Manifestly Haraway, the Cyborg Manifesto, The
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MANIFESTLY HARAWAY THE CYBORG MANIFESTO THE COMPANION SPECIES M ANIFESTO COMPANIONS IN CONVERSATION 3WITH CARY WOLFE4 posthumanities 37 DONNA J. HARAWAY Manifestly Haraway university of minnesota press minneapolis l o n d o n “A Cyborg Manifesto” was previously published as “Manifesto for Cyborgs: Science, Technology, and Socialist Feminism in the 1980s,” Socialist Review, no. 80 (1985): 65–108, and as “A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, Technology, and Socialist-Feminism in the Late Twentieth Century” in Simians, Cyborgs, and Women (New York: Routledge, 1991). “The Companion Species Manifesto” was previously published as The Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People, and Significant Otherness (Chicago: Prickly Paradigm Press, 2003). Copyright 2016 by Donna J. Haraway All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Published by the University of Minnesota Press 111 Third Avenue South, Suite 290 Minneapolis, MN 55401-2520 http://www.upress.umn.edu isBn 978-0-8166-5047-7 (hc) isBn 978-0-8166-5048-4 (pb) A Cataloging-in-Publication record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper The University of Minnesota is an equal-opportunity educator and employer. 21 20 19 18 17 16 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 CONTENTS introduction / cary Wolfe / vii A CYBORG MANIFESTO Science, Technology, and Socialist-Feminism in the Late Twentieth Century 3 THE COMPANION SPECIES MANIFESTO Dogs, People, and Significant Otherness 91 COMPANIONS IN CONVERSATION Donna J. Haraway and Cary Wolfe 199 acknoWledgments / 299 index / 301 This page intentionally left blank INTRODUCTION c a r y W o l f e In the thirty-plus years I’ve been reading critical and cultural theory, I don’t think there’s ever been a phenomenon like “The Cyborg Manifesto.” I remember distinctly the first time I read it (in the form of a dog-eared Xerox copy, as was the custom among graduate students in those days). I’ve met lots of people over the years who had the same experience with the mani- festo—less like remembering where you were on 9/11 than re- calling the first time you listened to a record that really blew you away. On intellectual grounds, I was drawn to the text in part be- cause as an undergraduate I had already become interested in systems theory (or what was then often called “cybernetics”), thanks in no small part to the work of Gregory Bateson in Steps to an Ecology of Mind. (Only later—much later—would I dis- cover the happy coincidence that both Bateson and Haraway had taught and made their homes in Santa Cruz, California, in the thick of what would become the History of Consciousness Board and, later, Department.) I was prepared, then (at least in part), for the interdisciplinary intellectual sweep of the mani- festo and its mash-up of science, technoculture, science fic- tion, philosophy, socialist-feminist politics, and theory. But what I wasn’t prepared for—and I don’t think many people were—was its stylistic and rhetorical bravado, what I’d even call its swagger (being deliberately heretical here, precisely in the spirit of the manifesto itself). Who else launches an essay with observations such as “Cyborg ‘sex’ restores some of the lovely replicative baroque of ferns and invertebrates (such nice or- ganic prophylactics against heterosexism)” and ends it with the declaration “Though both are bound in the spiral dance, I’d rather be a cyborg than a goddess”? It wasn’t just that the manifesto made clear to me, in theo- retical terms, something I would try to articulate later in my own work: that rethinking the so-called “question of the animal” was really a subset of a much broader challenge that would come to be called posthumanism (a term Haraway chafes against, for reasons we discuss in these pages). That much is announced barely three pages into the text, where we find the famous passage on the “three crucial boundary breakdowns” (between human and animal, organism and machine, and the physical and the nonphysical) that provides the point of entry for the manifesto to do its work. No, for me, and I’ll wager for most readers, it was the unprecedented writerly whirlwind of the text that made it unforgettable—its swervings and foldings, the mix of tones, voices, and conjurings, winking at the reader here only to do some serious cage rattling on the very next page. A term that comes up a lot (both in our conversation here and in Haraway’s own characterization of the text) is irony, but irony doesn’t begin to capture the amazing range of tones, personae, and voices that Haraway is able to inhabit in these pages. Introduction viii The rhetorical performance is so stunning that it’s easy to forget just how encyclopedic the text is, and how generous, too. How much do you first have to know to even contemplate a piece of writing such as this? And where else—in an era of academic stardom that was already well under way at the time—do we find a more generous citational practice (something Haraway takes very seriously, as readers of our conversation will discover)? Try making a list of just the proper names mentioned in the text. For these reasons (and more, of course), “The Cyborg Mani- festo” was a profoundly liberating experience for many read- ers—not liberating as in “freedom to do whatever you like,” but liberating in the sense of modeling for us a new and unprece- dented range of expression and experimentation for serious ac- ademic writing. Given its headlong pace and its weave of affec- tive registers and discursive textures, it sometimes felt more like reading a novel or experimental fiction than reading an ac- ademic essay. I think many readers left their first encounter with the manifesto thinking to themselves, “Wow, you can really write this way?!” Well, yes and no. You can if you’re Donna Har- away. But “The Cyborg Manifesto” is also very much a product of its moment, and this is as it should be, since cyborgs (as she reminds us many times in the text) have no truck with time - lessness or immortality. Reading it again today, it’s a sort of time capsule or cultural brain smear from the era of Star Wars (both the Hollywood film franchise and the Reagan-era missile Introduction ix defense system) blasphemously reinterpreted by a committed socialist-feminist who is ready to do something about it, is look- ing for help from you and me, and will use any and every tool in the shed to make a good start on the job. Almost twenty years later, Haraway had decided that the appropriate and necessary tools had changed, in part because of a very long and very seri- ous involvement with dogs and dog training that first brought us together as friends (and brought us together as two people who felt that they could, partly on those grounds, understand and admire the late Vicki Hearne in ways that few officially function- ing academics could). As she writes in “The Companion Species Manifesto,” “I have come to see cyborgs as junior siblings in the much bigger, queer family of companion species.” Of course, the bio and the techno have always been com- pletely intertwined in Haraway’s work, early and late; they are wound up in that “spiral dance” that ends Manifesto I. But “The Companion Species Manifesto” reaches—and even yearns—to- ward that other pole of the bio/techno problematic, the flesh (keeping in mind, as she reminds us early in Manifesto II, that “these figures are hardly polar opposites”). While it’s true, as Haraway writes in Manifesto II, that “neither a cyborg nor a companion animal pleases the pure of heart who long for better protected species boundaries and sterilization of category de- viants,” there’s a need for flesh and earth here that gives the sec- ond manifesto a different feel. It’s not just that these are revealed to be the site of a more densely woven complexity—ontologi- Introduction x cally, ethically, and politically—than the circuit, the chip, or the algorithm. It’s also that this is less a story about technoscience (though it’s obviously that, too) than a story of “biopower and biosociality,” of how “history matters in naturecultures,” in- cluding Haraway’s own history (see “Notes of a Sports Writer’s Daughter”), and including the history of this complicated crea- ture called “The Australian Shepherd,” and how those two end up in their own kind of “spiral dance,” one that is less about cy- borgs and goddesses than about bitches, messmates, and what Haraway (doing a number on Foucault) calls “the birth of the kennel.” To delve into the complexities—historical, genetic, and oth- erwise—of the AKC-recognized “purebred” dog is to enter fully biopolitical territory, because, as we now know, race is ab- solutely central to the work of biopolitics, and it’s impossible to talk about race without talking about species. In light of all the biopolitical literature devoted to the Holocaust and the Nazi camps, the word purebred takes on a rather more ominous cast by the time the second manifesto appears. That text reminds us of something we ought not need reminding of: that Donna Haraway is one of the most important thinkers in the history of what is now officially called “biopolitical thought” (a geneal- ogy that can often seem, with its procession of white, male, Eu- ropean continental philosophers, a little too purebred for its own good—though I am happy to see Roberto Esposito, a fellow Post humanities author, giving Haraway her due).