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He came bearing the bad news in bad prose that every institution, no matter how benign it seems, is “really” a scene of unspeakable domination and subjugation that efforts at enlightened reform-of asylums, of prisons, of society at large-have been little more than alibis for extending state power that human relationships are, underneath it all, deadly struggles for mastery that truth itself is merely a coefficient of coercion “Is it surprising,” Foucault asked in Surveiller et punir (English translation: Discipline and Punish, 1977), “that prisons resemble factories, schools, barracks, hospitals, which all resemble prisons?” Such “interrogations” were a terrific hit in the graduate seminar, of course. But where the deconstructionists specialize in the fruity idea that language refers only to itself ( il n’y a pas de hors texte, in Derrida’s now-famous phrase), Foucault’s focus was Power. Yet James Miller’s ambitious new biography of the French historian-philosopher Michel Foucault (né Paul-Michel, after his father) demonstrates that the will to idolize can triumph over many obstacles.įoucault, who died of AIDS in June 1984 at the age of fifty-seven, has long been a darling of the same super-chic academic crowd that fell for deconstruction, Jacques Derrida, and other aging French imports. Then, too, the debunking temper of our times is ill-suited -or so one would have thought-to the task of adulation. For one thing, these decades witnessed a notable dearth of likely hagioi or saints available for the honor of such commemoration. Looking back on our arrogantly skeptical age, future historians are likely to regard the rebirth of hagiography in the 1980s and 1990s with bemused curiosity. Michel Foucault, The Archaeology of Knowledge Do not ask who I am and do not ask me to remain the same: leave it to our bureaucrats and our police to see that our papers are in order. I am no doubt not the only one who writes in order to have no face. We must not dwell on them too emphatically in our history, but should rather show indulgence to human nature for its inability to produce a character which is absolutely good and uncompromisingly dedicated to virtue. Any errors or crimes, on the other hand, which may tarnish a man’s career and may have been committed out of passion or political necessity, we should regard rather as a lapse from a particular virtue than as the products of some innate vice.
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Since it is difficult, or rather impossible, to represent a man’s life as entirely spotless and free from blame, we should use the best chapters in it to build up the most complete picture and regard this as the true likeness.