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2005
Beckett's Victors: Quests without Qualities
Paul Shields
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THE FLORIDA STATE UNIVERSITY COLLEGE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES
BECKETT’S VICTORS: QUESTS WITHOUT QUALITIES
By
PAUL SHIELDS
A Dissertation submitted to the
Department of English in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of
Doctor of Philosophy
Degree Awarded:
Spring 2005
The members of the Committee approve the dissertation of Paul Shields defended on January 4, 2005.
____________________________________ S. E. Gontarski Professor Directing Dissertation
____________________________________ Mary Karen Dahl Outside Committee Member
____________________________________ Karen Laughlin Committee Member
____________________________________ Fred L. Standley Committee Member
Approved: ____________________________________ Bruce Boehrer, Director of Graduate Studies
The Office of Graduate Studies has verified and approved the above named committee members.
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For my mother and father— and for my grandmother, Lucille
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank Stan Gontarski for his guidance and encouragement during the development of this study and over the course of my graduate career. His insights are evident on every page. I would also like to thank the members of my committee: Karen Laughlin for her support (and for buying coffee in Sydney); Fred L. Standley for his generosity; and Mary Karen Dahl for her willingness to be a part of this project. I must also thank Yu-Mi Yang for introducing me to Deleuze’s work and Chris Ackerley for reading parts of the manuscript. I am greatly indebted to Lori and Ben York, who have always cared about my pursuits and, more importantly, my well-being. Thanks also to Steven, Alan, Karen, and Zachary for their conversation and friendship. I would like to acknowledge Michael Rodriguez for asking good, tough questions; Dustin Anderson for his company; and Curt and Judith Willits, who made sure I didn’t spend Thanksgiving alone. A special thank you to Marsha Gontarski, who provided me with confidence and sustenance. Debra Brock’s door was always open, and I thank her for her words of encouragement along the way. I also wish to thank Trish Lyons and Diane Thompson for their friendship and useful information about ginger, Linda Mashburn for caring about my project, and Olga Connolly, whose own experiences helped get me through mine. Roxane Fletcher was an endless source of amusement and information and always took an interest in my work. John Bailey was an invaluable listener in trying times, and I thank him for his story about long and short letters. Finally, I am blessed to know Geoff and Kim, good people who didn’t want me sleeping in the Banner office. I owe them my life.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
ABSTRACT…………………….………………………………………………………..vii PREFACE……………………………………………………………………………….viii INTRODUCTION: LIFE WITHOUT QUALITIES ……………………………………...1 1. PROCEEDING GINGERLY: BECKETT, MELVILLE, DELEUZE, AND THE
MAKING OF AMMMERICANS ………………………………...………...………..23
2. BECKETT’S VICTORS…..………………………………………………………….53 3. WOLFMAN ON THE LAM: DE-OEDIPALIZING BECKETT…………………….70 4. HAMM STAMMERED: BECKETT’S ATMOSPHERIC STUTTERING …………86 5. BECKETT’S EXAGGERATED OEDIPUS ………………………………………..101 CONCLUSION: BECKETT: THE INVENTION OF THE INHUMAN………………118 NOTES………………………………………………………………………………….121 REFERENCES …………………………………………………………………………133 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH …………………………………………………………...141
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ABSTRACT
This study explores the work of Samuel Beckett through the lens of Gilles
Deleuze and Félix Guattari’s materialist philosophy. More specifically, it chases after what the French theorists refer to as the “new man” or the “man without qualities”—a stuttering, staggering creature whose language, movements, gestures, and thought confuse the organizations and institutions of the “molar world.” Such a figure seeks refuge from the confines of capitalism, the oedipalized family, and other cultural systems that attempt to forge respectable citizens out of immanent bodies, molar men out of tramps.
The “new man” appears in Beckett’s first published novel, Murphy, and proceeds to traverse the terrain of his plays, short prose, and late texts. Significantly, Beckett often situates his stuttering figures in equally stuttering environments, revealing his ability to “carve a foreign language out of language” (as Deleuze and Guattari, following Proust, are fond of saying) and cause entire texts to shake the foundations of molarity. Like Kafka, Beckett thus demonstrates his capacity as a “minor” writer—that is, one who subjects not only his characters but his entire oeuvre to a “minor” treatment to oppose the onslaught of majoritarian ideals.
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PREFACE
This project grew out of an essay I wrote several years ago (and delivered at the
2004 Twentieth Century Literature Conference in Louisville, Kentucky) that reads Samuel Beckett’s Endgame in conjunction with Gilles Deleuze’s theories of atmospheric stuttering in his essay “He Stuttered.” As I proceeded with my research, I encountered a number of critics and scholars whose work proved enlightening, influential, and inspirational. I am indebted to the helpful analyses of various Deleuze scholars, including, among others, Claire Colebrook, Philip Goodchild, Brian Massumi, Mark Seem, and Daniel W. Smith, who was kind enough to meet with me and offer words of encouragement during the early phases.
I am also indebted to the work of countless Beckett scholars, particularly those who have preceded me in the investigation of Beckett and Deleuze: Kateryna Arthur, Ronald Bogue, Mary Bryden, Thomas Cousineau, Garin Dowd, Jennifer Jeffers, Timothy S. Murphy, and Anthony Uhlmann, whose Beckett and Poststructuralism offers fascinating insights into Beckett’s texts. H. Porter Abbott’s Beckett Writing Beckett: The Author in The Autograph became an increasingly valuable resource, especially in my studies of filiation in Eleuthéria and Company. All of these critics have played a significant role in the (in)formation of this study.
P.S.
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INTRODUCTION
LIFE WITHOUT QUALITIES
It would seem, then, that during the dreaming process he identified with his castrated mother and is now struggling to resist this outcome.
—Sigmund Freud, “History of an Infantile Neurosis [‘The Wolfman’]”
Psychoanalysis contains but a single error: it reduces all the adventures of psychosis to a single refrain, the eternal daddy-mommy. . .
—Gilles Deleuze, “Louis Wolfson; or, the Procedure”
Do you see me, in my dreams. . .
—Samuel Beckett, Mercier and Camier
In The Western Canon: The Books and School of the Ages, Harold Bloom
unmasks Freud as an imposter, a quack doctor who is finally his own patient. In the chapter entitled “Freud: A Shakespearean Reading,” Bloom maintains that Freudian psychoanalysis develops out of a poetic anxiety, an agon with Shakespeare’s great plays:
I don’t think it is accurate to say that Freud loved Shakespeare as he loved Goethe and Milton. Whether he could even be called ambivalent about Shakespeare seems to me doubtful. Freud did not love the Bible or show any ambivalence toward it, and Shakespeare, much more than the Bible, became Freud’s hidden authority, the father he would not acknowledge. (345-46)
For Bloom, Shakespeare understands Freud as Freud never could, and Freud’s writings are merely a dark shadow of the psychoanalysis—the true psychoanalysis, as Bloom
argues—that runs through the major plays, Hamlet, King Lear, Macbeth, Othello. A
pseudo-diagnostician, Freud suffers from an illness, an anxiety that causes him to misread
1and revise Shakespeare’s sublime art: “Hamlet did not have an Oedipus complex, but Freud certainly had a Hamlet complex, and perhaps psychoanalysis is a Shakespeare complex!” (350). Bloom thus takes all authority away from Freud in building his literary canon, sending the Austrian doctor—along with his book of imitations—to the margins as a belated poet. Shakespeare remains the original psychoanalyst, a writer who understands the western psyche because, as Bloom argues unabashedly in Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human, he invented it: “He extensively informs the language we speak, his principal characters have become our mythology, and he, rather than his involuntary follower Freud, is our psychologist” (17).
In developing their own literary canon, Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari form a momentary alliance with Bloom in their suspicion of Freud—momentary because their philosophies otherwise have little in common.1 Bloom is elitist, staunchly hierarchical, and obsessed with centers; Deleuze and Guattari, on the other hand, are pluralist, antihierarchical, obsessed with rhizomes and multiplicities. Bloom identifies points of origin; Deleuze and Guattari sense intensities, follow lines of flight. Without hesitation, Bloom would enroll Deleuze and Guattari and their wholly political views of literature in the “School of Resentment,” an institution of feminists, Marxists, Lacanians, New Historicists, Deconstructionists, and semioticians whose sole practice is, according to Bloom, the destruction of all earnest literary study. Bloom, in fact, has a particular distaste for Parisian thinkers, and French theory in general.2 Still, their contempt for Freud affords the theorists a common enemy. Like Bloom, Deleuze and Guattari see Freud as a hack psychologist who pretends to possess an understanding of the human psyche but under whose control the “unconscious ceases to be what it is—a factory, a workshop—to become a theater, a scene and its staging” (Anti-Oedipus 55). Yet Deleuze and Guattari do not dismiss Freudian theory as a misreading of Shakespearean psychoanalysis. In their estimation, Freud is not, as Bloom understands him, merely a writer whose texts evidence a secret wish to dethrone Shakespeare and dominate the center of the western canon. Indeed, Deleuze and Guattari’s view of literature is as clinical as it is critical, and they set out to find a cure for the cultural disease of Freudianism, a quiet but certain killer: “Psychoanalysis is like the Russian Revolution, we don’t know when it started going bad” (Anti-Oedipus 55).
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In quest of an antidote, Deleuze and Guattari turn to great poets, authors whose keen understanding of the human mind and body far exceeds Freudian theory. Unlike Bloom, the French theorists rarely exalt Shakespeare and instead focus their attention on artists who, to echo Salman Rushdie, write back to the center, send missives from the islands of exile—Melville, Jarry, Artaud, and Kafka, among others. While Deleuze and Guattari, contra Bloom, would disavow any attempt to locate a central figure in their canon of great authors, Samuel Beckett would be a strong candidate.
For the French theorists, Beckett represents a sublime frustration of Freudian thought and is, as Daniel W. Smith3 explains, the better “symptomatologist.” Like all great writers, Beckett “can go further in symptomatology than doctors and clinicians” (Smith xvii). To adapt Bloom’s comments about Shakespeare, Beckett, rather than Freud, is our psychologist. His novels, plays, works for television, and cinematic achievement (Deleuze calls Film the “greatest Irish film”4) upset Freud’s vision of humanity and culture, debunking “underlying truths” and oedipal psychodramas: “[N]o great novelist contemporaneous with psychoanalysis has taken much interest in it” (Deleuze “Bartleby” 81). As the Deleuzo-Guattarian project demonstrates time and again, Beckett defies psychoanalysis and psychoanalytic interpretation. Life-affirming, Beckett’s work is a prophecy, a schizophrenic vision of a late evening in the future, in the den of our universe.
No Man is an I-land: How Freud Misses What Any Child Would Notice5
An understanding of Deleuze and Guattari’s specific complaints against Freud illuminates why they esteem writers such as Beckett. As numerous critics discuss, Deleuze and Guattari see Freud as a thinker who perpetuates the notion of a suffering subject, an individual who ails from a psychological disease and who may undergo treatment from one greater man and find a cure for his affliction. The affliction stems specifically from familial relations and involves the child’s oedipal yearning for his mother and fear of his father. Deleuze and Guattari refer to Freud’s family romance as the mommy-daddy-me triangle, a structure they see as not only contrived but oppressive. Throughout both volumes of Capitalism and Schizophrenia, the theorists expose the lies of Freudianism, arguing for a vision of humanity and nature that has nothing to do with genealogies and filiation. As Smith asserts, Anti-Oedipus “offers a now-famous critique
3of psychoanalysis that is primarily symptomatological: psychoanalysis, Deleuze and Guattari contend, fundamentally misunderstands signs and symptoms” (xx). From the opening pages of the book, which Michel Foucault believes “can best be read as an ‘art’” (xii), the French theorists seek to discount Freud’s preoccupation with interiors and disturbed psyches for breeding guilt and shame—in short, for defining healthy and sick ways of being.
One of Freud’s great sins involves his reduction of the unconscious—indeed the human condition—to Sophoclean myth. Deleuze and Guattari explain: “The neurotic is trapped within the residual or artificial territorialities of our society, and reduces all of them (les rabat toutes) to Oedipus as the ultimate territoriality—as reconstructed in the analyst’s office and projected upon the full body of the psychoanalyst (yes, my boss is my father, and so is the Chief of State, and so are you, Doctor)” (35). But “Why return to myth?” ask Deleuze and Guattari, “Why take it as the model?” (57). The mind is far too elaborate to fit in the amphitheater: “We have not finished chanting the litany of the ignorances of the unconscious; it knows nothing of castration or Oedipus, just as it knows nothing of parents, gods, the law, lack” (61). As Claire Colebrook observes, the problem with Freud’s oedipalization of the individual is that it takes too much for granted:
[T]he drama [Oedipus] has so much power, according to Freud, because it represents a universal human desire. […] But Oedipus is not a drama about ‘the’ human family; it is about a specific king and political power. […] Before there is a personal and private image of ‘man’ or the ‘father’, social machines (through events such as Greek tragedy) invest in images of the king, the despot, the banker, the cop or the fascist. ‘Man’ is produced from social roles. (144-45)
Thus, Mark Seem eloquently explains, “[I]t is into these back rooms, behind the closed doors of the analyst’s office, in the wings of the Oedipal theater, that Deleuze and Guattari weave their way, exclaiming as does Nietzsche that it smells bad there” (xvii). “Schizoanalysis,” which Seem describes as a “healing process” whose “major task is to destroy the oedipalized, neuroticized individual dependencies through the forging of a collective subjectivity, a non-fascist subject” (xxiii), serves as Deleuze and Guattari’s alternative approach to thinking about the unconscious, the human, and culture at large:
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[S]chizoanalysis must devote itself with all its strength to the necessary destructions. Destroying beliefs and representations, theatrical scenes. And when engaged in this task no activity will be too malevolent. Causing Oedipus and castration to explode, brutally intervening each time the subject strikes up the song of myth or intones tragic lines, carrying him back to the factory. (Anti-Oedipus 314)
Reincarnated Futurists, Deleuze and Guattari cause more explosions, indeed wage a shock-and-awe campaign on Freud’s Oedipus in A Thousand Plateaus, the second, more extensive indictment of “General Freud.”
In A Thousand Plateaus, Deleuze and Guattari waste no time in dismissing the primacy of the cogito, turning themselves into two, three: “To reach, not the point where one no longer says I, but the point where it is no longer of any importance whether one says I” (3). For Deleuze and Guattari, no man is an I-land, everyone and everything is always-already part of the ma(ch)in(e). They soon return their attention to Freud and the havoc he wreaks in the lives of his “patients.” Psychoanalysis, they reiterate, is never a cure for “mental illness.” Rather, it is the infection:
Look at what happened to Little Hans already, an example of child psychoanalysis at its purist: they kept on BREAKING HIS RHIZOME and BLOTCHING HIS MAP, setting it straight for him, blocking his every way out, until he began to desire his own shame and guilt, until they had rooted shame and guilt in him, PHOBIA (they barred him from the rhizome of the building, then from the rhizome of the street, they rooted him in his parents’ bed, they radicled him to his own body, they fixated him on Professor Freud). (14)
Professor Freud is thus a stumbling block to the health of humanity, a philosopher Deleuze and Guattari identify negatively as “arborescent”—another branch on the tree of “State philosophy.” As Brian Massumi explains, arborescent thinkers are “employees of the State” who help instill the notion of “truth” and justice” in culture and, in turn, every citizen (xii). “The end product,” Massumi continues, “would be ‘a fully legitimated subject of knowledge and society’—each mind an analogously organized mini-State morally unified in the supermind of the State” (xii). As a State employee, Freud builds
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“tree-like” hierarchies and instills notions of transcendence into philosophy, and Deleuze and Guattari would have done with such a vision: “We’re tired of trees. We should stop believing in trees, roots, and radicles. They’ve made us suffer too much. […] Thought is not arborescent, and the brain is not rooted or ramified matter. […] Many people have a tree growing in their heads, but the brain itself is much more a grass than a tree” (15).
One of the most scathing attacks on Freud occurs in the second chapter of A
Thousand Plateaus entitled “1914: One or Several Wolves?” The chapter is a reexamination and re-diagnosis of Freud’s infamous Wolf-Man case and reads like a nursery rhyme: “That day, the Wolf-Man rose from the couch particularly tired. He knew that Freud had a genius for brushing up against the truth and passing it by, then filling the void with associations” (26). But this is no children’s tale. And the real wolf of the story turns out to be smoking the cigars of an Austrian doctor—the better to treat us with, cheat us with. Deleuze and Guattari rush in to rip the mask from his face, revealing his true nature, his desire to plant trees in the place of grass. Indeed, “No sooner does Freud discover the greatest art of the unconscious, this art of molecular multiplicities, than we find him tirelessly at work bringing back molar unities. […] On the verge of discovering a rhizome, Freud always returns us to mere roots” (27). Deleuze and Guattari venture to undo the damage done to the Wolf-Man, pointing out how the doctor misses what any child would notice—that wolves travel in packs not only in the content of dreams but by nature (28; my italics). Yet Freud’s desire to oedipalize the world, turn the molecularity of culture into Greek drama, leads him to make false assertions about “patients” like the Wolf-Man: “[I]t was already decided from the beginning that animals could serve only to represent coitus between parents” (28). Deleuze and Guattari would have Freud relive his own childhood, learn things about wolves he should have picked up in his developmental years, for as a psychoanalyst he “sees nothing and understands nothing” (27). Like Belshazzar falling, Freud is again found wanting, only a shell, a husk of meaning.
In his Essays Critical and Clinical, Deleuze (sans Guattari) further explores the dangers and shortcomings of Freud’s tree of thought and, significantly, champions an anti-Freudian literary criticism that nowhere examines great authors or their characters as patients in need of the talking cure. The inaugural essay, “Literature and Life,” expresses
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Deleuze’s belief that great poets, not psychoanalysts, understand the plagues and oppression of the human condition. Such authors have no interest in traumatic events from their personal childhoods: “To write is not to recount one’s memories and travels, one’s loves and griefs, one’s dreams and one’s fantasies. […] We do not write with our neuroses. Neuroses or psychoses are not passages of life, but states into which we fall when the process is interrupted, blocked, or plugged up” (2-3). Psychoanalysis, therefore, is of little help in understanding the schizophrenic imagination of great poets. According to Deleuze, Freudian theory simply fails to make sense of the “delirium” of great literature, for it has nothing to do with “a father-mother affair” (4). As Smith explains in his introduction to Deleuze’s essays,
This point of view is very different from many psychoanalytic interpretations of writers and artists, which tend to see authors, through their work, as possible or real patients, even if they are accorded the benefit of “sublimation.” Artists are treated as clinical cases, as if they were ill, however sublimely, and the critic seeks a sign of neurosis like a secret in their work, its hidden code. (xvii-iii)
Throughout his essays, Deleuze lauds characters who fight back against the systems and hierarchies of molar culture, who challenge parental, pseudo-parental, and societal authorities that would contain and tame subjects. In his essay “Louis Wolfson; or, The Procedure,” for example, Deleuze argues that Wolfson sees through the symbols of the mother and father and detects oppressive powers in their language and behaviors: “Wolfson seems to follow in the footsteps of Artaud, who had gone beyond the question of father-mother, and then that of the bomb and the tumor, and wanted to have done with the universe of ‘judgment,’ to discover a new continent” (19). Of all the authors Deleuze (with and without Guattari) discusses, Beckett emerges as one of the most important to his philosophical vision: “More than an art,” Deleuze writes of Beckett’s work, “this is a science that demands long study” (“The Exhausted” 155).