What's the point of theory?

This is a video about why I do theory and philosophy. Especially at a time when they might seem detached from reality. The political horrorshow isn’t going anywhere any time soon.

I know that I don’t have to justify this newsletter or the podcasts. But there’s some value in getting ahead of criticism, even when the critic is just in your head.

Also, in case it’s not obvious, I don’t make videos very often. (I’ll try to remember to maintain eye contact next time.)

Yesterday I came across Franco Berardi’s new book, Thinking Gaza. I hadn’t heard about it until I saw a copy in person. The back cover says:

After Gaza, it is time to remember that the attempt to humanize history has failed, and that there will not be a second try.

It is time to recognize that the experiment called ‘civilization’ has failed. What is left of civilization is the destructive power of technology — particularly, military technology. When ferocity prevails, technology becomes a function of war.

Thinking Gaza means first of all recognizing the irredeemable failure of the universalism of reason and democracy—that is, the dissolution of the very core of civilization.

A question: what happens to philosophy when we reject civilization? Do we return it to the gods?

Last week, one of my interview guests phoned in from Mount Fruška Gora, the Serbian side. She writes about the social factors that influence scholarly critique; the failures of higher ed; what it means to think “together” or “with” something or someone (I like this essay); and all of the emotions that are exploited or sidelined as we turn political work into scholarly agendas.

Towards the end, I brought up anti-civ philosophy. Among two academics, this should’ve slid into hedging about uncomfortable concepts like “the primitive” and “the natural.” It did not. And we didn’t adopt the obvious ironic posture towards a body of research that aims to undo the conditions of its own possibility. In the moment, the paradox seemed to take care of itself.

There’s a streak of nihilism and masculinism to this kind of talk. I get it. Sometimes it seems indefensible. But the impure me likes a vision that pierces the night just because it’s open to it. The pupils dilate - the gaze melts - deeper shapes and patterns reveal themselves. You start to see in the dark.

And then you say no civilization, because all other words feel bloodless. That’s the concept that breaks the final code.

Anti-civilization scholarship. Hard to assimilate, won’t leave me alone.

Last week, I quoted the end of Language Machines in a note here:

The difference between why an idea is powerful and that idea itself is surely of great importance, but their continuity is too.

There’s a space between ideas, which are very close-to-the-head things, and what gives ideas power, all the histories and supply chains and muffled screams that take them from a space in front of the skull down to the dark red organs.

Anti-civ people get it. So does everyone who gives theory to the knowable world, the world of causes and effects. Sometimes the road there looks like words; sometimes it’s wet strength and skin contact with the starry dark. There’s still time enough for both.