In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:IntroductionMarc Redfield (bio)In recent years, and particularly in the United States, the concept of addiction has come to operate as one of those rhetorical switching points through which practically any discourse or practice or experience can be compelled to pass. As Eve Sedgwick points out in a well-known essay, one can, in contemporary parlance, claim to be addicted not just to illegal or dangerous substances, but also to forms (...) of activity or consumption—work, eating, exercise—that constitute officially approved ways to pursue happiness in middle-class society. It would seem that what matters is not the self’s particular wishes or activities, but the integrity of its will or being. “We do not object to the drug user’s pleasure per se,” Jacques Derrida comments, “but to a pleasure taken in an experience without truth” [236]. Sedgwick, for her part, suggests that “so long as ‘free will’ has been hypostatized and charged with ethical value, for just so long has an equally hypostatized ‘compulsion’ had to be available as a counterstructure always internal to it, always requiring to be ejected from it” [133–34]. The thought of addiction thus spreads to the point of infecting the founding tropes of Western philosophy. The logos becomes hooked on itself: always already it becomes the pharmakon, the remedy that poisons.Yet as Derrida, Sedgwick, and many other critics have also pointed out, the notion of addiction is in certain crucial respects a nineteenth- and twentieth-century invention. Though inscribed within a sequence of representations of human agency that goes back to the Odyssey, the “addict” as such becomes possible only within a political and medico-social regime capable of rewriting identity as pathology. (Hence, in part, the persistent overlap between the addict and the “homosexual” in twentieth-century Western culture.) This is also to say that the addict emerges as part of the development of consumer capitalism, disciplinary society, and the modern state. Like the question of technology from which it is inseparable, the thought of addiction returns us to the West’s most ancient topics and texts only to confront us with some of the most prosaic, specific, and in certain cases disastrous characteristics of our own modernity. 1When addiction is at issue, in other words, metaphysical complications acquire empirical importance. Like “diction” or “dictation,” the term “addiction” derives from the Latin dicere (“say, relate”), which returns to the Greek deiknunai, “show, point out, bring to light”; in Roman law, however, the word addicere had the more prosaic job of signifying a giving or binding-over of something or someone by sentence of a court: the assignation of slave to master, debtor to creditor. The modern recasting of addiction as pathology has occurred as a massive institutional and sociohistorical articulation of [End Page 3] metaphysical values, tensions, and contradictions. In what Mark Seltzer has termed “machine culture,” the figure of the addict channels anxieties about the uncertain differences between machines and bodies; about the “nature” of technology; about the ways in which identities and desires get produced within a consumer economy that represents subjectivity both as inalienably natural and as compulsively iterative and artificial. In such contexts, as Seltzer shows, seemingly abstract paradoxes, such as the psychoanalytic notion of primal identification—where the subject forecloses and reiterates the act of mimesis that enables it to be (other than) itself—can no longer be dismissed as merely “theoretical” figures: they bleed irretrievably into sociohistorical reality. The subject is always already the addicted subject, ready at any moment to become the “addict”; the addict, in turn, becomes a (medical and juridical) “case” or case history only by becoming a frightening, alluring mirror image of the normative subject of consumer society.The discourse of addiction not only disciplines and deconstructs the subject of consumerism; as enacted in drug policies and politics, this discourse has violently reshaped the day-to-day operations of local governments and societies and left its mark on the global economies of the new world order. Hong Kong, the earliest drug spoil of the British Empire, may have returned to China, but the postcolonial world remains more hooked than ever on narcopolitics. From the vertically integrated cocaine... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Diacritics 29.4 (1999) 58-83 [Access article in PDF] Imagi-Nation: The Imagined Community and the Aesthetics of Mourning Marc Redfield Of the many relics of the Romantic era that continue to shape our (post)modernity, the nation-state surely ranks among the most significant. Two decades ago Benedict Anderson commented that "'the end of the era of nationalism,' so long prophesied, is not remotely in sight" [IC 3], and the intervening years (...) have made it increasingly clear that the developments and processes we summarize as "globalization" operate in mingled synchrony and tension with the political form of the nation-state. 1 That the nation-state should remain the premier vehicle of political and economic legitimation in an era dominated by American imperialism and international capital--forces that, of course, regularly and flagrantly violate the sovereignty of disadvantaged nations--is unsurprising if one accepts the continuing pertinency and power of a Western master-narrative of modernity, according to which the nation represents the emergence of a people into history and prefigures the global achievement of universal human concord. As the proper subject of history, the nation-state can prefigure history's end because, as David Lloyd writes, "the particularism of [nationalism's] contents, potentially in contradiction with the universalism of modernity, is subsumed in the formal congruence between its own narratives of identity, directed at one people, and the narrative of identity that universal history represents for humanity in general" ["Nationalisms" 178]. Lloyd goes on to note that the nation's intermediate status in this narrative--halfway between primitive tribalism and modernity's ever-deferred perpetual peace--accounts for nationalism's irreducibly double association with modernization and atavism. In consequence, the modernist paradigm continues to rule many skeptical or hostile accounts of nationalism, for so long as the nation-state is taken to supersede other political or social formations, the cosmopolitan critique fails to challenge "the fundamental philosophy of universal history that underwrites nationalism's inscription in modernity" ["Nationalisms" 177]. Indeed, both in the corporate media and in mainstream Western political discourse generally, nations and nationalisms are commonly treated as atavistic or progressive depending on the degree to which their behavior harmonizes with globalizing imperatives. That these imperatives emanate quite blatantly from Wall Street in no way seriously troubles the effectiveness of modernity as a narrative paradigm. 2Seeking to discredit universalizing narrative, much cultural criticism in recent years has exchanged cosmopolitanism and the abstract question of "nationalism" for an emphasis [End Page 58] on the contextual construction of national movements or identities. 3 This valuable body of work has sought to recover the particularity of cultural and socioeconomic circumstance, stressed the fundamental role of racism in colonialist contexts, and noted ways in which nationalist movements draw on or unleash forms of resistance that challenge representationalist politics. The pages that follow, however, remain focused on the nationalist fantasy proper to the discourse of modernity. Cultural critique can only profit from knowing as much as possible about the favored turns of the universal-historicist model, particularly since, as Lloyd and others have emphasized, this model is an aesthetic one that grants a world-historical role to "culture." The state, in a tradition that in its main lines runs from Schiller through Hegel and Matthew Arnold and is still very much alive today, represents the community to itself, thereby giving the community form and in a certain sense giving it an ethical imperative and a future: the state represents "our best self" [Arnold 99, passim], "the archetype of a human being" [Schiller 17], because it signifies the formal unification both of the citizen with the community and of the community with universal humanity. Because this unification is ideal rather than actual, it can be projected as the ethical terminus of history (that is, as the ideal of an accomplished modernity). The state's core mission thus becomes pedagogical: its job is to acculturate its subjects into citizens. The production of a docile citizenry thereby obtains an ethical aura and an aesthetic character, insofar as the artwork and the domain of aesthetic or "cultural" experience generally become... (shrink)

This book suggests that modern cultural and critical institutions have persistently associated questions of aesthetics and politics with literature, theory, technics, and Romanticism.