In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Nostromo and Negative LongingDaniel BrudneyWhat, as the upshot of this exhibition of human motive and attitude, do we feel Conrad himself to endorse? What are his positives? It is easier to say what he rejects or criticizes.—F. R. Leavis, The Great Tradition1IWriters, playwrights, filmmakers have often seen their work as political. In this essay I discuss one way in which a narrative might be political. My proof text (...) will be Joseph Conrad's novel Nostromo.2Let's start by noting several ways in which a narrative might criticize the present.(1). It highlights a shortcoming, say, an injustice, of the present.(2). It shows the possibility of a different and better society, usually inhabited by people with a different and better psychology.(3). It shows nothing positive, and yet it elicits a desire for a radically different and radically better future, that is, for something very different from the present.The first option divides into:(1a) The narrative shows a particular injustice, the sort of thing that concrete institutional change might eliminate or ameliorate. There are plenty of examples of (1a): Uncle Tom's Cabin, The Jungle, the movie Dirty Pretty Things. We could debate how far particular instances are propaganda, journalism, or "literature," and what difference these categories might make. Here, I merely note that narrative is capable of pointing to, making palpable, evoking outrage at, this or that particular injustice. Narrative will rarely tell us the best way to fix the injustice ("There ought to be a law" merely begins that conversation), but it can convince us that a particular injustice exists and needs to be addressed. [End Page 369](1b) The narrative shows what is wrong with something more general: a pervasive social institution, such as the market, imperialism (of one or another kind), some general pattern of social feeling and conduct. Many classic works do this, such as Middlemarch and Madame Bovary. Of course, precisely because such works criticize large and pervasive phenomena, they usually do not point to any specific solution. They say, "This (something fairly general) is bad."When we move to narratives that try to present better worlds, things get more complicated. We can see the issue by noting a distinction in (2) and between (2) and (3). With (2a), we are in the realm of what John Rawls calls a "realistic utopia."3 This is supposed to be (i) sufficiently specifiable, in terms of, say, principles of distribution, a conception of the person, and a conception of justification; that is, in terms of several central organizing ideas. It is also supposed to be (ii) sufficiently realistic in terms of the moral psychology needed for its instantiation. Rawls often talks of full compliance in his well-ordered society, but for that society to be sufficiently realistic, the psychology of its citizens must merely be a sufficiently real possibility in the sufficiently near future to generate sufficient compliance to make for sufficient stability.Call a realistic utopia realizably realistic if (I) the better angels of our nature upon which it calls are sufficiently like our actual nature to be plausible in the relatively near term, and (II) it does not require too often the instantiation of those better angels. The contrast is to (2b), a realistic utopia that is unrealizably realistic because although it satisfies (I) it does not satisfy (II): it is too dependent on the more or less constant instantiation of those better angels. It assumes that "can implies will" even though in real life the inference often fails.4 Still, such a society remains "realistic" since it is possible for us always to instantiate those better angels.With (3), condition (i) is not satisfied. The issue is not that we cannot or that we believe human beings will not realize something specifiable in terms of institutions and citizen psychology. It is that we have only a vague and primarily negative understanding of what we want. It is substantially (perhaps entirely) a political via negativa. And so (ii) cannot be known to be satisfied.The distinction between (2a) (and maybe also [2b]) on the one hand, and (3) on the other, tracks two ways... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:SENOR HIRSCH AS SACRIFICIAL VICTIM AND THE MODERNISM OF CONRAD'S NOSTROMO Andrew Bartlett University ofBritish Columbia One of René Girard's more pithy definitions of mimetic desire reads: "The model designates the desirable while at the same time desiring it. Desire is always imitation ofanother desire, desire for the same object, and, therefore, an inexhaustible source of conflicts and rivalries" {Double Business Bound 39). The notation that desire is (...) an "inexhaustible" source of conflicts hints at the political pessimism expressed more openly elsewhere in Girard's writing. In 1961, he said it like this: "Whatever political or social system is somehow imposed on them, men will never achieve the peace and happiness of which the revolutionaries dream, nor the bleating harmony which so scares the reactionaries. They will always get on togetherjust enough to enable them never to agree" (Deceit 110-11). This is a Girard who, suspicious of political rhetoric, speaks with audacious cynicism even of democracy: "Who is there left to imitate after the tyrant? Henceforth men shall copy each other... Democracy is one vast middle-class court where the courtiers are everywhere and the king is nowhere" (Deceit 119). This Girard has remained consistent in his thematization of the impurity of all political compromises: "men are only capable ofreconciling their differences at the expense of a third party. The best men can hope for in their quest for nonviolence is the unanimity-minus-one ofthe surrogate victim" (Violence 259). Girard's political skepticism seems to be a result of his conviction that arbitrary victims ofviolent unanimity are the "ingredient" in political thought that allows each community to be flattered by the illusion of its political innocence, the illusion of the justifiability of its violence. 48Andrew Bartlett Modem political thought cannot dispense with morals, but it cannot become purely moral without ceasing to be political. Another ingredient must therefore be mixed with morals. If we really tried to identify what this is we would inevitably end up with formulas like Caiaphas': "It is better that this man or those die so that the community may survive" (Scapegoat 116). Political institutions, in establishing power relations between dominant and subordinate people, always exercise force, violence (Beetham 47-48). A perfectly moral politics seems as impossible as a perfectly nonviolent politics. Girard's refusal to plant his feet in the wet cement of any single political party's rhetoric is the outcome, in part, of his preference for a religious perspective on human affairs. The religious is his fundamental category ofanalysis; and religion in Girard's view is not an unenlightened form of belief to be superseded by political wisdom, but rather the fundamental mode of human social organization, the political only a secular displacement of it. I hasten to add that Girard's pessimism about political arrangements arises not from any stoical indifference to their victims, but rather from his respect for victims—a respect that is finally religious in character. A related sub-clause of Girard's political pessimism is the incompatibility ofmimetic theory and "identity politics," broadly defined so as to include nationalist or ethnic politics based on historical grievances and desires for vengeance. I have in mind here Girard's idea that the distinct identity of the surrogate victim is not strictly relevant to the effects of collective violence. Violence belongs to all men, and thus to none in particular. It is futile to look for the secret ofthe redemptive process in distinctions between the surrogate victim and other members of the community. The crucial fact is that the choice ofthe victim is arbitrary (Violence 257). The stabilizing effects of political scapegoating thus depend on the degree of unanimity in the community's violence, not on the identity ofthe victim. The identity of the sacrificial victim is not essential in scapegoating; the essential in scapegoating is the unanimity ofthe collective violence itself (cf. Violence 84, 150). Perhaps because of this priority of violent unanimity over victim identity, Girard has measured his distance from specific political causes (Scapegoat 19-20). We must confront what I would call the formal equivalence of scapegoats. The arbitrary victim of a sacrificial political process may be anyone: scandalously rich or scandalously... (shrink)

Usually a novel’s subject is the individual in action. That individual must confront a set of social expectations and norms which define and limit him. In such novels the revelation of social expectations constitutes a central element in the artist’s depiction. The degree to which society limits the hero’s action, of course, varies widely. We can imagine a continuum along which the influence of society is arranged. Sociological/naturalistic novels, in which a social order is depicted as destructive, define one extreme (...) of that continuum. The protagonists in their suffering reveal this society’s destructive force. At the opposite extreme, society’s values and norms may be important in guiding and evaluating a protagonist’s movement toward his fate without society itself becoming an obstacle to his progress. We think, for instance, of Jane Austen’s novels. In the broad middle range of the continuum, protagonists struggle to realize their potential within social limitations, and their successes are usually partial. In assessing their triumphs, we must evaluate the obstacles they have encountered both in their own natures and in the natures of their social milieu.To make society the protagonist of a novel upsets the expectations of readers, first because the novel as a genre usually depicts the growth or change of protagonists moving from complications to stability, and second because the novel customarily concludes in some alteration of the protagonist’s external state and in some expansion of his understanding. With society as his protagonist, a writer commits himself to engaging our primary interest in the life of an abstraction or set of principles. Here, too, action is crucial. This kind of novel differs from a utopian novel, however, which focuses on ideas about society and whose principal end is to criticize or espouse a particular social order, not to engage us in working out instabilities through action. In novels in which society is protagonist, we are involved with the fate of an entire social order, and it is one about which we are made to care. The principal purpose is to present a society moving from a state of instability toward a qualitatively defined fate analogous to the movement of an individual hero.To achieve this end, characters become agents through which a social order realizes its fate. This function of character entails no simple inversion of the usual relationships between individuals and society, because characters can never be reduced to a backdrop the way society can, and society cannot easily achieve the particularity of definition and identity the way a character can. In attempting to discover narrative terms for realizing the fate of a society, a novelist faces an enormous technical challenge. He must make us care as much about a social order as he would about a particular individual, and yet he cannot write directly about ideas—he must record the actions of humans. Because his plot will focus on no single individual but on abstract processes and social hopes, he must constantly minimize individual fates and aspirations and make them clearly a function of society’s larger turmoil. Our empathy must rest firmly with the social principles being threatened rather than with any single character. With this end in view, a clearly defined, circumscribed arena for action becomes necessary. Literal battles, or scenes in which battles operate as a principal metaphor, frequently appear in such novels. By bringing many of the major characters together, defining and creating allegiances, and pitting opposing social principles, such battles provide an important context for measuring the progress of those values with which we empathize. (shrink)

Ellen Ripley stands out from the ordinary, stereotypical women in horror and science fiction movies up until the release of Alien in 1979. It isn't hard to interpret Ripley's fight against the Xenomorphs as a metaphor for the feminist struggle against sexual violence directed at women, or to see her actions as violent opposition to those who would deny her sexual self‐determination. Proponents of care‐focused approaches observe that women have a special way of moral reasoning, whereas status‐oriented thinkers seek to (...) overcome gender‐based inequalities and unjust social relationships through criticizing status differences between men and women, like stereotypes and differences in pay for the same work. Two brief examples from Aliens illustrate the difference between these approaches. This chapter considers whether Ripley exercises a feminist ethics of care. In the last scene of Alien, Ripley's strong identification with her professional role shows itself again when she makes a final entry in the Nostromo's log. (shrink)

During the android Ash's confession in Alien, peope learn a lot about the creature that has been stalking the crew of the Nostromo. Rather than give the human survivors some hope about their chances of overcoming the Xenomorph, Ash waxes poetic about the alien's nature, describing it as the “perfect organism”. The nature of the Xenomorph illustrates some of the core principles of Nietzschean philosophy. This chapter focuses on the idea of the Übermensch and how the aliens from this (...) beloved franchise so perfectly realize, in fiction, the kind of existence Nietzsche hoped to make a reality. It draws on not just the four films of the Alien quadrilogy, but also the franchise's expanded universe of comics, novels, video games, and other product tie‐ins. In order to introduce his cinematic terror in Alien, director Ridley Scott had to transport viewers to a harsh, distant world where strange vessels house even stranger mysteries. (shrink)

Long before the viewers of Ridley Scott's Alien catch their first, fleeting glimpse of the terrifying alien, they have already made the acquaintance of the alienated human beings aboard the USCSS Nostromo. The plot of Ridley Scott's Alien is well known to science fiction buffs and film enthusiasts more generally. In fact, the human members of the crew of the Nostromo exhibit “alienation”, a condition identified by Karl Marx in the “Estranged Labor” section of his Economic and Philosophic (...) Manuscripts of 1844. So long as the capitalist mode of production remains viable and authoritative, Marx insists, workers will suffer the indignities associated with alienated labor. In the transition from Alien to Aliens, the added s makes a huge difference. Alienated from their (admittedly clueless) leadership, their cloudy mission objectives, and one another, and overly dependent on their military hardware, the Colonial Marines are no match for the coordinated attack of the alien species. (shrink)

It seems so clear that we're supposed to root for humanity and against each and every Xenomorph. Jean‐Paul Sartre's (French philosopher) works on existentialism and Marxism provide a number of insights on topics like secular morality, existence, resistance, and freedom, but Sartre may seem like a strange choice for defending Xenomorphs. Xenomorphs are often treated like animals despite their intelligence. For example, in Alien, the crew of the Nostromo hypothesizes about potential Xenomorph weaknesses. When the Xenomorphs cut the power (...) their behavior suggests tactics and planning, alongside an understanding of the humans' dependence on electricity. Alien: Resurrection and numerous examples from extra‐filmic Alien literature suggest the presence of a Xenomorph hive mind and even telepathy. Xenomorph Queens exhibit intelligence at least comparable to humans, while showing additional traits such as control of the hive‐like mental connection with others of her species and possibly having telepathy. (shrink)

In "Nostromo," Conrad is proffering an ontological comment on the universe's structural economy involving the motions and counter-motions of the human and natural orders of creation.

Part I. Philosophy of novels. 1. Introduction: philosophical content and literary value -- 2. Interpreting novels -- 3. The sun also rises: incompatible interpretations -- 4. The appeal of the mystery -- Part II. Philosophy in novels. 5. Moral development in Pride and prejudice -- 6. Huckleberry Finn and moral motivation -- 7. What we learn about rules from The cider house rules -- 8. Nostromo and the fragility of the self.

The narrative world of the Alien universe is shot through with self‐interested motivations, many of which focus on money. Employees do not have Full Moral Status (FMS), but from the point of view of managers they are valuable assets, i.e., have instrumental value for what they can do to maximize profits. The company, or its agents, repeatedly violates the stringent restrictions on harming beings normally considered to have FMS. There are indications that Carter Burke tried to impregnate Ripley in Aliens (...) by pushing a Facehugger onto her in the lab. This chapter questions what sort of protections would the crews of the Nostromo, Sulaco, and Prometheus have if stockholder theory were rejected. There are at least three different theories people can use to evaluate how each iteration of Weyland Industries treats its employees in the Alien films. These include stockholder theory, libertarian theories, and stakeholder theory. (shrink)

How can cradling, handling, or rubbing a text be said, ethically, to have made something happen? What, as readers or interpreters, may come off in our hands in as we maculate or mark the books we read? For Adam Zachary Newton, reading is anembodied practice wherein "ethics" becomes a matter of tact in the doubled sense of touch and regard. With the image of the book lying in the hands of its readers as insistent refrain, To Make the Hands Impure (...) cuts a provocative cross-disciplinary swath through classical Jewish texts, modern Jewish philosophy, film and performance, literature, translation, and the material text. Newton explores the ethics of reading through a range of texts, from the Talmud and Midrash to Conrad's Nostromo and Pascal's Le Mémorial, from works by Henry Darger and Martin Scorsese to the National September 11 Memorial and a synagogue in Havana, Cuba. In separate chapters, he conducts masterly treatments of Emmanuel Levinas, Mikhail Bakhtin, and Stanley Cavell by emphasizing their performances as readers a trebled orientation to Talmud, novel, and theater/film. To Make the Hands Impure stages the encounter of literary experience and scriptural traditions he difficult and the holy through an ambitious, singular, and innovative approach marked in equal measure by erudition and imaginative daring. (shrink)