Gods and Priests vs. Sorcerers and Anomalities

I mentioned in the previous essay that one of the topics at a conference dealt with the deemed requirement to use formal language. I initially thought of covering both plagiarism and formality of language in the same essay, but then I enjoyed myself so very much that the essay ballooned out of control to an extent it wouldn’t have made much sense to add anything more to it. I also realized that I had covered the formal vs. informal topic in an earlier essay on language. There’s about two long paragraphs of it there. I’ll focus on that in this essay.

As mentioned, I did discuss this already, but I’ll do a recap of it here. I’ll start with something I didn’t cover, going way back then. I never had much issues learning English, at all. There was so much to learn from early on as my brother was into computers and so I spent much of my childhood and youth in that realm. Back then more or less everything was in English. One had to learn all kinds of words just to make progress in games. In school everything was a breeze and I usually got the best or the second best grade in English. Not much classroom learning was involved as I tended to know things already. When writing became more essay oriented, fluid use of language was always emphasized. There was little discussion of formal vs. informal that I can remember. I reckon the emphasis was more on the informal use of language. It’s for sure that the use of idiomatic expressions was encouraged. Anything that an English speaker, I assume a native speaker, might use was encouraged. The only thing that was somehow enforced was a base standard, either British or American. Mixing those was considered a big no-no. Thou shalt not use mobile phone and cell phone in the same text! The use of double (or more) negatives was controversial and I say that because of what it was referred to by the teacher. I’ll leave it up to your imagination what it was. Remember, thou shalt not say I ain’t no no one.

Of course we were told that there is a difference between ‘it is’ and ‘it’s’, not to mention ‘its’, which tripped plenty of people in class. Same with ‘does not’, ‘doesn’t’ and the like. You knew how that was and how the context mattered, or, well at least I did. I can’t speak for the whole class. I believe I was always fairly aware of the intended audience, so I knew how to work the angles. I can’t remember how it was in the university entrance exam, but I remember my then academic advisor later on telling me that I did fairly good. That’s of little interest here, considering that I can’t remember there being anything related to that discussed. I believe certain formality was expected and considering that I got in I probably didn’t botch it. As a side note, to entertain you, the reader, whoever you might be, I actually ended up as an English major because English was something I was always very good at. At least I thought I was and the record supported that. As English was easy for me in school, it wasn’t my main interest, history was, but I never went that route. I went to an introductory lecture for history at the university and well, it just didn’t do much for me. Perhaps it was those student capes, which, if you are not from Finland, then, well, how to put it in a nice way, are lame when compared to the student overalls found in most other subjects. In retrospect, the overall thing, as fun and practical it was, got a bit old after some years. Collecting the various badges and having them sewn into the overalls has its charms, don’t get me wrong, but after some years it’s not as exciting as in the first years. There was also certain discontinuity at play, having opted to do some study abroad at one point, which then made it less interesting afterward. Back to the topic, did something as small lead me to choose the English over history? Maybe, maybe not. It probably did actually have something to do with the subject as well. Not that it matters, it’s now all… history.

Now that I’m on a tangent, I’ll let you on a secret. The first ever course at a university I did was a course on aesthetics. You might be wondering what’s the deal here? Well, my high school philosophy teacher offered the class to take a course at the university, which would then fit as an optional course in high school. I guess the school didn’t have resources to have that course in school and he was cool enough to offer us that. Maybe he got paid for the grading, but something tells me that he did it pro bono. I actually did the philosophy courses at high school just because the teacher was and I reckon still is a cool teacher. I remember someone subbing him for a while and it was nowhere near his ability to make a bunch of teenagers interest in the Greeks or Kant, which reminds me that for some reason I remember Kant being the hardest one to grasp back then. As a backstory to this backstory, I believe he managed to get people to take philosophy courses because he was a widely liked teacher in compulsory education as well, teaching religion(s). Even the people who didn’t quite get him liked him. I can’t remember much of that aesthetics course, but one thing is for sure, paintings are not just about colors or some the ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ associated to looking at paintings. I remember him also making us pay attention to where people are situated and where they are looking at. Gaze was emphasized, that’s what I remember. It seems he, Tuomas Tolonen, is still doing the course. Perhaps I should refresh my memory. Aesthetics is highly relevant to landscape, so I might as well. I see the student union publication, Turun ylioppilaslehti, did a story on him, titled ‘Arkkihumanisti’ (translating to Arch Humanist). These are all my translations. In the lead paragraph it is stated that the most useless thing one can do is to ponder:

“How do I feel now.”

I remember him saying that or something very similar during the high school classes. I can’t speak for him, but I remember him having a laugh at that, in his own subtle way that is. If my memory serves me right, he wasn’t too fond of psychology. I reckon that has to do with the whole “how do I feel now” part. Not that this has to do with how he came to state that, but now that I have certain understanding as to why, for example, Foucault and Deleuze were against psychoanalysis, that extension of pastoral power, I can see why that is. Perhaps the angle is a bit different, but I think that bit from Tolonen is at the heart of it. To be honest, how I feel now is rather irrelevant. Maybe that’s just the Deleuze in me talking, but that’s how I feel now, if you know what I mean. What is stated in the story on him, I also remember him stating the same as in the part where he objects to turning everything into experience or rather, I think, the token of an experience, something that has an exchange value (this is meta, in reference to the previous essay, but see how I fell into what Foucault did, using a well known concept … by Marx). What else is there, now that I’m on it, on this tangent? Tolonen makes it clear that he is not fond of computers and more specifically the supposedly social aspect of it. I’m a bit torn here, as a child who grew up with computers. They were always friendly to me and what was social about it was about fine, yet substandard in the sense that the content was, at least at times, good, but the form, well, not exactly the same thing as hanging out with people. I’m quite fond of the offline computers, no one ruining the game for me type of thing, except for me that is, and same applies to the early forms of online computing. I’m not sure when it was, late noughties I guess, and I was sucked into it as well, I mean who wasn’t, except for, well, most people older than me at the time, but when all things online became mainstream, all 2.0, it went all haywire. I acknowledge that I might be wrong, just misunderstanding it all, but the way I see it is that there’s never been more splitting oneself as there has been before, people claiming to be this and that, this and that, and telling others … how do I feel now. People think they are something and that they can tell how they feel, that they are somehow in control of themselves, outside themselves while at it that is, when it is a mere mirror image, in a Lacanian sense of it. The travesty is, however, that it cannot be solved by more … how do I feel, some psychoanalytic self-examination or pastoral confession. I’m not going to claim that I’m special and that I managed to elude this, fair enough, but that’s sort of the point, I no longer make much of it, thus it no longer matters because it doesn’t matter to me, even if it matters to others. What matters is right here, right now (is that a Fatboy Slim reference?). I’m not going to name anyone, no matter how much you feel like I should drop some names here (not that it counts because they aren’t authors … or are they?), but I see this in people. They condemn themselves into a mismatch of what they are, at any given moment that is, and what they think they are while reflecting what they they should be like. They gaze into the mirror, seeing themselves, or so they think, without acknowledging that the gaze itself is conditioned. What I recommend is stop making such a big deal about yourself, as if you knew yourself or could achieve that. Instead, just live in the moment, be present, as you already are. Just do it, as they say in some … honestly, for the life of me I can’t remember… wait… no Adidas!

After that lengthy tangent which you just had to endure, or just scroll down past it of course, it’s time to get back on track. Formality, what is formality? Let’s first look at the dictionary definitions of the word, as included in the Oxford English Dictionary. Ignoring the meanings no longer typically found in use, it is stated (OED, s.v. “formality”, n.) that it has to do with being in agreement or conformity with rules, laws or procedures. That’s the gist of it. To me three definitions stand out (OED, s.v. “formality”, n.):

“Conformity to established rule; customary propriety. Often in depreciative sense, rigid or merely conventional observance of forms.”


“Something required to be done for form’s sake; a requirement of etiquette, custom, etc. (Often depreciatively, implying mere attention to externals.)”


“The attribute of being formal; precision, rigid decorum of manners; excessive regularity or stiffness (of style, outline, etc.).”

As I pointed out, it has to do with rules. In the first definition listed here, what stands out is “customary propriety.” I’ve discussed propriety in an earlier essay in relation to landscape, but let’s have a closer look what a dictionary has to offer. In general it is stated (OED, s.v. “propriety”, n.) that it has to do with “[t]he quality of being proper, or that which is proper[.]” More specifically then, what stands out for me (OED, s.v. “propriety”, n.) is:

“Correctness or purity of diction or language.”


“Appropriateness to circumstances or conditions; suitability, aptness, fitness; conformity with what is required by a rule, principle, etc.; rightness, correctness, accuracy.”

As well as:

“Conformity to accepted standards of behaviour or morals, esp. with regard to good manners or polite usage; seemliness, decorousness, decency; (observance of) convention.”

Looking at the definitions for both formality and propriety, it’s easy to see that they are connected. The way I see it, formality seems to be seen merely in reference to form, whereas propriety is the very ownership of the qualities, the embodiment of proper conduct, which includes but is not limited to formality. Propriety is no longer used synonymously with property, the difference being that propriety has to do with internal properties whereas property has to do with external property. Characterizing how David Matless puts it, John Wylie (117) states in ‘Landscape’ that propriety is a “matter of conduct and forms of ‘proper’ bodily display and performance.” However, the dictionary definitions for both words also make note of it as a display of what is expected, in the sense that people may well be doing it only for the sake of it, as a facade. What strikes me is the indicated connection between propriety and purity of language use, which are also connected to not only conventions but also morality. In other words, what is deemed as ‘correct’ or ‘proper’ is not only a matter of choice, what is agreed upon between people in any given situation, but also what they are expected agree upon, hence the definitions make note of a certain rigidity and doing things for the sake of it rather than actually buying into it. Anyway, the purity part gives it this religious aspect to this. Characterizing the opposites then, informality and impropriety, they are all that is improper, not only going against laws, rules and regulations, terms and conditions, but also immoral.

What do others have to say? Picking a proper author, Norman Fairclough (54) states the following in ‘Language and Power’:

“‘Formality’ is one pervasive and familiar aspect of constraints on access to discourse. [It] is a common property in many societies of practices and discourses of high social prestige and restricted access. It is a contributory factor in keeping access restricted, for it makes demands on participants above and beyond those most discourse, and the ability to meet those demands is itself unevenly distributed. It can also serve to generate awe among those who are excluded by it and daunted by it.”

It is indeed something that sets constraints. I think it’s worth emphasizing that, as pointed out by Fairclough, the restriction is not just any restriction. In my case, for example, I’ve always excelled in the English language. I’ve always been not only able to make the cut, but to make it to the top. What I mean is that with language it’s not just about being able to use it, but how you are able to use it, to what extent, to what level and for what purposes. It doesn’t mean that people who do not know a language at all are not excluded in situations where it is needed. It’s rather that even if they do know the language, to certain extent, they might still not know it to a required extent. Regarding the final bit, I was taught at the university to do this. I found the academic writing course not only something that helped me to meet the set academic standard, but as a result also to dazzle and daunt the reader. As I mentioned in an earlier essay, this worked particularly well outside the English department. I had what it took to make the reader, typically the lecturer assessing course work, question its own qualifications, not the other way around. Of course in academic setting you are allowed, if not encouraged to do so. The thing is, however, that it has nothing to do with learning or assessing it, which you’d think should be the main thing. I remember helping people who got bad grades by … no not doing their work for them, they still had to do it themselves, but to make their work seem better by pointing out how to add some gloss to it, make it seem better than it is content wise. For my own course work I could rack up points by doing some contentwise average essays that were highly formal with, in my opinion, unnecessary complex sentence structures and riddled with words that you only encounter in dictionaries. There was never anything you could fault it for so the reader just had to take it as is, dazzling, daunting and exhausting. The means to an end has become the end itself. The problem with this is, in my opinion, that not everyone can do it. A lot of people who have what it takes but aren’t exactly wizards of expression end up being marked down for it and perhaps even excluded for it.

Faiclough (54-55) lists three types of constraints related to formality. First, he (54) notes that there are restraints on topics and relevance, as well as routines. Second, (54-55) he states that the identity or status affects subject positions. Third (55) he argues that the positions are markedly overt, leading to little change in the positioning as the subordinates remain polite to their superordinates. In other words, formality works in favor of those in positions of power because they are in the position to set and interpret proper codes of conduct, as well as to set the qualifications to those positions. Perhaps somewhat unsurprisingly this reminds me of how Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari (116) characterize the despotic signifying regime in ‘A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia’, considering that, as Fairclough (55) points out, the faces of those in positions of power are seen, they are known, and those who’d wish to challenge the regime must tread carefully. Deleuze and Guattari (116) aptly characterize the options available:

“Your only choice will be between a goat’s ass and the face of the god, between sorcerers and priests.”

Priests? Sorcerers? Goat’s ass? The face? How outlandish! I’ve elaborated this already in an earlier essay so I won’t go to much detail, but the point is that the priests are those who interpret the face, the god, the despot, the idol, the icon, whatever you want to call it. Deleuze and Guattari (116) use it because it fits the example they are using, but they (116) also point out that it applies to all kinds of hierarchical groups, be they “political parties, literary movements, psychoanalytic associations, families, conjugal units” or the like. The universities are no different in this regard, no matter how much scientists and scholars claim to be peers to one another. We could also rather speak of academic circles. It would only be fitting, considering that the regime illustrated by Deleuze and Guattari (116) consists of a concentric circles. What about the sorcerers then? Well, they are the ones the priests would rather be done with, considering that sorcery (OED, s.v. “sorcery”, n.) is also known as witchcraft, as noted by Deleuze and Guattari (248). That doesn’t exactly explain how Deleuze and Guattari use the word, so I’ll let them (246) explain:

“Sorcerers have always held the anomalous position, at the edge of the fields or woods. They haunt the fringes. They are at the borderline of the village, or between villages. The important thing is their affinity with alliance, with the pact, which gives them a status opposed to that of filiation.”

The important part here is as pointed out by them the difference between an alliance or a pact and filiation. The former is a relationship between different parties whereas the latter is a relationship between an ascendant and a descendant. When it comes to the anomalous position that marks them, borrowing from H.P. Lovecraft, Deleuze and Guattari (245) refer to it as the “Outsider”. The goat’s ass part has to do with becoming a scapegoat, being charged with all kinds of negative and cast out to a desert to starve. Turning towards the face then, well, that’s another way of saying one should get with the program.

Back to Fairclough for a bit. He (55) clarifies that, among other things, formality may affect “the grammar of sentences” and notes that “highly complex structures may be favoured.” Right, what was it that I wrote a while back about complex sentence structures. Spot on. He (55) adds that consistency may also be a requirement. Remember, thou shalt not mix mobile phones and cellular phones, for that is a travesty.

What else? I remember attending a conference, I believe two years ago. One of the plenary speakers was Theresa Lillis who spoke of academic publishing and the, let’s say, standards involved. I remember it sparking my interest back then, but I can’t remember the contents, so I’ll have a look at a recent article instead. Lillis and Mary Jane Curry examine this in an article titled ‘The politics of English, language and uptake: The case of international academic journal article reviews’. In summary of the comments of a number of evaluators (editors and peer reviewers), they (137-138) state that:

“[C]omments … enact orientations to language and language work in academic text and knowledge production which are grounded in the European-based Enlightenment tradition of Science and knowledge. … [L]anguage is construed as something necessary for the communication of knowledge but something to see past … and language use only becomes visible when it is construed as problematic or faulty.”

So, in other words, academic texts are seen as presenting knowledge. Language is a mere medium in them. What I find interesting here is that language is taken as a neutral medium, just something that is there, a bare necessity, yet the attitudes of evaluators seem to suggest otherwise. Lillis and Curry (138) continue:

“Furthermore, language is construed as the possession of an individual … rather than as a networked resource forged in complex production practices[.]”

As included in the previous quote, such attitude points towards an almighty cogito. Anyway, let’s not get too tangled up in that. Lillis and Curry (138) add:

“For the most part language – whether labelled ‘English’, ‘language’, ‘writing’ or ‘style’ – is construed as an object governed by shared, easily identifiable and therefore non-contestable conventions.”

I discussed this, in part, in an earlier essay on language. I pointed out in Foucauldian parlance that languages are understood as distinct entities in regimes of truth. What Lillis and Curry state is in line with that assertion. Not only are languages understood as distinct entities, but also as stable or nearly so. Here I think it’s worth emphasizing the non-contestability. I reckon the evaluators may or may not think it as a convention, but I agree that regardless of what they think, it is non-constestable.

Lillis and Curry (138) point to a particularly interesting phenomenon, how the evaluators see their task as having to do with the content, it’s all about the knowledge, yet they seem to feel the urge to dismiss and reject the author, or the author-to-be (remember, people don’t start out in this club), on the basis of form.

Another interesting thing indicated by Lillis and Curry (147) is how being recognized by the evaluators seems to change the evaluation. I’m not particularly surprised by this though. I think this has to do with the author function, as described by Foucault in ‘What Is an Author?’. Foucault does not go into a level of detail that would shed light on the differences between authors and their status, but you’d think that matters as well. For example, I’m essentially a nobody and evaluators will likely treat me as such. Nobodies come and go all the time. No biggie. As a contrary example, Lillis, Curry and Fairclough are all established and if identified, which I guess is way easier once known for something, it might benefit them. Then there is the level of authorial fame associated to the other authors I’ve included in this essay, for example Foucault, Deleuze and Guattari. Okay, fair enough, they are all dead and have been for while, but I think that only adds to their fame. I’m sure they’d be amused by the level attention given to them posthumously. And yes, I acknowledge the irony. I am well aware that I’m complicit in that as well. Anyway, the point being that once you reach Nietzsche level status as an author, as elaborated by Foucault (207), anything goes, even laundry lists will do just fine as publications. Publishers will gladly push out about anything that has something to do with you. All hail the great author!

I guess it’s time for some summing up what’s been covered so far. I may have lost my focus on this essay, here and there, but I probably accomplished something along the way. For me the interesting thing about formality is its conventionality. It clearly has to do with propriety and conformity. It even seems to be deemed a matter of morality, as if a religious matter, yet it is conventional. There is no transcendent standard, no right, no wrong, yet, as examined by Lillis and Curry, people are very adamant about upholding a standard, something that simply is and everyone should conform to it. The non-contestability of convention, as characterized by Lillis and Curry, is something I find particularly problematic. I had a laugh at this in an earlier essay on language and I won’t go into that the level of detail here, considering I’m trying to summarize things, but I’ll rehash it a bit. I understand that form can be a problem in a text, but I think it only becomes a concern if it content takes a hit. At least I don’t mind someone pointing out that a plural ‘s’ is missing or that there are a couple of typos. It happens. Not a big deal. It’s not even being concerned over the choice of words. Sometimes a recommended alternative fits better. Fair enough. What I find questionable, as well as often hilariously fussy, is holding people to a highly formal standard of language, one that no one is able to justify, nor qualify for that matter. For example, a quick search into the matter brings up ‘Academic Writing in English at Lund University’ (AWELU) as the first hit. Let’s have a look, shall we (see In the introduction section (see genre) it is indicated that:

“Here, we see genre as a way to try to classify different kinds of academic writing into various more or less conventionalised categories.”

We? So, to begin with, it is acknowledged that there is no actual standard set in stone, just classification of writing into categories based on convention. It is added that:

“Similarly, text types refer to typical formats of text organisation, and the traditional way in which texts follow norms of structure, style and layout.”

So, norms of structure, style and layout you say, eh? Who is responsible for these norms? Oh, right it’s how things are done traditionally. That clarifies and justifies is perfectly! All hail tradition! In the first section (under genre), titled ‘The Nature of Academic Writing’ the purpose of this is explained, at least supposedly that is. I have to first point out, however, that even title itself is loaded. The nature of it? Are you kidding me, as if writing practice has something to do with the word nature. Okay, that’s not exactly stated, but it does it give this essential quality to it, you know, inherent nature. This is how it is, by nature. I’m greeted with a video (embedded from YouTube) in which Ellen Turner (who I have nothing against, she is just the presenter on it) lists general features of academic writing: communicative, fact-based, audience specific, objective, avoiding biases and generalizations, no personal pre-conceptions or opinions. I hate to say this but all of these are assumptions stated as true. Firstly, as pointed out by Lillis and Curry, language is viewed as communicative, just this conduit of information, a rather naïve view if you ask me. Why am I thinking of Jürgen Habermas here? It is also, supposedly, objective, based on facts, so nothing subjective ought to be presented. I wonder how this is supposed to work out? How does one stand out oneself? Is it perhaps by bracketing the human component? If so, please enlighten us how to do so. I’ve been struggling with the phenomenological thought and if you know how to do it, do let me know. That be grand. I’ve used James Duncan in ‘The city as text: The politics of landscape interpretation in the Kandyan Kingdom’ to explain this before and I’ll do so again. He (12) points out that:

“Descriptions are not mirror reflections; they are of necessity constructed within the limits of the language and the intellectual frameworks of those who describe.”

He (12) states this in other words, adding clarity:

“[A]ll description, whether explicitly theoretical or not, relies on language[.]”

If you don’t see the difference between what is proposed in academic writing, exemplified by AWELU, and my stance, as exemplified by Duncan, it has to do with language itself. You cannot explain something without language, you are always within it and while its boundaries are not rigid, you are always inside those boundaries. Simply put, what is outside language may well be objective, but what we can say about it in language is not. It is naïve to think otherwise, as explain by Duncan (12):

“There is a strong anti-theoretical bias in this separation of facts and theories, and, unfortunately, this common sense view of facts as theory neutral is also naive.”

If this doesn’t do it for you, then perhaps Catherine Belsey can convince you. In ‘Critical Practice’, she (3) argues that:

“[I]t is language which offers the possibility of constructing a world of distinct individuals and things, and of differentiating between them. The transparency of language is illusion.”

Ignoring the question of language, the very medium of expression, “guarantees the very opposite of objectivity, the perpetuation of unquestioned assumptions”, as expressed by Belsey (3). Now, back to AWELU, in the video it is stated that one is expected to use “a rather strict register and format”, which is recognized as a possible obstacle, a challenge, for “non-native writers.” Oh, poor me, non-native speaker of English, having difficulties. Interestingly it is stated in the video that this is not exactly about what’s right or wrong “language wise”, but what is preferred. Now, this is a bit odd, calling it a preference, considering that it implies optionality. If I prefer something, it means that I give it precedence, i.e. favor it, but it doesn’t mean that what isn’t preferred is necessarily excluded. It’s just not … preferred. I might be and usual am fine by what’s not preferred by me. Considering what Lillis and Curry encountered in their review of article evaluation, I don’t think calling academic style or register a matter of preference is accurate. It’s not like the evaluators keep saying that they’d rather have formality, but informal is just fine as well. It’s a big deal, so it’s for sure not a mere matter of preference. In the video the rationale for formality is explained, in simple terms, as having to do with context, like being dressed accordingly to the occasion, for example beach wear only for beach. In the language context, it is explained, no, asserted that “you don’t use the informal style”, for example that of text messages, in a formal context, for example in “a job application or a university essay.” What is missing is the explanation as to why that is. Would it have something to do with, perhaps, power relations, that as a job applicant or a student writing an essay you are in a subordinate position. Same applies to academic publishing. Peer review, a system in which a peer, i.e. someone of equal status, is set into an elevated status. The irony is palpable. How is this a matter of preference? How? It’s not a matter of preference at all, it’s a matter of obligation. You must be disciplined enough and if aren’t, you’ll get punished. Not getting a job, getting a bad grade or getting your article rejected makes you rethink things. Now, I don’t think this is some conspiracy on behalf of the employers and the evaluators, that’s a bit silly. What I’m concerned has to do with presenting something as a matter of preference when it clearly isn’t. It only works to enable discipline when it is not obvious. Calling it a matter of preference does just this. Now to be fair, the AWELU website does make note of variation, that not everything is clear cut as do this, don’t do that. Then again that does little to alleviate the underlying issue, that formality can be used and is used as a disciplinary mechanism.

It may well be that I just haven’t looked hard enough, but I can’t find a justification for formality. It only exists because it exists and it shouldn’t be questioned, because it shouldn’t. No one is stating that the standards are transcendent, yet at the same time they are treated as such. If the standards are not transcendent (which they aren’t), then please point me to the ultimate authority, the face, who can explain me what they are based on. I’d love to exercise the right to petition. Surely the despot would grant me an audience and hear me out, a concerned citizen, well, if that despot existed in the first place. The problem with that is, despot or no despot, that I can’t imagine ever getting past the first priest (the gatekeeper). My status as an author does not permit such. Nothing changes. The priests get to keep interpreting things as usual. The ultimate irony is, of course, as noted by Deleuze and Guattari (130), that as there is no one on the throne, “the more you obey the statements of the dominant reality”, the more you are in command of it, but “in the end you are only obeying yourself[.]” What’s better than discipline? Autodiscipline, i.e. being slave to oneself, as Deleuze and Guattari (130) put it.


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