Monthly Archives: January 2024

A written defence

He was no longer able to get the thought of the trial out of his head. He had often wondered whether it might not be a good idea to work out a written defence and hand it in to the court. It would contain a short description of his life and explain why he had acted the way he had at each event that was in any way important, whether he now considered he had acted well or ill, and his reasons for each. There was no doubt of the advantages a written defence of this sort would have over relying on the lawyer, who was anyway not without his shortcomings. K. had no idea what actions the lawyer was taking; it was certainly not a lot, it was more than a month since the lawyer had summoned him, and none of the previous discussions had given K. the impression that this man would be able to do much for him. Most importantly, he had asked him hardly any questions. And there were so many questions here to be asked. Asking questions was the most important thing. K. had the feeling that he would be able to ask all the questions needed here himself. The lawyer, in contrast, did not ask questions but did all the talking himself or sat silently facing him, leant forward slightly over the desk, probably because he was hard of hearing, pulled on a strand of hair in the middle of his beard and looked down at the carpet, perhaps at the very spot where K. had lain with Leni. Now and then he would give K. some vague warning of the sort you give to children. His speeches were as pointless as they were boring, and K. decided that when the final bill came he would pay not a penny for them.

— Kafka, The Trial, (tr. Wyllie)

From The Moment:

Cleaning out the drawers around the house, I find old charger cables, out-of-date medications, a Kindle we’ve never used, a toothbrush, a pregnancy test kit, letters, stones and figurines that S. says are important to her, and an old notebook of mine. It’s mostly blank. There are lines here and there, written in pubs, before the last time writing fizzled out:

Frightening thought: you’re an impostor who doesn’t know the extent of his own imposture. Worse, the imposture that stands between you and the world, that is your world.

The fear that everything is outside of itself. Buildings, trees, people, all scattered among each other, other than themselves. Nothing can come to itself because nothing really is. The world is one giant diversion from itself, an error.

The fear that everything is the same. That you’re a thing among things, emerging from sameness only to be swallowed by the same again. The days pass under the usual blind sky, unable to change or begin. Time, slowed to a crawl. Time, endless.

The pub toilet. Haze. The face in the mirror can’t see itself. You go back to the table and hear your mouth saying words, mouthing lies. Sudden plunges. Sinkholes of time.

But now a new urgency: shed all that like old scales. Find new words.

Of course, man is his own worst enemy: his own secret and insidious enemy. Wherever the seeds of evil are scattered, they are almost certain to grow. Whereas it takes amazingly good luck for the smallest grain of good not to be stifled.

— Bernanos, Diary of a Country Priest

The ulterior motives [Hintergedanken] with which you take Evil into yourself are not your own, but those of Evil.

— Kafka, aphorism no. 29, 1917

Doing the negative is imposed on us; the positive is already within us.

— Kafka, aphorism no. 27, 1917

If there aren’t countless opportunities for liberation, and especially opportunities at every moment of our lives, then perhaps there are none at all.

— Kafka, letter to Brod, 1917

How are you going even to touch on the greatest task… if you can’t collect yourself so that when the decisive moment comes, you hold in your hand the entirety of yourself like a stone to be flung.

— Kafka, Octavo Notebook, 1917 (tr. Frisch)

Casually and imperiously, as if at home, the racket of the world streamed in and out through the bars, the prisoner was actually free, he could take part in everything, nothing that went on outside escaped him, he could even have left the cage, after all, the bars were yards apart, he was not even imprisoned.

— Kafka, Diary, 1921 (tr. Frisch)

The vastness of the campus

The vastness of the campus, the Organisational Management campus. They’ll bring everything here – the rest of the university. It’s all going to be reinvented here.

The Organisational Management maw! Swallowing everything! Scooping up everything. Swallowing the humanities, in one gulp…

Soon, the rest of the university will be brought here. Relocated here. Soon, the whole university will be reborn on the Organisational Management campus! Soon it won’t just be Philosophy in Organisational Management, but History. But Geography. But Physics! But Politics! But the Fine Arts! But Mathematics!

And History will be the history of the application of Organisational Management. Geography can be about the still uneven application of Organisational Management. Politics can be about the technocratic perfection of Organisational Management. The Fine Arts can be about the décor of Organisational Management: of its glass and steel foyers. About the public spaces of its new campuses.

And Philosophy will concern Organisational Management as a philosophy. About Organisational Management not so much as a subject area, but as a way of doing things. A practice. A methodology, if you like. As a logic. As a way of approaching problems. The problem of life! The problem of everything!

*

Soon, everyone will be studying Organisational Management… Nothing but Organisational Management…

Organisational Management, becoming the all-subject. The ur-subject. All unis will essentially be Organisational Management unis, nothing else. They’ll simply be about organisation! And management!

In the beginning, there was Philosophy, and all the other disciplines split off from Philosophy. In the end, there will only be Organisational Management, as all the other disciplines will have been subsumed by Organisational Management.

Which is why the move to Organisational Management must be understood in its chiliastic dimension, we agree. In its eschatological dimension. As what is happening everywhere, but in miniature.

[…]

Helmut, performing one of his famous etymological analyses.

The essence of Organisational Management is neither organisational nor managerial, he says. Organisation – from the Greek organon, meaning organ. The term emerged in mid fifteenth century, as act of organising, which came from the medieval Latin organizationem. Sense of ‘that which is organised’ by 1807. Meaning ‘system, establishment’, from 1873.

Manage, from the Latin non manus, hand and agere, to act. To handle, train or direct a horse: that’s what the word, manage meant in the 1560s. Being shaped by physical manipulation: that’s what it means in the 1670s. Governing body of a collective: that’s what it meant in 1739. The word management to refer to the act of managing by direction is first used in the late sixteenth century.

And what happens when you combine the words? Helmut asks, rhetorically. They’re essentially saying the same thing. An organisation is managed. Management happens through organisation. That’s what changes.

*

Organisational Management! Business Studies – that was the old name… A dead name… But now, Organisational Management is naming itself as such. It’s coming out into the open as exactly what it is. It doesn’t need to disguise itself any longer.

Organisational Management can be brazen – quite open. It can walk in daylight. It can be abroad. There it is, unabashed, unashamed, nothing other than what it is.

*

And what’s the role of Philosophy in all this? The etymology of philosophy: we all know that. Unlimited desire. Infinite yearning. Eros, as Plato would say.

Does Organisational Management know that? Do they sense something missing in Organisational Management – a kind of philosophical phantom limb? Maybe they want more. Maybe they Desire. Yearn in their own way. In an Organisational Management way.

They’d like to be more than they are. They’re all about logistics. And order. They’re all about procedures. About methodology. But they want something else. They’re not sure what they want, but they think it might be us.

This merger… This mind meld… Do they want to tame us, or untame themselves? Do they want to bind us or loosen themselves? It’s about a double becoming. A becoming-organisational-management of philosophy: that’s what they want, explicitly. But won’t there also be a becoming-philosophy-of-organisational-management?

The secret of Organisational Management: Organisational Management masochism. Organisational Management self-loathing. Perhaps Organisational Management is weary of being what it is. Perhaps Organisational Management wants philosophy to decomplete it. To part-destroy it. Perhaps Organisational Management wants to be opened up, to bloom. To unfold all its dimensions. And we’re part of that…

— Spurious, via here

My book, The Moment, is available from Splice.

The Moment is the journal of a profound and moving endeavour: the attempt to renew a faith in life through the act of writing. Reflecting on everyday life in the Norfolk countryside as well as some of the richest literary, philosophical and theological ideas of the past couple of centuries, its narrator seeks to work through the legacy of his past by opening himself to the unknown and perhaps to the eternal. Life, Holm Jensen shows in his poised, lapidary prose, is best experienced as a gift, but one that must be received in the right way – by living and thinking beside the thought of luminaries old and new. This is a wisdom book, hushed and intimate, that will repay close contemplation.

Lars Iyer