de Lauretis' Fetishistic Ambivalence

Teresa de Lauretis’ Freud’s Drive: Psychoanalysis, Literature, and Film argues for an inclusive both/and position over the exclusionary either/or through her analysis and synthesis of seemingly-contradictory drive theories from four theoreticians (Freud, Foucault, Fanon, and LaPlanche ) commonly pitted against rather than shown to agree with one another, which she illustrates via close readings of Cronenberg’s film eXistenZ and Barnes’ novel Nightwood.

Ambivalence, I think, is a predicament of what may perhaps still be called the human condition, and I do not know whether it can, or should, be resolved. (59)

de Lauretis explains and illustrates in this sentence how the oscillating motion of ambivalence clears a space between its valences for queer subject formation. To choose to not choose one option over another and to therefore accept both becomes fetishized through the very action of pushing ambivalence to excess—desiring ambivalence more than one desires univalence (or even multivalence), dis-solving the tensions of decision into indecision. Ambivalence is fetishistic precisely because it chooses to not choose—the ambivalent subject does not opt for one contradictory emotion/attitude or another but accepts both/and. Ambivalence is inclusionary, so what do we make of de Lauretis’ definitional phrase “Ambivalence . . . is,” her gesture that nails down a word which, by its very OED definition, chooses “the coexistence . . . of contradictory emotions or attitudes (as love and hatred)”? Her declarative definition of the word “ambivalence” contradicts what we’ve come to understand about ambivalence: that it thrives on contradictions rather than on resolutions. But separating the subject and verb in this sentence both syntactically and connotatively is the conditional comment clause “I think.” Inserting a hedging statement, one that’s meant to throw the absoluteness of Ambivalence is into question, points to de Lauretis’ own ambivalence, her choosing to not choose between a mastery which would seek resolution and a speculation which would prefer the productive tension of the irresolute. “Ambivalence” implies a confidence in the oscillation between either/or, whereas “ambiguity”—the word frequently offered as ambivalence’s synonym—describes the feeling of uncertainty concerning the available options. de Lauretis is not ambiguous, she doesn’t lack agency to make this choice; rather, she’s an ambivalent subject who finds agency in her desire for having it both ways. The passive verb construction which ends the sentence obviously saps agency from whoever might choose to resolve such ambivalence, suggesting that agency is to be found not in either/or but in both/and. This sentence, taken as fetishistic in its full embrace of ambivalence, positions agency and authority within ambivalence, within the fetish, rather than outside of it. Fetishizing the queer ambivalence which chooses to not choose liberates the subject from the false dichotomies of the either/or and offers a position of power precisely between the both/and.

“Ambivalence, I think,” the sentence states, “is a predicament.” The OED offers these three synonyms as a definition for “predicament”—“circumstance, condition, or situation”—suggesting with its use of “or” that we must choose one (already, there’s ambivalence, so, naturally, we’ll choose to not choose and to therefore choose them all). If we take it in the sense of a “circumstance” or a “situation,” “predicament” suggests a moment of time, a temporal lapse into a short span of ambivalence, “esp. one which requires resolution,” just as the end of the definition of “predicament” dictates. These two words convey not a long-term state of existence as or in ambivalence, but a single occurrence that seeks resolution and completion. Calling ambivalence a “condition,” on the other hand, implies longevity, a sense of diachrony, a state of being which will not soon or easily end, which will not fit the “esp.” caveat of the definition. de Lauretis offers the word “condition” into the sentence proper just a few words later, hinting that “ambivalence” should be taken in the conditional denotation of “predicament,” but she codes it as an uncertain word choice when she says it “may perhaps still be called the human condition.” (Here, I clearly attempt to disambiguate when I may perhaps ambivalently accept ambivalence as a predicament situated both synchronically as a circumstantial situation and diachronically as a lasting condition.) de Lauretis’ diplomatic gesture throughout her book is to occupy this space of oscillation and translation, and from this position she uses ambivalence as a tool (or weapon?) toward conflict resolution. In so queering the choice, ambivalence legitimizes itself as a third option by choosing itself as such. The conflict has ended because the choice was made to end the conflict.

Ending the sentence with the word “resolved” implies that the ambivalence with which this sentence began was once “solved”—that we are stuck within a repeat cycle of solution/re-solution/re-solution, that there has, in fact, been no resolution. Perhaps there’s been no resolution because there’s no problem. Hear me out: the word “solved” points to an originary moment of ambivalence which needs solving, but the sentence never actually approaches the specific contradiction or problem—the word “resolved” stays two steps away from the tension of ambivalence rather than mingling with the solvents, which are not found in this sentence. de Lauretis’ reluctance to “resolve” ambivalence makes sense, as the goal to resolve skips several steps in the process which would precede any attempt at conflict resolution (namely, identifying the problems, testing for solvents). Trying to “resolve” the contradictions inherent in ambivalence gets us nowhere; dissolving the need to solve ambivalence is a more fruitful endeavor. de Lauretis’ hedging statements that all but stall the sentence with their insistent back-peddling and her oscillation between what should and shouldn’t happen to ambivalence move us farther and farther away from the initial ambivalence, so by the time we reach the final hedge, “or should,” couched in the passive conditional, “whether it can . . . be resolved,” we think we may perhaps know that ambivalence can, can’t, should, or shouldn’t be resolved, and I, for one, am okay with that. Choosing to accept the negative and the positive, the no and the yes, death and pleasure, situates the subject in a position of power between the both/and; the practice of fetishistic ambivalence may perhaps be that position of power.