Kaja Silverman
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KAJA SILVERMAN I participated in many peace demonstrations in San Francisco in the months leading up to the Iraq War, and each time I was overwhelmed by the size and diversity of the crowd. I saw other veterans of the Vietnam protests, but also for- mer soldiers, small children, people in their seventies and eighties, high school and college students, and representatives of every other imaginable cultural group. Although we were all there to register our opposition to an impending mil- itary action, our way of coming together was as important as our protest. In the days and weeks following September 11, the Bush administration engaged in the most pernicious kind of nation-building: it demanded that we all experience the same outrage, the same hatred, and the same will-to-punish. The crowds that gath- ered on the streets of San Francisco refused to be interpellated in this way, either by the government, or by the ghosts of revolutions past. Instead of cohering into a 1960s-style counter-culture, they formed affectively heterogeneous assemblages. Because this kind of group exists only so long as its members are co-present, it has no lasting political force unless it is documented, and this documentation is widely disseminated. For this reason, most of the demonstrators stayed until the helicopters had finished their “count,” and I turned on C-SPAN when I got home, to watch its coverage of the New York and Washington peace rallies. But since not even the New York Times was willing to publish photographs of these events, those who participated in them were left feeling that they had never occurred. I was so depressed when the Iraq War began that I didn’t think I could teach, but eventually I realized that one of my courses was an ideal venue for thinking about our historical moment. Since my students were as dispirited as I was, they jumped at the opportunity to have this kind of conversation, and for the rest of the semester our classroom became the site of another sort of political assem- blage: one that—although also provisional and affectively heterogeneous—was self-documenting, and had far more staying power than a peace demonstration. The papers written in that class were unlike any I have read before or since, and they showed me that there is more than one way of mounting a Student Movement. When I finished reading them, I started working on one of my own. Here is part of what I wrote. Divine Wrong In Freud’s first official account of the Oedipus complex, the mother is more important than the father, and aggression a by-product of desire.1 However, 1. Sigmund Freud, The Interpretation of Dreams (1900), in The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, ed. and trans. James Strachey (London: Hogarth Press, 1953–74), vol. 4, pp. 262–64. OCTOBER 123, Winter 2008, pp. 139–148. © 2008 October Magazine, Ltd. and Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/octo.2008.123.1.139 by guest on 25 September 2021 140 OCTOBER immediately before characterizing incest as the “key to the tragedy,” the psycho- analyst summarizes the story recounted by Sophocles in Oedipus Rex, in which patricide takes pride of place: “The action of the play consists in nothing other than the process of revealing, with cunning delays and ever-mounting excitement . that Oedipus himself is the murderer of Laius, but further that he is the son of the murdered man and of Jocasta” (pp. 261–62). In Freud’s 1913 version of the same story, the father eclipses the mother, and his death is the primary event. There was once a primal father, we read in Totem and Taboo, who ruled over a horde of brothers. He kept all of the women for himself, and drove away his sons when they became adults. The sons hated the father because he prevented them from doing what they wanted to do, but since that was, in effect, to become him, they also loved him. What they envy and admire, moreover, were not the father’s libidinal prerogatives, but rather the violence to which he subjected them. The brothers therefore banded together and killed the father. Afterward, they took him within themselves, both physically and psychically, by consuming his body and enshrining him as their ideal. They also transformed their own deed into the ultimate taboo.2 Through this “deferred obedience,” the sons made the father far stronger in death than he ever was in life (p. 143). By cannibalizing him, however, they also dominated and destroyed him, just as he had dominated and destroyed them, and through their collective identification with his violence they cohered into a social unit. “The violent primal father had doubtless been the feared and envied model of each one of the company of brothers,” Freud writes in an important passage in Totem and Taboo, “and in the act of devouring him they accomplished their identi- fication with him, and each one acquired a portion of his strength. The totem meal, which is perhaps mankind’s earliest festival, would thus be a repetition and a commemoration of this memorable and criminal deed, which was the beginning of so many things—of social organization, of moral restrictions and of religion” (p. 142). Freud returns obsessively to this story in his late writings, imputing more and more truth-value to it. The murder of the primal father becomes the “Ur- version” of the Oedipus complex. In “Thoughts for the Times on War and Death,” an essay written during World War I, Freud maintains that aggression has continued to be the prime force in human society, and in Beyond the Pleasure Principle, which he began one year after that war ended, and very much in its shadow, he conferred a name upon this agency of destruction: the death drive. He also opposed it to the erotic drive. The erotic drive is an agency of unification; it binds things together. The death drive is an agency of disintegration; it tears things apart.3 In Beyond the Pleasure Principle, the death we desire is our own; we strive to reach it because we find excitation 2. Freud, Totem and Taboo (1913), in The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works, vol. 13, pp. 140–46. 3. Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1920), in The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works, vol. 18, pp. 49 and 60–61. Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/octo.2008.123.1.139 by guest on 25 September 2021 Questionnaire: Silverman 141 unpleasurable, and dying reduces excitation to a zero degree. However, in Civilization and Its Discontents, Freud characterizes the relationship between Eros and Thanatos as a war. He also maintains that this war occupies a far vaster arena than that of the individual psyche; its staging ground is history itself, and its stakes the survival of the world. Finally, Freud personifies the death drive and the erotic drive, and installs them in the position we are used to calling our own. In the process, civilization ceases to be a human product; it comes into existence when the erotic drive achieves primacy over the death drive, and passes away when the death drive succeeds in reversing this relationship: Civilization is a process in the service of Eros, whose purpose is to com- bine single human individuals, and after that families, then races, peo- ples and nations, into one great unity, the unity of mankind. Why this has to happen, we do not know; the work of Eros is precisely this. These collections of men are to be libidinally bound to one another. But man’s natural aggressive instinct, the hostility of each against all, opposes this programme of civilization. The aggressive instinct is the derivative and main representative of the death instinct which we have found alongside Eros and which shares world-dominion with it. And now, I think, the meaning of the evolution of civilization is no longer obscure to us. It must present the struggle between Eros and Death . as it works itself out in the human species.4 We are prevented from dismissing this astonishing series of claims as science fiction by the uncanny precision with which they can be mapped onto contempo- rary American society. They also help us to make sense of the peculiar animus toward all things sexual of those within our culture who wage wars, perform exe- cutions, practice cut-throat capitalism, and attempt to stamp out other cultures. Freud concludes the paragraph from which I have just quoted with another breathtaking proposition—the proposition that Christianity provides a smoke screen behind which this struggle can continue unabated. “It is this battle of the giants,” he writes, “that our nurse-maids try to appease with their lullaby about Heaven” (p. 122). But as we will see later, Christianity does far more than conceal the role played in human history by Eros and Thanatos. It takes sides in the strug- gle between them—and not the one we might expect. * Like the primal father, we begin life by loving ourselves and aggressing oth- ers. Civilization demands that we do the opposite: love others and aggress ourselves. We comply with this demand by internalizing the father as an ego-ideal. 4. Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents (1930), in The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works, vol. 21, p. 122. Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/octo.2008.123.1.139 by guest on 25 September 2021 142 OCTOBER Since no one would voluntarily install another person in this position, another psychic agency must be created first—one capable of forcing the issue.