Marcia Sá Cavalcante Schuback

Too much things, too much words, too much products, too much information, too much conferences, too much calls, too much people; a world of excess with too little exception. Because today the one faces the too much rather than the many, modern concepts such as of “mass,” “crowd,” and “multitude” seem insufficient to describe the sense of the world’s too much. Thus the too much of the world does not mean simply that this world is inhabited by too many people, products, uses and abuses, but that the world itself seems to have become too much. At stake in the too much of the world is not simply the quantitative meaning of the too much but the fact that the quantitative too much became the only possible quality. The quantitative too much is the only quality not merely because everything is measured exclusively by economic parameters but mainly in so far as everything has lost the need for determination.
The too much of the world that appears when quantity becomes the only quality implies the indeterminacy of everything. In this indeterminacy, not only men are redefined as “men without qualities” but things are redefined as “matters without determination,” in so far as they are nothing but the flexibility to be used in most various functions, to serve to most different purposes, to act in whatever way to whatsoever play of forces. Here, everything becomes anything.

2 thoughts on “Marcia Sá Cavalcante Schuback

  1. shinichi Post author

    Det enas bräcklighet (The Fragility of the One)

    by Marcia Sá Cavalcante Schuback

    in Politics of the One: Concepts of the One and the Many in Contemporary Thought

    edited by Artemy Magun

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  2. shinichi Post author

    The fragility of the singular is the fragility of a lightning, of an éclair, reminding us that the human world is not the whole about the whole and the one, human life and human death is not the whole about life and death and even less about the human. Still, “all things are lit by a nacreous glow — The source of the light is a mystery, though”, listening again to the verse of Akhmatova. The fragility of the singular, the resonance of its silence, can do very little. But it can at least remind us that still is the fragile existence of life in nature, in history, in the human. The task today is to think carefully and to care thoughtfully about this fragile “still” of life in our “today” as a source of political common existence, naming again and again what has no name.

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