Examined Life pulls philosophy out of academic journals and classrooms, and puts it back on the streets. Philosophers have long done their best thinking when directly engaging with the outside world, not in isolation from it. Socrates roved the Athenian agora, courting trouble with the authorities. Rousseau immortalized his rambles through nature on the printed page. Nietzsche once said that only ideas conceived while walking have any value. In Examined Life, filmmaker Astra Taylor accompanies some of today’s most influential thinkers on a series of unique excursions through places and spaces that hold particular resonance for them and their ideas.
Peter Singer’s thoughts on the ethics of consumption are amplified against the backdrop of Fifth Avenue’s posh boutiques. Slavoj Zizek questions current beliefs about the environment while sifting through a garbage dump. Michael Hardt ponders the nature of revolution while surrounded by symbols of wealth and leisure. Judith Butler and a friend stroll through San Francisco’s Mission District questioning our culture’s fixation on individualism. And while driving through Manhattan, Cornel West—perhaps America’s best-known public intellectual—compares philosophy to jazz and blues, reminding us how intense and invigorating a life of the mind can be. Offering privileged moments with great thinkers from fields ranging from moral philosophy to cultural theory, Examined Life reveals philosophy’s power to transform the way we see the world around us and imagine our place in it.... Still in her twenties, documentarian Astra Taylor has already brought a philosophical bent to non-fiction filmmaking and is looking to push the form in new and exciting directions. Taylor was born in Winnipeg, Manitoba, in 1979 and grew up in Athens, Georgia. She studied first at the University of Georgia and then got an MA in sociology, philosophy and cultural theory at the New School for Social Research in New York. In 2001, she co-produced and co-directed the 45-minute documentary Miracle Tree: Moringa Oleifera, about infant malnutrition in Senegal, and the following year acted as associate producer on another doc, Allison Maclean's Persons of Interest (2004), which looked at the treatment of Arabs and Muslims following the 9/11 attacks. Taylor made her feature debut with Žižek!, a portrait of Slavoj Žižek, the inimitable “Elvis of cultural theory;” the film premiered at the Toronto Film Festival in 2005 and was released in the U.S. by Zeitgeist later the same year to glowing reviews. Taylor, who is married to Neutral Milk Hotel frontman Jeff Mangum, currently runs Hidden Driver Productions with fellow filmmaker Laura Hanna.
With her sophomore feature, Examined Life, Taylor once again brings together her two main passions: film and philosophy. The title is derived from a quote by Socrates (who deemed that “the unexamined life is not worth living”), and over the course of the film Taylor introduces us to eight contemporary philosophers who delve into the issues and problems of the modern world. Though Cornel West talks to Taylor as they drive around New York, the other seven participants – Avital Ronell, Peter Singer, Kwame Anthony Appiah, Martha Nussbaum, Michael Hardt, Judith Butler, Sunaura Taylor and Žižek – hold forth on foot, as Taylor conceived the film as “philosophers on walks.” Going against the norm of “serious” documentaries tending to be depressing, Taylor here creates a film of substance that is nevertheless light on its feet. Neither the walking philosophers nor their conversations stop for a moment during Examined Life, so the result is physically and mentally energetic piece of filmmaking. And as the ideas in Taylor's film are engaging and thought-provoking without being overly complex, we are left invigorated rather than bamboozled.
Taylor: Well, I've been interested in philosophy for many years. One of the definitions of philosophy that I like comes from Isiah Berlin and he said that philosophers are people who persist in asking childish questions, questions that often have no answer and that people often just want to put to the side. I think I got interested in philosophical thought as a kid. I read a copy of Peter Singer's Animal Liberation when I was 12 years old, so I've had a longstanding interest in this subject matter. I was always also interested in art and in activism, and documentary film is the perfect vehicle for me to mix all of these interests. The thing that attracts me most about philosophy and filmmaking is that both those disciplines are concerned with shifting perception, shifting the way you see a problem when you have a new theory – it's illuminating, you suddenly see the world in a new way. And going to a really good documentary film can have the same effect: your whole sense of the world is different.
Taylor: Yeah, definitely. Even when I was editing Žižek!, I had this strong desire to do another film about philosophy and to do an ensemble piece. I felt that it was such a pleasurable experience and the whole challenge of communicating abstract ideas in a visual format really compelled me. So when I was wrapping that film up, I was already planting seeds and writing proposals for what would become Examined Life, but it's interesting because right now I don't have that sense that a strictly philosophical film is on the horizon for me. I don't have the same desire to tackle it again and I feel like Examined Life is the culmination of approaching philosophy.
Taylor: “Philosophers on walks.” That was it. I wrote a proposal for Examined Life, but I actually put it in the drawer in this self-defeatist way because I assumed that nobody would be interested in financing such a film. But then I met Ron Mann, a documentary filmmaker based in Toronto and an incredible guy, who mentioned he'd had a longstanding interest in doing an ensemble piece about philosophy, because he's got a history of doing these anthology films, like Poetry in Motion, on poets, and Imagine the Sound, about jazz. He'd seen Žižek! and we instantaneously had a very good rapport, so I got the proposal out of the drawer showed him what I was thinking about. Once I met Ron, everything came together with this amazing ease and enthusiasm. In fact, my producers believed in the film more than I did at first, because I wasn't quite sure I could pull it off. However, I did pitch the film at the Hot Docs forum, and – in my opinion – it went over like a lead weight. The people around the table, from one country after the other, told me, “The people of my nation do not want to see this movie. There's no audience for this. We wouldn't know how to market it or show it on television.”
Taylor: The people I sent the proposal to had pretty strict requirements, so I ended up making a really in-depth 40-page proposal and was really challenged to create a vision and articulate it on the page. I thought that it was just jumping through hoops, but it was actually so helpful and it's kind of remarkable how the final product is so close to what I had on the page. I knew that I wanted to have some kind of thread or walk that recurred through the project and someone who served as narrator (or anti-narrator), but I didn't know that that would be Cornel West, that he would play that role. And then the focus on meaning and ethics, and the emphasis on what I would call the brokenness of the world and discarded populations and unfinished theories and social justice and inequity – all that was on the page, but I couldn't have imagined really how it would manifest itself. So in one sense my vision was quite clear but in another sense it was a total surprise when I got into the editing room and actually had to figure it out.
Taylor: I really wanted there to be a visual diversity and I wanted each section to feel like a short film that fit a person's individual energy, the theme they were talking about. [Cornel West in] the car diverged from the whole walking motif, but it's a way of updating the whole peripatetic motif: this is how we move through space in 2009. And the accelerated stop and start of me driving him around Manhattan really fits with his presentation. Also, I wanted to create the sense that the viewer was on the walks and that there was space for them to insert themselves so it would almost feel like a conversation, even if it was actually a monologue. My biggest thing was not wanting it to feel like a lecture that happens to be moving.
Taylor: The thing is that they all are conversations: my style of interviewing is basically to have a conversation, so I had questions unique to each subject based on months of reading and research and thinking about how it would all tie together. But then, we would keep talking and just see where it was going. I would be walking backwards, typically speaking to them, so it feels like conversations because that's what they are, and I edited myself out as much as I could.
Taylor: I experimented with that, and did that more than I did in the past. Mainly, it was because I had the luxury of having transcribers, whereas with Žižek! I developed my own crazy Žižek shorthand and my own bizarre logging system. I did do some paper editing, but because I'd already conceived the themes in advance, it was first a matter of instinct – picking out the great moments – and then building around them. One thing that did surprise me in the editing room was the lack of space for digression. I couldn't lose momentum. It's all moving so fast and the arguments are coming at such high speed that I wasn't able to go as off-topic as I imagined I would be. They all stay on-message [in the film] more than they did in real life.
Taylor: Oh yeah, that's neat. It's interesting because The Last Waltz was the one film the producer from my previous film, Žižek!, made me watch. I do like the theatricality and formality of that film a lot. These walks in Examined Life are quite naturalistic but, obviously, they're a total spectacle and the subjects speak to the camera, so I really liked playing with that. I don't have any desire to portray something that seems authentic – in the sense of “Oh, they've forgotten the camera and now they're being themselves” – and showing these people at home having a sandwich. That, to me, isn't nearly as compelling as them staring into the camera and saying, “This is what I believe. This is my truth. This is where my conviction lies. This is me.” To me, that's far more authentic, even though obviously there's a six-person film crew and they're completely aware that they're being filmed. They were all very enthusiastic about the element of spectacle, that was something they all embraced readily. I expected that from Žižek, because I'd worked with him before and he has a great love of cinema, but everyone else shared this enthusiasm so that was a real pleasant surprise.
Taylor: In 2001, when I was 21, I dropped out of grad school. I was doing a humanities based curriculum, and I felt this calling to do something more hands-on, a more direct to call attention to social injustice, so filmmaking seemed like a perfect forum for that. I think after my experience in West Africa dealing with malnutrition and then associate producing Persons of Interest, where my job was basically convincing people who were in very precarious positions to appear on screen, people who were risking a lot, I had an epiphany about the futility of documentary filmmaking as a direct step towards social change. But that liberated me to focus on film for its own sake, so it made sense for me to mix philosophy with cinema since those were the two things I really enjoy. Also, I think there's a shortage of films that are cerebral but entertaining. Seriousness is equated with sadness or staring into the heart of darkness, but there's space for a film of substance that leaves you enthused and maybe impassioned and emboldened. I'm not saying Examined Life totally does that, but that's the sort of emotion I'd like people to leave the theater with, to leave energized and elevated.
Taylor: I watched Blindsight, which is a great documentary by Lucy Walker, and the protagonist is such an inspiring, powerful woman that I actually just felt like I was wasting my life in isolation and I should just go and follow her example. But the real answer is that this is such a fucking privilege to be able to make a film and have it open in New York. At this point, I'm just awash in gratitude that I'm getting to do this work. So it would be hard for me to wish I was doing something else right now.
Taylor: No, because of the stupid advertisements. Last time I went early and saw the previews, they played some heavy metal music video for joining the army and I nearly killed myself. So I try to get there as late as possible without missing any of the film.
Finally, If you had an unlimited budget and could cast whoever you wanted (alive or dead), what film would you make?
Taylor: I think that would be a deadly idea. I like things to be humble and organic and challenging, so the idea of having a limitless budget and access to anybody on the earth sounds terrifying and completely unappealing. I enjoy scrounging for things at thrift stores and having to make do with what I can find. The whole creative process is breaking boundaries and figuring out how to integrate the mess around you and give it form.
At the start of Astra Taylor’s Zizek!, the manic philosopher, clearly over heated, explains how love is “formally evil.” Zizek points out that in love, a subject picks out another imperfect subject to raise above all else; everything in the universe is forfeit for the sake of the object of love.
Zizek also comments on how he finds the concept of “‘universal love’ disgusting” and that the only proper attitude towards the world is hatred or apathy. In his essay “A Plea for Ethical Violence,” Zizek goes as far as to say that a kind of radical violence, which cuts universally, is necessary to break through the false sense of universal love, of vacuous tolerance that dominates current discourse.
Sigi Jottkandt, in an essay in Lacan: The Silent Partners, writes that the response to this tolerant and empty form of universal love should not be an ethical violence as Zizek suggests, but more love. Jotkandt suggests that the sentimentality of a kind of ethical love takes the form of a superegoic demand of ‘Love me!’ Here the parallel to Zizek’s comment in Zizek! and elsewhere in his work that capitalism demands us to enjoy is of great interest.
Ultimately, Jottkandt’s response to the call for more love is to respond with ‘I will love you no matter what’ (p. 284). In the collection Sexuation, Alenka Zupancic states that Lacan’s definition of love is when the object you look at, the object of your affection, looks back at you, when it ‘winks’ at you. “You either run away or fall, that is, resubjectivize accordingly” (p. 283, Sexuation). To discuss love as a threat proper, we must move to the loving two.
Discussing love outside the broader social context and speaking only of the two loving subjects: love is a violent act. In The Sublime Object of Ideology, Zizek states that love is a forced choice, meaning that it is a choice but one that only happens in retro. What is meant by a forced choice? Clearly love cannot be forced, you cannot be threatened into loving someone; what you would get is the appearance of love, the actions that accompany it without the actual state of love. Nor can love be a free choice; we cannot decide to love someone. Returning to Zizek, all we can say is that when we love someone we know that we have already fallen in love with them (p. 166).
The knot of love and freedom here is plopped awkwardly on the table of analysis. The question that arises is whether love is the very embodiment of free will or the very loss of freedom itself, albeit willingly. Here my commonly made point about freedom and Kant appears relevant yet again. As Kant put it, humans are born into a state of fundamental bondage, we are, whether we like it or not, at the mercy of space, time and a whole other range of phenomenal ravages. What gives us our freedom and makes us simultaneously noumenal and phenomenal is that we can choose, to some degree, which phenomenal things are affecting us at any given moment.
Now the complication rears its head: do we see our love as object or subject, do we say no to the object which demands us to love it, or do we as Jottkandt suggests, tell the hostage taker that we will love them beyond death?
As is well known, Lacan first articulated love as a narcissistic fiction which covered over the truth of one’s desire, which aggrandizes the plain, stupid objet petit a, the odd uncomfortable thing which strangely gives us enjoyment with romantic platitudes which wax transcendentally towards the eternal. Or, as the quote goes: “Love is when you give away something you don’t have to someone who doesn’t exist.”
“Lacan depicts what he calls the ‘metaphor of love’ with this poignant image: a hand reaches out toward a fruit, a flower, or lips which suddenly blaze; its attempt to attain, to draw near, to make the fire burn, is closely connected with the ripening of the fruit, the beauty of the flower, the blazing of the lips. But when, in this attempt to attain, to draw near, to make the fire burn, the hand has moved far enough toward the object, another hand springs up from the fruit, from the flower, from the lips, and reaches out to meet our hand, and at this moment our hand freezes in the closed fullness of the fruit, in the open fullness of the flower, in the explosion of the blazing hand. That which occurs at this moment is love.”
As was stated before, love for Lacan is a kind of subjectivizing of the object. Or, apropos Zizek’s statements in the opening pages of The Parallax View, ‘the object objects,’ and it does so in such a way that we must subjectivize it and recode ourselves.
For Badiou, while the objet petit a is imperative to love it is not the ultimate end of it; the object is completely subsumed by the event and the fidelity that potentially results. This is not to say that Badiou rejects the object completely as he designates it “the obscure star” that guides the encounter, but that the object is ‘beneath’ the scene or the dual interpretation of the world. Further explanation of Badiou’s system is necessary here.
According to Badiou, love is always a process of investigations that occurs between two indeterminate, incomplete and non-symmetrical entities which he designates man and woman. Love begins with a chance encounter, eyes meeting across the crowded subway et cetera, and then leads to a declaration of ‘I love you.’ The declaration of love for Badiou begins the labor of love which is neither “trivial nor sublime” (“The Scene of the Two,” p. 7). This labor takes the form of a shared investigation of the universe (p. 6). The “indeterminate disjunction” of the two is the dance of the subjects tarrying with the real of sexual difference as well as the fundamental gap between their separate beings.
To swing back to the grander scheme of things, love is one of Badiou’s four fields of truth, meaning that being engaged in an amorous procedure makes one a subject. For Badiou the subject is never given, it only becomes such in pursuit of a truth. For Badiou the two of love move toward the infinite. Jottkandt takes this formula as describing one’s first love as a breaking into two of the already existent Lacanian subject in order for future love to be possible. Ultimately Jottkandt ends up at a Lacanian conclusion when she ends her essay by stating that love is “the infinitely generative source for the stories we tell about our selves which ultimately compose ourselves as narrative subject” (p. 285).
In terms of mathematical formulae, Jottkandt and Badiou also clash over the connection between love and politics. Jottkandt states that love is a political act because it transforms the very relations of power. Badiou states a different relation at the end of his text Metapolitics: he states that politics begins where love ends (p. 151). Whereas love proceeds from the one to the infinite, politics moves from the infinite to the one of equality (Ibid.).
Perhaps it is here that Zizek and Badiou come to agreement against Lacan. In a recent video circulating the net, Zizek, strangely dressed in construction worker attire, rambles briefly about love, that we love not despite faults but because of them. The subject is a subject of love because they do the work of love towards an interpretation of the world, and because they recognize, at some level, that the other’s love goes beyond their status as object, and that the subject’s love does the same.