Aleatory

RELATED TERMS: Avant-garde movements; Ergodic; Historicism; Interaction Design; Literary theory; Music

The term aleatory derives from the Latin word alea, meaning dice or game of chance. In composition, whether literary, poetic or musical, it implies the use of the element of chance and dependence on contingencies.

Marc Saporta’s novel, Composition No. 1, which is entirely loose-leafed, and its 150 pages can be read in any order, is an extreme example of the genre of aleatory literature or interactive literature. Each of these two terms, however, has very different connotations. The first potentially points towards meaninglessness, futility or absurdity, with no connection other than chance. The second potentially points towards co-created meaningfulness, with accumulated choices revealing patterns of interaction as meaning-creating. Both terms, nevertheless, imply contingency and consecution. Other examples of aleatory literature cited by Jonathan Coe (2011, 28 October) are Julio Cortazar’s Hopscotch and Milorad Pavic’s Landscape Painted With Tea.

While Coe does not use the term ‘ergodic’, it might be said to occupy a similar territory to aleatory literature and interactive literature. Bringing together two Greek roots, ergon meaning work and hodos meaning path, ergodic is a term borrowed from physics by Espen Aarseth (1997: 2) who uses it to suggest that a “nontrivial effort is required to allow the reader to traverse the text” in the context of cybertextuality and hypertextuality.

Hypertext can be considered an example of ergodic discourse in which, rather than ‘nothing follows’, it might be argued that ‘everything follows’, an abundance of sequences are possible which undermine contingency, and hence, ‘narrative drive’.

In music, John Cage became a strong proponent of aleatoric techniques. Such techniques are an important element of 20th century musical composition. In aleatory music, either an element of the composition is left to chance or a primary element of a composed work’s realisation is left to the performer; or perhaps both.

Reference

Coe, J. (2011, 28 October). Composition No. 1 by Marc Saporta – review. The Guardian, 28 October 2011. Available at http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/oct/28/composition-no-1-saporta-review. Accessed on 18 April 2013.

Agonistic Politics – Mouffe

RELATED TERMS: Arendt; Focalisation; Politics and the Political

A Greimasian approach to narrative environments emphasises actantiality, as a complex field of inter-related, systemic or networked inter-actions involving actants of many different kinds, from conventional characters to various kinds of artefactual entities such as climate change and religious symbolism. Nevertheless, there still remains the problem of what might ‘animate’, ‘drive’ or ‘give impulsion’ to this field of interaction, in other words, the problem of ‘causality’ and how to conceive ’cause’.

One approach to understanding some of the human motivations implicated in such fields of inter-action that is potentially compatible with Greimas’s actantial model, when its structured oppositions are interpreted dynamically as a field of inter-related struggles among actants, is the agonistic politics of Chantal Mouffe. Mouffe gives priority to the notions of antagonism, agonism and hegemony, i.e. hierarchical power relations achieved through apparent consensual agreement.

The weakness of Mouffe’s position from the perspective of the design of narrative environments, as a political arrangement or apparatus of some kind, is a lack of attention to the affective dimension of affiliation, a dimension to which she often alludes but does not develop; and to the spatial dimension, which she mentions but fails to engage thoroughly [1].

Mouffe’s approach to “thinking the world politically” is outlined below.

Agonistic-Politics-Mouffe
An image of the ‘smoke-filled room’ as a paradigm for a forum of political debate

Antagonism and Hegemony

In Hegemony and Socialist Strategy, Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe argue that the concepts of antagonism and hegemony are essential to an understanding of the political. Both concepts point to the importance of the radical negativity that is manifested in the ever-present possibility of antagonism. This dimension of radical negativity forecloses the possibility of a society beyond division and power (Mouffe, 2013: 1)

Laclau and Mouffe define hegemonic practices as practices of articulation, through which a given social order is created and the meaning of social institutions is fixed. In this view, every social order is a temporary and precarious articulation of contingent practices. Any social order is always the expression of a particular configuration of power relations, which is susceptible to being challenged by counter-hegemonic practices that seek to disarticulate it in order to install another form of hegemony.

In subsequent books, Mouffe has developed her reflections on the political, making a distinction between ‘the political’ and ‘politics’. In Mouffe’s account, ’the political’ refers to the dimension of antagonism that can take many forms and can emerge in different social relations. ‘Politics’, she takes to refer to the ensemble of practices, discourses and institutions that seek to establish a particular order and to organise human co-existence in conditions which are always potentially conflicting, because they are affected by the dimension of ‘the political’.

Political questions are not susceptible to technical solutions by experts, Mouffe contends, because they require decisions that make a choice between conflicting alternatives, i.e. they are inescapable moments of decision that require having to decide within an undecidable terrain. In this context, Mouffe points to the inadequacy of liberal thought which, because emphasising (technical) rationality and (methodological) individualism, cannot grasp the pluralistic character of the social world.

Liberal thought’s (methodological) individualism means that it is also blind to the formation of collective identities. This is a major shortcoming as the political, Mouffe argues, is concerned with forms of identification from the outset; the political unfolds through the relational formation of ‘us’ as distinct from, if not always opposed to, ‘them’. Politics always deals with collective identities, i.e. the constitution of a ‘we’ which requires, as its very condition of possibility, the demarcation of a ‘they’.

As already noted, such us/them and we/they relations need not necessarily be antagonistic. They may concern questions of recognising differences. Nevertheless, there is always the possibility that and us/them, we/they relation might become a friend/enemy relation. This transformation occurs when differences begin to be perceived as threats to ‘our’ collective identity, to our existence as a collective body. Henceforth, any us/them relation becomes a locus of antagonism. Mouffe concludes that the condition of possibility of the formation of political, collective identities is simultaneously the condition of impossibility of a society from which antagonism can be eliminated.

Antagonism and Agonism

Mouffe argues that her agonistic model provides an alternative to the two main approaches in democratic political theory: the aggregative model, which conceives of political actors as being moved by the pursuit of their interests; and the deliberative model, which emphasises the role of reason and moral considerations. Both of these models fail to register the centrality of collective identities; and the crucial role played by affects in their constitution. Mouffe suggests that it is impossible to understand democratic politics without acknowledging ‘passions’ as a driving force in the political field.

One of the main challenges for pluralist liberal democratic politics is how to defuse the potential antagonism that exists in human, social relations. The crucial issue is how to establish the us/them distinction, constitutive of politics, in a way that is compatible with the recognition of pluralism. What is important for libel democratic politics is that conflict does not assume the form of an antagonism, i.e. a life-and-death struggle between enemies, but that of agonism, i.e. a discursive, dialectical contest between adversaries.

The adversary, for Mouffe, is the opponent with whom a common allegiance to the democratic principles of liberty and equality for all is shared, while nevertheless disagreeing about their interpretation. The confrontation between adversaries constitutes the agnostic struggle which is the condition of a vibrant democracy.

While consensus, while viable, is necessary, it nevertheless must be accompanied by dissent, Mouffe states. According to Mouffe’s understanding, of ‘adversary’, antagonism is not eliminated but rather sublimated. In agonistic politics, the antagonistic dimension is always present, since what is at stake is the struggle between opposing hegemonic projects which cannot be reconciled rationally (i.e. according to a technical rationality). The prime task of democratic politics is to ‘sublimate’ passions by mobilising them towards democratic designs, by creating collective forms of identification around democratic objectives.

Agonism without Antagonism

For Mouffe, the shortcomings of Hannah Arendt’s conception of agonism is that it is without an accompanying antagonism. Whiel Arendt places great emphasis on human plurality and insists that politics deals with the community and the reciprocity among human beings who differ from one another, she does not acknowledge that this plurality underlies antagonistic conflicts. To think politically, for Arendt, is to develop the ability to see things from a multiplicity of perspectives. Arendt’s pluralism, Mouffe contends, is not fundamentally different from that of Jurgen Habermas. Arendt seeks in Kant’s doctrine of aesthetic judgement a procedure for ascertaining intersubjective agreement in the public sphere. Thus, Arendt ends up, Like habermas, envisioning the public sphere as a space where consensus (without reserve, so to speak) can be reached.

Nevertheless, there are differences between Arendt and Habermas concerning that consensus. For Habermas, consensus emerges through an exchange of arguments constrained by logical rules; while for Arendt agreement is produced through persuasion, not irrefutable proofs. Neither Arendt nor Habermas acknowledges the hegemonic form of consensus and the ineradicability of antagonism, a moment that Lyotard calls the differend:

“As distinguished from a litigation, a differend would be a case of conflict, between (at least) two parties, that cannot be equitably resolved for lack of a rule of judgment applicable to both arguments.” (Lyotard, 1988: xi)

Mouffe also takes issue with the conception of agonism proposed by Bonnie Honig, whose view is inspired by Arendt. The core of the perspective on politics advocated by Machiavelli, Nietzsche and Arendt, which Honig calls virtu, is the agonistic contest through which citizens are encouraged to keep policies and ideas open to discussion and to challenge any attempts to end debate. Mouffe, while agreeing with the importance of contest, does not think that the character of agonistic struggle can be envisaged solely in terms of an ongoing contestation over issues or identities. She suggests that the crucial role go hegemonic articulations also needs to be grasped, as does the necessity of challenging what exists and of constructing new articulations and new institutions.

The weakness of Honig’s approach, Mouffe proposes, can be seen in her exposition of feminist politics, which conceives the public space of politics as a verbal game of disputation, where the central question is not what we should do but who we are. For Mouffe, this is not sufficient to envisage an adequate form of feminist politics. The agonistic struggle should not be centred on the deconstruction of who one is and the proliferation of identities at the cost of addressing the question of what we, as citizens, should do. In Mouffe’s opinion, Honig, like Arendt, places to great an emphasis on the aspect of freedom understood as action in the context of speech acts and the presentation of the self, while not taking seriously enough the issue of justice, of what is to be done.

Pluralism, Multiplicity and Division

Mouffe finds similar limitations in the conception of agonism put forward by William Connolly, who attempts to make the Nietzschean conception of the agon compatible with democratic politics. Central to Connolly’s vision is the notion of agonistic respect, which represents for him the cardinal virtue of deep pluralism, the most important political virtue in the contemporary pluralistic world. The question that Mouffe poses for Connolly’s theory is whether all antagonisms can be transformed into agonisms and all positions accepted as legitimate and accommodated within the agonistic struggle; or are there demands that have to be excluded because they cannot be part of the conflictual consensus that provides the symbolic space in which the opponents recognise themselves as legitimate adversaries? Connolly seems to suggest that there can be a pluralism without antagonism, whereas Mouffe argues that a more adequate political approach requires dealing with the limits of pluralism.

Mouffe summarises her critique of theories of agonism influenced by Nietzsche and Arendt by noting that their main focus is on the fight against closure which means that they are unable to grasp the nature of the hegemonic struggle. The incapacity of these theories to account for the necessary moment of closure that is constitutive of the political is the consequence of an approach that envisages pluralism as a valorisation of multiplicity, eliding the constitutive role of conflict and antagonism.

All of the approaches discussed by Mouffe (2013) acknowledge that under modern democratic conditions, the people cannot be envisaged as ‘one’. However, the Nietzschean-Arendtian approach sees the people as multiple whereas, in Mouffe, the people appears as divided.

Mouffe concludes that it is only when division (exclusion) and antagonism (irresolvable conflict) are recognised as being ineradicable that it is possible to think politically.

Notes

[1] In this respect, it is worth examining Mouffe’s (2012) book chapter “Space, hegemony and radical critique”, where she asserts that the work of Doreen Massey had made her aware of the importance of the spatial dimension in politics. Apart from noting Massey’s insistence on space as a dimension of multiplicity, on space being the product of relations and practices and on the need to acknowledge that our co-constitutive inter-relatedness implies spatiality, Mouffe fails to engage with Massey’s work.

References

Laclau, E. and Mouffe, C. (2001). Hegemony and socialist strategy: towards a radical democratic politics, 2nd ed. London, UK: Verso.

Lyotard, J.-F. (1988). The Differend: phrases in dispute. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press.

Mouffe, C. (2012). Space, hegemony and radical critique. In: Spatial Politics: Essays for Doreen Massey, edited by D. Featherstone and J. Painter. Chichester, West Sussex, UK: Wiley-Blackwell, 19–31.

Mouffe, C. (2013). Agonistics: thinking the world politically. London: Verso.

Agonism and Avant-Gardism

RELATED TERMS: Agon; Avant-Garde Movements

As is noted under the term Agon, the terms, agonism, agonist, antagonist and protagonist can be of great value in developing and understanding the dynamics of narrative environments, particularly when considered from the point of view of dramatic conflict. Renato Poggioli (1968: 65), furthermore, argues that agonism is a moment of enormous import as a disposition within modern culture. The particular significance of agonism within avant-garde art is his specific area of interest, however.

Agonism derives form the Greek root words agone and agonia but, Poggioli suggests, its modern sense transcends the purely etymological meanings of the two terms. Thus, he reasons, if agonism meant no more than agone, it would simply be a synonym for activism and would express the modern cult of contest, sport and game, that is, of competition and competitiveness. On the other hand, if agonism meant no more than agonia, it would allude to the tragic sense of life so intensely felt by Pascal, Kierkegaard, Nietzsche and Dostoevsky, a sense that was rendered popular by the existentialist philosophy of the 1960s.

However, within the context of avant-garde art, what is meant by agonism is more pathetic than tragic, and is neither Christian nor Dionysian. It represents the deepest psychological motivation behind the decadent movement, Poggioli asserts, and also the general currents, from which the decadent movement emerged, that reach back to romanticism itself.

In these currents, the agnostic attitude is not a passive state of mind, exclusively dominated by a sense of imminent catastrophe. Rather, it strives to transform the catastrophic into a miracle. By so acting, through its very failure, it tends toward a result that both justifies and transcends itself.

Thus, in this context, agonism means tension; and it means sacrifice and consecration. As an hyperbolic passion, a bow bent toward the impossible, it forms a paradoxical and positive form of spiritual defeatism, such as exemplified by Mallarme’s “Un coup de des”.

For Mario Praz, the romantic agony is among the most extreme and symptomatic themes of modern literature, keenly suggesting a continuity between romantic and avant-garde mentalities. The presence of an agonistic mentality in the avant-garde aesthetic consciousness can be demonstrated through the frequent appearance of the hyperbolic image in modern poetry. Within critical discourse, similarly, the contrast between a work and the atmosphere in which it is produced presupposes that the creative act takes place in a state of crisis.

Poggioli proposes that in an epoch such as that which encompassed the 1960s, which is dominated by an anxiety or anguish that is impervious to any metaphysical or mystical redemption, agonism must be conceived of as a sacrifice to the Moloch of historicism, in which history is made into a divinity.

This, Poggioli contends, is precisely the transcendental function (ideal mission) of avant-garde agonism as futurism, understood as a general tendency or orientation toward the future, and not the determinate movement that took on that name. Thus, Poggioli defines the agonistic variant of futurism as a self-sacrifice to the glory of posterity (an agonistic sacrifice to the future). Nevertheless, he points out, avant-garde artists sometimes permitted themselves to be seduced by an agonism that was almost gratuitous, that is, by a sense of sacrifice and a morbid taste for present suffering that was not conceived of as self-immolation on behalf of future generations.

Massimo Bontempelli concludes that the avant-gardes of the first fifteen years of the 20th century in general submitted to the fate of the military avant-gardes, from whom the image is taken: they were destined for the slaughter so that after them others might be able to build.

Furthermore, this immolation of the self to the art of the future must be understood not just as an anonymous and collective sacrifice, but also the self-immolation of the isolated creative personality. This agonistic sacrifice is felt as the fatal obligation of the individual artists.

In the ideologies of more recent avant-gardes (post-1945), the agonistic sacrifice is conceived in terms of a collective group of men and women born and growing up at the same moment in history, i.e. a lost generation.

This destiny, while accepted as an historic one, is also accepted as a psychological one, suggesting that the agonistic disposition in avant-garde psychosis represents the masochistic impulse while the nihilistic disposition represents the sadistic impulse.

References

Poggioli, R. (1968). Agonism and futurism. In: The Theory of the avant-garde. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 61–77.

Agon

RELATED TERMS: Actant; Agonism and Avant-Gardism; Antagonist; Dissensus – Ranciere; Dramatic conflict; Focalisation; Human Actantiality; Narratology; Protagonist

The word agon and its cognate terms, agonism, agonist, antagonist and protagonist are of great value in developing and understanding the dynamics of designed entities, particularly when considered in conjunction with a notion of dramatic conflict. Agon is a way of developing the intricacies of dramatic conflict through such notions as contest and struggle, opening the potential to discuss these in playful or in political terms.

It is generally held that the root meaning of the Greek word ‘agon’ is a gathering or an assembly, a group of people brought together for some purpose. It is a term, however, which over time acquired a number of distinct connotations. For example, in the Oresteia, Aeschylus employs the word to refer to struggles of various types, while in The Eumenides the image of a wrestling match is used to describe a deadly contest. Aeschylus’ use of agon in The Eumenides explicitly links the image of athletic contest with that of legal proceedings.

Debra Hawhee (2002: 186) comments that,

” … the word agôn suggests movement through struggle, a productive training practice wherein subjective production takes place through the encounter itself. As Nietzsche suggests, the Greeks produced themselves through active struggle; their pedagogy depended on agonism.”

Thus, in the time of Aeschylus, agon came to connote competition and contention. A generation or so later, the historian Thucydides employs agon to mean extreme anxiety, where agonia signifies the most agonising and conflicting emotions. In this way, agon comes to refer to conflicts which are external, such as competition between opposing forces, and conflicts which are internal, such a mental and emotional agony.

In the English language, agonist was used to mean champion or contender for prizes in the 17th century and now, in the 21st century, it is taken to refer to a person engaged in a contest or a struggle. The more generally used form of the term agonist in English is protagonist against whom is set an antagonist.

The significance of an agonistic approach to narrative environments is that, as Debra Hawhee points out, it highlights the notions of ‘virtue’ (as goodness) and of ‘virtuosity’ (as skill) and it draws out the performative dimension of virtue and virtuosity. Thus, Hawhee notes, at the heart of the ancient agon lies the concept of arete or virtue. Thus is because the struggling contest served as a stage of sorts. Arete was associated with the goodness, courage, and prowess of a warrior.

Furthermore, Hawhee (2002: 187) continues,

” … one cannot just be virtuous, one must become virtuosity by performing and hence embodying virtuous actions in public. In addition to depending on acknowledgement, then, arete also had a performative dimension, which is to say that it must be enacted, embodied. Arete was thus not a telos, but rather a constant call to action that produced particular habits. As a repeated/repeatable style of living, arete was therefore a performative, bodily phenomenon, depending on visibility — on making manifest qualities associated with virtuosity. As such, it was produced through observation, imitation, and learning.”

(Hawhee, 2002: 187)

Thus, Hawhee (2002: 190) concludes, in ancient Greece, one is what one does, or better still, one is what one is perceived as doing.

References

Hawhee, D. (2002). Agonism and Arete. Philosophy and Rhetoric, 35 (3), 185–207. Available from http://muse.jhu.edu/content/crossref/journals/philosophy_and_rhetoric/v035/35.3hawhee.html [Accessed 24 November 2012].

Russo, R. (2002). A Natural history of ‘agonist’. Perspectives in Biology and Medicine, 45 (3), 350–358. Available from http://muse.jhu.edu/content/crossref/journals/perspectives_in_biology_and_medicine/v045/45.3russo.html [Accessed 11 November 2015].

World

RELATED TERMS: Dau Project; Diegese and Diegesis; Lifeworld – Lebenswelt – Umwelt; Storyworld;

World (Turned Upside Down; Outside In; reflected in a slave plantation sugar kettle)

“these three types of world — the world, my world and a contained world-like domain — are often difficult to distinguish.” (Gaston, 2013: x)

“Every human lives in a world”. (Reed, 2021)

“the word ‘world’ constantly shifts between its cosmological, ontological, theological, chronological, anthropological, sociological, political, and existential meanings.” (Klepec, 2021) 

“There is only one world, however diverse, and all animals live in it, although we human animals have altered it to suit ourselves. We have done so wastefully, thoughtlessly and, if we do not mend our ways, fatally.” (Gibson, 1979)

World of the Story; World of the Narrative Environment

It could be argued that a narrative environment forms a ‘world’. What does this mean? The writer who perhaps best explains this in a way useful for the design of narrative environments is Jean-Luc Nancy. Nancy (2007) argues that two senses of the ‘world’ are generally conflated: the world as the givenness of all that exists; and the world as a globality of sense, a meaningful whole.

The former sense of ‘world’ is the sum total of things in existence, as in the phrase ‘everything in the world’. The latter, however, is a totality of meaning. For example, one can speak of Debussy’s world’, a Kafkaesque world, the world of James Joyce’s Ulysses or indeed, the modern world, the world of modernity (and post-modernity). In such cases, one grasps that one is speaking of a totality, to which a certain meaningful content or a certain value system properly belongs. This relates closely to ‘the world of the story’ or to the notion of diégèse in Souriau’s and Genette’s sense.

A world in this latter sense means a meaningful, shared context. Worldhood here implies “an ethos, a habitus and an inhabiting” (Nancy, 2007, 42). Madden (2012) explains that a group of people who hold anything in common, living in proximity, or sharing vulnerability to disease, for example, can be said to be part of the same world in the first sense. However, in order to qualify as sharing a world in the second sense, they need to be able to form this aggregate world into something more sensible or inhabitable, to be able to communicate dialogically, for example, or to cooperatively transform the conditions of their coexistence (Madden, 2012, 775).

While the design of narrative environments is firstly concerned to create a world that has its own consistency and integrity, both narratively and environmentally, a second level of concern is that of the relationship between the world of the narrative environment and the lifeworld, which is of a critical and dialogical character. The encounter between the world of the narrative environment and the lifeworld takes place in the imaginary storyworld that the participants construct through interaction with the narrative environment. This is to acknowledge the major and minor, and dominant and subordinate, narratives in play in ordering lifeworlds, even though the lifeworld as a lived experience does not simply follow a narrative structure. In other words, the historio-spatiality of the lifeworld is not reducible to a single homogeneous, explanatory narrative structure.

References

Bencin, R. (2024) Rethinking the concept of world: Towards transcendental multiplicity. Edinburgh, UK: Edinburgh University Press.

Gaston, S. (2013) The Concept of world from Kant to Derrida. London, UK: Rowman & Littlefield International.

Gibson, J. J. (1979) The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception. New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.

Klepec, P. (2021) World? Which world? On some pitfalls of a concept, Filozofski vestnik, 42(2), pp. 45–69. doi: 10.3986/fv.42.2.03.

Madden, D.J. (2012). City becoming world: Nancy, Lefebvre, and the global-urban Imagination. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 30 (5), 772–787. Available from http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1068/d17310 [Accessed 11 May 2019].

Nancy, J.-L. (2007). The creation of the world, or, Globalization. Albany. NY: State University of New York Press.

Reed, P. (2021) The End of a world and Its pedagogies, Making & Breaking, (2).

Diégèse and Diegesis

RELATED TERMS: Diegesis; Storyworld; Narrative environment design

Rather than the process of story-telling, that is, diegesis contrasted with mimesis in Greek philosophy and poetics, the term ‘The diegesis’, i.e. as the English translation of Gerard Genette’s term diégèse, is understood, here, as the world of the story in its entirety. This includes unseen or not presented parts of it, the beliefs and feelings of the characters and the past and future of that world, in short, all that belongs consistently, ‘logically’ or by processes of ‘reasonable implication’ or ‘inference’ to that world.

It is different from mis en scene, i.e. the arrangement of the scenery, props and so on on the stage of a theatrical production or on the set of a film (the pro-filimc events).

It differs from ‘storyworld’, which is the world generated by the reader, viewer or spectator from the diégèse.

Bob Rehak (2003, 124, n3) notes that,

“Diegesis, from the Greek term for “recounted story,” is conventionally employed in film theory to refer to the “total world of the story action” (David Bordwell and Kristin Thompson, Film Art, 6th ed., New York: McGraw-Hill, 2001, 61). I use it here to designate the narrative-strategic space of any given video game — a virtual environment determined by unique rules, limits, goals, and “history,” and additionally designed for the staging and display of agency and identity.”

Diegesis is the process of telling or narrating. In Plato’s and Aristotle’s writings, as reported discourse, diegesis is contrasted with mimesis, the process of showing or enacting.

Diegesis has been converted into a narratological category denoting the imagined story-universe as opposed to the discursive or textual constituents of a narration. The earliest modern usage of French “diégèse” originates in film theory, where diegesis designates everything which constitutes or belongs to the world projected by a film, and not only visually (Metz, c1971, 1974: 97–8)

In this case, The diegesis [diégèse] is taken to mean the world of the narrative. It includes objects, events, spaces and the characters that inhabit them, including things, actions, and attitudes not explicitly presented in the work but inferred by the audience. That audience constructs a diegetic world from the material presented in a narrative. The narrator may be inside the diegesis, i.e.intra-diegetic, or may not, in which case they are outside, i.e. extra-diegetic.

Note that this formulation of extra- and intra- diegetic differs from and is simpler than the initial formulation of Genette, which includes homo- hetero- extra- and intra-diegetic categories, and combinations thereof [1]. This difference is made for two reasons: the first is that the diegesis in a narrative environment is typically constructed of real things: real place, real objects, real people; the second is that we have found that we do not need such a complex formulation as Genette proposes – inside and outside suffices.

A diegesis may contain other narratives, in which case the narrative it belongs to is called a framing narrative. Stories that are told (usually by characters) within the main narrative are part of its diegesis, but also each has its own internal diegesis. If the diegeses of these subnarratives are related to the diegesis of the framing or master narrative, then in narrative environment design we call the framing narrative a meta-narrative.

The diegesis is an important concept in narrative environment design because it will most likely contain real places, spaces, objects. Because the audience (narratee) is in direct physical relationship to these elements, the borderline between intradiegetic (part of the narrative’s world) and extradiegetic (outside the narrative’s world) can be extremely porous, making metalepsis comparatively easy. This is a powerful tool for engaging the narratee.

A fundamental problem in the design of narrative environments

Let us consider the manifold confusions and ambiguities around the term ‘diegesis’ in the English language as it has been used over the years in film studies and narratology. [2] For example, Halliwell (2015) states that, 

“… some modern theorists have converted diegesis into a narratological category denoting the imagined story-universe as opposed to the discursive or textual constituents of a narration. The closest we come to this distinction in ancient criticism is in Aristotle’s pair of terms praxis, “action” qua events depicted, and muthos, the structuring of depicted action into a dramatic/narrative representation (see esp. Poetics 6.1450a3–5). In French, this other sense of diegesis is denoted by “diégèse” (Genette [1972] 1980: 27, 280, [1983] 1988: 17–8), while “diégésis” is reserved for the narrative mode contrasted with mimesis. This further terminological splitting has led to a somewhat confusing variation in the sense of the adjective “diegetic”/”diégétique,” together with related compounds, in the hands of different theorists. One reason for this state of affairs is the fact that the earliest modern usage of French “diégèse” originates in film theory, where diegesis designates everything which constitutes or belongs to the world projected, and not only visually, by a film (Metz [1971] 1974: 97–8; Pier[1986] 2009: 217–18).” 

One set of confusions arises from the situation that, as Halliwell notes above, there are two terms in French, diégèse and diégésis, which have different meanings but both of which are translated into English as diegesis. Henry Taylor (2007) also delves into the confusions surrounding the terms diegesis and diegetic in English, particularly the way in which they have come to supplant the vocabulary of mimesis and the mimetic [3].

Let us look now at the meaning of diégèse.

4. Diégèse and diégétique universe

Diégèse is an invention, or perhaps more properly re-invention, of Etienne Souriau. He coined it for the mode of representation specific to cinema.
Souriau contrasted the diégétique universe, based on the notion of diégèse, with the screen universe. The former universe (diégétique) is the place of the signified (the sense derived from the signifier); while the latter universe (screen) is the place of the signifier (the material or substantial means of representation). 
Genette (1988: 17) notes that, 

“Used in that sense, diégèse is indeed a universe rather than a train of events (a story); the diégèse is therefore not the story but the universe in which the story takes place”. 

To clarify this point, Genette explains that ‘universe’ is used here in, “the somewhat limited (and wholly relative) sense in which we say that Stendhal is not in the same universe as Fabrice.” Crucially, he concludes, “We must not, therefore, substitute diégèse for histoire [story].”

Elsewhere, Genette (1997: 295) explains that,

“the diegesis, in the meaning suggested by the inventor of the term (Etienne Souriau, if I am not mistaken), which is the meaning I shall be using here, is the world wherein that story occurs. The obvious metonymic relation between story and diegesis (the story takes place within the diegesis) facilitates the shift in meaning, deliberate or not; moreover, there is an easy derivation from diegesis to diegetic, an adjective that has sometimes come to mean “relating to the story” (which historical could not have done unambiguously).” 

The importance of this conclusion is that it signals a change in Genette’s use of the term diégèse (rendered in English translations of his work as diegesis). Previously, in Discours du recit, he partly proposed that diégèse (diegesis) was an equivalent for histoire (story). Thus, in defining the term diégétique, Genette suggested that, 

“As currently used, the diegesis (diégèse) is the spatio-temporal universe designated by the narrative; in our terminology, therefore, this general sense diégétique = ‘that which has reference or belongs to the story’; in a more specific sense diégétique = intradiegetic” (translator’s note, cited in Genette, 1988: 17n)

Genette’s revised view of diégèse and the diégétique universe brings him into consistency with Souriau’s (1952: 11) more general submission to the principle that, 

“… in all the arts without exception … the main business is to present a whole universe – the universe of the work – en patuite, in a state of patency. This rather rare philosophical term … denotes manifest existence, existence that is clearly evident to the mind.”

Souriau (1952: 11) continues that such a universe, 

“… exists manifestly before us … a universe presented with all its power to stir us deeply; to overwhelm us; to impose its own reality upon us; to be, for an hour to two, all of reality.”

For Souriau (1952: 11), 

“… it is impossible … to reduce the universe of a work to what is presented concretely on the stage.”

All of a play’s elements, constituting its universe or world, 

“… must exist for us, surround us, take hold of us, be given to us. But given – ab unglue leonem – in the form of a tiny fragment, a nucleus cut out of that immense universe, whose mission will be to conjure up for us, all by itself, the universe in its entirety.” (Souriau, 1952: 11)

Metz (1991: 97-98) explains the term diegesis in the following way:

“The concept of diegesis is as important for the film semiologist as the idea of art. The word is derived from the Greek διηγησις, “narration” and was used particularly to designate one of the obligatory parts of judiciary discourse, the recital of facts. The term was introduced into the framework of the cinema by Étienne Souriau. It designates the film’s represented instance (which Mikel Dufrenne contrasts to the expressed, properly aesthetic, instance)―that is to say, the sum of a film’s denotation: the narration itself, but also the fictional space and time dimensions implied in and by the narrative, and consequently the characters, the landscapes, the events, and other narrative elements, in so far as they are considered in their denoted aspect.” 

Furthermore, Metz explains the distinction between the diegetic elements of a film and ‘the diegesis’ itself in the following way:

“The autonomous segments of film correspond to as many diegetic elements, but not to the “diegesis” itself. The latter is the distant significate of the film taken as a whole: Thus a certain film will be described as “the story of an unhappy love affair set against the background of provincial bourgeois French society toward the end of the nineteenth century,” etc. The partial elements of the diegesis constitute, on the contrary, the immediate significates of each filmic segment. The immediate significate is linked to the segment itself by insoluble ties of semiological reciprocity, which form the basis of the principle of commutation.” (Metz, 1991: 144)

Let us now turn to the meaning of diégésis. 

5. Diégésis

Genette (1988: 18) argues that the two terms diégèse, as defined by Souriau, and diégésis, the French translation of the Greek term διήγησις (diegesis, “narration”), should not be ‘telescoped’ into one another. Specifically, he states, diégèse “is by no means the French translation of the Greek diégésis”. Such a telescoping of story (i.e. train of events) and storyworld (diégèse – the universe or world in which the story takes place) is what David Herman (2009: 183) might be seen to be doing when he states that,

“In one sense, the term diegesis corresponds to what narratologists call story; in this usage, it refers to the storyworld evoked by the narrative text and inhabited by the characters.”

The term diégésis draws into play the Platonic and Aristotelian theory of the modes of representation, where diégésis is distinguished from mimesis. Diégésis, for Plato, is pure narrative, without dialogue. It is contrasted to the mimesis of dramatic representation and to everything that enters narrative along with dialogue, in the process making narrative impure or mixed. For his part, following Souriau, Genette derives the adjective diégétique from diégèse and not from diégésis.

6. Diegesis as story, diegesis as universe and imaginary worlds If ‘diégèse’ is translated into the English language as ‘diegesis’, then Genette’s explanatory sentence, “the diégèse is therefore not the story but the universe in which the story takes place” becomes, in English, “the diegesis is therefore not the story but the universe in which the story takes place”. In this case, diegesis in English has three distinct senses: story (synopsis or synoptic discourse); universe (or ‘world’) in which story takes place; and translation of the Greek term διήγησις (“narration”). Awareness of this state of affairs, led Noel Burch (1982: 16) to state that,

“Diegesis … seems to me a word that has lost much of its usefulness, because it is either too vague to accommodate dialectical rigour or too mechanical …”

Rather than use the term diegesis by itself, Burch borrows a term from the earlier film semiotics of Souriau and Metz, referring to the general experience of the classical film in terms of diegetic production, at the level of transmission, diegetic effect, at the level of reception, and diegetic process to encompass both.
The distinction made by Souriau, and followed by Genette, between the story-diegesis, as train of events, and the universe-diegesis, as real or fictive ‘world’ within which the story-diegesis takes place, might then be termed diegetic production and diegetic effect, respectively, to deal with the ambiguity of the term diegesis by itself. 
For Burch (1982: 16), this opens up the possibility of distinguishing the diegetic process from narrative. Thus, he argues, the diegetic process, 

“can be triggered off in a filmic context independently of the presence of any narrative structure, and that one may consequently see it [i.e. the diegetic process], rather than narrative, as the true seat of cinema’s ‘power of fascination’.” 

This represents a clear departure from Genette, for whom, as already noted, diégèse (diegetic effect in Burch’s terms and story (narrative) are inextricably linked. One might also wish to distinguish these two worlds, one denoted (or explicitly stated and shown) the other connoted (or implicity suggested and evoked) and the imaginary world which the reader/viewer constructs from story-diegesis and universe-digesis. One way of approaching this second can be suggested with reference to Dominique Sipiere’s reconsideration of the work of Souriau. Sipiere (2008: 13) comments that,

“Souriau (re)introduced the word diegesis in its modern sense: it is the world within the film as it would be if it were a real complete universe. In other terms, the world as it is for the characters in the movie. The concept was successfully reinvested by Gérard Genette for literary studies but it brings a little more to film studies because it helps separate the two great statuses of objects: movies can be both a re-presentation of the ‘real’ afilmic world and the creation of an artificial diegetic world.” 

In putting it in these terms, that diegesis (i.e. diégèse) is “the world as it is for the characters in the movie”, it can be clearly seen that it is a secondary question as to whether the members of the movie’s audience put themselves in the position of one or more of the characters in the movie, for example, through processes of (imaginary) identification or ‘suture’, as a process of securing and closing. These secondary questions concern the ‘mode of address’ of the movie; and by extension of the ‘diegesis’, in all its glorious ambiguities, of ’narratives’ and ’stories’, including those embedded in academic curricula, themselves considered as narrative environments and learning environments.

Notes

[1] Because of the ambiguities surrounding the term ‘diegesis’, Monika Fludernik explains the reluctance of German-speaking academics to use Genette’s terminology,

“Genette’s use of the root term diegetic in many technical terms (homo-/heterodiegetic, extra-/intradiegetic, metadiegetic, etc.), though usefully allowing distinctions of person and level, at the same time introduced the problem that diegesis, in the Greek original, actually referred to the narratorial discourse, that is, to the act of telling, rather than to the story (the muthos or – in later narratological parlance – the histoire).” (Fludernik, 2005: 40)

[2] For a discussion of these categories, see Genette, G (1980) Voice, in Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1980, pp.212-262.

Winters (2010) notes that the first scholar to use the term diegetic in the modern sense, and in connection with film no less, suggests little of this idea of narrative levels, and offers instead a concept more appropriate for cinema. Étienne Souriau used the word to describe one of seven levels of ‘filmic reality’ by which the spectator engages with film. In that sense, diegesis indicates the existence of a unique filmic universe, peculiar to each movie. As Edward Lowry describes it, Souriau conceived of this unique universe as containing ‘its own rules, systems of belief, characters, settings etc. This is just as true of a Neorealist film like Bicycle Thief as it is of a fantasy film like René Clair’s I Married a Witch. Souriau refers to this unique realm specific to each film as its diegesis.’14 

This, evidently, has little to do with the idea of narrative levels encountered in literary fiction, and instead emphasises diegesis as a narrative space more suited to the distinct realm of the cinema (Souriau’s comparative aesthetics, after all, saw each of the nine arts occupying their own individual universe). More importantly still, nothing in this description justifies the automatic exclusion of music from the diegesis, since the presence of music in the space of the filmic universe might be considered an aspect specific to a particular film, whether realist or fantastic in its aesthetic. This idea of a unique non-realistic filmic universe that may operate according to laws different from our own, where music does not underscore our actions or erupt from us spontaneously, is an important one to which I will return.

Like Souriau before him, the semiotician Christian Metz used the term diegetic to indicate the ‘reality’ of the fictional world, “a reality that comes only from within us, from the projections and identifications that are mixed in with our perception of the film.”15 However, building on Souriau’s statement that diegesis encompassed “everything which concerns the film to the extent that it represents something”,16 Metz defined diegesis in typically semiological terms as “the sum of a film’s denotation: the narration itself, but also the fictional space and time dimensions implied in and by the narrative, and consequently the characters, the landscapes, the events, and other narrative elements, in so far as they are considered in their denoted aspect.”17 According to Metz’s definition, then, whether music belongs rightfully in the diegesis depends on whether it is understood as denotative. Although ‘nondiegetic’ music is widely assumed to be connotative, and to have little to do with denoting objects in narrative space, one of Adorno and Eisler’s chief criticisms of Hollywood scoring was precisely music’s redundant, almost denotative character—in short, its implied role within the diegesis.

[3] Henry Taylor (2007) traces the history of the term diegesis, which brings to light the difficulty of using it in design practices such as the design of narrative environments. He points out that the terms diegetic, non-diegetic, meta-diegetic, homo-diegetic, and so on are used extensively in literary and film studies. However, he argues, the term diegesis is a misnomer.

As he explains, book three of The Republic (Politeia), Plato distinguishes between two kinds of narrative: the simple narrative, haple diegesis, and mimesis. The former features a narrator speaking directly in his own, undisguised voice. In the latter, mimetic or imitative representation, the author speaks indirectly, for example, through other characters and voices.

Plato regards mimesis as an inferior, degraded form of storytelling and, moreover, one that is dangerous, because it simply copies the appearance of the real, providing us only with reproductions of shadows. Nevertheless, this judgement cannot be taken at face value since Plato himself does not speak to us directly in his dialogues, but through the voice of Socrates and other characters.

Plato’s pupil Aristotle re-contextualises and expands the significance of mimesis and mimetic narrative in his Poetics. Mimesis for Aristotle does not reproduce reproductions or shadows, but reality itself. It is therefore a first and not second order imitation. Aristotle still adheres to Plato’s term diegesis, but reassigns it to the mode of mimesis. This means that, while all narrative is mimesis in the wider sense, simple or direct narrative, such as in voice-over narration in film, is diegetic mimesis, whereas dramatic representations, for example, of actors in a scene, are, in this conceptualisation, mimetic mimesis. Mimesis, for Aristotle, is the umbrella term designating all kinds of creation of poetic or fictional worlds, as Paul Ricœur explains in Time and Narrative.

This complication is further exacerbated by the fact that what Aristotle called mimesis and mimetic has now come to be called diegesis and diegetic. Before being established as an academic discipline, the French term diégèse was introduced around 1950 by Etienne and Anne Souriau, although there is some dispute about its precise origin. This dispute about origin not withstanding, the English terms diegesis and diegetic, referring to the spatial story worlds primarily of fictional texts and films, are translations of the French words diégèse and diégétique.

Yet more complications are added by the fact that Genette, taking his orientation from Etienne Souriau, asserts that these terms are not derived from the Greek diegesis.

As Taylor comments, by now this terminology has become so well established that it would be futile not to use it in its now accustomed sense. It has been particularly useful in designating aspects and features of filmic sound as it relates to the relatively closed story-worlds of fiction. In regard to non-fiction, and to documentary film in particular, Taylor notes, the terms remain problematic.

The expression transdiegetic has been used to refer to the propensities of sound to cross the border of the diegetic story world to the non-diegetic (life-)world of the audience. The example that Taylor cites is that of Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now, when a boat crew member played by Laurence Fishburne turns up the radio playing the Rolling Stones song “Satisfaction”. The music, at first simply located in on-screen diegetic, filmic space swells to encompass on- and off-screen, cinematic space.

References

Winters, B. (2010) ‘The non-diegetic fallacy: film, music, and narrative space’, Music and Letters, 91(2), pp. 224–244. doi: 10.1093/ml/gcq019.

Heterarchy

RELATED TERMS: Actantiality; Affordances; Tangled Hierarchy and Strange Loop;

Within the understanding that socio-genesis and techno-genesis are inherently interwoven, each as an original supplement of the other, designs can be said to form strange loops: tangled hierarchies that articulate a heterarchy of values. In part, they do so through the deictic framings and cross-referencing which they perform.

A heterarchy, Dekker and Kuchar (2017) state, is a complex adaptive system of governance which is ordered by more than one governing principle. In other words, it is a multi-level structure in which there is no single ‘highest level’. While heterarchies include elements of hierarchies and networks, they are different from both of these systems of governance in a number of important ways. An analogy might be made between heterarchical governance and plate tectonics: they are mutually self-contained orders with unclear hierarchies among them. Unlike a hierarchy, there is no fixed top or bottom level in a heterarchy. There is no single, simple ‘pecking order’. Nevertheless, this is not anarchic. As the elements of a heterarchy are activated, their inferiority or superiority changes, depending on the circumstances.

“The problem with heterarchy, and the challenge to making it work, is not the lack of hierarchy, but too many competing hierarchies.”

(Ogilvy, 2016)

The concept of heterarchy was created by neurophysiologist Warren S. McCulloch (1945) in response to a problem defined by a logical contradiction that is characteristic for any system, whether it be a group of neurons, an individual or an organization, that chooses A instead of B, B instead of C and C instead of A. To make this clearer, Ogilvy (2016) suggests that, “The term ‘heterarchy’ is best defined by its opposition to hierarchy. In a hierarchy, if A is over B, and B is over C, then A is over C … In a heterarchy, though, you can have A over B, B over C, and C over A.” To think of how this works in practice, Ogilvy gives the example of the game of ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors’, where paper covers rock; rock crushes scissors; and scissors cut paper. This may be said to characterise the world we live in: not the anarchy of no hierarchy, nor the simplistic, rationalist utopia of a single hierarchy, but a heterarchy of many hierarchies (Ogilvy, 2016).

Indeed, Baumann and Dingwerth (2015), discussing the context of the global political system, contend that,

“there is much ground to believe that world politics is in fact characterised by both a concentration and a dispersion of power and authority. While military power is increasingly concentrated in the hands of a single actor, authority in a broader sense is increasingly dispersed among a plethora of actors that populate the world of world politics. In short, it is neither global governance nor empire alone that we are witnessing, but rather heterarchy and hierarchy at the same time. If such a description is roughly correct, understanding the structures of world politics and the evolving global order in the 21st century is only possible if we take this dual move from anarchy to heterarchy and hierarchy into account.”

This value anomaly is present in any system that has to make a choice between two or more potential acts that are incompatible (McCulloch 1945, 90; cf. Shackle 1979). Without the logical contradiction, that is, without two or more potential acts that are incompatible, there is no space for a genuine choice based on disparate evaluation criteria (Dekker and Kuchar, 2017).

Heterarchy and the design of narrative environments

Narrative environments are heterarchical in as far as they enact and partake in the circulation of preferences according to three distinct, but interrelated sets of principles, those of narrativity, those of humanness and and those of environmentality and immersivity, each of which may assume the top (determining or contextualising) level under certain circumstances. Any particular narrative environment design may therefore intervene in a situation to alter or reconfigure the value hierarchies in play.

Furthermore, narrative environments may be designed in order specifically to highlight such value anomalies, for example, the contractions in the value of what is perceived as ‘just’ as enacted in the context of the narrativity of rational financial gain, the enactment of fairness in legal remedies and the enaction of what is perceived (or indeed imagined) to be environmentally fair (and not simply ‘fair game’). The same could be said for the value of the ‘proper’, ‘rightness’ or any other social value.

The concept of heterarchy, therefore, may be useful for working through how contradictory behaviours, which emerge from the series of choices that a system or a person makes in accordance with different evaluation criteria, are managed by the system or the individual so that it does not fall into violence through conflict or paralysis through radical doubt or anomie.

References

Baumann, R. and Dingwerth, K. (2015) Global governance vs empire: Why world order moves towards heterarchy and hierarchy, Journal of International Relations and Development, 18(1), pp. 104–128. doi: 10.1057/jird.2014.6

Belmonte, R. and Cerny, P. G. (2021) Heterarchy: Toward Paradigm Shift in World Politics, Journal of Political Power, 14(1), pp. 235–257. doi: 10.1080/2158379X.2021.1879574

Bruni, L. E. and Giorgi, F. (2015) Towards a heterarchical approach to biology and cognition, Progress in Biophysics and Molecular Biology, 119(3), pp. 481–492. doi: 10.1016/j.pbiomolbio.2015.07.005

Cerny, P. G. (ed.) (2023) Heterarchy in world politics. Abingdon, UK: Routledge.

Cumming, G. S. (2016) Heterarchies: Reconciling networks and hierarchies, Trends in Ecology and Evolution, 31(8), pp. 622–632. doi: 10.1016/j.tree.2016.04.009.

Dekker, E. and Kuchar, P. (2017). Heterarchy. In A. Marciano, & G. B. Ramello (Eds.), Encyclopedia of Law and Economics. New York, NY: Springer.

Goldammer, E. von, Paul, J. and Newbury, J. (2003) Heterarchy – Hierarchy, Vordenker. Available at: https://vordenker.de/heterarchy/a_heterarchy-e.pdf [Accessed: 10 May 2021].

McCulloch W. S. (1945) A Heterarchy of values determined by the topology of nervous nets. Bulletin of Mathematical Biophysics, 7(2):89–93.

Ogilvy, J. (2016) Heterarchy: an idea finally ripe for its time, Forbes. Available at: https://www.forbes.com/sites/stratfor/2016/02/04/heterarchy-an-idea-finally-ripe-for-its-time/?sh=7d69884047a7 (Accessed: 10 May 2021).

Shackle, G. L. S. (1979) Imagination and the nature of choice. Edinburgh, UK: Edinburgh University Press.

Stephenson, K. (2022) Heterarchy, in Ansell, C. and Torfing, J. (eds) Handbook on theories of governance. Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar, pp. 140–148.

Tangled Hierarchy and Strange Loop

RELATED TERMS: Deixis and Deictic Acts; HeterarchyMetalepsisOntological Metalepsis

“A weird knowing. Weird, from the Old Norse, urth, meaning twisted, in a loop.”(Morton, 2017: 92)

Douglas Hofstadter (1979: 18) argues that a strange loop occurs whenever, by moving upwards or downwards through the levels of a hierarchical system, you unexpectedly find yourself right back where you started. He sometimes uses the expression tangled hierarchy to describe a system in which a strange loop occurs. They are thus paradoxical structures that nonetheless undeniably belong to the world in which we live (Hofstadter, 2007: 103).

He elaborates that a tangled hierarchy occurs when what are presumed to be clear hierarchical levels unexpectedly take a hierarchy-transgressing twisting- or folding-back. The surprise element is important and is the reason he calls such loops ‘strange’. He distinguishes them from simple tangles, such as feedback, which do not involve transgressions of presumed clear distinctions among levels (Hofstadter, 1979: 686; Hofstadter, 2007: 160). A loop’s strangeness comes solely from the way in which a system can seem to engulf itself through an unexpected twisting-around, violating what had been taken to be an inviolable hierarchical order (Hofstadter, 2007:159)

What he means by strange loop, he says, is an abstract loop in which, in the series of stages that constitute the cycling-around, there is a shift from one level of abstraction or structure to another, which feels like an upwards movement in a hierarchy, and yet somehow the successive upward shifts turn out to give rise to a closed cycle returning to the point of departure. That is, despite one’s sense of departing ever further from one’s origin, one winds up, to one’s great surprise, exactly where one had started out. In short, a strange loop is a paradoxical level-crossing feedback loop (Hofstadter, 2007: 101-102)

Such loops may take the form of one-step self-reference, such as the Epimenides paradox, in which Epimenides, a Cretan himself, made the statement: “All Cretans are liars”, a sharper version of which is simply “I am lying”, or, “This statement is false”. However, the loop can be made wider, by choosing to insert any number of intermediate levels, creating many-step strange loops,

Hofstadter (1979: 705) places strange loops at the crux of our understanding of ourselves, through which will come an understanding of the tangled hierarchy of levels inside our minds. His thesis in I am a Strange Loop (Hofstadter, 2007: 103) is that we ourselves, not as bodies but as selves, are strange loops.

Tangled hierarchies, Metalepsis and Design Practices

Hofstadter does not use the term metalepsis in his work, but his notions of strange loop and tangled hierarchy, as John Pier (2013) brings to attention, have great significance for narratology, a relevance which we extend here to design practices. Pier notes that for narrative metalepsis, understood ontologically, paradox is central, as it involves the logically inconsistent passage between two separate domains through suspension of the excluded middle.

Of central concern is the problem of maintaining distinct levels while seeking to avoid self-reference, a problem elaborated initially in logic and mathematics. Avoidance of self-reference is achieved by elaborating meta-levels, requiring the addition of recursive meta-levels ad infinitum. The eventual, inevitable paradox is captured by Gödel’s theorem. This paradox has long been discussed in scientific thought using the example of the Epimenides paradox, mentioned above. It is also conveyed visually by the Möbius strip, Klein’s bottle and Escher’s drawings.

Brian McHale (1987) takes these paradoxes into account in his discussion of postmodernist fiction which, he argues, brings to the fore the ontological status of text in relation to that of world. McHale recasts Gerard Genette’s narrative or diegetic levels in terms of ontological levels by adopting an ontology borrowed from possible worlds theory. Thus, a metalepsis produced by transgression of narrative levels has ontological implications, which arise from recursive embedding. McHale explicitly identifies metalepsis with the strange loop.

McHale also draws attention to the metaleptic function of the second-person pronoun, following Genette, although he does not distinguish between rhetorical and ontological metalepsis, a distinction proposed by Marie-Laure Ryan, who argues that metalepsis breaks down into a rhetorical (Genette) and an ontological variety (McHale).

Metalepsis, as Pier (2013) comments, is not a media-specific phenomenon. Transgressions of levels and boundaries are not limited to narrative. This means, Pier suggests, that metalepsis has a significant role to play in transmedial narratology and in intermediality. While rhetorical metalepsis is of interest, it is ontological metalepsis which is of central concern for design practices, given that its material and media elements stretch from the digital, through the printed, graphic textual, to the theatrical and the built and natural environments. Design practices take advantage of the symbol-object dualism by means of which the fictional, the real, the actual, the virtual and the possible are interwoven. Narrative discourse is taken into the world and the world is taken into narrative discourse, creating, through strange loops, virtual worlds and imaginary worlds, ‘real’ worlds shot through with narrative storyworlds.

The different ontological levels, traversing the fictional, the real, the actual, the virtual and the possible, are linked by the deictic acts that specify, first, the ontological level from which the design as event begins and which serve as its deictic centre and grounding, second, the transgressions that are occurring through the strange loops that are being enacted and, third, the tangled hierarchy of worlds that ensues: the imaginary-real world of the design.

Afterword: The Importance of Loops

Timothy Morton (2017: 93) argues that, “ecological awareness is in the form of a loop, because human interference has a loop form, because ecological and biological systems are in the form of a loop, because to exist at all is to assume the form of a loop.”

Allan Parsons, May 2021. Revised June 2025

References

Hofstadter, D. R. (1979) Godel, Escher, Bach: an eternal golden braid. New York: Basic Books.

Hofstadter, D. R. (2007) I am a strange loop. New York, NY: Basic Books.

McHale, B. (1987). Postmodernist Fiction. London: Methuen.

Morton, T. (2017) Why ecological awareness is loopy, in Nitzke, S. and Pethes, N. (eds) Imagining Earth: Concepts of wholeness in cultural constructions of our home planet. Bielefeld, DE: transcript Verlag, pp. 91–111.

Pier, J. (2013) Metalepsis. The Living handbook of narratology. Available at: http://wikis.sub.uni-hamburg.de/lhn/index.php/Metalepsis (Accessed: 28 February 2016).

Medium and Media

RELATED TERMS: Transmedia, Cross-Platform and Multimedia; Visual Arts and Visual Media; World-Building

The closure of an opening; the end is in the beginning

“To me, the facade of a building is like the first sentence of a novel – it sets the tone, the mood, and hints at what’s to come.” (Alexis Dornier quoted in Sharma, 2025)

The choice of what media and materials to use in the design of any specific narrative environment, as transmedial artefact, process or event, is led by the question posed by Ryan and Thon (2014: 3), who are parodying Seymour Chatman: ‘what can medium x do in terms of storyworld creation or representation that medium y cannot, and vice versa?’ The choice of medium concerns what stories can be told, how they are told and why they are told. Thus, by shaping narrative, according to Ryan (2014: 25), media shape human experience.

The term medium can be used in a semiotic sense, as the articulation of signs, or in a technological or cultural sense, such as film, theatre or art installations. One widespread trend in media studies is to associate media with specific technologies of communication, for example, writing, print, cinema, photography, television, radio and the telephone, with the uses of digital technology referred to as ‘new media’ (Ryan, 2014: 27).

Another approach is to list culturally recognised forms of communication, such as film, photography, literature, painting and music.

A yet further approach, such as that of Gunther Kress and Theo van Leeuwen is to focus on ‘modes’ and to study the multimodality of texts, that is, texts that use a variety of signs, such as image, language and sound (Ryan, 2014: 27).

In contrast to these approaches, Ryan (2014: 29) proposes a taxonomy that rests on three dimensions: semiotic, technical and cultural.

Thus, the semiotic dimension, as substance, includes such type of signs as image, sound, language and movement, which can be further analysed in terms of spatiotemporal extension, signifying dimensions, sensorial impact and mode of signification, for example, iconic, indexical or symbolic, to use the terms of C. S. Peirce.

Technical dimension includes not only media-defining technologies, such as film, television, photography and so on, but also any kind of mode of production and material support. Ryan notes that, In certain cases, the mode of production cannot be distinguished from the material support, such as in theatre or ballet, where the human body fulfils both of functions. In other cases, the mode of production is multilayered, such as in literature, which involves the technology of writing, with pen and paper, typewriter and paper or with the computer, and the technology of printing, the latter producing the material support of the book. In the case of multilayered modes of production, a distinction might be made between technologies that record and transmit other media, such as writing for language, books for writing and radio for speech and music, and technologies that capture life directly, such as photography, film and sound recording.

The cultural dimension addresses the public recognition of media as forms of communication and the institutions, behaviours, and practices that support them. In this category Ryan places those means of communication such as the press, the theatre or comics. She reasons that they are widely recognised as playing a significant cultural role but cannot be distinguished on purely semiotic or technological criteria.

On this basis, she defines three approaches to a media-conscious narratology:

  • a semiotic approach, which investigates the narrative power of language, image, sound, movement, face-to-face interaction, and the various combinations of these features;
  • a technical approach, which explores such issues as how technologies configure the relationship between sender and receiver, for example, one to one, few to many, many to many, and close or remote in either space or time, how they affect dissemination, storage, and cognition and what affordances certain types of material supports bring to storytelling; and
  • A cultural approach, which focuses on the behaviour of users and producers, as well as on the institutions that guarantee the existence of media. [1]

Space as a medium; Place as a medium; Time as a medium

In being defined as transmedial, the term ‘medium’ in the design of narrative environments is extended to include spatiality, placiality and temporality. That is, the notion of medium is taken deep into the territory that has been conventionally defined as ‘environment’. Thus, in the design of narrative environments, medium and environment are held in a chiasmic relation, such as discussed by Merleau-Ponty (2004).

The question of the relationship between medium and environment opens up the further question of whether it is more proper to describe narrative environments as trans-semiotic or inter-semiotic rather that transmedial or intermedial, since any specific narrative environment may involve a cascade of media and environments, drawing upon signs and semiosis from across a range of different materialities, from the more tangible to the less tangible.

Additional notes:

Media can be defined here as ever-mutating alliances of technological settings and sociocultural uses, which have to be conceived not only as instruments of world transmission, as in top-down media channels, but also as tools that contribute to the active and participatory building of worlds.” (Boni, 2017: 12)

Reference

Boni, M. (2017) Introduction: Worlds, Today. In M. Boni (ed.) World Building: Transmedia, Fans, Industries. Amsterdam, NL: Amsterdam University Press, pp.9-27.

Notes

[1] Marie-Laure Ryan (2014: 44, n3) points out that Lars Ellestrom (2010) has developed a classification of media concepts that comes close to her own. Ellestrom proposes that there are ‘basic media’, which includes such semiotic categories as auditory text, still image and iconic body performance; ‘qualified media, such as film, dance and photography; and ‘technical media’, which realise or display basic and qualified media, for example a screen for television, a specific kind of paper for photography and the human body for dance.

Furthermore, Ellestrom contends that each medium has four modalities: material, such as the human body, paper and clay; sensorial, such as sight, hearing and taste; spatiotemporal, extending in time, space and/or both; and semiotic, such as convention, resemblance and contiguity.

Ryan suggests that each of these modalities could be subsumed under the semiotic category because they all concern the basic properties of signs, which could then be renamed ‘basic principle of signification’.

References

Ellerstrom, L. (2010) ‘The Modalities of media: a model for understanding intermedial relations’, in Ellestrom, L. (ed.) Media borders, multimodality and intermediality. Houndmills, Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave Macmillan.

Merleau-Ponty, M. (2004) ‘The Intertwining – the chiasm’, in Baldwin, T. (ed.) Maurice Merleau-Ponty: basic writings. London, UK: Routledge, pp. 247–257.

Ryan, M.-L. (2014) ‘Story/worlds/media: tuning the instruments of a media-conscious narratology’, in Ryan, M.-L. and Thon, J.-N. (eds) Storyworlds across Media. Toward a Media-Conscious Narratology. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, pp. 25–49.

Ryan, M.-L. and Thon, J.-N. (eds) (2014) Storyworlds across media: toward a media- conscious narratology. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press.

Sharma, A. (2025). Not just a pretty facade. Financial Times, 21 June, House & Home, p. 10.

World-Building

RELATED TERMS: Arendt; Design of Narrative Environments; Global Challenges; Heidegger; Lifeworld – Lebenswelt – Umwelt; Ontology; Sloterdijk; Terraforming; Theoretical Practice; World; World-as-Milieu

Use for: World-forming, World-making, Worlding, World-shaping [Welt-Bilden]

Noah Davis, The Missing Link 4, 2013
Davis sought to poise
his work between the real and the otherworldly.

“the last man will save from the rubble a stool or a tree stump on which to rest from his labours …” (Cliff and De Chabaneix, 2003: 87) 

World-building is a consequence of treating design practices as ontological in character. One line of thought for this kind of approach to design can be found in phenomenology, notably in the work of Heidegger, Arendt, Merleau-Ponty and Sloterdijk, as well as in anthropology. From the perspective of the design of narrative environments, as a transmedia practice, world-making, world-forming or world-building practices are design practices, albeit of differing degrees of complexity.

Thus, as Lemmens (2013) explains, like Heidegger, Sloterdijk conceives of humans as world-forming beings. For Sloterdijk, however, humans are never in the world nakedly or without protection, so to speak. They always reside in spheres. Another difference between them is that while Heidegger was principally engaged in the analysis of human being-in-the-world, Sloterdijk is more interested in the process of coming-into-the-world. Picking up on the theme of natality from Hannah Arendt, Sloterdijk emphasises that we all have to come to the world in order to be in it. We are born, but too soon (Elden and Mendieta, 2009: 5).

There are echoes here of Lacan’s conception of human being-in-the-world as shaped by a fundamental lack. Nick Mansfield (2000: 45-46) expresses Lacan’s view as follows:

“The subject’s entry into the symbolic order is at the expense of the magical feeling of oneness it had in the imaginary. At the heart of its very being is a sense of lack. It endlessly seeks to compensate for this lack, to fill the hole at its core. This longing for self-completion is Lacan’s definition of desire. The subject is propelled into and through the world, into its emotional and sexual relationships, its fraught group identities with nation, race and political party, its careerism and material acquisitiveness, all as a result of this insatiable need to fill up the lack at the centre of its being.”

In Arendt’s (1958: 96) view, ‘world’ emerges from the work of homo faber, which she distinguishes from the labour of the animal laborans, the latter leaving no persistent trace of its labour. Thus, Arendt argues,

“Human life, in so far as it is world-building, is engaged in a constant process of reification, and the degree of worldliness of produced things, which all together form the human artifice, depends upon their greater or lesser permanence in the world itself.”

In the context of the design practice, the product of ‘work’ is considered to be ‘designs’. Thus, the traces by means of which the world is constituted are designed phenomena.

For Sloterdijk, coming-into-the-world essentially consists in the process of sphero-poiesis, the creation of protective, immunising inner worlds or inner spaces. Sloterdijk’s Spheres trilogy presents a grand cultural-historical panorama of the process of the sphero-poietic “coming-into-the-world” and, thereby, the “coming-into-being”, of the human being as the ek-sisting and world-disclosing being Heidegger described in Being and Time.

Rauschenbach (2011) further explains that, from Sloterdijk’s point of view, the ontological starting point of human existence is the womb of the mother. Therefore, co-existence precedes existence. There is no being without being in‐something, initially in the uterus. Life is always life in between of life. From the beginning and at all times, the human being is surrounded by something that cannot appear as an object. It is the indiscernible complement of one’s own existence, with which one forms a pair.

To contain the infiniteness of space and to create spaces in which sharing can be experienced, Sloterdijk suggests speaking of human spheres, that is, contexts of and for understanding. The shared space is isolated from the rest of the infinite space. Within the sphere, the space can be manipulated. These manipulations can result in specific climates. Sloterdijk uses the term climate not only to denominate a meteorological state, but also to refer to nine dimensions, which altogether characterise the climate of human spheres.

Sloterdijk conceptualises the human sphere as a nine dimensional greenhouse (chirotope, phonotope, uterotope, thermotope, erotope, ergotope, alethotope, thanatotope, nomotope) in which human beings are able to survive and consequently can develop complexities beyond their animalistic heritage. Each of the nine dimensions can attain different degrees of implicitness and explicitness. An individual on its own is not able to survive. It depends on being part of a sphere, populated by others. Sloterdijk’s ontological starting point is therefore unthinkable without the other as it is the collaborative mode with the other that allows for positively influencing the climate within a sphere.

Such thinking can also be used to consider and gain a critical appreciation of the contemporary global conjuncture which, Escobar (2016) contends, can be best characterised by the fact that we are facing modern problems for which there are no longer modern solutions. Ontologically speaking, Escobar continues, one may say that the crisis is the crisis of a particular world or set of world-making practices, the world that we usually refer to as the dominant form of Euro-modernity, i.e. capitalist, rationalist, liberal, individualist, secular, patriarchal, white, and so on.

World-building in media and transmedia practices

In the context of transmedia practices, Jenkins (2016) notes, the concept of world-building emerged from fantasy and science fiction. Nevertheless, it has also been applied to fictions of a documentary or historical character. Thus, fictional texts imagine and design new worlds; documentaries investigate and map existing worlds. From the point of view of the design of narrative environments, both forms exist in a critical relation to existing worlds, drawing attention to specific features of the constitution of thise worlds, and by exploring multiple points of view or competing realities.

As Jenkins explains,

“Worlds are systems with many moving parts (in terms of characters, institutions, locations) that can generate multiple stories with multiple protagonists that are connected to each other through their underlying structures. Part of what drives transmedia consumption is the desire to dig deeper into these worlds, to trace their backstories and understand their underlying systems.”

An example of the use of the term ‘world-building’ in the context of cinema can be found in Simran Hans’ (2021) review of the film Cruella (2021). Hans writes, “Set in 1970s London against the backdrop of the emerging punk scene, this playful prequel [to 101 Dalmations] by Craig Gillespie … is a fine feat of world-building”.

Reworlding

Donna Haraway (2016) uses the term ‘reworlding’ to refer to the actions taken to address or mitigate the problems arising during the Anthropocene, a process she likens to ‘composting’.

World Destruction

In discussing the work of Bernard Stiegler, Daniel Ross (2018: 30) notes that, “Whereas animals adapt to their environment, noetic beings ‘are actively engaged in modifying their environment’ and, in the case of the kind of beings that we ourselves are, ‘this active attack on the environment is the most prominent fact in his existence’.”

Additional Notes

Jongen (2011) argues that, for Sloterdijk, the coming-into-the-world [Zurweltkommen] of the human being amounts to the same thing as the emergence of world [Welt].

Sloterdijk’s contention is a re-working of Heidegger’s basic tenet that the depiction of the world, or the emergence of the world as picture, is the converse face of the emergence of the human being as subject (Jongen, 2011).

For Nelson Goodman (1978, 6), cited by Boni (2017:17), “[w]orldmaking as we know it always starts from worlds already in hand; the making is remaking” .

References

Arendt, H. (1958). The Human condition. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

Boni, M. (2017) Introduction: Wolrds, today. In Boni, M. (ed.) World Building: Transmedia, Fans, Industries. Amsterdam, NL: Amsterdam University Press.

Cliff, S. and De Chabaneix, G. (2003) The Way we live: Making homes, creating lifestyles. London, UK: Thames & Hudson.

Elden, S. and Mendieta, E. (2009). Being-with as making worlds: the ‘second coming’ of Peter Sloterdijk. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 27 (1), 1–11. Available from http://dx.doi.org/0.1068/d2701em [Accessed 7 September 2016].

Escobar, A. (2016). Thinking-feeling with the Earth: territorial struggles and the ontological dimension of the Epistemologies of the South. AIBR, Revista de Antropología Iberoamericana, 11 (1), 11–32. Available from http://www.aibr.org/antropologia/netesp/numeros/1101/110102e.pdf [Accessed 5 September 2016].

Goodman, N. (1978) Ways of worldmaking. Hassocks, Sussex, UK: Harvester Press.

Hans, S. (2021). Cruella. Observer, New Review p.27.

Haraway, D. J. (2016) Staying with the trouble: making kin in the chthulucene. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

Jenkins, H. (2016) Transmedia what?, Immerse. Available at: https://immerse.news/transmedia-what-15edf6b61daa (Accessed: 8 April 2021).

Jongen, M. (2011) ‘On anthropospheres and aphrogrammes . Peter Sloterdijk’s thought images of the monstrous’, Humana. Mente Journal of Philosophical Studies, 18, pp. 199–219. Available at: http://www.humanamente.eu/PDF/Issue_18_Paper_Jongen.pdf (Accessed: 13 September 2014).

Lemmens, P. (2013). Review essay: Sloterdijk. ID: International Dialogue, a Multidisciplinary Journal of World Affairs, 3 101–114. Available from https://www.academia.edu/15683426/Peter_Sloterdijk_You_Must_Change_Your_Life._On_Anthropotechnics_Peter_Sloterdijk_In_the_World_Interior_of_Capital._For_a_Philosophical_Theory_of_Globalization_Peter_Sloterdijk_Globes._Spheres_II [Accessed 9 January 2016].

Mansfield, N. (2000) Subjectivity: theories of the self from Freud to Haraway. St Leonard’s, NSW: Allen & Unwin.

Rauschenbach, R. (2011). How to govern the universalizing community: Peter Sloterdijk’s concept of co-immunism. In: 6th ECPR General Conference, University of Iceland, 25th – 27th August 2011. Reykyavik: University of Iceland. Available from http://ecpr.eu/filestore/paperproposal/360087b2-c31f-413c-b33d-88b69534e9ab.pdf [Accessed 25 August 2014].