Andrew Dilts

Quite shortly after the Prisons Information Group (GIP) was formed, Michel Foucault delivered a public announcement in which he called for a generalized practice of “active intolerance” against a wide range of disciplinary institutions. Due to three consistent scholarly reductions of the GIP’s legacy, the sense of “active intolerance” remains nebulous at best. Cast, by turns, as merely the offshoot of Foucauldian theory, a point of prison data collection, or a short-lived social movement (forgetting its lengthy successor: the Prisoners Action Committee), the GIP has been regularly interpreted as a relatively circumscribed intellectual enterprise. Against these three reductions, we develop an account of the GIP as an inherently collaborative abolitionist effort that was trained on subjugated knowledges. And this, in fact, is the work of active intolerance.

In this essay, I offer a brief for “abolitionist genealogy” as a method and philosophical practice. By locating instances of this method within the work of prison abolitionists who are incarcerated or formerly incarcerated, I argue that such a method is already available to theorists and critical historians of the present if we are willing to attend to the absences and presences that constitute our academic communities. I ground my brief for abolitionist genealogy by centering the experiences of queer, trans, gender-nonconforming, and intersex incarcerated people as exemplary of how prisons and jails are fundamentally violent places which cannot, as McDonald puts it, be made safe. Lastly, I link these concerns to the broader question of queer and TGNCI visibility politics in carceral institutions such as the jail/prison and the university.

This essay argues that the thief, a liminal figure that haunts the boundary of political membership and the border between the law of reason and the law of beasts, drives Locke’s accounts of the foundation of the commonwealth and the right to rebellion in the Second Treatise of Government. Locke’s political theory is best read through punishment as a theory of subject formation, which relies on an unstable concept of proportionality to produce this liminal figure in order to secure the member as a “stable” political subject.

In his 1979 lectures, Foucault took particular interest in the reconfiguration of quotidian practices under neo-liberal human capital theory, re-describing all persons as entrepreneurs of the self. By the early 1980s, Foucault had begun to articulate a theory of ethical conduct driven not by the logic of investment, but of artistic development and self-care. This article uses Foucault’s account of human capital as a basis to explore the meaning and limits of Foucault’s final published works and argues for two interrelated genealogical projects focused on the ethics of economic activity

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:How I Learned to Keep Worrying and Love Teaching the CanonAndrew DiltsFollowing the late Iris Marion Young’s usage of the term, I take pedagogical questions to be essentially pragmatic questions. As she puts it, “By being pragmatic I mean categorizing, explaining, developing accounts and arguments that are tied to specific practical and political problems, where the purpose of this theoretical activity is clearly related to these problems” (Young 1994, 717–18). When thinking about the importance of feminist and continental pedagogical questions, I want to therefore locate my thoughts in specific political and practical problems faced by teachers.The specific political problem that I am concerned with here is the notion of the canon as it shapes the courses many of us teach. The specific practical manifestation of the problem of the canon is the question of how to teach such courses when one is assigned a syllabus, or constrained by the requirements of set curricula. My immediate concern is to focus on the position of the graduate instructor, adjunct lecturer, teaching assistant, and junior faculty member who lacks the institutional power and employment security to challenge the notion of the canon whether wholesale or only in part. I want to insist that teaching the canon as a practical and political problem, turns out to be an exemplary way to practice feminist, continental, radical, queer, and transgressive pedagogies. Teaching a canon is potentially radical because its (re)production is always also dangerous.I turn to feminist and continental approaches to teaching in particular because they are especially well suited to this practical and political problem. First, feminist philosophy has demonstrated the omission of women from the [End Page 78] canon while also emphasizing that women are central and crucial figures within canonical texts. Second, if continental philosophy distinguishes itself from those strains of the analytic tradition that conceive of themselves as timeless, ahistorical, and geographically universal, it does so in part by pointing to a historical and geographical referent: the “continent.” By taking the canon as an object of analysis, both perspectives can ground a pedagogical approach to a canonical course that provisionally embraces the canon precisely as a question, reflecting rather than refusing its contingency. Feminist and continental commitments to close reading, critical analysis, and sympathetic interpretation can promote a self-conscious and repeated practice of grappling over foundations. Such a practice would not be for the sake of preserving disciplines and normalizing canons, but rather for the sake of understanding the disciplined and normalized subjects that we are as teachers and student. A contingent and self-conscious stance toward canonical teaching, one that attends especially to the danger of pedagogical power, might moreover help us to situate our classrooms as spaces in which we, teachers and students, exercise something like collective agency.Let me make this more concrete with a symposium of two practices and one organizing principle. First, canonical courses must confront the question of the canon itself. The persistent questions of any survey, “classics,” or “foundations” course should be to ask what exactly makes the subject surveyable? What makes a classic a classic? What is built on a foundation and what makes something foundational? I first pose these questions by taking the course title itself as our first shared “text” for analysis, and by asking students what they think the class will be about and how exactly they have came to think that. It is usually striking to see just how confident many students are in what they’ve signed up for, and how sure they are in their knowledge of what counts as “classical” thought. Yet they have seldom thought about where this knowledge comes from. Such first questions of the course are thus self-reflective and critical questions: How did they know that Plato or Aristotle would be on the syllabus? This is the very first step in helping the students to recognize themselves as being active participants in the canon themselves, right along with me at the front of the room, actively investing their time in the production and reproduction of the canon.Our course will necessarily maintain some notions of classics, foundations, and canons. We...