上接科羅索夫斯基論尼采：本能，幻覺，擬像，原型（1）。

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。

專欄字數(shù)受限，將分段發(fā)完（正好湊投稿）。?

Phantasms as Obsessional Images

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This brings us to the second fundamental concept of Klossowski’s: the phantasm. In Klossowski, the term refers to an obsessional image produced within us by the unconscious forces of our impulsive life; the phantasm is what makes each of us a singular case. “My true themes,” writes Klossowski of himself, “are dictated by one or more obsessional (or “obsidianal”) instincts that seek to express themselves.”[1] Or as he says elsewhere, “I am only the seismograph of the life of the impulses.”[2] The word “phantasm” is derived from the Greek phantasia (appearance, imagination), and was taken up in a more technical sense in psychoanalytic theory (theory of fantasy). For Klossowski, however, a phantasm is not, as in Freud, a substitution formation. As Lyotard explains, the phantasm “is not an unreality or de-reality, it is ‘something’ that grips the wild turbulence of the libido, something it invents as an incandescent object.”[3]

Nietzsche himself tended to interpret the thought of the great philosophers in terms of their phantasms: that is, in terms of their dominant or sovereign impulses. Philosophers simply express the movements of their own intensive states under the guidance of their dominant impulse (the will to knowledge).

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They claim it is a question of “the truth”—when at bottom it is only a question of themselves. Or rather: their most violent impulse is brought to light with all the impudence and innocence of a fundamental impulse: it makes itself sovereign . . . The philosopher is only a kind of occasion and chance through which the impulse is finally able to speak . . . What then did Spinoza or Kant do? Nothing but interpret their dominant impulse. But it was only the communicable part of their behavior that could be translated into their constructions. (NVC 4–5)

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This is not dissimilar to Heidegger’s claim that a philosopher thinks only one thought (in his case, the thought of “being”), or Bergson’s claim that every philosopher has one intuition, and that the vastness of a philosopher’s ?uvre can be explained by the incommensurability between this intuition and the means they have at their disposal for expressing it.[4] In itself, the phantasm is incommunicable because it is unintelligible and unspeakable; but it is because it is unintelligible and incommunicable that it is also obsessive. Unintelligibility, incommunicability, and obsession are themselves the intensive components of Klossowski’s concept of the phantasm.

?????? Deleuze has provided a penetrating analysis of the nature of the phantasm in his book Proust and Signs—although he does not use the term “phantasm”—notably in the context of Proust’s discussions of love (PS 26–38). Falling in love is an intensity, a high tonality of the soul, and our initial temptation is to seek for the meaning of that intensity, its explanation, in the object of our love, as if the beloved somehow held the secret to the intensity of our passion. But inevitably, the other person disappoints us on this score, and we then turn to ourselves to uncover the secret, thinking that perhaps the intensity was sparked by subjective associations we made within ourselves between the beloved and, perhaps, someone else (other lovers, our parents) or something else (a place, a moment). But this too fails. For what lies behind our loves—behind both the objectivist temptation and the subjectivist compensation—is precisely an incommunicable phantasm (which Proust himself called an “essence” rather than a phantasm). The fact is that our loves tend to repeat themselves; we fall in love with the same “type,” we fall into the same patterns, we seem to make the same mistakes—our loves seem to form a series in which something is being repeated, but always with a slight difference. This “something” is nothing other than our phantasm, which we repeat obsessively, but which in itself remains incommunicable, and continues its secret work in us, despite all our attempts to decipher it. But as Deleuze notes, this amorous repetition is never a sterile or naked repetition of a prior identity; it is always a clothed or masked repetition of a difference, a repetition that is always productive of new differences.

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To repeat is to behave, but in relation to something unique or singular, which has nothing similar or equivalent . . . The mask is the true subject of repetition. It is because repetition differs in nature from representation in that what is repeated cannot be represented, but must always be signified, masked by what signifies it, itself masking what it signifies. (DR 17–18)

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What Klossowski calls a simulacrum, as we shall see, is a mask that, denouncing itself as such, traces the contours of what it dissimulates—namely, the phantasm as such. Proust himself says that it is only in art that such essences or phantasms are revealed (not in the object, not in the subject); it is only in art that the time we have lost in our loves can be regained and recovered.

?????? Readers of Klossowski’s fictions will be familiar with the phantasm that was the primary object of his own phantasmic obsession: the figure of Roberte, which he calls (in his postface to the trilogy, The Laws of Hospitality) the “unique sign” of his work.[5] Since the phantasm is by nature incommunicable, the subject who submits himself to its irresistible constraint can never have done with describing it. Klossowski’s narrative work is thus traversed by a single repetition, carried along by one and the same movement. In effect, it is always the same scene that is repeated. The rape of Roberte in Roberte ce soir, the theatrical representations in Le Souffleur, the vision of the goddess in Diana at her Bath, the description of the statue of St. Therese in The Baphomet[6]—all articulate one and the same phantasm: the woman discovering the presence of her body under the gaze or the violence of a third party, who, whether an angel or a demon, communicates a guilty voluptuousness. Klossowski describes the entirety of his literary output in terms of his relation to this fundamental obsession: “I am under the dictation [dictée] of an image. It is the vision that demands that I say everything the vision gives to me.”[7]

What, then, was Nietzsche’s fundamental phantasm? Klossowski suggests that Nietzsche’s most intense phantasm was the eternal return. (One should note, however, that the eternal return was not Nietzsche’s only phantasm—Greece was a phantasm for the young Nietzsche, and Klossowski does not overlook the phantasms revealed in Nietzsche’s own loves, such as Lou Salomé and Cosima Wagner.) But Nietzsche’s phantasm was precisely not the eternal return as one of the explicit doctrines of Nietzsche’s philosophy, nor even the eternal return as a thought. It was, rather, the eternal return as a lived experience, which was revealed to Nietzsche in Sils-Maria in August 1881, and experienced as an impulse, an intensity, a high tonality of the soul—and indeed as the highest possible intensity of the soul. It was with the revelation of the eternal return that Nietzsche’s quest to find the highest, the most powerful affect, the healthiest and most vigorous impulse, the most affirmative affect, was fulfilled. “Thoughts,” writes Nietzsche, “are the signs of a play and combat of affects; they always depend on their hidden roots.”[8] On this score, Klossowski emphasizes the impression of strangeness felt by both Salomé and Franz Overbeck, his closest friend, when he revealed the eternal return to them— the disturbing tone of his hoarse voice, the spectacular character of the communication. Although Nietzsche would seek numerous forms of expression for the eternal return—ethical, scientific, or cosmological—none of them was capable of expressing the fundamental incommunicability of the phantasm itself. This is why Klossowski says that the eternal return is not a doctrine, but rather the simulacrum of a doctrine.

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Simulacra and Their Stereotypes

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This, then, brings us to the third term in Klossowski’s vocabulary: the simulacrum.[9] A “simulacrum” is a willed reproduction of a phantasm (in a literary, pictorial, or plastic form) that simulates this invisible agitation of the soul. “The simulacrum, in its imitative sense, is the actualization of something in itself incommunicable and nonrepresentable: the phantasm in its obsessional constraint.”[10] The term simulacrum comes from the Latin simulare (to copy, represent, feign), and during the late Roman Empire it referred to the statues of the gods that often lined the entrance to a city. More precisely, the simulacrum was an object that, although fabricated by humans, was the measure of the invisible power of the gods. According to Hermes Trismegistes, artists cannot animate the status of the gods by themselves; they have to invoke the souls of the gods, they have to seduce a demonic force, through imposture, in order to capture it and enclose it in an idol or image. Simulacrum is thus a sculptural term, which Klossowski applies, by extension, to pictorial, verbal, and written representations. Simulacra are verbal, plastic, or written transcriptions of phantasms, artifacts which count as (or are equivalent to, can be exchanged for) phantasms. In Klossowski, these demonic forces no longer refer to gods and goddesses, but to impulses and affects; more precisely, gods and goddesses are themselves simulacra of impulses and affects. In Klossowski, mimesis is not a servile imitation of the visible, but the simulation of the unrepresentable.[11]

For this reason, simulacra stand in a complex relationship to what Klossowski, in his later works, calls a “stereotype.”[12] On the one hand, the invention of simulacra always presupposes a set of prior stereotypes—what Klossowski calls, in Nietzsche and the Vicious Circle, “the code of everyday signs”—which express the gregarious aspect of lived experience in a form already schematized by the habitual usages of feeling and thought (the herd). In this sense, the code of everyday signs necessarily inverts and falsifies the singularity of the soul’s intensive movements by making them intelligible:

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How can one give an account of an irreducible depth of sensibility except by acts that betray it? It would seem that such an irreducible depth can never be reflected on or grasped save by acts perpetrated outside of thought—unreflected or ungraspable acts.[13]

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Klossowski explains the movement that, through the phantasm, translates the movement of the impulses into the code of everyday signs:

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For the impulses to become a will at the level of consciousness, the latter must give the impulse an exciting state as an aim, and thus must elaborate the signification of what, for the impulse, is a phantasm: an anticipated excitation, and thus a possible excitation according to the schema determined by previously experienced excitations . . . A phantasm, or several phantasms, can be formed in accordance with the relations among impulsive forces . . . In this manner, something new and unfamiliar is misinterpreted as something already known. (NVC 47)

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On the other hand, Klossowski also speaks of a “science of stereotypes” in which the stereotype, by being “accentuated” to the point of excess, can itself bring about a critique of its own gregarious interpretation of the phantasm: “Practiced advisedly, the institutional stereotypes (of syntax) provoke the presence of what they circumscribe; their circumlocutions conceal the incongruity of the phantasm but at the same time trace the outline of its opaque physiognomy.”[14] Klossowski’s prose is itself an example of this science of stereotypes. By his own admission, his own works are written in a “ ‘conventionally’ classical syntax” that makes systematic use of the literary tenses and conjunctions of the French language, giving it a decidedly erudite, precious, and even “bourgeois” tone, but in an exaggerated manner that brings out its phantasmic structure. As Klossowski writes, “the simulacrum effectively simulates the constraint of the phantasm only by exaggerating the stereotypical schemes: to add to the stereotype and accentuate it is to bring out the obsession of which it constitutes the replica.”[15] If Klossowski gave up writing after 1970, it is at least in part because, in attempting to express the incommunicable phantasm, he wound up preferring the eloquence of bodily gestures and images—what he calls “corporeal idioms”—to the medium of words and syntax. “There is but one universal authentic language: the exchange of bodies through the secret language of incorporeal signs.”[16]

But whatever medium Klossowski uses, we can sense the vertiginous nature of this game between simulacra and stereotypes. If simulacra later became the object of demonology in Christian thought, it is because the simulacrum is not the “opposite” of the gregarious stereotype—just as the demonic is not the opposite of the divine, Satan is not the Other, the pole farthest from God, the absolute antithesis—but something much more bewildering: the Same, the perfect double, the exact semblance, the doppelg?nger, the angel of light whose deception is so complete that it is impossible to tell the imposter (Satan, Lucifer) apart from the “reality” (God, Christ), just as Plato reaches the point, in the Sophist, where Socrates and the Sophist are rendered indiscernible. Klossowski’s concern is not the problem of the Other, but the problem of the Same. The demonic simulacrum thus stands in stark contrast to the theological symbol, which is always iconic, the analogical manifestation of a transcendent instance.[17] Since incoherence is the law of the Klossowski’s universe, he who dissimulates the most is he who most resembles his invisible model.

[1] Pierre Klossowski, “Protase et apodose,” in L’Arc 43 (1970), 10. Portions of this essay have been reprinted in Klossowski’s La Ressemblance (Marseille: André Dimanche, 1984).

[2] Jean-Maurice Monnoyer, Le Peintre et son démon: Entretiens avec Pierre Klossowski (Paris: Flammarion, 1985), 61.

[3] Jean-Fran?ois Lyotard, Libidinal Economy, trans. Ian Hamilton Grant (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1993), 72.

[4] Henri Bergson, “Philosophical Intuition,” in The Creative Mind: An Introduction to Metaphysics, trans. Mabelle L. Andison (Totowa, NJ: Littlefi eld, Adams, 1946), 107–29.

[5] Pierre Klossowski, Les Lois de l’hospitalité (Paris: Gallimard, 1965), 342, 349. Klossowski’s trilogy includes three separately published titles: Roberte ce soir (Paris: Minuit, 1954), La Révocation de l’édit de Nantes (Paris: Minuit, 1959), and Le Souffl eur ou le théatre de société (Paris: Jean-Jacques Pauvert, 1960). The first two have appeared in English translation: Roberte ce soir and The Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, trans. Austryn Wainhouse (New York: Grove, 1969). The best work on Klossowski in English is Ian James’s Pierre Klossowski: The Persistence of a Name (Oxford: Legenda, 2000).

[6] Pierre Klossowski, The Baphomet, trans. Sophie Hawkes and Stephen Sartarelli (Boston: Eridanos, 1988).

[7] Cited on the back cover of Alain Arnaud, Pierre Klossowski.

[8] Nietzsche, Notebook of Fall 1885 to Spring 1886, as cited in NVC 216.

[9] Klossowski initially retrieved the concept of the simulacrum from the criticisms of the Church fathers (Tertullian, Augustine) against the debauched representations of the gods on the Roman stage. See Pierre Klossowski, “Sacred and Mythical Origins of Certain Practices of the Women of Rome,” in Diana at her Bath and The Women of Rome, 89–138, esp. 132–5, as well as Jean-Fran?ois Lyotard’s commentaries on Klossowski in Libidinal Economy, 66–94.

[10] Klossowski, La Ressemblance, 6.

[11] Madou, Démons et simulacres, 88.

[12] For Klossowski’s theory of the stereotype, see “On the Use of Stereotypes and the Censure Exercised by Classical Syntax,” in “Protase et apodose,” 15–20.

[13] Pierre Klossowski, Sade My Neighbor, trans. Alphonso Lingis (Evantson, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1991), 14. See also Klossowski, “Protase et apodose,” 19: “In the domain of communication (literary or pictorial), the stereotype (as “style”) is the residue of a simulacrum (corresponding to an obsessional constraint) that has fallen to the level of current usage, disclosed and abandoned to a common interpretation.”

[14] Klossowski, “Protase et apodose,” 16–19.

[15] Klossowski, La Ressemblance, 78, as cited in Arnaud, Pierre Klossowski, 60.

[16] Arnaud, Pierre Klossowski, 104.

[17] On these themes, see Michel Foucault’s essay on Klossowski, “The Prose of Actaeon,” in Essential Works of Foucault: 1954–1984, Vol. 2: Aesthetics, Method, and Epistemology, ed. James D. Faubion (New York: New Press, 1988), 123–35, esp. 123: “What if the Devil, the Other, were the Same? And what if the Temptation were not one of the episodes of the great antagonism, but the subtle insinuation of the Double?” Klossowski considered Foucault’s essay to be one of the best commentaries on his work.