadlock, so, it appears, has Marxism. Following the breakdown of strict determinist/scientific interpretations of the progress of history and the inevitable collapse of capitalism, cultural explanations dominated by critical theory, the Frankfurt School and psychoanalysis came to the fore. Whilst these movements offered productive explanations as to the continued dominance of capitalism by allowing greater prominence to Marx’s notion of superstructure, they largely lost sight of the economic base upon which Marxism, and its critique of political economy, was founded. As a consequence, recent Leftist political practice has been predominately focused around explorations of social and cultural identity and the redistribution of surplus, as opposed to the production of that surplus itself[1]. It is as a result of the demise of the critique of political economy that Marxism has joined the deadlock of our times, unable to move from ‘knowing’ that capitalism is doomed to a form of political action.

 

It is from within these deadlocked circumstances that Colin Cremin’s Capitalism’s New Clothes begins. Cremin, a Marxist sociologist at the University of Auckland in New Zealand, examines the mechanisms through which capitalism is reproduced. Identifying primarily with the critical theoretical tradition and Slavoj Žižek’s psychoanalytic interpretation of Marxism, Cremin argues that the subjective and ideological processes of enterprise, ethics and enjoyment are the 21st century injunctions through which capital continues to enslave bodies and minds despite increasingly apparent alienation, exploitation, crisis and failure.

 

Cremin supplements this ideological interpretation with a desire to return to the critique of political economy occupied by more traditional Marxist theory, suggesting that if Marxism has tended to neglect subjectivity and ideology, ‘disillusioned Marxists have neglected political economy’ (p.2). Ultimately, the value of his analysis for Marxist theory and practice rests upon the possibility for renewing the ideological critique of the capitalist super-structure in the 21st century, whilst remaining committed to classical Marxist concerns about the ‘objectivity’ of the economy. This is a particularly difficult task and Cremin’s reference points – particularly the use of Lacanian psychoanalysis and Žižekian theory – are riddled with controversy in their adoption of the Marxist narrative.

 

Although Cremin’s analysis appears to require strong theoretical backing, Capitalism’s New Clothes attempts to walk a tight line between the necessity of these debates and the text’s accessibility to a wider audience that has not been introduced to either the Lacanian or Marxist lexicon. Whilst this approach is largely to be admired, in catering to a more popular audience Cremin omits or fails to do justice to some of the complex theoretical issues at the heart of the difficult interaction between Marxism, psychoanalysis and 21st century capitalism.

 

In particular, although he openly identifies with psychoanalysis and Žižekian theory, regularly utilising concepts of desire and enjoyment, Cremin does not enter into the debate around the difficulties of breaking free from the kind of fantasmatic structures which make social and political change so difficult. Most pertinently, whilst he leans heavily upon psychoanalytic explanations to understand the paradoxical pleasures of capitalism, Cremin does not discuss the other side of the psychoanalytic equation – the Real and exclusion – which are at the core of Žižek’s politics. To some extent this should not be a specific criticism of Cremin’s work, as the explicit task of the text is to examine the mechanisms through which capitalism is reproduced as a precursor to finding ways to halt this reproduction.

 

Conversely, by offering such a convincing and enlightening reading of the reproduction of capitalism, Capitalism’s New Clothes leaves the reader – Marxist and lay alike – unsure of how we can move from the ‘pseudo-activity’ Cremin righty derides, to the proper activity and the ‘iCommunism’ briefly eluded to in Chapter Five (p.134).  As such, although Capitalism’s New Clothes does well to identify the structure of our illusions today and illustrate the value of a psychoanalytically informed Marxism, because it does not consider how to move past these ideological illusions, it risks inviting ever more cynicism from the reader: we now know very well the illusions through which we are imprisoned, but there is little that can be done about it. Moreover, it risks enhancing the suspicion amongst many critics that psycho-Marxism, and Žižek in particular, has little to say on these matters[2].

 

 

Escaping Ideology

 

While Cremin’s Marxist orientation aligns with the critical theory tradition, his starting notion is that the core of capitalism has not fundamentally changed and, as a consequence, the classical Marxist critique of political economy remains both valid and productive. As such, Cremin seeks to situate his critique within ‘a Marxism that subscribes to the labour theory of value without neglecting the complicated effects of desire and language on the capacity of workers to mount an effective challenge against capitalism’ (pp.5-6).

 

Because of the emphasis on restoring political economy, much of Cremin’s analysis is directed against left-liberalism and those who suggest that the mode of production is wholly defined by the relations of immaterial production, including sociologists Zygmunt Bauman, Ulrich Beck and Antony Giddens, as well as Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri. Here, Cremin (p.18-25) suggests that theorists too readily accept that the increasingly overt super-structural face of capitalism now constitutes the entirely of the system. Whilst acknowledging that Western capitalism has moved away from industrial production to be, ideologically at least, dominated by service industries, Cremin asserts that not only does material production play the key role in capitalism, but that the relationship between immaterial labour and capital is not fundamentally different from other forms of labour.  Here the dialectical tension between base and superstructure remains, although the shape of the super-structure has changed: it is these changes which are the basis of Capitalism’s New Clothes.

 

Capitalism’s New Clothes argues that the ideological face of capitalism – the mechanisms that direct how we think and feel in reaction to capitalism – has altered to react to the new demands and difficulties of production. This ideological defence of capitalism should not be thought of as a malign conspiracy theory – although the divisions between the super-elite and the masses do push in this direction – but the automated and subjectivised processes through which members of capitalist economies reproduce society in the interest of the agents of capital by fulfilling societal functions, demands and individual desires. Liberal capitalism does not seek to restrict the activities of its subjects, but it does structure the horizon of their desires[3].

 

The other side of this analysis of the ideological injunctions of capitalism is the construction of what Cremin labels ‘end-capitalism’. End-capitalism has arisen out of the ‘credit-crunch’ and a period of over-accumulation of capital for which all immediate solutions have been previously exhausted (pp.25-9). Moreover, ongoing global ecological degradation, in which the expansion of economic activity is producing environmental depletion and dangerous feedbacks in equal amounts, speaks to the very core of consumptive identity and the constitutive requirement for capital to expand. For Cremin we all ‘know’ that capitalism cannot go on indefinitely.

 

Nevertheless, it does – and, Capitalism’s New Clothes argues that we are enjoying it more than ever. To analyse this paradoxical situation in which we continue to enjoy capitalism despite it moving us ever quicker into an unknown abyss, Cremin focuses upon super-structure and ideology, ultimately suggesting that capitalist subjectivity is defined by dutiful enjoyment and unconscious cynicism. Here the subject outwardly recognises the naked contradictions of capitalism and our abject impotence in responding to these contradictions, yet is not motivated to act any differently, instead acting upon depoliticised and individualised desires and ethical identifications. The system is collapsing around us, but as long as there appears to be ethical solutions to these problems and political causes are kept at a distance, then there is no reason why individual desires cannot continue to be chased.

 

Such an analysis of the ‘happy consciousness’ is embedded in the critical theoretical interpretation of Marxism within which Cremin places Capitalism’s New Clothes. In particular, he relies upon psychoanalysis and Žižekian theory to understand the role of desire, enjoyment and ideology, the latter being heavily indebted to Žižek’s re-reading of the traditional Marxist understanding. Here Cremin attempts to avoid the ‘cruder materialism of more dogmatic versions of Marxism’ (p.2) by advancing a theory of ideology from which we cannot escape. Ideology, he argues, ‘is our reality. It enables us to make sense out of non-sense’ (p.1), linguistically binding the subject together.

 

Nonetheless, in constructing ideology as a linguistic phenomenon, Cremin does not dismiss materialism entirely. Whilst he moves away from the idea of ideology as a mere reflection of the material base, Cremin suggests that ‘Capitalism’s New Clothes subscribes to a form of ideological critique that makes use of materialist, linguistic and psychoanalytic concepts to theorise the individual and society at this critical juncture’ (p.2).

 

As a result, ideology should not only be understand as the discursive formations through which we make sense out of reality, or, rather through which reality itself is constructed, but has a material edge that binds these formations to the subject. Cremin’s recognition of the materialism of ideology has two vital dimensions, that of the economy and that of the body, reflecting Marxist and psychoanalytic interpretations respectively.

 

Retaining a sense in which ideology not only reproduces our reality but does so in the image of the ruling classes – principally by excluding the contradictions within the system itself – allows Cremin to retain a reference to the ‘objective limit’ (p.3) provided by the economy and the possibility that ideological critique can be used to unveil the contradictions of the economy itself. Conversely, and vitally for the argument developed in Capitalism’s New Clothes, what prevents the unveiling of the truth of the mode of production is not just the power of class interests, but the other side of materialism, that of the body – an idea informed by psychoanalysis.

 

Lacanian psychoanalytic theory, particularly that advanced by its most notable contemporary practitioner Žižek, suggests that the subject is constitutively alienated by the forced entry of the body into the symbolic order, an imposition that divides bodily instinct from symbolic-imaginary identifications. As a consequence, subjectivity is constituted by a negativity that cannot be extinguished, leading to an endless and excessive desire to return to the (impossible) wholeness of the body. Lacan called this process of lack and excess jouissance, a condition of bodily pleasure that goes beyond mere enjoyment[4].

 

Žižek utilises this Lacanian dialectical materialism to turn Marxist ideology on its head. Ideology remains a false form of consciousness, but is not simply a super-structure by which the universal truth of the relations of production is hidden under a particular illusion constructed by those who control the means of production.  Instead, Žižek argues that ideology represents an attempt to provide a totalising illusion that hides the ultimate and traumatic partiality of the human condition: ideological fantasy offers the means to elide the non-identity between individual and society, between the body and the symbolic order[5]. Such a definition is vital, allowing a much greater understanding of the role of subjectivity and ideology in reproducing capitalism. In particular, Žižek’s understanding of ideology inverts Marx’s classical notion that ‘they do not know it, but they are doing it’. Instead, Žižek (and here Cremin is in agreement) argues that the logic of ideology today is ‘they know it, but they are doing it anyway’[6]: the illusion is in the doing, not the knowing[7]. This cynicism allows the subject to consciously distance themselves from the contradictions within ideology, a vital move when ideology is under threat.

 

Conversely, Žižek’s Marxism, as practiced within Capitalism’s New Clothes, has proven to be a particularly controversial interpretation. Psychoanalysis and Marxism have a long and difficult relationship. First brought together within the Freudian Marxism of the likes of Eric Fromm, psychoanalysis was initially looked at to provide a theory of subjectivity to explain the continual flourishing of capitalism and the seduction of the working class, a tradition continued in Capitalism’s New Clothes. Yet, although long associated with the prospects of political emancipation, the central difficulty with the combination of these discourses is their respective political ambition. From its inception, Marxism has been defined by both the combination of theory and practice, but also a definite political direction. Whilst psychoanalysis shares the same identification with theory and practice in the name of evoking change, since Freud’s Civilisation and its Discontents it has been openly sceptical of normative political ideas.

 

Cremin’s identification with Žižekian theory defines the text, bringing with it both the strengths and weaknesses of Capitalism’s New Clothes. It offers a renewed conception of ideology, critique and the limitations of political change. Moreover, it offers an explanation of the seemingly paradoxical condition in which we know of the failings of capitalism yet continue to act as if we do not. This new form of what Cremin, following Peter Sloterdijk and Žižek, calls ‘enlightened false consciousness’ (p.25) provides the Marxist problem today: how to evoke the contradictions of capitalism such that the threads of capitalism begin to unravel.

 

This is the Marxism question of our time – and many would be uneasy with the answers that both Cremin and Žižek provide. As I shall return to later, Žižek’s work is highly controversial in that he does not offer concrete solutions to our political predicament. Instead, he suggests that Marxism must focus on unveiling the contradictions within ideology in such a way that society cannot continue to reproduce itself. In particular Žižek is concerned with the kind of political practices that would subvert cynicism, constructing modes of politics that evoke the destructiveness of the Lacanian Real[8]. Capitalism’s New Clothes does not move to these considerations. Instead, it focuses on the first step in breaking from capitalism: understanding the mechanisms through which capitalism is reproduced and its contradictions disavowed. Cremin sets upon this task by reference to three thematic ‘injunctions’: enterprise, ethics and enjoyment.

 

 

Enjoyable Enslavement

 

Combining the basis tenants of Marxist theories of alienation and exploitation within a Lacanian understanding, Cremin suggests the emmently practical desire to be employable as a notable cause of our implicit daily endorsement of capital. Ironically, as capital fades and drags labour with it, the power of capital over labour has increased such that the pressure to be the object of our present or future boss’s desire – what Cremin labels ‘employability’ – pervades every aspect of the (potential) employee’s life. As the employee seeks employability, they are left to consider how to fulfil their bosses’ desire in order to move towards the ideal job (p.38) Here, not only are workers alienated and exploited by capital, but they are driven to embrace their employability as ‘every stage of exploitation is a stepping stone along the slow march to ideal employment’ (p.43).

 

Yet, while we may be able to obtain the object of our desire, the lesson of Lacanian psychoanalysis is that the cause of desire can never be fulfilled: as the lack which is constitutive of the human condition remains, we are continually pushed onto the next ideal under the fantasmatic belief that it will fill this lack. Thus, the desire for employability can never be sated. No matter how many skills and experiences are added to our CV or steps are taken up the organisational chain, desire remains. Thus, not only are workers alienated in their employment, but this alienation itself is exploited by enterprise as the desire for employability is actualised as a commodity in the job market.

 

Here tradition Marxist notions of alienation come into contact with psychoanalytic conceptions of desire and lack. Alienation, at least in the critical theory tradition of the younger Marx, occurs when our creative capacity as humans is channelled into the production of commodities. By contrast, for Lacan the subject is constitutively alienated by its entry into the world of language in which bodily instinct is irrevocably separated from the symbolic-imaginary universe. It is this alienating lack that is commandeered by capital to coerce the desire for employability. Conversely, our constitutive subjective alienation does not mean that Marx’s notion no longer stands, just that there is no non-alienated place to which to return.

 

The effect of employability, Cremin explains, is that ‘the subject who strives for employability does so only in order to be materially exploited by capital. In this way the capitalist jouissance (for surplus value) is knotted with proletarian jouissance (for material security) (p.56)’. So, while workers are exploited in the name of surplus-value (no matter how immaterial the production process), their alienation is constructed in such a way to suggest that with the next step up the employment ladder this lack will be erased. Thus, Cremin suggests that while the worker remains materially exploited, they are also libidinally exploited as desire is co-opted, managed and focused into extending the interests of capital (ibid.). The key for psychoanalytic interpretations of Marxism, Cremin contends, is to seek to change the former whilst recognising the constitutive elements of the latter.

 

There is no hidden secret in the operation of employability. As Cremin contends, employees’ actively invest in enterprise and the fate of capital. The downfall of capital is the (short-term) downfall of labour: workers not only need capital to expand, but they seek to be more employable to receive the benefits of this expansion. Employability, Cremin notes (p.69), is entirely unavoidable at this time – it is currently the only feasible mechanism for the worker to materially reproduce themselves. To actively resist is counter-productive: even Marxist academics must play the game.

 

Instead, a standard reaction to this process has been the active process of disidentifying from our employment roles: when workers identify outside of employment but continue to fulfil their symbolic mandate. The worker knows they have to go along with the terms set by capital, but attempts to distance themselves by mocking their own identification (p.64), a cynical strategy that may allow for a more tolerable identity, but does not alter either the workers’ actions nor the relationship between capital and labour.

 

This kind of pseudo-activity is the dominant feature of Cremin second theme, ethics. Directing his critique at depoliticised liberal ethics, Cremin argues that capital has been able to appropriate ethical clothing for its own benefit, such that ‘the determinable locus of the crisis is rendered indeterminate by an ideology, promulgated on the left, that decentres the capitalist laws of motion by expanding the circumference of possible causes of crises with all their manifest symptoms’ (p.74).

 

Here class struggle and the systematic functioning of capitalism are disavowed and instead left-liberal ideologies present the symptoms of capitalism as manageable elements without a central cause or link to the mode of production. Moreover, these ethical elements are converted into commodities through which companies manipulate guilt and enjoyment to induce consumption in the name of a charitable cause: we literally spend our way deeper into capitalism in order to respond to the symptoms it reproduces.

 

In this way, Cremin suggests, individuals are not faced with the overwhelming collapse of end-capitalism, but manageable symptoms that can be responded to within the system – or so the fantasy goes. Moreover, these ethical responses are to be enjoyed, most particularly through the consumption of commodities that represent our ethical ‘identity’, such as Fairtrade items or Bono’s ‘RED’ range (p.100).

 

Whilst there is some value in an ethical response that responds to the symptoms of capital or which preaches tolerance, Cremin suggests that the effect is to flatten all demands into an equivalence such that tolerating different lifestyle choices is placed on the same level as the abject material inequality produced in the interests of capital (p.76). The problem is that symptoms that can be easily countered and included within capitalism – matters of identity that can diversify the consumptive base – are favoured over those symptoms that speak to the core of the contradictions of capitalist political economy. These symptoms are necessarily recognised – we all know about the suffering in Africa or the changing global climate – but the cause is particularised and commodified into more manageable elements.

 

Malaria and AIDS, for instance, can be attended to and vastly reduced through concentrated campaigns involving corporate and political goodwill. These problems are certainly symptoms of capitalism, breeding off the poverty and political insecurity constructed under globalised capital, but there is no reason why they cannot be responded to within capitalism. On the other hand, constitutive symptoms such as absolute poverty, exploitation and inequality, along with ecological degradation, are included within the same category as those particular symptoms that Left-liberals have been able to manage. Without a wider conception of the mode of production, these problems appear entirely manageable within the capitalist horizon.

 

Although Cremin does not expand on this point in detail, perhaps the foremost fantasy of ethical agency within capital is that of democracy. Democratic ideology suggests that all citizens within expressly democratic states have the opportunity to participate in the process of deciding how the country should be organised. What this fantasy elides is the limits placed on this action: not only the obvious limitations of voter apathy and the dictatorship of the majority, such that most elected governments have the official support of around a quarter of the population, but that the key economic elements involved in the material reproduction of society are outside of democratic control. Through neo-liberal reforms this has become increasingly apparent as the state apparatus is sold-off piece by piece. More pertinently, the demands of financial capital have revealed that, in Žižek’s terms, capital is the Real of our time, placing a hard limit on the kind of action available to elected governments[9]. To attempt to raise taxes, advance workers’ rights, protect the environment or provide health care is only possible if the agents of finance do not object.

 

And yet, the democrat fantasy continues. The strongest rebuke to the ‘Occupy’ movement that arose in 2011 has been that the activists should utilise the democratic political process. That if the people really believed in their cause – if they were really the 99% – then their political party would be elected to power[10]. Such a position reveals both the overwhelming fantasy of democratic participation and limitations of democracy itself. Moreover, it suggests that democracy is the ultimate ideology of capitalism: an ideology that is seen to be beyond ideology[11].

 

Cremin’s third injunction is enjoyment. Here he argues that desire and excess are constitutive of the human condition, the issue not being enjoyment, but the form it takes (p.109).  Although desire has no necessary object, it has been all but colonised by capital such that, today, the elementary form of desire is that of consumption. Commodities represent the fantasy of a certain identity or life-style, but when this object is obtained the cause of desire remains and is pushed onto to yet another product that will (supposedly) fulfil our fantasy. In this way, Cremin suggests, we are not forced to comply with the interests of capital. Rather, providing the consumptive desire that capital feeds off is a ‘natural’ process, such is the degree to which identity and ideology are intertwined with the interests of capital. The greatest exemplifier of this process is the idea that restricting our capacity to consume, whether through state regulation or economic scarcity, is considered a constraint on our essential freedom.

 

This overt co-option of desire has been driven by the almost simultaneous left-liberal drive towards the expression of identity and diversity, and the requirement for over-accumulated capital to find a wider range of markets, shifting the locus of Western identity from the place of production to consumption (p.111). Capitalism, Cremin suggests, has ‘liberated the forces of desire’, but these forces have been commodified to allow their reproduction in a way that allows for capitalism to be expand. Here enjoyment becomes a duty, inter-passive and demanded by society. If the Freudian super-ego demanded restraint, Lacan argued that our societal duty is to enjoy (p.112). As a result, 21st century Western societies have moved from Herbert Marcuse’s one dimensional culture to what Cremin labels ‘undimensional’ enjoyment, exemplified by the role of celebrity culture (pp.125-30).

 

The psychoanalytic question, one upon which Cremin’s argument rests, is what to do with the excess in enjoyment. It is also here that Cremin gets closer to identifying an alternative mode of politics[12], both in suggesting that the cause of our desire needs to be decoupled from the commodity that is identified as the object of the our desire to produce what he labels ‘iCommunism’ (p.134), and that it would be dominated by a revolutionary excess, which he referred to earlier in terms of the psychoanalytic concept of transgression and the Lacanian act (pp.73-5), to which I shall soon return.

 

Whilst the former identification can be referenced to the early Marx and his insistence upon freedom as the basis of a mode of communism freed from the demands of material surplus, there is precious little consideration of how to get to this point. Moreover, the complex psychoanalytic debates around the status of surplus/excess are not given an airing[13]. Such an omission is symptomatic of the more popular and condensed style of the text, and here Cremin admits that ‘Scholars of Marx, or for that matter Lacan, will no doubt find shortcomings in the way concepts are appropriated. Sacrifices are made and liberties are taken with the theories used, but the end result hopefully justifies the means’ (p.6).

 

To some degree we should agree with Cremin on this score, as too often these disciplines disappear into deep theoretical debates that lose sight of the overall purpose of widespread political and psychological emancipation. Capitalism’s New Clothes is both an excellent introduction to the value of a psychoanalytic or Žižekian approach to Marxist analysis and provides a particularly convincing reading into the operation of capitalism, one that considers super-structural interpretations of ideology and subjectivity whilst insisting upon the primacy of more classical Marxist notions of base and the mode of production. The ultimate value of this approach for Marxist analysis is to provide a renewed sense of the operation of ideology in the 21st century, both in terms of the contextual mechanisms of that ideology, identifying, for instance the role of ethical management, unbridled yet commodified enjoyment and cynicism in reproducing capitalism in the face of its increasingly apparent contradictions, as well as providing a rehabilitated notion of ideology itself, one that is neither a direct representation of class interests nor a moment of discursive contingency. Indeed, this is the central strength of Cremin’s analysis – the ability to combine Marxist and psychoanalytic materialism into an ideological critique of capitalism.

 

At the same time, the underlying effect of this analysis – exemplified by the penultimate chapter on ecology – is strong pessimism. The natural Marxist question to stem from Cremin’s (psycho)analysis is ‘What can be done – how can we break from the enjoyment that binds ideology and subjectivity to the interests of capital?’  Moreover, given Cremin’s insistence upon the continued salience of the labour theory of value and political economy, do the more traditional notions of class struggle and the proletariat still hold political traction?

 

Whilst each chapter of Capitalism’s New Clothes concludes with a brief reflection on the possibilities for breaking with the identified mechanism, this is certainly not the main thrust of the text. Instead, Cremin is intent of revealing why capitalism is able to reproduce itself – it is unclear whether he holds any real sense in which ideology could be broken. This might not be a specific criticism of the text, given its stated aim to understand why capitalism remains so seductive, not how to break from its grasp. Nonetheless, it is necessary to consider the consequences of the content and style of Cremin’s analysis, particularly in regards to the practice of psychoanalytic/Žižekian Marxism.

 

 

The Prospects for Practicing Psycho-Marxist Politics

 

The strengths and weaknesses of Capitalism’s New Clothes are reflected in Cremin’s analysis of ecology in the penultimate chapter. Cremin productively reflect upon the constitutive inability to respond to the global ecological crisis within a mode of production that demands and requires ever increasingly economic growth and offers a psychoanalytic reading of the pleasures of ignoring such a crisis in the name of commodified enjoyment and ethical management. Not only has ‘Green’ become the ethical code word for much of left-liberalism, but it has become big business as well with companies seeking to appropriate some of the ethical value in the signifier. Naturally, none of this is part of an effective response to the global ecological crisis.

 

Indeed, ecology operates as the ultimate impossible limit of capitalism, as economic growth is unable to solve the problem, nor are we able to repress the jouissance of consumption. As Cremin quotes Beck in suggesting (p.153), any politics that wishes to remain within the parameters of capital and respond to ecology must become an ‘anti’ politics, creating ‘a kind of international case system in which the poor of the developing world are consigned to (energy) poverty in perpetuity’.

 

Yet, Capitalism’s New Clothes offers no particular response to either the crisis of ecology or Leftist political practice, leaving itself almost in a place of cynicism – psychoanalytic inclined Marxists know that the world is doomed, but there is nothing that can be done about it as the depoliticisation of ecological degradation has left it without a political subject who is either responsible for the mess or is capable of providing a solution.  In this sense, the ideological identification and critique of cynicism is no more effective than the left-liberal pseudo-activity that Cremin so heartily rejects. If the problem presented in Capitalism’s New Clothes is that knowledge about the failure of the system does not lead to change in the system, then it is also doubtful that knowledge about this kind of cynicism will make a direct difference either. Instead, and perhaps this is what should be taken from Cremin’s work, ideological analysis and critique can provide an opportunity to reconsider the possibilities for political action today.

 

There is much more to be said, however, on the relationship between psychoanalysis, Marxism and political action. Although Lacan was critical of the prospects for utilising psychoanalysis for political ends, an extensive political discourse has developed around his work[14]. This discourse has two sides: the analysis of ideological attempts to move past the constitutive lack around which sociality is riven and the analysis of the necessary failure of these attempts and the presence of the Real. Based around the concepts of jouissance, fantasy and desire, the first form of analysis provides both a commonplace and effective mode of ideological critique, which Cremin has used to great effect in this text, although his notion of the non-commodified enjoyment of ‘iCommunism’ appears under-developed.

 

Conversely, the other side of psychoanalysis holds a more destructive power, one at which Cremin only hints. For Lacan, humanity is inherently alienated through our entry into language, which creates an incompleteness that we strive to overcome throughout our existence. This striving is defined by desire and framed by ideological fantasies through which we make sense out of the non-sense of reality. In order to create this coherent framework, however, something must be lost or excluded. Lacan suggests that this point of failure marks the presence of the Real, that impossible point within a discourse that is only visible in its effects[15]. As a consequence, the Real holds with it a political destructiveness that Cremin hints at in his reference to the ‘psychoanalytic notion of transgression’ (p.73) and Žižek’s ‘politics of the impossible’, which Capitalism’s New Clothes ‘openly endorses’ (p.3).

 

These politics, however, are in no way straightforward, bringing with them a number of controversies and interpretations, particularly around the destructiveness of the political approach and the difficulty of instituting ‘the politics of the Real’ within the Marxist tradition that relies upon a normative understanding. This review is not the place to consider these objections, but it is worth noting both that Žižek’s interpretation of Marxism moves beyond that presented in Capitalism’s New Clothes and that these politics have proven troublesome.

 

Nonetheless, there is a strong value in Žižek’s approach – particularly given the corner into which Cremin paints himself. The implicit conclusion of Capitalism’s New Clothes is that capitalism has reached a stage in which its contradictions are without political traction. If knowledge of the symptoms and contradictions of capitalism have not proved any political traction, as Cremin suggests, it is also doubtful whether an awareness of this cynicism will prove any more effective. Thus, whilst Cremin strongly suggests that we have reached a stage of end-capitalism in which the ‘twin crises of economy and ecology present us with the objective limits of [the] system’ (p.3) and that we need to enter into the politics of end capitalism, he gives no indication as to how this might occur and the implied conclusion is that only capitalism can decide when it is finished.

 

Žižek makes a similar conclusion in the sense that capitalism is collapsing upon itself and no alternative currently exists[16]. Yet, his are not a politics of patience, but an overtly Marxism consideration of the evoking the revolutionary overhaul of political economy by reference to the Real aspects that it excludes from itself, most pertinently the excluded masses of the new lumpenproletariat, to whom Cremin makes brief reference (p.26) but does not consider any further consequences. It is these excluded masses – the central contradiction within the capitalist mode of production and the point of exclusion within its ideological image – that provides the strongest political traction.

 

If Capitalism’s New Clothes ends with the conclusion that there is no subject of climate change and thus no prospect of driving revolutionary change other than the contradictions of capitalism itself,  Žižek begs to differ. Certainly, capitalism remains ideologically seductive, but it also continues to produce the germs of its own demise. While Cremin was keen to assert that 21st century capitalism should not be considered only as super-structure, as if the ideological mechanisms he uncovers were the totality of capital, and draws our attention back to the economic foundations of capital, those economic foundations played only a small role in his analysis.

 

There is considerable value in the critical theory tradition of ideological critique, and Cremin adds much to this in his analysis of the ideological mechanisms that dominate capitalism today. Ideology seduces bodies and minds not through repression but through structural mechanisms that make the reproduction of capitalism appear to be entirely ‘natural’, whether through injunctions of ethics, employability or enjoyment. Conversely, Marxism should be careful to move away from the contradictions that define capitalism. This is the ultimate value of Žižek’s Marxism: the ability to both engage with ideology and reveal the structural contradictions that continue to haunt Marxism.

 

Nonetheless, these contradictions should not be considered in isolation from ideology. If capitalism is to be taken as naked, ideology itself must come to grips with the Real. Whilst Capitalism’s New Clothes reasserts the value of psychoanalytic Marxism for understanding capitalism, enjoyment and the subsequent limits of critique, it goes no further in advancing the valid concerns that psychoanalysis constructs a discursive prison from which it cannot escape. More than that, by not asserting any psychoanalytic possibility for breaking free of these limits, Cremin advances the suspicion that psychoanalysis has nothing more to say on these matters.

 

Bibliography

 

Critchley, Simon 2007, ‘Forward: Why Žižek must be Defended’. Edited by Bowman, Paul & Stamp, Richard, The Truth of Žižek, London: Continuum.

 

Economist, The 2011, ‘Time to Participate in Democracy’, available at: http://www.economist.com/blogs/democracyinamerica/2011/11/occupy-wall-street-0

 

Fink, Bruce 1995, The Lacanian Subject: Between Language and Jouissance. New Jersey: Princeton University Press.

 

Homer, Sean 2001, It’s the Political Economy, Stupid! On Žižek’s Marxism. Radical Philosophy, 108.

 

Johnston, A. (2005). Time Drive: Metapsychology and the Splitting of the Drive. Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern University Press.

 

Kay, Sarah 2003, Žižek: A Critical Introduction, Cambridge: Polity Press.

 

Laclau, Ernesto 2000, ‘Constructing Universality’ in Contingency, Hegemony, Universality, edited by Butler, Judith, Laclau, Ernesto & Žižek, Slavoj. London: Verso.

 

Özselcuk, Ceren, & Madra, Yahya 2005. Psychoanalysis and Marxism: From Capitalist-All to Communist Non-All. Psychoanalysis, Culture and Society , 10, 79-97.

 

Stavrakakis, Yannis 1999, Lacan and the Political. London: Routledge.

 

Stavrakakis, Yannis 2007,  The Lacanian Left. Albany: SUNY.

 

Žižek, Slavoj 1989, The Sublime Object of Ideology. London: Verso.

 

Žižek, Slavoj 2000, ‘Holding the Place’ in Contingency, Hegemony, Universality, edited by  Butler, Judith, Laclau, Ernesto & Žižek, Slavoj. London: Verso.

 

Žižek, Slavoj 2004, ‘The Spectre of Ideology’ in Mapping Ideology, edited by Žižek, Slavoj. London: Verso.

 

Žižek, Slavoj 2006, The Parallax View. Cambridge, Massachusetts, MA.: MIT Press.

 


[1] The ‘Occupy’ movement, for example, whilst being the strongest representation of radical Leftist political practice, struggles to distinguish between the difficulties in the distribution of surplus (bankers are over-paid, corporate finance is ruining democracy) and the production of this surplus in a truly anti-capitalist demand that distinguishes between particular and universal dimensions of the mode of production.

[2] Critchley, 2007, pp.xv-xvi, Homer, 2001, p.7, Laclau, 2000, p.289

[3] Although Cremin is at pains to emphasise the primacy labour theory of value and the materiality of production, he makes little reference to the global proletariat and those upon whom capital does enforce itself. Given the classical role of the proletariat as the agent of change within capitalism, this omission is particularly concerning: it is unclear from Cremin’s analysis whether this positioning still holds, or whether ideological critique and critical knowledge are the (only) key weapons against capitalism.

[4] See Žižek, 1989, Kay, 2003 and Stavrakakis, 1999 for excellent introductions into these matters.

[5] See Žižek, 1989 p.49

[6] Žižek, 1989, p.33

[7] As shall soon be suggested, the implications of this change is that critical knowledge – at least in a convention sense – is not enough to bring about ideological change. Such a notion makes the practice of ideological critique suggested in Capitalism’s New Clothes difficult.

[8] See Žižek’s later work, in particular The Parallax View (2006) In Defense of Lost Causes (2008) and Living in the End Times (2010).

[9] Žižek, 2000, pp.319-20

[10] The Economist, 2011

[11] As Žižek (1994, pp.3-4) suggests, ideologies which disavow their ideological status are the ultimate form of ideology.

[12] Not an alternative in the sense of institutional arrangements, a consideration that falls outside of the bounds of critical theory and psychoanalysis, but an alternative mode of political action to that currently practiced both by apologists for capitalism and within the broader field of radical Leftist political practice.

[13] See Fink, 1995, Johnston, 2005, Özselcuk, & Madra, 2005, Stavrakakis, 2007, Žižek, 2007

[14] See Stavrakakis, 1999, 2007

[15] Žižek, 1989, p.162

[16] See Living in the End Times (2010) in particular.

Žižek on Wall Street

Žižek on Wall Street 

At first glance there appears nothing remarkable about Žižek’s response to the ‘Occupy Wall Street’ movement. Full of bluster and familiar anecdotes, Žižek’s intervention at the New York site has all the elements of a Žižekian encounter, urging the protestors to hold onto the moment of impossibility in their demands. Moreover, despite his critics, Žižek is not entirely foreign to political interventions and this movement, or at least one interpretation of a rapidly evolving beast, fits with his general position that we are moving towards what Colin Cremin calls ‘End-Capitalism’. What is interesting is the strategy he evokes, one that moves away with his evolving association with communism qua class struggle. Directing his remarks more towards the failing Western middle
classes, Žižek’s response provokes questions of the directions of the movement:
if the ‘99%’ is  against the top 1%, what does it have to say about the bottom 1%?

Inherent in the inclusive identification as the 99%, the occupy protests are Laclauian movements, developing a broad populist coalition based move upon what it is against rather than for any particular demand.  99% acts as an empty signifier, occupying the point of universality that binds together a number of movements from those against corporate ‘greed’ to those who do not distinguish between corporate and greed.  By leaving the implied 1% as teleologically
controlled by neo-liberalism, the movements allows for any number of
identifications against contemporary politics without establishing any specific
demands.

For its critics, this lack of clarity represents both its fault and future downfall. Speculating on the future of the Occupy movement in comparison with the Tea Party, the Economist suggests that the occupiers must put forth concrete proposals and work through the established political system, or they will be dismissed as irrelevant.

For those familiar with Žižek’s work, it is not surprising that his New York address maintained the need to avoid trying to rejig the current system, trying to reign in corporate greed or move from neo-liberal capitalism to social democratic capitalism. Instead, as Žižek states ‘The problem is not corruption or greed. The problem is the system. It forces you to be corrupt. Beware not only of the enemies, but also of false friends who are already working to dilute this process.’

Insisting that we demand what appears impossible within capitalism (and these impossibilities are growing increasing mundane, particularly compared to the amazing scientific advances accessible to the elite), Žižek makes reference to the commons of nature, intellectual property and of biogenetics, suggesting that this is what we should be fighting for.

Interestingly, however, he avoids a direct association with communism, suggesting only that we are not communists in the sense of the system that collapsed in 1990, evoking Hardt and Negri and the tragedy of middle class unemployment rather than global slums and environmental collapse. Instead, Žižek’s appeals appear much more democratic, appealing much more to his earlier work, although there is no doubt a strong strategic demand in his appeals.

Nonetheless, it is necessary to consider the exclusion from Žižek’s address, that of the ‘new forms of apartheid’ and global slum populations that he had suggested demands we focus our imagination on communism (see In Defense of Lost Causes, First as Tragedy, then as Farce and Living in the End Times).

Rather than this ‘hidden’ symptom of capitalism, that which acts as the
universal element of the system and acts as a ‘Real’ social antagonism, Žižek
appears to be suggesting that a revolutionary imagination can be developed from
the injustices suffered by the increasingly proletarianised middle-classes.

The decision to exclude the association with global slums in order to appeal to the Occupy movement makes me wonder what direction the 99% are heading. Will they be a pressure group, shifting the balance of political power currently held by the Western Right and unthreatened by a corporatised political Leftist bereft of economic ideas now that there is apparently no surplus left to redirect.

It is possible that the movement will allow for a rethinking of Western Capitalism along social democratic lines, changing the debate about the tax burden and focusing on job growth rather than the paper growth of financial markets. Barack Obama will certainly hope it will aid his jobs plan, although whether it at all speaks to the Euro crisis is worryingly unclear.

Alternatively, there a potential to evoke a more radical global revolutionary stance that widens the current association between Wall Street greed and unemployment, to the systematic requirements of global capitalism and the plight of both the global poor – that surplus of labour which both cannot be included within capitalism and has allowed for the outsourcing of production by anchoring urban wage demands – and the failing environment.

My question to those involved in the movement (or the actual 99% to whom it appeals) is whether they still want to live like the 1%, focusing on aspiring middle class desires – the heart of theprotest being that political policy has prevented social mobility such that the position of the 1% is unjust – or whether they are able to reject the capitalist system altogether because of its global consequences.

My heart is definitely with the movement and the possible utopian imagination that is emerging from those who dare to ask whether the impossible really is, but there is a long way to go in this struggle, and the system remains both seductive and destructively powerful. To capture the imagination of the widest public, and to direct that imagination at the constitutive and global ills of capitalism must be the aim. It is only when we lose all hope in Capital that true political imagination can occur.

The Blood of Capital: An entirely speculative and unreferenced consideration of my future research path

Moving on from my thesis – which I still hope to publish in another form, one day – I am beginning to develop another research project. Although not far removed from the concerns of my thesis, it nonetheless marks a new beginning and a renewed appetite for political theoretical investigation.

The plan, essentially, remains to highlight the plight of those members of the global polis who die and suffer for the continuation and growth of profit and capital. My initial hypothesis, developed during my thesis, is that there exists an abstracted yet material grouping which directly suffers for the ‘success’ of global capital and the wealth required for the continuation of our ‘way of life’. Through an theoretical examination I wish to evoke the violence of this exclusion within the security of the ideological imagination of the global West. The central change from my thesis to this new project is that I plan to be more specific in regards to the excess population who suffers from capitalism and to focus more critical attention to both theories around this excess and geopolitical developments.

Centrally, I argue that such a group is suffers, necessarily, through the functioning of capital because;

  1. A reserve army of labour is required for capital to reproduce the wage-labour system;
  2. Environmental limits mean that capital cannot expand for everyone.

To paraphrase Zygmunt Bauman’s Wasted Lives, this is a concern for human waste (the consequences of production and consumption) and wasted humans.

Whilst capitalism is an entirely man-made, modernist and contingent production, I argue that it has taken on a necessity of its own. That is, the axiomatic structures of capital requires certain functionalities, the most central of which – its symptom or element of universality – is the extimate exclusion of a ‘part with no part’, a reserve army of labour which maintains the pressure of supply necessary for workers to submit their labour to the wage system: material and ideological exclusion, and most certainly inequality, is constitutive of capital.

Those most apologetic for capital, principally the United Nations and the likes of development economist Jeffery Sachs, like to promote the image of a development ‘ladder’ which excuses inequality as progress towards a universal standard of living.  If the ‘West’ is developed, than Brazil, China, India, Russia and South Africa, amongst others, can be classified as developing: the assumption being that they will reach the point of being developed. Moreover, the ladder metaphor assumes that once other national economies attain a position on the ladder (it is assumed that this position is obtained by capitalistic structural reform) they too will be able to live like the West. Under this ideological imagination, the exportation of Western manufacturing to the ‘sweatshops’ of the developing world is a positive advance, as is the Bretton Woods inspired restructuring of subsistence farming into what Fredric Jameson has described as ‘agricultural fieldwork’ that has created such a large surplus of labour as out of work and out of land rural populations have begun to swamp urban slums in undeveloped areas.

What this notion omits, however, is that for sweatshops to operate efficiently –that is, profitably – they have to pay very low – generally subsistence or below (the subsistence of the worker being of no concern for the employer in conditions of strong labour supply) – wages in order to justify the movement of production away from the main areas of consumption. Workers, disposed of the means of production by what David Harvey has described as ‘accumulation by dispossession’ have no choice but to accept these conditions because of the presence of  a surplus of workers who are able to take their place. Whilst this is excellent for the profitability of production in developing countries, it ignores the fate of those in the position of excess. If sweatshops wages are at the level of subsistence, those who provide a reserve of labour are reduced to the status of human waste, living a marginal existence of suffering and premature death.

The presence of a reserve army of labour is a well-developed Marxist concept  and has been generally accepted within neo-liberal economics, in a more palpable and abstract conception, as the structural unemployment and the ‘flexibility’ of the labour market. It has also been expanded upon by world systems theorists who have viewed the global economy as interconnected, suggesting that labour supply is not only linked to local markets but the ever present possibility of relocating production to cheaper markets. As such ‘surplus’ labour should not be considered a local phenomena but, rather, considered as part of a globalised economy. Much of my work in the following months is to consider whose labour (or lack thereof) fits this category.

I wish to extend upon these considerations in regards to both my own particular theoretical perspective and existing geopolitical conditions. Essentially, I wish to develop the exclusion of this reserve army in terms of a necessary exception from capitalism using Slavoj Žižek’s notion of universality, in combination with a number of other continental philosophers such as Giorgio Agamben and  Hannah Arendt. In addition, I seek to understand the plight of these wasted humans in terms of material developments, principally climate change.

It is climate change which provides the second limitation to the emancipation of the reserve army within capitalism. Without developing the science of climate change, carbon emissions and the associated with production at this point, it is clear that the global population cannot continue to consume at current levels. By most estimates if all were to reach the top end of the development ladder (which now becomes a ceiling?), another four-five planets worth of resources would be required. Moreover, with the global population predicted to rise from six to nine billion by 2050, the vast majority of which occurring in urban slums of developing countries, it is exceptionally clear that the level of global economic activity will rise to put extra-ordinary pressure upon the supporting environment. This rise may be offset to a degree by advances in technological efficiency but not nearly enough to stop the growth of carbon emissions, distribution of pollutants and exploitation of natural resources.

This is not an abstract or speculative proposition; that the poor cannot develop because of future environmental limits. Rather, the poor are beginning to feel the effect of global warming. Primarily this effect will be felt in reduction in food production caused by both the effect of increased temperatures upon crops and the consequences of these increases on water availability; as temperatures rise and snowy mountains melt, rivers dry and irrigation becomes increasingly difficult. In effect the consequence of rising temperatures is a narrower range of fertile food production areas.

Naturally, the availability of these areas does not favour the already poor and hungry and the powerful have nuclear weapons to settle any dispute that might arise.

Although we must be careful not to reduce the environmental degradation caused by capital to  global warming and the ‘greenhouse effect’, it remains the most apparent and wide-ranging environmental issue.  Measured in terms of carbon parts per million (ppm), the industrial era began at 280ppm and the consensus is that we have reached a level of 380ppm. If 350ppm is considered a sustainable level for human reproduction then 450ppm is considered the absolute tipping point. This point is considered to be the level at which the global temperature would have risen by 2° (with more substantial changes in the extremes), producing a number of hazardous feedback effects.  Such a rise would, amongst other effects, cut food production in India by 25%, a catastrophe for the wasted populations of the world and a consequence of global capitalism. With the amount of carbon rising more quickly than previously expected, it is more than likely that we will pass this 450ppm mark before the mid point of this century.

Through the environmental damage caused by economic activity under capitalism, we can see the central contradiction of the capitalist mode of production in the 21st century  -admittedly a contradiction only if capitalism is considered to reference itself to justice in any way – in order for the poor to develop their standard of living, substantial economic growth is required, increasing both the standards of the poor and the rich, whose wealth ‘trickles’ down. In order to maintain a climate which is conducive to human civilisation – what is known as the Holocene epoch – it is clear that economic activity must strongly decrease (as well as technological advances increasing). Such a decrease, however, can only have negative effects upon the poor.

As a consequence of both the growing number of the excess human population and the growing stresses upon this population,  it is highly likely that undocumented population movements from poorer to wealthier areas will be a notable and highly debated feature of the 21st century as the West comes to face its disavowed foundations. As has been seen in the fate of ‘boat people’ across the world, most notably in Australia and in and around North Africa and the Mediterranean, the consequences can be disturbing.

Growing urban slum populations, decreased food production and water availability does not project a positive future for those in the red zone of capitalist exploitation.  Clearly, barring a black swan technological event our only chance of surviving in any form of civilisation similar to the past lies in either radical geo-engineering with humanity playing the part of a planetary life-system machine or a transformation in the mode of production such that the poorest can develop an adequate standard of living.

My planned research seeks to understand and evoke these conditions by way of a theoretical investigation. Whilst often using empirical scientific evidence and constantly founded in geopolitical conditions, the heart of my enquiry remains theoretical.  Specifically, I seek to use a Marxist-psychoanalytic framework to suggest that the fate of the poorest member of humanity is not a distant tragedy but is rather intimately linked the ‘way of life’ of the Western world. It is a natural consequence of the capitalist mode of production.

So, that is my stream of consciousness, entirely unverified research project for the foreseeable future.

The Communist Hypothesis: Zizekian Utopia or Utopian Fantasy?

Although Slavoj Žižek’s work has always had a Marxist flavour and has cheekily hinted at an affinity with communism, his primary mode of political engagement has remained the critique of capital rather than the re-development of an alternative ideological platform. Parts of Žižek’s recent work, however, have begun to overtly engage with communism such that he has been able to speak of ‘our side’ (2009a: 8). This commitment has come in the form of the ‘communist hypothesis’, developed primarily in his works How to Begin from the Beginning (2009b) and First as Farce, then as Tragedy (2009a). Emerging initially from Alain Badiou’s The Meaning of Sarkozy (2008), the resurgence of the idea of communism has resonated strongly with those involved in Leftist political theory, spurning a sold out political conference on ‘The Idea of Communism’ – a conference which required, as Badiou narrates, that speakers must agree that “the word communism can and must now acquire a positive value once more” (2010: 37) – and an ensuing collection of essays of the same name (Douzinas & Žižek, 2010). Both interventions received contributions from the likes of Terry Eagleton, Michael Hardt, Antonio Negri and Jacques Ranciere, as well as Badiou and Žižek.

Badiou has subsequently produced a more focused text, explicitly titled ‘The Communist Hypothesis’ (2010)[1] and the International Journal of Žižek Studies published a special edition, entitled ‘On Žižek’s Communism’. The latter, however, focused more upon Žižek’s 2008 text, In Defense of Lost Causes, in which he sought to rehabilitate totalitarian positions, such as ‘revolutionary terror’ as a potential response to capitalism and the hegemony of liberalism amongst the Left. Nonetheless the critical and often polemic contributions to this special edition signalled the difficulty of Žižek’s evocation of communism in any form: historically, critics’ central rebuke of Žižek’s politics is that his Lacanian orientation prevents the development or acceptance of political positions that are alternative to capitalism. Moreover, because of this refusal Žižek’s politics are often conceived to have an all-or-nothing logic that ultimately leads to a refusal to act indistinguishable from the most stubborn modes of conservatism.

Nonetheless, Žižek’s reluctance to venture into ideological waters cannot be solely attributed to the limitations of Lacanian theory but, rather, has been based upon his ontological grasp of the historical limits of subversion within capitalism. That is, Žižek has been reluctant to posit or support any particular ideological platform not so much because of the limitations of these positions – not that Žižek has been recalcitrant in examining these limitations – but because they will inevitably be caught up in the logic of capital, a logic which has hegemonised hegemony, becoming the consistent background of all shared social life, or, what Žižek has labelled the ‘symbolic Real’ (Žižek, 2000: 223).

As such, Žižek’s primary mode of engagement has been, in Glyn Daly’s terms (2010: 15), to ‘subvert the logic of subversion’ within capitalism through his own dialectical triangulation of Hegel, Marx and Lacan. Thus, Žižek’s overt support for communism – an apparent ideological form of politics – marks a step-change from his form of political practice. Yet,  having unequivocally quoted Badiou on the communist hypothesis in First as Farce, then as Tragedy (2009a) Žižek’s next major work Living in End Times (2010) comes to critique Badiou’s Idea as if it were entirely foreign to his own work (2010: 182-185).  We must consider, therefore, both the significance of the communist hypothesis for the practice of Žižekian theory and its value as a form of politics.

In that regard, in this paper I will seek to consider this communist moment within Žižek’s work, from its Badiouian origins to the apparent distance Žižek has established from the latter’s ‘Idea of Communism’, arguing that although ‘the communist hypothesis’ marks a development within Žižekian theory it can be considered confluent with his previous work in the sense that it proceeds only on the basis of an identification with points of antagonism within capitalism. Moreover, I contend that, despite Žižek’s apparent ambivalence, his reading of communism can be productively extended via a utopian demand around the very limitations of capitalism, an extension that is quite distinct from the ideological contortions of Badiou’s Idea.

This response will have cause to move through three considerations. The first pertains to Žižek’s initial entry into the field of communism. Here, following Badiou, Žižek considers communism as a hypothesis and one that can only be understood as a response to the contradictions of global capitalism. In this manner, suggesting no ideological content, Žižek’s communism appears entirely congruent with his earlier work; an attempt to evoke the disavowed foundations of capital. Yet, despite this development, in his latest text Living in End Times (2010), Žižek does not seek to further his own reading of communism and is critical of Badiou’s own elaboration.

Badiou has gone on to produce The Communist Hypothesis, a collection of essays of which only one directly considers communism. In this section – a reproduction of his paper presented the Idea of Communism conference – he details what he means by a communist Idea in a manner which goes beyond Žižek’s work. Badiou’s Idea, taken to be a political procedure in which a subject becomes activated by its embodiment in a political truth within a historical state, attempts to mobilise the tension of the Lacanian Real within the capitalist state. Conversely, Badiou’s intervention involves an ideological mediation that lies in contradistinction with both the anxiety embodied by the Real and Žižek’s mode of engagement. This contrast speaks to diverging perspectives on our ability to perform subversive politics within capitalism; notably, we must consider whether an alternative ideological platform can be developed within capitalism without being subsumed into capital itself.

Here, although suggesting that Badiou’s work usefully extends our understanding of Žižek’s communism, I contend that the presence of such an Idea risks being caught up with the ‘facts’ of capitalism, as opposed to the Real tension provided by the truth that both Badiou and Žižek seek to evoke. In this manner, I posit that it is useful to distinguish between Badiou’s Idea and Žižek’s hypothesis. Moreover, I come to argue that rather than attempting to attribute any positive value to communism, Žižek’s consideration of the hypothesis can be best understood as a utopian demand; the third and final consideration.

In this regard, by way of a Lacanian interpretation of Jameson’s work on utopia I suggest two alternate readings of utopia, both of which resonate with a Lacanian conception of jouissance. The first and most common conception is the utopia of the ideal, a demand which can be considered homologous with surplus-jouissance. An alternative mode of utopia, however, occurs at the limits of the imaginary. This utopian demand is produced when conditions are deadlocked to a degree that symptoms cannot be resolved within existing co-ordinates, such that new space must be invented. As such, a utopian demand can be located in the position of the ‘part with no part’ within capitalism, the surplus or reserve army of labour which Žižek’s suggests both form the element of universality within capitalism and is the justification for the communist hypothesis. Before developing the link between utopia, jouissance and universality in relation to communism, however, I will begin by considering Žižek’s initial work on the communist hypothesis.

Žižek’s Communism: The Communist Hypothesis

Whilst Žižek’s work is transparently directed as a response to global capitalism, his theoretical interventions have never settled upon an ideological platform from which to stage this critique. Žižek’s commitment to the theoretical tenets of Lacanian psychoanalysis and Hegelian dialectics are readily apparent, as is his positioning within the Marxist tradition, yet the ultimate location of his political commitments has remained a point of academic speculation (see Boucher & Sharpe, 2010; Bowman & Stamp, 2007). Whilst some critics, such as Ernesto Laclau, have come to suggest that Žižek’s work is without political outlook because of his commitment to Lacanian analysis (Laclau, 2000: 289), others have come to argue that Žižek’s work is replete with an implicit totalitarianism. The latter position was the predominant thrust of a special edition of the International Journal of Žižek Studies entitled ‘Žižek’s Communism’, in which a familiar collection of Žižek’s critics[2] rounded on his intervention into totalitarianism in the 2008 text, In Defense of Lost Causes.

Here Žižek provocatively flaunted his support for a number of ‘lost causes’ primarily totalitarian politics, from Mao to Stalin and Heidegger, but, also, the theoretical lost causes of Marxism and psychoanalysis themselves. Yet, although he seeks to rehabilitate the ‘kernel of truth’ in totalitarian regimes, the central argument of the text is a rethinking of the limitations of liberalism and the end of global ambitions rather than in detailed support for any ideological formation. The text produces a certain style of Žižekian politics; provocative, polemic and aimed largely at destabilising hegemonic assumptions in the name of enabling more radical forms of subversion. Nowhere, however, does Žižek specifically refer to a communist hypothesis or engage in a direct endorsement of communism. Nonetheless, although Žižek does not directly associating terror, or indeed egalitarianism, with communism, Geoff Boucher and Matthew Sharpe’s editorial introduction to the special edition states;

In this edition of the IJZS, the contributors investigate Žižek’s claim that his intervention is not a flamboyant posture masking the lack of a definite programme, but a serious contribution to the renewal of the emancipatory project of “egalitarian communism”. (2010: 2).

Moreover, these conclusions are further stretched in the editors’ contention that;

Žižek’s program of egalitarian communism is to be actualized by a group dictatorship that will represent the interests of the radically disenfranchised worldwide and will implement policies aiming at material equality in the context of ecological sustainability (ibid.: 3).

It appears that, for his critics, Žižek’s communism lies in his apparent embrace of totalitarian values at the expense of liberal politics. This reading of Žižek’s communism is not, however, at all congruent with Žižek’s later and more direct consideration of communism, which specifically seeks to subvert any attempt to positively locate communism. Indeed, to suggest that Žižek’s positions in In Defense of Lost Causes are communist is a retrospective reading, taking the emphasis of his later work and imposing it upon earlier arguments. Nonetheless, In Defense of Lost Causes does establish the basis for Žižek’s embrace of communism in the identification of four antagonisms which currently threaten global capitalism; Ecological degradation; the inadequacy of private property to response to digital technology and the intellectual commons; new scientific-technological developments; new global divisions or forms of ‘apartheid’[3].

It is on the basis of these antagonisms that Žižek’s reference to the communist hypothesis begins in earnest in both How to Begin from the Beginning (Žižek, 2009b) and First as Tragedy, then as Farce (Žižek, 2009a). Whilst in In Defense of Lost Causes Žižek ends his discussion of these antagonisms by suggesting the first three designate the domain of the commons and thus justify a reference to communism, in How to Begin from the Beginning, he goes further, arguing;

It is, however, only the fourth antagonism, the reference to the excluded that justifies the term communism. There is nothing more private than a state community which perceives the excluded as a threat and worries how to keep them at a proper distance. In other words, in the series of the four antagonisms, the one between the included and the excluded is the crucial one: without it, all the others lose their subversive edge (2009b: 44).

It is only, however, with the publication of First as Tragedy, then as Farce (following Badiou’s use of the term) that Žižek begins to specifically refer to communism as a hypothesis. Here Žižek introduces the hypothesis by way of reference to Badiou, who has argued that;

The communist hypothesis remains the right hypothesis and I see no other … if this hypothesis is to be abandoned, then it is not worth doing anything in the field of collective action. Without the perspective of communism, without this kind of idea, nothing in the historical and political future is of such a kind of interest to the philosopher. Each individual can pursue their private business and we won’t mention it again … (Badiou, 2008: 115).

Žižek (2009b) repeats Badiou’s argument without contention, adding that one should not read the hypothesis as a ‘regulative idea’ of the kind that might lead to an ethical socialism with an a priori norm[4]. Rather the communist hypothesis must be referenced to actual contradictions within capitalism. As Žižek states;

To treat communism as an eternal Idea implies that the situation which generates it is no less eternal that the antagonism to which communism reacts will always be here. From which it is only one step to a deconstructive reading of communism as a dream of presence, of abolishing all alienating representation; a dream which thrives on its own impossibility (Žižek, 2009a: 88).

As such, Žižek comes to suggest that the communist hypothesis comes into being specifically on the basis of one antagonism; the “gap which separates the excluded from the included” (ibid.:97). Without this antagonism, Žižek suggests, the remainder of the set lose all subversive potential, becoming challenges and opportunities for the development of new markets; ecological degradation and the Green dollar being the emblematic example. Instead, Žižek insists upon a rehabilitation of the Marxist problematic – abet with a characteristic twist – of locating a grouping which, precisely because it lacks a place in the social order, stands for the universal Truth of that order itself. As such, attempts to exclude the part with no part (as exemplified by the excessive slums populations of the world) whether through ideological mystification, the laws of private property or indeed physical walls themselves, constitutes the struggle for universality within global capitalism. On account of the ontological location of this disparate and desperate grouping, the universal exception holds the place of a palpable tension that is capable of productively disrupting capitalism, not so much through the kind of revolutionary action that some Marxists might have envisioned but, rather, through the fatal disruption of ideological coherence within Western capital itself. Through this disruption the prospect for reimagining new forms of being, modes of production and political action becomes a distinct possibility.

It is the necessity of maintaining barriers against the excluded within capitalism that justifies a specific reference to communism rather than to democracy or to fascism. Communism is not an innocent or arbitrary signifier but, rather – even if this conclusion has to be explicated from Žižek’s position rather than directly read – signals a commitment to egalitarianism and equality not possible under capitalism. The question, Žižek asks, is if the demand of the part with no part cannot be answered within capitalism, is democracy “an appropriate name for this egalitarian explosion[?]” (ibid.: 99). Ultimately, the Žižek’s evocation of the communist hypothesis is a rejection of the democratic horizon, suggesting that it is only a return to communism that would do justice to this demand. Yet, this form of communism is not guaranteed by history, rationalism, or the big Other to be the form of political being but, rather, signals the point of impossibility within capitalism.

In this sense, Žižek’s exposition of the communist hypothesis appears to be another iteration of the Lacanian dialectic in a Marxist context; an attempt to reinvent the communist mode of subversion within capitalism in a manner which cannot be captured by capital. Despite the mass of publications he has produced since his initial breakthrough in 1989, The Sublime Object of Ideology, the only element that has altered since the opening chapter of that text (in which Žižek extends on Lacan’s assertion that it was Marx who invented Lacanian symptom by detecting a fundamental imbalance within capitalism whereby a specific instance that appears heterogeneous to operation of capital – selling one’s labour – is universal to the operation of capital (1989: 21-22)) is the addition of the communist signifier.

Yet, this addition produces notable theoretical complications, as is witnessed by both the recent publication of Living in End Times (2010) and Badiou’s elaboration of his initial reading of the hypothesis. In the former, not only did Žižek not elaborate on communism as a hypothesis, returning instead to further analysis of the antagonisms which haunt late capitalism, but he also sought to distance himself from Badiou’s ‘Idea of communism’, a proposition that has extended beyond its initial formulation.  Badiou’s Idea can be contrasted with Žižek’s hypothesis in the sense that the former has sought to develop the ideological basis upon which it stands; ideology being in firm contrast to Žižek’s evocation of the Real antagonisms of capital. Such a distinction signals the difficulty of Žižek’s reference to communism. If Žižek’s attempts to evoke the Real tension evident in the antagonisms of capitalism, the identification of this tension in a positive signifier threatens to undermine the disruptive effect of the Real within capital. The difficulties between representation and the Real are at the heart of Badiou’s work around communism; it is to this Idea that I now turn.

The Idea of Communism

Badiou first introduces communism as a hypothesis towards the end of his polemic text, The Meaning of Sarkozy (2008). Here he is less evasive as to the value of communism and the potential content of the communist hypothesis than Žižek, claiming that there have been two previous sequences of the hypothesis: the first from the French revolution to the Paris commune (its establishment) and the second – its first attempt at realisation – running from the Russian revolution to the end of the Chinese Cultural Revolution. For Badiou, our task today is to determine the yet to be constructed content of the third sequence. There is, however, an ideological background to these sequences. Communism, Badiou suggests, would eliminate both inequality of wealth and the division of labour. Moreover, distinctions between manual and intellectual labour will disappear, along with differences between town and country. Naturally, the state itself will become unnecessary (ibid.: 115-117). Thus, although Badiou does not specifically identify the shape of the programme that will come to embody this hypothesis, his initial emphasis had been upon the value of the signifier ‘communism’ and its relationship to equality and economy rather than the epistemological and ontological of the concerns that have pre-occupied the Left after the discursive turn.

Nonetheless, in Badiou’s follow-up exposition of the hypothesis in The Communist Hypothesis (2010) the hypothesis of the title is now distinguished as an Idea and a number of ontological concerns are reintroduced. In the chapter The Idea of Communism, Badiou seeks to develop what it means to hold to an Idea, attributing greater value to the form of the Idea than to content of communism (ibid.: 254). Whilst this development gives greater consideration to the difficulties of representation in a manner confluent with the ontological basis of Badiou’s previous work, it also provides addition concerns in regard to political practice within capitalism.

For Badiou, an Idea is generated by what he terms a Truth procedure. A Truth procedure comes into being in relation to a subject (in an abstract sense) who becomes a ‘militant of this Truth’ (ibid.: 234) in achieving subjectivation. An Idea is thus the operation of a Truth procedure embodied by a subject within a historical state. In these terms, an Idea is the interplay of between the singularity of a Truth procedure and a representation of history. Nonetheless, for Badiou an Idea remains ideological in the sense that it not only imagines the emergence of a political Truth within a historical situation but seeks to project that political Truth onto another historical situation (ibid.: 238). If revolutionary politics is ultimately a victory for those with no names – the part with no part – Badiou still insists upon the need for the finitude of proper names in politics (ibid.: 249-252). That is, while a political Truth is by definition excluded from the ‘state’ the vehicle through which that Truth becomes an event is an idea based upon the nodal point of a proper name, whether that of an messianic individual or ideological movement.

For Žižek, Badiou’s insistence upon the necessity of ideology and thus ideological illusion is evidence of his reliance upon a transcendental illusion and subsequent hidden Kantianism based upon a mis-reading of Hegel. In this regard, Žižek has argued;

One could also say that the Idea of communism schematizes the Real of the political        Event, providing it with a narrative coating and thereby making it a part of our experience of historical reality – another indication of Badiou’s hidden Kantianism    (2010: 185).

Without wishing to enter into discussion over Badiou and Žižek’s respective understandings of Kant and Hegel, pertinently Žižek argues that political practice organised around the tension of the Real yet mediated by the narrative of the Idea and ideological solidification around a proper name, as in Badiou’s form of communism, risks a short-circuit between the Real and ideology, thus intervening against the anxiety of the Real and the possibility of a rupture within capitalism.  Thus, as much as the differences between Badiou and Žižek’s communism can be identified as ahistorically ontological, the primary distinction relates to political strategy in regards to the ontic parameters of ontology within capitalism and subsequent opportunities for radical subversion. Where Badiou contends that change can only come from a collective subject embodying the excluded truth of capitalism in the name of the Idea of communism, Žižek insists that there is no outside to capitalism within which an alternative node of ideology could flourish in a truly disruptive sense. Whilst Badiou’s subject of communism is not specifically outside of capital in the sense that it emerges from the internal failure of capital, any positive ideological movement stemming from this position becomes inherently linked with the structure of capital. In Badiouian terms, the ideological grip of capital is such that ideas only come to make sense in terms of the ‘facts’ of capitalism. Certainly, Badiou’s Idea offers the prospect of a powerful political movement, entailing a collective subjectivication around the antagonistic points of capitalism. Yet, severe doubts must be held over the efficiency of such a movement. A movement of the part with no part, the universal exception, if successfully evoked in the manner Badiou’s suggests, holds the possibility of providing substantive ideological disruption and anxiety.

Are we at a point, however, where capital would simply collapse into revolutionary fervour, or, are the material and ideological powers of capital such that a revolutionary movement would inevitably be crushed? For Žižek, not only is capital largely able to integrate its own  symptoms into opportunities for profit, and create a self-fulfilling matrix of understanding such that ideas only ‘work’ according to the logic of capital but, beyond all theoretical considerations, the material might of the officers of capital is beyond direct confrontation. Capitalism cannot be defeated from the outside. Instead, it must be induced to implode upon its own antagonisms. The question is how to achieve this internal combustion without evoking a transcendental faith in history or a pathetic political quietism.

In response to this problematic, in this paper I propose that, today, communism is best read through a utopian lens that resists the production of imaginary coherence and instead insists upon the drive of impossibility inherent in global capital. This lens, which involves a psychoanalytic re-reading of utopia as well as communism, seeks to move Žižek’s use of communism beyond the identification of the antagonisms of capitalism without establishing an alternative ideological fantasy. In order to properly consider this possibility, I will first turn to the concept of utopia itself, one that may appear entirely divorced from the psychoanalytic thrust developed thus far.

Utopia: Demand the Impossible!

At its most basic utopia can be conceived as an impulse or desire for something different from the existing. In this sense, utopianism has been referenced to the prospect of radical political change in the name of a perfect future society. The utopian urge, however, does not necessarily take the form of a desire for a radically different form of being. Today the elementary utopian demand is embodied in the conservative hope that, ultimately, society does exist; that life could be managed in such a manner that the fullness of presence is possible within existing structures. We see this utopianism played out in discussion around environmental issues in which the threat of overwhelming ecological degradation is placated by the prospect of technological innovation, responsive markets and ‘political will’ (see Sachs, 2008).

The utopian demand can be regarded as the desire for jouissance. At first glance, utopia – despite its radical pretensions – is a counter-intuitive position for any form of politics taking its orientation from a Lacanian-inspired psychoanalysis that has emphasised themes of lack, finitude and excess. Conversely, an alternate modality of utopia can be constituted around the impossible, rather than the jouissance of the ideal. This mode retains the demand for a better world but finds the drive for change in the limitation of imagination rather than its location in a specific ideal. If, for example, a dominant mode of contemporary environmentalism displays the tragic utopianism of the ideal harmony with nature, an alternative mode could momentarily exist in a discombobulation of ideology stemming from a collective and traumatic realisation that existing devices cannot prevent ecological disaster. This realisation – an evocation of the Real – has the potential to disrupt the consistently of capitalism in a way that new modes of understanding can flourish.

Utopia, considered in both these modes, is thus not to be divorced from the everyday but, rather, is at the heart of the human experience. It is a response to the operation that Ruth Levitas (2007: 290), following Ernst Bloch (1986), identifies as the fundamental utopian expression: that utopia is at its core an expression of the desire for a better way of being, a principle that Bloch designated as ‘hope’; a desire for something that is missing. In this sense utopian thought does not require the wholesale imagination of new worlds, although this construction is an articulation of the utopian desire. Instead, these constructions are an expression of a larger demand for jouissance.

Indexing utopia to jouissance suggests that, rather than taking the form of elaborate visions, a utopian urge appears in the everyday performance of social life. In this sense, utopia cannot be juxtaposed against ideology – utopia seeking to change society, ideology to maintain it – as Karl Mannheim contended (Mannheim cited in Levitas, 2007: 289). Instead, this sense of utopia is entirely ideological; utopia is an expression of jouissance that lies at the heart of ideology. The everyday performance of utopia, therefore, is the performance of jouissance in its many forms; the elementary demand of the utopian/ideological position is that, contra-Laclau, ‘society does exist’.

It is the critique of this mantra that forms the basis of psychoanalytic criticism of utopianism. Suggesting that attempts to attain the fullness of jouissance or utopia must violently exclude a dystopian element that cannot be named, for many – and not limited to psychoanalytic theorists – utopian politics can be deemed idealistically unrealistic at best, dangerous at worst (c.f. Gray, 2008).  If a utopian imagination can develops politics of the ideal with little reference to political circumstances and consequentially little influential, than these ideological formations are equally likely to postulate an ‘enemy’ as the cause of the failure to achieve such an imagination. Barack Obama’s presidential campaign and subsequent administration is one example of both these processes, operating on both sides of the (narrow) American political spectrum. Obama’s campaign imagery of ‘change’ and ‘hope’ brought with it a wholesale imagination of a different kind of society. Yet, at the moment of his election, from his inaguration speech to the widespread restoration of Bill Clinton’s political advisors, the desire and jouissance behind the Obama utopia collapsed. This collapse, despite being embodied by specific events, was not contingent upon these events but, rather, necessary; the utopian ideal collapses as soon as imagination is put into action. Equally, since this collapse a more potent movement has emerged, based largely around the ultra-conservative Tea-Party, which seeks to restore the utopia of ‘America’ largely by way of associating Obama with an otherness which is threatening this imaginary.

The alternative mode of utopia, based around the impossibility of its instantiation is more akin to the impulse of the Lacanian dialectic. Rather than seeking to extend or fulfil a utopian imagination, this modality locates the utopian moment at the very limits of ideology. Such a utopian does not lie in the content of ideology but, rather, the impulse for change that occurs when the symptoms of an order become overly traumatic such that they cannot be contained within ideology. The utopia of the Real – as opposed to the ideal – occurs when, unable to contain the trauma caused by exposure to the Real, new modes of being emerge.

As Žižek states in the documentary Žižek! when discussing the lack of alternatives to capitalism;

We should reinvent utopia, but in what sense? There are two false meanings of utopia; one is this old notion of imaging an ideal society which we know will never be realised. The other is the capitalist utopia in the sense of new perverse desires that you are not only allowed but even solicited to realise. The true utopia is when the situation is so without issue, without a way to resolve it within the coordinates of the possible that out of the pure urge of survival you have to invent a new space. Utopia is not kind of a free imagination, utopia is a matter of inner-most urgency, you are forced to imagine it is the only way out, and this is the utopia we need today (Taylor, 2007).

In this regard, a utopian drive lies in the impossibility of imagining an alternative future to capitalism despite the inability to resolve its great horrors: such a demand is in embodied in Jameson’s oft-repeated remark that capital limits our imagination such that it is easier to imagine the end of the world than a change in the mode of production (see Jameson, 2003).  Rather than attempting to suture the contradictions of capital, a utopian demand occurs when the subjects of capital are compelled to imagine a new mode of being in order to avoid the trauma of the breakdown of the ideological frameworks which have contained the horrors of capital.

The distinction between the two modes of utopia can be found in Thomas More’s original conception, using Greek terms to bring together ‘no place’ and ‘good place’. This suggests both a tragic and comedic face to utopia. Utopia can be tragic – a place we will never reach – or comedic; utopia lies in the very impossibility of its realisation. This latter form does not cling to an alternative conception of society but, rather, relies upon the build up of energy around the very limits to our imagination. Imagination, of course, is not limited to the fancy of the individual. Rather, imagination is always a social creation; the limitations of our imagination are always the limitations of the ideological terrain, what Badiou calls the ‘state of the situation’.

A profound difficulty presents itself at this point: of finding a way to imagine the prospect of an alternative future without foreclosing the possibility of it coming into being.  What we require is not a utopian urge to fill out the failure of capitalism, either through capitalism itself or its cultural supplements but, rather, a desire to move beyond capitalism on the basis of the traumatic impossibility of capital itself. This desire constitutes not only an approach to the Real but the jouissance of impossibility itself. That is, the impossibility of imagining utopia does not bring an end to jouissance but, instead, persists in the form of jouissance. This form of utopia does not dismiss jouissance as an illusion but, instead, suggests that jouissance drives every attempt to imagine utopia. The vital difference between the forms of utopia is that the positive mode attempts to locate this utopian place whereas the impossible utopia plays upon the urge to go beyond the existing. The key difference here is between the fantasy of full jouissance provided by utopia-as-content, and the subversion of alternative political imaginaries through utopia-as-form.

Whilst this form of utopianism leads itself to accusations of negativity and political quietism, positive forms are easily subverted. In relation to his reservations around the extension of imagination, Jameson argues that the designation of specific points of protest is contrary to the effectiveness of utopianism. It is for this reason that Jameson has previously suggested that utopia is at its most effective when it cannot be imagined;

Its function lies not in helping us to imagine a better future but, rather, in      demonstrating our utter incapacity to imagine such a future – our imprisonment in a      non-utopian present without historicity of futurity – so as to reveal the ideological closure of the system in which we are somehow trapped and confined (2004: 46).

When the specific contradictions become apparent, the tendency is to focus political demands upon these points. At this point the utopian imagination becomes limited and what might have been a revolutionary demand gives way to practical political programmes (Jameson, 2004: 45). Just as Badiou’s Idea risks mediating against the tension embodied in the Truth of any given constellation, the utopian moment occurs when the limits of ideology cannot be sutured and thus the identification of this moment risks a positivisation of the Real and a subsequent reactionary appeal to jouissance. That is, if the trauma of the Real opens up a wound within ideology, this wound can equally and effectively be sutured by a renewed ideological movement which displaces the cause of trauma. A salient example of this process in these times is the Green movement. Although Green ideology at times suggests energy for widespread change that might be considered utopian, it has become too easy to divert this enthusiasm into smaller scale processes that only serve to supplement the interests of capital and escalate ecological collapse.

Yet, if the Žižekian sense of utopianism – interpreted here through the communist hypothesis – takes its form from the expression of actually occurring antagonisms with capitalism, how does it avoid becoming particularised in singular demands? Whilst acknowledging that capital is able to include and pacify most of its symptoms, Žižek designates the ‘part-with-no-part as the specific contradiction which holds a vital, universal, status and thus cannot be subject to direct political demands. That is, whilst the utopian demand inherent in this necessary exclusion can be subverted in various ideological measures, such as charitable aid or the displacement of the antagonism to an exterior cause, the universality of surplus labour cannot be integrated within capitalism and for this reason remains the impossible point of a utopian demand.

Nonetheless, as Jameson might suggest, indexing communism in relation to utopia is to mediate against the utopian demand by providing an object for the imagination, an imagination that will inevitably become caught up in the facts and consequences of capital. This is ultimately a question of the representation of impossibility and the signification of the Real. Jameson and Badiou, as presented here, represent two sides of this debate. Where Badiou attempts to animate an idea with an overwhelming ideological component, Jameson resists any temptation to suture the limitation of our political imagination. Žižek’s brief evocation of the communist hypothesis, however, suggests a third alternative. Here the reference to communism does not seek to develop a new imagination but, instead, insists upon thrusting open the trauma in ideology. This occurs, however, by identifying this trauma with both a specific antagonism – surplus labour – and with communism. The later is read not through the positivity of ideology but rather, as an opportunity to insist upon the impossibility of capital and direct the interpretation of its collapse.

Communism and Utopia

Thinking communism in terms of utopia produces two alternative positions. Firstly, there is the fantasmatic utopia of communism without antagonism, a position Žižek has subject to sustained critique, regarding it as the ultimate Marxist fantasy of capitalism without antagonism (see Žižek, 1989: 49-53). This is the tragedy inherent in utopia as the image of the good place; an imaginary ideal that must fail and in doing so attributes this failure to an exterior cause. By contrast, the communist hypothesis lies in the utopian demand that the contradictions of capitalism mean that it cannot continue indefinitely. Specifically, the utopia of the communist hypothesis lies in capitalism’s very failure to account for its own exclusions in the walls it is developing against the excess of humanity that builds around the globe: the universality of capital exists in this battle.

Badiou’s Idea of communism has much in common with both readings of utopia. Read through the Jamesonian lens of utopianism suggested here, the utopian moment in Badiou’s work occurs when the subject is grasped by a Truth such that become a militant evangelist for this Truth, forcing the Idea into being in the face of the facts of the situation. Nonetheless, the ‘Road to Damascus’ moment of Badiou’s subject of Truth includes not only this moment but, also, the ideological path which provides the moment of Truth with political substance.  Although the emphasis lies upon the truth of a situation, such that it embodies the impossibility of capitalism, the mobilisation of this truth requires the subject commits to an ideology. The Badiouian procedure thus enlists two utopian moments for its political power; one of the impossibility of the ‘no place’, the other of the ‘good place’ of the 3rd sequence of the Idea of communism.

Yet, Badiou’s insistence upon the stabilising presence of proper names means we must wonder how this Idea could come into place without a reactionary jouissance and the fantasy of the utopian ideal. Indeed, Žižek contends that Badiou’s notion of ‘sequences’ of communism signals the difficulty in his conception of communism. Such an image of communism postulates the presence of an empty, universal frame which is altered under differing concrete circumstances. Instead of this abstract universality, Žižek’s communism lies in the concrete universality of the failure of global capital (2010: 20).

Nonetheless, by contrast to Žižek’s conception, Badiou’s reading of the role of communism is clear in his notion of the Idea. Communism becomes both the interpretative procedure identifying Truth within facts and the ideology of a new world order; vitally, communism acts as a point of identification for the newly subjectivised individual. Žižek’s communism remains more ambivalent. If his previous political positions have identified the tension and political power of those who are the ‘part with no part’, then we must consider how the addition of the communist signifier alters his politics. Through the reference to an impossible sense of utopia I have suggested that the traction provided by the utopian demand comes from an identification with the impossibility of capitalism. This identification owes itself to Žižek’s Lacanian reading of Marxism, rather than any historical reading of communist discourse. Although Žižek appears to designate communism as embodied only in the contradictions of capitalism, communism inevitably becomes a point of identification for the flourishing of ideas and jouissance.

Nonetheless, the difference between Badiou and Žižek on this point is subtle and much less marked than the contrast with Jameson. Where the latter insists upon the limitations of imagination as the place of utopia, both Žižek and Badiou seek to overtly politicise the moment of failure. The vital difference, however, is that where Badiou argues that an ideological platform is required for the subjects of Truth, Žižek seeks to politicise a potential rupture within capitalism by insisting upon its communist potential. This potential lies in the very impossibility of capitalism and is thus a utopian demand. Yet, even if Žižek does not himself postulate a consequential communist ideology, it is inevitable that the very spectre of communism would evoke images of the shape of the communist future. In this sense, we must insist on the vital distinction between Žižek’s focus upon Truth and the Real and Badiou’s collective subject. This distinction relates not so much to an abstraction of theory but, rather, an ontological reading of the conditions of possibility for subversion within capitalism. Where Badiou conceives of hope for a collective movement against capitalism, Žižek insists that capitalism can only be bought to its knees through an awareness of its own limits.

Thus, a Žižekian interpretation of communism is able to postulate this signifier without a corresponding ideological manifesto because it is not an abstract or ideal formulation but, rather, a reaction to existing conditions. That is, by identifying the exclusion of surplus labour as essential to the operation of capitalism – the point of concrete universality within capitalism – because it speaks to the system as a totality. In regards to Jameson’s concerns around the possible subversion of utopian energy caused by the naming of this point, the communist hypothesis does not suggest a ‘filling’ out of the utopian space but, rather, signifies that point which cannot be filled out. In this sense, through the impossibility of including surplus labour, the communist hypothesis does open up a new horizon for the Left but not one that will please many of Žižek’s critics – it does not produce a new point of imaginary identification but, instead, opens up new space for these identifications to be formed.

As such, Žižek’s communism is not an empty treatise on political strategy but, instead, is dedicated to moving beyond capitalism. This commitment forms the basis of the ‘communist’ hypothesis rather than any reference to democracy as the driver of the future. Žižek justifies the use of communism as the named signifier of the transition from capitalism to the future by reference to the surplus labour within capitalism itself. This identifies not only a belief that those extimately excluded within capitalism who do not enjoy the benefits of this system but, also, that this is a problem in itself. That is, by utilising communism and surplus labour as the primary reference point to the end of capitalism, Žižek is signaling more than just a strategic intent to move beyond capitalism. He is implicitly suggesting an ethical commitment to egalitarian justice to which there is no requirement for further justification. Inherent in this is a minimal demand, most beautifully articulated by Adorno in his Mimma Moralia (1974: 155): “There is tenderness only in the coarsest demand; that no one should go hungry any more”.

NOTES:


[1]Interestingly, in keeping with much of the scholarship on the communist hypothesis, Badiou’s explicitly titled work is a collection of essays and conference presentations, many of which have little or no relation with the title.

[2]The notable exceptions being Glyn Daly and Adrian Johnston, who produced generally positive contributions.

[3]These antagonisms have remained a focal point in Žižek’s most recent point, although the scarcity of material resources is included with the contradictions of intellectual property. Usefully, Daly (2010) suggests that the drive of finance capital should be included in this list.

[4]See Žižek’s (2004) previous debate with Boucher (2004).

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The Communist Hypothesis; Žižekian Utopia or Utopian Fantasy?

Although Slavoj Žižek’s work has always had a Marxist flavour and has cheekily hinted at an affinity with communism, his primary mode of political engagement has remained the critique of capital rather than the re-development of an alternative ideological platform. Parts of Žižek’s recent work, however, have begun to overtly engage with communism such that he has been able to speak of ‘our side’ (2009a: 8). This commitment has come in the form of the ‘communist hypothesis’, developed primarily in his works How to Begin from the Beginning (2009b) and First as Farce, then as Tragedy (2009a). Emerging initially from Alain Badiou’s The Meaning of Sarkozy (2008), the resurgence of the idea of communism has resonated strongly with those involved in Leftist political theory, spurning a sold out political conference on ‘The Idea of Communism’ – a conference which required, as Badiou narrates, that speakers must agree that “the word communism can and must now acquire a positive value once more” (2010: 37) – and an ensuing collection of essays of the same name (Douzinas & Žižek, 2010). Both interventions received contributions from the likes of Terry Eagleton, Michael Hardt, Antonio Negri and Jacques Ranciere, as well as Badiou and Žižek.

Badiou has subsequently produced a more focused text, explicitly titled ‘The Communist Hypothesis’ (2010)[1] and the International Journal of Žižek Studies published a special edition, entitled ‘On Žižek’s Communism’. The latter, however, focused more upon Žižek’s 2008 text, In Defense of Lost Causes, in which he sought to rehabilitate totalitarian positions, such as ‘revolutionary terror’ as a potential response to capitalism and the hegemony of liberalism amongst the Left. Nonetheless the critical and often polemic contributions to this special edition signalled the difficulty of Žižek’s evocation of communism in any form: historically, critics’ central rebuke of Žižek’s politics is that his Lacanian orientation prevents the development or acceptance of political positions that are alternative to capitalism. Moreover, because of this refusal Žižek’s politics are often conceived to have an all-or-nothing logic that ultimately leads to a refusal to act indistinguishable from the most stubborn modes of conservatism.

Nonetheless, Žižek’s reluctance to venture into ideological waters cannot be solely attributed to the limitations of Lacanian theory but, rather, has been based upon his ontological grasp of the historical limits of subversion within capitalism. That is, Žižek has been reluctant to posit or support any particular ideological platform not so much because of the limitations of these positions – not that Žižek has been recalcitrant in examining these limitations – but because they will inevitably be caught up in the logic of capital, a logic which has hegemonised hegemony, becoming the consistent background of all shared social life, or, what Žižek has labelled the ‘symbolic Real’ (Žižek, 2000: 223).

As such, Žižek’s primary mode of engagement has been, in Glyn Daly’s terms (2010: 15), to ‘subvert the logic of subversion’ within capitalism through his own dialectical triangulation of Hegel, Marx and Lacan. Thus, Žižek’s overt support for communism – an apparent ideological form of politics – marks a step-change from his form of political practice. Yet,  having unequivocally quoted Badiou on the communist hypothesis in First as Farce, then as Tragedy (2009a) Žižek’s next major work Living in End Times (2010) comes to critique Badiou’s Idea as if it were entirely foreign to his own work (2010: 182-185).  We must consider, therefore, both the significance of the communist hypothesis for the practice of Žižekian theory and its value as a form of politics.

In that regard, in this paper I will seek to consider this communist moment within Žižek’s work, from its Badiouian origins to the apparent distance Žižek has established from the latter’s ‘Idea of Communism’, arguing that although ‘the communist hypothesis’ marks a development within Žižekian theory it can be considered confluent with his previous work in the sense that it proceeds only on the basis of an identification with points of antagonism within capitalism. Moreover, I contend that, despite Žižek’s apparent ambivalence, his reading of communism can be productively extended via a utopian demand around the very limitations of capitalism, an extension that is quite distinct from the ideological contortions of Badiou’s Idea.

This response will have cause to move through three considerations. The first pertains to Žižek’s initial entry into the field of communism. Here, following Badiou, Žižek considers communism as a hypothesis and one that can only be understood as a response to the contradictions of global capitalism. In this manner, suggesting no ideological content, Žižek’s communism appears entirely congruent with his earlier work; an attempt to evoke the disavowed foundations of capital. Yet, despite this development, in his latest text Living in End Times (2010), Žižek does not seek to further his own reading of communism and is critical of Badiou’s own elaboration.

Badiou has gone on to produce The Communist Hypothesis, a collection of essays of which only one directly considers communism. In this section – a reproduction of his paper presented the Idea of Communism conference – he details what he means by a communist Idea in a manner which goes beyond Žižek’s work. Badiou’s Idea, taken to be a political procedure in which a subject becomes activated by its embodiment in a political truth within a historical state, attempts to mobilise the tension of the Lacanian Real within the capitalist state. Conversely, Badiou’s intervention involves an ideological mediation that lies in contradistinction with both the anxiety embodied by the Real and Žižek’s mode of engagement. This contrast speaks to diverging perspectives on our ability to perform subversive politics within capitalism; notably, we must consider whether an alternative ideological platform can be developed within capitalism without being subsumed into capital itself.

Here, although suggesting that Badiou’s work usefully extends our understanding of Žižek’s communism, I contend that the presence of such an Idea risks being caught up with the ‘facts’ of capitalism, as opposed to the Real tension provided by the truth that both Badiou and Žižek seek to evoke. In this manner, I posit that it is useful to distinguish between Badiou’s Idea and Žižek’s hypothesis. Moreover, I come to argue that rather than attempting to attribute any positive value to communism, Žižek’s consideration of the hypothesis can be best understood as a utopian demand; the third and final consideration.

In this regard, by way of a Lacanian interpretation of Jameson’s work on utopia I suggest two alternate readings of utopia, both of which resonate with a Lacanian conception of jouissance. The first and most common conception is the utopia of the ideal, a demand which can be considered homologous with surplus-jouissance. An alternative mode of utopia, however, occurs at the limits of the imaginary. This utopian demand is produced when conditions are deadlocked to a degree that symptoms cannot be resolved within existing co-ordinates, such that new space must be invented. As such, a utopian demand can be located in the position of the ‘part with no part’ within capitalism, the surplus or reserve army of labour which Žižek’s suggests both form the element of universality within capitalism and is the justification for the communist hypothesis. Before developing the link between utopia, jouissance and universality in relation to communism, however, I will begin by considering Žižek’s initial work on the communist hypothesis.

Žižek’s Communism: The Communist Hypothesis

Whilst Žižek’s work is transparently directed as a response to global capitalism, his theoretical interventions have never settled upon an ideological platform from which to stage this critique. Žižek’s commitment to the theoretical tenets of Lacanian psychoanalysis and Hegelian dialectics are readily apparent, as is his positioning within the Marxist tradition, yet the ultimate location of his political commitments has remained a point of academic speculation (see Boucher & Sharpe, 2010; Bowman & Stamp, 2007). Whilst some critics, such as Ernesto Laclau, have come to suggest that Žižek’s work is without political outlook because of his commitment to Lacanian analysis (Laclau, 2000: 289), others have come to argue that Žižek’s work is replete with an implicit totalitarianism. The latter position was the predominant thrust of a special edition of the International Journal of Žižek Studies entitled ‘Žižek’s Communism’, in which a familiar collection of Žižek’s critics[2] rounded on his intervention into totalitarianism in the 2008 text, In Defense of Lost Causes.

Here Žižek provocatively flaunted his support for a number of ‘lost causes’ primarily totalitarian politics, from Mao to Stalin and Heidegger, but, also, the theoretical lost causes of Marxism and psychoanalysis themselves. Yet, although he seeks to rehabilitate the ‘kernel of truth’ in totalitarian regimes, the central argument of the text is a rethinking of the limitations of liberalism and the end of global ambitions rather than in detailed support for any ideological formation. The text produces a certain style of Žižekian politics; provocative, polemic and aimed largely at destabilising hegemonic assumptions in the name of enabling more radical forms of subversion. Nowhere, however, does Žižek specifically refer to a communist hypothesis or engage in a direct endorsement of communism. Nonetheless, although Žižek does not directly associating terror, or indeed egalitarianism, with communism, Geoff Boucher and Matthew Sharpe’s editorial introduction to the special edition states;

In this edition of the IJZS, the contributors investigate Žižek’s claim that his intervention is not a flamboyant posture masking the lack of a definite programme, but a serious contribution to the renewal of the emancipatory project of “egalitarian communism”. (2010: 2).

Moreover, these conclusions are further stretched in the editors’ contention that;

Žižek’s program of egalitarian communism is to be actualized by a group dictatorship that will represent the interests of the radically disenfranchised worldwide and will implement policies aiming at material equality in the context of ecological sustainability (ibid.: 3).

It appears that, for his critics, Žižek’s communism lies in his apparent embrace of totalitarian values at the expense of liberal politics. This reading of Žižek’s communism is not, however, at all congruent with Žižek’s later and more direct consideration of communism, which specifically seeks to subvert any attempt to positively locate communism. Indeed, to suggest that Žižek’s positions in In Defense of Lost Causes are communist is a retrospective reading, taking the emphasis of his later work and imposing it upon earlier arguments. Nonetheless, In Defense of Lost Causes does establish the basis for Žižek’s embrace of communism in the identification of four antagonisms which currently threaten global capitalism; Ecological degradation; the inadequacy of private property to response to digital technology and the intellectual commons; new scientific-technological developments; new global divisions or forms of ‘apartheid’[3].

It is on the basis of these antagonisms that Žižek’s reference to the communist hypothesis begins in earnest in both How to Begin from the Beginning (Žižek, 2009b) and First as Tragedy, then as Farce (Žižek, 2009a). Whilst in In Defense of Lost Causes Žižek ends his discussion of these antagonisms by suggesting the first three designate the domain of the commons and thus justify a reference to communism, in How to Begin from the Beginning, he goes further, arguing;

It is, however, only the fourth antagonism, the reference to the excluded that justifies the term communism. There is nothing more private than a state community which perceives the excluded as a threat and worries how to keep them at a proper distance. In other words, in the series of the four antagonisms, the one between the included and the excluded is the crucial one: without it, all the others lose their subversive edge (2009b: 44).

It is only, however, with the publication of First as Tragedy, then as Farce (following Badiou’s use of the term) that Žižek begins to specifically refer to communism as a hypothesis. Here Žižek introduces the hypothesis by way of reference to Badiou, who has argued that;

The communist hypothesis remains the right hypothesis and I see no other … if this hypothesis is to be abandoned, then it is not worth doing anything in the field of collective action. Without the perspective of communism, without this kind of idea, nothing in the historical and political future is of such a kind of interest to the philosopher. Each individual can pursue their private business and we won’t mention it again … (Badiou, 2008: 115).

Žižek (2009b) repeats Badiou’s argument without contention, adding that one should not read the hypothesis as a ‘regulative idea’ of the kind that might lead to an ethical socialism with an a priori norm[4]. Rather the communist hypothesis must be referenced to actual contradictions within capitalism. As Žižek states;

To treat communism as an eternal Idea implies that the situation which generates it is no less eternal that the antagonism to which communism reacts will always be here. From which it is only one step to a deconstructive reading of communism as a dream of presence, of abolishing all alienating representation; a dream which thrives on its own impossibility (Žižek, 2009a: 88).

As such, Žižek comes to suggest that the communist hypothesis comes into being specifically on the basis of one antagonism; the “gap which separates the excluded from the included” (ibid.:97). Without this antagonism, Žižek suggests, the remainder of the set lose all subversive potential, becoming challenges and opportunities for the development of new markets; ecological degradation and the Green dollar being the emblematic example. Instead, Žižek insists upon a rehabilitation of the Marxist problematic – abet with a characteristic twist – of locating a grouping which, precisely because it lacks a place in the social order, stands for the universal Truth of that order itself. As such, attempts to exclude the part with no part (as exemplified by the excessive slums populations of the world) whether through ideological mystification, the laws of private property or indeed physical walls themselves, constitutes the struggle for universality within global capitalism. On account of the ontological location of this disparate and desperate grouping, the universal exception holds the place of a palpable tension that is capable of productively disrupting capitalism, not so much through the kind of revolutionary action that some Marxists might have envisioned but, rather, through the fatal disruption of ideological coherence within Western capital itself. Through this disruption the prospect for reimagining new forms of being, modes of production and political action becomes a distinct possibility.

It is the necessity of maintaining barriers against the excluded within capitalism that justifies a specific reference to communism rather than to democracy or to fascism. Communism is not an innocent or arbitrary signifier but, rather – even if this conclusion has to be explicated from Žižek’s position rather than directly read – signals a commitment to egalitarianism and equality not possible under capitalism. The question, Žižek asks, is if the demand of the part with no part cannot be answered within capitalism, is democracy “an appropriate name for this egalitarian explosion[?]” (ibid.: 99). Ultimately, the Žižek’s evocation of the communist hypothesis is a rejection of the democratic horizon, suggesting that it is only a return to communism that would do justice to this demand. Yet, this form of communism is not guaranteed by history, rationalism, or the big Other to be the form of political being but, rather, signals the point of impossibility within capitalism.

In this sense, Žižek’s exposition of the communist hypothesis appears to be another iteration of the Lacanian dialectic in a Marxist context; an attempt to reinvent the communist mode of subversion within capitalism in a manner which cannot be captured by capital. Despite the mass of publications he has produced since his initial breakthrough in 1989, The Sublime Object of Ideology, the only element that has altered since the opening chapter of that text (in which Žižek extends on Lacan’s assertion that it was Marx who invented Lacanian symptom by detecting a fundamental imbalance within capitalism whereby a specific instance that appears heterogeneous to operation of capital – selling one’s labour – is universal to the operation of capital (1989: 21-22)) is the addition of the communist signifier.

Yet, this addition produces notable theoretical complications, as is witnessed by both the recent publication of Living in End Times (2010) and Badiou’s elaboration of his initial reading of the hypothesis. In the former, not only did Žižek not elaborate on communism as a hypothesis, returning instead to further analysis of the antagonisms which haunt late capitalism, but he also sought to distance himself from Badiou’s ‘Idea of communism’, a proposition that has extended beyond its initial formulation.  Badiou’s Idea can be contrasted with Žižek’s hypothesis in the sense that the former has sought to develop the ideological basis upon which it stands; ideology being in firm contrast to Žižek’s evocation of the Real antagonisms of capital. Such a distinction signals the difficulty of Žižek’s reference to communism. If Žižek’s attempts to evoke the Real tension evident in the antagonisms of capitalism, the identification of this tension in a positive signifier threatens to undermine the disruptive effect of the Real within capital. The difficulties between representation and the Real are at the heart of Badiou’s work around communism; it is to this Idea that I now turn.

The Idea of Communism

Badiou first introduces communism as a hypothesis towards the end of his polemic text, The Meaning of Sarkozy (2008). Here he is less evasive as to the value of communism and the potential content of the communist hypothesis than Žižek, claiming that there have been two previous sequences of the hypothesis: the first from the French revolution to the Paris commune (its establishment) and the second – its first attempt at realisation – running from the Russian revolution to the end of the Chinese Cultural Revolution. For Badiou, our task today is to determine the yet to be constructed content of the third sequence. There is, however, an ideological background to these sequences. Communism, Badiou suggests, would eliminate both inequality of wealth and the division of labour. Moreover, distinctions between manual and intellectual labour will disappear, along with differences between town and country. Naturally, the state itself will become unnecessary (ibid.: 115-117). Thus, although Badiou does not specifically identify the shape of the programme that will come to embody this hypothesis, his initial emphasis had been upon the value of the signifier ‘communism’ and its relationship to equality and economy rather than the epistemological and ontological of the concerns that have pre-occupied the Left after the discursive turn.

Nonetheless, in Badiou’s follow-up exposition of the hypothesis in The Communist Hypothesis (2010) the hypothesis of the title is now distinguished as an Idea and a number of ontological concerns are reintroduced. In the chapter The Idea of Communism, Badiou seeks to develop what it means to hold to an Idea, attributing greater value to the form of the Idea than to content of communism (ibid.: 254). Whilst this development gives greater consideration to the difficulties of representation in a manner confluent with the ontological basis of Badiou’s previous work, it also provides addition concerns in regard to political practice within capitalism.

For Badiou, an Idea is generated by what he terms a Truth procedure. A Truth procedure comes into being in relation to a subject (in an abstract sense) who becomes a ‘militant of this Truth’ (ibid.: 234) in achieving subjectivation. An Idea is thus the operation of a Truth procedure embodied by a subject within a historical state. In these terms, an Idea is the interplay of between the singularity of a Truth procedure and a representation of history. Nonetheless, for Badiou an Idea remains ideological in the sense that it not only imagines the emergence of a political Truth within a historical situation but seeks to project that political Truth onto another historical situation (ibid.: 238). If revolutionary politics is ultimately a victory for those with no names – the part with no part – Badiou still insists upon the need for the finitude of proper names in politics (ibid.: 249-252). That is, while a political Truth is by definition excluded from the ‘state’ the vehicle through which that Truth becomes an event is an idea based upon the nodal point of a proper name, whether that of an messianic individual or ideological movement.

For Žižek, Badiou’s insistence upon the necessity of ideology and thus ideological illusion is evidence of his reliance upon a transcendental illusion and subsequent hidden Kantianism based upon a mis-reading of Hegel. In this regard, Žižek has argued;

One could also say that the Idea of communism schematizes the Real of the political        Event, providing it with a narrative coating and thereby making it a part of our experience of historical reality – another indication of Badiou’s hidden Kantianism    (2010: 185).

Without wishing to enter into discussion over Badiou and Žižek’s respective understandings of Kant and Hegel, pertinently Žižek argues that political practice organised around the tension of the Real yet mediated by the narrative of the Idea and ideological solidification around a proper name, as in Badiou’s form of communism, risks a short-circuit between the Real and ideology, thus intervening against the anxiety of the Real and the possibility of a rupture within capitalism.  Thus, as much as the differences between Badiou and Žižek’s communism can be identified as ahistorically ontological, the primary distinction relates to political strategy in regards to the ontic parameters of ontology within capitalism and subsequent opportunities for radical subversion. Where Badiou contends that change can only come from a collective subject embodying the excluded truth of capitalism in the name of the Idea of communism, Žižek insists that there is no outside to capitalism within which an alternative node of ideology could flourish in a truly disruptive sense. Whilst Badiou’s subject of communism is not specifically outside of capital in the sense that it emerges from the internal failure of capital, any positive ideological movement stemming from this position becomes inherently linked with the structure of capital. In Badiouian terms, the ideological grip of capital is such that ideas only come to make sense in terms of the ‘facts’ of capitalism. Certainly, Badiou’s Idea offers the prospect of a powerful political movement, entailing a collective subjectivication around the antagonistic points of capitalism. Yet, severe doubts must be held over the efficiency of such a movement. A movement of the part with no part, the universal exception, if successfully evoked in the manner Badiou’s suggests, holds the possibility of providing substantive ideological disruption and anxiety.

Are we at a point, however, where capital would simply collapse into revolutionary fervour, or, are the material and ideological powers of capital such that a revolutionary movement would inevitably be crushed? For Žižek, not only is capital largely able to integrate its own  symptoms into opportunities for profit, and create a self-fulfilling matrix of understanding such that ideas only ‘work’ according to the logic of capital but, beyond all theoretical considerations, the material might of the officers of capital is beyond direct confrontation. Capitalism cannot be defeated from the outside. Instead, it must be induced to implode upon its own antagonisms. The question is how to achieve this internal combustion without evoking a transcendental faith in history or a pathetic political quietism.

In response to this problematic, in this paper I propose that, today, communism is best read through a utopian lens that resists the production of imaginary coherence and instead insists upon the drive of impossibility inherent in global capital. This lens, which involves a psychoanalytic re-reading of utopia as well as communism, seeks to move Žižek’s use of communism beyond the identification of the antagonisms of capitalism without establishing an alternative ideological fantasy. In order to properly consider this possibility, I will first turn to the concept of utopia itself, one that may appear entirely divorced from the psychoanalytic thrust developed thus far.

Utopia: Demand the Impossible!

At its most basic utopia can be conceived as an impulse or desire for something different from the existing. In this sense, utopianism has been referenced to the prospect of radical political change in the name of a perfect future society. The utopian urge, however, does not necessarily take the form of a desire for a radically different form of being. Today the elementary utopian demand is embodied in the conservative hope that, ultimately, society does exist; that life could be managed in such a manner that the fullness of presence is possible within existing structures. We see this utopianism played out in discussion around environmental issues in which the threat of overwhelming ecological degradation is placated by the prospect of technological innovation, responsive markets and ‘political will’ (see Sachs, 2008).

The utopian demand can be regarded as the desire for jouissance. At first glance, utopia – despite its radical pretensions – is a counter-intuitive position for any form of politics taking its orientation from a Lacanian-inspired psychoanalysis that has emphasised themes of lack, finitude and excess. Conversely, an alternate modality of utopia can be constituted around the impossible, rather than the jouissance of the ideal. This mode retains the demand for a better world but finds the drive for change in the limitation of imagination rather than its location in a specific ideal. If, for example, a dominant mode of contemporary environmentalism displays the tragic utopianism of the ideal harmony with nature, an alternative mode could momentarily exist in a discombobulation of ideology stemming from a collective and traumatic realisation that existing devices cannot prevent ecological disaster. This realisation – an evocation of the Real – has the potential to disrupt the consistently of capitalism in a way that new modes of understanding can flourish.

Utopia, considered in both these modes, is thus not to be divorced from the everyday but, rather, is at the heart of the human experience. It is a response to the operation that Ruth Levitas (2007: 290), following Ernst Bloch (1986), identifies as the fundamental utopian expression: that utopia is at its core an expression of the desire for a better way of being, a principle that Bloch designated as ‘hope’; a desire for something that is missing. In this sense utopian thought does not require the wholesale imagination of new worlds, although this construction is an articulation of the utopian desire. Instead, these constructions are an expression of a larger demand for jouissance.

Indexing utopia to jouissance suggests that, rather than taking the form of elaborate visions, a utopian urge appears in the everyday performance of social life. In this sense, utopia cannot be juxtaposed against ideology – utopia seeking to change society, ideology to maintain it – as Karl Mannheim contended (Mannheim cited in Levitas, 2007: 289). Instead, this sense of utopia is entirely ideological; utopia is an expression of jouissance that lies at the heart of ideology. The everyday performance of utopia, therefore, is the performance of jouissance in its many forms; the elementary demand of the utopian/ideological position is that, contra-Laclau, ‘society does exist’.

It is the critique of this mantra that forms the basis of psychoanalytic criticism of utopianism. Suggesting that attempts to attain the fullness of jouissance or utopia must violently exclude a dystopian element that cannot be named, for many – and not limited to psychoanalytic theorists – utopian politics can be deemed idealistically unrealistic at best, dangerous at worst (c.f. Gray, 2008).  If a utopian imagination can develops politics of the ideal with little reference to political circumstances and consequentially little influential, than these ideological formations are equally likely to postulate an ‘enemy’ as the cause of the failure to achieve such an imagination. Barack Obama’s presidential campaign and subsequent administration is one example of both these processes, operating on both sides of the (narrow) American political spectrum. Obama’s campaign imagery of ‘change’ and ‘hope’ brought with it a wholesale imagination of a different kind of society. Yet, at the moment of his election, from his inaguration speech to the widespread restoration of Bill Clinton’s political advisors, the desire and jouissance behind the Obama utopia collapsed. This collapse, despite being embodied by specific events, was not contingent upon these events but, rather, necessary; the utopian ideal collapses as soon as imagination is put into action. Equally, since this collapse a more potent movement has emerged, based largely around the ultra-conservative Tea-Party, which seeks to restore the utopia of ‘America’ largely by way of associating Obama with an otherness which is threatening this imaginary.

The alternative mode of utopia, based around the impossibility of its instantiation is more akin to the impulse of the Lacanian dialectic. Rather than seeking to extend or fulfil a utopian imagination, this modality locates the utopian moment at the very limits of ideology. Such a utopian does not lie in the content of ideology but, rather, the impulse for change that occurs when the symptoms of an order become overly traumatic such that they cannot be contained within ideology. The utopia of the Real – as opposed to the ideal – occurs when, unable to contain the trauma caused by exposure to the Real, new modes of being emerge.

As Žižek states in the documentary Žižek! when discussing the lack of alternatives to capitalism;

We should reinvent utopia, but in what sense? There are two false meanings of utopia; one is this old notion of imaging an ideal society which we know will never be realised. The other is the capitalist utopia in the sense of new perverse desires that you are not only allowed but even solicited to realise. The true utopia is when the situation is so without issue, without a way to resolve it within the coordinates of the possible that out of the pure urge of survival you have to invent a new space. Utopia is not kind of a free imagination, utopia is a matter of inner-most urgency, you are forced to imagine it is the only way out, and this is the utopia we need today (Taylor, 2007).

In this regard, a utopian drive lies in the impossibility of imagining an alternative future to capitalism despite the inability to resolve its great horrors: such a demand is in embodied in Jameson’s oft-repeated remark that capital limits our imagination such that it is easier to imagine the end of the world than a change in the mode of production (see Jameson, 2003).  Rather than attempting to suture the contradictions of capital, a utopian demand occurs when the subjects of capital are compelled to imagine a new mode of being in order to avoid the trauma of the breakdown of the ideological frameworks which have contained the horrors of capital.

The distinction between the two modes of utopia can be found in Thomas More’s original conception, using Greek terms to bring together ‘no place’ and ‘good place’. This suggests both a tragic and comedic face to utopia. Utopia can be tragic – a place we will never reach – or comedic; utopia lies in the very impossibility of its realisation. This latter form does not cling to an alternative conception of society but, rather, relies upon the build up of energy around the very limits to our imagination. Imagination, of course, is not limited to the fancy of the individual. Rather, imagination is always a social creation; the limitations of our imagination are always the limitations of the ideological terrain, what Badiou calls the ‘state of the situation’.

A profound difficulty presents itself at this point: of finding a way to imagine the prospect of an alternative future without foreclosing the possibility of it coming into being.  What we require is not a utopian urge to fill out the failure of capitalism, either through capitalism itself or its cultural supplements but, rather, a desire to move beyond capitalism on the basis of the traumatic impossibility of capital itself. This desire constitutes not only an approach to the Real but the jouissance of impossibility itself. That is, the impossibility of imagining utopia does not bring an end to jouissance but, instead, persists in the form of jouissance. This form of utopia does not dismiss jouissance as an illusion but, instead, suggests that jouissance drives every attempt to imagine utopia. The vital difference between the forms of utopia is that the positive mode attempts to locate this utopian place whereas the impossible utopia plays upon the urge to go beyond the existing. The key difference here is between the fantasy of full jouissance provided by utopia-as-content, and the subversion of alternative political imaginaries through utopia-as-form.

Whilst this form of utopianism leads itself to accusations of negativity and political quietism, positive forms are easily subverted. In relation to his reservations around the extension of imagination, Jameson argues that the designation of specific points of protest is contrary to the effectiveness of utopianism. It is for this reason that Jameson has previously suggested that utopia is at its most effective when it cannot be imagined;

Its function lies not in helping us to imagine a better future but, rather, in      demonstrating our utter incapacity to imagine such a future – our imprisonment in a      non-utopian present without historicity of futurity – so as to reveal the ideological closure of the system in which we are somehow trapped and confined (2004: 46).

When the specific contradictions become apparent, the tendency is to focus political demands upon these points. At this point the utopian imagination becomes limited and what might have been a revolutionary demand gives way to practical political programmes (Jameson, 2004: 45). Just as Badiou’s Idea risks mediating against the tension embodied in the Truth of any given constellation, the utopian moment occurs when the limits of ideology cannot be sutured and thus the identification of this moment risks a positivisation of the Real and a subsequent reactionary appeal to jouissance. That is, if the trauma of the Real opens up a wound within ideology, this wound can equally and effectively be sutured by a renewed ideological movement which displaces the cause of trauma. A salient example of this process in these times is the Green movement. Although Green ideology at times suggests energy for widespread change that might be considered utopian, it has become too easy to divert this enthusiasm into smaller scale processes that only serve to supplement the interests of capital and escalate ecological collapse.

Yet, if the Žižekian sense of utopianism – interpreted here through the communist hypothesis – takes its form from the expression of actually occurring antagonisms with capitalism, how does it avoid becoming particularised in singular demands? Whilst acknowledging that capital is able to include and pacify most of its symptoms, Žižek designates the ‘part-with-no-part as the specific contradiction which holds a vital, universal, status and thus cannot be subject to direct political demands. That is, whilst the utopian demand inherent in this necessary exclusion can be subverted in various ideological measures, such as charitable aid or the displacement of the antagonism to an exterior cause, the universality of surplus labour cannot be integrated within capitalism and for this reason remains the impossible point of a utopian demand.

Nonetheless, as Jameson might suggest, indexing communism in relation to utopia is to mediate against the utopian demand by providing an object for the imagination, an imagination that will inevitably become caught up in the facts and consequences of capital. This is ultimately a question of the representation of impossibility and the signification of the Real. Jameson and Badiou, as presented here, represent two sides of this debate. Where Badiou attempts to animate an idea with an overwhelming ideological component, Jameson resists any temptation to suture the limitation of our political imagination. Žižek’s brief evocation of the communist hypothesis, however, suggests a third alternative. Here the reference to communism does not seek to develop a new imagination but, instead, insists upon thrusting open the trauma in ideology. This occurs, however, by identifying this trauma with both a specific antagonism – surplus labour – and with communism. The later is read not through the positivity of ideology but rather, as an opportunity to insist upon the impossibility of capital and direct the interpretation of its collapse.

Communism and Utopia

Thinking communism in terms of utopia produces two alternative positions. Firstly, there is the fantasmatic utopia of communism without antagonism, a position Žižek has subject to sustained critique, regarding it as the ultimate Marxist fantasy of capitalism without antagonism (see Žižek, 1989: 49-53). This is the tragedy inherent in utopia as the image of the good place; an imaginary ideal that must fail and in doing so attributes this failure to an exterior cause. By contrast, the communist hypothesis lies in the utopian demand that the contradictions of capitalism mean that it cannot continue indefinitely. Specifically, the utopia of the communist hypothesis lies in capitalism’s very failure to account for its own exclusions in the walls it is developing against the excess of humanity that builds around the globe: the universality of capital exists in this battle.

Badiou’s Idea of communism has much in common with both readings of utopia. Read through the Jamesonian lens of utopianism suggested here, the utopian moment in Badiou’s work occurs when the subject is grasped by a Truth such that become a militant evangelist for this Truth, forcing the Idea into being in the face of the facts of the situation. Nonetheless, the ‘Road to Damascus’ moment of Badiou’s subject of Truth includes not only this moment but, also, the ideological path which provides the moment of Truth with political substance.  Although the emphasis lies upon the truth of a situation, such that it embodies the impossibility of capitalism, the mobilisation of this truth requires the subject commits to an ideology. The Badiouian procedure thus enlists two utopian moments for its political power; one of the impossibility of the ‘no place’, the other of the ‘good place’ of the 3rd sequence of the Idea of communism.

Yet, Badiou’s insistence upon the stabilising presence of proper names means we must wonder how this Idea could come into place without a reactionary jouissance and the fantasy of the utopian ideal. Indeed, Žižek contends that Badiou’s notion of ‘sequences’ of communism signals the difficulty in his conception of communism. Such an image of communism postulates the presence of an empty, universal frame which is altered under differing concrete circumstances. Instead of this abstract universality, Žižek’s communism lies in the concrete universality of the failure of global capital (2010: 20).

Nonetheless, by contrast to Žižek’s conception, Badiou’s reading of the role of communism is clear in his notion of the Idea. Communism becomes both the interpretative procedure identifying Truth within facts and the ideology of a new world order; vitally, communism acts as a point of identification for the newly subjectivised individual. Žižek’s communism remains more ambivalent. If his previous political positions have identified the tension and political power of those who are the ‘part with no part’, then we must consider how the addition of the communist signifier alters his politics. Through the reference to an impossible sense of utopia I have suggested that the traction provided by the utopian demand comes from an identification with the impossibility of capitalism. This identification owes itself to Žižek’s Lacanian reading of Marxism, rather than any historical reading of communist discourse. Although Žižek appears to designate communism as embodied only in the contradictions of capitalism, communism inevitably becomes a point of identification for the flourishing of ideas and jouissance.

Nonetheless, the difference between Badiou and Žižek on this point is subtle and much less marked than the contrast with Jameson. Where the latter insists upon the limitations of imagination as the place of utopia, both Žižek and Badiou seek to overtly politicise the moment of failure. The vital difference, however, is that where Badiou argues that an ideological platform is required for the subjects of Truth, Žižek seeks to politicise a potential rupture within capitalism by insisting upon its communist potential. This potential lies in the very impossibility of capitalism and is thus a utopian demand. Yet, even if Žižek does not himself postulate a consequential communist ideology, it is inevitable that the very spectre of communism would evoke images of the shape of the communist future. In this sense, we must insist on the vital distinction between Žižek’s focus upon Truth and the Real and Badiou’s collective subject. This distinction relates not so much to an abstraction of theory but, rather, an ontological reading of the conditions of possibility for subversion within capitalism. Where Badiou conceives of hope for a collective movement against capitalism, Žižek insists that capitalism can only be bought to its knees through an awareness of its own limits.

Thus, a Žižekian interpretation of communism is able to postulate this signifier without a corresponding ideological manifesto because it is not an abstract or ideal formulation but, rather, a reaction to existing conditions. That is, by identifying the exclusion of surplus labour as essential to the operation of capitalism – the point of concrete universality within capitalism – because it speaks to the system as a totality. In regards to Jameson’s concerns around the possible subversion of utopian energy caused by the naming of this point, the communist hypothesis does not suggest a ‘filling’ out of the utopian space but, rather, signifies that point which cannot be filled out. In this sense, through the impossibility of including surplus labour, the communist hypothesis does open up a new horizon for the Left but not one that will please many of Žižek’s critics – it does not produce a new point of imaginary identification but, instead, opens up new space for these identifications to be formed.

As such, Žižek’s communism is not an empty treatise on political strategy but, instead, is dedicated to moving beyond capitalism. This commitment forms the basis of the ‘communist’ hypothesis rather than any reference to democracy as the driver of the future. Žižek justifies the use of communism as the named signifier of the transition from capitalism to the future by reference to the surplus labour within capitalism itself. This identifies not only a belief that those extimately excluded within capitalism who do not enjoy the benefits of this system but, also, that this is a problem in itself. That is, by utilising communism and surplus labour as the primary reference point to the end of capitalism, Žižek is signaling more than just a strategic intent to move beyond capitalism. He is implicitly suggesting an ethical commitment to egalitarian justice to which there is no requirement for further justification. Inherent in this is a minimal demand, most beautifully articulated by Adorno in his Mimma Moralia (1974: 155): “There is tenderness only in the coarsest demand; that no one should go hungry any more”.

NOTES:


[1]Interestingly, in keeping with much of the scholarship on the communist hypothesis, Badiou’s explicitly titled work is a collection of essays and conference presentations, many of which have little or no relation with the title.

[2]The notable exceptions being Glyn Daly and Adrian Johnston, who produced generally positive contributions.

[3]These antagonisms have remained a focal point in Žižek’s most recent point, although the scarcity of material resources is included with the contradictions of intellectual property. Usefully, Daly (2010) suggests that the drive of finance capital should be included in this list.

[4]See Žižek’s (2004) previous debate with Boucher (2004).

REFERENCES:

Adorno, T. (1974) Minima Moralia: Relfections from Damaged Life. London: Verso.

Badiou, A. (2008) The Meaning of Sarkozy, London: Verso.

Badiou, A. (2010) The Communist Hypothesis, London: Verso.

Bloch, E. (1986) The Principle of Hope, Cambridge, Massachusetts; MIT Press.

Boucher, G. (2004). The Antinomies of Slavoj Žižek. Teleos, 129, 151-172

Boucher, G. & Sharpe, M. (2010) Žižek and Politics, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

Boucher, G. and Sharpe, M. (2010) “Žižek’s Communism” and In Defense of Lost Causes. International Journal of Žižek Studies, 4,10.

Bowman, P. & Stamp, R. (eds.) 2007. The Truth of Žižek, London: Continuum.

Daly, G. (2010) Causes for Concern: Žižek’s Politics of Loving Terror. International Journal of Žižek Studies, 4, 10.

Douzinas, C. & Žižek, S. (2010) The Idea of Communism. London: Verso.

Gray, J. (2008) Black Mass; Apocalyptic Religion and the Death of Utopia, New York, Farrar, Strauss, Giroux.

Guanghua, W. (ed.) 2008. Inequality and Growth in Modern China, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Jameson, F. (2003) Future City. New Left Review, 21.

Jameson, F. (2004) The Politics of Utopia. New Left Review, 25.

Laclau, E. (2000) Constructing Universality. In: Butler, J., Laclau, E. & Žižek, S. (Eds.) Contingency, Hegemony, Universality. London: Verso.

Levitas, R. (2007) Looking for the Blue: The Necessity of Utopia. Journal of Political Ideologies, 12, 289-306.

Sachs, J. 2008. Common Wealth: Economics for a Crowded Planet, New York, Penguin Press.

Taylor, A., director (2007) Žižek! London: Ica Films.

Žižek, S. (1989) The Sublime Object of Ideology. London: Verso.

Žižek, S. (2000) “Da Capo Senza Fine” In Butler,J. Laclau,E .Žižek, S. (Eds.) Contingency, Hegemony, Universality. London: Verso.

Žižek, S. 2004. Ethical Socialism? No, Thanks! Reply to Boucher. Teleos, 129.

Žižek, S. (2008) In Defense of Lost Causes. London: Verso.

Žižek, S. (2009a) First as Tragedy, then as Farce, London: Verso.

Žižek, S. (2009b) How to Begin from the Beginning, New Left Review, 57.

Žižek, S. (2010) Living in End Times. London: Verso.

Thesis Online

For anyone who may be interested, I have uploaded my (as yet unexamined) thesis from conclusion to introduction and abstract

Thesis Abstract

Using global poverty as its central reference point, this thesis seeks to consider the political applications of Slavoj Žižek’s work. Regarded as one of the most significant contemporary continental philosophers, Žižek is also one of the most controversial. Whilst Žižek’s Hegelian-inspired reading of Lacan and Marx provides an influential reading of social life, and in particular global capitalism, his political interventions have not been so readily embraced. Arguing that his emphasis upon the essential fixity of capitalism and the need for radical change prevents the identification of any subtle forms of political action, critics have suggested that Žižek’s political interventions are misguided, or conservative, despite his radical pretensions. In spite of this rejection, the thesis comes to align itself with Žižek’s politics. Considering the applications of Žižek’s work to the pressing demands of global poverty, I suggest that whilst his theory does not provide any practical alternative to capital, its value lies in a strategic form of politics which attempts to open up space for political action by evoking the symptoms of capital. It is in this positioning of Žižek’s work in regards to practical political issues, that the most original, and valuable, element of this thesis resides. Situating Žižek’s work within the Marxism tradition, the thesis begins by documenting the contemporary limitations of Marxist politics, particularly in relation to the discursive turn. Moving to a consideration of the way in which Lacanian psychoanalysis has been deployed to rehabilitate the political efficacy of Marxism, I suggest that Lacanian theory provides neither a normative basis for Marxist politics, nor a form of political organisation in itself. Nonetheless, through Žižek’s reading, Lacanian theory provides a powerful political response to global capitalism which has, in Žižek’s terms, ‘hegemonised the place of hegemony’. This value lies not in the production of a radical alternative to capitalism but, rather, the strategic utilisation of ‘surplus labour’ – best embodied by ‘practicing concrete universality’ – to dislocate the place of capitalism such that new space for rethinking the political and production emerge. Moreover, Žižek’s politics are not reduced to a negative strategic approach but have been supplemented by a utopian ‘communist hypothesis’ that potentially reshapes considerations of Žižek’s politics today.

Introduction

‘The 21st Century will overturn many of our basic assumptions about economic life’

This opening statement by Jeffery Sachs in his seminal text, Common Wealth (2008), unwittingly reveals far more than he desires. Intending to argue that a number of alterations are required in order to make the global economy sustainable, Sachs symptomatically announces that in order to produce a truly globally sustainable economy, global capitalism cannot continue. The logical consequence of both Sachs’ work and the contradictions of global capitalism are such that anything less than radical political change will produce an environmental and political catastrophe. Either way, our assumptions about economic life will certainly be over-turned but not in the manner that Sachs intends. Amongst the economic ‘assumptions’ that Sachs believes will be evoked in this century are the end of American hegemony, the emergence of new technologies and an end to the notion of competing nation-states as a new era of global co-operation comes to dominate humanity. These changes will come on the back of enlightened reflection as capitalism, once drunk on its own excesses, peers into the mirror Sachs provides and emerges clean and triumphant. Ultimately, however, Sachs’ work is unsympathetic towards the kind of overturning of economic life that would be necessary to respond to his own problematic[1] – which he defines as the challenge of global sustainability; “protecting the environment, stabilising the world’s population, narrowing the gaps between rich and poor, and ending extreme poverty” (ibid.: 3) – he is apparently unwilling to consider his own assumptions about economic life.

Sachs is no marginal figure and his identification of the material deprivations and contradictions which currently plague humanity are the problems of today. Sachs is head of the Earth Institute at Columbia University and director of the United Nations (UN) Millennium Project, which announced the setting of 15 ‘Millennium Development Goals’ to be achieved by 2015 (United Nations, 2000). Amongst these goals are targets to “Halve, between 1990 and 2015, the proportion of people who suffer from hunger”, “Integrate the principles of sustainable development into country policies and programs and reverse the loss of environmental resources” and “Have achieved by 2020 a significant improvement in the lives of at least 100 million slum dwellers” (Sachs, 2005b: xvii-xix)[2].

Sachs suggests that progress towards these goals is obstructed by four demands: human pressures on ecosystems and the climate, world population growth, extreme poverty and global problem solving processes (Sachs, 2008: 6). These problems do not exist in isolation. Increases in population and economic growth multiply global economic activity, placing unsustainable pressure upon the environment. Sustained economic growth, both from the Western world and from the developing world – primarily China and India but also Brazil and Russia – combined with continued growth of the world economy has meant that global economic production has risen by eight times between 1950-2008 (ibid.: 19). Given further economic growth and population increases, gross world product is predicted to rise by 6.3 times over the period 2005-2050 (ibid.: 23).

Mainstream economists reduce these pressures to a simple economic equation used to determine environment impact: total population (P), income per person (A) and the environmental impact per dollar of income (T), otherwise known as the level of technology. From this equation, the total impact (I) on the environment can be calculated by the equation I = P x A x T (a high T value signifying a high environment effect) (ibid.: 29). Using this equation, Sachs suggests that as the global population is predicted to rise by 40% and global income to quadruple, the impact on the environment with unchanged technology would be six times that experienced today (ibid.: 29). As a corollary, if the current human impact on the environment is unsustainable, a six fold increase would be ‘devastating’ and lead to certain environmental catastrophe.

The hegemonic Green approach to this problem is to defer to technological developments and assertions of ‘political will’. This promethean discourse holds that improvements in energy and resource efficiency, both in terms of production and consumption, will be sufficient to halt global climate change and mediate against the contradiction between economic growth and environmental degradation. Based on this assumption, one-off increases in resource efficiency produce the change required to hold off environmental collapse. Efficiency increases, however, only ever take the edge off increases in overall economic output. Sachs himself illustrates this point in regards to electricity efficiency, stating that given global economic output is predicted to rise six fold in the years to 2050, even a doubling of efficiency would lead to a tripling of electricity use (Sachs, 2008: 98).

The reliance upon technology discounts what is known as ‘Jevons paradox’. First suggested by William Stanley Jevons in relation to coal consumption in Great Britain (Jevons, 1866), the paradox suggests that increases in efficiency tend to produce an increase in the demand for the resource: as the resource becomes cheaper, consumption tends to rise. As a consequence, technological advancements do not tend to reduce environmental impact because gains in efficiency are mitigated by increases in consumption (Foster, 2000: 4). Economist John Bellamy Foster suggests improvements in automobile efficiency as an example of Jevons paradox in action. Increases in efficiency in the automobile industry in the United States in the 1970s did not reduce the amount of fuel consumed as the number of vehicles on the road doubled as driving became more affordable (ibid.: 5).

Certainly this ‘law’ only holds according to the logic of neoclassical economics; it needs to be viewed critically and does not uniformly apply. In particular, government-mandated efficiency standards tend to increase costs, thus not increasing demand and consumption, although impacting upon private profitability. Nevertheless, technology is not a total solution: it cannot be assumed that technological developments will prevent entirely mediate expansions in economic activity. Technology may expand the range of resources available but cannot do so infinitely. Moreover, technological innovation does not automatically reduce resource consumption.

Perhaps the over-riding point is that capitalism is not an efficient system for the use of resources, as it is assumed to be by its ideologues. Capitalism is not based on production to service human ‘needs’ but, rather, continuous accumulation and growth – the drive of capital is profit for the sake only of profit itself. As such, the central environmental concern in regards to capitalism should not be technology and efficiency but a reduction in the general level of production and consumption.

Conversely, because capitalism is constituted by its own self-revolution and growth, any reduction in economic output sends capital into crisis, further restricting the ‘trickle down’ to those beyond the development ladder. Thus, while the Green demand for reducing the scale of economic activity is a step in the right direction – Western levels of consumption must be reduced in order to halt global environmental collapse and allow the masses to come out of poverty – this move would be disastrous for the hungry populations of the world within the limitations imposed by capitalism. Despite the locally based poverty reduction efforts of trans-governmental agencies such as the United Nations and the World Bank, genuine resolution of poverty can only be achieved within the capitalist ‘development ladder’. That is, for the world’s poorest citizens to bring their standard of living out of extreme poverty, the wealthiest would have had to experience equally large, or larger, economic growth. For this reason, demands from Green discourse and in particular the ‘Affluenza’ movement (see Galbraith, 1958; Hamilton, 2003) to reduce levels of consumption – such as ‘buy nothing day’ – are ill-conceived.

Peter Singer (2009), in his text The Life You Can Save, holds to a similar position, this time by reference to poverty rather than environmental conditions. Arguing that those who consume ‘unnecessarily’ are morally obligated to reduce this consumption and give to the absolute poor, Singer argues that a drastic reduction in consumption is necessary for the wealthy to be considering to be living ‘Good’ lives. What Singer forecloses, and we will have cause to return to the politics of this position later in this chapter and its consequences for the psyche in Chapter Four, is that a reduction in Western consumption necessarily leads to a fall in economic growth that will make the circumstances of the poorest worse off. That is, within the capitalist matrix, these reductions can only lead to further hardship for the poor.

Such a reading of the operation of the ‘market’ appears to be a decidedly neo-liberal or conservative position: that the burden of the Global West is to continue consuming in order for jobs and wealth to trickle down to the poorest inhabits of the Earth. This is certainly not the moral position that will be advocated in this thesis. Instead, we have cause to agree with Singer’s basic contention that for wealthy subjects to consume at current rates whilst so many suffer in abject poverty is morally questionable. The difference lies in the politics of such a position. Whilst Singer, and others of a charitable bent, argue that poverty can be vastly reduced by voluntary redistributions of wealth, in this thesis I shall argue that the disavowal of the political dimension of this position signals the impossibility of enacting widespread change within global capitalism. The ultimate consequence of a reduction of Western demand for consumer items is the fall in the production of these items in the Third World, a decrease which results in unemployment and further suffering for the hungry masses.

Here lies the fundamental material contradiction of capitalism. The environmental capacity of the Earth apparently cannot support the scale of development required to induce a substantial reduction in poverty, even with a significant increase in technological efficiency. Indeed, even without any efforts to reduce poverty, economic growth in the global West is unsustainable. In this regard, the 2008 World Wildlife Fund ‘Living Planet’ report suggests in 2005 the global ecological footprint (the biological capacity required for the material reproduction of society) was 30% higher than supply; the United States footprint-per-capita was four times that of that global supply. Likewise, ‘clean, green’ New Zealand’s footprint was approximately three times that which is currently sustainable, suggesting that if all the citizens of the world lived like New Zealanders – a nation apparently in immediate need of economic growth – another two planets would be required (WWF, 2008: 14-15). Clearly, these ecological footprints are not sustainable, nor can they be allowed to expand. Increasingly open battles for resources are being witnessed on a global scale and ultimately, in the competition for scarce resources, it is the rich and powerful who will win (see Klare, 2001).

This process is compounded by the exponential growth of the world’s population. The 2009 United Nations Population Report (2009b) predicts the world’s population will increase 37% to 9.2 billion by 2050, 85% of which will reside in regions currently classified as ‘less developed’. At the same time, 86% of the global population is predicted to live in these areas. These population pressures invoke the ghost of Thomas Malthus, once banished by the hope of technology. Malthus argued that population pressures on resources were the primary cause of hunger, with various ‘positive checks’ alleviating the pressure. Writing in 1798, his motive here was political; the defence of private property in the face of the French revolution and the enthusiasm for utopian projects that resonated at the time (Ross, 1998: 8). Malthus considered social welfare to be pointless as the increased demand for food would only expand the misery of the poor. Indeed, Eric Ross (ibid.: 22) quotes Malthus as stating:

a man who is born into a world already possessed, if he cannot get subsistence from his parents on whom he has just demand, and if the society do not want his labour, has no claim of right to the smallest portion of food, and, in fact, has no business to be where he is.

 Malthus considered poverty to be a natural occurrence, created because population growth was higher than food production; gains in productivity would be eroded by population growth. What Malthus did not consider, however, was increases in technological efficiency which produced more food per head of population, and restrictions on population growth primarily through improvements in contraception[3].

For many, this debate was decided by the progress made by the Green Revolution in the 1970s, in which the use of technology raised food productivity above that demanded by population growth. Yet, as the possibility of the total exploitation of global resources becomes a possibility and global population rates continue to increase, now is not a time to forget Malthus’ warning, although we may do well to reject his conservative politics. Indeed, these politics – once dismissed by the light of modernism – may also return in the case of quasi-apocalyptic collapse. Perhaps we do not have to go that far. As surplus populations develop in less fortunate areas of the world and the wealthiest nations increasingly look to obtain resources from lands other than their own – China’s purchasing of large plots of land in Africa in order to grow crops for domestic purposes is an example (Smith, 2009) – population pressure upon resources appears to be the most apparent source of misery.

It is this surplus population that is the ultimate rejoinder to the likes of Sachs. If the carrying capacity of the planet provides an external limitation to the progress of capital, then these excessive populations suggest an imminent contradiction, one that shall be at the heart of the argumentation in this thesis. It is this population, a surplus of labour, to which we now turn.

 Surplus Labour

For Marx, exploitation occurs because of the structural relationship between capital and labour, embodied in the wage-labour system. This structure can only operate under the conditions of an excessive over-supply of workers. That is, capitalism operates as a system of private property where the vast majority are not able to own the means of production and thus, without these means – without the ability and resources to materially reproduce their own conditions of living – are forced to sell their labour power[4] (Wood, 2004: 246). Indeed, the worker generally benefits more from employment than the capitalist – within capitalism, the only thing worse than being exploited is not being exploited (Robinson in Munck, 2000: 142). Where the worker risks starvation, and ultimately death, the capitalist is set to lose only a small amount of profit and can easily replace the worker (Wood, 2004: 135-136). Thus, in order for the capitalist wage-labour system to operate, an excess of workers must exist such that the threat of losing one’s job remains; without the existence of a minimum wage, wages prices are driven down by the excess of willing workers.

Liberal political discourse tends to conceive of the extreme poverty of these excess workers as being caused by their non-inclusion within capitalism. Sachs, for example, particularly in his previous work (2005a), is expressly concerned with the plight of the most materially deprived but does not consider this population to be part of global capitalism. In line with the strictly analytic philosophical logic which informs his work, Sachs argues that because wealthy Western nations have followed a market logic, the same logic will apply to all nations. Poverty is not caused by capitalism but, rather, by exclusion from capitalism. That capitalism could be responsible for both corpulent wealth and miserable poverty is not a conclusion available to Sachs, who misreads Marxism[5] to the extent that the idea of such a ‘reading’ appears far-fetched[6].

That, however, is the exactly the conclusion taken here. Following the brief Marxist analysis suggested above, poverty is considered to be intimately related to market relations. The labouring – or unwanted labouring – populations of the world are not strictly excluded from capitalism. Rather, they constitute the wage-labour system. Nonetheless, this necessary positioning cannot be acknowledged within the ideology of justice that informs the Western world: an ideology that suggests that one’s fate depends on personal effort rather than circumstance. A recognition that Western wealth is openly constituted upon the exploitation, suffering and horrifically slow and regular death of those whose labour is considered to be surplus, is too traumatic a conclusion to be reached for the delicate, if cynical, sensibilities of the post-enlightenment subject. Surplus labour thus speaks to a sense of exclusion that we shall consider to be best understood by a psychoanalytic discourse and, in particular, the Lacanian term ‘extimacy’, and Žižek’s conception of universality.

Surplus labour is thus the principle symptomatic contradiction of global capitalism. This contradiction has been kept at bay through various ideological displacements which either seek to position absolute global poverty as a contingent aberration caused by faulty application of market principles, or a local error produced by corrupt individuals or lazy governance. Mediated by charitable endeavours, the contradiction between wealth and poverty within our increasingly ‘globalised’ society has been kept from the developed mind by geographical distance.

Globally the working class has been subject to a large geographical shift, whereby 80% of what could be regarded as the Marxist Proletariat now exists outside of Western nations (Davis, 2006: 13). Western multi-nationals have moved their production operations to countries whose labour force had previously been regarded as outside of the global economy, relocating in search of reduced costs, lower wages, and more relaxed labour laws. This move has produced an ideological split within capitalism. If much has been made of the move to a different stage of capitalism, from an industrial to a post-industrial society characterised by branding, consumerism and finance capital, the working class has not disappeared – it has merely been placed outside of the hegemonic Western gaze.

It is also worth considering the current capitalist dynamic that is creating a ‘Third world’ underclass within developed western countries, particularly nations that have installed neo-liberal economic policies[7]. Such a dynamic has been explored in detail in developing countries. Here, the economies of Brazil, China and India are developing rapidly but this development is subject to substantial income inequality (Guanghua, 2008; Heshmatic, 2007). While this inequality was already stark, particularly in Brazil and India, differences are becoming more noticeable as the benefits of development accrue to only a portion of the population.

Predominately framed in terms of ‘human-rights’ violations or a failure of welfare systems and development assistance, such stark national inequality has generally been the source of both disdain and pity in the West. However, the same trend of increasing inequality can also be observed in many of the wealthiest nations. The United States is perhaps the strongest such example. Here poverty, particularly if measured in terms of health and education standards rather than consumed calories, is reaching Third World levels (see Burd-Sharps, Lewis, & Borges Martins, 2008).

The outsourcing of the working class, along with other reforms, has generated large pockets of surplus labour located in urban slums within the developing world. This development has occurred following what might be termed the second expansion of capitalism – the first being the colonisation achieved by European empires – occurred via the ‘soft’ colonisation of the Bretton Woods institutions, the IMF and the World Bank. Although established soon after the Second World War, these institutions only turned their interest to the Third world in the mid-late 1970s[8]. During this time, World Bank ‘urban lending’ increased from US$10 million in 1972 to US$2 billion in 1988 (Davis, 2006: 70). The results of these Structural Adjustment Programmes (SAPs) have been mixed in the extreme. Some regions have experienced remarkable economic growth which has brought millions out of poverty. At the same time, however, even within these high-growth nations, inequality and suffering has become more extreme. India, for example, one of the shining lights of the SAPs, achieved 6% growth throughout the 1990s, yet the poor are experiencing arguably the worst conditions since independence, with 56 million new paupers on the streets during this time (ibid.: 171)[9].

Contrary to Sachs’ contention that it is only when agricultural surpluses are high that urban populations develop (2008:26), these urban slums are, in the terms of American urban theorist, Mike Davis, a “surplus-humanity”, built not from economic opportunity but, rather, a lack of it. The most edifying image of this excess humanity is the ‘City of the Dead’, the slum dwellers who have made their home within the tombs of Cairo. This surplus population, what Manual Castells has labelled the ‘Fourth world’ (2000: 68), has developed with the mass urbanisation of the poor. Unlike previous urbanisations, this form has been decoupled from industrialisation. Instead, in a condition in which the US Central Intelligence Agency (2002) reports that a full third of the world’s workforce was unemployed in the 1990s, a massive informal economy has developed that does not create jobs but, rather, subdivides existing opportunities (Davis, 2006: 199).

The nexus of these developments is the political dilemmas provided by illegal immigration. The central geographical centres of the Western world – Europe, North America and Australasia – are increasingly beset by difficulties associated with illegal immigration. Europe has inadvertently encouraged migration as the creation of the European Union, and in particular the admission of poorer Eastern European states, has allowed for the free movement of labour across the continent. Moreover, the development of massive urban slums along the North-Western coast line of Africa has made (illegal) immigration into Southern Europe an increasingly appealing prospect.

North America, too, faces a longstanding battle to define who has the rights to citizenship as illegal immigrants attempt to enter the ‘land of the free’ from Central America and the Caribbean. These ‘aliens’ have become an established sector of the American population, blending in with a healthy legal immigrant population. Indeed, alien labour forms the backdrop of the United States economy as it supplies domestic labour at Third World rates, allowing the US agricultural industry[10] to compete globally. Alien labour also proliferates through the low-skilled service industry.

Australasia, particularly Australia but also New Zealand[11], is beginning to experience its own issues with illegal migration. Australia, certainly since the Second World War, has benefited from large immigrant populations from the Mediterranean and Europe. Increasingly, however, immigrants have attempted to illegally enter Australia from South-Eastern Asia, in particular from Indonesia. Making the treacherous open ocean journey, these ‘boat people’ have created consideration political consternation in Australia as they were first tragically turned away, and then with a change of government, ushered to off-shore islands for ‘processing’ that has been of a troublingly totalitarian variety.

With the dilemmas of illegal immigration, as the Third World comes to the West, the contradictions of capitalism and surplus labour become more apparent. Add to this the cultural anxiety which comes with the obdurate presence of the Other and illegal immigration becomes the hotspot for the disavowed foundations of capitalism – surplus labour – to meet their maker. How this might occur will be the focus of the latter sections of the thesis. For now, however, it is enough to establish that capitalism requires a surplus of labour which is, however, excluded both socially and economically. This analysis suggests that material deprivation is not an innocent consequence of the capitalist empire but an intrinsic characteristic of that empire.

At this point in our introductory treatise, I have established the problem to which this thesis is directed, that of the unsustainability of the global economy and the existence of a materially subjugated surplus of labour. Moreover, I have established two limitations upon the capacity of capital to respond to this problematic. The scale of economic activity as determined by population and economic growth is causing unsustainable pressure upon the environment and produces an external limit to the expansion of capital. In terms of poverty, capital requires an excess of partially excluded labour in order to function efficiently. As such, under the reign of global capitalism, the living standards of the poorest residents of the planet cannot be meaningfully increased because of both environmental restrictions and the nature of the wage-labour system – ergo, poverty and climate change cannot be solved within capitalism. To this end surplus labour, and the economic growth which is the central cause of environmental degradation, are constitutive elements of capitalism. For this reason, any attempt to seriously respond to the challenge of global sustainability must begin to think beyond the horizon of capital. This may not be a utopian society but it does require a utopian demand for change.

Liberal capitalism is unable to conceive of either sense of utopia. Instead, pragmatic and incremental solutions to problems which are beyond partial measures are in vogue. Emblematic here is Singer’s position towards to charity: if you have money to spend on things that you do not strictly require and this money can help others in need, then you are morally obligated to do so. Such solutions may have a positive effect upon the lives of many, as would the development of infrastructure and educational capabilities in the poorer regions of the world. Undoubtedly, for the global economy to operate sustainably within the limitations of the planet, new forms of technology are required if large portions of humanity are going to rise out of the most extreme poverty. Furthermore, if change is to occur, then a radically different attitude to the right to consume and globally equality is required, as Singer advocates. We should not stop recycling because it is not the ultimate cure, although we would do well to understand the ideological side effects of this behaviour[12]. Moreover, reductions in population growth are perhaps the most straight-forward solution to this problematic. Ultimately, however, what is foreclosed by these pragmatic approaches is a consideration of the interconnectedness of politics and economy. As Eagleton suggests in this vein, today it is “hard nosed pragmatists who are the dewy-eyed dreamers, not the wild-haired leftists. They are really just sentimentalists of the status quo” (Eagleton, 2003: 180).

Nonetheless, when it comes to building a just society, change will be material, patient and pragmatic: there is no utopian wand that can renew the world in a week. The problem is not with the solutions, it is with the horizon under which they have arisen, a horizon which means these solutions cannot effect changes of the scale required. It is feasible, for instance, that malaria could be wiped out in developing nations, saving millions of lives. The tragedy, however, is that we are unlikely to be able to support these lives. The ultimate inconvenient truth is that malaria, AIDS and similar plagues upon humanity actually help to manage the global scale of the economy. Ending these diseases would only add to the already bulging surplus of humanity currently suffering on this earth. In facing up to these glum truths about the limitations of the capitalist form of political economy, it is apparent that if we are to continue to have a sense of ourselves as ‘good’ animals, then a move beyond capital is necessary[13].

Politics and the Political

In this thesis, I shall argue that what is required today is a return to history through a fundamental questioning of the horizon of global capitalism and a consideration of the political foundations of politics. This call does not arise abstractly but, rather, from the circumstances in which we find ourselves. It is largely because our current conceptions of the material contradictions facing humanity are inadequate that we simply have no way of responding adequately to the challenges of the global economy within the horizon set by that economy. It is this very impossibility of action which urges us to imagine a new world. This thesis resolves itself to consider the circumstances under which a new world might not only be imagined but that might come into being through a rehabilitation of the disavowed political dimension of global capitalism – that is, surplus labour.

The task of this thesis is not to take issue with the science of global sustainability, nor to construct more feasible policy responses. This is not a ‘How to improve the world one day at a time’ style guide. Instead, our task is to examine how, or rather what, it means to respond to the question of global sustainability under the reign of 21st century capitalism. My response begins with a number of assumptions. The first is that problems associated with the creation of a genuinely just and reproducible global economy are real and worth responding to. Secondly, as established above, there is no possible solution within capitalism. Instead, the problems to which we respond, in particular environmental degradation and poverty, are constitutive of capitalism. On the other hand, if our response must be other than capitalism, the Left is bereft of ideas: Margaret Thatcher was right, there is no alternative. We cannot innocently reoccupy an old-style essentialism that once characterised Leftist radicalism, nor rely on either the administrative approach that characterises Leftist politics today, as typified by the now out of fashion ‘Third way’.

This thesis will bring back the proper dimension of political economy but not in the sense of any alternative empirical proposal. As such, in rejecting the pragmatism of the likes of Sachs and Singer, we have converted a practical and material problem into a theoretical one. The exigencies of natural science are replaced by the troubles of Western Marxism. What we need now is not a rush to activity, frantically attempting to save the hand that holds us down but, rather, a fundamental reconsideration of our horizon and the opportunities for radical action within it. This thesis seeks to identify a new way of thinking about these problems through a turn to theory. We do not use theory here in a sense divorced from materiality but, rather like Marx, as a political force in itself (Eagleton, 1997: 49). This diagnosis, in turn, will generate the possibilities of different responses quite opposed to those suggested by Sachs, Singer and other such thinkers. It is, in a sense, the return of the repressed of capitalism; the return of political economy.

Returning to Marxism

Today, a restoration of the dimension of history is required to de-naturalise capitalism and its political supplement, liberal democracy. Despite the increasingly apparent material contractions of global capitalism, as well as the breakdown of scarcity through the digitalisation of intellectual private property and the destabilising of existing forms of political authority, the political Left remains impotent. At best, it offers a softening of the injustices of capitalism. If ‘What is to be done?’ was the proto-typical Leftist question, at least for those able to bear the presence of Lenin (see Žižek, 2002b), today those who cannot bear such a presence appear to be reduced to asking ‘How can we help?’

The 20th century witnessed, first, the theoretical defeat of Marxism, as capitalism continued to flourish, and then its political fall as many actually-existing socialist movements collapsed at the end of the century. This defeat saw the development of a hegemonic movement that focused on culture and language, rather than the economy, seeking at first to expand Marxism’s explanatory appeal but ending up with the dismissal of the idea of emancipation entirely.

In its normative idiom, Marxism expresses a concern for the dispossessed and wretched of this earth. Moreover, it provides a critical explanation of the cause of this suffering beyond mere aberration, meta-physical theism, or personal failings. For this reason, in responding to the plight of those whose labour power is structurally excluded and to the need for an environmentally sustainable form of economy, it is to Marxist discourse that I turn. Marxism, however, as a political cause well divorced from Marx himself[14], has largely been defeated as a political movement. Moreover, Marxist thought has been threatened and over-run by an ontology which suggests that language – the system of signifiers – mediates our access to ‘reality’. Indeed, this reality comes to be constituted in language itself such that the status of the ‘referent’ outside of language becomes a point of debate.

Beyond mere academic quibbling, this move has had overwhelming consequences for Marxism and politics in regards to the social conditions of the dispossessed. If language is differentially referential – it is not tied to an anchor which would fix meaning in some transcendental sense – then the range of possible explanations of our social world change. No longer can we rely upon descriptions of political performance which depend upon essentialist or deterministic readings of causality, at least in the same innocent sense in which they were once deployed. If the determinism evident in the historical materialist conception of the predestined progress of the mode of production is no longer valid, it has been unclear what would take its place both in regards to the description of the economy and the prescription of what would follow (including both the mode of transition from capitalism and the form of society to follow).

Moreover, as global capitalism spread, becoming the unremarked upon background of all social life, totalising expressions became unnecessary as capital filled the (disavowed) place of meta-physical determinism. In a world in which the catch-cry of rebellious youth remains ‘whatever’, the only essentialism required is the assumed solidity of that which appears to exist. For those who cannot find certainty in this ignorance, it is religion rather than political essentialism that often provides the necessary suture. Moreover, if morality is not held absolutely, then the door to relativity is ominously held open. Without a transcendental signifier that provided the basis for normativity, there has appeared to be little reason for anything other than an nihilistic ethics of contingency or a position of administrative accommodation. Western Marxism has became a search for an alternative foundation or a reading of foundationalism that took into account the ontological primacy of the signifier[15]. With this turn, however, came postmodernity and an eventual celebration of the very ethical contingency the cultural rethinking of Marxism had sought to avoid.

The problem of Marxism, as Australian social theorist Matthew Sharpe (2004: 11) suggests, involves an interaction between a prescriptive and descriptive element. Western Marxism, apropos critical theory, has been largely formulated as an attempt to understand both the continuation and expansion of global capitalism and the failure of states that had been orientated by reference to Marxism. In this sense, Western Marxism turned to culture and readings of culture that were being inspired by the turn to language within social theory. In doing so, however, Sharpe suggests that the Critical-Western reading of Marxism has devolved into ‘total critique’ by which Marxism has come to understand capitalism in such a way that any possibility for action is dismissed (ibid.: 12). As part of this process, the political, and prescriptive element of Marxism has been largely abandoned. Without a political home to return to, ‘Marxism after the signifier’ has become decidedly impotent, offering little more than a continual critique of capitalism with only an assumed sense of ethics and politics. If Marxism opposes capitalism on behalf of the worker, without the transcendental anchor provided by historical materialism, both the ethical basis upon which it does so and the political formation which would serve its demands, are unclear.

In response to the disappointments of Marxism the Left has been split – in terms of academia, of politics and ideology – between either the quest for a non-political economy which relies upon administrated devices which are assumed to be neutral (Sachs being the primary embodiment of this position) or a withdrawal from the field of the productive economy altogether, as has been characterised by theoretical concerns with postmodernity. At best, this latter form of political thought remains within the realm of politics as is the case in some of the more critical forms of late modernity. At worst, the withdrawal from the economy leads only to an uncritical form of cultural studies that refuses to come to any evaluative stance on matters of political economy, least it be accused of being universalist in its aspirations. Postmodernity may display a sense of ethics but it is far divorced from the feeble demands of the hungry. It is as if, without Marxism, politics and economy can no longer be held together at the same time; as if there exists an impossible element whose absent presence prevents a fusion[16].

If the Left is to begin to respond to the task of reacting to the contradictions of the global economy then it must begin to return to the question of economy and Marxism. It cannot return innocently, however. Past alternative essentialist attempts to grasp the ‘Truth’ that were based around a utopian fantasy – communist, socialist, and fascist – have resulted in deplorable exclusionary violence in the name of political purity; a violence arguably worse than that experienced today in global capitalism.

Nonetheless, as Žižek has come to argue, the disavowal of violence is part of the rejection of radical politics itself (Žižek, 2008b). We are no longer willing to get our hands dirty he suggests, refusing to acknowledge that political change itself is a form of violence. Emblematic of this failure is the sanitised protests of the ‘Red Shirts’ in Thailand during 2010. Protesting outside the office of the Prime Minister, the Red Shirts organised themselves to ‘donate’ blood in medical tents before tipping this blood on the steps of the building (Powell, 2010). Such an act was supposed to symbolise the protestors willingness to spill their own blood but inadvertently represents our apparently shared unwillingness to engage in political violence today. Whether the spontaneous spilling of blood would have been beneficial to their particular cause is a moot point – their protest instead stands as an example of political practice today.

As a reaction to the failure of Marxism, the Left has become dominated by a re-reading of Marxism which has sought both to avoid these excesses and restore its explanatory insights in light of the persistence of capitalism. It is in this context that the turn to culture and eventually the question of language has occurred. This integration of Marxism and continental philosophy has led to some interesting theoretical reflections but also to a poverty of politics. Most particularly, it has changed our understanding of what it means to do politics. The move has turned upon a philosophical reflection upon the ‘politics of the political’(see Daly, 2009) rather than any direct intervention on the streets. This loss has come through a turn to culture, rather than the economy, as an explanatory force. Ultimately, it has led to the primacy of the signifier and the postmodern turn. What began as an innocent attempt to rethink Marxism and ended up with the politics of Warhol has meant that both the essentialism of the Marxist class narrative, along with its offer of emancipation, have come to be no longer viable. Lessons were learned but the focus on the particularity of cultural expression is embarrassingly inappropriate in an era of the ‘Star Wars’ defence system, mass famine, and apparent allure of Rodeo drive.

The wilting of the Marxist influence has left capitalism as the only viable form, and interpretation, of political economy. As a consequence of critique of the essentialist leanings of traditional Marxism, the Left has withdrawn from the economic altogether as if the only way one could conceive of economic analysis was through an essentialist lens. Moreover, without the political essentialism that characterised the Marxist project, the idea of Left emancipatory politics has become homeless. Those who still cling to such a mode of analysis ideal appear as either sad veterans unable to keep up with the times or idealistic lunatics.

Although not articulated in these terms, a number of theorists have attempted, against the grain of postmodern plurality, to reconsider the prospects of universality and Truth in relation to Marxism after the turn to language. The most seminal of these attempts stems from Ernesto Laclau, initially in conjunction with Chantal Mouffe. In their breakthrough text Hegemony and Socialist Strategy (1985), Laclau and Mouffe attempt to re-read Marxism and socialism ‘beyond the positivity of the social’ and the turn to language. Here all links to essentialism are dropped – except the primacy of language – as Marxism becomes little more than an interpretative tradition. Nonetheless, by returning to the question of universality in response to the particularism of cultural identity politics, Laclau and Mouffe’s work remains a decisive theoretical event.

This new, post-Marxist, horizon has come at a cost, however, as the materialist politics of class struggle were dropped in favour of the contingency of hegemony and the battle to hold the empty place of the democratic signifier. Whilst Laclau and Mouffe’s work proved to be a significant advance over previous forms of Marxism because of their restoration of the concept of universality[17], it also banished both the question of materialism and class struggle in favour of contingency and democracy. Whilst the title of the text suggested a revival of socialism, it was democracy that held the transcendental position for Laclau and Mouffe[18].

This thesis builds on the same question as that which troubled Laclau and Mouffe: the prospects for Marxism after the turn to language. In a sense[19], this thesis attempts to rework Laclau and Mouffe’s project in light of the material contradictions of capitalism. Here, in responding to the economic problematic mapped out thus far, the thesis has cause to diverge from Laclau and Mouffe’s project in a number of important respects.

First, it turns to psychoanalysis as an explanatory device, arguing that Laclau’s discourse theory does not adequately explain the fixity of language. By reference to psychoanalysis – embodying the discursive turn as being an effect of symbolic castration rather than of differential contingency – and, in particular, the categories of jouissance and the Real, we are better positioned to understand the appeal of capitalism and character of the difficulties associated with bringing about a fatal disruption to its operation. Moreover, I seek to return to the matter of political economy and the question of class struggle. This turn is entirely situated by the positioning of the thesis as a response to contradictions in the global economy; in order to contend with these issues, we must consider the nature of exploitation and the structure of the economy.

The return to materialism and to class struggle in Marxism is informed by Žižek’s reading of psychoanalysis, rather than Laclau. This response – as will evolve from my construction of Žižek’s work throughout the project – is not prescriptive but, rather, challenges our conception of the liberal politics that might be considered to be an adequate response to the challenge of global sustainability. What is required is a restoration of the critical and emancipatory edge of Marxist theory, along with a rethinking of the notion of universality. It is psychoanalysis which has been able to get closest to achieving this task, particularly when psychoanalysis is viewed through a Žižekian lens.

Adopting Žižek’s work in critique of global capitalism and the discourse of the Millennium Goals has not been a straightforward decision. Žižek embodies many of the difficulties associated with both Marxism and postmodernity. That said, salient in this regard is his avoidance of the positivism associated with the likes of Sachs, and his refusal to implicitly accept the horizon provided by capitalism and liberal democracy is highly productive for my purposes. Instead, at a time in which humanity is plagued by horrific problems to which capitalism has but limited responses, Žižek asks that we risk a withdrawal from activity into a theoretical rethinking of our horizon. In this sense, his work appears to fit in the same category as those readings of Western Marxism which have sought to reengage the descriptive dimension of Marxism without reference to a prescriptive politics. Indeed, this is the central critique of Žižek’s work – that he produces a reading of capitalism and politics which, although intriguing, leads to a political deadlock and ultimate conservatism (Robinson & Tormey, 2005: 102).

Whilst this criticism has a certain validity – Žižek offers nothing like a restored sense of normativity or party politics that would revive the saliency of Marxist politics – his work rethinks the entirely of what it means to practice Marxist politics in the 21st Century. Not only does Žižek’s reject both past Leftist essentialist positions and the contemporary ethics of contingency associated with the likes of Derrida and Laclau but he refuses to posit any substantive alternative. Although his critics argue that Žižek is thereby not far divorced from conservativism – acknowledging the irretractability of the symptoms of capital with positing any alternative – Žižek comes to argue that the shape of his (radical) politics is an historically appropriate response to the deadlock that characterises global capitalism. 

In taking this position, Žižek’s commitment to Lacanian theory defines his politics. Psychoanalysis, first through Freud and then Lacan, has been a major influence in the turn to culture and language which has redefined Marxism and the Left. In doing so, it has come to represent the difficulties with this turn; whilst the Lacanian interpretation of Marxism has reinvented the meaning of epistemological validity within that field, no further sense of politics has developed.

In an associated manner psychoanalytic discussion has been animated by discussion around the collective ethics and/or politics (Bellamy, 1993, Daly, 1999, Glynos, 2001b, Homer, 1996, Robinson and Tormey, 2005, 2006, Stavrakakis, 1999, 2007, Zupančič, 2000). Whilst these discussions have led to several philosophical advances in politics, or what British political theorist Glyn Daly (2009) calls the ‘politics of the political’, no stable political frontier has emerged. Moreover, Žižek’s Lacanian reading of the political rejects any possibility of advancing a Lacanian ideal of shared social life; such an ideal stands in contradistinction to Lacan’s own work on ethics.

Instead, what Žižek’s work offers – through a combination of Lacan, Marx, and German Idealism – is a critical consideration of the political within 21st century capitalism. Nonetheless, Žižek’s work does not lend itself to a singular approach. Instead it produces a number of strategic alternatives. It does so in relation to a singular conception of ontology based around the operation of the Lacanian Real. It is these alternatives that are the ultimate subject of this thesis, as I come to consider the possibility of a radical Leftist response to the contradictions of the global economy from within Žižek’s work.

Yet, although there are no readily apparent substantive modes of political that stem from Žižek’s work, this does not mean his work is impotent or conservative. Instead, through a strategic approach which seeks to unveil the disavowed foundations of global capitalism – most notably surplus labour – and hold this point in tension with the ideology which excludes it, Žižek’s approach suggests a possible approach to disrupting the progress of capitalism. This disruption is not merely critical or negative, although it does not seek to produce an alternative horizon for shared social life. Instead, by reference to the inherent impossibilities within global capitalism itself, the question of a utopian imaginary – in particular around what Žižek’s calls the ‘communist hypothesis’ – is rejuvenated. The utopia of the communist hypothesis is not a fantasmatic utopia but, rather, the utopian urge that occurs when we are forced to reimagine a new way of being, as has been suggested by literary theorist, Fredric Jameson (2005, 2009). That is, if capitalism is unable to integrate surplus labour within its horizon, nor reduce the scale of economic activity, our response should not be to formally construct new modes of being but, rather, to insist on the embodied presence of this impossibility in order to force open space for a reinvention of shared social life.

The question of this thesis, therefore, can be represented as being; ‘After the turn to language, in what way can Marxist theory respond to the material deprivations and contradictions which are symptomatic of global capitalism? In responding to this question, I shall primarily consider the work of Žižek as a post-Marxist, discussing the role of psychoanalysis in the political through an understanding of Lacanian ethics and its translation in political practice. Psychoanalysis shall be analysed as a form of politics, giving consideration to the possibilities of Leftist political practice in the 21st century.

Ultimately, this thesis presents Žižek’s work as a response to the contradictions of global capitalism. In response to the pragmatism of the likes of Sachs, of Laclau’s post-Marxism, and of critics who have argued that Žižek’s unwillingness or inability to reimagine shared social life outside of capitalism makes his work conservative, I argue that Žižek provides a particularly effective form of politics at this point in history. These politics are formed by a dialectical strategic approach which insists upon the intrusion of the disavowed foundations of global capitalism, as well as a utopian energy for change embodied by the communist hypothesis. This reading of Žižek’s work may not satisfy his critics but it may just provide the most hope for the future and the hungry of this world.

The Shape of Things to Come

This task begins with a reconsideration of the losses and gains in Marxism ‘after the signifier’. In Chapter Two I argue that the move which began with a consideration of culture as a supplement to the determinism of Marx’s conception of the economy has ended with a brand of postmodernity which has lost its critical and emancipatory drive. The critique of essentialism and the universality of the grand narrative has been necessary but has robbed Marxism of its ability to respond to the contradictions of the global economy. Conversely, towards the end of the 20th century, new thinking emerged around the prospect of an anti-foundationalist politics which was not reduced to the particular. Most prominently, Ernesto Laclau (in initial association with Chantal Mouffe) produced a re-reading of Marxism through the lens of discourse theory. Laclau’s post-Marxism has become a hegemonic point of analysis, in particular around his conception of radical democracy. Yet, whilst Laclau has been able to productively respond to the problem of Marxist essentialism after the turn to language, this has come at the cost of materialism and of class struggle as the kernel of the economy.

In Chapter Three, I will consider how these elements might be restored through a discussion of the foundations of Lacanian psychoanalysis; the dialectics of lack and excess in terms of the Real and jouissance. The purpose of this chapter is to consider the manner in which Lacanian psychoanalysis has produced a response to the turn to language and the challenge of postmodernity. It ends with a discussion of the confluence between psychoanalysis and Marxism in the homology Lacan identified between surplus-jouissance and surplus-value. Such a homology reveals how Lacanian theory constructs the inadequacies of the traditional Marxist approach to politics yet is unable to produce a politics of its own.

Following the overt rejection of Marxist essentialism, in Chapter Four I examine psychoanalytic approaches to politics. This exploration begins with a critique of psychoanalysis and ethics, from Freud’s Civilisation and its Discontents through to the changes in Lacan’s conception of an ethical approach. Through this journey, which includes a discussion of Slovenian philosopher Alenka Zupančič’s re-reading of the Kantian categorical imperative, I come to suggest that psychoanalytic ethics falls prey to many of the dilemmas of the practice of postmodern political practice, offering little hope for the hungry and in apparent contradiction with the positivist vision of Marxist communism.

Like Marxism, however, psychoanalysis cannot simply be dismissed. In Chapter Five I further examine the possibilities of psychoanalytic practice through a discussion of the relationship between (psychoanalytic) ethics and politics. This chapter moves through the work of Greek political theorist Yannis Stavrakakis on radical democracy, rejecting it on the basis that it is not only a mis-reading of Lacanian theory but also over-privileges democracy and ethics. Ultimately psychoanalytic politics in this form does not provide a cogent response to capitalism because it does not consider the shape of the economy itself.

This is the task set in Chapter Six. Here, I posit that capitalism operates as a form of meta-hegemony, determining in advance the political battles against which Laclau’s notion of hegemony is set. Because of this dominance, any possible political activity within the horizon of capitalism can only reproduce that horizon. For this reason, a political response to the contradictions of global capitalism should not posit an alternative mode of production but instead reveal the impossibilities within the current mode. Through a discussion of the ‘impossibility of class struggle’, and the alternatives posited by both Yahya Madra and Ceren Özselcuk, and Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri, I come to suggest that it is the extimate presence of surplus labour which holds the key to disrupting capitalism and producing undetermined political spaces.

In Chapter Seven I consider the various political positions that have emerged through Žižek’s work. These are presented not in terms of chronological development but, rather, as a number of strategic positions each of which has the potential to destabilise existing ideological formations. Critically considering each of these strategies in terms of their capacities to offer a response to the challenge of surplus labour – including ‘the act’, ‘subtractive politics’ and the ‘practice of concrete universality’ – I suggest that it is the practice of concrete universality which proves the most fertile. This strategy – as part of Žižek’s re-reading of universality – is best able to identify and mobilise the disavowed foundation around which global capitalism is founded. Most notably, it is able to restore the dimension of the political and class struggle.

The practice of concrete universality, however, remains a negative position, one that is limited to critique. Chapter Eight expands upon such a strategy by reference to Žižek’s recent reference to Alain Badiou’s notion of a ‘communist hypothesis’(see Badiou, 2008) , along with the utopian demand inherent in this reference. Proceeding through Jameson’s reading of utopia, Žižek’s notion of the communist hypothesis, combined with the practice of concrete universality in class struggle, appears the most productive in the face of the dominance of capitalism. Most importantly it appears to be a feasible and industrious response to the pressing contradictions of the global economy. The question remains, however, of the shape of the future and the relationship between Marxism and political approaches which take reference from the negative ontology which stems from the turn to language.


[1] This thesis does not go into detail in regards to the structure of a capitalist economy that would be considered sustainable – its purpose is to reveal the unsustainability of capital.

[2] Unsurprisingly, little progress has been made towards these goals (see United Nations, 2009a)

[3] We can note that Malthus work – and much of that of his time – does not fit under the normative impulse that constitutes this thesis; that we should be concerned with the plight of the hungry.

[4] As British literary theorist Terry Eagleton (2003: 42) reminds us, the pre-Marxist conception of the proletariat was those who were too poor to own property so served the state by way of producing children to add to the labour force; the proletariat are “those who have nothing to give but their bodies”. 

[5]To quote Sachs; ‘Note that the focus on technological improvements is starkly different from the failed Marxist notion that the rich are rich because they successfully exploit the poor. If the rich get rich only because the poor get exploited, then world income would be roughly constant, and all of the economic action would be about the distribution of a given level of economic output. That, indeed, is what Marx had in mind” (2008: 206).

[6] Indeed, Sachs appears entirely reluctant to evoke Marx’s name. He describes Charles Dickens and Friedrich Engels as having best represented the harshness of the first century of industrialisation (Sachs, 2008: 4).

[7] Neo-liberalism has often become the target of otherwise anti-capitalist critique. Certainly, other, more socially democratic forms of capitalism, may domestically mediate more effectively against some of the more damaging elements of capitalism. In terms of global issues, however, such as poverty or climate change, there is little difference between modalities of capitalism.

[8] At the same time, the ‘Green Revolution’ brought technological advances to the third world. Whilst this was ideologically conceived as a means of creating more food, the ultimate result was the creation of a global food system, situating food as a global commodity and securing a food supply for the United States (Ross, 1998:139).

[9] Moreover, the ultimate effects of what the IMF called ‘the great recession’ upon these developing nations are still to be processed

[10] Substantive government subsidies also supplement the supply of cheap labour.

[11] New Zealand, in particular in its largest city of Auckland, has the biggest Polynesian population in the world. This population developed from government policy in the 1950s which strongly encouraged the importation of cheap Pacific Island labour to supplement New Zealand’s almost fully employed workforce. When the economy started to struggle, however, their labour was no longer in supply and a larger underclass began to develop. This underclass remains today although Polynesian culture is well integrated within mainstream urban society.

[12] We might, for example, conceive recycling as the ultimate capitalist fantasty, an attempt to reintegrate its own remainder.

[13] What remains unclear is the kind of mode of production which would not reproduce these difficulties. We shall respond to this omission throughout the thesis.

[14]This is not to suggest that there is a ‘pure’ Marx that we might be able to return to.

[15] As we shall expand upon in the following chapter, the relationship between Marxism and normativity is a difficult one. Whilst Marx held to a deterministic sense of history which assured a communist future, he regarded morality to be little more than an element of the ruling ideology. Nonetheless, subsequent applications of Marxism have held to a more morally absolute interpretation of communism.

[16] As we shall see later, Žižek labels this impossibility ‘class struggle’.

[17] Laclau and Mouffe read the universal not as an a priori essentialism but, rather, an empty placeholder to be held by any number of competing particular elements in the battle for hegemony. The universal is thus necessary but impossible. This debate shall be taken in significant detail in Chapter Two.

[18] As we shall consider in Chapter Four, Laclau himself has diverged from radical democracy in his most recent work, in favour of populism.

[19] Although with a severe sense of humility in regards to the differing scale of the projects.

Marxism after the Signifier

Marxism has dominated Leftist political practice since its conception. Today, however, Marxism dominates predominately by virtue of its absence. Marxism has been dealt some traumatic blows, both intellectually and politically. Most noticeable in this regard has been the fall of ‘actually existing socialism’ following its symbolic death towards the end of the 20th century. This death has been accompanied by a loss of faith in the essentialist interpretations of history and/or the hope of there being a revolutionary subject. Without the presence of an actually existing communism, or hope of a revolutionary subject which might restore history, Marxism appears as dead as Fukuyama’s sense of history.

Marxism now exists only as passing reference to the bad old days, or, for some, the good old days of certainty. This break has been both ontological and political. The postmodern turn, with its associated focus on language and on particularity has been combined with the decline of communism and the increasingly resigned dispossession of the proletariat. Moreover, the events of 1968 – which simultaneously launched the start of a number of ‘new social movements’ and killed off the hopes of many a revolutionary – and of 1989, finally finished off Marxism as a political cause even if some outposts and out of fashion theorists, such as Žižek, did not get the message. These events, combined with the ‘turn to language’ that characterised the move towards postmodernity, meant that theorists could no longer speak of class struggle, of communism, and of the revolutionary subject, without an ironic smirk.

In this chapter we shall return the losses and gains for Marxism after its invasion by analytic concerns about the signifier. Rejecting the initial positivism of Marxism, we consider the ‘turn to language’ that has called into question the foundational fundamentals of Marxism. This discursive turn found a willing participant within Marxism itself as a way of explaining the failure of history to bring about its own consummation, and of the revolutionary subject to advance that progression. In doing so, Marxist theory moved away from the economy of historical materialism and into culture. What began as a supplement, however, has ended up colonising the entire approach such that the signifier ‘Marx’ appears to be no longer required in Leftist political practice.

Such a dismissal has been a major loss for global politics. The withdrawal from the universal and emancipatory dimension of Marxism has allowed for circumstances in which global capitalism has become more widely influential than any mode of politics in history. Today it seems the only feasible alternative to the market is a withdrawal into various religious fundamentalisms, themselves a reaction to the instability of capitalism and of its attendant social inequality.

While a move away from essentialism in favour of a focus on culture, on language, and on the politics of enjoyment might generally be applauded, the losses have been more significant. In particular forms of postmodern thought have sought to distance themselves from any sense of widespread emancipation, revolution and certainly any notion of the collective Good. Moreover, a gap has opened up between postmodernity and the economic. As a result, the Left – either in terms of the turn to postmodernity or in more administrative forms – has not been able to establish a critical sense of political economy and in particular politics after the discursive turn.

Towards the end of the 20th Century, however, Laclau’s re-reading of the Marxist category of hegemony offered the possibility of returning to the question of universality within the realm of discourse. Yet, although Laclau’s work provided a break from the flighty dominance of postmodern thought, his post-Marxism operates through a distancing of analysis from the economy. For Laclau and other post-Marxists, the economy was an element of discourse and thus could not be distinguished from the political. Whilst we might agree that the economy could not be anything but discursive, it is nonetheless vital to insist upon the role of the economy.

Two substantive consequences flow from Laclau’s conflation of politics and the economy. Firstly, he ends up largely ignoring the economy and capitalism in favour of democracy and the freedom provided by dislocations in the symbolic order. The materiality of class struggle or the suffering of bodies appears not to be on Laclau’s agenda. Secondly, Laclau reduces politics to discourse at the expense of materiality. Laclau’s ontology does not specify a driving source, as such, if language is only held together by reference to itself and politics is purely discursive, then fundamental political change should be relatively commonplace. If Laclau has rejected essentialism in favour of contingency, then political practices remain curiously stubborn.

In order to return to both the economy and materiality in Marxism, I turn to psychoanalysis, particularly Žižek’s Lacanian psychoanalysis. I find that although psychoanalysis and Marxism have a difficult relationship, the particularly Lacanian conception of language provides the possibility of restoring some of the traditional value of Marxism. Again, however, this comes at a cost as the potentially nihilistic failure of language to suture itself continues to haunt politics.

Positive Marxism

Marx’s work is often assumed to be the quintessential example of essentialism, from his grand explanation of the historical destiny of the working class to the inalienable good represented by communism. Certainly, much of postmodernity is built upon a rejection of this image. While we might acknowledge that Marx’s understanding of the essential direction of history might fit this image, ironically his conception of communism may have more in common with the postmodern rejection of abstract moralism. Nonetheless, the consequence of the turn to language has been a tendency to reject both the inevitability and scale of Marx’s theory of history, resulting in a breakdown in the political efficiency of Marxist politics.

Marx’s work was a fusion of description and prescription as he sought to develop a philosophy which changed what it sought to understand (Eagleton, 1997: 3). Marxism can be considered an ‘Emancipatory Philosophy’ which seeks to develop a relationship between epistemology and politics. Marx argued that an understanding of the contours of capitalism – particularly by the proletariat, who both suffer most from capitalism and are most able to act against it – would be enough to produce a revolutionary class transformation. Of course, knowledge does not bring change in the way Marxists imagined[1]. Indeed, much of the history of Marxism after Marx has considered why knowledge of exploitation under capitalism either remains hidden or has no effect upon those who are exploited – as we shall expand on throughout the remainder of this thesis, much of this explanatory duty has fallen to psychoanalysis.

Although Marx argued that historical change required a revolutionary subject rather than a teleological sense of itself, he very much relied upon a deterministic theory of history based around the materiality of production. This determinism can be represented by Marx’s supposed ‘base-superstructure’ model, through which he suggested that the mode of production came to determine political affairs. This model is based upon the following statement from Marx’s Preface to A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy;

In the social production of their life, men enter into definite relations that are indispensable and independent of their will, relations of production which correspond to a definite stage of development of their material productive forces. The sum total of these relations of production constitutes the economic structure of society, the real foundation, on which rises a legal and political superstructure and to which correspond definite forms of social consciousness. The mode of production of material life conditions the social, political and intellectual life process in general. It is not the consciousness of men that determines their being but on the contrary, their social being that determines their consciousness. (Marx & Engels, 1980: 11-12)

From this idea, Marx argued that all social change comes from contradictions in the form of the economy. As such, the revolutionary transformation from capitalism to socialism and finally communism would come from the proletariat as the revolutionary subject. In this sense the ‘superstructure’ only mediated against the material contradictions of the economy (Eagleton, 1997: 13).

Moreover, Marx conceived that the human essence could be derived from the materiality of production, production here being divorced from the strictly economic. If postmodernity – and later modernity to an extent – has rejected any sense of foundationalism, Marx argued that ‘species being’ is the material ground for the human condition (ibid.: 17). Species being embodies both Marx’s deterministic view of materiality and production but also his conflation of description and prescription. For Marx, species being – how we are – determines how we should be.

Species being, otherwise known as ‘species essence’ (depending on the translation of the German Gattungsewesen) attempts to capture the social yet materialised nature of the human condition. What is essential to our species being is the recognised interdependence of human beings, a social bond required by the necessity of material production (production here is not reduced to economy). Through the specialisation of labour which characterises production under capitalism, Marx argued that the worker is alienated from this human essence; communism would bring about the end of alienation.

There is, of course, much more to be said about Marx’s conception of human nature and the possibility of avoiding its alienation. It is not, however, my intention to do so in this project. Rather mu task here is to reveal the extent to which Marx attempted to anchor his work in the kind of foundational ground specifically rejected in postmodernity.

As well as Marx’s concept of human essence, postmodern discourses have sought to move away from both the grand narrative of history and the sense of morality which is presumed to prevail throughout Marxism. In terms of a grand narrative, Marx argued that history before communism (which he labels pre-history) has been the story of class struggle as the forces and relations of production come into contradiction. It is through this narrative that Marx explained what he conceived as the major epochs of history; from primitive communism or tribal production to ancient, feudal and finally the capitalist mode of production. Each revolution in production had been caused by a breakdown in the relationship between those that control production and those who produce. This process proceeds, according to Marx, by way of the ‘iron laws of history’. Nonetheless, history for Marx was not a teleological process; rather history proceeds through the embodied actions of man. For this reason, although Marx argued that the transformation from the capitalist to communism mode of production was inevitable, he relied upon the proletariat as the revolutionary subject which would realise their destiny through self-knowledge of their historical position.

Certainly, Marxism affirms a grand explanation of the existing but whether it offers a sense of morality beyond this is a matter for debate (see Brenkett, 1983; Rosen, 2000; Wood, 2004: 18). Eagleton (1997: 43) asserts that Marxism is not structured around an abstract idealism but, rather, a rejection of the apparent contradiction between the ideals of modernity and the practicalities of capitalism. Marx’s rejection of capitalism is not so much in the name of the full expression of species being under communism but, rather, the end of the contradiction within capitalism that, according to Eagleton; “In accumulating the greatest wealth that history has ever witnessed the capitalist class has done so within the context of social relations which have left most of its subordinates hungry, wretched and oppressed” (ibid.: 44).

Marx did not suggest that communism represented any sense of the ‘Good’. Indeed, he rejected abstract moral explanations, refusing to critique capitalism in these terms. Marx argued that morality was just the ideology by which the ruling elite justify the existing relations of production (Wood, 2004: 127-142). Morality was never abstract in the sense of being outside of history, consisting of idealistic laws and standards of behaviour but, rather, sprung from existing material conditions. By contrast to utopian socialists of his time, Marx did not specifically argue that the wage-labour system was an injustice but, rather, the only form of economic justice available within capitalism. Although he might have used the term ‘exploitation’ to describe the vulnerability of labour to capital that produces surplus-value and the conditions of the worker, he did not use this term pejoratively (see ibid.: 242-264).

Although Marx did not explicitly reference his critique of capitalism to an abstract moralism, there does appear to be a hidden morality implicit in his work. One does not implore people to ‘throw off their chains’ in the name of history alone. Not only is Marx’s work often full with depreciatory terms such as ‘Robbery’ and ‘Injustice’ but his understanding of the alienated subject of capitalism as at odds with their ‘species being’ implies an understanding of the Good, even if Marx was unwilling to prescribe it any further in his conception of communism. Moreover, statements like ‘from each according to their ability, to each according to their needs!’ from Marx’s Critique of the Gotha Program appear to be as much of a moral imperative as anything we might find in the likes of Kant. Indeed, the Communist Manifesto forms a very programmatic statement – written as it is for a specific political purpose – although it was one that was at odds with the general thrust of Marx’s work. Nonetheless, Marx certainly had a strong dislike for the contemporary order and an equally forceful commitment to the possibilities of the future. Even if Marx’s original work was not a discourse of morality, Marxism and the forms of communism which have followed cannot be considered in the same light[2]. If Marx’s sense of essentialism was limited to history, much of the Marxism which followed installed communism as the transcendental sense of the Good.

In this sense, whilst we would do well to note Marx’s ambiguity in regards to morality, the construction of Marxism to which we respond in this thesis holds to an historical grand narrative and the transcendental Good of communism. I do so not to develop a straw-man which would allow for a cleaner academic argument but, rather, as a consideration of the consequences of Marx’s work. It is possible that Marx himself considered morality to be contingent but that has not been the predominant application of his politics. Moreover, Marxism has certainly relied upon a foundation but only in a descriptive conception of the path of history. For Marx, however, the descriptive merged into the prescriptive such that he did not require a moral foundation; history provided it for him. In doing so, Marx believed that he had circumvented the need for a moral foundation.

The relationship between Marxism, morality, and essentialism is obviously a difficult one – it could make for the foundations of a thesis in itself. Anything produced in this short section will be insufficient. Nonetheless, the vital point to be taken from this section is that Marxism, and the forms of communism that followed, relied upon a determinate sense of history, one that stemmed from an essential foundation. As a corollary, the impotence of Marxism as a response to capitalism in the 21st century came about because of the twin failure of the totalitarian regimes inspired by his work and the meta-narrative of history which suggested the inevitable transition between capitalism and communism. Marxism lost its efficiency as an intellectual and political current because the explanations and politics it relied upon were no longer considered valid, in large part of because of their failure as a political doctrine.

In response to these failures, Marxists began to both consider alternative forms of politics and less deterministic conceptions of history. This latter consideration turned to culture and politics as more than a simple reflection of the mode of production. In so doing this rethinking of Marxism became entangled with the reconceptualisation of culture itself and what came to be known as the ‘discursive turn’. Whilst this turn provided a necessary rethinking of Marxism, much has been lost.

Ontology and the Discursive Turn

The turn to language – otherwise known as the linguistic or discursive turn – which has dominated social theory since the 1960s is characterised by the structuralism of Ferdinand de Saussure and the subsequent development of post-structuralism. The focus on the ontological dominance of language turned the issue of representation and truth into a dilemma for modernism and a site of the state of impossibility for the postmodern. Rather than conceiving words to be an imitation of the thing they seek to represent, Saussure contended that meaning develops only in relation to other signifiers; meaning develops from the differences between signifiers, not from the referent. For this reason the signifier is arbitrary, contingent upon a history of relationships with other signifiers such that meaning is ultimately differential rather than natural. Because meaning is differential, there are no positive meanings – there are no signifiers which mean in and of themselves – and language becomes a negative substance (Ashenden, 2005: 197).

Saussure, however, considered language to be a system in the sense that all differential meanings form a closed chain: structuralism, for post-structuralists like Jacques Derrida, was not radical enough. Structuralism still reproduced the logic and pathos of Western metaphysics, giving language a systematic presence. Instead, Derrida problematised the notion of language as a system, describing it as ‘a structure lacking any centre’ (Derrida, 1967: 352) . In language, meaning is always deferred, and vitally does not catch up with itself; meaning is always ‘still to come’.

The turn to language led to the dominance of negative ontological theory. It rejected not only a grounding in a natural referent but also in a transcendental signifier; a signifier with a positive meaning that could somehow ‘fix’ the contingency of all meaning. In Marx’s terms this was the mode of production from which the superstructure developed. The rejection of the transcendental signifier has had immense implications for social theory and political practice. In theoretical terms, because any sense of meaning could only be grounded in language itself there is no outside to language; Derrida (1976: 158), for example, famously remarked that ‘There is nothing outside of the text’[3].

This rejection of realism is not necessary idealist. We do not necessarily have to go down the road of Bishop Berkeley, conceiving that only what is constructed in the mind exists. A tree does indeed fall in the woods despite no one being around to hear it crash. More pertinently, children die in poverty and ice shelves collapse regardless of their documentation[4]. This is a problem Laclau dealt with effectively in debates with traditional Marxists such as Norman Geras (1987) who were unable to come to grips with the consequences of his re-reading of Marxism through the notions of hegemony and discourse. Laclau states:

the discursive character of an object does not, by any means, imply putting its existence into question. The fact that a football is only a football as long as it is integrated within a system of socially constructed rules does not mean that is thereby ceases to be a physical object. (Laclau & Mouffe, 1990: 100-101, original emphasis)             

Nonetheless, language – or, in Laclau terms, discourse – provides the horizon through which things appear meaningful: there can be no sense of objectivity or transcendental truth. This has had significant political consequences, at a theoretical level at least. Political formations could no longer make appeals to something outside of themselves, such as God, the Nation, rationality or human nature. These concepts which once provided a guarantee existed only as differential elements in a chain of infinitely deferred meaning. Nonetheless, attempts to access an essentialist anchoring point have not ceased. Indeed, as political liberalism began to question what were once considered the foundations of a good society, various fundamentalist narratives have fought back. Many who would consider the concept of a ‘transcendental signifier’ to be academic mumbo-jumbo, still believe in the transcendental status of God and are willing to bring a gun to a town-hall meeting on health care reform to prove it (see Collins, 2009).

The overarching value of the turn to language, however, has been the capacity to understand these political movements as ideological attempts to fix the chain of meaning. Ideological critique became not a matter of revealing a concealed concrete truth – that there is no God, perhaps, or the contradictions in the mode of production – but, rather, a critique of the abstract manner in which ideological constructions are named. It did not matter what proper name was given to God, only that a God-like signifier can have a structuring role at all. Negative ontological political theory did not seek to substitute one truth with another – the Proletariat being a superior Truth than God – but, rather, began to consider what we meant by ‘Truth’. It is this move – from Truth to the meaning of Truth – that signalled a transition from traditional modernism to late modernism and postmodernism.

The turn to language, however, is not a paradoxically homogenous Truth in itself, somehow outside of history. Rather, it is itself an historical discourse, the fundamental elements of which continue to be a focus of debate. As we shall see in this chapter and the next, there are substantive differences between and within poststructuralist or postmodern ontologies and that of psychoanalysis. Moreover, these differences relate to significant distinctions both in what it means to practice politics and political performance itself. Nonetheless, it is vital to note that the turn to language was a significant moment in political theory. In terms of Marxism, this ontological movement marked a change from culture as a supplement to the economy to culture as a determinant in itself. The turn proved a significant threat to Marxism, already challenged by historical events, the link between which was only just becoming clear. What began as an attempt to supplement Marxism ended up rejecting it all together. Both moves occurred within the framework of postmodernism.

The Postmodern Break

Postmodernity is, according to Eagleton:

The contemporary movement of thought which rejects totalities, universal values, grand historical narratives, solid foundations to human essence and the possibility of objective knowledge. Postmodernism is sceptical of truth, unity and progress, opposes what it sees as elitism in culture, tends towards cultural relativism, and celebrates pluralism, discontinuity and heterogeneity. (2003: 13)

Rejecting any possibility of a political anchor that would provide the basis for the kind of essentialism that once defined Marxism, postmodern discourses have emphasised the contingency of language and the differentiality of meaning. Without any metaphysical ambitions, postmodernism suggests a philosophical relativism that at best provides support for diversity, for difference and for a flowering freedom of identity positions. At worst this form of social constructivism leads to cultural support for a cynically debauched wallowing in consumerism and for an administrated hedonism quite divorced from the politics – and political consequences – of its construction.

Nonetheless, postmodernism did not develop in the absence of Marxism but partially as an attempt to reform it. Those acknowledged to be at the forefront of postmodernity, including Jean Baudrillard, Jacques Derrida, Michel Foucault and Jean-Francois Lyotard, each began their work within the Marxist paradigm (Smart, 2005: 259). If, however, these theorists began with the Marxist problematic they largely distanced themselves from Marxism in their latter work. Lyotard, once an avowed Marxist and member of French rebel groups Socialism ou Barbarie and Pouvoir Ouvrier, began to theorise in earnest about the rise of postmodernity around the same time that he came to the realisation that the proletariat was no longer a feasible revolutionary subject (P. Anderson, 1998: 26). Indeed, as Lyotard expanded his conception of the postmodern condition, it became increasingly directed towards a rejection of the scale and economic determinism of Marxism. Marxism was just as much a rational meta-narrative as capital and, as such, both should be opposed.

There was much value in the rethinking of Marxism, one that started before the emergence of postmodernism in what came to be known as ‘Western Marxism’. Beginning with the likes of Georg Lukàcs, Antonio Gramsci and the Frankfurt School, this label emerged largely as a way to distinguish between the ‘messy’ political practice of Marxism in the USSR and more critical and philosophical forms which emerged in the global West. Arising from attempts to explain the historical failures of Marxism and recognition that change had to be cultural to be effective as economic conditions alone would not produce revolution, Western Marxism focused more on culture and politics, generally discarding the economic determinism of historical materialism.

As a result of the move from economy to culture, much of the rethinking of Marxism was framed in terms of a reconsideration of the essentialist ontology which came to be expressed as the base-superstructure model. What started as an attempt to explain the failure of revolution resulted in the rejection of the idea of revolution altogether. Moreover, what begun as an attempt to place more emphasis on politics and culture has resulted in the death of the notion of economy altogether, except in practice: ironically, as Marxism and Leftist politics have moved away from the economy, capitalism and the logic of the market became more dominant. As Jameson (1991: 5) states ominously:

this whole global, yet American, postmodern culture is the internal and superstructural expression of a whole new wave of American military and economic domination throughout the world: in this sense, as throughout class history, the underside of culture is blood, torture, death, and terror.

Postmodernism and Marxism

The strongest blow to Marxism was the first. When Lyotard rejected any sense of grand narrative, the narrative to which he referred was Marxism (Eagleton, 2003:38). The death of the grand narrative signals perhaps the most fundamental element of postmodernism; the rejection of foundationalism and essentialism. Awareness that the referentiality of language left social life without any ultimate guarantee, meant there could be no grand narrative on which to support a vision of politics; any such narrative would have to rely upon a signifier that did not rely upon another. Language proved to be a poor substitute for God or transcendental rationality.

Nonetheless, postmodernism looks suspiciously like “a new epic fable of the end of epic fables”, as Eagleton put it (ibid.: 45). This deterministic narrative about the rejection of deterministic epistemology has led to something of a normative crisis[5]; it has become academically embarrassing to speak seriously about morality. Morality was for those who broke up parties. If the grand narrative is dead, then everything and nothing is possible[6]. Postmodernism, in this sense, can be regarded as deeply conservative, both because the rejection of all foundations has led many to search for even deeper foundations – hence the rise of fundamentalisms in the 21st century – and because of the dismissal of emancipation that became associated with the death of determinism.

Only the most vulgar forms of postmodernity – generally found in cultural practice rather than political theory – dismissed ethics altogether, even if morality was a step too far. Postmodern thinkers began to reconsider what it meant to live the Good life, a large part of which included the rethinking of ‘Good’ meant and whether it was still appropriate to speak of it with a capital ‘G’. Much of the ethical thinking of those of a negative ontological bent is itself negative; a critique of those unities that should be differences. For these postmodernists, any hint of the normative or unity is immediately repressive. Benevolent as it might be to invoke the concept, it immediately restored the primacy of God: etymologists in search of the origins of meaning were the ultimate theists. Because language itself has a normative dimension – language is naturally repressive because it narrows down difference by turning differences into a categorical unity[7] – the task of postmodern ethics was to open up this unity in a celebration of difference (ibid.: 13).

The removal of the emancipatory drive can be regarded as the biggest loss of postmodernism. Without the presence of a transcendental signifier against which to index a sense of the Good, thoughts of global emancipation appear foolishly utopian. Laclau, although not considered a postmodernist, embodies the postmodern position when he states; “We are today at the end of emancipation and at the beginning of freedom” (Laclau, 1996: 18)[8]. Whose freedom is up for grabs is uncertain.

 Emancipation is incommensurable with postmodern thought, as it invokes unfashionable universal constructions and collective movements whose rationale depended upon the of one or other grand narrative. Most importantly, emancipation rightfully brought up the question of the auspice under which it would occur. The prospect of widespread political transformation relied upon notions of power and universalism that were no longer palatable. Emancipation sounded too much like the unity of the concept, as opposed to the freedom of difference.

Nonetheless, this is not to suggest that postmodern forms of thought construct the social world unproblematically. The opposite is properly true: many forms of postmodernity – deconstructionism, for example – are hypercritical of existing constructions. It is just that for postmodern thought the problem of emancipation amounted to a deconstruction of the meta-physical assumptions inherent in the act of deploying the signifier rather than any material change in people’s lives.

Yet, postmodernism is not without value. The danger inherent in the illusionary nature of truth and essentialism has been the biggest lesson postmodernity has taught Leftist politics. No longer can we hold innocently to any sense of ideology, longing for the annihilation of an enemy who is nothing but an ideological construction. The Left should be more than reluctant to forget the horrors that have been committed in its name, particularly in the image of Marxism. As such, for Bauman, postmodernity is modernity without illusions, a reminder that modernism has limits (Bauman, 1993: 32)[9].

There is certainly value in a form of ethics which supports difference and breaks down barriers closed by essentialist anchors. Nonetheless, although the expansion of ethics and normativity provided by postmodernity should be applauded, we should not mistake the celebration of personal or cultural identifications as the political horizon of our time (see Žižek, 2000a)[10]. Indeed, the postmodern rejection of meta-narratives is intimately linked with the positioning of capitalism as the unacknowledged grand narrative of our time.

Moreover, no form of politics beyond the local – or even political engagement – appears to stem from any form of postmodernity, particularly in regards to the problem of global sustainability to which this thesis is directed. At best we might consider the disparate realm of postmodern thought to offer a critique of industrial modernism or a deconstruction of the manner in which capital is constructed. Nonetheless, for postmodern theorists, there appears to be something a little too material, too grand and perhaps too economic, about the contradictions of global capitalism – it brings back the haunting spectre of Marxism.

Indeed, we can consider that postmodernism – instead of being a radical form of emancipation from identity – is just the latest form of capitalism. If early modernity had considered capital to require the parochial discipline that characterised the industrial era, modernity’s combined and uneven entry into a postmodern era was considered to be a mortal threat to the interests of capitalism. For Jameson , however, postmodernity has actually saved capitalism from its own inherent contradictions (Jameson, 1991, 1996). He postulates that the burgeoning development of social identities that came with the birth of postmodernism became a seamless cure for the ills of overproduction, as, along with the financialisation of capital, new social identities were ideal for the development of new products and new markets.

These markets were created upon the predominant form of politics that has emerged from the turn to language and postmodernity, known as the ‘new social movements’, or identity politics. Whilst these movements have provided the impetus for the liberation of very real limitations upon subjective expression, they cannot be considered to be subversive. Rather than acting as a threat to capitalism, working women, racial enlightenment and sexual reform allowed the development of new and profitable markets. Postmodernism may have been experienced as liberation for those outside of the hegemony of the white man within Western nations but this expression has come to little more than the commodification of cultural difference. Westerners may have a more diverse range of restaurants at which to eat but for those who experience eating as an infrequent necessary, postmodern liberation remains entirely other[11].

Thus, while postmodernism acts as a valuable reminder of the dangers of totalising forms of modernist practice, it provides no answer to either the contradictions of contemporary capitalism or the pragmatic attempts to restore the smooth functioning of capital. Moreover, postmodernism operates as a supplement to the modernist approach to politics embodied by Sachs. Whilst this form of Leftist administrative politics works pragmatically towards softening the injustices of capitalism, postmodern culture allows for a celebration of its benefits. Ultimately there is something a little tragic about postmodernity; the Left appears gun-shy, unwilling to take power in any radical sense lest the mistakes of the past are repeated. It is, as Eagleton states in regards to the foundations of the Western empire; ‘a rather awkward moment in human history to find oneself with little or nothing to say about such fundamental questions’ (2003:102). Whilst lessons must be learned from postmodern discourse on epistemology and ontology, contemporary circumstances, in which the contradictions of capitalism are becoming more apparent yet political alternatives are all but extinct, demand a re-entry into the political and the question of universality. Moreover, whilst the postmodern re-reading of Marxism has been necessary, this reading has taken away the universal (and economic) dimensions of Marxism’s critique of capitalism; that capitalism must be opposed through a discourse of emancipation is several steps too far for many forms of postmodern discourse.

Marxism remains, however, the radical alternative form of political economy with the potential to persist against the meta-hegemony of capitalism. It is only through Marxism that the dimension of political economy remains alive. In order to respond to the material contradictions of global capitalism, we must not accept the split horizon constituted by the likes of Sachs and the postmodernists. Rather, we must return to a rethinking of the Marxist tradition and the dimension of universality. The difficulty lies in proceeding with a Marxist approach without the materialist guarantee of history that supported the sense of normativity which hegemonised Marxian politics. We must consider how one can hold to class exploitation as the ultimate form of capitalism, or communism as unquestionable form of the Good, whilst accepting the ontological differentiality of the signifier. Even if we take comfort from Marx’s own rejection of morality, we must note that he was only able to hold this position on the basis of his determinist conception of history.

 Against these difficulties, it has been the restoration of universality as a category, as has emerged within the discursive turn, which has provided the impetus for post-Marxist theory. For theorists such as Laclau, the discursive turn is not as a threat but, rather, a vital moment in the renewal of the Marxist historical project. Nonetheless, despite this restoration of the primacy of Marxism itself, the concepts of communism and class struggle appeared to fade away so as to leave Marxism without the critical edge provided by its theoretical foundations. It is to Laclau and post-Marxism that we now turn in order to consider these attempts to restore Marxism within the discursive turn.

 (Post)Marxism, Laclau and the Shrinking Hegemony of Socialist Strategy

Perhaps the first text in what is now regarded as post-Marxist theory is Laclau and Mouffe’s Hegemony and Socialist Strategy (1985). This breakthrough book introduced both discourse theory and its political dimension, radical democracy. Laclau and Mouffe began from within the Marxist tradition – the work attempts to re-articulate socialist strategy (emphasis is required on both these terms) and uses Gramsci’s reading of the Marxist concept of hegemony to do so – but establishes a strong break with Marxism, such that it is the first openly ‘post-Marxist’ text. Post-Marxist discourse is split, as British political theorist Mark Devenney states, between:

the need to keep in sight the normative idealism which underpins one spirit of Marx, the insistence that things ought to be otherwise[and] … On the other hand post-Marxist accounts cannot retain intact the rationalist and deterministic limitations of the Western Marxist tradition’ (2002: 9).

Moreover, following Jameson’s contention (1996: 1) contention that post-Marxisms emerge in response to changes in the structure of capitalism, New Zealand sociologist Chamsy el-Ojeili (2009) argues that we can identify a ‘Post-Marxism I’ and ‘Post-Marxism II’. He suggests that the first associates Marxism with the ‘sins’ of modernism and consists of a rethinking of its theoretical framework without necessarily developing the political consequences of this revaluation. As such, this move relocates the locus of ‘Marxist’ critique from capitalism to modernism. As a consequence, the central tenet of this form of post-Marxism is that the problem with both Marxism and capitalism is that they are both too rational, too modernist; instead, an entirely different mode of being is required. In this sense, post-Marxism remains Marxist by association only, having more in common with the forms of postmodernity described in the previous section (ibid.: 41-44).

By contrast, post-Marxism II, as conceived by el-Ojeili, is more of a rejuvenated response to the restructuring and expansion of global capitalism. These forms, and here el-Ojeili includes Badiou as well as Hardt and Negri, focus more on Marxist politics rather than their theoretical underpinning (ibid.: 46). We shall deal with all these approaches (within which we also include Žižek) through the remainder of the thesis as we consider the prospects for Marxism theory after the turn to language. For now, however, I shall consider Laclau’s rethinking of both Marxist theory and politics, acknowledging that post-Marxism has come to be ‘hegemonically’ characterised by Laclau’s discourse theory and the Essex school at which he is based.

Along with Hegemony and Socialist Strategy, Laclau’s approach has been further supplemented with New Reflections on the Revolutions of Our Time (1990). In this text, Laclau (particularly in a chapter co-authored with Mouffe, Post-Marxism without Apologies (1990)) declares an affinity to Marxism and to the benefits of psychoanalysis but, ultimately, argues that it is the category of discourse which holds the trump card. For Laclau, if language constructs the social field, this construction is never complete, such that ‘Society does not exist’. This incomplete field of meanings is what Laclau labels discourse. The battle of politics – a battle of hegemony – is the ultimately impossible struggle to fix meaning around certain nodal signifier. These signifiers, which Laclau labels empty signifiers, establish a chain of equivalence.

It is around the empty signifier that Laclau, against the central thrust of postmodernity, attempts to return to the category of universality. This restoration, however, has little in common with the sense of universality apparent in the modernist tradition in which Marx was embedded. Early modernism – that established before the discursive turn – assumed an objective correspondence between language and the material world. As such, establishing a universal truth, either in terms of ontology or politics, was a matter of the correct epistemological approach. This is seen in Marx’s historical materialism, where he argued that an objective, and thus universal, truth could be established by using the correct interpretative tools. Moreover, this approach remains hegemonic amongst the ‘administrative Left’ we noted in the introductory chapter. Sachs, for example, assumes that natural science (and economics) is wholly objective. Moreover, he comes to argue that the capitalist form of economics is the universal form and can thus be applied ‘clinically’ to the symptoms of global capitalism (2005a).

In contrast, postmodernist forms of thought rejected the possibility of any form of universality, arguing that the lack of any final transcendental signifier meant that any attempt to find ‘Truth’ was ultimately differential and particular. For Laclau, however, the focus on particularism, as well as being philosophically inept, is also a form of political defeatism. Instead, if movements are to grip the polis they must appeal to universality. In regards to the impotence of particularly, Laclau (and Mouffe) state;

If the demands of a subordinated group are presented purely as negative demand subversive of a certain order, without being linked to any viable project for the reconstruction of specific areas of society, their capacity to act hegemonically will be excluded from the outset. (1985: 189)

Laclau (1996: 36) nonetheless argues – for the same reasons asserted by postmodernist thinkers – that the universal is impossible. Yet,  he insists it is necessary. This simultaneous necessity is asserted by the presence of the empty signifier which holds the place of the universal. The signifier which holds this place is not naturally given but, rather, established by way of discursive battles for hegemony. Given that the categories of discourse and hegemony define the political field, political battles become strategic, with particular groupings forming coalitions under a single signifier. If at the moment the hegemonic Leftist signifier is ‘Green’, then ‘chains of equivalence’ have built around this signifier, with the result that Green groupings, whether political parties or otherwise, come to hold the multiple demands which characterise contemporary Leftist politics, most notably the politics of anti-discrimination.

Moreover, Laclau does not only designate a formal matrix of political performance but supplements this ontology with a normative vision, one that subverts the possibility of any sense of foundational normativity. Laclau’s sense of the normative stems, like Marx, from his ontological commitments. For Laclau, the contingency of language allows for the possibility of human freedom from ideological subjugation and containment. As such, the early Laclau suggested that this freedom is best represented by what he, amongst others, labels ‘radical democracy’.

Radical democracy has two readily identifiable dimensions. The first is a celebration of contingency. Laclau argued that; “True liberation does not therefore consist in projecting oneself towards a moment that would represent the fullness of time but, on the contrary, in showing the temporal – and consequently transient – character of all fullness” (1990: 193) and goes on to state; “A free society is not one where a social order has been established that is better adapted to human nature but one which is more aware of the contingency and historicity of any order” (ibid.: 211).

Yet, there is an apparent contradiction here, one that also haunted Marx’s work. It is because Laclau sought to envisage politics “beyond the positivity of the social”[12] (1985: 93) that he came to reject historical materialist politics in favour of a discursive reading of the Gramscian category of hegemony. This is, if nothing else, a conception of human nature, leading to a social order which is better adapted to that nature; one without the production of antagonisms which have haunted essentialist politics. Certainly, Laclau would be extremely reluctant to be associated with any notion of ‘human nature’ but such a postulation is simply the condition of possibility for any theory of being.

Ultimately, Laclau is unable to historcise his own sense of historicity. Instead, his post-essentialist sense of democracy sits somehow outside of the dialectics of history. This ahistorical positioning leads to Laclau’s conception of the content of the radical democratic horizon. This consists of an articulation around the fundamental inconsistency of discourse and hegemony. Laclau comes to suggest – with an increasingly loose reference to socialism – that the best strategy for Leftist politics is the development of an articulated coalition of what had come to be known as new social movements, predominately consisting of identity politics, post-colonialism and the burgeoning ecological movement. The key to this strategy has been the dismissal of any notion of a single, privileged, agent of change – the revolutionary subject – in favour of the politics of hegemony and the empty signifier.

Laclau’s work has come in for strident critique from within the discipline; so much so that has work has radically changed direction over recent years. The first critique pertains largely to the same issues that affect Lacanian ethics. That is, both the dismissal of the politics of a negative ontology, often by Marxists suffering from both nostalgia and more than a hint of historical blindness (cf. Geras, 1987), and the more considered critique of those that suggest that the Laclauian approach is unable to posit an normative sense of itself. In this sense Laclau’s Marxism is haunted by the same nihilism that has plagued continental philosophy since Kant, that of establishing a sense of the ‘Good’ without a foundational signifier which would guarantee the Good.

Laclau’s solution is a radical recognition of that which is not contingent; contingency itself. If, however, for Laclau the society that is most free is that which is aware of its dependency upon discourse, one must consider what this means for those bodies which have been excluded from the material fruits for society. One could perhaps expand Laclau’s thesis – which he does not do – to suggest that the exclusion of these bodies is entirely contingent and can thus be altered. Moreover, this awareness of the contingency of societal construction could be extended by including the previously excluded within a democratic chain of equivalence, such that the globally subjugated became included within a global demand for justice.

If Marx attempted to circumvent the problem of normativity with his ‘scientific’ historical materialism, which did not rely upon an ideological morality as much as a faith in the progress of history, then the postmodern critique of this determinism left Marxism without any reason to be ‘Marxist’. That is, without a transcendental support for the politics of class struggle and politics, either from a descriptive reading of history or abstract moral prescription, there appeared little reason for post-Marxist thought to reference itself to Marxism.

Indeed, this was the case with Laclau. Although his breakthrough text referenced a rereading of socialist strategy – and a rethinking of the contingency imposed by postmodernity – he came to rely on democracy and politics at the expense of class and the economy to such an extent that his work can no longer be reasonably considered to be Marxist. Marxism, it seems, had been reduced to an empty signifier around which the Left could rally to establish their radical credentials. In terms of political practice, the only difference – with the exception of some institutional tweaking – between the politics of radical democracy supported by the early Laclau and the liberal democracy practiced under late capitalism, is their theoretical reference point.

For this reason, for those who still hold to both a strident critique of capitalism and the validity of Marxist discourse, Laclau’s work has come under attack. The primary motivation behind post-Marxism is the economy cannot be an object in itself and as such cannot determine social relations other than through the contingency of hegemony. Thus the economy is not economic in and of itself but, rather, just another element of political discourse. Arguing that there is no difference between postmodern struggles and class struggle, Laclau rejects any sense of the primacy of the economy, contending; ‘class struggle is just one species of identity politics, and one which is becoming less and less important in the way we live’(Laclau, 2000b: 203). In a sense, Laclau is correct; class struggles are becoming less important in the way we (the West) live. It is just that for Laclau this is a point of celebration. Those on the wrong end of class struggle may have cause to disagree. It appears that the category of discourse collapses all other distinctions; the economy is as discursive as ideology. The difficulty with Laclau’s post-Marxism, however, is that it has struggled to develop a conception of the economic away from his rejection of Marx’s essentialist notion of the economy (Devenney, 2002: 18).

Devenney contends that post-Marxism’s loss of its critique of the economy should be treated symptomatically: it is not a contemporary aberration to be resolved with better application of the theory, as Devenney treats it but, rather, an indication of a structural impossibility within post-Marxism with regard to the impossibility of political economy and class struggle. If traditional Marxism, and as we shall see, Žižek, attributed a causal positioning to class struggle and political economy, this cannot be held within a discursive approach. Laclau’s theory of hegemony allows for an element to hold a determining position but this cannot be determined a priori – rather it is achieved through a battle for hegemony. Without this prioritising of the economy, Marxism loses much of its political edge.

Laclau’s position reminds us of the 1970s feminist slogan, ‘The personal is political’ and its infamous rejoinder ‘the personal is personal too, so piss off’. Yes, the economy is political but it is also economic. Just because the economy is always political does not mean that politics is equivalent to economics. Rather, the economy is always the political economy. We shall speak more to this matter in Chapter Six when we consider Žižek’s Lacanian critique of economy, determinism, and of causality.

 Laclau’s (non)conception of capitalism and his rejection of any special status (or, indeed, content) to Marxism or class struggle leaves him with an overly optimistic, even naive, notion of political performance. Perhaps because of this, Laclau’s work remains abstract;– by contrast to Žižek, Laclau is not known for his detailed elaboration of actually existing politics. Indeed, in a recent heated dialogue with Žižek, Laclau accuses the former of ‘waiting for the Martians’ in a reference to Žižek’s desire to reinstall the category of class struggle (Laclau, 2006: 657). In response, Žižek states that waiting for Martians is the perfect way to describe Laclau’s theory of hegemony. The difference between Laclau and his own work, however, is that; “I[Žižek] (am supposed to) believe in real Martians, while he knows that the place of Martians is forever empty, so that all we can do is invest empirical agents with ‘Martian value’”(Žižek, 2008a: 294).

Finally, despite an initial affinity and endorsement of psychoanalysis, particularly in regards to the institutionalisation of lack in the struggle for hegemony, Laclau has struggled to integrate his reading of discourse with the materiality of psychoanalysis. As a consequence, it is difficult to conceptualise why universal signifiers would have any more hold over the subject than particular elements – an issue I shall respond to in some detail in the following chapter (see also Jason Glynos & Stavrakakis, 2003; Laclau, 2003; Stavrakakis, 2007).

In response to these criticisms, Laclau has subsequently moved away from Mouffe and radical democracy to a form of politics which focuses moren upon the potential for identification, rather than differentiation, provided by his conception of contingency. Laclau’s contemporary thought attempts to construct a theory of populism and ‘the construction of the people’ (Laclau, 2005, 2006), a strategy that has moved away from the institutionalisation of lack, to focus primarily on the role of affective identifications in the determination of hegemony. For Laclau, populism is a ‘pure’ form of politics, a politics which coincides with his theory of hegemony. There are few remnants, however, of the reliance upon contingency which dominated his conception of radical democracy. Instead democracy now accounts for one ‘moment’ within populist discourse.

Laclau conceives of populism as a neutral movement, like that of hegemony, as opposed to the proto-fascism attributed to it by liberals. Laclau prefers populism to class struggle because it keeps open the space of power rather than offering a privileged content as the general equivalent of all other struggles. Nonetheless, although Laclau contends that populism exists only in form without suggesting any content, like democracy the very form of its instantiation requires a minimal production of content. This political content consists of a construction of the people as a political subject, giving them, as Žižek’s contends, ‘Martian Value’. Just as Laclau opined that society does not exist, neither do the people. As such any construction of the people is a hegemonic one, requiring the exclusion of an antagonistic enemy from the chain of equivalence. In this way, Žižek suggests, not only is fascism a form of populism – ‘Jew’ is the ultimate signifier of lack constructed to fill the lack in the big Other – but populism entails a naturalisation and a potential suspension of the political (Žižek, 2008a:276-285).

Perhaps a more symptomatic example of Laclau’s understanding of populism comes from a 2010 report of British football hooligans uniting to protest against Islam. Normally composed of violently opposed groups associated with individual clubs – the groups included the Cardiff City Soul Crew and Bolton Wanderers Cuckoo Boys – the hooligans have begun protesting together under the title ‘English Defence League’, becoming mobilised against the presence of Islamic religion within the United Kingdom (Briggs, 2010). Here we have otherwise opposed groups – what Laclau would call particular elements – forming a chain of equivalence under an empty signifier ‘English Defence League’ in a battle for hegemony over the meaning of ‘British’.

To summarise, Laclau’s descriptive ontology has remained the same but his politics have flipped from the negative to the positive. Both radical democracy and populism rely upon a constitutive impossibility within linguistic structure. This point of impossibility signals the empty place of universality; the element which comes to hold this position is regarded as universal. For the early Laclau, politics should be directed towards holding this place open to allow the inherent dislocatory freedom of language to operate. By contrast, Laclau’s populism now suggests that the key task of any political movement is to hold the place of hegemony. This move suggests a radical transition from the politics of lack to the politics of jouissance, although Laclau does not use the term, which we shall expand upon in the next chapter before considering its political connotations in Chapters Four and Five.

Populism, at least in the sense in which it is practiced by politicians like Hugo Chavez, provides some hope for the hungry by mobilising resources around their plight; it certainly provides a feasible sense of politics, a politics which ‘work’. Nonetheless in doing so, it falls prey to the same factors that plagued Laclau’s conception of hegemony and radical democracy; an ethical deficit and an inability to consider capitalism in any detail. Moreover, although his notion of populism appears a more powerful political device, in relying upon the positioning of an antagonism to create ‘the people’, Laclau appears to be returning to the same positivising sense of the social against which he initially rallied. Populism may reject the historical naturalism of the revolutionary subject but in accepting that the place of the ‘people’ can and should be held, Laclau’s politics are not markedly different from forms of Marxism before the discursive turn; populism is Marxism without the economy.

Thus, whilst Laclau’s political applications of his theory of hegemony – in both its radical democratic and populist guises – is an effective form of politics across a limit range, his work does not restore Marxism in any manner which provides a response to the contradictions of the global economy. Although Laclau’s attempt to restore the dimension of universality to Marxist discourse should be welcomed, his politics, whether radical democracy or populism, operate through the exclusion of class struggle and the economy. Laclau’s work may mark an advance on the contingent ethics of particularity and difference that characterise the divergent realm of postmodernity but it has not been able to compensate for the losses associated with the rejection of historical materialism. In rejecting economic determinism, Laclau has rejected economy altogether and in doing so no longer engages with global capitalism. Instead Laclau’s work reads as a critique of the difficulties of the politics of modernity. By contrast, interactions between psychoanalysis and Marxism have tended to engage with political economy. Moreover, psychoanalysis, particularly in its Lacanian variety, has been able to return to materiality in its reading of the discursive turn.

Psycho-Marxism

Since its development, psychoanalysis – with its focus upon the unconscious, repression, sexuality, desire, and the death drive as the destructive core of humanity – has had a major impact on social theory. An engagement with psychoanalysis has enlarged understandings of ideology, of subjectivity, of the role of culture, and of enjoyment in politics and the relationship between the individual and society (Elliott, 2005: 175). Freud’s Civilisation and its Discontents (1930) exemplified the use of psychoanalysis as a sociological pursuit as Freud developed an understanding of the manner in which the demands of civilised society required a level of repression in the subject that is expressed in a destructive manner[13]. I shall explore this more in Chapter Four.

Freud was re-read by Lacan – who maintained he was only supplementing Freud’s work –reworking psychoanalysis in light of Saussure’s structural linguistics, famously stating that the unconscious is structured like a language (Lacan, 2006: 416) By this Lacan meant that ‘language, as a system of differences, constitutes the subject’s repressed desire’ (ibid.: 182). In this sense, unconscious desire, like language, constitutes an intersubjective space between and within individual subjects (ibid.: 183). Moreover, intersubjectivity – with the impossibilities associated with its constitution as a differential linguistic system – offers the mediating background for subjectivity. As social theorist Anthony Elliot (2004: 1) states:

For many, the theoretical advantages of Lacan’s Freud concerned, above all, his inflation of the role of language in the construction of the psyche, an inflation which happened to fit hand in glove with the ‘linguistic turn’ of the social sciences.

Lacanian theory, it seemed, had come along at just the right moment, speaking to the analytic dilemmas that came to be associated with postmodernism whilst responding to the problematic to which postmodernism became a response [14]. Against the postmodernists but within the linguistic turn, Lacanian psychoanalysis achieved an alternative hegemony by responding to several of the problems which haunted postmodernism. In particular, Lacanian thought sought to rehabilitate the categories of subjectivity, structure and the body, each of which shall be expanded on in much more detail in the following chapter. Moreover, through the rejuvenation of these concepts, Lacanian theory offered a new way to read Marxism and its relationship to the discursive turn.

The difficulties of combining psychoanalysis and Marxism are intertwined with the collective hope and traumatic failure of Leftist emancipation. Following the dis-ease with the halted progress of Marxist practice and theory, psychoanalysis has been long looked upon both as the saviour and the failure of radical Leftist politics. Yet no stable theoretical fusion has developed between the two traditions, and contemporary theory has come to regard the notion of collective emancipation as rather pathetically passé. Instead of hope, theoretical Leftism holds onto the contradictory fetishes of the necessity of the grand-narrative of capitalism and the contingency of language and culture, between which lies a theoretical waste land where only the brave or unaware dare to stride.

Psychoanalysis was initially attached to Marxism as part of the cultural turn which sought to explain the perceived shortcomings of Marxism in response to the continued presence and development of capitalism. In this initial relationship, characterised by the Freudian Marxism of Wilhelm Reich and the Frankfurt School theorists, psychoanalysis was used to add a theory of subjectivity to Marxism in the face of the failure of the Marxist ‘revolutionary subject’. These theories of subjectivity focused mainly on the role of culture in mediating the effects of capitalism and preventing a true class consciousness from emerging.

If this could be described as the first phase of ‘Psycho-Marxism’ the second phase was dominated by Louis Althusser’s structuralist revision of Marxism (Miklitsch, 1998: 85). Althusser did not seek to fuse together the two discourses but, rather, take advantage of what he believed to be a structural homology between class struggle and the unconscious (Özselcuk & Madra, 2007: 86). Althusser’s return to Marx through psychoanalysis was the first to be dominated by Lacan, rather than Freud. As such, it cultivated a re-reading of Freud as well, framed in Lacanian terms. Althusser was perhaps the first to politicise Lacanian thought in his reworking of Marxism and ideology. Using Lacan’s notion of the mirror stage to exemplify (mis)recognition in ideology through what he called ‘interpellation’, Althusser’s work had a strong influence upon efforts to rework both Marxist determinism and the role of culture and ideology in maintaining the dominance of capital.

The movement from Freud to Lacan proved to be both a threat and opportunity for Marxist theory. Lacan’s emphasis on the structuring role, and ultimate failure, of language dismissed the foundations of Marxist essentialism and previously assumed forms of political action associated with communism. Communism may have remained as a reference point but the essentialist justifications had long disappeared, dispatched to a theoretical attic to allow for occasional bouts of nostalgia. Importantly, however, this dimension was not dismissed altogether. Althusser and those that followed remained committed to Marxism for a reason, although others, such as Laclau, may not have been so sure. The problem was that while psychoanalysis did not fall prey to the transgressive particularism of postmodernity, it did share a deep suspicion of politics, utopianism and revolution. If critics have found psychoanalysis woefully inadequate as a political touchstone, then traditionalist Marxists certainly did not find it a suitable torch bearer.

Although Marxism and psychoanalysis share several theoretical similarities – a committed engagement to reducing the gap between theory and practice, a similar notion of causality (in terms of class struggle and the unconscious respectively) and a radically divergent focus on generating change – in both their underlying ontology and optimism towards the prospects of political change they proved radically incompatible. For some, such as social theorist Sean Homer (2001), this makes any attempt to develop psychoanalytic Marxism as a singular practice a foolish pursuit. As such, he claims that Žižek’s “Lacanism appears to rule out the possibility of any orthodox ‘understanding’ of Marxism” (ibid.: 7).

Resonating with Homer’s sentiments, psychoanalysis in relation to politics remains intensely controversial. This is the case even though – as Stavrakakis (2007: 1) reports – it has become second in influence only to analytical liberalism[15]. Lacan is accepted as a theorist of cinema or sexuality but not of politics. Indeed, Elliot (2004:2), contends; “At its bleakest, the Lacanian symbolic was deployed to underscore the inevitability of social order and political domination as a fundamental state of human desire”. Moreover, Andrew Robinson and Simon Tormey (Robinson, 2004; Robinson & Tormey, 2005, 2006), in relation to Žižek’s appropriation of Marxism, argue that the negativity inherent in Lacanian thought simply ends up reproducing the antagonism, domination and violence of capitalism, the very things they believe Leftist politics should seek to revoke.

Likewise, Homer (1996: 109) states that although psychoanalysis can engage in a “continuing critical dialogue with political and social theory”, its constitutive inability to develop a positive sense of ideology means that more reactionary positions will fill this gap and for this reason psychoanalytic discourse is an inappropriate partner for Leftist political practice. Furthermore, Elizabeth Bellamy (1993) comes to argue that whilst psychoanalysis has tremendous analytic potential, it does not offer any more fruitful opportunities for political action then had already been developed in the discursive turn. Psychoanalysis, it seemed, explained the domination of capitalism and the hopelessness of culture a little too well.

Much – if not all – of this criticism is directed at Žižek. It is directed at Žižek not only because he is the most significant scholar in the discourse but also because his form of politics relies heavily upon a reading of Marxism that both re-establishes and circumvents the central currents of traditional Marxist politics – most notably class struggle and communism. Žižek’s interpretation of Marxism operates as an antagonistic answer to the question of universality and truth. Without wanting to re-occupy any nostalgic sense of Marxist essentialism, he demands that the Left respond to the dominance of capital.

Žižek embodies the impossibilities of Leftist politics because whilst his work grapples with the same difficulties of representation that have brought the downfall of traditional Left (essentialist) politics, he maintains that the Left must not abandon the political terrain either by giving way to the dilemmas of representation or losing sight of the economy. As such, although couched within a reading of both psychoanalysis and Marxism, much of the remainder of this thesis entails a reading of the difficulties, challenges and possibilities offered by Žižek’s work. If in responding to the crisis of global sustainability we had reason to again turn to Marxism, in our reading of the difficulties of approaching Marxism after the discursive turn, we have cause to turn to Žižek.

As such, the reference to Marxism becomes largely implicit in the remainder of the thesis. Here I am not so much concerned with an overt discursive rejuvenation of Marxist politics – although this might well occur through the course and consequences of Žižek’s work – but, rather, the manner in which Žižek’s use of the Marxist tradition, in particular his return to the economy, class struggle, and communism, acts as a response to contemporary capitalism. Ultimately, the prospects for Marxist theory and political practice are beyond the scope of this project which instead focus upon a response to the material contradictions of global capitalism. If I began this response by reference to Marxism, this chapter has shown the difficulties of reviving Marxist political practice. Thus, whilst remaining within Marxism discourse and considering its value as a political resource, the identification of both the problems faced by Marxism and in responding to capitalism, has caused a turn to psychoanalysis, rather than Marxism, as the prime theoretical reference point.

Thus, having introduced the dilemmas of post-Marxism and the psychoanalytic response, it is now time to turn to psychoanalysis itself in order to properly consider Žižek’s work. Although I have thus far introduced psychoanalytic discourse as a positive contributor to Marxism, the situation is far more complex. Through its conception of symbolic castration, psychoanalysis allows for a reading of the discursive turn which is rooted in the body. In doing so it is better able to materialise discourse and explain the apparent fixity of the symbolic order. Moreover, primarily through Žižek’s work, a return to the economy is possible without reverting to a strict determinism (this shall be the subject of Chapter Six). In doing so, we see that following the rejection of historical materialism and the political vacuum which followed, psychoanalysis adds to the explanatory power of Marxism, providing an understanding of the difficulty of shifting capitalism and hence the possibilities for doing so without the inevitability of history.

As such, the psychoanalytic reading of Marxism suggests the possibility of restoring Marxism as a political force in order to provide a response to the global sustainability problematic. Conversely, whilst this ‘psycho-Marxism’ may be able to better explain why the contradictions of global capitalism prove to be obdurate, in the next chapter we shall see that no form of politics – certainly in terms of the material reproduction of shared social life – stems naturally from the combination of Lacan and Marx. If historical materialism produced not only a reading of capitalism but the inevitable progression of the revolutionary subject, Žižek’s dialectical materialism provides little such confidence. Indeed, Lacanian theory may act as the ultimate dismissal of traditional Marxist politics, leaving the question of politics and normativity in the rebellious hands of psychoanalytic discourse and its central troublemaker, Žižek.


[1] This is not a problem specific to Marxism; today’s strongest public critics of globalisation – Noam Chomsky, Naomi Klein and John Pilger most notably – seem to have the same sense of objective emancipation.

[2] As such, perhaps the important question in our consideration of the relationship between Marxism and essentialism is, ‘Which Marx?’ One cannot have access to a singular Marx but must instead construct a Marx through the discursive lens of our time. Indeed, the Marx to which we are responding here may not be Karl Marx himself but, rather, the hegemonic forms of Marxism. These constructions of Marx range from the strict analytic or scientific Marxian readings of history to the Stalinist Communist regimes of the 20th century.

[3] By this Derrida did not strictly mean that there is no materiality outside of textuality but, rather, that every text can only be interpreted through another text not by reference to an outside referent.

[4] This is not to degrade the political importance of representation, only to suggest that representation does not define existence.

[5] Given Marx’s own rejection of morality, there is something quite comedic about this normative crisis which followed the downfall of the hegemony of Marxism.

[6] This is the paradox of the death of ‘God’, otherwise known as the transcendental signifier. If the original fear of the theists (linguistic or otherwise) was that the dismissal of this guarantee would mean the end of order, then perhaps the opposite has occurred; we have invented new signifiers to fill this lack. Moreover, because they are self-imposed they have an even stronger disciplinary effect. We see this change in the move from a sovereign authority to the all-seeing discipline of panoptical control; if God is dead, then nothing, rather than everything, is permitted..

[7] For instance the concept of ‘tree’ collapses a number of different types of trees under a singular meaning. Likewise, the signifier ‘Women’ is repressive because it ignores the difference between different categories of Women e.g. Black women, black working women, black working homosexual Women, all of which are themselves are repressive concepts…

[8] Here Laclau contrasts emancipation and freedom by reference to transcendentalism and dislocation. Freedom occurs at the point of dislocation from the existing symbolic order. Freedom is not a place but, rather, an action. By contrast, for Laclau emancipation remains within a transcendental construction of a place of freedom that we might reach (1996: 18-19). This construction is confluent with a number of ethical positions after the discursive turn – Lacanian psychoanalysis one of them – it appears to have little in from those whose suffering is more than symbolic.

[9] Bauman, however, goes beyond this, suggesting that the postmodern subject is aware of truth itself. If we can consider this to be the case, it could only be a cynical recognition of truth – I shall discuss the structure of cynical reason in Chapter Seven.

[10] Identity politics, rather than being an exemplary element of postmodernism rather embodies the position of cultural studies between modernism and postmodernism. Identity politics, although a form of particularly concurrent with postmodernism, is an attempt to establish an essential unity that is quite opposed to the celebration of difference which characterises postmodernity. Nonetheless, in terms of political positioning, identity politics and cultural studies have much in common

[11] Moreover, no hegemonic mode of politics has developed from postmodern thought. This is no specific reason to discount it but it is worth noting that politics in the United States is divided between the pragmatist Democrats and fundamentalist Republicans rather than any sense of the postmodern. Postmodernism exists but as a form of cultural practice and commodification. For this reason, postmodern culture can be considered as a hegemonic historical response to the impossibility of class struggle – an impossibility I shall expand upon in Chapter Six.

[12] ‘Beyond the Positivity of the Social’ is the title of the most influential chapter in Hegemony and Socialist Strategy, signalling a re-reading of hegemony and introducing the concepts of dislocation and antagonism.

[13] This is a line of thought further developed by Herbert Marcuse in particular (1956).

[14] Lacan himself was working contemporarously with postmodernism but his work has since come to be seen as a response to postmodernity.

[15] Elliot too remarks, “Indeed, for some considerable period of time, it seemed that theory just wasn’t theory unless the name Lacan was referenced” (2004: 1).

The Body of the Discursive Turn

Although Freud developed psychoanalysis as a clinical means of curing psychological pathologies, psychoanalysis after Lacan can be seen as another response to the discursive turn in both its clinical and socio-political forms. Following Saussure, for Lacan it was “the world of words that creates the world of things” (2006: 229) such that the subject did not use language but is rather constituted in language[1]. Lacanian theory thus suggests that the human subject is fundamentally alienated from within: language, the very stuff of our thoughts, feelings and (ego)identity comes from outside, from something Other that comes to invade, and define, our inner life (Fink, 1995: 7).

The seat of this inner life is the unconscious, which is both formed by language and structured like a language; it has a formal grammar which unfolds like a chain (Ibid.: 8). The unconscious then becomes, according to Lacan, “the discourse of the Other” (Lacan, 2006: 265), acting as the presence of the Other within the body. In this sense the human subject does not use language but is rather used by language through the unconscious discourse of the Other (Fink, 1995: 14). Moreover, the subject of language is alienated not only by the differential separation of the concept from the thing but also the material separation of the body from itself, otherwise known as symbolic castration. The human, unlike its fellow animals, cannot purely react upon instinct or enjoy its body. Instead, upon entry into the symbolic order, the subject loses access to total materiality. Thus, for Lacan in contrast to Marx, alienation is neither contingent nor political but, rather, an ahistorical condition of being.

Lacanian psychoanalysis, therefore, offers an alternative interpretation of the discursive turn within which it is part. Through the restoration of the salience of materialism, many of difficulties I assigned to postmodernity in the previous chapter can be rethought. Against the differential contingency of the signifier, psychoanalysis emphasises the underlying fixity of being through a (partial) return to materiality of the body and the signifier.

Postmodernism has tended to reject essentialism, fixity, and emancipation as if they are all one mode of meta-narrative illusion. In some ways the postmodernists are correct – in the absence of any meta-narratives or essential foundations life is inherently fragmented and contingent. Where the post-modernists are misguided, however, is in dismissing the notion of a ‘human condition’ altogether, as if it implied a naturality that no longer applies after the turn to language. Rather, the ultimate lack of foundation that constitutes both the subject and the human community in language is the human condition: fragmentation at the hands of language which dominates meaning and human relations but is exceeded by a surplus materiality, both in terms of what Lacan calls jouissance, and the material necessity of reproducing the human animal.

The key error committed in much of the thought considered to be postmodern is that the consideration of the fragmentation which envelops language – the body, the subject (if the subject is given a presence) and human community – places the very existence of these objects in doubt. Conversely, Lacanian theory suggests that whilst language produces a fragmentation to social life from which there is no possibility of recovering, an excessive, materialist, remainder of existence persists. This materiality is not the determining stuff of historical materialism but, rather, a dialectical materialism evident only in the failure of language. Where Marx suggested a commonality to human existence based around the shared conditions of production, for Lacan intersubjectivity is based around the shared grip of language and its remainder, jouissance. If for postmodernists all that was solid had melted, Lacan suggested that the signifier does not melt social life into thin air but, rather, into a bodily substance called jouissance which ensures that politics is not just a matter of signification.

Here, the human condition is constituted by a complex dialectic between lack and excess: lack in the sense of the negativity at the heart of being caused by the subject’s essential separation from jouissance through the operation of the signifier, excess, because of the compensation the subject receives for this sacrifice, a surplus-jouissance located in the object cause of desire (objet a). Žižek, following Lacan and Freud before him, defines this movement between lack and excess as the death drive; being is never just being, such that; “Human life is never ‘just life’: humans are not simply alive, they are possessed by the strange drive to enjoy life in excess, passionately attached to a surplus which sticks out and derails the ordinary run of things” (Žižek, 2006d: 62).

As such, by conceiving of the problem of signification as one of symbolic castration – an issue as much of the body as the psyche – Lacanian theory has been able to restore structure, materialism, and fixity as key elements of theory once lost by Marxism to postmodernity and the discursive turn. In restoring these dimensions, Lacanian psychoanalysis – through Žižek in particular – has been able to rehabilitate Marxism as an explanatory device beyond any deterministic sense of history. What it has not been able to restore, however, is the emancipatory demand at the heart of the Marxist approach. In terms of the loss of this demand. Indeed, psychoanalytic theory – including its Freudian forbearer – can be considered perhaps more sceptical about the prospects of revolution and emancipation than postmodern thought. If postmodern ethics hold some optimism about human freedom – although dismissive of the universality required for widespread political change – psychoanalysis holds no hope; the death drive is not a concept for the sunshine theorists of the human mind.

For Lacanians, revolution entails rotation around a central point of impossibility rather than a reinvention of the wheel itself. As we shall see throughout the remainder of this thesis, this is not the last word on the role of psychoanalysis in politics. It does, however, suggest a vital question: If Lacanian theory is so deeply uneasy about the prospects of progressive politics, why should it be taken to offer any response to the material contradictions of the global economy? This question is complicated by the application of psychoanalysis to Marxist discourse. Communism, class struggle and the revolutionary subject appear quite divorced from desire, fantasy and the essential stability of the sinthome.

This disjuncture between the domains of impossibility and ‘positive politics’ is not easily bridged and produces analytic complications that reverberate throughout the remainder of this thesis. I shall argue that Lacanian psychoanalysis, as embodied by Žižek’s work, provides the most powerful strategic response to that disjuncture as it plays out in the context of problems around global sustainability. In order to come to this conclusion, one informed from a Marxist analysis of capitalism as much as the psychoanalytic clinic, we shall traverse questions of ethics, politics, economy, communism and utopia.

The focus of this particular chapter is twofold: primarily I detail the manner in which psychoanalysis has been a response to the discursive turn. Of particular interest is a consideration of the challenges this response presents for the practice of both Lacanian and Marxian politics. Furthermore, in this reflection I shall discuss the theoretical basis of Lacanian psychoanalysis that will determine much of the basis for future argumentation. As such, I shall consider the dialectical relationship between lack and surplus, embodied in Lacan’s notions of the Real and jouissance. Such a deliberation requires further development of desire, ideological fantasy, the symptom and subjectivity, along with the emblematic objet a[2].

In response we shall argue that the value of Lacanian psychoanalysis lies in its return to the materiality of discourse, which implies the existence of fixity to being, rather than the contingency which was the focus of postmodernity. Conversely, Žižek suggests that a re-reading of Marxism through Lacan results in a rejection of (the fantasy of) Marxian communism and the revolutionary subject. Thus, while Marxism and psychoanalysis make a powerful couplet, this fusion is particularly troubling for any sense of politics inspired by Marx. In considering the dilemmas inherited by Marxist politics after the discursive turn and symbolic castration, the chapters which follow focus on the political connotations of psychoanalysis, before returning to the economy and possible responses to its inherent contradictions.

Symbolic Castration, or, the Materiality of Language

Like postmodernity, Lacanian psychoanalysis responds to the dilemmas of the discursive turn, in particular the ontological side of the problematic of representation; that language has no outside from which to grasp itself. For the Lacanian subject, language as its own limit means that the subject has no access to the pure animal materiality of the body nor has any ability to access its situation outside of language. This is the crucial (materialist) paradox of humanity; to be human is to be cursed with both metaphysical concerns and moral anxiety, yet have no perch from which to consider these conceptual impositions. If all that is required is a sufficiently removed perch from which to objectivity view humanity – and the likes of Sachs may think they have found this perch (and called it economics[3]) – much of history entails a struggle to designate this privileged point of objectivity. This struggle, moreover, has mostly involved the battle to remove those who stand in its way.

The discursive turn produced a revolution in the search for a perch; the only possibility came within language itself through what modernity called reflexivity and postmodernity the last illusion (see Bauman, 1993). Late modernity came to suggest that the problem of objectivity lay within us not from some impossibly divorced vantage point. Psychoanalysis, however, was the bearer of bad news; language, as the discourse of the Other, not only alienates the subject from itself, creating a lack of being within the subjective realm but the objective sphere of the Other is lacking in itself.

For Lacan, lack was the precondition for any notion of the human condition; language fundamentally alienates the subject from the body. Moreover, Lack is not simply nothingness but has an ontological status beyond nothingness; it does not only imply negativity but also excessive attempts to compensate for this negativity. For Lacan, lack has the same status as an empty set – emptiness implying the possibility of fullness. Lack thus has the status of something missing, the necessarily awkwardly represented ‘presence of absence’.

Understanding Lacan’s conception of lack is made more difficult by the inadequate translation of the French signifier ‘Manqué’ as used by Lacan. Manqué is translated to lack in English because of the grammatical inadequacy of the English verb ‘to miss’ (Fink, 1995: 52). Missing, more than lacking, implies both the lack of something and attempts to regain what is lost. These attempts (the ‘missing’ of the object) characterises the operation of desire; a ‘lack of being’ which generates a ‘want to be’ (ibid.: 103). For Ernst Bloch (1986), this dialectic exchange between lack and longing is evidence of the utopian demand at the heart of being[4]. Lack, Bloch suggests, cannot be articulated other than by imagining its fulfilment. In psychoanalytic terms, lack is the performative presence of absence.

The dialectic of language – of symbolic castration and the presence of absence – is such that the human being operates as a being of desire rather than biological need. Symbolic castration – the birth of the subject through their entry into the symbolic order – creates a division in the body which allows for jouissance; the signifier is both the cause and the limit to jouissance (Levy-Stokes, 2001:101). According to US psychoanalytic theorist Adrian Johnston, Lacan’s re-reading of Freud switched the focus of castration from the anatomy to the symbolic whereby the drives are alienated by the mediating affect of language (2005: 323). Just as Freud had suggested that the citizen must sacrifice bodily instinct – the drives – to become part of civilisation, Lacan contended that the human condition is marked by the internal imposition of the alien demands of the symbolic order. Importantly, where Freud considered the repression of bodily expression to be caused by political civilisation, Lacan conceived symbolic castration as an ahistorical necessity which has led to the occurrence of politics.

Symbolic castration means that desire becomes a biological property of the human animal, not one the infant is born with but, rather, one which impinges on the subject on account of its forced entry into language. The human being, like any animal, is subject to a number of biological needs. Indeed, Eagleton (2003:4) quotes Nietzsche in this regard as stating that; “whenever anybody speaks crudely of a human being as a belly with two needs and a head with one, the lover of knowledge should listen carefully”.

Need, or perhaps instinct, does exist but it is killed and over-written by the signifier (Fink, 1995: 12). We could argue, as does Terry Eagleton (2003) that this re-writing, and all the structural inconsistencies that come with it, is the nature of the human animal. If so, the human condition is of a paradoxical nature: the individual body is born with biological needs that are dependent upon their expression, recognition, and structural support through an Other that does not exist, yet provokes a distance between the body and itself.

I willl now move to the two concepts that dominate Žižek’s (Lacanian) conception of (dialectical) materialism, the Real and jouissance, in order to explain this paradoxical nature and its relationship to symbolic castration and the turn to language. In the section which follows I shall turn to the former, seeking to understand the manner in which the Real conceives of structure, materiality and the essential fixity of discourse.

The Lack of the Real

The Real can be most broadly defined as both that which resists symbolisation and the very distorting effect which prevents access to that distortion, both the presence of lack and that which provokes attempts to fill that absence. The Real is one of three Lacanian registers – the other two being the symbolic and the imaginary – which make up the rings of the Borromean knot. Within Lacan’s lifetime, it was the other two registers which dominated psychoanalysis; the imaginary was informed by the ‘Mirror-stage’ of the early Lacan and the symbolic through Lacan’s focus on semiotics, the signifier and the unconscious. The Real only came to the fore in Lacan’s latter work, and has been increasingly prevalent in readings of Lacan inspired by Žižek, who focuses much more of Lacan’s later work[5].

The Real is, according to Eagleton (2009: 141) “an enigmatic concept, as well as … an analogous one, working at several different levels simultaneously”. It is because of this simultaneous operation – one more akin to music than science[6] – that the Real is such a difficult term to grasp[7]. Certainly the Real is not reality in itself, some pure unadulterated access to materiality or biology. Rather reality, along with materiality, is a response to the Real. The difficulty is that the opposite is also true; the Real is a response to materiality that is a part of ‘reality’. For this reason considering a definition is a delicate affair[8].

The Real does not persist in and of itself: the effect of the Real plays out within a variety of different discursive positions such that one can only speak of the Real in the singular in terms of an abstract form. In terms of its instantiation in language, we can only represent different modalities of the Real[9]. Therefore we can refer to the Real in terms of desire or drive, in the operation of fantasy and objet a or in the antagonistic points of exclusion which sustain a discourse. Indeed, as I shall discuss in Chapter Six, Žižek suggests that the operation of global capitalism can be considered a modality of the (symbolic) Real.

Žižek introduces this enlarged notion of the Real, involving a symbolic Real, in the foreword to the 2nd edition of For they Know Not What They Do (2002a: xi-xii). This distinction came as a response to Žižek’s own criticism of his first book, The Sublime Object of Ideology (1989), against which he claims he endorsed a “quasi-transcendental reading of Lacan” and the Real. That is, Žižek argues that his reading of Lacan implicitly constructed the Real as a point of failure with the consequence that ethics involves the acceptance of failure and finitude. Instead, Žižek insists upon the Real as not only symbolic failure but as a positive point of excess. In order to do this, Žižek contends that the Lacanian triad of ‘Real-Imaginary-Symbolic’ is reproduced within itself. That is, we can have an imaginary form of the Real as well as a symbolic form of the imaginary.

In a similar vein to Žižek’s enlargement of the concept of the Real, Bruce Fink suggests the Real can be considered as two modalities, the Real ‘before the letter’ (R1) and the Real that is ‘after the letter’ (R2). R1 is the signifier given to that beyond language, an illusionary time and space generated by signification itself such that R1 appears to be without absence. It is only R2 that cuts up R1 through the generation of ‘reality’ in the symbolic order. These cuts occur because the symbolic realm cannot fully grasp what is beyond its limits, creating a gap between reality and the Real. In essence R1 exists only as an absence but this absence is given a name and thus an existence; without the operation of naming in the symbolic, R1 would only be felt as an absence (Fink, 1995: 24 -25). The Real before the letter is thus an original trauma, the fantasmatic point of symbolic castration that turns the pleasures of animal into the torturous being of man. It is a phenomenon best described by Eagleton (2009:143-144) when he states:

We can grasp this alien phenomenon only by constructing it backwards, so to speak, from its effects – from how it acts as a drag on our discourse, as astronomers can sometimes identify a celestial body only because of its warping effect on the space around it…. This void is the precondition for the order’s effective functioning but can never fully be represented there.

Conversely, because absence can only by felt through the failure of presence, the Real cannot simply be considered to be external to symbolisation either in the form of R1 or R2. The Real is not just what is excluded from the symbolic but, rather, has what Lacan termed an ‘extimate’ relationship with the symbolic order, being both within and outside the symbolic at the same time. Thus, although the Real resists symbolisation, it is not alien to the symbolic.

The gap between reality and the Real is strictly internal to reality – there is no reality without the Real. This is the case for R1 because it establishes the very limits of symbolisation but also for R2. R2 operates as the factor that distorts symbolisation from within; it is the disavowed ‘X’ that warps symbolisation in a manner in which we cannot be aware at the time of ‘understanding’. Thus, the Real is not simply a time or space before/outside language (this would be R1). It is also the cuts within the symbolic order – that which cannot be symbolised from within a certain ideological constellation. What may be Real to me may not be to you; what is unsymbolisable within one matrix is not within another. Debate over the possible absence of a transcendental God may be have a Real affect on a pious church-goer – such that they feel anxious and destabilised by even such a thought – yet be a mundane signification for an atheist. Moreover, the presentation of a signifier may give it a Real presence. Poverty statistics, as an illustration, have such a ubiquitous status that they are no longer disturbing to many but coming face-to-face with hunger and suffering much more so.

Through this understanding of the Real, we are now in the position to assert a Lacanian response to the deadlock between modernist essentialism and post-modern fragmentation. Lacanian psychoanalysis rejects the former because of the failure of language to fully grasp and positivise that which it represents prevents the construction of any such universal essentialist positions. Any such attempts can only exist by way of exclusion – a point we shall build upon in the following section. The rejection of all encompassing universality does not lead, however, to fragmentation and particularly characteristic of postmodernity. Rather, although the universal is impossible, it is also necessary.

Žižek asserts in this same manner that plurality – and he includes false essentialisms in this category – is always a response to some excluded Real element which is simultaneously both a hidden essence and surface appearance. Thus, rather than choosing between universality and particularity, Žižek contends that both are historical responses to the impossible Real. This does not mean the Real is ahistorical but, rather, always takes an historical form. For this reason, Žižek contends that psychoanalysis is able to subvert the contingency-structure dualism. In response to a question from Judith Butler (Butler, Laclau, & Žižek, 2000: 5) in regards to the apparent tension between the (false) transcendentalism of the Lacanian Real and the contingency of hegemonic identification, Žižek states; “The opposition between an ahistorical bar of the Real and thoroughly contingent historicity is therefore a false one: it is the very ‘ahistorical’ bar as the internal limit of the process of symbolisation that sustains the space of historicity” (Žižek, 2000b: 214, original emphasis).

In this sense psychoanalytic theory provides a distinctive step-change from both modernist and postmodernist ontologies. If modernism had spent much of its history trying to grasp, represent and tie down what Lacan called the Real, postmodernism had given up on the whole pursuit, preferring to drift in the semblances of appearances which are but a response to the persistence impossibility of the Real. Psychoanalysis, by contrast, rejects both these approaches in favour of what Stavrakakis calls an ‘encircling of the Real’ which entails the infinite process of considering the effect of absence upon presence and identifying the central cause that drives the production of structure (Stavrakakis, 1999: 130). We cannot, however, introduce a strict divide between cause and structure or causality – one cannot operate without the other. Moreover, as we noted earlier in this section, the Real exists in different modalities, from primordial trauma to the friction that exists between two contradictory discourses. This latter point has significant consequences for the practice of psychoanalytic politics and will thus be the focus of the next section.

The Real between Discourses

Discourse exists as chains of differentially connected signifiers such that the meaning of one is established by reference to another. These chains establish a logical connection in which signifiers form combinations which make sense only by reference to the remainder of the ideological chain. In this conception, the discursive system[10] exists as over-lapping chains that may or may not cross at certain points – points which Laclau labels ‘antagonisms’. In this sense the Real is still, as Lacan (2006: 388) stated, the “domain of whatever subsists outside symbolisation” yet parts of this domain can be symbolised in an alternative discourse and remain absent in another. This is not to suggest that discursive chains are always incommensurable but, rather, that terms cannot be simply transposed whilst maintaining the same meaning: certain chains of reasoning make sense only by reference to the exigencies of the signifying chain.

This circumstance occurs between Marxism and capitalist accounts of political economy. Marxism readily acknowledges that hunger and suffering are a necessary consequence of the interactions of the market. Such an acknowledgement would be a point of dislocation for capitalist political economy – it is a point that Sachs, for instance, struggles to account for – and is excluded from that discourse. Here we have a circumstance in which Marxist discourse can symbolise the operation of the Real within capitalism; a point which cannot be acknowledged within the latter[11]. Such an instance – as shall be the focus of Chapters Five and Six – allows for the effects of the Real to be mobilised in a political manner.

An example of this kind of parallel linguistic logic can be illustrated in the biological world. In January 2010, American Physicist Paul Davies argued that alien life may have co-existed since the beginning of what has become human life (Associated Press, 2010). Davies suggested that there was no necessary reason for all life on Earth to have evolved from a single origin. Instead, an ‘alien’ form of life could have developed concurrently but was unable to evolve past a certain point. Thus alien life might well exist, Davies argued, amongst currently unexplored forms of bacteria. In this case, multiple chains of life might be present on the planet, each with their own biological logic that prevents a connection between them. Moreover, each chain would have different logical impossibilities such that what is impossible within one form of life, say sexual reproduction, is part of the structure of another.

We must be careful here not to get caught up in the abstraction necessary to make this point. It is not as if discourses are self contained branches, never coming overlapping. The point, however, remains: language is not infinitely differential but, rather, is cohered into certain patterns through ideology – patterns which allow for some conceptual chains but not others. Thus, whilst the Real as R1 is operational as the original trauma which produces discourse itself, within individual discourses unique patterns and impossibilities emerge which we have identified as a different modality of the Real – R2[12]. Indeed, Lacan suggests a similar logic in his concept of the four discourses – that of the hysteric, master, university and the analyst – each of which identifies a different logic of intersubjectivity.

Žižek suggests a comparable operation to the parallel universe approach to discourse analysis in his recent notion of the ‘parallax view’ – the apparent displacement of an object caused by a shift in the position of the observer. For Žižek, the philosophical twist is that;

The observed difference is not simply ‘subjective’, due to the fact that the same object which exists ‘out there’ is seen from two different stances, or points of view. It is rather that, as Hegel would have put it, subject and object are inherently ‘mediated’, so that an epistemological shift in the subject’s point of view always reflects an ‘ontological’ shift in the object itself. (Žižek, 2006d: 17)

The parallax view then produces a ‘multiplicity of symbolic perspectives’ (ibid.: 18) around an ‘unfathomable X’ – a pure difference which is an object in and of itself. A parallax produces what Kant called a ‘transcendental illusion’; the illusion that there exists a point of mediation between two discourses. This mediatory point exists only as the presence of absence, the Real. Vitally, however, the Real becomes an object itself – the parallax Real. This modality of the Real is the gap which occurs in the parallax shift from one perspective to another. If we take the biblical-postmodern discussions on morality, the parallax Real is the incommensurable gap between the discourses – that barrier which prevents direct communication between them.

Again, the Real here is that point both to which access is not possible and the obstacle itself which prevents this access (ibid.: 26). Furthermore, Žižek goes on to state that the parallax Real brings with it a revision of the standard Lacanian notion of the Real as that which always returns to its place (Lacan, 2006: 17). Rather the parallax accounts for the multiple appearances of the Real itself – that the Real can be entirely different for neo-liberal and Marxist discourse, despite each responding to the same (Real) impossibility of class struggle.

The parallax Real is then itself a 2nd order variation of the Real: it is not the trauma of symbolic castration but, rather, the impossibilities inherent in attempts to symbolise the absence born by castration. The R2 is felt both through its absent presence – the primordial example being the Freudian slip whereby the limitations of a particular discursive structure are revealed only through the performative failure of that structure – as well as actually occurring elements of the Real that are incommensurable within an internal logic of a discourse, yet are able to be symbolised from another perspective. The key example of this process comes from the exceptional elements that each discursive perspective must exclude to establish itself as a set; every ideological formation has an exceptional blind-spot that simply cannot be included within the set if that set is to maintain its consistency. It is to these exceptions (and exclusions) that we now turn.

The Presence of the Real: On the Condition of Exceptionality

As I have noted, the Lacanian ontology suggests that the symbolic order is faced with dual pressures: a quest for the imaginary coherence of the body and the dislocatory effect of the Real. Language can never be objective – it can never be a closed system but, rather, requires the presence of other signifiers – but it is also always in the process of seeking objective closure, a process that Lacan associated with the body. The only way to achieve a fragile, ideological, objectivity this is by way of an exception to the discursive formation.

The notion of exception often causes confusion within psychoanalytic discourse. Much of this confusion comes from the conflation of different modes of exceptionality into one. This assumption stems from Lacan’s theory of sexuation; the manner in which men and women are structured differently in relation to castration and the lack of jouissance. Sexual differentiation has nothing to do with biological essence (Žižek, 1994a: 155) but is rather a structural position in regards to the cut of the signifier; it is entirely plausible to have subjects with female genitalia identifying with the masculine position[13]. From this distinction between the masculine and the feminine Lacan argued that “there is no sexual relationship”: this does not mean that sexual intercourse does not occur but, rather, there is no logical relationship between masculine and feminine positions. Not only do they represent different structural responses to castration but these responses themselves are not together compatible. As a consequence of the failure of the sexual relationship, Lacan identified sexual difference as the antagonism against which both sexuality and sociality is riven; sexual difference is the primary modality of the Real as all forms of discourse are a response to the wound of sexual difference.

Sexual difference can also be conceived of as a logical problem in relation to objectivity and exceptionality in language. The Other is lacking because it cannot complete itself – it cannot name itself within its own set. For there to be an inside there must be an exterior which designates the presence of the inside, otherwise what is internal ceases to be exclusive. By naming the inside that name then becomes part of the set and another exterior signifier is required to constitute the set. Thus, the complete Other, the complete set of signifiers cannot exist – there must be at least one exceptional signifier that names the set, thus exceeding the horizon of that set. Fink (1995: 29-30) here refers to Bertrand Russell’s example of the paradox of the catalogues of all catalogues which do not include themselves as entries. If the catalogue does not include itself within the catalogue, then the list is incomplete – it has an exception, itself. If, however, the catalogue does include itself, then it should not be included within that category .

Such a paradox is the key to Lacan’s understanding of the masculine and feminine; from there to exist a masculine set (a set in which all are included), an exception to that set must exist in order to define the presence of a set. By contrast, the feminine set includes its own exception but loses the ability to define itself as a set and becomes an infinite series.

These positions are not just logical possibilities but, rather, responses to symbolic castration; they suggest both a different relation to the phallus[14] and to jouissance. The question of the exception in relation to sexuation comes by reference to the phallus. For Lacan, the masculine is altogether subject to symbolic castration and the phallus; man is subject to jouissance of the phallus, otherwise known as symbolic jouissance (I shall turn to the question of jouissance shortly). Man can only be wholly submitted to symbolic castration by the presence of an exception that is not submitted to these conditions. According to Lacan, that exception had the status of Freud’s primordial father in Totem and Taboo; the father that has not been subject to castration and was thus able to control and enjoy women fully (Freud, 1960).

Nonetheless, the naming of the set which must necessarily exceed the set is only one of the forms of exceptionality. The other is the universal exception, otherwise known as the excluded or the concrete universal. This form of exceptionality is the form predominately used by Žižek and is the key to his theory of universality, by which he uses Hegel to read Lacan. This conception of universality and the exception is vital to the remainder of the thesis, so we shall pause to consider it in detail.

Žižek, Hegel and Universality

In the Ticklish Subject (Žižek, 1999: 100-101) Žižek suggests – and rejects – three separate positions on universality. The first is the standard, neutral and positivised universal, indifferent to its particular content; that which is universal applies to all possible circumstances. This conception of universality relies upon a singular and essential foundation and has largely been the subject of critique from the discursive turn – the first question asked of this brand of universality is, from which perspective is this universal? – the very possibility of asking this question reveals the particularity of the universal. Nonetheless, it is the image of universality assumed by the likes of Sachs and those involved in the natural sciences (or economics).

This conception of universality has been partially negated by the second alternative: universality as an illusion generated by power relations. Here the universal is neither true nor neutral but, rather, a particular reflection of the existing hegemony. Typically, this version is marked by a Marxist conception of ideology, whereby the universal is a partiality, hiding the true, universal totality of social relations. Thus, this form of universality is not postmodern; theorists of a postmodern bent tend to assert that the only possible form of universality is an illusion. By contrast, this ‘Marxist’ form of universality introduces a split into universality, between an illusionary universal and a true underlying universal.

Finally, Žižek offers the universal as empty, as contingent yet always already hegemonised by particular content. This is the version proposed by Laclau. Laclau, in contrast to the previous two positions, acknowledges that the universal is impossible – language prevents a direct or neutral correlation between the universal and particular. Nonetheless, it is in this failure that universality exists. Here, universality occurs when a signifier is abstracted to the point where it represents nothing but itself: an empty signifier. The universal itself is empty but is always filled by particular elements in a battle of hegemony. These particular elements establish a ‘chain of equivalence’ which fills out the abstract universal horizon such that it coheres our understanding of shared social life. As an illustration, if we were to consider the concept of freedom, Laclau would argue that there is no essential, or universal, definition of freedom. Such a definition would enter into the first notion of universality, where there is one objective understanding of freedom. By contrast, as an example of the second option, Marx argued that ideology under the capitalist mode of production produced a conception of freedom – the freedom to sell one’s labour on the market – that masked its immanent contradiction;  that selling one’s labour on the market takes away one’s freedom. Nonetheless, Marx still maintained a universal concept of freedom in species being.

By contrast, Laclau comes to argue that there is no such thing as freedom in itself but, rather, freedom operates as an empty signifier such that any number of possibilities of freedom are possible, whether it is the freedom to vote, the freedom of an honourable death or Laclau’s freedom of dislocation in language. Thus freedom can become universal if it stands in for the empty place of universality. This universal, however universal in form (for Laclau, if not Žižek) can never be neutral in content – this being the major difference which separates Laclau’s conception from the Marxist notion of the universal as an illusion.

Thus, Laclau’s work on hegemony suggests that the universal occurs only through its abstraction from a chain of particular signifiers. This ‘abstract universal’ provides the hegemonic imaginary horizons – the signifiers and images the support any concept of shared social life – that people use to guides their actions, e.g. the concept of individual freedom or that of human rights. This universal imaginary stands in for the lack that constitutes the social domain. The abstract universal is normally based around an empty signifier, or an objet a, which in Lacanian terms provides a suture for that primal lack and, because of the sense of fullness that it gives, provides the subject with jouissance.

Returning to our example, liberal democratic discourses may be structured around the empty signifier ‘freedom’, which can be taken to mean any number of things. The content of these meanings is not important, unless you happen to be caught under its ideological grasp. In that case the freedom of avoiding the male gaze through a full body Burqa or being bombed into submission in the name of freedom may be of some consequence. In terms of our theoretical argumentation, however, what is important is the ideological form that allows ‘freedom’ to stand in for the presence of absence and structure the field of liberal democracy. In turn, the abstract universal extends this horizon as an ideological formation, taking on further signifiers in what Laclau terms the ‘logic of equivalence’. The condensation of particular elements around a central imaginary horizon through the logic of equivalence offers the prospect of a return to fullness and jouissance.

Such a process occurred during the 2008 US presidential elections. The Democratic candidate, Barack Obama attempted to mobilise support under the empty signifier ‘change’[15] e.g ‘Change we can believe in’, ‘Barack Obama is the leader who will bring the change our country needs’. The strength of this strategy was that change meant nothing in itself, save an opposition to the establishment Republican Party – it tapped into an undercurrent of dissatisfaction with the status quo. Moreover, it allowed for different political formations to identify with the signifier, whilst setting up a frontier against Republican candidate John McCain’s appeals to leadership and experience; ‘Country First’.

Žižek, however, rejects all three of these versions of universality. That said, although he holds that there is some value in Laclau’s work, particularly in the assertion that the universal is an impossible object. Despite this apparently radical conclusion, Žižek argues that Laclau is not radical enough – he leaves in place the exclusion which allows for universality in the first place. For Žižek, the question of universality is “not which particular content hegemonises the empty universal” but, rather, “which specific content has to be excluded so that the very empty form of universality emerges as the “battlefield” for hegemony?” (Žižek, 2000a: 110). As such, Žižek contends that rather than a split between the universal and the particular (causing the universal to be impossible) the universal itself is split between its empty abstraction and concrete remainder, otherwise known as the universal exception.

Žižek’s understanding of universality is exemplified in a defining chapter in his first major text, The Sublime Object of Ideology (Žižek, 1989: 11-53). Here Žižek suggests that Marx ‘invented’ the Lacanian symptom by

detecting a certain fissure, an asymmetry, a certain ‘pathological’ imbalance which belies the universalism of the bourgeois ‘rights and duties’. This imbalance, far from announcing the ‘imperfect realisation’ of these universal principles – that is, an insufficiency to be abolished by further development – functions as their constitutive moment: the ‘symptom’ is, strictly speaking, a particular element which subverts its own universal foundation, a species subverting its own genius (ibid.: 20).

Here, Žižek is specifically referring to Marx’s understanding of freedom, an example I referred to earlier. If liberal capitalism is based around an empty signifier of freedom, which becomes universalised through an abstract hegemonic horizon, then this notion is subverted by the freedom to sell one’s labour on the market. Although this freedom is a vital element of liberal capitalism, the very act subverts that freedom – in selling one’s labour power, the worker loses their freedom (ibid.: 21). It is this freedom to sell labour power which is the universal exception to the abstract universality of bourgeois freedom.

Here then we have an abstract universal notion of freedom. It is one which is subverted by a concrete element that is simultaneously part of the set and beyond that set. It is this element that Žižek labels the concrete universal, or universal exception. The universal exception is thus the cut of the universal whereby one of these particulars does assert itself as universal by its very exclusion from the abstract universal. The universal thus encounters itself in the form of its opposite within itself. Universality proper thus becomes a struggle between the particular elements involved in a battle for hegemony and the singular element which belies this horizon (Žižek, 1991a: 33-36).

As such, Žižek states:

With regards to the opposition between abstract and concrete universality, this means that the only way towards a truly ‘concrete’ universality leads through the full assertion of abstract negativity by means of which the universal negates its own particular content: despite misleading appearances, it is the ‘mute universality’ of the particular content which is the predominant form of abstract universality. In other words, the only way for a universality to become concrete is to stop being a neutral-medium of its particular content, and to include itself among its particular subspecies. (Žižek, 1999: 92)

Further to this, the same symptomatic element exists in relation to the production of surplus value. Žižek argues that once labour becomes a commodity – that is, for sale on the market – ‘equivalent exchange becomes its own negation’ (1989:22). Although the worker is fully paid for their labour (according to the market), the very form of surplus-value is one of exploitation. The worker is exploited not because they are underpaid but because of the position in which the worker exists; having to sell their labour as a commodity.

The concrete universal is thus not only the exception to the false abstract universality but “persists in the very irreducible tension, non-coincidence, between these different levels” (Žižek, 2006d: 31) . One should not distinguish between the abstract and concrete universal but, rather, consider universality as the place of this split, not so much the exception itself but both the exception and the plurality of responses which occur in response to it – this is universality proper, universality as struggle (ibid.:34).

Thus, in Žižek’s reading of universality, difference does not occur between the neutral, mediating universal and its particular elements but, rather, between the universal and its own exception. This difference is experienced as an absence which in the analytic process is represented as the Real. It is by bringing this absence into the symbolic order, not in a manner in which it can be pacified by understanding but, rather, in direct contrast to the official horizon of understanding that a proper critique of universality can occur; by revealing the exceptions upon which the ‘false’ universality is founded (Žižek, 2000a: 102). Thus, the Hegelian triad of the universal, particular and singular (exception) is expanded in its Lacanian reading – a fourth element exists in the very gap between the universal and its particular, the Real (Žižek, 1991a: 43-48; 1999: 79).

Politically, the central value of this particular identification of the exception is that the concrete universal operates as a modality of the Real. If we consider the concrete universal to be the place of a constitutive exception – an element of the set which is excluded from that set – then we see that it takes a material form and yet does not have a presence within the abstract horizon: its intrusion produces a dislocation. Thus the Real can have an existence, or at least a non-existence in Lacanian parlance, outside of the discursive construction of a certain narrative; the concrete universal threatens the horizon from which it is excluded and also constitutes the point of the distortion which prevents its own appearance.

In terms of our previous example in which we identified the freedom to sell labour as the exceptional element of freedom, not only does this dislocating element exist in form – we can identify the formal structure of the wage-labour system to have an element incommensurable with its ideological narrative that cannot be acknowledged within this narrative – but the political operation of this structure produces actually existing exceptions which are excluded from an ideology. It is these points of exclusion which provide the strongest tension within ideology.

As such, if the effects of the Real are only felt as an absence then, alternatively, the Real can be an already symbolised or symbolisable element that is unable to be acknowledged within the dominant perspective. Moreover, that element can be signified within the discourse but attributed to a different cause or within a separate chain of equivalence.

In regards to the wage labour system, as we have already noted, in order for this system to operate a surplus of labour must be excluded from employment. This excluded surplus exists as an exception to the operation of capitalism and more pertinently the ideological narratives of freedom and justice around which capital functions. In this case surplus labour is not universal itself – the universalism of capital lies in the gap between its abstract and concrete instantiations – but reveals the concrete existence of a point that cannot be included, or properly acknowledged, within the abstracted horizon of understanding.

Nonetheless, we can see that surplus labour positioned as the concrete universal becomes a point of dislocation – the effect of the Real within an ideology. This effect is a bodily one which has not been accounted for thus far in this rather abstract description of Lacanian theory, based around lack, absence and exceptionality. This reading – with the exception of the previous expedition through universality – is not far divorced from Laclau’s Marxism and has given no hint as to the distinctive psychoanalytic reading of materialism discussed in the beginning of the chapter. For this reason, it is now time to turn to the other side of the dialectic of lack and excess that is at the basis of the Lacanian conception of the human condition – jouissance.

Jouissance

Jouissance is Žižek’s ultimate (Lacanian) answer to the question he poses in The Sublime Object of Ideology: “What creates and sustains the identity of a given ideological field beyond all possible variations of its positive content?” (1989:87). Žižek begins to answer this question by suggesting that Laclau and Mouffe’s Hegemony and Socialist Strategy provides an answer to this question in the conception of the nodal point or empty signifier; that

the multitude of ‘floating signifiers’ proto-ideological elements, is structured into a unified field through the intervention of a certain ‘nodal point’ (the Lacanian point de capiton) which ‘quilts’ them, stops their sliding and fixes their meaning. (ibid; original emphasis)

As the discussion extends, however, it becomes clear that Žižek’s answer goes beyond discourse into the materiality which sustains the empty signifier. If Laclau’s schema works only at the ‘level of meaning’, than the full Lacanian analysis of ideology also requires the ‘level of enjoyment’ (ibid.: 121). Enjoyment dominates meaning and the symbolic field, bending discourse to its perverse will; the paradoxes of enjoyment are perhaps the most original, intriguing and powerful insight of the Lacanian response to the discursive turn. As such, the materiality of enjoyment also has profound consequences for the practice of Marxism. We shall soon turn to these consequences but let us first consider the level of enjoyment.

Jouissance, in all its paradoxical forms, is the central force of the human condition. It produces an excessive ‘enjoyment’ centred in the body and experienced via language, through a dialectic of excessive jouissance and the lack of the Real. Along with the anchoring effect of the exception, for Lacanian psychoanalysis jouissance is the ultimate reply to the contingency suggested by forms of postmodernity and post-structuralism. If Lacan’s analysis of the symbolic register has much in common with post-structuralism, such that Lacan has at times been mistakenly categorised in this group, then jouissance allows Lacan’s work to go beyond the confines of the symbolic order. This transgression has occurred because Lacan did not conceive of the cut of the signifier as a discursive act alone but, rather, one of symbolic castration; meaning is a bodily function. As such, Lacanian theory has little in common with the likes of Jacques Derrida; indeed the Lacan/Derrida schism is one of the most fundamental within continental philosophy.

Jouissance is a specifically Lacanian – as opposed to Freudian[16] – concept and one that carries all the inherent brilliance and difficulties that stem from Lacan’s work. Although sometimes translated into enjoyment, Jouissance is the paradoxical state of suffering/enjoyment that lies ‘beyond the pleasure principle’ (Evans, 1996: 92). Jouissance is not simply enjoyment or pleasure but, rather, it goes beyond this into a kind of troubling, excessive pleasure that includes elements of transgression and suffering; jouissance is excessive because it serves no purpose, relating more to the death drive than any sense of ‘biological instinct’, evolutionary or otherwise (Levy-Stokes, 2001b: 101). As such, jouissance, like the Real, exists both beyond language and as an intimate part of language.

As with the Real, Fink (1995:60) argues there are two orders of jouissance, before (J1) and after the letter (J2)[17]. J1 is the pure unmitigated jouissance that is thought to be sacrificed with the castrating entry into language – it is the subject’s unmediated connection with their body. This original enjoyment is thought to be held by the Other, as if symbolic castration is a unique experience. It is for this reason, Žižek (1997: 64-65) suggests, that we become so resentful of the explicit enjoyment of our neighbour. As such, the ultimate narrative of ideological fantasy is that castration has not occurred; language produces the impossibility of moving outside of itself and allows for the illusion that this is possible, that we can return to a time before castration. This illusion is supported by attributing lack to an obstacle ‘out-there’ that is blocking the fullness of society. The immigrant often holds this position; their very presence is that antagonistic exception which prevents the full expression of nationality. These signifiers, such as ‘Wall Street’ or ‘Jew’ become signifiers of lack and the posited reason for the failure of J1 jouissance and thus a source of jouissance in and of themselves; J2 .

Signifiers of lack or antagonisms are just one element in the operation of J2 ,which occurs when an object comes to substitute for the loss of J1. The compensation which is thereby enacted occurs through fantasy in the staging of impossible acts to regain this original jouissance (J1 being impossible because the subject cannot return to a time before language). Such a failure sustains an unconscious instinct for a time without a sense that there is something missing from being. As J1 is a creation of language, Žižek contends that there is no jouissance for the subject before J2, surplus-jouissance; if the surplus is removed from jouissance, it is jouissance itself which is lost (Žižek, 1989: 52). For this reason Lacan suggested that lack must always be accompanied by excess; the lack of jouissance creates an excessive response. Jouissance is not a primordial and absolute enjoyment of the body, broken by language, culture and civilisation before being bastardised into compensatory forms. Rather, jouissance occurs only because of the failure of our bodies to obtain this imagined utopia through our forced choice into language and the reign of the signifier: it is nothing but this failure, sustained by an unconscious fantasy of unmediated bodily enjoyment.

Paradoxically then, jouissance, according to US psychoanalyst, Adrian Johnston, is “enjoyable only insofar as it doesn’t get what it is ostensibly after” (2005: 239). The structure of language is such that jouissance (J2) is only able to be enjoyed in its own failure, a failure which keeps alive the prospect of an enjoyment beyond that experienced through the structure of language; the only thing worse that the ce n’est pas ca of surplus jouissance is the prospect of meeting (surplus) jouissance in its bare naked form, and worst of all, knowing it. Such a horror turns the desire of ‘that’s not it’ into the melancholic horror of ‘that is all there is’. In this sense Oscar Wilde famous statement – there are two tragedies in life; not getting what you want and getting it – looks positively Lacanian.

Furthermore, Johnston (ibid.: 240-241) contends that the choice of jouissance mirrors the ‘Highway man’s choice’: your money or your life. Of course, this choice is no choice at all; choose ‘life’ and lose your money, choose ‘the money’ and (one can only assume!) lose your life and your money. For Johnston, the choice of the subject of language is ‘your jouissance or your life!’ If the subject choices life, which they must, then jouissance is lost; the subject is destined to spend their existence in the trauma of this loss[18]. The ‘crazy/impossible’ choice is jouissance, to go for full enjoyment, which is naturally impossible after the subject’s entry into language. Taken to the end, the subject can only lose their life in search of more extreme forms of jouissance. Perhaps more sedately, by choosing jouissance and refusing the limitations of human existence, one could suggest the subject loses their life by not experiencing the possibilities for enjoyment inherent in the human condition, the possibilities of surplus-jouissance.

Surplus-jouissance (J2) should not be considered a secondary effect – all jouissance is secondary – but, rather, as the central focus of analysis. Nonetheless, neither should the fantasmatic form of jouissance be dismissed; the operation of jouissance can only be understood as a relationship between modalities; an excessive compensation for an original lack, one which is simultaneously an imaginary illusion and very Real. It is the task of fantasy to maintain the dialectic between the two modes of jouissance, constructing the ‘lure’ that the semblance of jouissance in the symbolic order may lead to something greater.

This analysis has thus far been limited to the masculine mode of enjoyment. As noted earlier in this chapter, Lacan’s theory of sexuation produced a incompatible couplet; the masculine and the feminine. The masculine structure was entirely submitted to symbolic castration, such that any enjoyment can only be a secondary, surplus-jouissance. The feminine, however, posits a different and somewhat mysterious alternative that has led some to suggest that in the feminine lies the prospect of a radical reshaping of the political.

If all of the masculine subject is submitted to castration – with an exception – then the feminine is not-all submitted to the effect of castration. The feminine subject is also castrated but some part escapes, allowing for the possibility of an ‘Other’ jouissance beyond the phallus (Levy-Stokes, 2001a: 48). Conversely, because there is no exception to the feminine in itself – the feminine is ‘not-all’ – Lacan argued that ‘Women does not exist’. By this he meant not that there is no such thing as woman but, rather, that women cannot be universalised. What Lacan claimed did not exist was the definite article that precedes women – in the original French it is not ‘Women’ that is under erasure but, rather, the feminine definite article ‘La’ (Kay, 2003: 82). There is no set of ‘Women’, rather the feminine is structured as an infinite series from which an element can be added or subtracted without affecting the structure of the set.

In regards to jouissance, the feminine is able to expand beyond the realm of the phallus, although it is still subject to castration and the phallus. This is perhaps the biggest misconception of the feminine. Feminine enjoyment is not an alternative structure, strictly divorced from the masculine – rather it occurs as an impossible supplement to the masculine beyond the boundaries of the signifier (Levy-Stokes, 2001b: 105). Feminine jouissance, according to Carmela Levy-Stokes (2001c: 175) “goes beyond that which can be signified”, and it is the texts of mysticism that best describes this jouissance. Renata Salecl (1997), for example, uses the myth of the Sirens to describe feminine Jouissance and in Seminar XX, in which Lacan thoroughly discusses feminine jouissance, he makes regular reference to the Lewis Carroll’s fable of logic of ‘What the Tortoise said to Achilles’.

Feminine enjoyment, however, remains more of a logical possibility than a symbolic reality. As Salecl (1997:27-28) contends, Lacan speaks to it mainly to emphasise the impossibility of its conception . Indeed, it is only because language contains terms such as ‘unnameable’ that we can speak of feminine jouissance at all (Levy-Stokes, 2001c: 179). According to Fink (1997:120), the Otherness of the feminine jouissance speaks suggests that “The Other is not just an outside relative to a particular, determinate inside; it is always and inescapably Other, ‘outside’ any and all systems”.

For Žižek, however, what is important is not the beyond that the feminine signifies but, rather, that “beyond it there is nothing” (1994a: 151, original emphasis). Žižek insists that this distinction is ontological, not epistemological: what we perceive as beyond is purely a fantasmatic projection of the possibility of an eternal jouissance beyond the signifier, or, as we shall see in regards to Stavrakakis’ notion of democratic enjoyment, a radical alternative to the masculine. Žižek emphasises, however, that the feminine offers not the prospect of a beyond but in a typical Hegelian twist, “there is nothing beyond … the feminine is the structure of the limit as such, a limit that preceds what may or may not lie its beyond”(Žižek, 2005: 71). i shall return to this conception in Chapter Five in which I consider Stavrakakis attempt to mobilise the feminine in support of his ‘democratic theory of enjoyment’. For now, I will move on with our understanding of masculine jouissance through the embodiment of surplus jouissance in objet a.

Objet a and the contingent essentialism of desire

Objet a is the ultimate Lacanian answer to the stability of meaning and ideological formations. Generally untranslated, objet a refers to the A that represents the Other in Lacan’s algebra. In The Parallax View (Žižek, 2006d: 19) , Žižek argues that objet a is; “The object of psychoanalysis… the core of the psychoanalytic experience”. Likewise, Richard Boothby (2001: 242) considers objet a to be perhaps Lacan’s greatest original contribution to psychoanalysis and certainly the most significant element of his work.

Objet a has a transitional status, split between the subject and the Other/Object. Moreover, it is both the object of desire and cause of desire. Moreover, objet a is integrated, yet not completely found, within each of the three Lacanian registers; although often considered primarily as an imaginary object because of the coherence sought by the subject through the object, objet a also exists in symbolisation (Boothby, 2001: 241-244). Recently, however and primarily through Žižek’s work, objet a has been considered to be most productively thought of as an element of the Real. Here objet a operates as the little remainder of the Real within the symbolic order, the unknowable ‘X’ that forever eludes the symbolic and produces a multitude of symbolic responses through which the subject seeks to give it form. As such, objet a can be considered to be the residue of symbolisation, the last remainder of unity produced with the breakdown of jouissance. In this sense it is the positive ‘waste’ of symbolisation (Zupančič, 2006b: 159).

Objet a thus takes the position of the missing element in being, the void at which the symbolic order remains perpetually riven. As such, via a fantasmatic relation, objet a connects the lack of the Real and the excess of jouissance by becoming both the object-cause – the gap that sets of the symbolic chain of being – and the logic of desire as objet a becomes embodied in specific objects which signal both the limit point of the symbolic order and the possibility of its suture. The paradoxical logic of objet a is such that whilst an object may appear to be the cause of desire, that object is actually a largely arbitrary – and certainly unconscious – embodiment of the hidden cause of desire (Kay, 2003: 166). Objet a becomes attached, embodied, in a particular signifier. It is this attachment which overwhelms the signifier with jouissance that makes language materialist. An object, say a commodity item like a pair of shoes, may appear to be the cause of desire; ‘I have to have those shoes, they are perfect for me because…’ The illusion, however, is that this object has taken the place of objet a which is causing the desire for the object. As such, desire has no object – only a cause, objet a (Fink, 1995: 90-91).

Objet a functions as both the object of desire and the object-cause because it is the remnant of the Real, of R1. It is an element that remains in the subject after the subject enters the symbolic order while remaining an element of the Other, a lack that persists on account of the inability of language to connect with material reality[19]. The manner in which objet a functions is thus dependent upon the manner in which lack is constructed in fantasy. This fantasmatic construction creates the illusion of consistency in the subject. For this consistency to operate, some object must be postivised such that it can stand in for the inherent lack that would otherwise threaten consciousness (Žižek, 1997: 81).

There is, however, always a gap between the cause and object of desire, a gap which further prevents the satisfaction of desire; the object can be obtained but when it is it ceases to be the object of desire. Instead desire continues on its metonymical chain. This impossibility is the central element of the role of fantasy in desire; fantasy supports the subject’s desire, maintaining an appropriate distance from the object This object is then retroactively posited as the cause of desire. Thus we can consider objet a to be the embodiment of surplus-jouissance, the “coincidence of limit and excess, of lack and surplus… the left over which embodies the fundamental, constitutive lack” (Žižek, 1989: 53; 2001: 149). In this sense, as Fink suggests; “Desire is an end in itself: it seeks only more desire, not fixation on a specific object” (Fink, 1997:26). Such is the emptiness of desire that the subject does not really want to obtain the object of their desire, instead what is desired is desire itself, a distance which is maintained by the construction of fantasy (Fink, 1995: 90).

Desire and Ideological Fantasy

Objet a allows Lacan to understand why meaning is not entirely contingent, even if there is no transcendental ultimate referent. Jouissance adds a material weight to the signifier; meaning does not simply drift from signifier to signifier but, rather, gets fixated upon certain nodal points. These points anchor the field of meaning. This conclusion, however, is no different from the dry analysis of Laclau’s discourse theory. What lends power to Lacan’s analysis is the ability to understand why these points hold a hidden power that operates beyond linguistic structure – his answer was objet a. Through the logic of objet a certain signifiers-objects become embodied with the power of jouissance, a power which suggests the possibility of a traversal of symbolic castration and a return to the fullness of the body. This power allows certain signifiers to not only take a structural role in discourse but a determining function in the body. For this reason, radical change can only occur through a break with the ideological fantasy that structures political enjoyment. Thus, although Laclau’s approach to hegemony reveals the manner in which political struggles can occur within a pre-established horizon (although without taking into account the materiality of this battle), Žižek’s psychoanalytic reading suggests that because of the grip of jouissance and the stability provided by the exclusion of exceptional points, radical change can only occur by ‘traversing’ ideological fantasy. Although the politics of this break will be discussed in some detail in Chapter Seven, it is worth signalling here that the most effective strategy for achieving this radical change with capital come through the intrusion of the exceptional element into the (fantasmatic) discursive frame.

Fantasy helps the subject maintain a manageable distance from the cause of desire (objet a), supporting desire but not getting burnt by the empty horror revealed by the substituted object. This fantasmatic construction creates the illusion of consistency in the subject. For this consistency to operate, some object must be positivised such that it can stand in for the inherent lack that would otherwise threaten consciousness (Žižek, 1997: 81). This substitute can occur in either a positive or negative manner. In terms of the latter, there becomes a signifier of lack, one that either signifies the cause of this lack, the reason why negativity has entered the order. ‘Wall St’ has recently functioned as this signifier, although ‘Jew’ is the more powerful historical example (this exception is the masculine mode exception discussed earlier in this chapter).

On the other hand there exist positive ‘place-fillers’, or empty signifiers, which suggest the possibility of full enjoyment. Barack Obama functioned as this signifier in the 2008 US Presidential campaign, largely staying away from detailed policy issues, using signifiers like ‘Hope’ and ‘Change’ which enabled a multitude of (often contradictory) signifiers to identify with his campaign. In this sense Obama became the signifier which suggested a fantasised return to the true (and great) fullness of America, a fullness and certainly greatness which is an historical fantasy[20]. It is interesting to note that in 2009, once it had become apparent that Obama’s Presidency was not going to restore America – at least in a fantasmatic sense – an equally passionate reaction was experienced on the opposite side of the political spectrum. During ‘town-hall’ debates over Health Care reform, protestors were seen – often yelling and crying hysterically – platitudes such as ‘This is not my America!’ Furthermore, impassioned attempts have been made to position Obama as an outside, both through the ‘birther’ movement (which argues, despite all evidence, that Obama was born in Kenya; these arguments often insinuate that he is also a Muslim) and by labelling Obama a socialist, communist or Nazi[21].

Desire is constituted in fantasy, which for Lacan acts as a defence against symbolic castration and the lack in the Other. Because there is no sexual relationship, no naturally occurring formation between the subject and jouissance, fantasy is unique to the subject, although it can take a myriad of forms, each producing a different relationship to castration and jouissance. In this sense fantasy offers the prospect of reuniting the subject with jouissance through the remainder of jouissance, objet a. The fantasmatic relationship mediates between objet a, the remainder of jouissance after the letter, and the idea of J1, providing the subject with a (relatively) coherent sense of being through the possibility that these objects could fill the empty spaces in the symbolic order (Fink, 1995: 60; Žižek, 2006d: 40).

Fantasy is ultimately a narrative about the deadlock of symbolic castration. Fantasy responds to castration and antagonism, explaining the lack of jouissance, teaching the subject to desire through language. Because language is inherently intersubjective, so too is fantasy and desire. Fantasy is never singular but, rather, responds to the desires of others – the ultimate question of fantasy is Che Vuoi? , What does the Other want from me? (Žižek, 1989: 118). Indeed, the most powerful logic of fantasy is that the Other is responsible for my jouissance. That is, it is the Other who has stolen my jouissance ­– the jouissance owed to me exists in the Other (Žižek, 1997: 7-44). For this reason fantasy is also social – fantasy is always ideological fantasy – and politics itself is often a battle to defend fantasmatic enjoyment. Nonetheless, both terms remain important. Fantasy does not simply become ideology. Rather the implications of fantasy upon ideology has led Žižek to produce a theory of ideology which breaks strongly with the traditional Leftist-Marxist version.

Ideology, like history, is often stated to be on the wane. Nonetheless, if it appears that big power battles are over, Žižek’s notion of ideology suggests that this is the surest sign that we continue to live in an ideological world. Ideology, in this sense, comes from the illusion that there is no ideology; that society exists. British psychoanalytic theorist Jason Glynos (2001a: 196) distinguishes this ontological sense of ideology from the two approaches which dominate ideology today; Marxism and liberalism. Classical Marxism assumes that society exists; it has a positive essence which is distorted by the partial perspective of ideology. Ideology here is an illusion, dominated by power relations which Marx attributed to the essence of class relations.

The major difference between the Marxist and the Lacanian-Žižekian sense of ideology is that for Marx ideology consists of a partial representation (dominated by class-power interests) of a total reality. Alternatively, for Žižek (1989: 30-33) ideology entails a totalising attempt to represent partial social relations. As has been insisted throughout this chapter, society does not exist – it is punctuated by the Real – but the human process involves various attempts to compensate for this lack. In the social, as opposed to clinical domain, these attempts can be included under the umbrella concept of ideological fantasy. Ideology shapes cultural relationships to jouissance – as Daly states; “The central paradox of ideology is that it can only attempt closure through simultaneously producing the ‘threat’ to that closure” (1999: 220). In this sense we can link ideological fantasy to the abstract mode of universality identified earlier in the chapter.

Žižek’s distinction of the Lacanian reading of ideology from its Marxist equivalent signals the major Lacanian critique of Marxian politics: the impossibility of jouissance. In relation to our previous example of freedom and labour as the universal exception of capitalism, Žižek argues that Marx’s utopian illusion was that universality – full and equivalent exchange – could occur without a symptom (1989: 23). Žižek argues that Marx’s mistake was to “assume that the object of desire (the unconstrained expansion of productivity) would remain even when it was deprived of the cause that propels it (surplus value)” (2000d: 21). For this reason, although psychoanalysis and Žižek in particular has restored both political economy and materialism to Marxism and radical Leftist politics, rehabilitating Marxist politics has proven a tougher task. To explore the difficulties posed by psychoanalysis, we shall turn to a homology to which both Lacan and Žižek draw our attention.

What can Surplus-jouissance teach us about Surplus- value?

Lacan identified a homologous logic between the logic of jouissance – that there is no jouissance without the obstacle that propels it – and the logic of surplus-value that was missed by Marx in his work on surplus-value and productivity. Marx believed that by removing the obstacle – the private appropriation of surplus-value – the productivity generated by surplus-value would remain and could be utilised for the good of all. Marx’s notion of communism relied upon the development of productivity and surplus so that the worker could be freed from the alienation of specialisation to pursue their own sense of species being. Today, it is only the wealthiest that are able to enjoy ethical benefits of Marxian communism.

Ultimately, for Marx, the production of surplus-value was the key to capitalist productivity and the expansion of capital through circulation that ‘realises’ surplus-value, turning it into profit: it is surplus-value, based upon the historical over-supply of workers, which is the goal (object) of capital. Essentially, although the worker is fully compensated from their labour-power, the nature of labour as a commodity is that its use value produces greater value than its own; a constitutive surplus which is appropriated by the owner of the means of production (Žižek, 2006d: 57) .

 Žižek takes the fundamental logic of surplus-value – an element of lack that generates more than itself – and extends it to the operation of capitalism as a totality. In this definition, capitalism is characterised by a dialectical circulation of lack and excess which corresponds to the relationship within the psyche of the Real and jouissance. Žižek’s (Marxist) point is that under capitalism there is a commodity that, through exchange, produces more than itself; the natural operation of labour is surplus. The appropriation of this surplus by the owner is expanded through the circulation of commodities which turn money into capital; capital is embedded with a quality which makes it capable of producing a surplus which we can now label profit.

Because surplus-value acts as the core driver of capitalism, Žižek contends that the production of surplus has the same structural role in capitalism as objet a has in the psyche. Indeed, surplus-value is the objet a of capitalism. However, by labelling surplus-value as objet a, Žižek suggests that there is more to surplus-value (profit) than a simple goal. Rather, profit embodies the logic of objet a, in that it simultaneously operates as the condition of possibility and impossibility of the logic of capital. Žižek signals this when he describes surplus-value as an inner contradiction within capitalism but one that operates as the condition of possibility of the system.

However, it is not only Marx who believed that capitalism needs to rid itself of these symptoms. The whole capitalist edifice is driven to avoid its own inner contradiction but in doing so only produces more. Capitalism cannot be stable; rather it has to operate in a state of constant revolution of its own conditions in order to function, generally either by producing new commodities or selling existing commodities in new markets (Jameson, 1996). Hence, the World Bank acknowledgement of the world’s poor as the ‘customers of the future’ (Moore, 2002). Capitalism is in essence a system in crisis but a constitutive crisis which produces the upwards spiral of productivity which is its basis (Žižek, 1989: 52).

Thus, capitalism, like the hysterical psyche of capitalist consumer subjectivity, is never at a state of rest, there is never just value or jouissance; capitalism is a system based on movement (circulation) and the production of excess that hides an ultimate lack. Capitalism’s inherent and disavowed strength is its ability to revolutionise its own conditions, which is to create markets out of its own failings. The threat of global warming and the capitalist response of sustainable development and the ‘Green Dollar’ is perhaps the strongest contemporary example of this logic. This has led to what Alenka Zupančič (2006b: 175) describes as a “paradoxical convergence of power and resistance” where threats to the system are now simply opportunities for profit. It does not take long for 21st century marketers to commodify the latest counter-culture movement. Indeed, some would argue that the marketers are generating this culture.

Thus, the structural homology between surplus-value in capitalism and the surplus-jouissance of the psyche can tell us much about the operation of capitalism. In both, the surplus is not an excess which is tagged onto the normal state of affairs. Rather, this surplus is the normal state, the cause which drives the excessive balance of the system. Just as in the logic of objet a (the object of surplus-jouissance) in surplus-value there is produced what appears to be a waste, an unaccounted for surplus, in the normal operation of the system (Zupančič, 2006b: 162). For Zupančič, surplus-value comes about when this waste is valorised, accounted for, not as waste but as an integral part of the system; profit (ibid.: 170). Thus, in capitalist ideology, there is never surplus; all things are accounted for as profit is simply the appropriate return for the investment of capital. Capitalist surplus excess cannot be tamed, nor integrated into a new form, such as Marx’s communism. Instead, the question is, as Žižek suggests:

The theoretical task, with immense practical-political consequences, is here: how are we to think the surplus that pertains to human productivity ‘as such’ outside its appropriation/distortion by the capitalist logic of surplus value as the mobile of social reproduction? (Žižek, 2007a: 55)

This is a question, it seems, that Marxism is no longer equipped to handle. If Marxism has been unable to respond to the contingency of the discursive turn, it fares little better with the materialism of psychoanalysis – politically at least. What can be taken from the psychoanalytic response to the discursive turn is a deeper and more productive analysis of capitalism. If the deterministic essentialism of classical Marxism had proven unfeasible at best, the turn to language and culture removed any sense of structure, history and emancipatory drive that held Marxist discourse together. Lacanian psychoanalysis has not been able to restore the latter but through a reading of Marxism has been able revive the concepts of structure, of history and of a rehabilitated sense of determinism and causality. This rehabilitation of Marxism has allowed for a stronger critique of capitalism, in particular an exposure of its symptomatic structure, exceptionality and relations of enjoyment. It has not been able, however, to develop a form of politics that might match communism and the revolutionary subject. If the question is of our relation to surplus, then Marxism has no answer.

Psychoanalysis, however, is built on the question of the subject relation to surplus-jouissance. It is to this response that we shall now turn, considering the psychoanalytic conception of ethics as a response to jouissance both moving onto the question of politics. In doing so we shall begin to consider how the Lacanian response to surplus might inform a rehabilitation of Marxism and ultimately a response to capitalism.


[1] Perhaps more accurately, the Lacanian subject is constituted by the failure of language.

[2] Whilst being aware of the difficulty in defining and utilising Lacanian concepts in a manner divorced from his own clinical concerns, this chapter does not specifically seek to discuss the historical and dialectical movements and controversies inherent in the Lacanian oeuvre. Lacan’s work is notoriously obscure, Lacan himself using various concepts inconsistently across the length and content of his work. The basis of this chapter (the dialectics of the human condition) could not only be the subject of a thesis but is a life’s work in itself. Whilst acknowledging the difficulties of using these concepts without fully exploring the possible depths of discussion, such are the inherent limitations of a thesis project that does not take these concepts as its specific focus. There is certainly value in this discussion, and one should be very careful – as I seek to be in this thesis – not to reify any notion. Conversely, in the context of this particular thesis and its ultimate subject (the crisis of global political economy) such discussion is not especially pertinent. Thus, whilst it is vital to further argumentation to divide Lacanian thought into several central concepts, the construction of these concepts must be read with the preceding proviso in mind.

[3] Indeed Sachs (2005a) has constructed what he calls ‘clinical economics’ which can be applied across a number of different contexts based upon a number of central ‘truths’ about the operation of markets. Whilst the standard Marxist approach is to reject this doxa offhand, as we shall expand on in detail in Chapter Six, these approaches do ‘work’. That is, the exigencies of the market do have a reproducible logic which allows the interpretation of a number of laws. The vital difference between this interpretation and that of neo-liberalism is that whilst the latter conceives these laws to be a reflection of natural human behaviour our reading is that they are a reflection of the non-arbitrary operation of capitalism.

Moreover, whilst this chapter will suggest a wholly different interpretation of the human condition from that inferred by neo-liberalism and the economic subject, this is not reflected in a corresponding theory of ideal economic behaviour. Nonetheless, in Chapter Six we will discuss Yahya Madra and Ceren Özselcuk’s attempts to transpose the Lacanian theory of feminine subjectivity onto an alternative reading of class structure in an attempt to suggest an alternative conception of economic subjectivity.

[4] Utopia, as shall be the focus of discussion in Chapter Eight, can be read in two different manners. The Utopian demand could refer to the ‘perfect society’, or in Laclau’s terms, that society exists. This form of utopia would certainly be rejected by Lacan as an ethical or political position, although he would suggest that this form of utopia could be translated in jouissance. It would, however, remain equally impossible. The sense in which Bloch is referring, however, is a demand for the very impossibility of utopia; utopia as the very form of the suggestion that another mode of being is possible.

[5] Indeed this chapter, orientated by Žižek’s work, begins with the Real in its examination of Lacan’s central concepts.

[6] I thank Wendy Bolitho for her insistence upon this point.

[7] Indeed, whether it is possible or desirable to represent the Real is a matter for discussion.

[8] Perhaps the best way to understand the Real is through the very failure to produce a definition. What these attempts do is encircle a certain impossibility, a point of failure in the discourse. It is this point that can be considered the Real; the Real can never be fully represented but can be felt as the failure to account for its presence. This is perhaps what the reader should seek to take out of this section.

[9] Indeed, this signals the operation of the Real – a singular impossibility which produces a plurality of responses

[10] The reference to discourse as a system is not a reversion to a form of structuralism but, rather, a recognition that a system is still established even at the moment of its failure.

[11] Žižek (2006d) acknowledges a similar point in relation to objet a: that what for one person may be an ordinary object can for another by the absolute object of desire

[12] Fink (1995:16-19), following a model given by Lacan, gives an excellent example of this logic in the coding of a coin-toss game.

[13] Although, as Sarah Kay (2003: 87) notes the link between biological sex and sexuation is a difficult issue in Žižek’s work. It is not immediately clear why biological men tend to be subjected to the masculine position.

[14] Lacan broke with Freud in identifying the phallus not with the penis but, rather, the signifier. Again, however, there is a major ambiguity in psychoanalysis around the link between the symbolic phallus and the biological penis, the pertinent question being why the biological penis comes to represent the symbolic phallus – the link appears more than ‘radically contingent’

[15] Early in his campaign, Obama utilising ‘Hope’ as this empty universal signifier. Although Hope remained prominent throughout the campaign, it largely gave way to ‘Change’. This move was most likely inacted inorder to avoid splitting the energy of the campaign. Conversely, this example shows that such signifiers are not strictly empty but, rather, carry with them a long history of associations – what Laclau calls a chain of equivalence. The switch from the aspirations of hope to the more mainstream change is not simply a contingent move between equal signifies but signaled a change in political strategy. Nonetheless, this does not change the fact that – once in place – each ‘empty’ signifier can be articulated by any number of discourses.

[16] Nonetheless, although Freud did not use this term, the beginnings of its Lacanian composition can be noted in Freud’s work on the death drive and the dialectical relation between Eros and Thanatos.

[17] Adrian Johnston makes a similar distinction between jouissance expected and jouissance obtained (2005: 297).

[18] As we shall examine in more detail in regards to ethics in the following chapter, much of the clinical process involves coming to terms with this choice and learning to enjoy the possibilities for enjoyment which remain. The vital switch is between the subject as the tragic victim of language and the comedy of actively accepting that over which we had no control; the entry into language

[19] Although, as Žižek notes, to define objet a as the which emerges at the point of loss is to stay within the realm of desire, as opposed to drive, which we shall expand upon latter (2006c).

[20] The greatness of America being a fantasy no matter our political position. Even if a nation was once somehow empirically the ‘Greatest’ and had now fallen from grace, any attempt to return to that position remains a fantasy.

[21] On a side note to our ‘American’ theme, globally the most powerful signifier of lack for those outside of the global hegemony of the West is ‘America’, often preceded by ‘death to’.