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Secret - Page 57

criticism, to find a worthier object for its attention, to invent a truer truthabout culture or a more subversive critical agency? The pitiable spectacle of the cultural critic, the entire hoax of engagement in fact already diagnosed by Adorno, here gives way to a masocriticism that pursues this course only in order to run it into the ground, that wants nothing more than to expose the hoax by identifying with it completely and suffering its perfect abjection. Masocriticism is stupid criticism, guilty by association with its worthless objects of attention, collapsing its distance from everything it purports to analyze, throwing itself into the arms of anyone who promises to unmask it.


[43] We have mapped the stupid underground as the capital of the culture of resentment, of a strict, self-indulgent, and self-evacuating reactivity, lamely proposing "new" models and modes of existence that nonetheless can never be entirely reduced to the dialectics of recuperation, and that, even as they sacrifice themselves to such a facile criticism, gather their critics into a suffocating embrace and cancel critical distance itself. But there is more at stake than this peculiar and essential contradiction. Here we will follow the line of what Deleuze and Guattari call "becoming-imperceptible" toward an underground beneath the underground, one that does not make itself available to the critic's screens, a strange disappearance from discourse, from both recuperation and its stupid collapse, an "ars moratorii," a withdrawal or disengagement from the discursive economies than render null and void a thousand pretensions to resistance and subversion, an embryonic turning away, an internal exile (in all the complex associations of that interiority), a secret that the critic must finally postulate precisely in the absence of all evidence. If, in one sort of analysis, as we have noted, everything now is coming up signs, everything is rendered instantly spectacular, simulacral, obscene, we must assume that there are at least a few who have learned their lesson, a few for whom the lacerating parodies of the stupid underground no longer suffice, a few who have cancelled all bets and turned themselves out, declined any further reactivity and gone off the map. We should note here that, for Nietzsche, the "man of ressentiment" is a man of secrets, one who is "neither upright nor naive nor

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