上接科羅索夫斯基論尼采：本能，幻覺，擬像，原型（1）與心象，迷戀的圖像+擬像及其原型（2）。

明天爭取更新狠活。

本文為Dan Smith | 科羅索夫斯基論尼采的文稿，選自Smith的著作Essays on Deleuze，受限于講座形式和發(fā)生時間，部分內(nèi)容可能與文稿有所出入（視頻看了一部分，但沒看完）

考慮到部分朋友無法獲取英文資源，抑或不使用企鵝，且我不打算翻譯（其實是根本沒這個水平，而且沒有任何可靠的中譯供參考），特此放出。

The Tripartite Economy of the Soul: The Euphoria at Turin

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What one finds in Klossowski, then, is a kind of threefold circuit in the economy of the soul:

1. first, there are impulses, with their rises and falls in intensity, their elations and depressions, which have no meaning or goal in themselves

2. second, these impulses give rise to phantasms, which constitute the incommunicable depth and singularity of the individual soul (the “ego” or the “I” is itself a phantasm that ascribes a unity to our impulsive life in the service of the species or the herd)

3. third, under the obsessive constraint of the phantasm, simulacra are produced, which are the reproduction or repetition of the phantasm (through the exaggeration of stereotypes).

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Impulses, phantasms, simulacra-stereotypes: a threefold circuit. If Klossowski presents Nietzsche and the Vicious Circle as primarily an interpretation of Nietzsche’s physiognomy, it is because it attempts to follow this threefold circuit as it is expressed in Nietzsche’s thought:

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1. Klossowski first attempts to describe the impulses or intensive powers that exercised their constraint on Nietzsche (notably those associated with his valetudinary states)

2. he then identifies the phantasms they produced in him, notably the phantasm of the Eternal Return, as the highest and most affirmative affect of the soul; and 、

3. finally, he presents an exposition of the various simulacra Nietzsche created to express them: namely, the concepts, doctrines, and figures of what we know as Nietzsche’s “philosophy.”

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?????? What is the aim or goal of this threefold circuit, its intention?

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Nietzsche’s unavowable project [writes Klossowski] is to act without intention: the impossible morality. Now the total economy of this intentionless universe creates intentional beings. The species “man” is a creation of this kind—pure chance—in which the intensity of forces is inverted into intention: the work of morality. The function of the simulacrum is to lead human intention back to the intensity of forces, which generate phantasms. (NVC 140)

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But what exactly does this mean: “to lead human intention back to the intensity of forces”? On this question, perhaps the most important text in Klossowski’s book on Nietzsche is the penultimate chapter entitled “The Euphoria of Turin,” which examines Nietzsche’s breakdown and madness through an analysis of the letters and notes Nietzsche wrote during the week of 31 December 1888 through 6 January 1889.

?????? There are two obviously problematic readings of Nietzsche’s madness: either madness is taken to be the logical and internal outcome of Nietzsche’s philosophy, or else it was produced by an external cause (a syphilitic infection), having nothing whatsoever to do with the philosophy as such. Klossowski cuts a middle path between these two extremes. No one, he says, was more aware than Nietzsche of the tension between the incoherence of the impulses and the coherence of the subject [supp?t] that makes these impulses a property of the self. This is, at least in part, what Nietzsche meant by the famous phrase of Ecce Homo, “Dionysus versus the Crucified”: Dionysus is the god of metamorphoses, of affirmation, who affirms the healthy and strong impulses in all their incoherence, whereas the Crucified is the god of the weak, of gregariousness, of the herd, the defender of the responsible self. This is why Klossowski emphasizes the importance of Nietzsche’s migraines, for it was precisely when the lucidity of Nietzsche’s brain was suspended that his self would be broken down into a kind of lucidity that was much more vast, yet more brief and fragile—a lucidity in which these mute forces and impulses of the body were awakened (NVC 31). By examining these alterations in his valetudinary states, Klossowski suggests, Nietzsche was searching for a new type of cohesion between his thought and the body as a corporealizing thought—that is, the body no longer as a property of the self, but as the fortuitous locus of impulses. Nietzsche, in other words, wanted to use his own lucidity to penetrate the shadows of the impulses. But how can one remain lucid if, in order to penetrate the shadows of the impulses, one must destroy the very locus of lucidity: namely, the self? For a long time, Nietzsche was content to observe this to-and-fro movement between the incoherence of the impulses (intensity) and the coherence of the self (intention).

What happened at Turin? It was the moment of apotheosis, where Nietzsche finally led “human intention back to the intensity of forces.” “Nietzsche,” writes Klossowski, “was never more lucid than during these final days in Turin. What he was conscious of was the fact that he had ceased to be Nietzsche, that he had been, as it were, emptied of his person” (NVC 235). Nietzsche did not suddenly lose his reason and begin to identify himself with strange personages; more precisely, Nietzsche the professor had had lost (or abrogated) his identity, and lucidly abandoned himself to the incoherence of the impulses, each of which now received a proper name of its own. The fact that he signed several of his letters as “The Crucified,” that he chose the physiognomy of Christ to mask the loss of his own identity, shows the enormity of Nietzsche’s ecstasy: Dionysus and the Crucified are no longer in opposition, but in a tenuous equilibrium. Nietzsche’s delirium, in short, passed through a series of intensive states, in which his impulses each received various proper names, some of which designated his allies, or manic rises in intensity (Prado, Lesseps, Chambige, “honest criminals”), while others designated his enemies, or depressive falls in intensity (Caiaphas, Wilhelm Bismarck, the “antisemites”)—a chaos of pure oscillations that was ultimately invested by “all the names of history” (and not, as certain psychoanalysts would have it, by “the name of the father”).

The seeming lucidity of Nietzsche’s madness was attested to, curiously, by two of Nietzsche’s closest friends. On 21 January 1890, one year after the collapse in Turin, Peter Gast, Nietzsche’s amanuensis, visited his friend at the asylum in Jena.

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He did not look very ill [Gast later wrote]. I almost had the impression that his mental disturbance consists of no more than a heightening of the humorous antics he used to put on for an intimate circle of friends. He recognized me immediately, embraced and kissed me, was highly delighted to see me, and gave me his hand repeatedly as if unable to believe I was really there.

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But while going for long walks with Nietzsche every day, Gast could see that he did not want to be “cured”: “it seemed—horrible though this is—as if Nietzsche were merely feigning madness, as if he were glad for it to have ended this way.” These observations correspond with Franz Overbeck’s feelings when he came to see Nietzsche a month later, in February 1890:

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I cannot escape the ghastly suspicion . . . that his madness is simulated. This impression can be explained only by the experiences I have had of Nietzsche’s self-concealments, of his spiritual masks. But here too I have bowed to facts which overrule all personal thoughts and speculations.[1]

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Although Klossowski does not cite these observations by Gast and Overbeck, he none the less poses the inevitable question: Where does Nietzsche’s thought arrive at in this simulation of madness?

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Nietzsche’s obsessive thought [Klossowski suggests] had always been that events, actions, apparent decisions, and indeed the entire world have a completely different aspect from those they have taken on, since the beginning of time, in the sphere of language. Now he saw the world beyond language: was it the sphere of absolute muteness, or on the contrary the sphere of absolute language? (NVC 251)

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Klossowski necessarily leaves the question unanswered. Earlier in the book, he cites a note from the Spring of 1888 in which Nietzsche exhibited a certain guardedness about his own condition that obviously waned at the end of the year. It is entitled “The Most Dangerous Misunderstanding,” and it concerns those who are taken to be sick or mad. Does their intoxication stem from an over-fullness of life, Nietzsche asks, or from a truly pathological degeneration of the brain? How can one discern the rich type from an exhausted type? This was Nietzsche’s double fear as expressed in Ecce Homo: the fear of being taken for a prophet, but also the fear of being taken for a “buffoon for all eternity” (NVC 86). In short, how can one tell if the “high tonality” of the Stimmung of the eternal return is an expression of health and overabundance, or an expression of exhaustion and sickness? This is a question derived from the paradoxical (or “antinomial”) status of the doctrine of the eternal return. As a lived experience, Nietzsche initially experienced the eternal return, not as a thought, but as an impulse, a Stimmung, a “high tonality of the soul.” As a thought, then, Klossowski insists that the eternal return can only ever be the simulacrum of a doctrine; it attempts to communicate a phantasm that is fundamentally incommunicable, and thus is a simulation (and hence a perversion) of that phantasm. Moreover, this paradox finds its concrete manifestation in the direct manipulation of the affects by our modern industrial (or capitalist) organization—for what is marketing or advertising except a willed and conscious manipulation of the affects in the service of gregarious needs and wants? The flows and metamorphoses of capital and commodities, with neither aim nor goal, are a concrete form of the most malicious caricature of Nietzsche’s doctrine of the Eternal Return (NVC 171). Klossowski’s book Living Currency (La Monnaie vivante) continues his reflection on the destiny of the impulses in industrial societies, and constitutes a kind of parody of political economy (in so far as the modern industrial and capitalistic order can itself be seen as a parody of the eternal return . . .).[2]

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Each of these concepts—impulses and intensities, phantasms, simulacra and stereotypes—would require a more detailed analysis than we have been able to give them here. Taken together, however, they point to what I take to be the primary significance of Klossowski’s work. With this circuit of impulse–phantasm–simulacrum, Klossowski has isolated a baroque and labyrinthine logic, with its complex operations of similitude, simultaneity, simulation, and dissimilation. It is something he uncovers, not only in Nietzsche’s madness—which he neither condemns nor romanticizes—but also in the many other writers that have commanded his attention: the Marquis de Sade, and his perversions; Jonathan Swift, and his disproportionate vision of Gulliver, and so on. The Klossowskian economy thus follows a kind of circle: the impulses of the soul engender phantasms, from which are produced simulacra, which harden into stereotypes, but which in turn flow back to the originary vision, the originary pathos of the impulses. In this sense, there is no means to uncover the “truth” of this circuit. As Klossowski says, “if we demystify, it is only to mystify further . . . ” (NVC 131).

[1] The observations by Gast and Overbeck are recorded in Ronald Hayman, Nietzsche: A Critical Life (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980), 340–1.

[2] Pierre Klossowski, La Monnaie vivante (Paris: éric Losfi eld, 1970; Paris: Gallimard, 2003).