It invariably surprises me how much this guy can cram into so few pages – in this review I try to cover as many of the ideas he presents as I can, but it is a fool’s errand, I’m afraid. This is perhaps his most counter-intuitive book – well, of those I’ve read. This could have been called ‘Against Transparency’ – and perhaps it would have attracted more attention.
I think we struggle with the idea that transparency might be a bad thing. Like so many other notions – positive psychology, optimism, extroversion, freedom – we seem to be naturally drawn to these as ‘unconditionally good’ even if we don’t necessarily consider their opposites as being fully bad. But the author wastes no time in letting us know that he has concerns with transparency – on the first page of the preface he says, ‘Today the word ‘transparency’ is haunting all spheres of life’ (vii) in an interesting echo of the Communist Manifesto. And while we assume that a society dedicated to transparency is one that is open and best suited to enabling us to be free, he says it is just the opposite. That we only have such extremes of transparency because we lack trust and that as such, ‘The society of transparency is not a society of trust, but a society of control’ (vii).
He equates the shift to a transparent society with the shift towards a ‘neoliberal dispositive’ – because it is seeking to force ‘everything inward in order to transform it into information’ (viii). This is interesting because one of the major themes of neoliberal economic theory is that the market isn’t really just a useful means of economic distribution, but rather a remarkable information processor with money value being the key unit of information that allows conversions of all other forms of value. Transparency, then, is essential for this information processor to work, and so, transparency is seen as central to the neoliberal project.
But the author isn’t interested in just focusing on economic theory, but also how this has spilt over onto the social and specifically into social media too – which he says is ‘coming to resemble, more and more, digital panoptica that discipline and exploit the social’ (vii).
That needs a bit of an aside. The panopticon was a model prison conceived by Jeremy Bentham that allowed individual and isolated prisoners in their cells in a circular prison to be potentially watched over by a prison guard, but one who could not be seen by the prisoners and who might not be watching at all. This way the prisoners were forced to always behave as if they were being watched and that was the point because eventually that way of behaviour would become second nature. That is, the prisoners would became self-regulating. Saying that social media is a form of panoptica is hardly a new observation – however, it is important to notice the difference here from Bentham’s original model, which will be made more of later in the text, that is, that we willingly enter this relationship and that we do so of our own free will.
He ends the preface by saying ‘Transparency is an ideology. Like all ideologies, it has a positive core that has been mystified and made absolute. The danger of transparency lies in such ideologization. If totalized, it yields terror.’ (viii)
He pulls quite a few ideas together in his attack on transparency – one of the more surprising, to me at least, was to link it with pornography. As he says, ‘Pornography is unmediated / contact between the image and the eye’ (1-2). And goes on to discuss this at more length later – particularly in relation to eros and desire and therefore the limits to both that pornography imposes. He then immediately links the transparent with money since this is the mediator of all value and exchange and therefore that which makes the value of everything transparent to everything else. This endless transparency not only leaves us nowhere to hide, but also nowhere to be. He stresses that ‘Love without something hidden to sight is pornography’ (5) and later that psychology has long argued that our subconscious selves are fundamentally hidden from our conscious ourselves – and that this is essential rather than a flaw in the human condition, since this is due to the need for negativity (as well as positivity) for us to be whole persons. The problem is that positive science (and neoliberal economics in particular) does away with negativity and so we are condemned to a world of transparent positivity. He makes the point that this is universal in our new society, that ‘It is telling that Facebook has consistently refused to introduce a ‘Dislike’ button.’ (7)
Our ‘will to positivity’ is interesting since it is presented as also a will to truth – but he makes the point that ‘Truth is a negative force insofar as it presents and asserts itself by declaring all else false’ (8). In a world dominated by ‘fake news’ – where the true can be made the false purely by enthusiastic personal assertion, I’m not sure what to make of this.
We are getting to see now how he is proposing to play this game – transparency is a visual metaphor, and so we are taken into the nature of the visual arts and how they have changed with various innovations in technology. Any society is brought into focus by the technology it produces, and we live in an age where the image is more central than it has been previous ages. He mentions Walter Benjamin – famous for saying that photography diminishes the aura of works of art by making them ubiquitous, in the sense that it is hard from something to have an aura if it is everywhere, including hanging behind the door in people’s toilets. But even here we (today) have moved beyond even this profane nature of the image in the era of mechanical reproduction – mostly today, images aren’t mechanically reproduced anymore, but rather they sit as ephemera on our devices. And the images we see are not just the best of human artistic endeavour, but more often than not are used by us to display ourselves and to document our lives in ways that put us in the best possible light. We do this as a means of collecting likes – again, an over-abundance of positivity.
He refers back to the history of photography here to stress his point – saying that there was a time when images required a negative (and he means this quite literally), but that digital photography has done away with the negative and with all negativity at the same time. We become images and those images become objects of exchange so that their value is ‘measured by its exhibition value. The society of exhibition is a society of pornography’ (11). And the problem with pornography is that it ‘destroys not just eros, but also sex’ (12). He means this because he defines the obscene as ‘hypervisibility’ – that is, he feels that the lack of any hope of covering kills eroticism such that all that is left is the obscene. I think he means this in the sense that the compulsion to exhibit leaves no room to be one’s self other than as a constant exhibition as outer-directed towards the pleasure of the viewer and that this so leaves no space for the self or even for otherness as more than the immediately apparent. To put that perhaps too plainly, you don’t get depth from what is immediately and superficially seen. As he says in the next chapter, ‘the negativity of the secret, the veil, the concealment incite desire and make pleasure more intense’ (15) and to stretch this point further, ‘Unmediated enjoyment, which admits no imaginative or narrative detour, is pornographic’ (16).
I kept thinking of the story of Diana and Actaeon in this part of the book. Actaeon was a hunter who stumbled into a clearing as Diana was undressing. Rather than turn away, he stood and watched her – he became the voyeur watching pornography – only to be discovered and punished (the hunter becomes hunted and killed by his own dogs). Beauty has its costs and is veiled for a reason. And if beauty needs a veil, then the sublime, being beyond representation, is essentially permanently veiled. But this veiling or permanently covered is the very opposite of what capitalism seeks to achieve – ‘Capitalism heightens the pornographication of society by exhibiting everything as a commodity and handing it over to hypervisibility’ (24).
He then shifts his gaze to the photograph and has some interesting things to say regarding Barthes – particularly Barthes’ ideas of the studium and punctum (basically, the studium is the construction of the photograph as an image – how it has been staged, while the punctum is something elusive in the image that pricks us, that stops us and forces us to consider and reflect upon it). His point is that pornography has no punctum, it is all and immediately apparent and certainly not ‘troubling’ in the sense Barthes means, that is, as having ‘semiotic intensity. They have nothing that might take hold and wound’ (27). This semiotic intensity, when it exists, is something hidden in plain sight – in fact, we might not feel the piercing of the punctum of an image when we first see it, but rather only after we stop looking at the image, the punctum becomes a kind of itch under the skin that tells us we have been scratched and infected. Again, this is not the point of the pornographic, which, by definition, leaves nothing hidden, nothing to be guessed at or obscured.
Before reading this I’d have taken transparency to mean something close to narrative – that is, for something to be truly transparent you would need to be able to tell its story – but again, he argues the exact opposite. He sees the world today as being based on counting, rather than recounting. This additive nature of our existence (again, linking back to the neoliberal notion of the world as information) sits outside of traditional ritual and ceremony which ‘have their own temporality, their own rhythm and tact’ (30). He makes this point in relation to pilgrimages – which require a progression and narrative force in ways that ‘being a tourist’ simply doesn’t. As he says, the ‘tourist sticks to the present’ but the pilgrim never forgets the point of the journey – all journeys are about reaching the point of transcendence, directing one’s self towards that end, something denied the tourist. And that transcendence is hidden and only available if the journey is connected to the narrative of a pilgrimage. As he says at one point, endings only make sense if they are tied to a narrative.
He stresses this point further when he says, ‘The world today is no theatre where actions and feelings are represented and interpreted, but a market on which intimacies are exhibited, sold, and consumed. The theatre is a site of representation, whereas the market is a site of exhibition.’ And to link this again back to the theme we have already established ‘Today theatrical representation is yielding to pornographic exhibition’ (34).
He makes the same point in relation to politics and the public sphere, which also have become dominated with the personal habits and choices of politicians rather than with political action – and this personalisation of politics shifts it from political action towards (again) exhibition and therefore pornography too.
The next chapter shifts focus to Plato’s cave – but makes the point that the cave allegory is a narrative world constructed on the metaphor of theatre, literally constructed as such, with a captive audience and a light and shadow show. But the point again is the opposite of transparency – for Plato the world of appearance, the world that is ‘transparent’ to us – is a world of lies. The truth is beyond this world and is fundamentally beyond our ability to comprehend it in its ideal form, as such, truth is the very opposite of transparent. Or as Han concludes the chapter by saying, ‘Only emptiness is entirely transparent’ (40).
It is here that Bentham’s Panopticon comes back with full force. The point of the panopticon was to discipline and we generally assume that to enact discipline requires a centre – someone who will correct inappropriate behaviour by disciplining. That is someone who metes out the punishment for infractions. This centre no longer exists – rather, we are all the centre and we are all self-disciplining. We willingly put ourselves on display and so we have become both the centre and periphery of the panopticon – the watcher and the watched. And so, we imagine, since we perform this pornographic act of auto-display / auto-observation upon ourselves, that it must be an expression of our freedom and our will. However, ‘Such total surveillance degrades ‘transparent society’ into an inhuman society of control: everyone controls everyone’ (47). That is, while we think we are being self-creating, we are in fact self-regulating.
We live in a world of KPIs – and assure ourselves that all that can be known can be counted and measured – but this form of transparency is really little more than another aspect of the total surveillance society – and since it is transparent, such a society is one where trust is impossible. Trust is only necessary if we are in a state ‘between knowing and not-knowing’ (47) – you don’t need to trust if you already know – but transparency means you can know everything – ‘Instead of affirming that ‘transparency creates trust’, one should instead say, ‘transparency dismantles trust’ (48).
Philosophers have long presented the way out of the despair of the human condition – particularly after the death of God – as involving us making a project of our lives. This has been true of Nietzsche, Sartre, Foucault – in fact, one of the great current pieces of advice we give to young people is that in the future ‘One is the master and entrepreneur of oneself’ (48). But he questions this as well. The projects we choose are not out of freedom, but forced choices by the illusion of freedom where ‘The illusory freedom of consumers lacks all negativity. They no longer constitute an outside that might question the systemic inside’ (49).
This is a dark vision of the nature of transparency – one all the more troubling since transparency seems to be ‘bathed in light’. But if we have nowhere to hide, we have nowhere to grow either. Like I said, I’ve skipped bits of this – whole chapters in places – but like I also said, he fits an awful lot into 50 odd pages.