Sylvia Wynter, novelist, dramatist, cultural critic, and philosopher, has called for a new poetics that “will have to take as its referent subject, that of the concrete individual human subject”. By “referent subject” Wynter means a shared sense, poetic in nature, that can nevertheless exclude many who are also expected to live it. Man, Wynter argues, as a referent subject first appeared in the Italian Renaissance. As Walter Mignolo has argued, this way of representing an individual is made visual in (...) Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, a man of perfect... (shrink)

Though it has gone unnoticed so far in Beauvoir Studies, the term “singularity” is a technical one for Simone de Beauvoir. In the first half of the essay I discuss two reasons why this term has been obscured. First, as is well known Beauvoir has not been read in the context of the history of philosophy until recently. Second, in The Ethics of Ambiguity at least, singularité is translated both inconsistently and quite misleadingly. In the second half of the essay (...) I attempt to demonstrate the importance of this term in The Ethics. The will to disclose being is the will to disclose the singularity of the other, whether human, land, sky or painting. Ambiguity, which Beauvoir distinguishes from absurdity in Camus, is an image suggesting this necessarily mutual disclosure of singularity. (shrink)

The Second Sex offers a philosophy of bodies that hinges on the crucial concepts of ambiguity and singularity. I revisit two widely influential essays on the status of “the body” in The Second Sex, those of Moira Gatens and Catriona Mackenzie. However, both of these readings mistakenly present Beauvoir as accepting lived experiences of politically overdetermined immanence, rather than exploring them as stifled modes of transcendence. Several years later, Moira Gatens took a very helpful “second look” at the status of (...) bodies and biology in Beauvoir. I contrast this with Judith Butler's reading of The Second Sex as a project engaged in the denaturalization of gender. My chapter charts a middle way between Gatens’ second essay and Butler's reading: I argue that The Second Sex does “denaturalize” gender, but it does so precisely to bring attention to the powers and plurality of bodies. Singularity as multiplicitous lived bodily variance, according to Beauvoir, will “always exist” regardless of the static and idealizing categories of some approaches to biology. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Beyond DisciplineOn the Status of Bodily Difference in PhilosophyEmily Anne ParkerMuch deserved attention has recently been directed to the fact that philosophy faculty are surprisingly homogeneous when compared to faculty in other fields, not only in the humanities and social sciences but also in the natural sciences (Alcoff 2011, 7–8). Perhaps it is as a result of this bodily homogeneity that sexual harassment and sexual assault in philosophy departments (...) are routine and that stories about such experiences, when they can be shared, are questioned or ignored. Certainly such experiences deserve attention. But they also deserve philosophical examination. Linda Martín Alcoff points out that a study of the relationship between percentages of (predominantly white, hetero, cisgendered, normatively abled) women in a department and the status of that department in Brian Leiter’s Philosophical Gourmet demonstrates a “reverse correlation, where the higher the percentages of women, the lower the rankings. Departments concerned about their Leiter rankings would be ‘rational,’ then to forego hiring too many women” (Alcoff 2011, 8). Alcoff suggests that instead of simply counting the nonwhite, cisgendered, heterosexual, normatively abled men in the field, we need to consider the connection between the “climate for women and the attitude toward feminist philosophy” and (as her own work elsewhere would suggest) the philosophy of race. Clearly Alcoff is right to suggest that we should not think of sexual harassment as the obstacle to participation of a very small sampling of bodily diversity in the field, but rather as a circular indicator and cause of a larger problem. [End Page 222]But what is the problem?I would like to suggest that the problem, still underdiscussed, is the implicit disciplining of what counts as philosophical. It is this quiet yet ubiquitous questioning that not only keeps philosophy homogeneous, but also prevents most critics of that homogeneity from doing more than reporting limited demographical information about the field. To be sure, when one wants to argue that there is something wrong with the culture of philosophy as a field, it seems necessary to marshal data. And yet it will always be the case that such studies can never answer questions about how a culture develops, what its assumptions, horizons, and cosmologies are. For this one needs (critical race, feminist, ability, queer, trans, economic, ecological) philosophy. And yet, circularly, disciplining what counts as philosophical sets limits to what questions can be explored.Kristie Dotson, Gayle Salamon, and Alexis Shotwell have each in separate contexts pointed out that what counts as “philosophy” should be recognized as the philosophical question that it itself apparently is (Dotson 2011, 2012; Salamon 2009; Shotwell 2010). This conversation about what counts as philosophy is directly related to the status not only of white hetero women in the field, but also the status of anyone who challenges the philosophical centrality of normatively raced-classed-abled-gendered bodies. In a recent paper, Dotson reflects on having been asked repeatedly, “How is this paper philosophy?” (Dotson 2012, 407). This question is extremely common, and as Shotwell points out, having to answer it is “a common experience for people who attempt to do work in philosophy while departing in archive and method from accepted norms” (117). Shotwell further suggests that it’s not just archive and method that make one suspect; it’s also the questions that one is willing to ask about oneself, about community, about world. Read together, Dotson and Shotwell make it clear not only that the question of whether one’s work is or is not philosophical is a common question, but that this is the case precisely because it is taken for granted what philosophy is, perhaps especially by those who ask whether X is or is not philosophy. Otherwise the question of how some project or other is philosophy simply wouldn’t be articulable as a question.For the moment I would like to take a widely common and implicit definition of philosophy seriously: “Philosophy” is whatever directs fundamental questions at itself. Perhaps this means that philosophy is the art of attempting to discern the creative within the wrongly presumed. We could then say that philosophy asks, What do we presuppose? Why, and... (shrink)

In this essay I argue that the concept of “the body,” ironically generic and a-bodily, is a legacy of the modern political/ecological distinction. I proceed through five sections. First I suggest that the political and the ecological, in spite of a lot of excellent work undermining the nature-culture distinction, remain mutually resistant concepts. In section two I argue that this split can be partially understood through the work of Bruno Latour. For Latour modernity is defined by an attempt to purge (...) culture of nature. This is the “first Great Divide” that constitutes modernity as a concept and in fact a distinct nature-culture. For Latour, this distinction then gets externalized or projected to create a second Great Divide, one imagined by moderns between themselves and other societies. To illustrate the extent of the sway of this distinction, I read a recent and widely influential essay on doing history in the Anthropocene by Dipesh Chakrabarty. Chakrabarty underestimates the role of the nature-culture distinction in the making of climate crisis. Here I also explain that perhaps what is needed is recognition that the human as a morphology both separates itself from ecology and yet—incompatibly—is considered to be an ecological pinnacle. The human isn’t and yet is ecological. Differences among humans, when they are discussed, are attributed unilaterally to the political side of a new political-ecological split. After Latour the nature and culture distinction is questionable, but a political-ecological split survives that attributes the eruptions of discontinuous life entirely to human agency. In the third section I then turn to the work of Frantz Fanon to argue that Latour’s Great Divides are expressed as “Manichaean” in Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth. The “ecological” import of Fanon’s concept of Manichaean-ism has largely been missed, thanks both to the salience of the political-ecological distinction and to the subtlety of Fanon’s account. But Fanon is not only talking about politics; he’s talking about ecology. The human, Fanon explains, is meant to be a natural master of the planet, a human among animals. The human is master of all “matter” with which all things related to bodies and all bodies related to things are identified. In the fourth section I suggest that it is this modern Manichaean-ism that produces a crucial double bind in the present: Those who fail to be “the body” of modernism are also those most harmed by its elemental (a word I borrow from a critical reading of Maurice Merleau-Ponty and Luce Irigaray for an indistinguishably political and ecological) destruction. Politics, at least in the tradition that gives rise to modern politics, is in fact and has always been the privileging of certain bodies over others. There is no perfectly apolitical bodily feature, though some features of bodies are more politically formative than others. Modernity does nothing to intervene on this. In fact it exacerbates this theme. Neither the discourse of politics nor the discourse of ecology offers refuge to those whose bodies are considered a threat to a human morphology that is planetarily alienated. In the final section of the essay I argue that this partitioning of politics (relations among the humans) from ecology produces “the body” and its generic justice. I return to Latour to argue that he ultimately does not appreciate the double bind discussed in section four. Fanon does. Therefore Fanon offers a better framework for undermining “the political,” not by reducing it to the modern sense of “the ecological,” but by giving attention to what he suggests is the “cortico-visceral” injustice of a modernity that denies its own earthly status. (shrink)

It is widely accepted that Judith Butler’s work represents a fundamental departure from that of Luce Irigaray. However, in a 2001 essay, Butler suggests that Irigaray’s work plays a formative role in her own, and that the problematization of the biological and cultural distinction that Irigaray’s notion of sexual difference accomplishes must be rethought and multiplied rather than simply rejected. In this essay, I place the notion of precarity in the work of Butler alongside that of sexual difference in Irigaray, (...) to show how together they seek to address violence to certain bodies through an approach that is at once ecological and political. I show that Butler’s concept of precarity has deep, largely unappreciated, roots in the work of Irigaray. Butler explores precarity as bodily multiplicity in ways that pluralize Irigaray’s own ethics and politics of difference. Butler is, in other words, rewriting sexual difference as precarity. (shrink)