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This [[logic]] holds not only for [[emotion]]s, but also for [[belief]]s. According to a well-known [[anthropological]] anecdote, the “[[primitives]]” to whom one attributes certain “[[superstitious]] [[beliefs]],” that they descend from a fish or from a bird, for example, when directly asked about these [[belief]]s, answer, “Of course not — we’re not that stupid! But I was told that our ancestors did believe that.” In short, they transfer their [[belief]] onto another. Are we not doing the same with our [[children]]? We go through the [[ritual]] of [[Santa Claus]], since our children (are supposed to) believe in it, and we do not [[want]] to disappoint them; they pretend to believe not to disappoint us and our belief in their naiveté (and to get the presents, of course). In an [[uncanny]] way, some [[belief]]s always seem to function “at a [[distance]].” For the [[belief]] to function, there has to be some ultimate [[guarantor]] of it, yet this guarantor is always [[deferred]], [[displaced]], never [[present]] in person. The [[subject]] who <i>directly</i> believes [[need ]] not [[exist ]] for the [[belief]] to be operative: It is enough merely to presuppose its [[existence ]] in the guise of, say, a [[mythological]] [[founding figure]] who is not part of our [[reality]].
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Against this background, one is tempted to [[supplement]] the fashionable [[notion ]] of “[[interactivity]]” with its shadowy and much more [[uncanny]] [[double]], “[[interpassivity]]” (a term invented by [[Robert Pfaller]]). Today, it is a commonplace to emphasize how, with new electronic media, the passive consumption of a [[text ]] or a work of [[art]] is over: I no longer merely stare at the [[screen]], I increasingly interact with it, entering into a dialogic [[relationship ]] with it, from choosing the programs, through participating in debates in a [[virtual]] [[community]], to directly determining the outcome of the plot in so-called “interactive narratives.”
Those who praise the [[democratic]] potential of such new [[media]] generally focus on precisely these features. But there is another side of my “[[interaction]],” which the [[object]] of interaction itself deprives me of: my own [[passive]] reaction of [[satisfaction]] (or [[mourning]] or [[laughter]]). The [[object]] itself “enjoys “[[enjoys]] the show” instead of me, relieving me of the need to [[enjoy ]] myself. Do we not [[witness]] “[[interpassivity]]” in a great [[number ]] of today’s [[public]]ity spots or posters that, as it were, passively enjoy the product instead of us? [[Coca-Cola]] cans bearing the inscription, “Ooh! Ooh! What taste!” emulate in advance the [[ideal ]] customer’s reaction.
When a man tells a tasteless bad [[joke]] and then, when nobody around him laughs, he bursts out into a noisy, nervous laughter, he has found himself obliged to act out the expected reaction of the [[public]] for them. This supplied laughter is similar to the [[canned laughter]] of the [[TV]] set, but in this example, the [[agent ]] that laughs instead of us (i.e., through which we, the bored and embarrassed [[public]], laugh) is not an anonymous audio track claiming to laugh for an invisible [[public]] — the “[[Big Other]]” — but the narrator of the joke himself. He does this in order to ensure the inscription of his act into the “[[Big Other]],” the [[symbolic]] [[order]] of all those around him. His [[compulsive]] laughter is much like how we feel obliged to utter “Oops!” when we stumble or do something stupid. If we do not say “Oops!” — if we do not inscribe our acknowledgement of the error onto the [[public]] [[order]] — it is as if, by allowing an [[imaginary]] dialogue between ourselves and the “[[Big Other]]” to remain incomplete, we commit ourselves to [[symbolic]] oblivion.
VCR aficionados who [[compulsively]] record hundreds of movies (myself among them) are well aware that the immediate effect of owning a VCR is that one effectively watches less [[film]]s than in the [[good ]] old days of a simple [[TV]] set without a VCR. One never has time for TV, so, instead of losing a precious evening, one simply tapes the [[film]] and stores it for a [[future ]] viewing (for which, of course, there is almost never time). So, although I do not actually watch [[films]], the very [[awareness ]] that the films I love are stored in my video [[library ]] gives me a profound [[satisfaction]] and, occasionally, enables me to simply relax and indulge in the exquisite art of doing [[nothing ]] — as if the VCR is, in a way, watching and enjoying them for me, in my place.
In the [[interpassive]] arrangement, I am passive through the [[Other]]; I accede to the [[Other]] the passive aspect (of enjoying), while I can remain actively engaged — that is, I can work longer hours with less need for “nonproductive” activity, such as leisure or [[mourning]]. I can continue to work in the evening, while the VCR passively enjoys for me; I can make financial arrangements for the deceased’s fortune while the weepers mourn in my place.
One should therefore turn around one of the commonplaces of [[conservative]] [[cultural criticism]]: In contrast to the notion that new [[media]] turn us into [[passive]] [[consumer]]s who just stare numbly at the [[screen]], the [[real ]] [[threat]] of new [[media]] is that they deprive us of our [[passivity]], of our authentic passive [[experience]], and thus prepare us for mindless frenetic activity — for endless work.
So then, would it not be a proper funeral for Charles R. Douglass if a set of sound-machines were to accompany his coffin, generating whispered laments, while his [[beloved ]] surviving relatives enjoyed a hearty meal, or perhaps got some work done elsewhere? Far from finding it offensive, I [[think ]] perhaps he would appreciate the [[recognition ]] of such a burial.
==See Also==
* [[emotion]]
* [[ideology]]
==Source==
* [[Will You Laugh for Me, Please?]] ''In These [[Times]]''. July 18, 2003. <http://www.inthesetimes.com/site/main/article/88/>