The State Within Us (I)

Just like the unresolved question of “what the state is and what its origins are,” another complex issue is the relationship between the state and the psychology of the individual. Numerous ideas have been put forward on this subject. We tried to critique these ideas and present our own views in the articles titled “The State Within Us” (issues 105/106) and “Justice or Benevolence?” (issues 125/126) published in Birikim magazine in 1998. These writings, in which we still largely maintain the same perspective, later formed the basis for many of our subsequent articles. I am now revisiting and presenting those articles once again.

The state is not to be reduc(ed)

“How is it that we grant an external and alienated power the authority to use force, and moreover, recognize this authority as legitimate?” Perspectives rooted in Marxism, anarchism, and liberalism attempt to explain the emergence of the state through such questions. When posed this way, the relationship between the state and individual or collective psychology is from the outset doomed to take on a psychopathological — and especially sadomasochistic — character. All other claims follow in quick succession, as if setting out like a psychoanalyst in search of the origins of neurotic symptoms in early childhood, digging into the depths of history to pinpoint the “first anomaly”—the origin of the state.

Those who search, find. And those who seek to uncover how the state managed to entrench itself in our lives are not long in finding their answer (!). We hear statements such as: its emergence coincides with the rise of social classes; its existence is devoted to the existence of the ruling class. The relationship between the ruling class and the state, and the forms of repression the state employs, may vary in form and complexity, but in the end, the state — in addition to being a repressive apparatus itself — operates through its ideological mechanisms to legitimize its own existence and the existing order of the ruling classes… In this context, the psychological position of the individual in relation to the state and the rulers is that of a bewildered subject caught in projective identification. An identity is imposed upon them, and the poor wretch, through linguistic (and often literal) games, manipulation, domination, and at the very least, fear, comes to accept what is presented — so bewildered, in fact, that this acceptance becomes a precondition for the state’s very existence. Much like those tormented by pathological love, they become willing to die for it.

The discourse offered to us by the “critique of ideology,” from Marx to Habermas, largely shares this prevailing view, reproducing an “anti-statist” ideology on a daily basis under the guise of fighting against ideology itself. And by now, it has become remarkably easy to fabricate a psychological theory to accompany this discourse. The most refined and tightly woven of these theories are already “on standby,” neatly aligning Althusser’s conception of ideology with Lacanian psychoanalysis’s theory of language — linking concepts such as “the name of the father,” the “phallus symbol,” the “transition from the imaginary to the symbolic,” and “incomplete desire.” Thus, transitions from the political and social to the individual and psychological realms are effortlessly carried out over the secure bridge of theory.

Personally, I can quite readily accept the “critique of ideology” as a strong thesis within the framework of a philosophy of consciousness, provided that its boundaries are clearly defined. The critique of ideology, by exposing those aspects of what we call “consciousness” that must be unmasked as ideological, opens the way for critical thinking and the desire for liberation. Like anyone who values emancipation, I too appreciate this function of the critique of ideology. However, for quite some time now, I have been trying to pose questions related to the philosophy of consciousness strictly within that domain, and to distinguish these questions (and their answers) from those derived from political philosophy, philosophical anthropology, and individual psychology. Distinguishing these differences is as difficult—but also as necessary—as walking a razor’s edge. Otherwise, “anti-statist” rhetoric will automatically throw us into the arms of structures that oppose the state—structures which, in today’s world, amount to the oligarchy of finance capital.

Moreover, haphazardly blending the knowledge produced across these various fields will not be suitable for building a coherent theoretical framework; what will emerge instead is rhetoric masquerading as theory. Although it may at first give the impression of a consistent and rigorous theoretical construction, it will ultimately not rise above the level of “empty but effective discourse,” for it is built upon a faulty ontology.

The question of what the state is and how it relates to individual psychology is indeed a complex and difficult one. Even in studying the dynamics of small group behavior, a localized accumulation of knowledge in fields such as sociology, social psychology, and individual psychology is required. When the subject is something as intricate as the state, we must account for the fact that the necessary domains of knowledge for a coherent analysis will expand to encompass nearly all areas of the humanities and intellectual disciplines. We must therefore avoid reductive and absolute judgments. Otherwise, we risk committing a theoretical scandal in the name of scholarly inquiry.

Having thus identified the risks inherent in addressing the relationship between the state and individual psychology—and even admitting that what we are about to say may amount to nothing more than speculations dressed up in scientific terminology in an effort to justify our philosophical stance—we may now begin to speak.

Commonalities between the state and individual psychology

In my view, the first step in evaluating the relationship between the state and the psychology of the individual must be to identify the ontological commonalities between these two “phenomena.” The ontological common ground between the state and individual psychology, to some extent, resembles Kant’s linkage between the moral law within us and the Newtonian laws governing the universe, and it presents itself in the form of “politics and morality.” It is precisely this “politics and morality” that constitutes the true common ground where the state and individual psychology intersect.

Of course, our treatment of politics and morality as realities on an ontological level may seem odd to those who observe the countless variations these “phenomena” take on the ontic level. Yet we are fully aware of what we are saying—what appears strange is not oddity but a difference in perspective. Take gender, for example. Having a gender is an onto-biological reality in the living world, but there are many culturally shaped manifestations of male and female gender. Onto-biological reality is expressed in various ways by history and society. Ontic diversity does not eliminate the ontological foundation; rather, it builds upon it.

What unites the state and the individual on the ground of “politics and morality,” and what ontologizes politics and morality themselves, is the fact that both the state and the individual are group-beings. To be a group-being necessitates the presence of the other and of relationship. Without the other and without relationship, neither the state nor the individual can exist. Wherever the Other and relation are present, regardless of their historical or social form, there will always be politics and morality.

Of course, the fact that the state is a group-being does not mean that every group has or needs a state; the question of what kinds of communities give rise to the state is a separate discussion entirely.

What we have described as “politics and morality” — the ontological ground shared by the state and individual psychology — can, in fact, be represented more precisely under a single conceptual umbrella. That concept is “practical reason.”

Practical reason

The concept of practical reason can be traced back to Aristotle. According to Aristotle, in the broadest sense, theory is not the antithesis of practice, nor is practice merely an application of theory; rather, theoria is itself a form of praxis. In the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle distinguishes between two modes of thought: theoretical philosophy and practical philosophy.

In Aristotle’s framework, the concept corresponding to what we today call natural scientific thinking—and which finds its ideal form in mathematics—is episteme: a form of thought based on necessary and unchanging first principles, much like the universal and invariable laws of the natural sciences. In this sense, science, for Aristotle, resembles mathematical thought; it is demonstrative and not subject to debate. This type of reason, or what Aristotle refers to as theoretical philosophy, deals with well-defined and well-structured problems. But for Aristotle, the legitimate use of reason is not limited to episteme; there is another kind of reasoning that operates in the concrete and changing reality of the world. By defining this mode of reasoning—which applies both in the arts (including the crafts of artisans) and in the concrete moral conditions of human life—Aristotle puts forth a perspective quite different from today’s view, which strictly separates theory from practice.

This form of reasoning, which Aristotle links directly to practice, can be further divided into techne and phronesis. While techne and phronesis are similar in that they both require knowledge and experience, they differ from each other in many significant ways. Techne refers to the mode of reasoning used by an artist or a skilled craftsman in producing a work—it is based on foreknowledge of the means, with the ends defined later. It consists of information that is learnable and forgettable.

The concept of phronesis, which can be translated as practical or moral wisdom—or practical philosophy—is quite different from techne. For example, while in techne the artisan exercises full control over what he creates, phronesis is neither entirely controllable, nor can it be fully taught or forgotten. Techne involves applying one’s knowledge to matter, whereas in phronesis, what matters is determining what to do when faced with a concrete situation.

While the act of making (poiesis) in techne aims at producing something other than itself, the action (praxis) in phronesis has no purpose beyond the good action itself. To put it another way, its goal is to identify what is needed in a specific situation in order to achieve human well-being. Therefore, the capacity for judgment in phronesis places it at the center of both moral action and the other virtues.

The type of practical reason that Aristotle regarded as the basis for moral action was later transformed by Kant and Heidegger and became foundational to their respective philosophies. However, we will not dwell on Kant or Heidegger. Instead, we will focus on Aristotle’s notion of “practical reason” and, alongside it, the perspective of Gadamer—who, in giving Heidegger a modern interpretation, stated that “Aristotle’s approach to the problem of morality and to the form of knowledge in this domain provides a guiding framework for our hermeneutic studies. ‘Practice’ is as central to hermeneutics as it is to Aristotle.”

Gadamer, in order to articulate the significance of practical reason, reaches back to Aristotle’s classifications, because with modernity, science—as a theoretical form of human reason—and techne derived from it, have come to dominate all aspects of life. Truth has been reduced to a methodological issue. The dominance of science has transformed every facet of human activity into its own separate scientific discipline. Without theoretical guidance, modern individuals are unable to make even the smallest decisions regarding their daily lives. Gadamer describes this as the scandal of modernity and seeks a way out of it.

“I believe that the primary task of philosophy today is to defend practical and political reason against the domination of technology based on science. This is the point of departure for philosophical interpretation (hermeneutics). Philosophical hermeneutics aims to correct the bizarre distortions of modern consciousness; it attempts to correct the idolatrous faith in scientific method, and the unspoken authority of the sciences. It strives to return to citizens their noblest right—the right to decide for themselves, according to their own responsibility, which they have handed over to the experts,” Gadamer succinctly states in describing his philosophical mission.

Aristotle’s concept of practical wisdom was placed by Gadamer at the very foundation of his own hermeneutic philosophy. According to Gadamer, all the characteristics Aristotle attributes to phronesis actually apply to all forms of understanding. Every act of understanding, just like phronesis, involves both thought and action simultaneously. And again, as in phronesis, the aim of the act of understanding is nothing other than the action itself in a concrete situation. This, according to Gadamer, is the point that Aristotle misses—the fact that this kind of understanding, which integrates thought and action at once, is always and everywhere present.

Phronesis (practical wisdom) is the capacity to apply general or universal knowledge to a concrete, singular, and particular situation; it is the rationality of action. What constitutes phronesis is both the aim of the judgment it renders and the particularity of its object. This is because phronesis concerns itself with concrete practice. It aims to determine, in every circumstance, what would best serve human well-being. Trying to understand the needs of a given situation is a practical task. To accomplish such a task requires not only extensive theoretical knowledge but also the ability to put that knowledge into practice.

The fundamental questions that practical reason seeks to answer are of the kind: “What should I do?” and “What is needed here?”—in other words, questions directed toward action. And questions of action, in the end, must necessarily be moral and political questions.

Despite the fact that human understanding naturally aligns with phronesis, modern modes of thought have severed the bond between theory and practice. We now face a dilemma in which practice follows theory, truth has become a matter of method, and problems of everyday life—once solvable by practical reason—are increasingly left to the domain of experts. The contemporary distinction between the “political good” and the “moral good,” often seen as one of the most fundamental problems of our time, is in fact a direct result of this rupture.

In Aristotle’s framework of thought, however, these are not separate things. For him, law and morality do not exist in separate spheres. All virtues—what we broadly refer to as the “moral good”— cannot be attained outside the political community, the polis (the ancient Greek city-state). The cultivation and practice of virtue presupposes life within a polis that shares a common goal of pursuing the “good life.” Therefore, when he defines the human being as a “political animal,” he also implies all the virtues required of a good citizen.

Taking Aristotle’s analysis of phronesis as a model, Gadamer seeks a solution aimed at the thematic unity of all practical fields—in other words, a philosophy of concrete, practical problems in the broadest sense.

Indeed, alongside Gadamer, a number of thinkers—from the Frankfurt School, such as Habermas and Horkheimer, to liberals like John Rawls, communitarians like Charles Taylor, and new pragmatists such as Richard Rorty—have all expressed discomfort with the dominance of instrumental reason and with the divide between the “political good” and the “moral good.” They have all sought, in various ways, solutions based on communicative reason. Yet, truthfully, none of them have been as successful as Gadamer in bridging the divide between practice and human moral and political activity.

Why have we said all this? To express that the ontological ground uniting the state and individual psychology is “politics and morality” or “practical reason”—that is, a form of action triggered by the question of what ought to be done, in a concrete situation, for the well-being of human beings as group-beings. Of course, the thinkers we have emphasized here—Aristotle and Gadamer—do not explicitly use language that directly supports our thesis of this “ontological intersection.” They have no such intention, just as we do not claim to advocate all of their views in full. Yet, we believe that by showing how their concepts of “politics and morality” reflect a natural process and manifestation of the human mind’s engagement with practice, we have found a conceptual basis for our perspective on the state and individual psychology.

We will elaborate further on this idea in our next article. For now, we would like to offer another example that resonates with our understanding.

Our thinker Ahmet İnam, in his book What Is Technology to Me?, arrives at the following conclusion after a detailed exploration of the concept of techne in Greek culture:
“The ancient Greek human being, when viewed through the lens of our age, displays a surprising feature: within this human being, there is the state; there is nature. In their nature, there is spirit; there is order and law. This culture displays a peculiar entanglement: the individual in the state, the state in the individual, humanity in nature, nature in humanity, natural order in the state, and state order in the natural order! I believe this is where the strength—or perhaps the weakness—but certainly the originality of Greek culture lies.”
I agree, but with one distinction. What Ahmet İnam says about Ancient Greek culture actually applies to all cultures, including modernity. Psychology, nature, and the state are always interwoven in this way. This is precisely what we mean by “ontological intersection.”

However, with modernity, demonstrating this “ontological intersection”—which still endures robustly in practice—has become as difficult as proving the existence and necessity of practical reason itself. It is precisely this difficulty that explains why Foucault had difficulty expressing that “fascism is, above all, a form of power that takes root in the inner worlds of individuals and why we ourselves fail to fully comprehend the noble promise that “societies will be governed as they deserve to be governed.”