hydrarchist writes:

"Intellectuals and Power"

A Conversation between Michel Foucault and Gilles Deleuze

MICHEL FOUCAULT: A Maoist once said to me: "I can easily
understand Sartre's purpose in siding with us; I can understand
his goals and his involvement in politics; I can partially under-
stand your position, since you've always been concerned with
the problem of confinement. But Deleuze is an enigma." I was
shocked by this statement because your position has always
seemed particularly clear to me.
GILLES DELEUZE: Possibly we're in the process of experiencing
a new relationship between theory and practice. At one time,
practice was considered an application of theory, a consequence;
at other times, it bad an opposite sense and it was thought to
inspire theory, to be indispensable for the creation of future
theoretical forms. In any event, their relationship was understood in terms of a process of totalization. For us, however, the question is seen in a different light. The relationships between theory and practice are far more partial and fragmentary. on
one side, a theory is always local and related to a limited field, and it is applied in another sphere, more or less distant from it. The relationship which holds in the application of a theory is never one of resemblance. Moreover, from the moment a theory moves into its proper domain, it begins to encounter obstacles, walls, and blockages which require its relay by another type of discourse (it is through this other discourse that it eventually passes to a different domain). Practice is a set of relays from one theoretical point to another, and theory is a relay from one practice to another. No theory can develop without eventually encountering a wall, and practice is necessary for piercing this wall. For example, your work began in the theoretical analysis of the context of confinement, specifically with respect to the psychiatric asylum within a capitalist society in the nineteenth century. Then you became aware of the necessity for confined individuals to speak for themselves, to create a relay (it's possible, on the contrary, that your function was already that of a
relay in relation to them); and this group is found in prisons -- these individuals are imprisoned. It was on this basis that You organized the information group for prisons (G.I.P.)(1), the object being to create conditions that permit the prisoners themselves to speak. It would be absolutely false to say, as the Maoist implied, that in moving to this practice you were applying your theories. This was not an application; nor was it a project for initiating reforms or an enquiry in the traditional sense. The emphasis was altogether different: a system of relays within a larger sphere, within a multiplicity of parts that are both theoretical and practical. A theorising intellectual, for us, is no longer a subject, a representing or representative consciousness. Those who act and struggle are no longer represented, either by a group or a union that appropriates the right to stand as their conscience. Who speaks and acts? It is always a multiplicity, even within the person who speaks and acts. All of us are "groupuscules."(2) Representation no longer exists; there's only action-theoretical action and practical action which serve as relays and form networks.

FOUCAULT: It seems to me that the political involvement of the
intellectual was traditionally the product of two different aspects of his activity: his position as an intellectual in bourgeois society, in the system of capitalist production and within the ideology it produces or imposes (his exploitation, poverty, rejection, persecution, the accusations of siibversive activity, immorality, etc); and his proper discourse to the extent that it revealed a partictular truth, that it disclosed political relationships where they were unsuspected. These two forms of politicization did not exclude each other, but, being of a different order, neither did they coincide. Some were classed as "outcasts" and others as "socialists." During moments of violent reaction on the part of the authorities, these two positions were readily fused: after 1848, after the Commune, after 1940. The intellectual was rejected and persecuted at the precise moment when the facts became incontrovertible, when it was forbidden to say that the emperor had no clothes. The intellectual spoke the truth to those who had yet to see it, in the name of those who were forbidden to speak the truth: he was conscience, consciousness,and eloquence. In the most recent upheaval (3) the intellectual discovered that the masses no longer need him to gain knowledge: they know perfectly well, without illusion; they know far better than he and they are certainly capable of expressing themselves. But there exists a system of power which blocks, prohibits, and invalidates this discourse and this knowledge, a power not only found in the manifest authority of censorship, but one that profoundly and subtly penetrates an entire societal network. Intellectuals are themselves agents of this system of power-the idea of their responsibility for "consciousness" and discourse forms part of the system. The intellectual's role is no longer to place himself "somewhat ahead and to the side" in order to express the stifled truth of the collectivity; rather, it is to struggle against the forms
of power that transform him into its object and instrument in
the sphere of "knowledge," "truth," "consciousness," and
"discourse. "(4)

In this sense theory does not express, translate, or serve to apply practice: it is practice. But it is local and regional, as you said, and not totalizing. This is a struggle against power, a struggle aimed at revealing and undermining power where it is most
invisible and insidious. It is not to "awaken consciousness" that
we struggle (the masses have been aware for some time that
consciousness is a form of knowledge; and consciousness as the
basis of subjectivity is a prerorogative of the bourgeoisie), but to
sap power, to take power; it is an activity conducted alongside
those who struggle for power, and not their illumination from a
safe distance. A "theory " is the regional system of this struggle.

DELEUZE: Precisely. A theory is exactly like a box of tools. It
has nothing to do with the signifier. It must be useful. It must
function. And not for itself. If no one uses it, beginning with the
theoretician himsclf (who then ceases to be a theoretician),
then the theory is worthless or the moment is inappropriate.
We don't revise a theory, but construct new ones; we have no
choice but to make others. It is strange that it was Proust, an
author thought to be a pure intellectual, who said it so clearly:
treat my book as a pair of glasses directed to the outside; if they
don't suit you, find another pair; I leave it to you to find your
own instrument, which is necessarily an investminent for combat.
A theory does not totalize; it is an instrument for multiplication
and it also multiplies itself. It is in the nature of power to
totalize and it is your position. and one I fully agree with, that
theory is by nature opposed to power. As soon as a theory is
enmeshed in a particular point, we realize that it will never
possess the slightest practical importance unless it can erupt in
a totally different area. This is why the notion of reform is so
stupid and hypocritical. Either reforms are designed by people
who claim to be representative, who make a profession of speaking for
others, and they lead to a division of power, to a distribution of this new power which is consequently increased by a double repression; or they arise from the complaints and demands of those concerned. This latter instance is no longer a reform but revolutionary action that questions (expressing the full force of its partiality) the totality of power and the hierarchy that maintains it. This is surely evident in prisons: the smallest and most insignificant of the prisoners' demands can puncture Pleven's pseudoreform (5). If the protests of children were heard in kindergarten, if their questions were attended to, it would be enough to explode the entire educational system. There is no denying that our social system is totally without tolerance; this accounts for its extreme fragility in all its aspects and also its need for a global form of repression. In my opinion, you were the first-in your books and in the practical sphere-to teach us something
absolutely fundamental: the indignity of speaking for others. We
ridiculed representation and said it was finished, but we failed
to draw the consequences of this "theoretical" conversion-to
appreciate the theoretical fact that only those directly concerned
can speak in a practical way on their own behalf.

FOUCAULT: And when the prisoners began to speak, they possessed an individual theory of prisons, the penal system, and
justice. It is this form of discourse which ultimately matters, a
discourse against power, the counter-discourse of prisoners and
those we call delinquents-and not a theory about delinquency.
The problem of prisons is local and marginal: not more than
100,000 people pass through prisons in a year. In France at
present, between 300,000 and 400,000 have been to prison. Yet
this marginal problem seems to disturb everyone. I was surprised
that so many who had not been to prison could become interested
in its problems, surprised that all those who bad never heard
the discourse of inmates could so easily understand them. How
do we explain this? Isn't it because, in a general way, the penal
system is the form in which power is most obviously seen as
power? To place someone in prison, to confine him tl
deprive him of food and heat, to prevent him from leaving,
making love, etc.-this is certainly the most frenzied manifestation of power imaginable. The other day I was speaking to a
woman who bad been in prison and she was saying: "Imagine,
that at the age of forty, I was punished one day with a meal of
dry bread." What is striking about this story is not the childishness of the exercise of power but the cynicism with which power
is exercised as power, in the most archaic, puerile, infantile man-
ner. As children we learn what it means to be reduced to bread
and water. Prison is the only place where power is manifested
in its naked state, in its most excessive form, and where it is
justified as moral force. "I am within my rights to punish you
because you know that it is criminal to rob and kill . . . ... What
is fascinating about prisons is that, for once, power doesn't hide
or mask itself; it reveals itself as tyranny pursued into the tiniest
details; it is cynical and at the same time pure and entirely
"juustified," because its practice can be totally formulated within
the framework of morality. Its brutal tyranny consequently ap-
pears as the serene domination of Good over Evil, of order over
disorder.

DELEUZE: Yes, and the reverse is equally true. Not only are
prisoners treated like children, but children are treated like
prisoners. Children are submitted to an infantilization which is
alien to them. On this basis, it is undeniable that schools re-
semble prisons and that factories are its closest approximation.
Look at the entrance to a Renault plant, or anywhere else for
that matter: three tickets to get into the washroom during the
day. You found an eighteenth-century text by Jeremy Bentham
proposing prison reforms; in the name of this exalted reform, be
establishes a circular system where the renovated prison serves
as a model and where the individual passes imperceptibly from
school to the factory, from the factory to prison and vice versa.
This is the essence of the reforming impulse, of reformed repre-
sentation. On the contrary, when people begin to speak and act
on their own behalf, they do not oppose their representation (even as its reversal) to another; they do not oppose a new representativity to the false representativity of power. For example, I remember your saying that there is no popular justice against justice; the reckoning takes place at another level.

FOUCAULT: I think that it is not simply the idea of better and
more equitable forms of justice that underlies the people's batred
of the judicial system, of judges, courts, and prisons, but-aside
from this and before anything else-the singular perception that
power is always exercised at the expense of the people. The
antijudicial struggle is a struggle against power and I don't think
that it is a struggle against injustice, against the injustice of the
judicial system, or a struggle for improving the efficiency of its
institutions. It is particularly striking that in outbreaks of rioting
and revolt or in seditious movements the judicial system has
been as compelling a target as the financial structure, the army,
and other forms of power. My hypothesis -but it is merely an
hypothesis- is that popular courts, such as those found in the
Revolution, were a means for the lower middle class, who were
allied with the masses, to salvage and recapture the initiative in
the struggle against the judicial system. To achieve this, they
proposed a court system based on the possibility of equitable
justice, where a judge might render a just verdict. The identifiable
form of the court of law belongs to the bourgeois ideology of
justice.

DELEUZE: On the basis of our actual situation, power emphatically develops a total or global vision. That is, all the current forms of repression (the racist repression of immigrant
workers, repression in the factories, in the educational system, and
the general repression of youth) are easily totalized from the
point of view of power. We should not only seek the unity of
these forms in the reaction to May '68, but more appropriately,
in the concerted preparation and organization of the near future,
French capitalism now relies on a "margin" of unemployment
and has abandoned the liberal and paternal mask that promised
full employment. In this perspective, we begin to see the unity
of the forms of repression: restrictions on immigration, once it is
acknowledged that the most difficult and thankless jobs go to
immigrant workers-repression in the factories, because the
French must reacquire the "taste" for increasingly harder work;
the struggle against youth and the repression of the educational
system, because police repression is more active when there is
less need for young people in the work force. A wide range of
professionals (teachers, psychiatrists, educators of all kinds, etc.)
will be called upon to exercise functions that have traditionally
belonged to the police. This is something you predicted long
ago, and it was thought impossible at the time: the reinforcement
of all the structures of confinement. Against this global policy of
power, we initiate localized counter-responses, skirmishes, active
and occasionally preventive defenses. We have no need to
totalize that which is invariably totalized on the side of power;
if we were to move in this direction, it would mean restoring the
representative forms of centralism and a hierarchical structure.
We must set up lateral affiliations and an entire system of net-
works and popular bases; and this is especially difficult. In any
case, we no longer define reality as a continuation of politics in
the traditional sense of competition and the distribution of power,
through the so-called representative agencies of the Communist
Party or the General Workers Union(6). Reality is what actually
happens in factories, in schools, in barracks, in prisons, in police
stations. And this action carries a type of information which is
altogether different from that found in newspapers (this explains
the kind of information carried by the Agence de Press
Liberation (7).'

FOUCAULT: Isn't this difficulty of finding adequate forms of
struggle a result of the fact that we continue to ignore the problem of power?
After all, we had to wait until the nineteenth century before we began to understand the nature of exploitation, and to this day, we have yet to f ally comprehend the nature of power. It may be that Marx and Freud cannot satisfy our desire for understanding this enigmatic thing which we call power, which is at once visible and invisible, present and hidden,
ubiquitous. Theories of government and the traditional analyses
of their mechanisms certainly don't exhaust the field where power
is exercised and where it functions. The question of power re-
mains a total eingma. Who exercises power? And in what sphere?
We now know with reasonable certainty who exploits others,
who receives the profits, which people are involved, and we
know how these funds are reinvested. But as for power . . . We
know that it is not in the hands of those who govern. But, of
course, the idea of the "ruling class" has never received an
adequate formulation, and neither have other terms, such as "to
dominate ... .. to rule ... .. to govern," etc. These notions are far too
fluid and require analysis. We should also investigate the limits
imposed on the exercise of power-the relays through which it
operates and the extent of its influence on the often insignificant
aspects of the hierarchy and the forms of control, surveillance,
prohibition, and constraint. Everywhere that power exists, it is
being exercised. No one, strictly speaking, has an official right to
power; and yet it is always excited in a particular direction, with
some people on one side and some on the other. It is often dif-
ficult to say who holds power in a precise sense, but it is easy to
see who lacks power. If the reading of your books (from
Nietzsche to what I anticipate in Capitalism and Schizophrenia (8)
has been essential for me, it is because they seem to go very far
in exploring this problem: under the ancient theme of meaning,
of the sigiiifier and the signified, etc., you have developed the
question of power, of the inequality of powers and their struggles. Each struggle develops around a particular source of power (any of the countless, tiny sources- a small-time boss, the manager of "H.L.M.,"' a prison warden, a judge, a union representative, the editor-in-chief of a newspaper). And if pointing out these sources-denouncing and speaking out-is to be a part of the struggle, it is not because they were previously unknown. Rather, it is because to speak on this subject, to force the institutionalized networks of information to listen, to produce names, to point the finger of accusation, to find targets, is the first step in the reversal of power and the initiation of new struggles against existing forms of power. if the discourse of inmates or prison doctors constitutes a form of struggle, it is because they confiscate, at least temporarily, the power to speak on
prison conditions-at present, the exclusive property of prison
administrators and their cronies in reform groups. The discourse
of struggle is not opposed to the unconscious, but to the secre-
tive. It may not seem like much; but what if it turned out to be
more than we expected? A whole series of niisunderstandings
relates to things that are "bidden," "repressed," and "unsaid";
and they permit the cheap "psychoanalysis" of the proper objects
of struggle. It is perhaps more difficult to unearth a secret than
the unconscious. The two themes frequently encountered in the
recent past, that "writing gives rise to repressed elements" and
that "writing is necessarily a subversive activity," seem to betray
a number of operations that deserve to be severely denounced.

DELEUZE: With respect to the problem you posed: it is clear
who exploits, who profits, and who governs, but power iverthe-
less remains something more diffuse. I would venture the follow-
ing hypothesis: the thrust of Marxism was to define the problem
essentially in terms of interests (power is held by a ruling class
defined by its interests). The question immediately arises: how
is it that people whose interests are not being served can strictly
support the existing power structure by demanding a piece of the
action? Perhaps, this is because in terms of investmens, whether
economic or unconscious, interest is not the final answer; there
are investments of desire that function in a more profound and
diffuse manner than our interests dictate. But of course, we never
desire against our interests, because interest always follows and
finds itself where desire has placed it. We cannot shut out the
scream of Reich: the masses were not deceived; at a particular
time, they actually wanted a fascist regime! There are investments
of desire that mold and distribute power, that make it the
property of the policeman as much as of the prime minister; in
this context, there is no qualtiative difference between the power
wielded by the policeman and the prime minister. Ile nature of
these investments of desire in a social group explains why
political parties or unions, which might have or should have rev-
olutionary investments in the name of class interests, are so often
reform oriented or absolutely reactionary on the level of desire.

FOUCAULT: As you say, the relationship between desire, power,
and interest are more complex than we ordinarily think, and it
is not necessarily those who exercise power who have an interest
in its execution; nor is it always possible for those with vested
interests to exercise power. Moreover, the desire for power
establishes a singular relationship between power and interest.
It may happen that the masses, during fascist periods, desire
that certain people assume power, people with whom they are
unable to identify since these individuals exert power against the
masses and at their expense, to the extreme of their death, their
sacrifice, their massacre. Nevertheless, they desire this particular
power; they want it to be exercised. This play of desire, power,
and interest has received very little attention. It was a long time
before we began to understand exploitation; and desire has had
and continues to have a long history. It is possible that the strug-
gles now taking place and the local, regional, and discontinuous
theories that derive from these struggles and that are indissociable from them stand at the threshold of our discovery of the
manner in which power is exercised.

DELEUZE: In this context, I must return to the question:
the present revolutionary movement has created multiple centers,
and not as the result of weakness or insufficiency, since a certain
kind of totalization pertains to power and the forces of reaction.
(Vietnam, for instance, is an impressive example of localized
counter-tactics). But bow are we to define the networks, the
transversal links between these active and discontinuous points,
from one country to another or within a single country?

FOUCAULT: The question of geographical discontinuity which
you raise might mean the following: as soon as we struggle
against exploitation, the proletariat not only leads the struggle
but also defines its targets, its methods, and the places and in-
struments for confrontation; and to ally oneself with the pro-
letariat is to accept its positions, its ideology, and its motives
for combat. This means total identification. But if the fight is
directed against power, then all those on whom power is ex-
ercised to their detriment, all who find it intolerable, can begin
the struggle on their own terrain and on the basis of their
proper activity (or passivity). In engaging in a struggle that
concerns their own interests, whose objectives they clearly
understand and whose methods only they can determine, they
enter into a revolutionary process. They naturally enter as allies
of the proletariat, because power is exercised the way it is in
order to maintain capitalist exploitation. They genuinely serve
the cause of the proletariat by fighting in those places they find
themselves oppressed. Women, prisoners, conscripted
soldiers, hospital patients, and homosexuals have now begun a
specific struggle against the particularized power, the con-
straints and controls, that are exerted over them. Such struggles
are actually involved in the revolutionary movement to the
degree that they are radical, uncompromising and nonreformist,
and refuse any attempt at arriving at a new disposition of the
same power with, at best, a change of masters. And these move-
ments are linked to the revolutionary movement of the proletariat
to the extent that they fight against the controls and constraints
which serve the same system of power.

In this sense, the overall picture presented by the struggle is
certainly not that of the totalization you mentioned earlier, this
theoretical totalization under the guise of "truth." The generality
of the struggle specifically derives from the system of power
itself, from all the forms in which power is exercised and applied.

DELEUZE: And which we are unable to approach in any of its
applications without revealing its diffuse character, so that we
are necessarily led--on the basis of the most insignificant de-
mand-to the desire to blow it up completely. Every revolution-
ary attack or defense, however partial, is linked in this way to
the workers' struggle.

This discussion was recorded March 4, 1972; and it was published
in a special issue of L'Arc (No. 49, pp. 3-10), dedicated to Gilles
Deleuze. It is reprinted here by permission of L'Arc. (All footnotes
supplied by the editor.)

1. "Groupe d'information de prisons": Foucault's two most recent
publications (I, Pierre Riviere and Surveiller et Punir) result from
this association.

2. Cf. above "Theatrum Philosophicum," p. 185.

3. May 1968, popularly known as the "events of May."

4. See L'Ordre du discours, pp. 47-53.

5, Rene Pleven was the prime minister of France in the early 1950.

6. "Confederation Generale de Travailleurs."

7. Liberation News Agency.

8. Nietzsche et la Philosophie (Paris: P.U.F., 1962) and Capitalisme
et schizophrenie, vol. 1, 'Anti-Oedipus, in collaboration with F. Guattari (Paris: Editions de Minuit, 1912). Neither book has been translated into English.

9. Habitations à Loyer Modéré - moderate rental housing."