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(G as in 'Gauche' <Left>, H as in History of Philosophy, I as in Idea, J as in Joy, K as in Kant, L as in Literature, M as in 'Maladie' <Illness>)
<The following is the second part
of a three-part overview of the eight-hour series of interviews
between Gilles Deleuze and Claire Parnet that were filmed by Pierre-André
Boutang in 1989. Destined to be broadcast only after Deleuze's
death, these interviews were shown with his permission on the
Arte channel between November 1994 and spring 1995, i.e. during
the year prior to his death.
Rather than provide a transcription and translation into English,
I try to provide the main points of the questions posed by Parnet
and Deleuze's responses, and all infelicities and omissions are
entirely my responsibility. See the summary of the previous part
for details on the interview "set".>
At the end of the previous letter, F as in Fidelity (Loyalty),
Deleuze says that all people only have charm through their madness
(folie). What is charming is the side of someone that shows
that they're a bit unhinged (où ils perdent un peu les
pédales). If you can't grasp the small trace of madness
in someone, you can't be their friend. But if you grasp that small
point of insanity, "démence," of someone, the
point where they are afraid or even happy, that point of madness
is the very source of his/her charm. He then pauses, smiles, and
says: "D'où 'G'" (Which leads us to 'G')...
Parnet reminds Deleuze that although
he comes from a bourgeois family with 'right' political leanings,
he has since the Liberation in 1945 been a 'homme de gauche' (leftist),
and she reminds him also that while so many of his friends joined
the French Communist Party (PC), he never did. Why?
Deleuze says, yes, they all went through the PC, and what prevented
him from doing so was that he was always so hard-working <travailleur>,
plus he simply could never stand attending all those meetings!
He reminds Parnet that this was at the period of the 'appel de
Stockholm' (Stockholm Appeal), and all of his friends, people
of great talent, spent all their time walking around getting signatures
on this petition... An entire generation got caught up in this,
Deleuze says, but that posed a problem for him. He had a lot of
friends who were Communist historians, and Deleuze felt that it
would have been much more important for the PC if these friends
had spent their energy on finishing their dissertations than getting
signatures. So, he had no interest in that, nor was he very talkative
anyway, so all this petition-signing would have put him in a state
of complete panic.
Parnet asks if Deleuze nonetheless felt close to the Party's commitments,
and he says no, that they never concerned him, something else
that saved him from all these discussions about Stalin, and about
the revolution going wrong. Deleuze chortles at this point, says
who are they trying to kid <de qui on se moque>, all these
'nouveaux philosophes' (New Philosophers) who have discovered
that the revolution went wrong, you really have to be dimwitted
<débile>, since that was evident with Stalin.
Deleuze pursues this line brutally: whoever thought that a revolution
would go well, he asks? Who? Who? People say the English could
not have a revolution, but that's false: they did, they had Cromwell
as a result, and all of English Romanticism, which is a long meditation
on the failure of the revolution. They didn't wait for André
Glucksmann, says Deleuze, to reflect on the failure of the revolution.
And Americans never get discussed, they had their revolution,
as much if not more so than the Bolsheviks. Even before the Revolutionary
War, they presented this as a new notion and went beyond these
notions exactly like Marx spoke later of the proletariat: they
led forth a new people, and had a true revolution. Just as the
Marxists discovered universal proletariatization, the Americans
counted on universal immigration, the two means of class struggle.
This is absolutely revolutionary, says Deleuze, it's the America
of Jefferson, of Melville, an absolutely revolutionary America
that announced the 'new man' just as the Bolshevik revolution
announced the 'new man'.
That revolution failed, all revolutions do, and now people are
pretending to "rediscover" that. You really have to
be dimwitted, Deleuze repeats... Everyone is getting lost in this
current revisionism. There is François Furet who discovered
that the French Revolution wasn't as great as had been thought,
that it failed. But everybody knows that, the French Revolution
gave us Napoleon! People are making "discoveries" that,
for Deleuze, are not very impressive through their novelty <on
fait des découvertes qui ne sont pas très émouvantes
par leur nouveauté>. The British Revolution resulted
in Cromwell, the American Revolution had worse results, the political
parties, Reagan, which don't seem any better.
Deleuze pursues this farther: people are in such a state of confusion
about revolutions failing, going bad. Yet that never prevented
people from becoming revolutionary. Deleuze argues that people
are confusing two absolutely different things: the situation in
which the only outcome for man is to become revolutionary, it's
the confusion between becoming and history, and if people become
revolutionary, that's historians' confusion. Historians, says
Deleuze, speak of the future of the revolution, but that is not
at all the question.
The concrete problem is how and why people become revolutionary,
and fortunately historians can't prevent them from doing so. It's
obvious, Deleuze says, that the South Africans are caught up in
a becoming-revolutionary, the Palestinians as well. Then, Deleuze
says, if someone tells him after that, even if their revolution
succeeds, it will go badly, Deleuze responds: first of all, they
will not be the same kinds of problems, but new situations will
exist, becomings-revolutionary will be unleashed. The business
of people in situations of oppression and tyranny, argues Deleuze,
is to enter into becomings-revolutionary, and when someone says,
"oh, it's not working out," we aren't talking about
the same thing, it's as if we were speaking two different languages
-- the future of history and the future of becomings are not at
all the same thing, he concludes.
***** [TRANSLATED SECTION] [TRANSCRIBED SECTION, IN FRENCH]
Parnet picks up another current issue
(in 1988), the respect for the"rights of man" <les
droits de l'homme> which is so fashionable, but is not
revolutionary, quite the opposite. Deleuze replies softly, even
wearily, that he thinks the respect for the "rights of man"
belongs to this weak thinking <pensée molle>
of the impoverished intellectual period that they discussed earlier
(under "C as in Culture"). It's purely abstract, says
Deleuze, these "rights of man", purely abstract, completely
empty. It's like what he was trying to say about desire: desire
does not consist of erecting an object, of saying I desire this...
we don't desire an object, it's zero; rather, we find ourselves
in situations.
Deleuze takes an example from the news, the Armenian situation:
an enclave in another Armenian Soviet republic, a first step;
then there is a massacre by some sort of Turkish group, so the
Armenians retreat into their republic, and right then, there is
an earthquake. You'd think you were in something written by the
Marquis de Sade, Deleuze says, these poor people in these awful
circumstances. (Deleuze gives this example as a set of situations).
He continues that when people say "the
rights of man," it's just intellectual discourse, odious
intellectuals at that, who have no ideas. Deleuze insists that
these declarations are never made as a function of the people
that are directly concerned, the Armenians, for example. Their
problem is not the "rights of man." This is what Deleuze
calls an "assemblage" <agencement>: what
must one do to suppress this enclave or to make it possible for
this enclave to survive? It's a question of territory, not one
of the "rights of man," not a question of justice, but
a question of jurisprudence.
All the abominations that humans undergo, says Deleuze, are cases,
not elements of abstract law. These are abominable cases, just
as the Armenian problem is an extremely complex problem of jurisprudence,
to save the Armenians or help them save themselves. Then, an earthquake
occurs to confuse everything . To act for freedom, becoming revolutionary,
is to operate in jurisprudence when one turns to the justice system.
So it's not a question of applying the "rights of man,"
but rather of inventing forms of jurisprudence, so that for each
case, this would no longer be possible.
Deleuze offers an example to help explain what jurisprudence is:
he recalls when smoking in taxis was forbidden. At first, some
refused, and the whole matter became quite public because of smokers.
In an aside, Deleuze mentions that if he hadn't studied philosophy,
he would have studied law, but not the "rights of man."
Rather he'd have studied jurisprudence, it's life; there are no
"rights of man," says Deleuze, only rights of life,
case by case. He returns to the taxi example: one day, some guy
does not want to stop smoking, so he sues the cab, the cab loses
the case on the grounds that when someone takes a taxi, he is
renting it, and the renter has the right to smoke in his rented
location. The taxi is assimilated to being a rolling apartment,
and the customer is the renter. Ten years later, the taxi is no
longer assimilated in this way, it becomes assimilated instead
to being a form of public service, and no one has the right any
more to smoke.
So it's a question of situations that evolve, and fighting for
freedom is to engage in jurisprudence. In Armenia, what are the
"rights of man"? The Turks don't have the right to massacre
Armenians: how far does that really get us? It's the dimwitted
or hypocrites really, Deleuze argues, who have this idea of the
"rights of man." The creation of rights is the creation
of jurisprudence and fighting for it. That's what the left is,
creating rights.
******* [END of TRANSLATED SECTION, see above]
Parnet affirms that this demand for the "rights of man" is like a denial of May '68 and a denial of Marxism as well. Yet Deleuze was never a Communist, and still he makes use of Marx who continues to be a referent for him. And Deleuze, says Parnet, is one of the last persons who has not said that May '68 was nil, schoolroom pranks; and ,everyone changes. She asks him to talk a bit about May '68. Deleuze chides her, says she is too harsh, he is not one of the last people, lots of people think well of May '68. Parnet counters that these are his friends. Deleuze says still, lots of people have not denied or recanted on May '68.
For Deleuze, May '68 is simple: it's an intrusion of the real. People often have wanted to view it as the reign of the imaginary, but it's really, says Deleuze, a gust of the real in its pure state <une bouffée du réel dans l'état pur>. It's the real, he repeats, and people don't understand that, it was prodigious! People in reality, that's what a becoming is. There can be bad becomings, and it's almost required for historians not to have understood that, Deleuze believes, because at such moments, the difference between history and becomings is revealed, and May '68 was a becoming-revolutionary without a revolutionary future. People can always make fun of it after the fact, but becomings took hold of people, even becomings-animal, even becomings-children, becomings-women for men, becomings-men for women. All these aspects are in this very special domain that Deleuze and Parnet have been pouring over since the start of her questions.
Parnet asks Deleuze if he had becomings-revolutionary
himself at that moment, and he says that her smile tells him it's
a question not devoid of mockery. So she rephrases it: Between
Deleuze's cynicism as a "homme de gauche"/leftist and
his becoming-revolutionary as a leftist, how does he unravel,
explain all that <se débrouiller>, and what does
it mean for Deleuze to be "de gauche", on the left?
Deleuze pauses here before answering. Then he says he does not
believe that a leftist government exists, which is not astonishing.
The best one can hope for, he believes, is a government favorable
to certain demands from the left. But a leftist government does
not exist since being on the left has nothing to do with governments
<n'est pas une affaire de gouvernement>.
So how to define being on the left, he continues? In two ways:
first, it's a matter of perception, which means this: what would
*not* being on the left mean? It's a little like an address, extending
outward from a person: the street where you are, the city, the
country, other countries farther and farther away <Deleuze
gestures outward>. It starts from the self, and to the extent
that one is privileged, living in a rich country, one might ask,
what can we do to make this situation last? One senses that dangers
exist, that it might not last, it's all so crazy, so what might
be done so that Europe lasts? Being on the left is the opposite:
it's perceiving... And people say the Japanese perceive like that,
not like us... they perceive first the periphery <Deleuze gestures
outward inward>, they would say the world, the continent --
let's say Europe --, France, etc. etc., rue de Bizerte, me: it's
a phenomenon of perception, perceiving the horizon, perceiving
on the horizon.
Parnet understandably objects that the Japanese aren't really
so leftist, and Deleuze gestures at her dismissively, her objection
isn't adequate <c'est pas une raison>, on the basis of that
<their perception>, they're leftist, on the basis of their
sense of address, postal address. First, you see the horizon,
Deleuze says. And you know these millions of starving people can't
last, he continues, there's no point in kidding about it, it's
an absolutely worn-out justice system, it's not a matter of morality,
but in perception itself. It's not in saying that the natality
rate has to be reduced, which is just another way of keeping the
privileges for Europe. <Being on the left> is really finding
arrangements, finding world-wide assemblages. Being on the left,
it is often only Third World problems that are closer to us than
problems in our neighborhoods. So it's really a question of perceptions,
says Deleuze, more than being a question of "beautiful souls"
<belles âmes>, that's what being on the left is. And
second, he continues, being on the left is a problem of becomings,
of never ceasing to become minoritarian. That is, the left is
never of the majority, and for a very simple reason: the majority
is something that assumes that it's not the huge quantity that
votes for something, but it assumes a standard <étalon>;
in the West, the standard that every majority assumes is: 1) man,
2) adult 3) manly/virile <male>, 4) city dweller... Ezra
Pound, Joyce say things> like that, it's a standard. So, the
majority by its nature will go for whomever or whatever aggregate
at a particular moment will succeed with this standard, that is,
the supposed image of the urban, virile, adult male such that
a majority, Deleuze insists, is never anyone, it's an empty standard.
Simply, a maximum of persons recognize themselves in this empty
standard.
So, he continues, women will make their mark either by intervening
in this majority, or in the minorities according to groupings
in which they are placed according to this standard. Deleuze clarifies
this: being a woman is not a given by nature, women have their
own becomings-woman; and so, if women have a becoming-woman, men
have a becoming-woman as well. Deleuze reminds Parnet of talking
earlier about becomings-animal, about children having their own
becomings, not being children naturally. Parnet wonders that men
cannot become men, and that's tough! Deleuze says, no, that's
a majoritarian standard, virile, adult, male... they can become
women, and then they enter into minoritarian practices. The Left,
Deleuze concludes, is the aggregate of processes of minoritarian
becomings. So, says Deleuze, quite literally, the majority is
no one, the minority is everyone, and that's what being on the
left is: knowing that the minority is everyone and that it's there
that phenomena of becomings occur. That's why however great they
think are, they still have doubts about the outcome of elections.
Parnet lists Deleuze's early works, the
first phase on the history of philosophy -- on Hume, Nietzsche,
Kant, Bergson, Spinoza --, then says that someone encountering
his later works -- _Difference and Repetition_, _Logic of Sense_,
and works with Guattari -- might think he had a Jekyll/Hyde personality.
Then, she remarks, he returned in 1988 to Leibniz, so asks what
he enjoyed and still enjoys in the history of philosophy?
Deleuze pauses, then says it's a complicated matter because this
history of philosophy encompasses philosophy itself. He assumes
that a lot of people think of philosophy as being quite abstract
and mostly for specialists, but in his view, it has nothing to
do with specialists, or is so only in the way that music or painting
are. So he indicates that he tries to pose the problem differently._
Deleuze says that, conventionally, the history of philosophy is
abstract in the second degree since it does not consist of talking
about abstract ideas, but of forming abstract ideas about abstract
ideas. But he has always seen it differently, comparing it to
painting. He refers to letters by Van Gogh on the distinctions
between portraiture or landscapes <see _Logique de la sensation_
XV, for more extensive discussion of Van Gogh's correspondence>.
For Deleuze, the history of philosophy is, as in painting, a kind
of art of the portrait, creating a philosopher's portrait, but
a philosophical portrait of a philosopher, a mental or spiritual
portrait such that it's an activity that belongs fully within
philosophy itself, just as a portraiture belongs to painting.
Deleuze wonders if he's going a bit fast with this comparison
with painting, though, and says that if he invokes painters like
Van Gogh or Gauguin, it's because something in their works has
an enormous effect on him, the kind of immense respect or rather
fear and even panic they evince when faced with getting in <aborder>
color. These painters, says Deleuze, are the two greatest colorists
ever, but in their works, they employ color only with great hesitation
<tremblement>. In the beginning of their careers, they used
earthen colors <couleurs patate, de terre>, nothing striking,
because they did not yet dare to take on color. It's a very moving
question, as if, literally, they did not yet judge themselves
worthy of color, not ready or able to take it on and really do
painting. It took them years and years before being able to do
so. When you see the results of their work, Deleuze says, one
has to reflect on this immense slowness to undertake that work.
Color for a painter is something that can take him/her into madness,
into insanity, thus is something quite difficult, taking years
to dare to come close to it.
So, it's not that he is particularly modest, Deleuze says, but
it strikes him as being quite shocking were there philosophers
who simply said, hey, I'm going into philosophy now, going to
do my own philosophy. These are feeble statements, argues Deleuze,
because philosophy is like [painting with] colors, before entering
into it, one has to take so many precautions, before conquering
the "philosophical color" <la couleur philosophique>
-- and the philosophical color is the concept. Before succeeding
in inventing concepts, an enormous amount of work is necessary.
Deleuze sees the history of philosophy as this slow modesty, taking
a long time doing portraits. It's like a novelist, Deleuze suggests,
who might say, I'm writing novels, but cannot read any because
I'd risk compromising my inspiration. Deleuze says he has heard
young writers make such frightening statements which, for him,
means they simply do not need to work. Moreover, Deleuze sees
the history of philosophy not only as having this preparatory
role, it succeeds quite well by itself. It is the art of portraiture
in so far as it allows one to reach toward something. At this
point, it becomes a bit mysterious, says Deleuze, and he asks
Parnet perhaps to give him another question so he can define this
.
Parnet says that the usefulness of the history of philosophy for
Deleuze is clear in this explanation. But the usefulness of history
of philosophy for people in general, what is that, she asks, since
Deleuze says that he does not want to see it as a kind of specialization?
For Deleuze, this is very simple. You can understand what philosophy
is, he says -- that is, the extent to which it is no more an abstract
thing than a painting or a musical work -- only through the history
of philosophy, provided that you conceive of it in the proper
manner <comme il faut>. What might that be? One thing is
certain: a philosopher is not someone who contemplates or even
reflects, but is someone who creates, and creates a very special
kind of thing, concepts, not stars that one gazes at in the sky.
Deleuze argues <as he and Guattari will in _What is Philosophy?_>
that you have to create, fabricate concepts. So many questions
emerge here: what for? Why create concepts, and what is that?
Deleuze leaves these questions aside to provide an example: we
know that Plato created a concept that did not exist before him,
translated generally as the Idea. What he calls an Idea is truly
a Platonic concept. Concretely, Deleuze asks, what is it? That's
what one has to ask. An Idea is a thing that wouldn't be something
else, i.e. would only be what it is... Deleuze pauses to ask:
is that abstract? No, he replies, and gives the example not found
in Plato: a mother is not only a mother, but also a wife, a daughter
of a mother. Let us imagine, he continues, that a mother would
only be a mother, e.g. the Virgin Mary. Even if that doesn't exist,
a mother that would only be not something else would be an Idea
of mother. i.e. a thing that would only be what it is. This, Deleuze
affirms, is what Plato meant when he said only justice is just,
only justice is not something else than just. Plato doesn't stop
there, but he created a veritable concept of the Idea of something
as pure.
Deleuze admits that this still remains abstract, and asks why?
If we proceed to read through Plato, everything becomes concrete,
Deleuze insists. Plato didn't create this concept of Idea by chance;
he said that whatever happens in this concrete situation, whatever
might be a given therein, there are rivals <prétendents>,
i.e. people who say: for this thing, I'm the best example of it.
Plato gave an example of the politician with an initial definition
as the pastor of men, who takes care of people. As a result, people
step forward to say, I'm the true pastor of men (the merchant,
the shepherd, the doctor), i.e. different levels. In other words,
there are rivals, and so with that, things starts to appear a
bit more concrete.
Deleuze insists that a philosopher creates
concepts, e.g. the Idea, the thing in so far as it is pure <la
chose en tant que pure>. The reader doesn't understand immediately
what it's about, or why one would need to create such a concept.
If he/she continues and reflects on it, he/she sees the reason:
there are all sorts of rivals who present themselves as claimants
for things. So the problem for Plato is not at all, what is the
Idea? That way, things would just remain abstract. Rather, it's
how to select the claimants, how to discover among them which
one is genuine (le bon). It's the Idea, i.e. the thing
in a pure state, that will permit this selection, that will select
the claimant who is closest to it.
Deleuze sees this allows the discussion to move forward a bit
since every concept, e.g. the Idea, refers to a problem, in this
case, how to select the claimant. If you do philosophy abstractly,
he insists, you do not even see the problem, but if one reaches
this problem... One might wonder why the problem isn't stated
clearly by a philosopher since it certainly exists in his work,
and Deleuze maintains that it's because one can't do everything
at once. The philosopher's task is already that of exposing the
concepts that s/he's in the process of creating, so s/he can't
expose the problems on top of that, or at least one can discover
these problems only through the concepts being created. Deleuze
insists: if you haven't found the problem to which a concept corresponds,
everything stays abstract. If you've found the problem, everything
becomes concrete. That's why in Plato, there are constantly these
claimants, these rivals.
Deleuze goes on to ask, why does this occur in the Greek city,
and in Plato? The concept is the Idea as means of selecting the
suitors, but why did this concept and this problem take form in
the Greek milieu? <Because> it's a typically Greek problem,
of the democratic, Greek city, even if Plato did not accept the
democratic character of the city. For it's in the Greek city that,
for example, a magistracy is an object of pretension, for which
someone can pose a candidacy for a particular function. In an
imperial formation, functionaries are named by the emperor, whereas
the Athenian city is a rivalry of climants, an entire milieu of
Greek problems, a civilization in which the confrontation of rivals
constantly appears: that's why they invented gymnastics, Olympic
games, legal procedures also. And in philosophy, there are suitors
as well, e.g. Plato's struggle against the Sophists. He believed
that the Sophists were claimants for something to which they had
no right. What would define the right or the non-right of a claimant,
asks Deleuze? All this is as interesting as a great novel or a
painting, but in philosophy, there are two things at once: the
creation of a concept always occurs as a function of a problem.
If one has not found the problem, philosophy remains abstract.
He gives another example: people usually don't see problems, these
usually stay hidden, but to engage in the history of philosophy
is to restore these problems and, through this, to discover what's
innovative in these concepts. The history of philosophy links
up concepts as if they seemed to go without saying, as if they
weren't created, so there tends to be total ignorance about problems.
Deleuze offers a final example: much later, Leibniz arrived and
invented an extraordinary concept to which he gave the name, monad.
There is always something a bit crazy in a concept. Leibniz's
monad, Deleuze continues, designated a subject, somebody, you
or me, in so far as it expresses the totality of the world, and
in expressing the totality of the world, it only expresses clearly
a tiny region of the world, its territory, or what Leibniz calls
his "department". So a subjective unity that expresses
the entire world, but that only clearly expresses a region of
the world -- this is called a monad. It's a concept Leibniz created,
but why state it this way? One has to find the problem, that's
the charm of reading philosophy, as charming as reading a good
book. Leibniz poses a problem, specifically that everything only
exists as folded... He saw the world as an aggregate of things
folded within each other. Deleuze here suggests stepping back
a bit: why did he see the world like this? What was happening
back then? What counts, Deleuze argues, is the idea of the fold,
everything is folded, and everything is a fold of a fold, you
can never reach something that is completely unfolded. Matter
is constituted of folds overlapping back onto it, and things of
the mind, perceptions, feelings, ideas, are folded into the soul.
It's precisely because perceptions, feeling, ideas are folded
into a soul that Leibniz constructed this concept of a soul that
expresses the entire world, i.e. in which he discovers the entire
world to be folded.
Deleuze asks abruptly, what is a bad philosopher, or a great philosopher?
The bad one, he answers, creates no concepts, uses ready-made
ideas, thus puts forth opinions, and does not do philosophy, and
poses no problems. So, to do history of philosophy is this long
apprenticeship in which one learns, or one is truly an apprentice
in this domain, the constitution of problems and the creation
of concepts. And how is it that thought can be idiotic, moronic?
Some people talk, don't create concepts, put forth opinions, but
moreover, we don't know what problems they're talking about. At
most, one knows the questions, but not the problems behind certain
questions (e.g. Does God exist? doesn't pose any problem, what
might be behind that...) If you have neither a concept nor a problem,
says Deleuze, you aren't doing philosophy. All this is to say,
Deleuze insists, the extent to which philosophy is amusing. So
doing history of philosophy is to discover nothing different than
what one finds while looking at a painting or listening to a musical
work.
Parnet asks, since Deleuze evoked Gauguin's and Van Gogh's quaking
and hesitation from fear before taking on color, what happened
to him, Deleuze, when he passed from history of philosophy to
doing his own philosophy? Deleuze answers swiftly, this is what
happened: history of philosophy gave him the chance to learn things,
made him more capable of moving toward what color is in philosophy.
And he asks, why does philosophy not cease to exist, why do we
still have philosophy today? Because there is always an occasion
to create concepts. But today, he continues, this notion of creation
of concepts is taken over by the media, publicity; with computers,
they say you can create concepts, an entire language stolen from
philosophy for "communication." But what they call concepts,
creating, Deleuze says dismissively, is truly comic, no need to
insist on it. That still remains philosophy's task.
Deleuze states that he never was affected by people who proclaim
the death of philosophy, getting <dépasser> beyond
philosophy, etc., since he always wondered what that could mean.
As long as there's a need to create concepts, there will be philosophy
since that's the definition of philosophy, we have to create them,
and we create them as a function of problems, and problems evolve.
Certainly, one can be Platonician, Leibnizian, Kantian today,
that is, one judges that certain problems -- not all -- posed
by Plato remain valid provided one makes certain transformations,
and so one is Platonician since one still has use for Platonic
concepts. If we pose problems of a completely different nature,
doing philosophy is creating new concepts as a function of problems
posed today.
The final aspect, Deleuze continues, is what is the evolution
of problems? We might say historical, social forces, but there
is something deeper. It's all very mysterious, Deleuze admits,
maybe they don't have time in the interview to pursue it, but
Deleuze sees us reaching a kind of becoming of thought, evolution
of thought that results not only in no longer posing the same
problems, they are no longer posed in the same way. There is an
urgent appeal, a necessity even to create and re-create new concepts.
So history of philosophy cannot be reduced to sociological influence,
he argues. There is a becoming of thought, something very mysterious
that causes us perhaps no longer to think in the same way as a
hundred years ago, new thought processes, ellipses of thought.
Deleuze maintains that there is a history of pure thought, and
that's what history of philosophy is, it has always had only one
function, so there's no need to get beyond it, as it has its sole
function.
Parnet asks how a problem evolves through time, and Deleuze offers
another example: what, for most of the great philosophers in the
17th century, was their negative worry? It was a matter of warding
off the dangers of error, i.e. the negative of thought, to prevent
the mind from falling into error. There was a long, gradual slide
and in the 18th century, a different problem emerges, not at all
the same: no longer denouncing error, but denouncing illusions,
the idea that the mind is not only surrounded by illusions, but
could even produce them itself. So this is the movement in the
18th century, the denunciation of superstitions, and while it
appears similar to the 17th century, something completely new
is being born in the 18th century. One might say that it's due
to social causes, but Deleuze maintains that there is also a secret
history of thought that would be a passionate subject to pursue.
Then, in the 19th century -- here, Deleuze admits that he is stating
things in an extremely simple and rudimentary way -- things have
slid . It's no longer how to avoid illusion; no, as spiritual
creatures, men ceaselessly emit inanities <bêtises>,
which is not the same thing as falling into illusion: how to ward
off "bêtises", inanities? That appears clearly
in people on the border of philosophy, Flaubert, Baudelaire, the
problem of "bêtises". And there again, social
evolution, the evolution of the bourgeoisie, made the problem
of "bêtises" an urgent problem. But there is also
something deeper in this kind of history of problems that thought
confronts. Every time one poses a problem, new concepts appear
such that, if we understand the history of philosophy this way
-- creation of concepts, constitution of problems, problems being
more or less hidden, so we have to discover them --, we see that
philosophy has strictly nothing to do with the true or the false.
Looking for the truth means nothing. Creating concepts and constituting
problems is a matter of meaning, not truth or falsity... a problem
with meaning, so doing philosophy is to constitute problems that
have a sense and to create concepts that cause us to move toward
the understanding and solution of problems.
Parnet returns to two special questions for Deleuze: when he returned
to doing history of philosophy in the Leibniz book (_The Fold_)
the previous year, was it in the same way as 20 years earlier,
i.e. before he had produced his own philosophy? Deleuze answers,
certainly not. Before, he used history of philosophy as this kind
of indispensable apprenticeship in order to look for the concepts
of others, of great philosophers, and problems for which their
concepts provided answers. Whereas, in the book on Leibniz --
and Deleuze says, there's nothing vain in what he is about to
say --, he mixed in problems from the 20th century, that might
be his own problems, with those posed by Leibniz, since Deleuze
is persuaded of the actuality of great philosophers. So, what
does it mean to act as <faire comme> a great philosopher
would? It's not necessarily to be his disciple, but to extend
his task, create concepts in relation to and in evolution with
the concepts he created. By working on Leibniz, Deleuze was more
in this path, whereas in the first books on the history of philosophy,
he was in the "pre-color" stage.
Parnet continues by asking about his work on Spinoza and Nietzsche,
about which Deleuze had said that he focused therein on the rather
accursed and hidden area of philosophy. What did he mean? Deleuze
says that, for him, this hidden area referred to thinkers who
rejected all transcendence, all universals, the idea or concepts
having universal values, any instance that goes beyond the earth
and men... authors of immanence.
Parnet pursues this by observing that his books on Nietzsche and
Spinoza were real events, books that he is known for, yet one
cannot say that he is a Nietzschean or a Spinozian. Deleuze passed
through all that, even during his apprenticeship, and Parnet says
that he was already Deleuzean. Deleuze appears slightly embarrassed,
saying that she has given him an enormous compliment, if it's
true. What he always hoped for, he says, whether his work was
good or bad, and he knew he could fail, was trying to pose problems
for his own purposes <pour mon compte>, and to create concepts
for his own purposes. Deleuze then suggests that, at the extreme,
he would have wanted a kind of quantification of philosophy, such
that each philosopher would be attributed a kind of magic number
corresponding to the number of concepts he really created, referring
to problems -- Descartes, Leibniz, Hegel. Deleuze finds that an
interesting idea, and thinks perhaps he would have had a small
magic number, having created concepts as a function of problems.
But Deleuze concludes by saying that his point of honor is simply
that, whatever the kind of concept he tried to create, he can
state what problem the concept corresponded to. Otherwise, it
would have all been empty chatter.
Parnet's final question on this topic: during the period around
1968, and before, when everyone was involved in reading Marx and
Reich, wasn't Deleuze rather deliberately provocative in turning
toward Nietzsche, suspected of fascism, and toward Spinoza and
the body, when everyone was preaching about Reich? Didn't history
of philosophy serve a bit as a dare, a provocation for him?
Deleuze responds by saying that this is connected to what they've
been discussing all along, the same question. What he was looking
for, even with Guattari, was this kind of truly immanent dimension
of the unconscious. Psychoanalysis is entirely full of transcendental
elements -- the law, the father, the mother -- whereas a field
of immanence that would allow him to define the unconscious was
the domain into which Spinoza went the farthest, and Nietzsche
as well, farther than anyone before them. So there was no provocation,
but Spinoza and Nietzsche form in philosophy perhaps the greatest
liberation of thought, almost explosive in nature, and the most
unusual concepts, because their problems were somewhat condemned
problems, that people did not dare pose during their eras.
<Deleuze stops, smiling at Parnet, and she responds quite oddly,
saying (almost in the tone of scolding parent): "We'll go
on then since you don't want to answer ." Deleuze simply
makes a soft questioning "eh?" as Parnet announces):
Parnet begins by saying that this "idea"
is no longer in the Platonic domain. Rather, she says, Deleuze
always spoke passionately about philosophers' ideas, but also
ideas of thinkers in cinema (directors), artists' and painters'
ideas. He always preferred an "idea" to explications
and commentary. So why, for Deleuze, does the "idea"
take precedence over everything else?
Deleuze admits that this is quite correct: the "idea"
as he uses it traverses all creative activities, since creating
means having an idea. But there are people -- not at all to be
scorned for this -- who go through life without ever having an
idea. Deleuze insists that it is usually quite rare to have an
idea, it doesn't happen every day. And a painter is no less likely
to have ideas than a philosopher, just not the same kind of ideas.
So, Deleuze asks, in what form does an idea occur in a particular
case? In philosophy, at least, in two ways: the idea occurs in
the form of concepts and of creation of concepts.
Deleuze is struck by filmmakers: while some have no ideas, some
have quite a few, since ideas are quite haunting, coming and going,
and taking diverse forms. Deleuze gives an example of the film
director, Minelli. In his works, one sees that he asks himself:
what does it mean to be caught up in someone's dreaming? It goes
from the comic to the tragic and even to the abominable. So from
getting caught in another's dreaming can result awful things,
it's possibly horror in its pure state. So, in Minelli's work,
one can get caught in the nightmare of war, and that produces
the admirable _Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse_, not war viewed
as war, but as a nightmare. What would it mean to be caught in
a young girl's dream? That results in musical comedies, in which
Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly -- Deleuze indicates he's not quite
sure of the names -- escape from tigresses and black panthers.
That's an idea. Deleuze is quick to point out that it's not a
concept though, and Minelli is not doing philosophy, but creating
cinema <il fait du cinéma>.
Deleuze continues by suggesting that we almost have to distinguish
three dimensions, which is his future work <that he and Guattari
develop in _What is Philosophy?_>:
1) in the first, there are concepts that
are invented in philosophy;
2) in the second, there are percepts in the domain of art. An
artist creates percepts, a word required to distinguish these
from perceptions. What does a novelist want? He wants to be able
to construct aggregates of perceptions and sensations that survive
those who read the novel. Deleuze gives examples in Tolstoy or
Chekhov, each in his own way, who are able to write like a painter
manages to paint. So, to try to give to this complex web of sensations
a radical independence in relation to he/she who experiences them:
Tolstoy described atmospheres; Faulkner, and another great American
novelist, Thomas Wolfe who nearly stated this in his short stories:
someone goes out in the morning, smells toast, sees a bird flying,
and feels a complex web of sensations.
So, what happens when someone who experiences the sensations goes
on to do something else? This, says Deleuze, is a bit like in
art, where we find an answer. It's to give a duration or an eternity
to this complex web of sensations that are no longer grasped as
being experienced by someone, or at the outside, might be grasped
as experienced by a fictional character. What does a painter do?
He gives consistency to percepts, he tears percepts out of perception.
Deleuze points to the Impressionists who utterly twisted perception.
A concept, Deleuze says, creates a crack in the skull <fend
le crane>, it's a habit of thought that is completely new,
and people aren't used to thinking like that, not used to having
their skulls cracked, since a concept twists our nerves. Deleuze
cites Cézanne from memory, who said something like, we
have to make impressionism last/durable, that is, new methods
are required in order to make it have duration, so that the percept
acquires an ever greater autonomy.
3) A third order of things, a kind of connection among them all,
are affects. Deleuze says that, of course, there are no percepts
without affects, but that these are specific as well: these are
becomings that exceed him or her who goes through them, exceed
the strength of those who go through them. Doesn't music lead
us into these forces <puissances> that exceed our grasp?
It's possible, Deleuze answers. If one takes a philosophical concept,
it causes one to see things <faire voir des choses> since
the greatest philosophers have this "seeing" trait or
aspect <côté 'voyant'>, at least in the philosophers
that Deleuze admires: Spinoza causes one to "see", one
of the most visionary <voyant> philosophers, Nietzsche as
well. They all hurl forth fantastic affects, there is a music
in these philosophers, and inversely, music makes one see some
very strange things, colors and percepts. Deleuze says he imagines
a kind of circulation of these dimensions into each other, between
philosophical concepts, pictorial percepts, and musical affects.
There's nothing surprising in there being these resonances, he
maintains, just the work of very different people, but that never
stop interpenetrating.
Parnet notes that Deleuze is always very
interested in the ideas of painters, artists, philosophers, but
she asks why he never seems interested in looking at or reading
something that would simply be amusing or something merely diverting
with having an idea. Isn't that an idea possible there as well?
Deleuze says that, in the sense that he defines "idea,"
he has difficulty seeing how that would be possible. If you show
him a painting that has no percepts or play for him some music
without affect, Deleuze says he almost cannot understand what
that would mean. And a stupid book of philosophy, he says he would
have trouble understanding what kind of pleasure he would derive
from it, other than an extremely sickly pleasure. Parnet says
that one might simply pick up a deliberately amusing book, and
Deleuze says that such a book could well be full of ideas, it
all depends. He says that no one has ever made him laugh more
than Beckett and Kafka, and he considers himself to be sensitive
to humor, but that it's true that he does not like comedy on television
very much. Parnet says that the exception for Deleuze is Benny
Hill (!), and Deleuze says yes, because he [Benny Hill] "has
an idea," but that even in this domain, the great American
comics <burlesques> have lots of ideas.
Parnet asks if it ever happens that Deleuze sits down to his writing
table without an idea of what he's going to do, that is, without
having any ideas at all. Deleuze says of course not, if he has
no ideas, he doesn't sit down to write. But what happens is that
the idea hasn't developed enough, the idea escapes him, the idea
disappears, there might be holes. He has these painful experiences,
he admits, and it doesn't go smoothly since ideas are not ready-made,
there are terrible moments, even desperate moments of this sort.
Parnet brings up an expression: the idea that makes a hole that
is missing <l'idée qui fait un trou qui manque>,
and Deleuze responds by saying that's impossible to distinguish.
Do I have an idea that I am just unable to express, or do I just
not have any ideas at all? For Deleuze, it's quite the same thing:
if he cannot express it, he doesn't have the idea, or a piece
of it is missing since ideas don't arrive in a completely formed
block, there are things that come in from diverse horizons, and
if you are missing a piece, then it is unusable.
Parnet begins by saying that this is
a concept that Deleuze is particularly attached to since it's
a Spinozaist concept and Spinoza turned joy into a concept of
resistance and life: let us avoid sad passions, let us live with
joy in order to be at the maximum of our force <puissance>;
therefore, we must flee from resignation, bad faith, guilt, sad
affects that judges and psychoanalysts would exploit. So we can
see entirely why, Parnet continues, Deleuze would be pleased by
all that. So first, she asks him to distinguish joy from sadness,
both for Spinoza and for himself. Is Spinoza's concept entirely
Deleuze's, and what did Deleuze find when he read of Spinoza's
concept?
Deleuze says yes, these texts are the most extraordinarily charged
with affect. In Spinoza that means -- to simplify -- that joy
is everything that consists in fulfilling a force <remplir
une puissance>. What is that? Deleuze suggests returning to
earlier examples: I conquer, however little this might be, I conquer
a small piece of color, I enter a little farther into color, that's
where joy can be located. Joy is fulfilling a force, realizing
<effectuer> a force. It's the word "force" <puissance>
that is ambiguous.
Deleuze ask first, what about the opposite,
what is sadness? It occurs when one is separated from a force
of which I believed myself, rightly or wrongly, to be capable:
I could have done that, but circumstances didn't allow, or it
was forbidden, etc. All sadness is the effect of power <pouvoir>
over me. All this poses problems, obviously, more details are
needed because there are no bad forces; what is bad is the lowest
degree of force, and that's power. Deleuze insists that wickedness
consists of preventing someone from doing what he/she can, from
realizing one's force. Such that there is no bad force, only wicked
powers... Maybe all power is wicked necessarily, but Deleuze suggests
that maybe this is too facile a position.
Deleuze continues by suggesting that the confusion between force
and powers is quite costly because power always separates people
who are subjected to it from what they are able to do. Spinoza
started from this point, Deleuze says, and he returns to something
Parnet said in asking her question, that sadness is linked to
priests, to tyrants, to judges, and these are perpetually the
people who separate their subjects from what they are able to
do, forbid them from realizing forces. Deleuze recalls something
that Parnet said under "I as in Idea," referring to
Nietzsche's anti-Semitism. Deleuze sees this as an important question,
since there are texts of Nietzsche that one can find quite disturbing
if they are read in the manner mentioned earlier, reading philosophers
too quickly. What strikes Deleuze as curious is that in all the
texts in which Nietzsche lashes out against the Jewish people,
what does he reproach them for, and what has contributed to his
anti-Semitic reputation? Nietzsche reproaches them in quite specific
conditions for having invented a character that had never existed
before the Jewish people, the character of the priest. Deleuze
argues that, to his knowledge, in no text of Nietzsche is there
the least reference to Jews in a general attack mode, but strictly
an attack against the Jewish people-inventors of the priest. Deleuze
says that Nietzsche does point out that in other social formations,
there can be sorcerers, scribes, but these are not at all the
same as the priest.
Deleuze maintains that one source of
Nietzsche's greatness as a philosopher is that he never ceases
to admire that which he attacks, for he sees the priest as a truly
incredible invention, something quite astounding. And this results
in an immediate connection with Christians, but not the same type
of priest. So the Christians will conceive of another type of
priest and will continue in the same path of the priestly character.
This shows, Deleuze argues, the extent to which philosophy is
concrete, for Deleuze insists that Nietzsche is, to his knowledge,
the first philosopher to have invented, created, the concept of
the priest, and from that point onward, to have posed fundamental
problems: what does sincere, total power consist of? what is the
difference between sincere, total power and royal power, etc.?
For Deleuze, these are questions that remain entirely actual.
Here Deleuze wishes to show, as he had begun earlier, how one
can continue and extend philosophy. He refers to how Foucault,
through his own means, emphasized pastoral power, a new concept
that is not the same as Nietzsche's, but that engages directly
with Nietzsche, and in this way, one develops a history of thought.
So what is the concept of the priest, and how is it linked to
sadness, Deleuze asks? According to Nietzsche, this priest is
defined as inventing the idea that men exist in a state of infinite
debt. Before the priest, there is a history of debt, and ethnologists
would do well to read some Nietzsche. They've done much research
on this during our century, in so-called primitive societies,
where things functioned through pieces of debt, blocks of finite
debt, they received and then gave it back, all linked to time,
deferred parcels. This is an immense area of study, says Deleuze,
since it suggests that debt was primary to exchange. These are
properly philosophical problems, Deleuze argues, but Nietzsche
spoke about this well before the ethnologists. In so far as debt
exists in a finite regime, man can free himself from it. When
the Jewish priest invokes this idea by virtue of an alliance of
infinite debt between the Jewish people and God, when the Christians
adopt this in another form, the idea of infinite debt linked to
original sin, this reveals the very curious character of the priest
about which it is philosophy's responsibility to create the concept.
Deleuze is careful to say that he does not claim that philosophy
is necessarily atheist, but in Spinoza's case, he had already
outlined an analysis of the Jewish priest, in the _Theologico-Political
Treatise_. It happens, says Deleuze, that philosophical concepts
are veritable characters that makes philosophy concrete <Clearly
Deleuze is developing the concept of "conceptual personae"
that he and Guattari propose in _What is Philosophy?_>. Creating
the concept of the priest is like another kind of artist would
create in a painting of the priest.
So, the concept of the priest pursued
by Spinoza, then by Nietzsche, then by Foucault forms an exciting
lineage. Deleuze says that he'd like to connect himself with it,
to reflect a bit on this pastoral power, that some people say
no longer functions. But, as Deleuze insists, one would have to
see how it has been taken up again, for example, psychoanalysis
as the new avatar of pastoral power. And how do we define it?
It's not the same thing as tyrants and priests, but they at least
have in common that they derive their power from the sad passions
that they inspire in men, of the sort: repent in the name of infinite
debt, you are the objects of infinite debt, etc. It's through
this that they have power, it's through this that their power
is an obstacle blocking the realization of forces. Whereas Deleuze
argues that all power is sad, even if those who have it seem to
revel in having it, it is still a sad joy.
On the other hand, Deleuze continues, joy is the realization <effectuation>
of forces. He says that he knows of no forces that would be wicked.
To take delight and joy <se réjouir> is delighting
in being what one is, that is, in having reached where one is.
It's not self-satisfaction, not some enjoyment of being pleased
with oneself. Rather, it's the pleasure in conquest <conquête>,
as Nietzsche said, but the conquest does not consist of serving
people, conquest is when painters use and then conquer colors.
That's what joy is, even if it goes badly. For in this history
of forces and conquest of forces, it happens that one can realize
too much force for one's own self, resulting in cracking up, like
Van Gogh.
[Change of set, interview continues the next day]
Parnet says that Deleuze has been fortunate to escape infinite
debt, so how is it that he complains from morning to night, and
that he is the great defender of the complaint <plainte>
and the elegy? Smiling at this, Deleuze observes that this is
a personal question. He then says that the elegy is a principal
source of poetry, a great complaint. A history of the elegy should
be done, it probably has already; the complaint of the prophet,
he continues, is the opposite of the priest. The prophet wails,
why did God choose me? and what's happening to me is too much
for me; if one accepts that this is what the complaint is, something
we don't see everyday. And it's not ow ow ow, I'm in pain, although
it could also be that, says Deleuze, but the person complaining
doesn't always know what he/she means. The elderly lady who complains
about her rheumatism, she means, what force is taking hold of
my leg that is too great for me to stand?
If we look at history, Deleuze says, the elegy is a source of poetry, Latin poets like Catullus or Tiberius. And what is the elegy? It's the expression of he/she who, temporarily or not, no longer has any social status. To complain -- a little old man, someone in prison -- it's not sadness at all, but something quite different, the demand, something in the complaint that is astonishing, an adoration, like a prayer. The complaint of prophets, or something Parnet is particularly interested in, the complaint of hypochondriacs. The intensity of their complaint is beautiful it's sublime, Deleuze says. So, he continues, it's the socially excluded who are in a situation of complaint. There is a Hungarian specialist, Tökei, who studied the Chinese elegy that is enlivened by those no longer bearing a social status, i.e. the freed slave. A slave, however unfortunate he or she might be, still has a social status. The freed slave, though, is outside everything, like at the liberation of American blacks with the abolition of slavery, or in Russia, when no statute had been foreseen. So they find themselves excluded from any community [Deleuze and Guattari refer to Tökei in this same context in A Thousand Plateaus (449, 569, note 9)]. Then the great complaint is born. However, the great complaint does not express the pain they have, Deleuze argues, but is a kind of chant/song. This is why the complaint is a great poetic source.
Deleuze says <with some laughter from Parnet in response> that if he hadn't been a philosopher and if he had been a woman, he would have wanted to be a wailer <pleureuse>, the complaint rises and it's an art. And the complaint has this perfidious side as well, as if to say: don't take on my complaint, don't touch me, don't feel sorry for me, I'm taking care of it. And in taking care of it for oneself, the complaint is transformed: what is happening is too overwhelming for me, because this is joy, joy in a pure state. But we are careful to hide it, Deleuze says, because there are people who aren't very pleased with someone being joyous, so you have to hide it in a kind of complaint. But the complaint is not only joy, it's also unease, because, in fact, realizing a force can require a price: one wonders, am I going to risk my skin/life <laisser ma peau>? As soon as one realizes a force, for example, a painter reaching for color, doesn't he risk his skin/life? Literally, one should think of the way Van Gogh went toward color, then experienced joy, and this is more connected to his madness than all these psychoanalytical stories. Something risks getting broken, it's too overwhelming for me, and that's what the complaint is, something too great for me, in misfortune or in happiness, but usually misfortune.
Parnet starts by stating that, of all the philosophers Deleuze has written on, Kant seems the farthest from his own thought. However, Deleuze has said that all the authors he has studied have something in common. So is there something in common between Kant and Spinoza, which is not at all obvious?
Deleuze pauses, then says that he'd prefer,
if he dares, to address the first part of the question, i.e. why
he took on Kant, once we say simply that there is nothing in common
between Kant and Spinoza, or between Nietzsche and Kant (although,
he points out, Nietzsche read Kant closely, but they would have
a very different conception of philosophy). So why was he fascinated
by Kant, Deleuze asks himself? For two reasons, Kant 1) was such
a turning point and 2) went as far as possible, initiating something
that had never been advanced in philosophy. Specifically, says
Deleuze, he erects tribunals <il érige des tribunaux>,
perhaps under the influence of the French Revolution.
Deleuze reminds Parnet that so far, he has been trying to talk
about concepts as characters. So, before Kant, says Deleuze, in
the 18th century, there is a new kind of philosopher presented
as an investigator <enquêteur>, the investigation,
titles appear with Investigation on this or that. The philosopher
saw himself as an investigator. Even in the 17th century, and
Leibniz is the last to represent this tendency, he saw himself
as a lawyer, defending a cause, and the greatest thing is that
Leibniz pretended to be God's lawyer. As there must have been
things to reproach God for at the time, Leibniz writes a marvelous
little work "God's Cause," in the juridical sense of
cause, God's cause to be defended. It's like a sequence of characters:
the lawyer, the investigator, and then with Kant, the arrival
of a tribunal, a tribunal of reason, things being judged as a
function of a tribunal of reason. And the faculties, in the sense
of understanding -- the imagination, knowledge, morality -- are
measured as a function of the tribunal of reason. Of course, he
uses a certain method that he invented, a prodigious method called
the critical method, the properly Kantian method.
Deleuze admits that he finds all of this aspect of Kant quite
horrible, but it's both fascination and horror, because it's so
ingenious. And in engaging with the concepts that Kant invented,
Deleuze considers the concept of the tribunal of reason as inseparable
from the critical method. But finally, he says, it's a tribunal
of judgment, the system of judgment, just one that no longer needs
God, based on reason, no longer on God.
In an aside, Deleuze points out that one might wonder about something
he finds mysterious -- why someone, you or me, gets connected
or relates especially to one kind of problem and not another?
What is someone's affinity for a particular kind of problem? A
person might be fated for one problem since we don't just take
on just any problem. And this is true, Deleuze feels, for researchers
in the sciences, an affinity for a particular problem. And philosophy
is an aggregate of problems, with its own consistency, but it
does not pretend to deal with all problems, thank God, Deleuze
intones. Well, he feels somewhat linked to problems that aim at
seeking the means to do away with the system of judges, and to
replace it with something else. It's a great "no"...
Deleuze thinks about what Parnet said earlier, and says in fact,
Kant is another addition. Deleuze sees Spinoza, sees Nietzsche,
in literature [D.H.] Lawrence, and finally the most recent and
one of the greatest writers, Artaud, his "To Have Done With
the Judgement of God," which has meaning, not the words of
a madman, one really has to take this literally, Deleuze argues.
[See "To Have Done With Judgment," Essays Critical
and Clinical 126-135]
And underneath, when Deleuze says that one has to look underneath
concepts, there are some astonishing statements by Kant, marvelous.
Deleuze says that he was the first to have created an astonishing
reversal of concepts, which is why Deleuze gets so sad when people,
even young people preparing the baccalaureate, are taught in an
abstract way without even trying to have them participate in problems
that are quite fantastic problems. Deleuze insists that, up until
Kant, for example, time was derived from movement, was second
in relation to movement, considered to be a number or a measure
of movement. What does Kant do? Parenthetically, Deleuze reminds
Parnet that all he is doing here is constantly to consider what
it means to create a concept. Continuing, he says Kant creates
a concept because he reverses the subordination, so that with
him, movement depends on time. And suddenly, time changes its
nature, it ceases being circular. Before, time is subordinate
to movement in which movement is the great periodic movement of
heavenly bodies, so it's circular. On the contrary, when time
is freed from movement and movement depends on time, then time
becomes a straight line. Deleuze recalls something Borges said
-- although he has little relation to Kant --, that a more frightening
labyrinth than a circular labyrinth is one in a straight line,
marvelous, but it was Kant who lets time loose.
And this story of the tribunal, Deleuze maintains, measuring the
role of each faculty as a function of a particular goal, that's
what Kant collides with at the end of his life, as he is one of
the rare philosophers to write a book as an old man that would
renew everything, the _Critique of Judgment_. He reaches the idea
that the faculties have to have disorderly relations with each
other, that they collide with each other, and then reconcile,
but no longer being subject to a tribunal. He introduces his conception
of the Sublime, in which the faculties enter into conflicts, so
that there would be discordant accords <accords discordants>.
The labyrinth and its reversal of relations pleases Deleuze infinitely,
he says, and goes : all modern philosophy flows forth from this
point, time and its reversal in relation to movement, and Kant's
conception of the Sublime, with the discordant accords. Deleuze
is enormously moved by these things. Kant is clearly a great philosopher,
Deleuze maintains, and there is a whole undergirding in his works
that makes Deleuze quite enthusiastic. And all that is built on
top of this has no interest for Deleuze, but he says he doesn't
judge it, it's just a system of judgment that he'd like to do
away with, but without standing in judgment.
Parnet tries to ask Deleuze (as the tape runs out) about Kant's
life, and Deleuze exclaims, we didn't discuss that beforehand.
So Parnet asks a different question: there is an aspect of Kant's
work that might also please Deleuze greatly, the aspect that Thomas
De Quincey discussed [in The Last Days of Immanuel Kant],
this fantastically regulated life full of habits, his little daily
walk, the almost mythical image of a philosopher. Parent says
that this image also applies to Deleuze, that is, something quite
regulated, with an enormous number of habits...
Deleuze smiles again, says he sees what she means, and De Quincey's text is one that Deleuze finds quite exciting, a real work of art. But he sees this aspect belonging to all philosophers, not the same habits, but to say that they are creatures of habit seems to suggests that they have no familiarity with... <Deleuze does not complete this thought> Being creatures of habit is almost required of them... Spinoza as well... Deleuze says that his impression of Spinoza is that there's not very much surprising in his life, he polished his lenses, received visitors, it wasn't a very turbulent life except for certain political upheavals at that time. Kant also lived through some very intense political upheavals. Thus, all that people say about Kant's clothing apparatuses (to pull up his socks, etc.), Deleuze sees that as kind of charming, if one needs that kind of thing. But, it's a bit like Nietzsche said, philosophers are generally chaste, poor, and Nietzsche adds, how does the philosopher make use of all of this, this chastity, this poverty, etc.? Kant had his little walk, but that's nothing in itself, Deleuze feels: what happened during his little walk, what was he looking at? In the long run, Deleuze says, that philosophers are creatures of habit corresponds to a kind of contemplation, contemplating something. As for his own habits, yes, he says, he has quite a few, but they are a kind of contemplation, and of things that he is alone in seeing.
Parnet begins by observing that literature
and philosophy constitute Deleuze's life, the he reads and re-reads
"great literature" <la grande littérature>,
and treats great literary writers as thinkers. Between his books
on Kant and Nietzsche, he wrote _Proust and Signs_, then subsequently
published three augmented versions of the book. He has written
on Carroll and Zola in _Logic of Sense_, on Masoch, Kafka, British
and American literatures. One gets the impression, she says, that
it's almost more through literature than through the history of
thought that he inaugurates a new kind of thinking. So, she asks,
has Deleuze always been a reader?
Deleuze says yes, although at one point,
he was a much more active reader of philosophy since that was
part of his apprenticeship, and he didn't have time for novels.
But throughout his life, he read, and more and more. Does he make
use of it for philosophy? he asks. Yes, certainly, for example,
he indicates that he owes an immense amount to Fitzgerald, and
Faulkner as well, and although not usually considered a very philosophical
writer. <Deleuze here indicates that he can't recall which
writers are important for him>
Deleuze continues, saying that his literary reading can be explained
as a function of what they discussed earlier, the history of the
concept is never alone: at the same time that it pursues its task,
it makes us see things, that is, there is an interconnection onto
percepts. Whenever one finds percepts in a novel, there is a perpetual
communication between concepts and percepts. There are also stylistic
problems that are the same in philosophy and literature. Deleuze
suggests posing the question in quite simple terms: the great
literary characters are great thinkers. He re-reads Melville a
lot, and considers Captain Ahab to be a great thinker, Bartleby
as well, in his own way. They cause us to think in such a way
that a literary work traces as large a trail of intermittent concepts
<en pointillé> as it does percepts. Quite simply,
he argues, it's not the task of the literary writer who cannot
do everything at once, he/she is caught up in the problems of
percepts and of creating visions <faire voir>, causing perceptions
<faire percevoir>, and creating characters, a frightening
task. And a philosopher creates concepts, but it happens that
they communiate greatly since, in certain ways, the concept is
a character, and the character takes on dimensions of the concept.
What Deleuze finds in common between "great literature"
and "great philosophy" is that both bear witness for
life <ils témoignent pour la vie>, what he called
"force" earlier bears witness for life. This is why
great authors are not always in good health. Sometimes, there
are cases like Victor Hugo when they are, so one must not say
that all writers do not enjoy good health since many do. But why,
Deleuze asks, are there so many literary writers who do not enjoy
good health? It's because he/she experiences a flood of life <flot
de vie>, be it the weak health of Spinoza or [T.E. or D.H.]
Lawrence. It corresponds to what Deleuze said earlier about the
complaint: these writers have seen something too enormous for
them, they are seers, visionaries, unable to handle it so it breaks
them. Why is Chekhov broken to such an extent? He "saw"
something. Philosophers and literary writers are in the same situation,
Deleuze argues. There are things we manage to see, and in some
ways, we never recover, never return. This happens frequently
for authors, but generally, these are percepts at the border of
being ungraspable, of being thinkable. So between the creation
of a great character and a great concept, so many links exist
that one can see it as constituting somewhat the same enterprise.
Parnet asks if Deleuze considers himself to be a writer in philosophy,
as one would say writer in a literary sense. Deleuze answers that
he doesn't know if he's a writer in philosophy, but that he knows
that every great philosopher is a great writer. Parnet observes
that there seems to be a nostalgia for creating fictional work
when one is a great philosopher, but Deleuze says no, that does
not even come up, it's as if you asked a painter why he doesn't
create music? Deleuze admits that one could conceive of a philosopher
who wrote novels, of course, why not? Deleuze says he does not
consider Sartre to have been a novelist, although he did try to
be, and in general, Deleuze sees no really great philosophers
who were also important novelists. But on the other hand, Deleuze
feels that philosophers have created characters, notably and eminently
Plato, and certainly Nietzsche, with Zarathustra. So these are
intersections that are discussed constantly, and Deleuze considers
the creation of Zarathustra to be an immense success politically
and literarily, just as Plato's characters were. These are points
about which one cannot be completely certain whether they are
concepts or characters, and are perhaps the most beautiful moments.
Parnet refers to Deleuze's love for secondary literary authors,
like Villiers de l'Isle-Adam, Restif de la Bretonne, asking if
he has always cultivated this affection. Here, Deleuze covers
his face with one hand as he responds that he finds it truly bizarre
to hear Villiers referred to as a secondary author <Deleuze
laughs>. If you consider that question... <he pauses, shrugging
his shoulders> He says that there is something really shameful,
entirely shameful... He recalls that when he was quite young,
he liked the idea of reading an author's work in his entirety,
the complete works. As a result, he had great affection not for
secondary authors, although his affection sometimes coincided
with them, but for authors who had written little. Some works
were too enormous, overwhelming for him, like Hugo's, such that
Deleuze was ready to say the Hugo wasn't a very good writer. On
the other hand, Deleuze knew the works of Paul-Louis Courrier
nearly by heart, quite deeply. So Deleuze admits to having this
penchant for so-called secondary authors, although Villiers is
not a secondary author. Joubert was also an author he knew deeply,
and one reason why he knew these authors was for a rather shameful
reason, he admits: it had for him a certain prestige to be familiar
with authors that were hardly known... But that was a kind of
mania, Deleuze concludes, and it took him quite a while to learn
just how great Hugo is, and that the size of work was no measure.
Deleuze continues in this vein, agreeing that in so-called secondary
literatures... He insists that in Russian literature, for example,
it's not limited to Dostoyevski and Tolstoy, but one cannot call
[Nikolai] Leskov secondary as there is so much that is astonishing
in Leskov. So these are great geniuses. Deleuze then says that
he feels he has little to say on this point, on secondary authors,
but what he is happy about is to have tried to find in any unknown
author something that might show him a concept or an extraordinary
character. But yes, Deleuze says, he has not engaged in any systematic
research <in this domain>.
Parnet pursues this by referring again to his work on Proust as
the only sustained work that he ever devoted to a single author,
although literature is such a reference in his philosophy. So
she wonders about him never having devoted a full-length book
to literature, a reflective book <livre de pensée>
on literature. Deleuze says he just has not had the time, but
that he plans to do so. Parnet says that this has haunted him,
and he replies, he plans to do it because he wants to. Parnet
asks if it will be a book of criticism, and Deleuze says rather
than that, it will be on the problem of what writing means, for
him, in literature. He says that Parnet is familiar with his whole
research program, so they'll see if he has the time.
The last question on the letter L refers
to the fact that while Deleuze reads many great (canonic) authors,
one does not get the impression that he reads many contemporary
authors. Deleuze says he understands what she means, and can answer
quickly: it's not that he does not like to read them, it's that
literature is a truly specialized activity in which one has to
have training <formation>, something difficult in contemporary
production. It's a question of taste, just like people finding
new painters; one has to learn how <to paint>. Deleuze says
he greatly admires people who go into galleries and feel that
there is someone who is truly a painter, but he can't, and he
explains why: it took him five years, he says, to understand --
not Beckett, that happened immediately -- but what kind of innovation
Robbe-Grillet's writing represented. Deleuze claims to have been
one of the stupidest of the stupid when talking about Robbe-Grillet
at the beginning. Deleuze does not consider himself to be a discoverer
in this area, whereas in philosophy, he is more confident because
he is sensitive to a new tone and what, on the other hand, is
completely nil and redundant. In the domain of the novel, Deleuze
says he is quite sensitive enough to know what has already been
said and is of no interest. He did have one discovery in his own
way, someone he judged to be a great young novelist, Armand Farachi.[In
"Introduction: Rhizome" in A Thousand Plateaus, Deleuze
and Guattari refer to Farachi's book, La Dislocation, as an example
(among several others) of a model of nomadic and rhizomatic writing
(23-24).]
So the question Parnet raises, Deleuze says, is quite sound, but
he argues that one should not believe that, without experience,
one can judge what is being created. What Deleuze prefers and
what brings him great joy is when something that he is creating
off on his own has an echo in a young painter's or a young writer's
work. In that way, Deleuze feels that he can have a kind of encounter
with what is happening currently, with another mode of creation.
Deleuze says that his insufficiency as regard judgments is compensated
by these encounters with people who resonate with what he is doing,
and inversely.
Parnet says that painting and cinema, for example, are favored
for such encounters since he goes to galleries and to the movies,
but that she has trouble imagining him strolling into a bookstore
and looking at books that just came out in the previous few months.
Deleuze says she's right, but that this is linked to the idea
that literature is not very strong at the moment, an idea that
is a preconceived one in his mind, that literature is so corrupted
by the system of distribution, of literary prizes, that it's not
even worth the trouble.
As Parnet announces this title, Deleuze
quietly repeats the word "maladie". Parnet recounts
that just after completing _Difference and Repetition_ in 1968,
Deleuze was hospitalized for a very severe case of tuberculosis.
So, just as Deleuze was referring to Spinoza's and Nietzsche's
weak state of health, from 1968 onward, Deleuze was forced to
live with illness. She asks if he had known for a while that he
had tuberculosis.
Deleuze says that he knew he had something for quite a while,
but like a lot of people, he had no real desire to find out, and
also he just assumed it was cancer, and wasn't in a big hurry.
So he did not know it was tuberculosis, not until he was spitting
up blood. He says that he was the child of someone with tuberculosis,
but at the moment of his diagnosis, there was no real danger thanks
to antibiotics. It was serious, and a few years earlier, he might
not have survived, whereas in 1968, it was no longer a problem.
It's an illness without much pain, and so he could say he was
ill, but he maintains that it's a great privilege, an illness
without pain and curable, hardly an illness at all. Before it,
he says, his health was not all that great, he became fatigued
easily.
The question, says Deleuze, is whether the illness made something
easier, not necessarily more successful though, specifically an
enterprise of thought, and Deleuze thinks that a very weakened
state of illness favors this. It's not that one is tuned in to
one's own life, but for him, it did seem like he was tuned into
life. Tuning into life is something other than thinking about
one's own health. He repeats that he thinks a fragile state of
health favors this kind of tuning-in. When he was speaking earlier
about authors like Lawrence or Spinoza, to some extent they saw
something so enormous, so overwhelming that it was too much for
them. It really means, Deleuze says, that one cannot think if
one isn't already in a domain that exceeds one's strength to some
extent, that makes one fragile. He repeats that he always had
a fragile state of health, and this was underscored when he was
diagnosed with tuberculosis, at which point he acquired all the
rights accorded to a fragile state of health.
Parnet points out that Deleuze's relations with doctors and drugs
changed from that moment onward: he had to go see doctors, take
drugs regularly, and it was a constraint imposed on him, all the
more so since he does not like doctors. Deleuze says yes, although
it's not a personal thing between him and doctors; he points out
that he has been treated by some very charming, "delicious"
doctors. What he dislikes is a kind of power, or a way in which
they manipulate power -- here Deleuze points out that, once again,
they return to questions previously discussed, as if half of the
letters already discussed were encompassed and folded back upon
the totality.
Deleuze states that he finds odious the way doctors manipulate
power, and that he has a great hatred, not for individuals, but
for medical power and the way doctors use it. There is only one
thing that made him happy, he says, as much as it displeased them.
It would occur when they used their machines and tests on him.
He considers these to be very unpleasant for a patient since these
are tests that really seem completely useless, except to make
the doctors feel better about diagnoses that they already have
made. If they had so much talent, says Deleuze, then these doctors
seem only to use these cruel tests to make themselves feel better
by playing with these inadmissible tests. So what made Deleuze
quite happy was each time he had to be tested by one of their
machines -- his breath was too inaudible to register on their
machines, or they weren't able to give him a cardiac test -- they
got furious with him, they hated this poor patient, because they
could accept quite easily the fact their diagnosis might be wrong,
but not that their machine wouldn't work on him.
Moreover, Deleuze judges them to be far too uncultured, or when they attempt to be cultured, the results are catastrophic. They are very strange people, doctors, but Deleuze's consolation is that if they earn a lot of money, they don't have time to spend it and to take advantage of it because they lead a very hard life. So it's true, Deleuze repeats, he does not find doctors very attractive, but individuals can be quite exquisite, yet they treat people like dogs in their official functions. So it really reveals class struggle because if one is a little bit wealthy, they are at least a bit polite, except in surgery. Surgeons are a different case altogether. Deleuze says that some kind of reform of doctors is needed.
Parnet asks if Deleuze takes drugs all
the time, and Deleuze says yes, he likes doing that, it doesn't
bother him except that they tend to tire him out. Parnet is surprised
that Deleuze actually enjoys taking medicine, and Deleuze says,
yes, when there's a lot! In his current state (in 1988), his little
pile every morning is a real hoot <bouffonnerie>! But he
also considers them to be quite useful. Deleuze says he's always
been in favor of drugs, even in the domain of psychiatry. <Deleuze
rubs his face and eyes often as he answers and listens>
Parnet says that with this fatigue connected to illness, one thinks
of Blanchot writing about fatigue and friendship. She says that
fatigue plays a great role in his life, and sometimes one gets
the impression that it's an excuse for avoiding a lot of things
that bore/bother him, and that fatigue has always been very useful.
Deleuze says that being affected in this way, this thought leads
back to the theme of force <puissance>, i.e. what it is
to realize a little force, to do what one can. Deleuze says that
it's an awfully complicated notion, connected to what it is that
constitutes one's lack of force <impuissance>, for example,
one's fragile health or illness. Deleuze maintains that it's a
question of knowing what use to make of it so that, through it,
one can recuperate a little force. So Deleuze is certain that
illness should be used for something, and not merely in relation
to life for which it should give one some feeling.
For Deleuze, illness is not an enemy, not something that gives
the feeling of death, but rather, something that gives a feeling
of life, but not in the sense that "I still want to live,
and so once I'm cured, I'll start living." Deleuze says he
cannot think of anything more abject in the world than what people
call a "bon vivant." On the contrary, "bon vivants"
are men with very weak health. So for Deleuze the question is
clear: illness sharpens a kind of vision of life or a sense of
life. He emphasizes that when he says vision, vision of life,
life, it's in the sense of him saying "to see life,"
these difficulties that sharpen, that give life a vision of life,
illness, life in all its force, in all its beauty. Deleuze feels
quite certain of this, he says.
But how can one have secondary benefits from illness, he asks?
One has to use it, even in order to be a bit more free, otherwise
it's very troublesome, for example, if one works too hard, something
one ought not to do. To work too hard -- if it's a question of
working to realize any force, it's worth it, but working too hard
socially --Deleuze says he can't understand a doctor working too
hard because he has too many patients. So, to realize a benefit
from illness is, in fact, to free oneself from things that one
cannot be free from in ordinary life. Deleuze says that, personally,
he never liked traveling, because he never really knew how, although
he has great respect for travelers. But the fact that his health
was so weakened insured his being able to decline invitations
to travel. Or going to bed too late was always difficult for him,
so once he had his fragile health, there was no longer any question
of going to bed too late. He says he's not talking about people
closest to him in his life, but from social duties, illness is
extraordinarily liberating, is really good in that way.
Parnet asks if Deleuze sees fatigue as an illness, and Deleuze
says it's something else. For him, it means: I've done what I
could today, that's it, the day is over. He sees fatigue biologically
as the day being done. It's possible that it could last for other
reasons, social reasons, but fatigue is the biological formulation
of the day being done, of one not being able to draw anything
further from oneself. So, if you take it this way, says Deleuze,
it's not a bothersome feeling, it's rather pleasant, unless one
hasn't done anything, then indeed, it's quite agonizing. It's
to these states of fatigue, these flimsy, fleeting states <états
cotonneux> that Deleuze has always been sensitive. He likes
that state, the end of something, and it probably has a name in
music, a coda, fatigue as coda.
Parnet says that before discussing old
age, they might discuss his relationship to food. Deleuze quietly
says "ah! la vieillesse" <ah, old age>. Parnet
says he likes food that seems to bring him strength and vitality,
like marrow and lobster. She points out that he has a special
relationship to food since he doesn't like eating. Deleuze says
it's true. For him, eating is the most boring thing in the world.
Drinking is something extraordinarily interesting, but eating
bores him to death. He detests eating alone, but eating with someone
he likes changes everything, but it does not transform food, it
only helps him stand eating, making it less boring even if it
happens that he has really nothing to say. All people say that
about eating alone, Deleuze maintains, and it proves how boring
eating is since most people admit that eating alone is an abominable
task.
Having said this, Deleuze continues, he certainly has things he
enjoys immensely <mes fêtes>, that are rather special,
despite some universal disgust he does have. He says he can stand
it when others eat cheese -- Parnet says that Deleuze doesn't
like cheese -- and for someone who hates cheese, he says that
he's one of the rare people to be tolerant, not to get up and
leave or throw the person out eating cheese. For Deleuze, the
taste for cheese is a little like a kind of cannibalism <here
Parnet laughs out loud>, a total horror.
Continuing, Deleuze imagines that someone might ask him what his
favorite meal might be, an utterly crazy undertaking, he says,
but he always comes back to three things that he always found
sublime, but that are quite properly disgusting: tongue, brains,
and marrow. These are all quite nourishing. There are a few restaurants
in Paris, Deleuze says, that serve marrow, and after, he can eat
nothing else. They prepare these little marrow squares, really
quite fascinating, he says, brains, tongue...
Then, Deleuze tries to situate this taste differently, in relation
to things they've already discussed: these things constitute a
kind of trinity since one might say -- Deleuze admits that this
is a bit too anecdotic -- that brains are God the father, marrow,
the son since it's like vertebrates that are little crabs. So
God is the brain, the vertebrates the son, Jesus, and tongue is
the Holy Spirit, which is the force of the tongue. Or, and Deleuze
hesitates a bit here, it's the brain that is the concept, marrow
is affect, and tongue, the percept. Deleuze tells Parnet not to
ask him why, it's just that he sees these trinities as very ...
<he does not complete the sentence>...
So, he concludes, that would make a fantastic meal. He asks if
he's ever had all three together at once? Maybe on a birthday
with friends <Parnet laughs here>, they might make him a
meal like <Deleuze smiles at Parnet>, eh? he says, a party
<fête> <He laughs, very amused>. Parnet says
besides eating these three things, she wants to discuss old age;
Deleuze says, yes, eating all three would be a bit much, and Parnet
says, laughing, yes, disgusting! Deleuze picks up the thread on
old age, again saying softly, "ah! la vieillesse!"
Deleuze says there is someone who has spoken about old age very
well, a novel by Raymond Devos that, for Deleuze, is the best
statement on old age. Deleuze sees it as a splendid age. Of course,
there are problems, for example, one is overcome by a certain
slowness. But the worst is when someone says, "no, you're
not so old," because in saying that, he doesn't understand
what the complaint is. Deleuze says, I complain, I say, oh, I'm
old, that is, I invoke the forces of old age, but then somebody
tries to cheer me up by saying "no, you're not so old."
So, says Deleuze, I smack him with my cane <alors je vais lui
foutre un coup de canne> <Parnet laughs>, because he's
so free about saying that I'm in the old age complaint. Deleuze
says it would be better just to say: "yes, in fact you're
right!" but it's pure joy, says Deleuze, joy everywhere except
in this bit of slowness.
What's awful in old age, Deleuze continues, is pain and misery,
but they are not old age. Deleuze says he means that what makes
old age pathetic, something sad, is poor old people who do not
have enough money to live, nor a minimum of health, only this
very weak health, and a lot of suffering. That's what is abominable,
but it's not old age, Deleuze argues, it's not an evil at all.
With enough money and a little bit of health remaining, it's great
because it's only in old age that one has arrived. It's not a
feeling of triumph, just the fact of having reached it, after
all, in a world that included wars and filthy viruses, one has
crossed through all that.
And it's an age, he continues, in which
it's only a question of a single thing, of being. No longer of
being this or being that, but being old is just being, period,
that's it. He is, quite simply. Who has the right just simply
to be? For an elderly person can say he/she has plans, but it's
true and not true, not true in the way that someone who is 30
has plans. Deleuze says that he hopes to complete two books that
he really is committed to, one on literature, another on philosophy,
but that does not change the fact that he's free of all plans.
When one is old, Deleuze says, one is no longer susceptible/sensitive,
one no longer has any fundamental disappointments, one tends to
be a lot more disinterested, and one really likes people for themselves.
For Deleuze, it seems that old age hones his perception of things
that he never had seen before, elegant things <des élégances>,
to which he had never been sensitive. He sees better, he maintains,
because he looks at someone else for him/herself as if it were
a question of carrying away an image, a percept of the person.
Deleuze admits that he has days that pass with their amount of
fatigue, but for him, fatigue is not an illness, but something
else, not death, just the signal of day's end. Of course, there
are agonies in old age, he says, but one has to ward them off,
and it's easy to ward them off, a little like with loup-garous
or vampires, one can't be alone when it starts getting cold because
one is too slow to survive. So one has to avoid some things, but
what's marvelous, he says, is that people release you, society
lets you go. Being released by society, he says, is so wonderful,
not that society really had Deleuze in its grips, but someone
who isn't Deleuze's age, not retired, cannot suspect how much
joy one can feel being released by society. Obviously, he continues,
when he hears the elderly complaining, these are old people who
don't want to be old or not as old as they are. They can't stand
being retired, and Deleuze doesn't know why since they might discover
something, and he does not believe in retired people not being
able to find something to do.
Deleuze says that one has to give oneself
a shake <se secouer> so that all the parasites that one
has on his/her back the whole life through fall off, and what's
left around you? Nothing but the people that you love and that
support you and that love you, if they feel the need. The rest
have let go of you. And what is really tough is when something
catches hold of you again. Deleuze says he can't stand society,
and only knows it now through his life in retirement. He sees
himself as being completely unknown to society. What's catastrophic,
he declares, is when someone who thinks he still belongs to society
asks him for an interview. Deleuze pauses to say that the ABC
Primer filming is different since what they're doing belongs entirely
to his dream of old age. But when someone seeks an interview,
he would like to ask if the person's feeling ok <ça
va pas, la tête?>. That person isn't aware that Deleuze
is old and society has let go of him? <Deleuze laughs>
But Deleuze thinks people confuse two things: one should not talk
about the elderly, but about misery and suffering, for when one
is old, miserable, and suffering, there is not a word to describe
it. A pure elderly person <un pur vieux> who is nothing
other than elderly means that one just is.
Parnet says that with Deleuze being ill,
tired, and old, <Deleuze laughs> it's sometimes difficult
for people around him, less elderly than him, his children, his
wife. Deleuze responds that there's not much problem for his children.
There could have been if they were younger, but now they're big
enough to live on their own, and Deleuze is not a burden for them,
not a problem, except perhaps in terms of affection, like them
saying, oh, he really looks too tired. As for Fanny, his wife,
Deleuze doesn't think it's a problem, although it could be, he
doesn't know. It's quite difficult, he says, to ask someone that
one loves what they might have done in another life. Deleuze guesses
that Fanny would have liked to travel more, but he wonders what
she would have discovered so different if she had travelled. She
(and Parnet, he says) have a strong literary background, so she
was able to find splendid things through reading> novels, and
that, says Deleuze, equals traveling. Certainly there are problems,
but they are beyond Deleuze's understanding, he admits.
Parnet says that, to finish up, she wants to ask about his projects,
like the one on literature or _What Is Philosophy?_. When he undertakes
a project like these, what does he find enjoyable as an old man
taking these on? She reminds him that earlier he said that perhaps
he won't finish them, but that there is something amusing in them.
Deleuze says that it's something quite marvelous, a whole evolution,
and when one is old, one has a certain idea of what one hopes
to do that becomes increasingly pure, more and more purified.
Deleuze says he conceives of the famous Japanese line drawings,
lines that are so pure and then there is nothing, nothing but
little lines. That's how he conceives of an old man's project,
something that would be so pure, so nothing, and at the same time,
everything, marvelous. He means this as reaching a sobriety, something
that can only come late in life.
He points to _What is Philosophy?_, his research on it: first,
it's quite enjoyable <très gai> at his age to feel
like he knows the answer, and like he's the only one to know,
as if he got on a bus, and nobody else there could know. <Parnet
laughs> All of this, for Deleuze, is very enjoyable. Perhaps
he could have created a book on _What is Philosophy?_ thirty years
ago, one that would have been a very very different book from
the way he conceives it now. There is a kind of sobriety such
that... whether he succeeds or not -- he knows that it's now that
he can conceive of this, that before he couldn't have done it,
but now he sees himself able to do it, to do something, in any
case, that doesn't resemble ... ok <Deleuze does not finish
the sentence, freeze frame and credits roll at the end of tape
two>.
End Part II (of III) -- Go to: Part I - A to F-- Go to: Part III - N to Z