— extended outline and project page —
The Anarchism of the Encounter:
A Distillation
Introduction: Distilling Anarchism
Some of the work I have done on anarchist history and theory has taken the form of synthesis, attempting to draw together elements from a variety of anarchist tendencies and milieus, or of a kind of reconciliation, as in the case of the “neo-Proudhonian synthesis,” based on the idea that the apparent discontinuities in anarchist ideas have been, in fact, more apparent than real. But with the material on “a schematic anarchism,” the process has been more a matter of distillation. Rather than engaging in the work of piecing fragments from the at least apparently disparate anarchist traditions together to form a coherent whole, it’s been more a matter of bringing my accumulated knowledge and understanding of anarchism and related traditions to a kind of critical boil, in order to see what is essential, or at least volatile, and what remains inert. It’s that approach that I want to take up again, more consciously, in this new work of general anarchist theory.
Ultimately, the most robust forms of anarchist are likely to result from the connection — encounter, conjugation, etc. — of more detail-oriented sorts of synthesis with this kind of distillation in the context of ongoing practical application. In a book, the scope of application is obviously limited, but hopefully that can be one kind of strength.
This work is really the first fruits of my work grappling with the notion of general anarchist history and, more specifically, of my work translating and interpreting Proudhon’s Justice in the Revolution and in the Church. It’s important for me that this current work serves as an aid in understanding the work in progress, but part of what ultimately needs to be understood is that, while this sort of analysis almost certainly needs to be grounded somewhere, judgments about the general validity of the account will have to be based on much broader attempts at application. Fortunately, some simple means of moving from specific interpretations of Proudhon to an account that should, I hope, have a really general application can be derived from the same passages by Proudhon that will be examined. For anyone inclined to try a bit of dialectical sublation with regard to Proudhon and his work, well, my sense is that he may have provided the necessary tools himself.
The first conceptual connection to be attempted is between a notion that has played a central role in much of my work on anarchism — the encounter — and another, which recurs in the works of various 19th-century socialists, which we can call omnicentricity. For the first, my usual text has been a passage from the Seventh Study of Proudhon’s Justice, in which he describes “the whole social system:”
Two men meet, recognize their dignity, note the additional benefit that would result for both from the concert of their industries, and consequently guarantee equality, which amounts to saying economy. There you have the whole social system: an equation, and consequently a power of collectivity.
The same scenario is then described, with slightly different emphases, in the Ninth Study of the same work:
What is Justice? The pact of liberty.
Two men meet, with opposing interests. The debate begins; then they compromise: equation, first conquest of right, first establishment of justice. A third arrives, then another, and so on indefinitely: the pact that bound the first two extends to the newcomers; so many contracting parties, so many subjects of Justice. There is therefore progress, progress in Justice, of course, consequently progress in liberty: we will have to investigate later whether or not this progress in Justice and liberty carries with it progress in the totality of human being.
As a conceptual shortcut, a distillation, this is certainly an ambitious one, particularly when we consider all of the complexities introduced into Proudhon’s account of society by his theory of collective force. Still, he appears insistent. In the Seventh Study, he continues:
Two families, two cities, two provinces, contract on the same footing: there are always only these two things, an equation and a power of collectivity. It would imply contradiction, violation of Justice, if there was something else.
So it is a question of taking the leap, taking Proudhon at his word, and exploring this most schematic of “systems.” The problem, of course, is to try to find some equally schematic means of accounting for all the various individualities, collectivities, etc. that might engage in forms of mutual encounter. As my hope is to at least explore a very general theory, my next move has been what is perhaps an even more provocative leap, in order to stage an encounter between this “system” and the notion of omnicentricity.
As I have started to document on the “Texts” page for this project, Proudhon made use, on a number of occasions and in a variety of contexts, of the phrase “the center is everywhere and the circumference nowhere.”
Part One: The Anarchy of the Encounter
I. A Theory of the Individuality-Collectivity as an Unbounded Centrality, with particular attention to the constitution of the Human Self as a Free Absolute
The goal in this chapter is an account of the self, conceived in anarchic terms, as a special case among beings and things, themselves conceived as manifestations of evolving and unbounded “centers” or centralities. Along with various suggestive passages from Proudhon, this section will explore a reading of Max Stirner’s einzige as “the only one,” which I started in the “Rambles in the Fields of Anarchist Individualism,” and some potentially related material from Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. Whitman’s self, which both “contains multitudes” and “is not contained between hat and boots,” is perhaps the most approachable models to be examined — and perhaps it gives us something to cling to as we try to come to terms with what looks like an 1850s version of the body without organs in Proudhon’s Philosophy of Progress:
The being [or simply being], at its highest degree of existence, is at once self and non-self: it can say equally, speaking of itself as of others, I, you, he, we, you all, they. What establishes the identity and the adequacy of persons within it, in the singular, the dual and the plural, is precisely their conjugation.
Perhaps, given the potential complexities, it won’t hurt to include the original French here as well:
L’être, à son plus haut dégré d’existence, est tout à la fois moi et non-moi: il peut dire indifféremment, parlant de soi comme des autres, je, tu, il, nous, vous, ils. Ce qui établit en lui l’identité et l’adéquateté des personnes, au singulier, au duel et au pluriel, est précisément leur conjugaison.
This first chapter will attempt, step by step, to disentangle a notion of the human self from various rather more amorphous beings or instances of being. It will engage with the idea, borrowed from Charles Fourier, that “every individual is a group,” which is so important to Proudhon’s theory of collective force. Perhaps most importantly, it will attempt to come to grips with the concepts of unity and divisibility as they appear in Proudhon’s work, both to determine how we might best talk about property in relation to human selves, but also to prepare ourselves to talk about organization on the basis of the federative principle and, perhaps a bit unexpectedly, to provide ourselves with some of the tools necessary to understand the peculiar gendering of Proudhon’s worldview.
[Potential sections:
- Anarchy and Omnicentricity
“The center is everywhere and the circumference is nowhere.” - The Unique
“The only one”
“Selfiness” - Containing Multitudes
“Every individual is a group.”
“…life supposes contradiction, contradiction in its turn calls for justice…” - Divisibility
“The self is one, identical, indivisible: that is why it remains impenetrable to itself…”]
II. A Partial Inventory of the Varieties of the Non-Self, with Sketches of some possible Encounters between the Human Self and the Various Types
The last passage quoted invokes divisions within being, or beings, of selves and non-selves, as well the identification and adequation of persons. All of that needs to be sorted through, taking into account the surprisingly wide range of possible meanings for each of what seem to be the most important terms. The first chapter will have started that work, staging the encounters between self and non-self in the most general terms, but primarily exploring potential encounters internal to being/beings, including some among the “multitudes” presumably contained by the Whitmanesque self. (“Every individual is a group.”)
The first reflections on property will almost certainly emphasize non-exclusive forms.
But we will still have to account for the non-self, which we can expect to assume that role in a variety of ways. The second chapter will involve a fairly extensive, but necessarily partial enumeration of different types of non-self — ranging from the non-self in general to other human selves, non-human animals, plants, non-living natural elements, natural and social systems, institutions and associations, etc., etc. The goal is to at least get a range of beings and scales involved, with some specific attention paid to the question of reciprocity and its effects.
III. The Production and Disposition of Collective Force, at a variety of scales, with Considerations Regarding the Production and Disposition of Liberty
At this point we have a complicated array of types, all presented in terms of the ways in which they manifest individuality-collectivity and in terms of the kinds of relations they are likely to have with human selves. In the fourth chapter, it will be a question of trying to establish justice in the complex relations among these various types of beings. However, before we can confront the ethical questions, we should take some time to explore the material relations between the various types of entities — and, in the context established, it makes sense to do so through an exploration of Proudhon’s theory of collective force.
This will be an occasion for a deep dive into some 19th-century-style social physics — and also for some critique of that framework. In order to maintain the focus of the study, a lot of the emphasis will be on the various roles that the human self assumes at different scales and as part of different social collectivities, including, of course, plenty of attention to the conflicts, both internal and external, in which these complex relations involve the self.
This will be the place to sketch, however briefly and incompletely, some elements of anarchistic social and economic organization.
IV. Omnicentricity, Right and Justice, with an Exploration of Possibilities in the Realm of Anarchistic Ethics.
Up to this point, the focus of the account will be largely descriptive, as we try to sketch out some general tendencies under conditions of anarchy. In the process, however, we will have noted a wide range of potential conflicts and problems more or less endemic to anarchy, without much attempt to propose means for their solution.
The goal here is to propose a very general sort of anarchistic ethics, pragmatic in character and thus subject to ongoing experimental verification and development. The method will involve an engagement with Proudhon’s reframing of right (droit) and justice in his mature works. Returning to the question of omnicentricity, it seems useful in particular to engage with the provocative account of right in Book Two of War and Peace, where we find this definition:
Right, in general, is the recognition of human dignity in all its faculties, attributes and prerogatives. There are thus as many special rights as humans can raise different claims, owing to the diversity of their faculties and of their exercise. As a consequence, the genealogy of human rights will follow that of the human faculties and their manifestations.
At the same time, it seems necessary, given the complexities of this particular work, to pursue the connections between (human) war and “universal antagonism,” which Proudhon recognized as one of the “fundamental laws of the universe” in 1848, in part to decide whether recognition of the other “fundamental law,” which he called “reciprocity” in 1848, but which seems inseparable from his conception of justice, commits us expanding our concerns to address omnicentric right.
Spoiler alert: I believe that the answer is probably “yes,” but that doesn’t strike me as a deal-breaker for anyone for whom anarchy appears as “the beautiful idea.”
This section should address a lot of the FAQs regarding alternatives to government, decision-making mechanisms, etc., even if it appears impossible to answer them in any very prescriptive manner. The goal is much the same as I have pursued in the Anarchy 101 series: a general framing of those questions in anarchistic terms, with the understanding that, in the context of anarchy, solutions will generally be shaped by local conditions, constraints, needs, desires, etc.
Part Two: The Anarchism of the Encounter
I. A Schematic Anarchism, with Applications in the Realms of History and Ideology
Work on “A Schematic Anarchism” has been ongoing for a couple of years now and was a necessary first step in organizing the present study. For those unfamiliar with the previous work, here is a partial summary:
The schematic anarchism is a formula—or as close to a formula as we are likely to come when describing the range of anarchisms. The “exploded view” I have proposed looks like this:
anarchism ↔ (((((an + arche)X)ist)X)ism)
The most important variables in the formula are the arche to be dispensed with and the individual or associated group of individuals (marked by the X) who will craft a response to that perceived problem.
It is an “adjectiveless” anarchism in the sense that the specification and focus all comes from those variables and from the specific environment in which the formula informs a particular anarchism. It is definable, in Proudhon’s sense, because the story-telling and series-constructing only starts once we have to account for a particular instance of anarchism.
I have described the various specific, practical anarchisms as “partial,” following suggestions in Voline’s 1924 essay “On Synthesis,” because a narrowing of focus from anarchy as such to an engagement with a particular archy seems more or less inevitable, if we are taking particular struggles seriously. That assumption then becomes the basis for suggesting that anarchist synthesis might be understood as an additional practice, shared by or distributed among all anarchists, with an aim to retaining a shared connection to the fundamental “beautiful idea” in its fullest forms.
I have suggested here, in a preliminary manner, that a distinction between anarchism as formula and anarchism as ideal is probably necessary if we are to capture both the general sense of the term, based on widely recognizable etymological elements, and its general impact as an expression of extreme, potentially intractable ideas.
Most of what I have described so far is a question of specific, individual formulations—products of individual reason or of interactions on scales where we could, with a bit of work, trace the main interactions involved. Even anarchism-as-ideal, if it to function as a guide in the practice of synthesis, arguably has to be something that individual anarchists conceive in their own terms. All of that construction of anarchisms we discussed in the recent workshop remains a fundamental skill to be learned and honed by anarchists.
Anarchism-in-general—understood as the full range of practical, historical manifestations of anarchist thought and activity—seems to be “adjectiveless” simply because of its imponderable inclusiveness. Unlike the various individual constructions, it is a product of collective forces, on which the various individual contributions may have had more or less impact, but which has its particular character precisely because it exists on far larger scales than those of more clearly individual projects. I am probably still using the term in ways that conflate unlike things: the mass of historical events I tend to call the anarchist past and the more-than-individual conception that might exist in the collective reason proposed by Proudhon. At this stage, that probably isn’t a serious problem. We simply need to recognize that our individual (or closely associated) attempts to grapple with anarchism-in-general in its truly collective sense will almost certainly involve some kind of individual interpretation, reduction or construction.
What should be obvious, even without the indications in this outline, is that, while the material in the earlier chapters has been concerned with anarchy — understood as a category of social relations — and our general responses to the conditions involved, the focus here is on anarchism — understood as an ideology, or cluster of ideologies, as a tradition or traditions, etc. It is a distinction that I hope to emphasize in the composition of Part One, stripping out, as much as possible, appeals to tradition, sometimes employing recognizably anarchist sources to challenge elements of anarchist tradition and ideology. The “neo-Proudhonian” project has always had a bit of “alternate history” character to it and part of the task in the early chapters will be to explore what other sorts of anarchism might have emerged from the middle of the 19th century. But, ultimately, the intention is to use what emerges in that work in order to enrich the existing anarchist tradition.
To that end, it will be necessary to stage an encounter between the largely descriptive account of an “anarchy of the encounter” and anarchism in its historical-traditional form, in order finally to propose the rudiments of an “anarchism of the encounter,” with its associated practices. One difficulty is, of course, that the account of anarchy is a fairly extreme distillation, a schematic of sorts, while historical anarchism resists summary. One means of overcoming the difficulty would be to facilitate the encounter with a distillation of all that messy history and tradition — and that is essentially what the schematic anarchism intends to be.
What remains to be done, in order to demonstrate the utility of the schematic anarchism as a distillation is to complete a number of studies already proposed. I’ll undoubtedly start with a new statement of the “formula,” and then move on to the promised “exploratory typology of anarchisms,” exploring a range of possible types, defined in terms of a number of emphases and contexts. Again, there is no question of an exhaustive catalog, but it ought to be possible to get at least to the “proof of concept” stage, illuminating some aspects of anarchist tradition in what I hope will be a novel manner along the way.
II. Anarchist Practice: Its Scope and Essential Elements
The study begins with Proudhon’s claim that “the social system” can be reduced to “an equation, and consequently a power of collectivity.” Over the course of the work, I hope to demonstrate the senses in which this is true, as well as the extent to which this truth does not necessarily carry us far from the concerns of the historical anarchist tradition. But it is one thing to describe a “system,” another to “distill” an ideology, however successfully, and still another to propose practices capable of advancing a project like anarchism.
In the third and fourth chapters, there will have been occasion to propose “elements of anarchistic social and economic organization,” to lay out some basic strategies for conflict resolution and to specifically suggest some practices intended to replace the present, archic apparatus of “justice.” There will undoubtedly be a number of specific examples, designed to clarify what will inevitably be a very general discussion. I suspect, however, that all of that will still leave lots of questions, which will tend to reduce down to one: What, specifically, do anarchist do?
So we will have to return to that initial claim about the simplicity of the “social system” and ask ourselves if, despite the obvious and enormous complexities involved in the real-world manifestation of this “system,” there might not be an equivalent simplicity in the realm of practice — or at least in the realm of specifically anarchist practice.
Much of anarchist practice, and perhaps the vast majority of it, will involve the anarchization of other practices — or simply the avoidance of archic elements in those practices. As I have said on a variety of occasions, it is not anarchy that builds bridges or binds books, so what is fundamentally anarchist about bridge-building or bookbinding in the context of anarchy will be a privative doing-without, which, in the end, we will have presumably adopted for reasons that are at least as much practical as ideological. In the more or less lengthy transition out of archic social relations, that sort of privative practice will undoubtedly involve a conscious effort and manifest itself as a practice, at least as much as it manifests itself as privative non-practice — but I think that most of us expect the practice of anarchism to be more active than that.
So the question is whether this dominant concern with anarchization can, taking cues from our starting point, perhaps lead to a range of practice as simple, in its way, as the “social system.” The answer — as it appears to me in these early stages, at least — seems to be that in the context of a system built from instances of “equation” and collective power, our practice can be distilled into the general categories of encounter and synthesis.
All of that is undoubtedly a bit vague, although those who have followed my work should recognize most of the elements of the analysis and have some idea of how the elaboration might proceed. I will undoubtedly begin to revise things and fill in the blanks more or less immediately. But it has seemed useful to attempt this first summary of a work that is still very much in progress.
Be the first to comment