We went to the art book fair here yesterday. Art book might
conjure up visions of the oversized book of impressionist paintings that graced
the table in your folks’ living room, accruing over time a light surface of dust. There weren’t those.
These were small press and zine books, with a fair amount of arty and not so
arty porn, poetry, artist collaborations, essays, and dozens of mags; among the
latter we came upon the table for Cabinet.
We decided to increase our media load and buy a year’s
subscription. It was a great bargain – less than 30 bucks. Reader, go and do likewise.
The first thing I read in the new issue, which we took home
with us, was a wonderful essay with Michael Witmore about his book, Culture of
Accidents: Unexpected knowledges in Early Modern England. In spite of the air
of solecism around “knowledges” in that title, Witmore is an impressively
articulate interviewee. His thesis is that, broadly, the notion of accident
changed in the 17th century. At the beginning of the century, and
for centuries past, accident was, in normal, educated circles, an Aristotelian
thing:
“… the idea of an accident as an event was essentially the
idea that wo independent causal lines could meet in a given place at a given
moment and produce something that could not have been foressn by either of
those causal agents. So Aristotle’s example would be two people go to the
marketplace, one goes to buy olive oil, the other goes to buy grapes, and they
meet accidentally in the marketplace and settle a debt on that ocassion. “
As a good little derridean, I hold no example is innocent,
and that an example of the accident that sticks in a marketplace and debt is
something that can be gone into muchly. But I’ll put a brake on my inner
Jacques and go on to Witmore’s sense of how this notion changed in the 17th
century.
“Calvin’s sense is that there is a theater of God’s judgment
in the world, that God communicates through theater, and that accidental events
– things that just seem to happen – are precisely those sttartling events that
get a rise out of the spectator and in fact engage the conscience in unusual
and startling ways.”
Now, those origin-mongers out there would probably say that
Calvin didn’t just come up with this, and we can go back and back all the way
to the Vedas for similar views. Anthropologists used to claim that,
universally, all human death is looked upon as murder of some sort in “savage”
society. I am not sure that this factoid is still upheld in contemporary
anthropology, but it surely did have backing in many societies far away from
Calvin’s Geneva (although let me butt in here and say that I don’t think those
cultures were all that far away – the idea that the European cultures were
different, were civilized, were where the progress was, is a faith-based claim,
which any survey of European societies – from Galician peasants in the
twentieth century to Parisian voyou – would put to flight. The West is just
savages with video games, as far as I can see).
Still, Witmore might be on to something here, some further fracture
in the order of things.
Myself, I confess to having a high regard for what Pierce
called tychism – the idea that coincidence underlies the physical structure of
the universe, and that it is irreducible to physical law. I’ve always found the
calculations about the probability of there being a big bang, or there being
life on earth, etc., curiously blind to the fact that this probability must
also encompass the probability that probability calculations can be made. Tychism,
as I see it, means that all things swim, as the accident of that particular
moment, in a sea of accidents. From this viewpoint, the extended phenotype of
an event – say, the waves in the sea –includes the sound of the waves in a
seashell cupped to an infant’s ear. That sound is really, of course, the
throbbing of our common blood, but its recognition as the sound of waves is
wrapped up with what waves are. Though we can erase the contingent factors
around the wave – there could be no seashell, there could be no infant – we cannot
erase the possibility of seashells and infants.
Which is another way of saying that we grope in the unknown
as variables of that dark element, in all worlds and at world’s end, amen.
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