The ‘Spinoza Week” continues with its Deleuzian terminology to address the philosophy of Spinoza. The “scream” evoked in the title refers indeed to the concept of philosophical scream that Deleuze invents to define a phrase written or pronounced by a philosopher that contains the essence of his life work. The scream has to be understood in two senses here (at least, that is the way I interpret it): the absolute, almost physical, necessity for a philosopher to “scream” this phrase, and the trouble caused within the normative way of thinking by this same phrase. In the case of Spinoza, according to Deleuze, this scream is expressed in the Proposition II of the Part III of the Ethics:
However, no one has hitherto laid down the limits to the powers of the body, that is, no one has as yet been taught by experience what the body can accomplish solely by the laws of nature, in so far as she is regarded as extension. No one hitherto has gained such an accurate knowledge of the bodily mechanism, that he can explain all its functions; nor need I call attention to the fact that many actions are observed in the lower animals, which far transcend human sagacity, and that somnambulists do many things in their sleep, which they would not venture to do when awake: these instances are enough to show, that the body can by the sole laws of its nature do many things which the mind wonders at.
Again, no one knows how or by what means the mind moves the body, nor how many various degrees of motion it can impart to the body, nor how quickly it can move it.
Today is the fourth episode of the ‘Spinoza week’ (which will last a bit longer than a week as you probably already understood) and the third article dedicated to the exploration of Spinoza’s conceptology. Today’s text will be (once again) very influenced by the interpretation that Gilles Deleuze makes of Spinoza’s writings. In this regard, it might be important to observe that Deleuze spent the first part of his life by creating his own philosophy through the interpretations of others (Hume, Nietzsche, Bergson etc.) and that each of those interpretations he makes are very personal. There are therefore other way of approaching the philosophy of Spinoza but I am not as familiar with them as I am with the Deleuzian one.
During this week, we have not explored so much the concept of substance which is for Spinoza the only and necessarily perfect thing that exists and that can be considered as a whole under the name ‘God’. Expressed in a very simple way (maybe too much), and to somehow borrow Leibniz’s concept of monad, we need to see the world as a gigantic assemblage of infinitely small pieces of matter (calling them atoms would be erroneous but useful to make it understandable) that are all involved in more or less fast movement. These small elements of matter composes bodies that are perpetually striv[ing] to persevere in its being (Ethics, part 3, prop. 6). This property is called conatus and we will explore it in the final episode of this week. Those bodies are continuously interacting with each other and thus systematically affect each other. What it means in a very simple way, is that when you cut a piece of butter with a knife, of course, the knife affects the butter since you can see that the latter is being cut; however, the knife as well is affected by the butter and has to ‘resist’ the butter’s characteristics that attempt to make it persevering in its being.
First of all, I would like to share with my readers the story of this article that first took me three hours to write and disappeared when I pressed ‘publish’! According to yesterday’s article however, it did occurred as the result of the ensemble of circumstances that preceded it in world history, so I suppose that I should not regret it!
Let’s continue to explore the Spinozist ‘conceptology’ with, today, a contrast that is difficult to be made in English as the word power includes two meanings whose difference is fundamental in the philosophy of Spinoza. For the purpose of this article I will therefore differentiate the two latin terms of potentia and potestas both contained in the English word of power (in French we would use the notion of puissance for the former and pouvoir for the latter). The referent and complex book examining this question is the Savage Anomaly written by Antonio Negri in 1981 when he was in prison. The original subtitle of this book is saggio su potere e potenza in Baruch Spinoza (essay on the potestas and potential in Baruch Spinoza’s work). Unfortunately, Michael Hardt, Negri’s friend and translator of the English version did not find a way to reconcile this problem and added a different subtitle, The Power of Spinoza’s Metaphysics and Politics.
I might first try to explain the difference between potestas and potentia in a simple way by defining the former as a relationship to another body while the latter as a capacity or an intensity to use a Deleuzian terminology. The potestas needs indeed a referent to dominate or to be dominated by to effectuate itself. On the contrary, the potentia is a relationship to the whole world (Spinoza might say God but since his god is immanent, this is the same thing) in the composition of a form of “harmony”. In the Abécédaire (J for Joy), Gilles Deleuze helps us to understand this difference while explaining the concept of joy and sadness (my translation, the original French transcript is at the end of the article):
The following text is something I wrote few weeks ago, after two years of quasi-beatitude in front of the beautiful work developed by young French fashion designer Yiqing Yin. Many of my readers won’t miss the strong Deleuzian influence in that text both in the content and in the style. Probably for that reason, I first wrote the text in French (read it at the end of the article), then translated into English as follows:
The Dresses of Yiqing Yin
by Léopold Lambert
The proper characteristics of a work of art is to enter into a universal relationship with the world. What it means is that this work exists as itself, independently, or rather beyond the intentions of its author. As far as Yiqing Yin’s dresses are concerned, that would not be diminishing them than to say that they are beautiful, beautiful in the deep sense of the word. Nevertheless, the vertigo I feel when I see them deserves to be questioned about its existence. What is this turmoil? My answer to this question is located in the thousands of folds of Yiqing Yin’s dresses.
Each of these folds seems to correspond to a small perception of the wearer’s body. The body is dressed, yet it seems somehow stripped and offering an epidermic relationship to the world surrounding it. The latter, in its softness and its violence, would then imprint itself in the negative space of each of those sensitive folds, and thus acting on the body in its whole intensity. Through these folds, the body invented by Yiqing Yin is a body whose skin saw its surface – and through it, its sensitive perceptions – get multiplied by a thousand. The body is a fragile and delicate receptacle of the microscopic world. But the body is not only receiving; it also reacts to the world. Here again, the almost infinite multiplication of the epidermic surface allows the body to irradiate its emotions and its desires as expressed at a molecular level.
In the 48th issue (Spring 2012) of the excellent journal Multitudes dedicated to the notion of “political counter-fiction”, Belgium sociologist Frédéric Claisse publishes an article entitled Contr(ôl)efiction: de l’Empire à l’Interzone (Control/Counter Fiction: From the Empire to the Interzone) that I propose to translate some excerpts here. As the title suggests, this article is mostly revolving around William Burroughs. His work is put within a Foucauldian perspective analyzing the society of control (see Deleuze’s text about it in a previous post). The first paragraph of the article introduces perfectly what is as stake within it: the systematic suggestion of desire as an apparatus of control (original French version of the text is at the end of the article, all translations are mine):
« How long does it take a man to learn that he does not, cannot want what he ‘wants’ » (William S. Burroughs, The Western Lands). We have to understand the importance of the suspicion that Burroughs puts in these quotation marks: I am not the author of my desire; this desire is someone else’s fiction. The autonomy that I have been graciously granted, through the means of mass communication systems among others, is nothing else than a “trick” used by a control authority to make me think that my desires are actually mine when, really, they belong to it. Words carried by this authority are words of orders whose action program is simple: contagion and dependency. The experience of addiction gave the author of the Naked Lunch a particular sensitivity to observe those processes that make us accomplice to our own slavery. Drug gives him the general scheme of human relationships in the information era. Language itself is a virus. We are all intoxicated of injunctions that colonize our conscience and use us as vehicle to go from one body to another.
‘It must be the case that I have some perception of the movement of each wave on the shore if I am to be able to apperceive that which results from the movements of all the waves put together, namely the mighty roar which we hear by the sea.’
Leibniz, Gottfried, Correspondence with Arnauld, 1686.
The world exists only in its representatives as long as they are included in each monad. It is a lapping of waves, a rumor, a fog, or a mass of dancing particles of dust. It is a state of death or catalepsy, of sleep, drowsiness, or of numbness. It is as if the depths of every monad were made from an infinity of tiny folds (inlfections) endlessly furling and unfurling in every direction.
Deleuze, Gilles, The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque, London: Continuum, 1993.
Panopticon plan by Jeremy Bentham (1791)
In the last ‘episode’, I was evoking the will of Michel Foucault to be considered as a cartographer. In a text written for the journal Critique (dec 1975), Gilles Deleuze proposes an analysis of the book Surveiller et Punir: Naissance de la prison (Discipline and Punish: The birth of the prison) under the title: Un Nouveau Cartographe (A new cartographer). Through this text, Deleuze introduces Foucault’s method to map the mechanisms of power (which legitimizes somehow the fact that he has been called a structuralist) as well as his very definition of power: (French original version is at the end of this article)
[Power] is less a property than a strategy, and its effects cannot be attributed to an appropriation ‘but to dispositions, manoeuvres, tactics, techniques, functionings’; ‘it is exercised rather than possessed; it is not the “privilege”, acquired or preserved, of the dominant class, but the overall effect of its strategic positions.’
Power has no essence; it is simply operational. It is not an attribute but a relation: the power-relation is the set of possible relations between forces, which passes through the dominated forces no less than through the dominating, as both these forces constitute unique elements
Potere Operaio (Worker Power) in the late 60′s Italy
In 1977, Anti-Oedipus -written by Félix Guattari and Gilles Deleuze in 1971- is released in its translated American version with a preface written by Michel Foucault. Through this short text, Foucault praises Anti-Oedipus, calling it “a book of ethics” as it proposes a non-totalizing subjectivity to interpret the human body and its social involvement. As always, he is interested in the relations of power implied in Deleuze and Guattari’s writings and he finishes his text by describing how they managed to “to neutralize the effects of power linked to their own discourse.” In this dimension, lies an important aspect of Foucault’s analysis of the mechanisms of power. Even resistance to a dominant power carries its own logic of power and, in this regard, requires to be thought and acted with awareness and precaution. That is how, in this text, Foucault comes up with a sort of invective to each ‘resistant’ in the form of a manifesto:
The book The Architecture of Failure (Winchester: Zero Books, 2012) written by Douglas Murphy is a reading of architecture history from Crystal Palace (1851) to our contemporary ‘parametricism’ through a very corrosive filter as the title could suggest. However, what this same title fails to describe is what is being really criticized by D.Murphy between his lines, not so much the architecture that creates a new paradigm by its very existence and narrative, but rather the movement that emerges consecutively to the birth of this new model. The first part of the book is dedicated to the second part of the 19th century’s reign of iron and glass engaged in a technological progressism along the various spectacular World Exhibitions hosted in Europe. He then skip the first part of the 20th century, probably acknowledging the multitude of discourses critical of modernism already existing, and write our contemporary architectural history starting from the 1960s and what he calls ‘solutionism’.
Although critical of the manifesto architecture that the Pompidou Center embodied, he is more waspish towards the movement that followed its creation including one of its architect, Richard Rogers, and his alter-ego, Norman Foster as their own self-caricature that offered a new architectural embodiment for capitalism when it was originally though in opposition of it:
Jill Stoner‘s new book, Toward a Minor Architecture (MIT Press, 2012.) could constitute an excellent manifesto for The Funambulist as it uses a very important number of common references (Kafka, Borges, Ballard, Guattari, Deleuze, Bataille, Foucault, Robbe Grillet, Torre de David etc.) in order to express the political power of architecture and draw a strategy of resistive architectural processes, that she calls minor architecture. The title of the book, as well as its object, is, of course, a direct homage to Deleuze and Guattari’s book: Kafka: Toward a Minor Literature (see previous article).
Minor, in both books, has to be understood in its double meaning that French and English allow. Minor in opposition, of course, but also minor as a discipline that digs within the matter of a dominant order. Kafka is indeed the author to look at to analyze these processes of resistance. Although he was Czech, he was writing in German and thus develops, through the language, what Deleuze and Guattari calls, an exercise of detteritorialization proper to any form of resistance against the dominant power (whichever this power is) over a territory (whichever this territory is). He is also the author of a short story entitled The Burrough, which literalizes the action of undermining; and for Deleuze and Guattari, he indeed writes like a dog digging a hole, a rat digging its burrow.
Kafka is therefore also the starting point of Jill Stoner’s book. In her opinion, the spaces of The Trial are the most expressive example of architecture’s oppression on the bodies. Each room is a prison in which the main character Josef K. can feel a strong claustrophobia increasing his endless delirium.
Ajanta Caves in Maharashtra
In their Treatise on Nomadology, Gilles Deleuze & Felix Guattari introduce their concept of Holey Space (see previous article) by the following injunction:
Metallurgical India. Transpierce the mountains instead of scaling them, excavate the land instead of striating it, bore holes in space instead of keeping it smooth, turn the earth into Swiss cheese.
Deleuze Gilles & Guattari Felix, Treatise of Nomadology – The War Machine in A Thousand Plateaus. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987.
This evocation of India comes directly from an excerpt of French historian Élie Faure‘s Medieval Art History which dedicates a chapter to seven civilizations (India, China, Japan, Tropics, Byzantine, Islam and Christianity) during Middle Age. The excerpt that Deleuze and Guattari are referring to is therefore extracted from the first chapter about India in which Élie Faure describe splendidly the birth of Indian caves carved within the granite:
First of all, I would like to apologize for not having being able to write on daily basis during these last days, I will try to make it work this week.
The Centre for Advanced Research in European Philosophy, King’s University College, along with the McIntosh Gallery at the University of Western Ontario are calling for papers for a conference from May 4th to 6th 2012. The latter is trying to approach the influence that Philosophers Gilles Deleuze & Felix Guattari had had and still have on arts and design.
I am sure that some of my readers would be interested to submit an abstract before December 15th in order to potentially be able to present a paper or a performance at this conference, Intensities and Lines of Flight: Deleuze, Guattari and the Arts.
See more about it by following this link.
I recently “ran into” (via Manifest Decay) the very short film Magnetic Void (see below) by James Miller which shows a reconstruction of the British United Shoe Machinery Company building in Leicester by running its actual destruction backwards. The result is very aesthetic and we could stop the description here and let the images talk for themselves (like they often do!).
However, watching this short film forcing myself to forget that this is just the result of a “trick” which consisted in going backwards rather than forwards, and rather accepting (somehow naively) what I was looking at for what it was. It got me to think of this film as a representation of an architecture that is constructed in a counter-hylomorphism. Hylomorphism (in ancient Greek, Matter + Form) is an Aristotle’s concept that was re-defined centuries later by Gilles Deleuze & Felix Guattari (see the quote below) in a materialist and political reading. To keep it simple, hylomorphism is the process for which a body/object has a form that is constraint by the means of its production. The example of the brick is helpful, especially here as the concerned building is built in bricks: a brick is a body of matter whose shape has been transcendentally determined by its mold.
A whole building is almost always submitted to this same process of hylomorphism, its form reveals the constraints it was submitted to during its production, both physically during its actual construction and conceptually during its phase of design.
The Trial by Orson Welles (adapted from Franz Kafka’s novel) 1962
The structuralist descriptions established by Michel Foucault about discipline are thought to be well known, especially by architects for who the book has been simplified with images that they can understand. The architectual paradigm of the panopticon (see previous essay) is quoted everywhere and became indissoluble from Foucault’s work despite its very large extents. What most people did not understand is that the panopticon as it has been thought by Jeremy Bentham is interpreted by Foucault as the paradigm of a society of discipline which does not apply anymore to the current organizational scheme of the Western world.
In the following text, Gilles Deleuze, his friend -and admirer-, summarizes the current paradigm as interpreted by Foucault as a society of control. His short essay, which is more developed in his book dedicated about Foucault’s work, insists on this shift from discipline to control. He uses The Trial (see previous essay) by Franz Kafka as a perfect example of this change of paradigm. In fact, Kafka introduced the choice to his charged character K between an apparent acquittal (between two incarcerations), symbol of the discipline, and limitless postponements that are proper to the society of control. As Deleuze puts it:
In the disciplinary societies one was always starting again (from school to the barracks, from the barracks to the factory), while in the societies of control one is never finished with anything–the corporation, the educational system, the armed services being metastable states coexisting in one and the same modulation, like a universal system of deformation.
In his class at the Universite de Vincennes in 1983-84, Gilles Deleuze approaches cinema by what he calls la puissance du faux (power of the false) which intermingles (and not confuses) imaginary and reality to create the false and by extension, fiction. The notion of truth is therefore fundamental for his class and in his December 6th 1983 session, he exposes two visions of the world of truths of existence (in opposition to truths of essence) affiliated with each other. The first one comes from 17th century philosopher Gottfried Leibniz who imagined an infinite pyramid composed by the infinite possible worlds in which, each variations of circumstances brings each world to be what it is (see excerpt 1 after this text). To end up with a truth of existence, Leibniz has to bring in the notion of moral -and even of theology- for that he states that at the top of the pyramid, stands the world that God has chosen as it is unmistakably the best one.
The second vision, born from Leibniz’s narrative, occurs two centuries and half later, in 1941 with the short story El Jardin de Senderos que se Bifurcan (The Garden of Forking Path) written by Jorge Luis Borges. In this story, Borges introduces a book in which all the possible world are contained, simultaneous and equally real (see excerpt 2).
To this two visions brought-up by Deleuze, I would like to add the one proposed by Philip K. Dick in 1977 for the Metz’s (France) Science-Fiction Festival in a lecture entitled If you find this World bad, you should see some of the others. In fact, this vision has less to do with architecture and more with fashion design (!) as he suggests that each world is a coat owned by God who decides “in the morning” which one to wear. One obvious novel in which he developed this theory is The Man in the High Castle (1962) in which P.K. Dick introduces a parallel world (one might say an uchronia) that saw the Axis Powers (Germany, Japan and Italy) won the second world war three decades before the plot.
Marcel Proust by Stephen Alcorn
In a conversation he had with Michel Foucault in 1972 (L’Arc (No. 49, pp. 3-10)), Gilles Deleuze uses a quote from French literary author Marcel Proust to illustrate his interpretation of how intellectuals should consider their theoretical work:
A theory is exactly like a box of tools. It has nothing to do with the signifier. It must be useful. It must function. And not for itself. If no one uses it, beginning with the theoretician himself (who then ceases to be a theoretician), then the theory is worthless or the moment is inappropriate. We don’t revise a theory, but construct new ones; we have no choice but to make others. It is strange that it was Proust, an author thought to be a pure intellectual, who said it so clearly: treat my book as a pair of glasses directed to the outside; if they don’t suit you, find another pair; I leave it to you to find your own instrument, which is necessarily an investment for combat.
A theory does not totalise; it is an instrument for multiplication and it also multiplies itself. It is in the nature of power to totalise and it is your position. and one I fully agree with, that theory is by nature opposed to power. As soon as a theory is enmeshed in a particular point, we realise that it will never possess the slightest practical importance unless it can erupt in a totally different area. This is why the notion of reform is so stupid and hypocritical. Either reforms are designed by people who claim to be representative, who make a profession of speaking for others, and they lead to a division of power, to a distribution of this new power which is consequently increased by a double repression; or they arise from the complaints and demands of those concerned. This latter instance is no longer a reform but revolutionary action that questions (expressing the full force of its partiality) the totality of power and the hierarchy that maintains it. This is surely evident in prisons: the smallest and most insignificant of the prisoners’ demands can puncture Pleven’s [French Prime Minister in the 50's] pseudoreform. If the protests of children were heard in kindergarten, if their questions were attended to, it would be enough to explode the entire educational system. There is no denying that our social system is totally without tolerance; this accounts for its extreme fragility in all its aspects and also its need for a global form of repression. In my opinion, you [Michel Foucault] were the first-in your books and in the practical sphere-to teach us something absolutely fundamental: the indignity of speaking for others. We ridiculed representation and said it was finished, but we failed to draw the consequences of this “theoretical” conversion-to appreciate the theoretical fact that only those directly concerned can speak in a practical way on their own behalf.
This week’s guest writer’s essay comes from my friend Biayna Bogosian who started to work on this article a long time ago and eventually achieved it today. In it, she gives a very interesting Deleuzian reading of the Azadi Tower in Tehran, built in 1971 and that can be said to be one of the first parametric building (in the contemporary computational meaning of it) ever built. Biayna revisits the principle of Persian mathematics with Deleuze‘s concept of fold elaborated through Leibniz’s work. Indeed in this mathematics, points are considered as the source of inflection of lines, therefore constituting a non-cartesian geometry that relies more on forces and folds than fixed coordinates.
Back to the Azadi Tower, of course, I cannot help but to notice the irony of the name of this tower (azadi means freedom in Persian), whether we evoke the era of its construction and its monarchic regime ruled by the Shah or our current times during which the people’s voice has been shut down from a counter-revolutionary government that has of the revolution only the official name. Ironic, then, or rather promising since the 1979 revolution actually occurred and one could hope that the Green Revolution will eventually overcome. The Azadi Tower was in fact a gathering point during the 2009 massive protests against the usurped re-election of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (see the last picture of the article). As folds are the concerned notion here, one could think of this tower as ready to unfold the Deleuzian becoming revolutionary that the people of Iran aspire to.
unFOLDing Azadi Tower: Reading Persian Folds Through Deleuze
by Biayna Bogosian
“Sometimes the veins in marble are the pleats of matter that surround living beings held in the mass, such that the marble tile resembles a rippling lake that teems with fish. Sometimes the veins are innate ideas in the soul, like twisted figures or powerful statues caught in the block of marble. Matter is marbled, of two different styles.” [p.4]
The very useful tumblr Concrete Rules and Abstract Machines recently chose an excerpt of the course Gilles Deleuze gave about Spinoza in the wonderful University of Vincennes in 1981. I copied this excerpt below and its original version in French. This short text questions the notion of body and outline as interpreted by the Stoics that can be considered as a base for Spinoza’s question What can a body do?. The sentence that both illustrates this question and characterizes Deleuze’s powerful and poetic style here can be “A sunflower seed lost in a wall is capable of blowing out that wall.” One can wonder here, if the millions of sunflower, Ai Wei Wei brought to the Tate Modern would be able to blow out the Great Wall of China. It looks like it is not the case so far, but it is still too early to say…
The other example he gives to distinguish a body and a power (using Spinoza’s terminology) is the one of the forest. Of course the tree itself is a body but the forest is a power, power to make the trees continue up to the moment at which it can no longer do so.
Other articles about Spinoza on The Funambulist (for Deleuze, please consult the recent archive I created with all the articles):
- ARCHITECTURES OF JOY. A spinozist reading of Parent/Virilio and Arakawa/Gins’ architecture
- Deleuze’s wave about Spinoza
- Spinoza par les bêtes by Ariel Suhamy & Alia Daval
- Spinoza by Borges
- What can a body do ? a Spinozist issue.
- The Other Spinoza on French Radio
Does everything have an outline? Bateson, who is a genius, has written a short text that is called “[why] does everything have an outline?” Take the expression “outside the subject,” that is to say “beyond the subject.” Does that mean that the subject has an outline? Perhaps. Otherwise what does “outside the limits” mean? At first sight it has a spatial air. But is it the same space? Do “outside the limits” and “outside the outline” belong to the same space? Does the conversation or my course today have an outline? My reply is yes. One can touch it. Let’s return to the Stoics. Their favorite example is: how far does the action of a seed go? A sunflower seed lost in a wall is capable of blowing out that wall. A thing with so small an outline. How far does the sunflower seed go, does that mean how far does its surface go? No, the surface is where the seed ends. In their theory of the utterance [énoncé], they will say that it states exactly what the seed is not. That is to say where the seed is no longer, but about what the seed is it tells us nothing. They will say of Plato that, with his theory of ideas, he tells us very well what things are not, but he tells us nothing about what things are. The Stoics cry out triumphantly: things are bodies.
After politics, music, psychoanalysis and literature, I wanted to conclude this “Deleuze week” with a short article about his vision of painting (for cinema, see the article about his lecture about the act of creation) through the work of Francis Bacon. Gilles Deleuze, indeed, interpreted the work of the Irish painter in a book entitled The Logic of Sensation published in 1981.
In this book, he describes how the lifetime work of Francis Bacon has been to paint the scream itself rather than the figure that makes the body scream. The body is therefore the continuous medium of work of Bacon. His paintings registers in what Deleuze calls the becoming animal, and each body in them expresses the pain in their meat that they suffer about (see previous article about Bacon and the meat).
This book also insists on the common mistake which is to consider that the painter always start from a white page. On the contrary, Deleuze argues that he starts with a dark page and the painting consists in the withdrawal of everything that is not fundamental to it (see previous article about this same book). He uses the example of Cezanne in order to illustrate how little each great painter manages to achieve but how precious is the result of a lifetime to struggle to truly understand and represent an element of life:
This week could have been shared between Gilles Deleuze AND Felix Guattari as it is the third article in a row that I write about a book written by both of them. This one is about the book Kafka: Toward a Minor Literature published in 1986. In this essay, the two authors, thanks to Franz Kafka’s work attempt to create a manifesto for what they call a minor literature. Minor, here, is of course ambiguous as it can both means secondary or from the minority. One can definitely bet that this ambiguity was not disturbing them at all as they have always refused any form of transcendental judgment on a work and this way would have not mind to be considered to take care of a “secondary” discipline. However, the primary meaning of minor here is referring to their recurrent call for the expression of minor becoming as we have seen in the previous article entitled What is it to be “from the left”.
The three characteristics of minor literature are the deterritorialization of language, the connection of the individual to a political immediacy, and the collective assemblage of enunciation write Deleuze and Guattari in the same book. Kafka’s work develops those three conditions both in its contents as in its form, himself being part of minority within a minority (Jewish and Czech in a region part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire). His writing, in German particularly registers in the following paragraph that concentrate the essence of the minor literature :