Donna Haraway’s A Cyborg Manifesto proposes new ways for thinking about unity, objectivity, and marginalised personhood, in an idiom which is particularly useful for feminists. In an increasingly technology-dominated world, Haraway’s 1985 essay continues to offer a perspective, an answer to the question ‘what now?’ regarding emancipatory theory, following an occasionally violent dissolution of boundaries that French poststructuralist thought proposed.
Haraway’s theory dissolves boundaries, but it also proposes new ways of thinking as well as addresses faults in theories which search for some unifying essence which is practically, socially, and scientifically unattainable. Trained as a scientist, Haraway’s perspective on objectivity is crucial to all humanities-focused theorists, and her concern for humanity is likewise essential to scientists.
She proposes that if this unity is impossible, one can perhaps consider the opposite: a parade of chimeric monsters sporting mechanical limbs, banding together to defy the myth of universal maternal essence. These cyborgs are at the heart of Haraway’s proposal, for they offer potentiality in the rubble left behind in the violent anxiety of what was perceived as ‘postmodernity.’
Cyborgs are different from the machines of the past; one recalls with amusement Walter Benjamin’s poetic fragment regarding an automaton which appeared to be mechanically miraculous but was actually operated by an organic creature within. These are new machines,in an age wherein an organic element does not always prevail and unpredictable maneuverings of machines cannot be chalked up to the presence of some specter. There was a time where machines were not autonomous, and had always the presence of some man (or ghost) within. ‘Now we are not so sure.’ Monsters are transforming into cyborgs, as they are both beings which ‘define the limits of community in Western imaginations.’ When considering how to form political communities (particularly regarding liberation, which the feminist Haraway is committed to), one must understand what the ‘limit’ of community is. Haraway goes beyond this and suggests that we reconsider community, including the monstrous cyborgs that once signified the limit.
Cyborgs, monsters, and labour are bound up with one another - is technology, more specifically perhaps industry, one source of depictions of monsters? In visual culture, this motif reappears: we recall factory workers being likened to zombies or the horrifying Morlocks in H.G. Wells’ Time Machine who co-dwelled subterraneously with clanking, frightening machinery, in constant toil. A Marxist reimagining changes this context which has been applied to ‘monsters.’ In Haraway’s new context, ‘the machine is not an it to be animated, worshipped, and dominated. The machine is us, our processes, an aspect of our embodiment.’ This recontextualisation and definition of the ‘cyborg’ is so important because it is an answer to the frustratingly vague refrain of an underlying universal unity which feminists have searched in vain for. ‘A cyborg body is not innocent; it was not born in a garden, it does not seek unitary identity and so generate antagonistic dualisms.’ Antagonistic dualisms - what a term for those opposing poles which emerge constantly since Hegel’s unleashing of dialectics, a veritable Pandora’s box which upon opening released monsters which theorists have yet to work through. As a scientist, Haraway proposes a feminist way of thinking about objectivity, a task which may have once seemed impossible to her audience of humanities scholars informed by post-structuralist thought. Through readings of The Cyborg Manifesto as well as Haraway’s essay on objectivity, Situated Knowledges, we come to see that there is great potential to be found in creatively re-imagining worlds, humans and boundaries.
The cyborg is the monster of the 21st century and thus is categorised as an enemy, the ‘illegitimate offspring of militarism and patriarchal capitalism’. Yet we are reminded that illegitimate offspring are often exceedingly unfaithful to their origins,’ and can imagine that the cyborg could defect from its order, helping us accomplish previously impossible boundary breakdowns, between human and animal, animal and machine, physical and nonphysical. These boundary breakdowns inform rejections which Haraway performs, primarily the rejection of the plot of ‘original unity’ which haunts and perplexes narratives of feminism. This original unity was once thought to be what could unite women under some doctrine of a unifying spiritual mother, but which women were to be united, and how could this be possible due to the varying perspectives? Although Haraway dismisses this doctrine, she graciously acknowledges why and how this idea of unity has proliferated in the critical theory of her era: ‘then came the law of the father and its resolution of the problem of objectivity, solved by always already absent referents, deferred signifieds, split subjects, and the endless play of signifiers. Who wouldn’t grow up warped? Rejecting the impossibility of a split subject forever in agony from some primordial separation, Haraway moves toward a new framework for imagining the subject without this theatrical origin story. The cyborg is ironically without origin; they ‘are not reverent’, they ‘do not remember the cosmos.’ This is ironic because the cyborg, in another idiom, is considered to be the final product of the ‘awful apocalyptic telos of the ‘West’s’ escalating dominations of abstract individuation, an ultimate self untied at last from all dependency.’ If this were reformulated as Haraway proposes, a feminist consciousness could latch onto the idea of a self ‘untied from dependency’ on subjugating systems of power.
In order to be rid of the plot of original unity, several dismantlings must occur. First, nature is reconsidered. Feminists could distance themselves from the idea that they are constituted, as a group, by nature. As Derrida puts it, ‘there is no nature, only the effects of nature: denaturalisation or naturalisation.’ The plot of unity is enabled by a conception of nature, and it is kept alive by theories which imply its existence, namely Marxism and psychoanalysis. These ‘depend on the plot of original unity out of which difference must be produced and enlisted in a drama of escalating domination of woman/nature. The cyborg skips the step of original unity, of identification with nature in the Western sense.’ As cyborgs, we can eschew that pesky binding oedipal law of the father, we can bypass the impossible agony of a split subject, and we need not be arbitrarily categorised by nature. Cyborgs do not need to operate under the oppressive matrix enacted following the Fall, they turn unflinchingly to the Garden and burn it down, ridding the modern feminist consciousness of the problems of innocence and the necessity of a heterosexual ‘organic’ family. This is an essential break with previous feminist theory which has ‘proceeded as if the organic, hierarchical dualisms ordering discourse in ‘the West’ since Aristotle still ruled.’ There is thus nothing that makes women ‘essentially woman,’ a problematic statement if one continues to cling to the belief that the only way to achieve unity is through some shared essence. How, then, are we to find unity, and without a shared essence, how are we able to speak each other’s language and form connections?
We seek another meaning or practice of ‘unity.’ Coincidentally, ‘Unity’ is a computer programming language developed in 1988 known for working in a non-deterministic way, allowing for programs to run indefinitely without a teleological flow. Perhaps we can consider a feminist ‘unity’ without exclusion or hierarchy, and Haraway suggests this is possible by seeking ‘affinity’ rather than ‘unity,’ and by reconsidering the faculty of vision. The revolutions which technology has enacted make it necessary to fundamentally disassemble old theories. No unity will be possible under exclusively identity-based feminism. There are possibilities - one could potentially craft a ‘poetic or political unity’ that does not rely on a ‘logic of appropriation, incorporation, and taxonomic identification.’ The feminist dream of some universal tongue is fundamentally impossible.‘Am I not reaching out for you in the only language I know?’ Asks the feminist theorist Audre Lorde. ‘If I try to hear you across your differences will that mean you can hear me?’ Maybe words will not suffice, for the dream of a common language is too tempting and misleading, suggesting too strongly totality. ‘We do not need a totality to work well’ -- after all, totality tends to imply an imperialist force. Haraway suggests we could turn to vision, a fruitful suggestion for visual theorists. Vision could be considered a subjugating force, especially by feminist theorists such as Laura Mulvey, inventor of the critical ‘gaze.’ But reclaiming that force could be useful. ‘Vision can be good for avoiding binary oppositions,’ and given its embodied nature, helps privilege a form of unity based not on one-ness but on affinity and appreciation for differing perspectives, literally. Vision can be a good way to think about difference. Vision, like the cyborg, is reclaimed from the territory of a danger, enemy, or weapon, and is tamed and reappropriated into the modern feminist’s arsenal.
The next tool for this arsenal, in addition to the cyborg attitude and a privileging of vision, is a new dialectical method informed by irony. When two things are true at once, we need not performing elaborate dialectical manoeuvres to quell their opposition. Irony allows us to freely sit in the discomfort of two opposing truths. ‘At the center of’ Haraway’s ‘ironic faith’ is the ‘image of the cyborg.’
Haraway then offers a crucial solution to the problem of objectivity, long pondered by feminists and humanities thinkers wary of ‘hard science’. She humorously compares attempting to find a usable doctrine of objectivity to ‘climbing a greased pole,’ but she climbs nonetheless, recognising that an outright rejection of ‘objectivity’ robs us of a useful tool for the arsenal, so to speak. After all,‘we could use some enforceable, reliable accounts of things not reducible to power moves and agonistic, high status games of rhetoric or to scientistic, positivist arrogance. Objectivity has had the misfortune of being bound to Western cultural narratives, but how can one imagine a new narrative for objectivity? Haraway offers yet another solution: situated knowledges. Feminist objectivity is about ‘limited location and situated knowledge, not about transcendence and splitting of subject and object.’ Perhaps in contradiction to her fellow radical cultural theorists, Haraway is wary of social constructionism, which she categorises as a particular strain of postmodernism, for it runs the risk of assuming and absorbing tired cultural narratives:
We have used a lot of toxic ink and trees processed into paper decrying what they have meant and how it hurts us. The imagined ‘they’ constitute a kind of invisible conspiracy of masculinist scientists and philosophers replete with grants and laboratories, and the imagined ‘we’ are the embodied others, who are not allowed not to have a body, a finite point of view, and so inevitably disqualifying and polluting bias in any discussion of consequence outside our own little circles.
There is a danger, Haraway warns, in theorising every knowledge claim as a power move, a theory which is ‘tempting.’ Tempting as it may be, coming to any final equation is dangerous in any terms: whether this equation is decided to be a staunch social constructionism, scientistic purity, or primordial unity - it’s all a ‘deadly fantasy.’
Rather than bemoaning the frustration of dualisms and offering an unattainable or nonsensical solution, Haraway proposes a different way of thinking about things that could have practical applications - she offers reappropriations, reconstitutions, regenerations. Cyborgs have less to do with ‘birth’, as in the birth of some new mode of thought, rather they rely upon ‘regeneration.’ The cyborg is an alternative pathway out of a ‘maze of dualisms, and ‘In our present political circumstances, we could hardly hope for more potent myths for resistance and recoupling.’
In Haraway, we come across a theory which is not destructive but constructive, and privileges useful, imaginative alternatives rather than violent postmodern disillusions: As feminists and theorists, we seek an understanding of ‘how meanings and bodies are made, not in order to deny meaning and bodies, but in order to live in meanings and bodies that have a chance for the future.’