The Beloved

Another in the ongoing saga of the car part. Isn’t it like a bridge, or a wing? This post is in tribute to Dominique Browning, who has the genius (and courage) to reduce the solution to its simplest, most powerful component: Love.

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Mortal: what hangs in the halo of its own blank, of course. Birth and death. In between—world. What exists. Stuff. Matter and form. Here it is. Kick it.

Heidegger, though, goes further. He says it is things that bring the world into presence. By thing he means all, even animals. He makes a list: jug and bench, footbridge and plow. Tree and pond, brook and hill. Heron and deer, horse and bull. Mirror, clasp, picture, book.

No thing just sits there, inert. The thing things, says Heidegger. It gathers, enfolding earth and sky, divinities and mortals.[i]

This rang in me with a lovely clarity. Yes I thought.

Then I read that scholars find the claim obscure, or they dismiss it as a poetic indulgence, as “gibberish.”[ii]

Gibberish implies sound with no meaning, nonsense. Nonsense suggests being lost, from “to find one’s way.” I wander for months, through the turn of a year in fact, winding inside the nested potentials of Heidegger’s strange language, the painstaking labor to shape into English forms his transmuted nouns and verbs, the odd creations that result, intricate thought structures crowding up.

But listen,

the thing things.

It calls out, the car part — curled now for months on the floor of my bedroom, the flat clap when I trip over it in the dark as I do almost every night. The thing become joke, a thought, root, a prop.

No, that’s not right.

Be-thinged.

We are the be-thinged, says Heidegger. I think “bejeweled,” which means covered in rhinestones applied with a hot gun, and also a videogame that requires lining up rows of matching gems, which people have downloaded more than 150 million times.[iii]

Then I think betrothed.

In “A Year in Music,” Dana Ward writes “Voldemort deposited the pieces of his soul in several objects to resurrect his wretched body later. I’m typing this up on a Horcrux now … Unlike the Dark Lord, the people lost inside each thing & thought this room contains will not get back the bodies or the time they have lost. Nor will you.”[iv]

Nor will I. Thus loss

this world

brings forth

out of stuff. Loss,

loss claims every relation

to matter since Plato

says Heidegger.

All images are after.

That’s Joan Retallack.[v] The instant of encounter involves a swerve, something changes. Lucretius, the first century philosopher, called it the clinamen, from clinare “to bend.” He imagined atoms cascading through space, but if they never swerved to interact, nothing could come into being. “The change invents what it changes” — Catherine Malabou.[vi]

But still this desire lingers to stop, to know a thing to its depths, to fix it in understanding. And isn’t that the whole impetus for this? For spending like this these hours of a life that will not be got back?

Be-thinged. Betrothed. Bedingt. The common meaning of the German word is limited, qualified, conditional.

Heidegger: “In the strict sense of the German word bedingt, we are the be-thinged, the conditioned ones. We have left behind us the presumption of all unconditionedness.”

The English word condition comes from Latin com, together, plus dicere, to speak. As in to negotiate, make a pact, set terms — dwindled over time to mean the terms themselves. The conditions to which one agrees. One is limited, partial, so one must address oneself to others, one must pledge oneself to each other as essential. As also a part. Not only people but all things, made and unmade, that form the world. This is it. There is no outside — no “over there” — to flee to. Therefore, one is thoroughly pledged, that is, betrothed.

Betrothed leads to love? The word appears once in Heidegger’s lecture, and it is not his. He is talking about the tendency in Western metaphysics to use the word “thing” to refer to anything at all. He quotes Meister Eckhart quoting Dionysius the Areopagite: love is of such a nature that it changes man into the thing he loves.

What if we shed all this and turned to things as ourselves, with love. Not as ourselves, but as they, the things, as us. What if we loved the thing as life itself, lives lost, bodies and time. We could not get back what’s lost, but maybe, betrothing ourselves, we could stop the loss to come. If we loved enough.

Not we. Me. Let’s say me. Let’s say I did this. I turned toward this piece of plastic. And thought to betroth myself to it, to the lives in it, against future loss. As a stop to the loss to come.

I wait.

For what —

a sign. For an albatross to wake from my chest and take flight.

But it remains just me. Me alone in a room with a car part, its dirty carapace curled around me. Me and my desire, which is boundless, sidereal. It glues its glittering look onto every surface.


[i] Martin Heidegger, “The Thing” in Poetry, Language, Thought trans. Albert Hofstadter (New York: Harper & Row, 1971), 178

[ii] Graham Harman, Tool-Being: Heidegger and the Metaphysics of Objects (Chicago and La Salle, IL: Open Court, 2002), 190

Graham Harman, Heidegger Explained: From Phenomenon to Thing (Peru, IL: arus Publishing Company, 2007), 129

Graham Harman, “Dwelling with the Fourfold,” Space and Culture 2009 12: 292 originally published online 8 July 2009, 297.

On the fourfold also see Graham Harman, “Time, Space, Essence, and Eidos:

A New Theory of Causation,” Cosmos and History: The Journal of Natural and Social Philosophy, vol. 6, no. 1, 2010.

[v] Joan Retallack, The Poethical Wager (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 10.

[vi] Catherine Malabou, The Heidegger Change: On the Fantastic in Philosophy (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2011), 63

2 thoughts on “The Beloved

  1. […] I don’t think Zizek goes far enough. He seems to reduce love of trash to an aesthetics, to loving things despite their imperfections. I want to cultivate a love for trash that grows out of an understanding that it is not separate—we are continuous. This is what I was getting at with this piece the Beloved. […]

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