Riven: Badiou’s Ethical Subject and the Event of Art as Trauma

Robert Hughes
Department of English
Ohio State University
hughes.1021@osu.edu  

“Can we be delivered, finally delivered, from our subjection to Romanticism?” asks the French philosopher Alain Badiou (b. 1937), with an evident sigh (Conditions 158f, Theoretical Writings 22e).1 A peculiar question, it would seem, for an epoch often eager to declare itself at once post-Romantic and postmodern. For Badiou, however, Romanticism denotes not an historical moment now long past, but a philosophical gesture whose reach extends through both analytic and Continental philosophy as well as through contemporary theory: an almost fatal and complete “disentanglement” of philosophy from mathematics (Conditions 159f, Theoretical Writings 22e), coupled with the rise of the “age of the poets,” when philosophy was sutured to art as the only possible “body of truth” (Petit Manuel 12f, 3e).2 For the first tendency, Badiou cites G.W.F. Hegel; for the second, Friedrich Nietzsche and especially Martin Heidegger, its acme. We should not misinterpret Badiou’s sigh, however. When he seeks to overcome Romanticism through the reengagement of philosophy with mathematics and set theory, when he seeks to desacralize the Romantics’ Infinite through its mathematization, he is not thereby seeking to bury Romanticism’s rediscovery of poetry as a mode of thinking. Certainly it is true that Badiou’s project strives to re-entangle philosophy and mathematics. He succeeds, I think, and in this respect, Badiou may indeed be said to have overcome Romanticism. Nevertheless, as we shall also see, poetry is essential to Badiou’s thinking of truth and remains at the very heart of his project, whether he is writing of mathematics or Mallarmé, ethics or aesthetics. So while Badiou would contest any claim that poetry alone has a purchase on truth, in important ways his own project reaffirms the Romantic schema in art: poetry and truth are not to be disentangled. One term implies the other.

My aim here is not to elaborate a full philosophical description of Badiou’s relation to Romanticism–Justin Clemens has already begun such work in his admirable book on the Romanticism of contemporary theory. Nor do I wish to quibble over the use or usefulness of “Romanticism” as a label to describe an historical tendency of thought. Rather, what I would like to do in the present essay is to trace out a series of propositions concerning art, ethics, and subjectivity, which derive from the Romantics and which Badiou places at the heart of his own project. Badiou is important to considerations of art, ethics, and subjectivity because, among other reasons, his work stands as the most serious effort by a dedicated philosopher to develop a philosophy consistent with the fundamental insights of Lacanian psychoanalysis.3 As our guiding thread, we will follow the way Badiou uses trauma, conceived in a Lacanian sense, as a trope in thinking about art and its relation to ethics. Thus, my discussion broaches two key questions: in what way does it make sense for Badiou to think of the event of art in terms of trauma, and what does this imply for the nature of ethics in Badiou’s philosophy? We shall begin with a general consideration of art and ethics derived primarily from two of Badiou’s books of the 1990s: his Ethics (1993) and his Handbook of Inaesthetics (1998). As we move further into Badiou’s thought, we will turn to two somewhat earlier writings, to Being and Event (1988) and to the 1989 essay on Beckett, in order to see why trauma was a useful trope for Badiou in particular–that is, for a post-Heideggerian, post-Lacanian thinker informed by set theory and striving for a post-Romantic philosophy of the event. As we will see, Badiou opens up an ethic of art and also suggests a larger trend in the history of aesthetics since the Romantics that locates the force of art as bearing upon a traumatic subjectivity–a force thus at once ethical and existential.
 

Finally, Badiou is often positioned, by himself and by others, as a thinker at odds with the mainstream of Continental and Anglo-American thought. This he certainly is in many respects–as in his remarkably compelling elaboration of set theory as the cornerstone of his philosophy. But if we trace out the logic of his tropes, we are reminded that he is, after all, situated within a tradition of thinking about art, ethics, and subjectivity–whatever we might wish to call this tradition, whether Romantic or post-Romantic, Lacanian or post-Lacanian, Heideggerian or post-Heideggerian–and that he shares certain strands of this tradition not only with his older contemporaries such as Emmanuel Levinas, Maurice Blanchot, and Jacques Derrida, but also with thinkers at the origin of Romantic thought: Friedrich Schiller, Friedrich Schlegel, Percy Shelley, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and others.

I. The Event of Art: The Hole of Truth and the Punctured Subject

 
We begin, then, with Badiou’s conception of the work of art. Despite the several novels and plays he has written,4 it is evident that Badiou’s ultimate commitment is to philosophy, so it is not altogether surprising that for him, as for Heidegger and many other philosophers, art is a matter of truth. Badiou, however, has a rather idiosyncratic notion of “truth,” and since it refers neither to the veridicality of propositions nor to Heidegger’s aletheia, this claim requires a little unpacking.
 

Badiou opposes what he calls “truth” to the domain of objectivity and ordinary knowledge. Indeed truth, in the very essence of its operation, “constitutes a hole [un trou] in forms of knowledge,” as he puts it in several places, and he associates it with the Lacanian real.5 Thus truth, for Badiou, is the name of an exceptional event and a process that forces a break with the everyday course of knowledges and situations and consequently brings into being a “subject” where there was formerly just a human animal, a mere inhabitant of a given situation.6 Before turning to consider some of Badiou’s examples, let us briefly note that a truth in the first instance is an event, a flash, an irreducible singularity, and subsequently is marked by the continued fidelity of the subject who constitutes the site of that truth. This second moment of the truth, the fidelity, is understood as a continuing commitment by the subject to bear witness to the event that was its first moment and to relate henceforth to his or her particular situation from the perspective of that event, to think according to its radical truth, and to invent, in consequence, a new way of being and acting in the situation (L’éthique 61f, 41e). It is a crucial point for Badiou: for him, truth is productive, inventive, creative, anticonservative; it is “the coming-to-be of that which is not yet” (L’éthique 45f, 27e).

 
There are, for Badiou, four fundamental procedures of truths: art, science, politics, and love. Or, to put it in terms more typical for Badiou: the poem, the matheme, the politics of emancipation, and the encounter with the disjunction of sexuation (Conditions 79f, Manifeste 141e). Badiou gives a number of images of an event of truth. In the Ethics book, his favored examples of such events in art come from the history of music and, less frequently, from theatrical experience. Elsewhere, he writes of modern poets, including Hölderlin, Mallarmé, Beckett, and Celan. But in the Ethics book, he returns repeatedly to Haydn’s invention of the classical musical style and remarks that it is characteristic of any event of truth in that it

is both situated–it is the event of this or that situation–and supplementary, thus absolutely detached from, or unrelated to, all the rules of the situation. Hence the emergence of the classical style, with Haydn . . . concerns the musical situation and no other, a situation then governed by the predominance of the baroque style. It was an event for this situation. But in another sense, what this event was to authorize in terms of musical configurations was not comprehensible from within the plenitude achieved by the baroque style; it really was a matter of something else.

You might then ask what it is that makes the connection between the event and that ‘for which’ it is an event. This connection is the void [le vide] of the earlier situation. What does this mean? It means that at the heart of every situation, as the foundation of its being, there is a ‘situated’ void, around which is organized the plenitude (or the stable multiples) of the situation in question. Thus at the heart of the baroque style at its virtuoso saturation lay the absence [vide] (as decisive as it was unnoticed) of a genuine conception of musical architecture. The Haydn-event occurs as a kind of musical ‘naming’ of this absence [vide]. For what constitutes the event is nothing less than a wholly new architectonic and thematic principle, a new way of developing musical writing from the basis of a few transformable units — which was precisely what, from within the baroque style, could not be perceived (there could be no knowledge of it). (L’éthique 92-93f, 68-69e)

L’éthique

The Haydn-event, as Badiou calls it, inaugurated the configuration of classical style, from Haydn himself to its saturation point with Beethoven; it inaugurated a truth that, whether consciously or subconsciously, whether more or less articulately, befell the composer in the first instance, and then also listeners and subsequent composers who had been likewise situated within the baroque, but who thereafter found themselves seized by this same revolutionary truth concerning musical architecture as the hitherto unnamable vanishing point or void of the baroque. It is a “truth,” precisely, in that this truth of the Haydn-event is the same for all, even as it unfolds or proceeds within differing particular compositions or performances of music. Within a given situation (and all truths are so situated), there is no one truth for person a and a different truth for person b. For that matter, within a given situation, there is no one truth for culture g and a different truth for culture d. And, yet again, there is no objective truth out there in the world, waiting to be discovered by any who would see it. As the Haydn example illustrates, truth is an event that proceeds in a given situation (L’éthique 63f, 42e), here the symbolic field of the musical baroque, but this truth is the same truth for all who bear witness to it (46f, 27e).

For Badiou, this event of truth implies an ethics in the way it calls upon the subject whom it befalls to continue to bear witness to this truth by engaging one’s life, one’s decisions, and one’s existence, in a continuing reinterpretation that is through this event and according to its truth. Badiou refers to this second moment in the process of a truth as a fidelity. “To be faithful to an event,” he writes, “is to move within the situation that this event has supplemented, by thinking . . . the situation ‘according to’ the event” (L’éthique 62f, 41e). Alban Berg and Anton von Webern, to take other of Badiou’s examples, were faithful to the event that was Arnold Schoenberg’s invention of the twelve-tone technique in musical composition. Thus, they “[could] not continue with fin-de-siècle neo-Romanticism as if nothing had happened” (62f, 42e). Likewise, as he also notes, much contemporary art music constitutes a fidelity to the great Viennese composers of the early twentieth century. The fidelity, in which the subject continues the truth process beyond its initial event, accepting the obligation “to invent a new way of being and acting in the situation” (62f, 42e), is the ethical decision to which the subject must continually commit him- or herself (or not).

 
The course of an artistic truth thus has three moments. The first moment is the inaugural event of art, which then, in the second moment, persists through the choice of continuing, in the subject’s fidelity to the event. The truth comes to a certain end, in the third moment, only when its configuration has become saturated and it has exhausted its own infinity, as Badiou puts it (Petit Manuel 89f, 56e). In the exhaustion of a truth, its component works succeed less and less in inquiring into the truth in which they themselves participate. A configuration, as he puts it in his Handbook of Inaesthetics, “thinks itself in the works that compose it” (28f, 14e)7 and when it ceases to think itself, when its component works no longer succeed in inventively inquiring into the procedure of that configuration, then that truth comes to an end.
 

What I especially want to highlight here in Badiou’s description of the event and process of a truth, and in the ethic of truths that follows from it, is the position of the subject who, we can say, is called upon to dwell with a trauma.8 Committing oneself to Schoenberg’s tonal innovations may not seem such an onerous ethical calling, and is hardly traumatic in the everyday sense, but we might recall that truth, for Badiou, is essentially a hole. It pierces a given order of knowledge, but it also pierces those who are faithful to it. Someone who bears witness to an event of truth can, for example,

be this spectator whose thinking has been set in motion, who has been seized and bewildered by a burst of theatrical fire [un éclat théâtral], and who thus enters into the complex configuration of a moment of art. (L’éthique 66f, 45e)

L’éthique

The subject’s seizure in the work of art is an old theme for philosophy, but here there is no repose, no restful contemplation of the beautiful, no subjective harmony as in Kant’s third critique.9 Instead, our spectator has been seized and bewildered by–what?–a burst of theatrical fire (!), and thereby enters into the complex configuration of a moment of art. Theatre spectators on the edge of their seats, he writes,

demonstrate a prodigious interest in what they are doing — in the advent of the not-known Immortal in them, in the advent of that which they did not know themselves capable of. Nothing in the world could arouse the intensity of existence more than this actor who lets me encounter Hamlet . . . . Nevertheless, as regards my interests as a mortal and predatory animal, what is happening here does not concern me; no knowledge tells me that these circumstances have anything to do with me. I am altogether present there, linking my component elements via that excess beyond myself induced by the passing through me of a truth. But as a result, I am also suspended, broken, annulled, dis-interested [suspendu, rompu, révoqué: dés-intéressé]. For I cannot, within the fidelity to fidelity that defines ethical consistency, take an interest in myself, and thus pursue my own interests. All my capacity for interest, which is my own perseverance in being, has poured out . . . into what I will make of my encounter, one night, with the eternal Hamlet. (L’éthique 71-72f, 49-50e)

L’éthique

In Badiou’s theater-going subject we see a curious tension between, on the one hand, the subject’s being “altogether present” in a way that seems familiar to Romantic and Heideggerian thinking about the promise of art, and, on the other hand, in the very same moment, the subject’s being “suspended, broken, annulled, dis-interested”–and, earlier, “riven, or punctured [imperceptiblement et intérieurement rompu, ou troué]” (L’éthique 67f, 46e). For Badiou the subject is, in the very instant of its coming to be, already in “eclipse,” as if the subject itself, in the event of art, were to appear in the flicker of its own vanishing or void. Thus a poem, for example, summons one–but summons one to give oneself over to, or dispose oneself to, its poetic operations and commits one to think according to its thought instead of according to the pursuit of one’s own interest (Petit Manuel 51f, 29e). Thus, the reader of a poem, as Badiou writes in relation to Celan, must “will his or her own transliteration” (58f, 34e), as if the letters of one’s aesthetic subjectivity, the “letters of one’s body,” as Willy Apollon calls it,10 were to be offered up to the event and cast into a foreign idiom. Although for Badiou fidelity to the event involves a conscious willing, the first instance of the truth event seems distinctly traumatic in his trope. “To enter into the composition of a subject of truth,” as he puts it, “can only be something that befalls you” (L’éthique 74f, 51e; trans. modified). Insofar as the will may later enter into Badiou’s ethics, fidelity is a commitment, whether knowingly or unknowingly, to sustain oneself in a certain relation to that originary traumatic eclipse of the subject.

II. A Thing of Nothing: Ethics and the Phantom Excess

To be clear, “trauma” is not a word Badiou himself employs; as we have seen, he uses an array of others to describe his subject–riven, punctured, ruptured, severed, broken, annulled, and so forth. These terms, if we consider them in a Lacanian register, suggest physical trauma in the “imaginary” sense of the corps morcelé, the fragmented body that implies a notion of trauma as a sort of mirror-stage in reverse. But how, more precisely, do these tropes, which we group under the rubric of trauma, bear upon Badiou’s theory of the subject, especially upon the subject in the event of art–and why does it make sense to place all of this under the heading of Ethics? The answers have something to do with the theoretical edifice elaborated by Jacques Lacan, who is significant for Badiou for four principal reasons: for initiating a modern thinking of love,11 for insisting on the importance of the category of the subject in philosophical thought (Manifeste 24f, 44e), for developing a conception of the real at the heart of human subjectivity,12 and for repeatedly asserting that mathematics is the science of the real (Conditions 185f; Theoretical Writings 107e). We will see that insofar as Badiou develops a theory of the subject consistent with the Lacanian subject instituted through trauma, for Badiou the stakes of this “trauma” are ultimately read not in the imaginary, but at the limit of the symbolic and the real. But let us approach these questions of the subject and what we are calling trauma a little more deliberately, since Badiou is approaching these matters not from the exigencies of the analytic clinic, but rather from the interest of philosophy–and specifically of a very particular philosophy grounded in mathematical set theory.
 

We can begin by considering more carefully and more particularly the structure of the subject implied by Badiou’s description of the theatergoer who encounters in Hamlet both the utmost intensity of existence as well as, in the same instant, a certain annulment. As Schoenberg was an event for the composers and audiences of the late Romantic style typified by Mahler, Hamlet may equally be considered an event in the history of literature–for example by demonstrating the possibility of a modern, post-Attic tragedy, or by turning to national or non-classical sources as fit topics for tragedy, or by more explicitly locating the real event of the play in the obscure existential drama of a character’s deepest interior. But Hamlet is also an event situated within an I–that is, within Badiou’s theatergoer in his or her particularity:

I am altogether present there [Je suis là tout entier], linking my component elements via that excess beyond myself [l’excès sur moi-même] induced by the passing through me of a truth. But as a result, I am also suspended, broken, annulled, dis-interested. For I cannot, within the fidelity to fidelity that defines ethical consistency, take an interest in myself, and thus pursue my own interests. All my capacity for interest, which is my own perseverance in being, has poured out . . . into what I will make of my encounter, one night, with the eternal Hamlet. (L’éthique 71-72f, 49-50e)

L’éthique

Structurally speaking, the key aesthetic event for Badiou here is an encounter between, on the one hand, the presence and finite “altogetherness” enjoyed by the theatergoer, wherein his or her component elements are linked into One, and on the other hand an excess beyond this altogetherness, the infinity of the eternal Hamlet, that passes through the subject, annuls the theatergoer in his or her situation, and demands some kind of accounting of what the subject will “make of the encounter.” Is there not something paradoxical about this altogetherness which encounters an excess beyond itself–for how can someone be, precisely, all-together, if there is some other element that remains in excess of the all?

Badiou’s Being and Event (1988) is devoted to a much more technical and complete description of “situations” generally and, by implication, of the seemingly paradoxical structure of the situation in which the theatergoer’s encounter with Hamlet takes place. We might take the theatergoing individual him- or herself as a “situation,” a structured whole composed of a set of component elements or terms: the particulars of one’s history, one’s sense for family and romantic obligations, one’s tastes, one’s regard for literary and theatrical history, one’s openness on a given night to the drama of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, and a multiplicity of other elements chance has thrown together. Any or all of these elements may be highly complex, but they are “consistent” in the sense that, however complex they may be, they are included in how one represents oneself to oneself (in what Badiou calls “the state”), or, more basically, they simply belong to one’s situation, present but prior to any question of representation. They compose that of which the situation consists. One’s taste, for example, may be composed of a vast array of sometimes-conflicting influences and voices coming from one’s culture, one’s circle of friends, one’s reading, the quirks of one’s personal history, both conscious and subconscious, and so forth. Whatever their origins and however internally incoherent they may be, they are all counted as being situated in the theatergoer as elements of his or her own taste. In this sense, the situation is defined by its all, the Oneness of one’s multifarious elements. Moreover, each of these elements, insofar as it counts as belonging to the situation, has been acted upon by some kind of a logic, a regime or rule that produces the situation by determining what counts as belonging to it. By contrast, the occurrence of an event, which in Badiou’s sense is always an event for a given situation, poses the question of what lies outside the jurisdiction of this regime, when, according to the law of the situation, everything that counts, everything presentable, lies within it–hence its Oneness, its all-togetherness.

 
Badiou argues that in the event of art (or science, or politics, or love), the Oneness of the situation is indeed disrupted by some unpresentable, supplementary thing that, within the law of the situation, counts as no-thing. Intriguingly, Badiou also claims in Being and Event that this void, or “nothing” of the situation, lies at the very heart of poetic movement in particular as a kind of impasse or impossibility:

Naturally, it would be pointless to set off in search of the nothing. Yet it must be said that this is exactly what poetry exhausts itself in doing . . . . [P]oetry propagates the idea of an intuition of the nothing in which being would reside when there is not even the site for such intuition . . . because everything is consistent. The only thing we can affirm is this: every situation implies the nothing of its all. But the nothing is neither a place nor a term of the situation. For if the nothing were a term that could only mean one thing; that it had been counted as one. Yet everything which has been counted is within the consistency of presentation. It is thus ruled out that the nothing . . . be taken as a term. There is not a-nothing, there is “nothing” [Il n’y a pas un-rien, il y a « a rien »], phantom of inconsistency. (L’être 67-68f, 54-55e)

L’être

While every situation “implies the nothing of its all,” the situation itself cannot, by definition, provide a way to bring this void point into knowledge, since there is no consistency to the void of the real, and since even intuition lies under the rule of the situation which, by definition, has no law capable of discerning (or “counting”) anything in excess of itself. In the face of this encounter with alterity, poetry since the Romantics has tried to say what cannot in fact be said, to present what cannot in fact be presented–as if a fullness of being might be approached, the phantom of inconsistency banished, by causing the indiscernible “nothing” supplementary to the situation to assume a visible consistency.

This, then, is what justifies the term “traumatic” as a general trope for Badiou’s description of the ethical subject in the event of art. It is not just that the coherence of the situation is punctured or riven by something radically alterior to itself, something that threatens to undermine or reorganize the configuration of the existing situation–this might be a commonsensical, imaginary description of trauma–but that this radical alterity constitutes a hole in the order of language. Indeed, from a Lacanian perspective, Badiou’s event is precisely traumatic insofar as it marks an encounter with the irreducible real at the heart of the signifier and the symbolic order.13 Badiou’s “nothing” or void shares a number of key structural features with Lacan’s concept of the traumatic encounter with the real: its “extimacy” to the subject, its essential resistance to signification, and its radical potential for introducing something new. Lacan’s real is located in “extimate”14 relation (167f, 139e) to the subject in that the real is at once situated as the “traumatic nucleus” (Le Séminaire XI, 66f, 68e), governing the syntax of the subject, utterly interior and intimate to it, and is at the same time radically supplementary, that is, exterior and excluded from it. So when in his Ethics seminar Lacan describes that which, in the real, suffers from the signifier (150f, 125e), he situates it “at the center precisely in the sense that it is excluded . . . strange to me while being at the heart of this ‘me'” (87f, 71e; author’s translation). Moreover, because the real as such cannot be assimilated to the order of the signifier (55f, 55e), the “trauma” of an encounter with the real is witnessed precisely in its “opacity” and its “resistance to signification” (118f, 129e). Finally, due to the very fact that the real constitutes an impasse in the logic of the signifier, the encounter with the real “admits something new, which is precisely the impossible” (152f, 167e )–admits, that is, something impossible in the order of the signifier as it has hitherto been governed. For these reasons, surely, and perhaps others, Badiou himself describes, at the heart of his event of art, an ethic of a “truth” that is also, in a precise Lacanian sense, “an ethic of the real” (L’éthique 74f, 52e).15

 
Badiou is not ordinarily one to follow philosophical trends that place language per se at the center of philosophical inquiry, but there seems no way to escape this problem of language in thinking the event.16 One believes that there has been an event, that something new has happened, that there is something beyond the One of the situation, and yet, from within the horizon of the situation where one discerns, thinks, and speaks, one cannot name the event, one can only surmise an appropriate “generic” procedure that would faithfully work to incorporate the event into the situation. Even the particular nature of this “something new” remains indiscernible:

A subject, which realizes a truth, is nevertheless incommensurable with the latter, because the subject is finite, and the truth is infinite. Moreover, the subject, being internal to the situation, can only know, or rather encounter terms or multiples presented (counted as one) in the situation. Yet the truth is an un-presented part of the situation. Finally, the subject cannot make a language out of anything except combinations of the supernumerary name of the event and the language of the situation. It is in no way guaranteed that this language will suffice for the discernment of a truth, which, in any case, is indiscernible for the resources of the language of the situation alone. It is absolutely necessary to abandon any definition of the subject which supposes that it knows the truth, or that it is adjusted to the truth. Being the local moment of the truth, the subject falls short of supporting the latter’s global sum. Every truth is transcendent to the subject, precisely because the latter’s entire being resides in supporting the realization of the truth. The subject is neither conscious nor unconscious of the true.

The singular relation of the subject to the truth whose procedure it supports is the following: the subject believes that there is a truth, and this belief occurs in the form of a knowledge [un savoir]. I term this knowing belief confidence. (L’être 434-435f, 396-397e)

L’être

The subject is called upon to support the realization of a truth. He or she has “confidence” that there is in fact a truth and that something new has happened in the situation. But from the standpoint of the situation itself, the subject can speak only a kind of nonsense in relation to this event, knitting together a language out of existing terms inadequate to the situation and to “the supernumerary name of the event.” The name of the event, “Hamlet” in our example, or “Schoenberg,” is supernumerary in the sense that it has no conceptual referent within the situation. Of course “Hamlet” as a proper name designates a Danish prince, a character, and a play (to say nothing here of Hamlet’s phantom father). It is also used antonomastically to refer to an event–yet this it does in the most nebulous fashion, as if “Hamlet” were neither name nor signifier, but a kind of conceptless signifier-surrogate used to indicate the whatever-it-was-that-happened one night at the theater. Likewise, “Schoenberg” may be used as an antonomasia for innovations in musical composition such as atonality, dodecaphony, and serialism, which may in turn be more precisely described, but fidelity to the truth of the “Schoenberg event” surely exceeds the instance of even its inventor, running its course through Olivier Messiaen, Pierre Boulez, and György Ligeti to younger and more recent composers like Kaija Saariaho, Erkki-Sven Tüür, and Helena Tulve–each of whom has departed from anything like atonal, twelve-tone, or serialist orthodoxies, while still, arguably, being faithful to the Schoenberg event and, certainly, committed to composing within a tonal space made possible by Schoenberg’s work. In this sense, “Schoenberg,” too, is used in place of a signifier to indicate the nebulous whatever-it-was-that-happened to the tonal system in classical composition with the appearance of Pierrot Lunaire (1913). These names, Hamlet and Schoenberg, together with the signifiers one associates with them, strive to refer to something that exceeds the situation. In order to do so, the subject must rework or redirect existing terms to “displace established significations” and thereby support a truth for a situation that at present cannot discern it (L’être 437f, 399e). If, for Badiou, a truth makes a hole in knowledge, it likewise marks a babble-point in relation to the present language of the situation.

The fidelity of the subject, then, is exposed to chance, grounded in nothing, unsupported by knowledge, and nonsensical to the eyes and ears of outsiders. It calls for a decision to commit to an interpretation of an event and it requires the ethical subject to assume a course of action (a “procedure”) faithful to that event from among choices that, within the best knowledge of the situation, are strictly undecidable. This is true because, from within the situation where he or she is located, the subject has no recognized way to decide whether there has even been an event, no way to adjudicate whether one interpretation of the event (supposing there to have been one) is superior to another, and no way to know with certainty whether a given procedure is a proper and faithful response to the event that the subject supposes has taken place.17 Thus one commits oneself on a chance, a wager, and, like Badiou’s Mallarmé, casts one’s die. As Badiou writes,

If poetry is an essential use of language, it is not because it is able to devote the latter [language] to Presence; on the contrary, it is because it trains language to the paradoxical function of maintaining that which–radically singular, pure action–would otherwise fall back into the nullity of place. Poetry is the stellar assumption [l’assomption stellaire] of that pure undecidable, against a background of nothingness, that is an action of which one can only know whether it has taken place inasmuch as one bets upon its truth. (L’être 213-214f, 192e)18

L’être

Against Heidegger’s nostalgia for lost presence, and surpassing the presence and altogetherness of his own theatergoer, Badiou asserts that poetry and art find their true and ethical task in supporting a pure action: the coming into being of a subject and, with it, the truth that occasions the subject. Poetry is itself, in the poet as in the reader, the casting of a die among undecidables, set against a background of nothingness. Hence poetry is intimately aligned with the subject, which Badiou defines as “that which decides an undecidable from the standpoint of an indiscernible” (445f, 407e), and with ethics, which, similarly, comes down to an imperative: “Decide from the standpoint of the undecidable” (219-220f, 197e).

In his Ethics book, Badiou gives his ethical imperative a more Lacanian ring. Lacan’s “ethics of psychoanalysis” is well known, both through his great 1959-1960 seminar of that name and through the writings of Slavoj Zizek.19 Lacan formulates his ethical dictum with a characteristic, concentrated simplicity: do not cede ground on your desire (Le Séminaire VII, 368f, 319e; author’s translation). For Lacan, this ethical position bears upon symptom formation: giving up on one’s desire, forsaking this one Good, produces the Evil of symptoms. In his own Ethics book, Badiou echoes Lacan, his “master” (L’éthique 121e) as he calls him, when he articulates his own ethic of truth: do all that you can to persevere in that which exceeds your perseverance. Persevere in the interruption. Seize in your being that which has seized and broken you (L’éthique 69f, 47e). Both Lacan’s ethic of psychoanalysis and Badiou’s own ethic of truth are ethics of the real and call for a certain persistence in one’s relation to that real. Truth and ethics bear upon a certain relation with the real of language: the indiscernible truth of music beyond musical syntax, the unnamable truth of a poem beyond communication and hermeneutic concerns of reference and interpretation. This truth event, which has broken and seized the subject, requires the subject to commit to a decision regarding what cannot be decided, articulated, or known. One must give oneself over to the event, contend with the situational anxiety of the void, and persevere in this relation to chance and the real. And if, through this process, one is obliged to cast one’s lot with something that ruptures the very situation in which one lives, this is surely all well and good for a philosopher who, after all, defines the Good as “the internal norm of a prolonged disorganization of life” (82f, 60e).

III. Badiou on Levinas, Love, and the Poetic Naming of Ethics

Badiou’s use of trauma as a trope aligns him not only with Lacan’s ethics of the real, as we have just seen, but also, to a more limited extent, with the work of Emmanuel Levinas, who in his late years often employed trauma as a trope for describing the ethical encounter with the face of the Other.20 Badiou’s own thinking of ethics arrives at a moment when the conceptualization of ethics in the academy has been brought decisively under Levinas’s name, first through the sponsorship of Jacques Derrida, Luce Irigaray, and Jean-François Lyotard, and then through its appropriation by the rhetoric of contemporary multiculturalist politics. The Ethics book is evidently among Badiou’s best-selling volumes and clearly his most sustained statement on ethics, and, though he might there seem to claim a counter-Levinasian position, in fact the polemical thrust of that book belies his closeness to the Jewish thinker. Even in the Ethics book, his brief account of Levinasian ethics as an ethics of difference, or an ethics of the other, stands as a moment of scrupulous care and respect, before he turns to address what he considers the misappropriation of Levinasian thought by multiculturalism, which, Badiou argues, is committed to a conventional conception of “otherness,” one cast in ethnographic or demographic terms rather than in properly phenomenological terms (or pre-phenomenological terms, one might say), as with Levinas. Later, when he highlights (and distances himself from) Levinas’s theological grounding of the ethical alterity of the other in the infinite alterity of God, Badiou’s pique lies with what he sees as the easy moralism of multiculturalist ideologues and the fashion they have made of the “ethics of the other” as, precisely, a pious discourse divorced from true Levinasian piety (L’éthique 41f, 23e). In short, Badiou’s reader must make a careful distinction between his polemical adversaries in the Ethics book, since his true quarrel lies elsewhere than with the “coherent and inventive” (40f, 23e) work of Levinas. Levinas’s work may disappoint Badiou for orienting itself ultimately via religious axioms, but he defends it as “strikingly distant” from the “catechisms” of multiculturalism (37f, 20e).
 

Badiou makes a more interesting and direct claim for Levinas’s importance in an off-hand remark in his Manifesto. There, writing of the history of philosophy since Hegel, he claims that philosophy has come to misapprehend the nature of its own work and has ceded its task, at various moments, by “suturing” itself to one of its four conditions: according to Badiou, Anglo-American philosophy has sutured itself to the promise of positivist science as the sole procedure of truth, Marxism has sutured philosophy to the promise of emancipatory politics as the sole procedure of truth, and, faced with philosophy’s sutures to science and to politics, Nietzsche and Heidegger gave philosophy over to the poem. Now, just as the attentive reader begins to wonder whether there were no overly enthusiastic philosophical partisans of love, Badiou offers a strangely phrased afterthought: “It may even be added,” he writes, “that a Levinas [un Levinas], in the guise of the dual talk on the Other and its Face [visage], and on Woman, considers [envisage] that philosophy could also become the valet of its fourth condition, love” (Manifeste 48f, 67e). This is certainly a curious statement and one wonders what is meant by it, since love is not usually considered a central term for Levinas. What, for Badiou in particular, can be the relation between love and Levinas, the eminent thinker of ethics? What is love as, precisely, a condition or truth procedure for philosophy? Why, finally, do some of Badiou’s most sustained discussions of love as a condition of philosophy appear amid discussions of art–for example in discussion of the works of Samuel Beckett,21 or in his intriguing remarks on the novel as an art form essentially coupled to love?22

 
Badiou, whose most serious philosophical work is thought through mathematics, perhaps unsurprisingly describes the course of an amorous truth as supporting a subjective movement through three distinct “numericalities.” The numericality of love, according to Badiou, is counted thus: one, two, infinity. That is, love is essentially the production of a truth about the Two (Manifeste 64f, 83e), pertaining ultimately to difference as such (Theoretical Writings 146e). Love is a riving of the One of solipsism in an encounter with the Two of the amorous couple that opens, like a passage, upon the plethoric Infinite of the sensual world:

In love, there is first the One of solipsism, which is the confrontation or duel between the cogito and the grey black of being in the infinite recapitulation of speech.23 Next comes the Two, which arises in the event of an encounter and in the incalculable poem [le poème incalculable] of its designation by a name. Lastly, there is the Infinity of the sensible world that the Two traverses and unfolds, where, little by little, it deciphers a truth about the Two itself. This numericality (one, two, infinity) is specific to the procedure of love. We could demonstrate that the other truth procedures–science, art, and politics–have different numericalities,24 and that each numericality singularizes the type of procedure in question, all the while illuminating how truths belong to totally heterogeneous registers. (“L’écriture” 363f, 33e)

Prior to the encounter of love, there is only solitude: the everyday situation of the ego and, as Levinas argues, “the very structure of reason” (Le temps et l’autre, 48f, 65e). The Two of love, by contrast, inaugurates an extraordinary event, in Badiou’s sense of the term, insofar as it is a

hazardous and chance-laden mediation for alterity in general [une mediation hasardeuse pour l’altérité en general]. It elicits a rupture or a severance of the cogito‘s One; by virtue of this very fact, however, it can hardly stand on its own, opening instead onto the limitless multiple of Being. We might also say that the Two of love elicits the advent of the sensible. The truth of the Two gives rise to a sensible inflection of the world, where before only the grey-black of being had taken place. Now, the sensible and the infinite are identical . . . . (“L’écriture” 358f, 28-29e)

The aesthetic tropes of Badiou’s description are remarkable–not just his evocation of the Infinite of love through citation of sensual scenes from the oeuvre of one of the great literary writers of the twentieth century, but Badiou’s own affirmation that such scenes are, in themselves, “poems,” regardless of their prose form (“L’écriture” 359f, 29e). His language is also remarkable, and strongly reminiscent of Levinas when Badiou writes of the encounter with alterity as a “rupture” of the cogito’s solitude, together with the sense that the ethical consists in persisting, in being faithful to this evental encounter with alterity.25 Let us examine these two points about Badiou’s language more closely.

Badiou’s use of aesthetic tropes can be understood if we recall the almost impossible role of language necessary for the faithful elaboration of a truth within a situation that cannot discern or name it. When, therefore, we read above that the Two, the heart of the amorous event and the opening of the ethical subject to the alterior and the Infinite, “arises in the event of an encounter and in the incalculable poem of its designation by a name,” or when we read in a different essay that “one must be poetically ready for the outside-of-self [il faut poétiquement être prêt au hors-de-soi]” (“Le Recours” 100f, 75e), Badiou does not here indicate a unique role for poetry in the elaboration of an amorous truth. Rather, Badiou is suggesting a special role for poetry in the elaboration of any kind of truth. We might think of this as somewhat akin to the insight of Poe’s Dupin, who says, referring to the Minister who has purloined the royal letter, that “as poet and mathematician, he would reason well; as mere mathematician, he could not have reasoned at all” (“Purloined Letter” 691). Regardless of the truth procedure in effect, whether scientific, political, artistic, or amorous, fidelity to a truth event requires a naming that, in turn, can only proceed indirectly, through the language resources of the poetic act, which Badiou suggests are uniquely capable of introducing alterity into the language of a situation:

For the nomination of an event . . . an undecidable supplementation which must be named to occur for a being-faithful, thus for a truth–this nomination is always poetic. To name a supplement, a chance, an incalculable, one must draw from the void of sense, in default of established significations, to the peril of language. One must therefore poeticize, and the poetic name of the event is what throws us outside of ourselves, through the flaming ring of predictions. (“Le Recours” 100f, 75e)

The poem, then, is more than the heart of the artistic event, whatever its medium. It is also the composition of a supernumerary name for the unnamable and undecidable event of truth, composed out of the language of the situation. More than this, it is poetry that “throws us outside of ourselves” to surpass in subjectivization the solipsism of the One and to open upon the Two of love and the true Infinite of the sensible world. One might venture it as a new formulation of Badiou’s ethical maxim: One must poeticize. That is, one must exceed one’s situation and assume an ethical relation to the event by striving to name it through poetic word. As the Romantics intuited and as Badiou’s philosophy formulates much more precisely, poetry and ethics, like poetry and truth, are not to be disentangled.

One would not wish to overstate the similarity between the ways Badiou and Levinas conceive of the ethical. Badiou, for his part, considers himself resolutely committed to what he thinks is a Greek–philosophical, mathematical–mode of thinking ethics, whereas Levinas, for his part, is very self-consciously committed to what for Badiou is a non-Greek, Jewish–theological–mode of thinking the ethical. Thus, Badiou’s mathematical grounding and conceptualization of alterity, his “numericalities” of solipsism and the Infinite, his set-theoretical elaboration of the event, and his insistent recourse to the category of truth as the grounds for the specifically ethical force of alterity and the infinite–all this is quite foreign to Levinas’s philosophical interests. And, as we have already seen, Badiou displays little sympathy for Levinas’s grounding of the ethical nature of alterity within Jewish tradition, so that Levinas’s often Abrahamic sense of alterity with, as Levinas himself muses (Autrement 195n1f, 197-98n27e), its potential caprice and persecutory command, is absent when Badiou writes of the subjective commitment to forsake the pursuit of one’s own interest, will one’s own “transliteration,” and live and think according to the alterior truth of the event that has befallen one. Finally, where Levinas concentrates his thinking at the intersection of phenomenology and theology, writing little on love as such, less on literature and politics, and nothing at all on science, Badiou makes it a matter of principle to circulate his thinking among the four “procedures of truth” as he himself defines them: the scientific (as in Being and Event), the artistic (as in the Handbook of Inaesthetics), the political (as in Metapolitics), and the amorous (as in the essays on Beckett and on the Lacanian description of sexuation). This also gives Badiou a broad scope for thinking the ethical in places–art, science, politics–where Levinas’s writings do not often venture.
 

Nonetheless, we have also seen that both Badiou and Levinas, when they present their work on ethics, write through tropes of trauma, as a way of thinking subjectivity as the rupture of the solipsism of the cogito in an encounter with alterity, difference, and the infinite. This is indeed very significant. If Badiou stands together with the Romantics (and Lacan) to posit, at the heart of the work of art, a subject who contends with a constitutive void or “nothing” or hole, Badiou and Levinas (and again Lacan) stand against hundreds of years of philosophical thinking by imagining at the core of ethics a subject who has been riven and punctured in relation to a singular, traumatic event. When Badiou salutes Levinas as a thinker of love,26 as he does in his Manifesto, he is recognizing Levinas’s rigor in thinking the event of love as an ethical movement from the One of solipsism, through the encounter with alterity (the Two), to the Infinite, even if Badiou is also, at the same time, working from an Infinite conceived through mathematics (not theology), and also underlining his own critique that Levinas’s suture of philosophy to the condition of love unduly neglects other possible procedures for truth–the political, the scientific, and the artistic.

 
Badiou’s implicit critique of Levinas’s thinking of ethics–that it correctly elaborates certain structures of an ethical event in one procedure (love) only to turn a blind eye to the event in any other procedure (artistic, political, scientific)–is analogous to his critique of Romantic philosophies of art. Romantic theories of art, in Badiou’s view, correctly locate the position of truths as immanent to the work of art–so that, for the Romantics, art is not thought to point to a truth that exists outside of art, as when it is called upon to illustrate a truth situated in politics, science, or love. Rather, the truth of art is intrinsic or internal to the artistic effect of works of art. As Badiou and the Romantics agree, art is not about a truth; art is a truth. However, the Romantics, in Badiou’s view, fail to recognize the singularity of the truth produced by art; they fail to see that the particular truth activated in the artwork is specific to art alone, and thus “irreducible to other truths, be they scientific, political, or amorous” (Petit Manuel 21f, 9e). We will grant Badiou his point here: it is hard to imagine any thinker, Romantic or otherwise, who would fully prefigure Badiou’s declaration that there are four “procedures of truth” and that every truth is the truth of a given situation strictly within one of these four procedures, either artistic, political, scientific, or amorous. These are surely among the most fundamental and original features of Badiou’s own philosophy.

 
But I would argue that there is another debt, unacknowledged, that Badiou’s thinking of art owes to the Romantics: the description of art as addressed to a subject constituted through a foundational, traumatic encounter with a “nothing” or void of the real. This seems to me the key Romantic gesture in the thinking of art: from Schiller’s irremediable “dismemberment of being” (586g, 43e)27 and Emerson’s declaration in “The Poet” that man “is only half himself” and must therefore poeticize to address his fundamental void of being (448), to Heidegger’s later view that one must bear poetic witness to being to attain a greater degree of being oneself (Erläuterungen 36g, 54e),28 to Lacan’s claim that the work of art renews the subject’s relation to the real (Le Séminaire VII, 169-70f, 141e), Romantic theories of art, like Badiou’s own, proceed from the given of a subject that faces the void and elaborate a theory of art specifically as addressing that unspeakable ontological hole.

 
What Badiou contributes to Romantic philosophies of art is a new rigor in elaborating the event of this situated void, and especially in thinking it through the innovations of mid-twentieth-century set theory. Thus, where the early Romantic thinkers of the event of art work more or less intuitively, as both poets and theoreticians of poetry themselves, where Heidegger works out of dormant linguistic possibilities, and where Lacan works through empirical observation and practical clinical interest,29 Badiou gives a much fuller philosophical grounding to those earlier developments toward a Romantic theory of art.
 

Additionally, by grounding his event of art in set theory, Badiou is able to further prise apart the theory of a subject constituted in traumatic relation to an originary event from the pathos or horror customarily associated with trauma and loss. This matter has already caused some misunderstanding in Badiou’s critical reception. Perhaps because of his narrow focus on Badiou’s book on Paul, or perhaps because he is quick to appreciate manifestations of horror, Zizek far overstates the case when he claims, in The Ticklish Subject, that Badiou’s “main point” in his elaboration of the subject is to “avoid identifying the subject with the constitutive Void of the structure” (159).30 Zizek, so it would seem here, regards the void as necessarily horrific and, missing the sense of horror in Badiou,31 wrongly minimizes the extent of Badiou’s actual theoretical engagement with the traumatic real. As we have already seen, although Badiou spends much effort describing the second moment of an evental truth, its poeticization in the subject’s “fidelity,” he also gives a full description of the subject in that first moment of facing the “nothing”–a fact highlighted by those many terms suggesting physical trauma: “suspended, broken, annulled,” “riven or punctured,” “a rupture or a severance,” and so forth. In Being and Event, he is quite plain: while “a truth alone is infinite” (433f, 395e), “the subject is finite” (434f, 396e). Indeed, this very incommensurability faced by the finite subject gives it its specific sense: overwhelmed, annulled, inarticulate–and persistent nonetheless.
 

Yet, however overstated, we might also say that Zizek’s argument nevertheless points to an important difference in tone that distinguishes Badiou from his more Romantic theoretical forebears in thinking the real of art. The thrust of Badiou’s philosophy resists attaching any Romantic pathos to this “trauma” of the finite subject as he or she contends with the void and the incommensurable, infinite truth. To be sure, the traumatic structure of the subject is not a dry fact for Badiou–the very passion of his writing on the topic recognizes its drama. But in contrast with the pathos or nostalgia inherent in Emerson and Heidegger when they present the fundamental absence at the heart of human subjectivity, and in contrast to the rawness and destitution of Antigone when Lacan presents the subject’s ethical bearing of the real, for Badiou the traumatic structure of the subject is part and parcel of the very event he celebrates for being inventive, creative, “the coming-to-be of that which is not yet” (L’éthique 45f, 27e), indeed the only way for something new to appear within a situation. The point is that, in what is for Badiou “the event of truth,” the subject, which is indeed finite and, yes, traumatically riven and babbling, is nevertheless able to participate in a fidelity to something that exceeds his or her own finitude and is thereby able to accede to an ethical, more properly human, subjectivity. So Badiou’s ethics and his theory of art aim to represent an escape from the suffering body, an escape from the animal, an escape from the contemporary organization of moral life around the figure of the victim.32 If we speak of trauma with regard to Badiou’s subject, it is neither to rally the reader’s pious sympathies nor to invoke his or her horror on behalf of the subject. Rather, as we have seen, “trauma” highlights certain features of Badiou’s subject to place his theory of art in limited relation with that of the Romantics, to display his debt to Lacan’s traumatic real in particular, to clarify his critique of Levinasian ethics, to highlight the role of the poetic naming of the void in any “procedure of truth” and to refute the critique offered by Zizek by demonstrating that one need not read the void in Lacanian theory as horror.

Notes

1. Throughout the essay, page numbers followed by “e” refer to the English translations; those followed by “f” refer to the French-language editions.

2. Jacques Rancière, in his “Aesthetics, Inaesthetics, Anti-Aesthetics,” rightly contests ascribing to the German Romantics (as Badiou seems to do) any claim that art alone is capable of truth (Hallward 220).

3. Badiou names Lacan an “anti-philosopher,” but his estimation of the importance of Lacanian thought for contemporary philosophy is nevertheless the very highest. As he writes in his Manifesto: “the anti-philosopher Lacan is a condition of the renaissance of philosophy. A philosophy is possible today, only if it is compossible with Lacan” (64f, 84e).

4. Almagestes (1964), Portulans (1967), and Calme bloc ici-bas (1997); also a short story, “L’Autorisation” (1967), and a romanopéra, L’Echarpe rouge (1979), according to Peter Hallward’s very helpful bibliography in the English translation of Ethics (151-59e). Badiou’s plays include Ahmed le subtil (1994), Ahmed se fâche, suivi par Ahmed philosophe (1995), and Citrouilles (1995); the writing of the first of these seems to have been underway as Badiou was writing his Ethics in the summer of 1993. Evidently there are other theatrical pieces, too: in the prologue to his book on Paul, Badiou mentions one from the early 1980s called The Incident at Antioch (1f, 1e).

5. See his Manifesto 60f, 80e; also L’éthique 63f, 43e; and Conditions 201f, Theoretical Writings 123e. The relation between truth and knowledge is a complex one for Badiou. For present purposes, we might think of knowledge as something like the degraded and distinct afterlife of a truth–degraded because, following Lacan, Badiou asserts that “a truth is essentially unknown” (Conditions 201f; Theoretical Writings 123e) and that “what we know of truth is merely knowledge” (Conditions 192f; Theoretical Writings 114e), and distinct, because, as this paragraph makes plain, knowledge as such no longer enjoys the status of truth and is precisely what is disrupted and reorganized by the appearance of a new truth.

6. Correspondingly, as Badiou notes in his interview with Lauren Sedofsky, “most of the time, the great majority of us live outside ethics” (“Being by Numbers” 124).

7. Badiou’s claim here echoes the very influential description of “the literary” made by Friedrich Schlegel: that literature is an interrogation of its own status (for example, in Athenaeum Fragments, numbers 116 and 255). Badiou may be familiar with this claim from the work of his colleagues, Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe and Jean-Luc Nancy, whose The Literary Absolute is concerned with the aesthetics of Schlegel and of the Jena Romantics. Badiou cites Lacoue-Labarthe and Nancy’s book (but does not name Schlegel) in his Ethics (112f, 84e).

8. For Badiou there is the possibility (the necessity, really, because no truth procedure is solipsistic) for a collective subjectivity. In brief, all those who bear witness to a given truth event enter into the composition of one subject (64f, 43e). Hence Berg and Webern, for example, together with other witnesses to the Schoenberg event, compose but one subject. Badiou (and Hallward, his translator for the Ethics) write of the subject in the singular (however multiple its composition in terms of human individuals); I shall follow suit.

9. In the Critique of Judgment (1790), Kant is, of course, writing of the beautiful very generally, not specifically of beautiful art (indeed his examples are natural ones: flowers, birds, crustaceans). See the General Comment on the First Division of the Analytic for a compact description of subjective harmony in the beautiful and §27 for remarks on “restful contemplation” in the beautiful.

10. Apollon elaborates his concept of the “letters of the body” in several essays included in the After Lacan collection, most explicitly in the chapter of that name, “The Letter of the Body” (103-15).

11. Lacan is the thinker of love named most frequently by Badiou: “I moreover know of no theory of love having been as profound as [Lacan’s] since Plato’s, the Plato of the Symposium that Lacan dialogues with over and over again” (Manifeste 63f, 83e). The final section of the present essay returns to Badiou’s conceptualization of love.

12. Here is how Badiou describes the Lacanian real in an interview with Peter Hallward that serves as an appendix to the English translation of Ethics: “What especially interested me about Lacan was his conception of the real . . . . And in particular, this conception of the real as being, in a situation, in any given symbolic field, the point of impasse, or the point of impossibility, which precisely allows us to think the situation as a whole, according to its real” (121e).

13. See Lacan, Le Séminaire XI, 51f, 52e and 54f, 55e, where Lacan describes “the real as trauma,” as his editor, Jacques-Alain Miller, writes in the topical subheading. Lacanians in general tend to regard the key theoretical insight of the talking cure as the intuition that language, always and inevitably, carries some supplement of trauma at its core. For a fascinating discussion of how it is that language–in certain respects absolutely heterogeneous to the unrepresentable real–nonetheless implies an element of the traumatic real, readers might usefully consult three essays by the Gifric analysts in Québec: Willy Apollon’s “The Letter of the Body,” Danielle Bergeron’s “Violence in Works of Art, or, Mishima, from the Pen to the Sword,” and Lucie Cantin’s “The Trauma of Language,” all available in their After Lacan collection.

14. A neologism.

15. Eleanor Kaufman’s article proposing to contrast the ethics of Badiou with the ethics of Lacan is, of course, correct to observe that Badiou’s ethics and Lacan’s are not the same thing and do not cover the same territory. This is so in part because Badiou is a philosopher dedicated to thinking the ethics of a situated/supplementary truth, whereas Lacan is a training analyst describing for his students an ethics (and aesthetics) that proceeds from a set of practical, clinical facts concerning the subject’s relation to jouissance, the signifier, and the drive. But Badiou and Lacan are not so far apart either, as my own essay suggests. Kaufman’s strenuous claim that the ethics of Badiou and Lacan are incompatible and opposed seems to rest on her impression that Badiou’s position is essentially a conservative one, rather than one dedicated to radical, innovative truths, as Badiou would claim on his own behalf (L’éthique 61f, 41e). Thus, for Kaufman, Badiou’s “systematic” style of thought reflects an allegiance to the “system” of a given situation (145); thus, too, for Kaufman, Badiou fails to allow for exceptions that change the rule, so that his ethics is dedicated to faithfully following rules (145); thus, finally, in locating ethics (and truth) in art, love, politics, and science, Kaufman’s Badiou is under the misapprehension that he has delimited all experience–or, at least, her Badiou is “unequipped” to deal with anything that cannot be mapped out within the four “conditions” that give rise to ethics (146). These misreadings of Badiou (as I see them) nonetheless imply one point of genuine contrast between the ethics of Lacan and of Badiou: for Badiou the object of ethics (that which his ethical subject pursues with faithful tenacity) matters much more than for Lacan, for whom the subject’s particular object of desire is less important than the subject’s “access to desire” generally–that is, apart from the particularity of this or that object (Le Séminaire VII, 370-71f, 321e). Contra Kaufman, one might read Peter Hallward’s introduction to his Think Again collection for an illuminating and concise presentation of the essential anti-conservatism of Badiou’s thought (7-12). For a much fuller treatment of Badiou’s effort to think the possibility of novelty, see Adrian Johnston’s outstanding piece “The Quick and the Dead” and its sequels: Zizek’s essay “Badiou: Notes from an Ongoing Debate” and Johnston’s reply, “Addendum: Let a thousand flowers bloom!”

16. Claire Joubert has objected to this de-emphasis on the linguistic in Badiou’s ethics and is correspondingly skeptical of the “compossibility” Badiou claims with the Lacanian subject which was theorized out of Lacan’s encounter with semiology in the 1950s (4). Badiou does develop his theory of subjectivity and ethics through the essential categories of semiology–presence and absence–even if he does so through set theory (as in what “counts” and what is void), rather than through Saussurean linguistics. By the 1970s Lacan himself was moving away from semiological formulations and increasingly toward mathematical models in describing his subject and the workings of the talking cure.

17. Distinguishing truth from opinion (or from a mere simulacrum of truth) appears to be a key difficulty in the elaboration of Badiou’s project thus far. Badiou himself commits the problem to the care of philosophy and regards it as the central task of philosophy–the ethical task of philosophy–to seize the truths that appear in art (and in science, love, and politics) and to announce them and distinguish them from mere opinion (Petit Manuel 28-29f, 14-15e). In this way, philosophy, too, faces the real, but it also contributes to the elaboration of truths within sense. Ernesto Laclau, in his incisive essay on Badiou, seems not to be comforted by the aid of philosophy in sorting out the success of such wagers. As Laclau puts it, one can hardly look to the logic of the situation itself to identify its true void as an event of truth; nor, in the case of a pseudo-event, can one really look to the pseudo-event to declare itself as mere simulacrum. In short, as we have also seen above, there seems to be no place within Badiou’s theoretical edifice from which to decisively enunciate a truth/simulacrum distinction (Hallward 123-26).

18. In this “Mallarmé” chapter from Being and Event, Badiou does not explicitly develop his thoughts on Mallarmé’s stellar imagery in the poem, “Coup de dés,” but it seems plain that, here as elsewhere for Badiou, “stellar” carries a Mallarméan resonance (see also Deleuze 11f, 4e and Petit Manuel 89f, 56e).

19. Zizek’s best-known essay on Badiou, “The Politics of Truth, or, Alain Badiou as a Reader of St Paul,” is largely staged in terms of Lacan’s Seminar VII: The Ethics of Psychoanalysis. See The Ticklish Subject (127-70). Zizek specifically cites Lacan’s ethical formula (ne pas céder sur son désir) at least twice in the same volume (153, 297).

20. Levinas employs the term throughout his late masterwork, Otherwise than Being (1974), where “trauma” appears in a number of contexts, from the way the transcendent encounter with alterity befalls the chosen ethical subject prior to will (10f, xlii-e and 95f, 56e), to the ethical exposure of the subject to sensibility and to pain in particular (82f, 48e), to the violence and unrepresentability in the “non-relation” of subject and other (196-197f, 123e and 195n1f, 197n27e), to the general problem of an ethics that strikes one from a place outside of being (225f, 144e). One might also recall Levinas’s answer to Philippe Nemo’s first question (“How does one begin thinking?”) in the Ethics and Infinity (1982) interviews: “It probably begins through traumatisms or gropings to which one does not even know how to give verbal form” (11f, 21e).

21. “L’écriture du générique: Samuel Beckett.”

22. “Qu’est-ce que l’amour?” On this point regarding the novel, see 254f, 264e.

23. This is a reference to Beckett’s short prose piece entitled “Lessness” (1970), which describes the endlessness of a landscape, ash grey under a grey sky, which Badiou reads as “the place of being” (“L’écriture” 334f, 6e).

24. In his book on Metapolitics, Badiou gives some brief, cryptic hints concerning the numericalities for politics (whose first term is the infinite, in the sense that politics “summons or exhibits the subjective infinity of the situation,” rejecting all finitude), for science (whose first term is the void), and for art (whose first term is a finite number). He also remarks that “the infinite comes into play in every truth procedure, but only in politics does it take the first place.” Further, and again cryptically, “Art presents the sensible in the finitude of a work, and the infinite only intervenes in it to the extent that the artist destines the infinite to the finite” (Theoretical Writings 154e).

25. Peter Dews, in his very interesting essay “States of Grace,” also remarks, briefly, on the similarity of such structures in the thought of Badiou and Levinas (Hallward 113-14).

26. Given his particular philosophical perspective, it makes sense that Badiou also regards psychoanalytic theory after Lacan as, above all, an elaboration of the Two of sexuation–and love, as Badiou writes, “is that from which the Two is thought” (Manifeste 63f, 83e). Hence, for Badiou, psychoanalysis after Lacan “is the modern treatment of the condition of love” (Manifeste 24f, 44e).

27. Curiously, Ralph Waldo Emerson, in his essay “The American Scholar,” uses a similarly vivid trope, describing man as a sort of monstrous amputee (53-54).

28. To be clear, I am not claiming that Heidegger, any more than Lacan or Badiou, is a thoroughgoing Romantic; only that Heidegger’s views specifically on art derive from the tradition initiated by the Romantics.

29. One might say that Lacan’s entire theory of art, as it appears in the Ethics seminar he gives his clinical trainees, aims to work through a practical puzzle: why it is that, in the course of an analysis, when the analysand approaches something he recognizes as “aggressive towards the fundamental terms of his subjective constellation,” he will, with predictable regularity, make reference to some work of literature or music (Le Séminaire VII, 280f, 238-239e; my translation).

30. For a superb treatment of Zizek’s relation to Badiou (and an outstanding treatment of Badiou’s relation to materialist thought in the tradition of Althusser), see Bruno Bosteels’s careful two-part essay in Pli, “Alain Badiou’s Theory of the Subject: The Recommencement of Dialectical Materialism?” See also Zizek’s rejoinder to Bosteels, “From Purification to Subtraction: Badiou and the Real” (Hallward 165-81), a much stronger essay than his earlier venture in The Ticklish Subject. In the newer essay, Zizek offers a more appreciative account of Badiou’s engagement with finitude and the real, though he misstates the case when he writes that the

ultimate difference between Badiou and Lacan thus concerns the relationship between the shattering encounter of the Real and the ensuing arduous work of transforming this explosion of negativity into a new order. For Badiou, this new order “sublates” the exploding negativity into a new consistent truth, while for Lacan, every Truth displays the structure of a (symbolic) fiction, i.e. no Truth is able to touch the Real. (Hallward 177)

It is not clear to me that Zizek has located a genuine dispute here. Badiou’s subject may indeed be tasked with “sublating” the truth into a new order of language, logic and sense, but Badiou also seems well aware that the status of the truth as real is lost in that very process and has instead lapsed into mere knowledge–albeit a new knowledge with (if one may put it this way) a still vibrant relation to the truth as real. Readers may recall a claim this essay cited earlier: “what we know of truth is merely knowledge” (Conditions 192f; Theoretical Writings 114e). I am intrigued, however, by Zizek’s idea that a kind of formalization, as an approach to the real, might allow Badiou to surpass the “Kantian” impasse that Zizek sees in the way Badiou manages the gap between situational knowledge and real truth and between finite animal and immortal subject (Hallward 174, 178). Regarding Zizek’s critique of Badiou’s Kantianism, see Johnston’s “There is Truth, and then there are truths–or, Slavoj Zizek as a Reader of Alain Badiou.”

31. Badiou’s clear sense that horror is not a necessary Lacanian association for the void or hole of the real is shown when he discusses the inaugural trauma of the subject in a 1991 paper presented to the Department of Psychoanalysis at the Paul-Valéry University: “We are so accustomed to thinking of castration in terms of horror that we are astonished to hear Lacan discussing it in terms of love” (Conditions 197f; Theoretical 120e).

32. Badiou’s examples in his Ethics include a range of contemporary moral discourses, from multiculturalism to Western humanitarianism to a certain formation of human rights discourse. Badiou’s philosophical objections to these moral discourses are fourfold. First, the centrality of the image of victimhood poses evil as primary and poses good as merely reactive and remediary. Second, the image of suffering (with the emotion of horror it produces) cripples thought and reason, including any truly progressive analysis of oppression. Third, in making a fetish of human suffering, such discourses take as their object only the most animal aspect of humanity and do not recognize the human being defined by his or her potential for situation-transcending thought and action. Fourth and finally, the set-apartness of any group under the exceptional name of “victim” participates in the anti-universalist gesture which for Badiou makes possible (as in the case of the European Jews) the group’s oppression to begin with. This fourth objection, or rather its example of the European and Israeli Jews in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, has inspired a rather spirited public exchange in Les temps modernes (Dec. 2005 to Feb. 2006), where Badiou was accused of anti-Semitism. Eric Marty subsequently published his polemic as Une querelle avec Alain Badiou, philosophe (Gallimard, 2007).

In the short interview with Nicolas Weill in Le Monde, 15 July 2007, Badiou defends himself concisely against the charge of anti-Semitism and presents to a general reader his defense of universalism as emancipatory. Badiou’s philosophical claim is that, in an event, the ethical subject identifies the void of the existing situation as pertaining universally within that situation, informing its every aspect. Truth, we recall, is always universal for Badiou: a truth is true for all. In a pseudo-event, as in the revolutionary break claimed by the Nazis, the universality of the void is disavowed and the void itself displaced onto an exceptional set of particular elements (L’éthique 99-100f, 74e). For the Nazis, Jews (and others) filled this function and were subsequently, brutally, “voided” to speciously assert plenitude (rather than a void) in a situation that named German Jews as exceptions to the “German people.” Badiou sees a contemporary moral plenitude or prestige attached to the word “Jew,” and insofar as it refers to the sufferings of Jews in the Holocaust, it participates in that same gesture of setting apart a subset of elements as exceptional and subject to its own moral “truth.” Badiou is not at all dismissive of man’s “animal” suffering. He is not making a general, philosophical objection to collective action in pursuit of justice. He is not contesting the historical suffering of Jewish people or their rights to live in Israel. Rather, he is arguing that brutality and oppression are often banal cruelties “beneath” good and evil, having no relation to any situation-transcending event. He is arguing that any true political good proceeds from a universalist avowal of the real of a situational void, not a particularist displacement of the void. And he is arguing that a properly human politics proceeds out of an ethical fidelity to a singular, radical truth that inventively addresses the state of the situation and holds forth the promise of producing something new in relation to that situation.

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