Presence: Philosophy, History, and Cultural Theory for the Twenty-First Century

PROLOGUE

Ethan Kleinberg

This volume seeks to investigate the theoretical paradigm known as presence. The odd and wonderful thing about the philosophy of presence is that it attempts to understand, or at least convey, the ways that the past is literally with us in the present in significant and material ways. It is a turn away from the seemingly endless interpretations manufactured by theory and a return to a relationship with the past predicated on our unmediated access to actual things that we can feel and touch and that bring us into contact with the past. There are differing ideas at play as to how the past presses into the present and the scope of the presence effect: that is, the nonproximate presence of persons, of moods, of environment. In short, things that we cannot touch but which nonetheless touch us. As a result, in all variants there is an emphasis on the real and the material. This makes presence a postlinguistic or postdiscursive theory that seeks to challenge current understandings of meaning or interpretation, or both, and for many this entails a rejection of constructivism and textualism via a mode of academic engagement that reestablishes contact with material reality.

But while presence is a movement away from the notion of constructed meaning and toward an engagement with things (the past included) that actually exist, it would be a mistake to assume that it is a return to the positivism or realism that characterized much academic discourse before the linguistic turn. Frank Ankersmit puts it this way: "It is certainly distressing that the liberation of philosophy from the narrow straits of transcendentalism that we may find in their [Jacques Derrida, Hans-Georg Gadamer, Richard Rorty] writings did change so desperately little that it left the world of history, of representation, of our experience of art, music, and of the more existential aspects of the condition humaine as unexplained and devoid of philosophical interest as had been the case in the heyday of logical positivism."¹ Indeed, in some ways it is the failures of these earlier movements that allowed for the ascendancy of the later ones. But this is because we have long been led astray by the phenomenon of ‘meaning’—first by pursuing it, then by forswearing it.² So while on one level presence is presented as a counter to traditional understandings of meaning, it is also presented as a response to the attack on meaning (Whitean representationalism, Derridean deconstruction, Gadamerian hermeneutics, Rortian contructivism) that conserves the category as essential for understanding and communication but demotes its status in terms of our relation to the past and other nonproximate, though nevertheless present, conditions.

Over the past five years, presence has developed into one of the most important trends (and theoretical lenses) in the philosophy of history and the humanities. Much of this development has taken place in the pages of the journal History and Theory through numerous articles engaging presence as well as a special forum on the subject featuring Frank Ankersmit, Michael Bentley, Ewa Domanska, Hans Gumbrecht, and Eelco Runia. In Ankersmit’s magisterial and provocative work Sublime Historical Experience he presents the movement as a shift away from language toward experience in the attempt to reclaim meaning from the clutches of language and representationalism.³ But interest in, and the possibilities for, this theoretical paradigm has moved well beyond the specialized field of the philosophy of history. Although the movement’s philosophical origins can be traced to earlier thinkers such as Martin Heidegger and Gadamer it came to a fuller articulation in Jean-Luc Nancy’s work from 1993, The Birth to Presence.⁴ More recently, Hans Gumbrecht’s book, Production of Presence: What Meaning Cannot Convey, situated presence in a dialogue about the role and place of the humanities in the twenty-first century and now the immanent, material, and actual implications of the presence model continue to stir great interest from scholars in cultural studies, political theory, and media studies.

This book expands on this trend by providing the first multidisciplinary set of chapters on presence. While maintaining sensitivity to, and awareness of, the connection between the presence model and its philosophical origins, this book extrapolates fresh templates of ideas drawing on history, sociology, literature, cultural theory, media studies, photography, memory, and pol itical theory. Such treatment provides a wider and more eclectic scope to the possible applications of the presence paradigm that opens the model to scholars in a wider range of fields and disciplines. Beyond the multidisciplinary approach, this book is also the first venture to provide a serious critique of presence in its attempt to foster genuine intellectual debate and discussion that we hope will propel and refine the theoretical model and disciplinary possibilities of presence. In what follows I hope to situate the contributions to the book so as to provide the reader with a roadmap of the ways that the chapters compiled engage and expand upon the presence paradigm.

The book is loosely divided into three groups. The first section provides a critical overview of the presence paradigm that informs the reader of its origins and basic precepts while offering original innovations as to where this movement might go. Thus we begin with three critical engagements, one from the perspective of intellectual history, one from that of literary criticism, and one from the philosophy of history (though all blur the lines between traditional disciplinary scholarship). In my chapter, "Presence in Absentia" I follow the ghosts of Jacob Marley and Christmas Present in Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol to provide the reader with an intellectual history of the current incarnation of the presence paradigm that explores and articulates some of its key claims in the work of thinkers such as Ankersmit, Gumbrecht, Domanska, and Runia. I then trace the claims back to some of the earliest articulations of the model in the work of Runia and, in so doing, I parse out the role of thinkers such as Giambattista Vico and Sigmund Freud in the service of presence. In the end I return to Dickens to offer some critiques and counters to the movement. In Vincent Pecora’s contribution, Be Here Now: Mimesis and the History of Representation, Pecora focuses on the work of art, poetry, and the place of aesthetics in understanding the relation of presence and representation. By engaging with the works of Gumbrecht and Elaine Scarry, Pecora considers whether the turn to presence is a return to the modernist agon of mimesis versus representation in which the discovery of the viability of concepts such as beauty and presence are primarily a rediscovery of the lure of a redemptive mimesis in the face of a fallen world of representation. Mark Bevir’s Meaning, Truth, and Phenomenology provides a deep philosophical investigation that draws the work of Derrida into our discussion in Bevir’s attempt to reconstitute phenomenology after deconstruction and presence. Here we see that Bevir shares the critique of Derrida and other postmodern theorists such as Hayden White offered by thinkers such as Ankersmit, Gumbrecht, and Runia but not the alternatives. When Bevir turns to presence it is from a postfoundationalist perspective.

The second section allows the reader to build on the exposition and critique offered in the first by offering three original case studies that utilize presence to investigate the role and place of photographs in our relation with the past, with memory, and with the other. In Of Photographs, Puns, and Presence, Susan A. Crane’s playful approach belies her serious investigation into the ways that historians use photographs as she questions how photographs both establish and overcome categorical definitions of history through presence. Crane engages with the theorists of presence but also casts her gaze back to the work of Wilhelm Dilthey to provide a philosophy of history that supports appreciation for a mind-constructed world of presence. In this way she endeavors to move photographs from the category of self-evident historical object and into a more metaphysically risky realm of historical knowledge. Roger Simon’s contribution, "The Public Rendition of Images Médusée: Exhibiting Souvenir Photographs Taken at Lynchings in America, explores the question of how might the presence encountered in the display and viewer reception of a series of lynching (or other atrocity) photographs be understood as a force to thought and action. This then provokes the subsequent question as to the ways these displays can be either progressive, in leading the viewer to overcome ethical lapses of the past, or debilitating by, distracting the viewer’s gaze away from atrocities committed in the present (or both). As Simon works through these questions he also examines the way that the exhibition logic organizing the public presentation of these photos is implicated in the viewer’s response. John Michael, by contrast, looks to one specific photograph to approach the Presence of Immigrants, or Why Mexicans and Arabs Look Alike. In his chapter, Michael marshals the focus on aesthetics as an embrace of presence" and a rejection of meaning that Gumbrecht champions as a program for literary studies to ask about the role aesthetics plays in the geopolitical world. Swiveling between his reading of a photograph of a family in front of the Gaza-Egypt border and that of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncles Tom’s Cabin, Michael challenges the reader to consider a genealogy that associates ethics and aesthetics via the presence of others. In so doing Michael argues that at least since David Hume and Adam Smith, the presence of others implied in the question of ethics has entailed aesthetics in a way closely akin to what Gumbrecht means by presence.

The final section segues naturally from Michael’s discussion of the presence of others by exploring the ways that the presence paradigm can provide an opening to the other in the realm of literary studies, postcolonial history, and cultural studies. The overall focus of this section can perhaps best be summed up by the title of Ashcroft’s chapter, Transcultural Presence. Ashcroft seeks to discuss a production of presence that is not so much a moment of aesthetic intensity as it is a moment of cultural transformation. To do so he looks to postcolonial poetry in translation to demonstrate how the construct of transcultural presence, developed through analysis of reading, proposes a more constructive dialogue, a zone of contact that produces a new cultural space based on the possibility of meaning beyond interpretation. The payoff for such an approach, Ashcroft demonstrates, is that otherness is encouraged but not captured in the act of interpretative writing. In coeditor Ranjan Ghosh’s contribution, ‘It Disturbs Me with a Presence’: Hindu History and What Meaning Cannot Convey, Ghosh argues that presence is complicit in the understanding of Hindu history and the unfolding ramifications of the contemporary essentialist and sectarian Hindu attitude toward the other. By placing the concept of presence into dialogue with the Indian concept of history, or itihasa, Ghosh demonstrates some areas in our understanding of religion, tradition, and historiography where presence manages to convey what meaning under the Western principles of historical understanding has failed to comprehend. Suman Gupta’s The Presence and Conceptualization of Contemporary Protesting Crowds completes this section as Gupta brings the category of presence to bear on recent and current political events. Gupta argues that contemporary crowd formations, especially those that gather to express political protests, often fracture the unity of conventional ontological assumptions about what a crowd is or may be. Beginning with early sociologi cal accounts of crowds by Gustave le Bon and Georg Simmel, Gupta reevaluates the definition and use of crowd by pressing into the ways that transnational massings in 2003 and the gatherings of crowds that characterized the Arab Spring of 2010 have made manifest the discontinuities between mainstream media representations of the crowd as an identifiable mass and the self-understanding of social media groupings as transnational presence.

Finally, Ranjan Ghosh’s epilogue reflects on the poetics of presence and the promise of the movement for scholarship to come.

Thus, whereas some chapters, such as Mark Bevir’s, are deeply philosophical in nature, others, like those of Vincent Pecora, Ethan Kleinberg, and Bill Ashcroft, work in the interstices of literature, history, and philosophy. Where Ranjan Ghosh’s chapter deals with the infusion of presence in our understanding of Indian history, the work of John Michael brings concepts of foreignness and otherness home to reflect on American social practices. In the work of Susan A. Crane and that of Roger Simon we see strikingly different notions of the place and utility of photographs for understanding and working through our relation with the past. And Suman Gupta’s contribution points the way toward analyses of the future as one could imagine his engagement with the presence of the (virtual) crowd applied to the netizens of China or Occupy Wall Street.

It should also be noted that the aim of this collection is not to construct some sort of orthodox methodology or definition of presence but rather to ask scholars from differing disciplines and approaches to see what they can do with this paradigm. For some of the contributors, such as myself, this involves a critical engagement with previous articulations of the presence paradigm. For others, it involves a reimagination of how this real and immediate engagement with the nonproximate object that is the past might be applied to our relationship and understanding of other nonproximate objects or conditions. Finally, for some it involves an attempt to construct a synthesis between the discursive strategies of theorists such as Derrida and the desire to reconnect with the material and the real as announced in presence. What these diverse but overlapping chapters have in common is a shared commitment to investigate this postlinguistic or postdiscursive attempt to return to the real, to material objects and conditions, and to push the paradigm of presence beyond its current uses and incarnations in pursuit of new philosophies, histories, and cultural theories for the twenty-first century.

1

PRESENCE IN ABSENTIA

Ethan Kleinberg

The past is never dead. It’s not even past.

WILLIAM FAULKNER, Requiemfor a Nun

If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet’s Father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-age gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot—say Saint Paul’s Churchyard for instance—literally to astonish his son’s weak mind.

CHARLES DICKENS, A Christmas Carol

Marley was dead: to begin with.¹ So opens Dickens’s classic tale of Christmas redemption, and it is with the ghost of Jacob Marley that I want to begin this exploration of the concept of presence in relation to the project of history. Dickens’s point is that if time were not out of joint, if Marley was not dead and we were not absolutely sure of his ghostly, spectral, and immaterial nature, then nothing wonderful could come of the story. To be sure, Marley is not the only ghost in Dickens’s A Christmas Carol but the other three have a strikingly different nature. For Dickens, Marley is the only ghost whose death concerns us because he is the only ghost who is out of time. This is to say that unlike the ghost of Marley, the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future appear to be well jointed in terms of our classic understanding of temporality. The past precedes the present, which is followed by the future, and each is announced by the ordered sounding of the clock. But while these three Ghosts are bound by this temporal structure they too are each distinct. Not unlike the past itself, the Ghost of Christmas Past is a figure that fluctuated in its distinctness: being now a thing with one arm, now with one leg, now with twenty legs, now a pair of legs without a head, now a head without a body: of which dissolving parts, no outline would be visible in the dense gloom wherein they melted away. And in the very wonder of this, it would be itself again; distinct and clear as ever. In the gloom the Ghost of Christmas Past emits a bright clear jet of light from the crown of its head though it also possesses a great extinguisher of a cap.² The futural Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come is a figure shrouded in a deep black garment which concealed its head, its face, its form and whose mysterious presence filled him [Scrooge] with a solemn dread.³ By contrast, the Ghost of Christmas Present is a gregarious fellow, a jolly Giant, glorious to see seated before a mighty blaze that roared up the chimney upon a kind of throne made up of turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince pies, plum puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry cheeked apples, juicy oranges, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam.⁴ And here we should think about the way Hans Gumbrecht differentiates presence effects from meaning effects in that presence effects appeal exclusively to the senses.⁵ A more sensuous or welcoming figure could not be imagined: ‘Come in!’ exclaimed the Ghost. ‘Come in! and know me better, man!’

Thus even beyond the material comfort one receives in his presence, there seems more to be gained from the Ghost of Christmas Present than from the others. The past is gone and the future is yet to come. It is only in the present that one can actually do things; that one can change in ways that of course cannot rectify the past but that can serve the future. This is precisely what happens to Scrooge and in this light one can certainly see the attraction of a focus on presence and the present: on a philosophy of history that eschews the endless turning over of the past or fruitless speculation on the future in favor of an emphasis on actual things that are present here and now. In the words of Eelco Runia, ‘Presence,’ in my view, is ‘being in touch’—either literally or figuratively—with people, things, events, and feelings that made you into the person you are.⁶ Thus before and after meet in the very real place of the present, safe from the brackish ontological waters of the past and the uncertainty and anxiety of the future.⁷ One might say that the present is what it is and in this respect the present distinguishes itself from the past and the future because it positions itself as a category of space and not time.⁸ As such the interpretive paradigm of presence takes priority over the other temporal modes because it investigates the place where a whisper of life is breathed into what has become routine and clichéd—it is fully realizing things instead of just taking them for granted.⁹ It is a place of change and a place of redemption or so it appears.¹⁰ This certainly seems to be the case for Scrooge who fully realized things that he had previously taken for granted that fine Christmas morning. For Scrooge as for thinkers such as Frank Ankersmit, Michael Bentley, Ewa Domanska, Hans Gumbrecht, and Eelco Runia the present is where they want to be and the present of presence is a place of experience and unmediated contact with material things freed from the ambivalence and multiplicity of recollection, interpretation, and narration embodied in the shape shifting Ghost of Christmas Past and protected from the deathly specter (or specter of inevitable death) of the future embodied in the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Thus one can understand Scrooge’s compulsion to retreat to the inviting chamber of the present and away from the specters of death and absence that haunt both his past and future, but on what is our current compulsion for presence predicated?¹¹

The Return of the Real

For Eelco Runia, the publication of Hayden White’s Metahistory was a watershed moment that led to a process in which the philosophy of history was emptied of reflection on what had actually happened in the past…and inaugurated the heyday of ‘metahistoriography.’¹² Runia laments the ways that the historical profession became obsessed with the construction of narratives about the past at the expense of losing touch with the past itself. Gumbrecht and Ankersmit expand this critique by enlarging the field to include other figures and movements of the linguistic turn. Gumbrecht tells us that he has

grown weary of this intellectual one-way traffic as it has been based on and upheld by a certain narrow and yet totalizing understanding of hermeneutics. I also have long experienced the absolutism of all post-linguistic turn varieties of philosophy as intellectually limiting, and I have not found much consolation in what I want to characterize as the linguistic existentialism of deconstruction, that is the sustained complaint and melancholia (in its endless variations) about the alleged incapacity of language to refer to the things of the world.¹³

Thus, Gumbrecht believes that the current emphasis on the production of meaning via language that dominates higher academia, the culture of interpretation as he calls it, has led to intellectual relativism and our estrangement from the past.¹⁴ This is to say that the quest to understand how historical meaning is constructed led to a subsequent assault on meaning that has rendered it virtually meaningless. In the last three or four decades—philosophers of history have tried to purge their discipline of attempts to establish meaning.¹⁵ Runia, Gumbrecht, and Ankersmit all seek to move beyond this climate of constructivism and to return to what is real. Ankersmit describes a shift away from language toward experience and attempts to reclaim meaning from the clutches of language and representationalism.¹⁶ To Ankersmit’s mind, philosophy of history, in the last half century, has predominantly been an attempt to translate the success of philosophy of language to historical writing but ‘Theory’ and meaning no longer travel in the same direction; meaning has now found a new and more promising traveling companion in experience.¹⁷ All three call for a turn away from the seemingly endless interpretations manufactured by theory and a return to a relationship with the past predicated on our unmediated access to actual things that we can feel and touch and that bring us into contact with the past. Rather than having to think, always and endlessly, what else there could be, we sometimes seem to connect with a layer in our existence that simply wants the things of the world close to our skin.¹⁸ In the same vein, Domanska states: I am trying to rethink the material aspects of traces of the past in a context other than semiotics, discourse theory, or representation theory, and to focus the analysis of those traces on an aspect that is marginalized or neglected by traditional notions of the source. That is, I mean to focus on the materiality or thingness of the trace rather than on its textuality and content.¹⁹ In this sense, the paradigm of presence is an explicit rejection of discursive theory and can be seen as part of a larger backlash against postmodernism and the perceived dominance of language.²⁰ It is an attempt to reconnect meaning with something real. The most obvious targets are thinkers such as Jacques Derrida, Richard Rorty, Hayden White, and those historical theorists who have advocated a constructivist or deconstructive approach to the study of history via the investigation into language (textuality and content).²¹ But it is also indicative of a larger social unease about secularism, proceduralism, and a social contract that is no longer guaranteed by either God or a fixed human nature. If all there is language all the way down, then there is nothing to assure the validity of the contract. I have argued elsewhere that as we grow less and less confident in humankind’s ability to provide a moral or ethical scaffold to guide us, we are left searching for a new authority to validate that which humankind has surveyed and measured.²² This desire for stability has become all the more acute in the wake of September 11, 2001.²³ The rise of presence as a category of historical reflection in its more and less sublime incarnations is a direct response to this growing unease that seeks to grab the past and hold it in the present to help us divine guidance for the future. This is what Runia describes as his "focus not on the past but on the present, not on history as what is irremediably gone, but on history as an ongoing process and the basis for his claim that the concept of presence is a convenient way to put an edge on the issue of how exactly the past can be said to exist."²⁴

Presence is a movement away from a constructed past and toward a past that actually exists. But it would be a mistake to assume that it is a return to the positivism or realism that characterized the philosophy of history before the linguistic turn. Ankersmit puts it this way: "It is certainly distressing that the liberation of philosophy from the narrow straights of transcendentalism that we may find in their [Derrida, Hans-Georg Gadamer, Rorty] writings did change so desperately little that it left the world of history, of representation, of our experience of art, music, and of the more existential aspects of the condition humaine as unexplained and devoid of philosophical interest as had been the case in the heyday of logical positivism."²⁵ Indeed, in some ways it is the failures of these earlier movements that allowed for the ascendancy of the later ones. But this is because in the philosophy of history we have long been led astray by the phenomenon of ‘meaning’—first by pursuing it, then by forswearing it.²⁶