No More Learning

The typewriter is a signless cloud, i. e. , a withdrawing concealment in the midst of its very obtrusiveness, and through it the relation of Being to man is transformed. It is in fact signless, not showing itself as to its essence; perhaps that is why most of you, as is proven to me by your reaction, though well intended, have not grasped what I have been trying to say.
I have not been presenting a disquisition on the typewriter itself, re- garding which it could justifiably be asked what in the world that has to do with Parmenides. My theme was the modern relation (transformed by the typewriter) of the hand to writing, i. e. , to the word, i. e. , to the unconcealed- ness of Being. A meditation on unconcealedness and on Being does not merely have something to do with the didactic poem of Parmenides, it has everything to do with it. In the typewriter the machine appears, i. e. , tech- nology appears, in an almost quotidian and hence unnoticed and hence sign- less relation to writing, i. e. , to the word, i. e. , to the distinguishing essence of man. A more penetrating consideration would have to recognize here that
200 Typewriter
the typewriter is not really a machine in the strict sense of machine technol- ogy, but is an "intermediate" thing, between a tool and a machine, a mecha- nism. Its production, however, is conditioned by machine technology.
This "machine," operated in the closest vicinity to the word, is in use; it imposes its own use. Even if we do not actually operate this machine, it de- mands that we regard it if only to renounce and avoid it. This situation is constantly repeated everywhere, in all relations of modern man to technol- ogy. Technology is entrenched in our history. 58
" Our writing tools are also working on our thoughts, " Nietzsche wrote. 59 "Technology is entrenched in our history," Heidegger said. But the one wrote the sentence about the typewriter on a typewriter, the other de- scribed (in a magnificent old German hand) typewriters per se. That is why it was Nietzsche who initiated the transvaluation of all values with his philosophically scandalous sentence about media technology. In r882, human beings, their thoughts, and their authorship respectively were re- placed by two sexes, the text, and blind writing equipment. As the first mechanized philosopher, Nietzsche was also the last. Typescript, accord- ing to Klapheck's painting, was called The Will to Power.
Nietzsche suffered from extreme myopia, anisocoria, and migraines (to say nothing of his rumored progressive paralysis). An eye doctor in Frankfurt attested that Nietzsche's "right eye could only perceive mis- shapen and distorted images" as well as "letters that were virtually be- yond recognition," whereas the left, "despite its myopia," was in r877 still capable of "registering normal images. " Nietzsche's headaches there- fore appeared to be "a secondary symptom,"60 and his attempts to phi- losophize with a hammer the natural consequence of "an increased stim- ulation of the site in the prefrontal wall of the third ventricle responsible for aggression. "61 Thinkers of the founding age of media naturally did not only turn from philosophy to physiology in theory; their central ner- vous system always preceded them.
Nietzsche himself successively described his condition as quarter blindness, half-blindness, three-quarter blindness (it was for others to suggest mental derangement, the next step in this mathematical se- quence). 62 Reading letters (or musical notes) distorted beyond recognition became painful after twenty minutes, as did writing. Otherwise, Nietz- sche would not have attributed his "telegram style,"63 which he developed
? ? ? Konrad Klapheck, The Will to Power, 1959. (Reproduced courtesy of the artist)
while writing the suggestively titled The Wanderer and His Shadow, to his eye pain. To direct the blindness of this shadow, he had been planning to purchase a typewriter as early as r879, the so-called "year of blind- ness. "64 It happened in r881. Nietzsche got "in touch with its inventor, a Dane from Copenhagen. "65 "My dear Sister, I know Hansen's machine quite well, Mr. Hansen has written to me twice and sent me samples, drawings, and assessments of professors from Copenhagen about it. This is the one I want (not the American one, which is too heavy). "66
Since our writing tools also work on our thoughts, Nietzsche's choice followed strict, technical data. En route between Engadine and the Riv- iera, he decided first for a traveling typewriter and second as the cripple that he was. At a time when "only very few owned a typewriter, when
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there were no sales representatives [in Germany] and machines were available only under the table,"67 a single man demonstrated a knowledge of engineering. (With the result that American historians of the typewriter elide Nietzsche and Hansen. )68
Hans Rasmus Johann Malling Hansen ( r 83 5-90), pastor and head of the royal D? vstummeinstitut in Copenhagen,69 developed his skrivekugle/ writing ball / sphere ecrivante out of the observation that his deaf-mute patients' sign language was faster than handwriting. The machine "did not take into account the needs of business"7o but rather was meant to compensate for physiological deficiencies and to increase writing speed
(which prompted the Nordic Telegraphy Co. to use "a number of writing balls for the transfer of incoming telegrams"). 71 Fifty-four concentrically arranged key rods (no levers as yet) imprinted capital letters, numbers, and signs with a color ribbon onto a relatively small sheet of paper that was fastened cylindrically. According to Burghagen, this semispheric arrangement of the keys had the advantage of allowing "the blind, for whom this writing ball was primarily designed, to learn writing on it in a surprisingly short time. On the surface of a sphere each position is com- pletely identifiable by its relative location. . . . It is therefore possible to be guided solely by one's sense of touch, which would be much more diffi- cult in the case of flat keyboards. "72 That is precisely how it could have been stated in the assessments of professors from Copenhagen for a half- blind ex-professor.
In r 8 6 5 Malling Hansen received his patent, in r 8 67 he started serial production of his typewriter, in r 8 7 2 the Germans (and Nietzsche ? ) learned o f it from the Leipziger Illustrirte Zeitung. 73 Finally, i n r 8 8 2 the Copenhagen printing company of C. Ferslew combined typing balls and women-as a medium to offset the nuisance that "their female typeset- ters were significantly more preoccupied with the decoding of handwrit- ten texts than with the actual setting of text. " 74 McLuhan's law that the ? typewriter causes "an entirely new attitude to the written and printed word" because it "fuses composition and publication"75 was realized for the first time. (Today, when handwritten publisher's manuscripts are rar- ities, "the entire printing industry, via the Linotype, depend[s] upon the typewriter. " ) 76
In the same year and for the same reasons, Nietzsche decided to buy. For 375 Reichsmarks (shipping not included)77 even a half-blind writer chased by publishers was able to produce "documents as beautiful and standardized as print. "78 "After a week" of typewriting practice, Nietz- sche wrote, "the eyes no longer have to do their work":79 ecriture au-
? ? ? Typewriter 2 0 3 tomatique had been invented, the shadow of the wanderer incarnated. In
March r 8 8 2, the Berliner Tageblatt reported:
The well-known philosopher and writer [sic] Friedrich Nietzsche, whose failing eyesight made it necessary for him to renounce his professorship in Basel three years ago, currently lives in Genoa and-excepting the progression of his afflic- tion to the point of complete blindness-feels better than ever. With the help of a typewriter he has resumed his writing activities, and we can hence expect a book along the lines of his last ones. It is widely known that his new work stands in marked contrast to his first, significant writings. 80
Indeed: Nietzsche, as proud of the publication of his mechanization as any philosopher,81 changed from arguments to aphorisms, from thoughts to puns, from rhetoric to telegram style. That is precisely what is meant by the sentence that our writing tools are also working on our thoughts. Malling Hansen's writing ball, with its operating difficulties, made Nietzsche into a laconic. "The well-known philosopher and writer" shed his first attribute in order to merge with his second. If scholarship and thinking, especially toward the end of the nineteenth century, were allowed or made possible only after extensive reading, then it was blind- ness and blindness alone that "delivered" them from "the book. "82
Good news from Nietzsche that coincided with all the early type- writer models. None of the models prior to Underwood's great innovation of r897 allowed immediate visual control over the output. In order to read the typed text, one had to lift shutters on the Remington model, whereas with Malling Hansen's-notwithstanding other claims83-the semicircular arrangement of the keys itself prevented a view of the paper. But even Underwood's innovation did not change the fact that typewrit- ing can and must remain a blind activity. In the precise engineering lingo of Angelo Beyerlen, the royal stenographer of Wiirttemberg and the first typewriter dealer of the Reich: "In writing by hand, the eye must con- stantly watch the written line and only that. It must attend to the creation of each sign, must measure, direct, and, in short, guide the hand through each movement. " A media-technological basis of classical authorship that typewriting simply liquidates: "By contrast, after one briefly presses down on a key, the typewriter creates in the proper position on the paper a com- plete letter, which is not only untouched by the writer's hand but also lo- cated in a place entirely apart from where the hands work. " With Under- wood's models, too, "the spot where the next sign to be written occurs" is "precisely what . . . cannot be seen. "84 After a fraction of a second, the act of writing stops being an act of reading that is produced by the grace
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? Mailing Hansen, Writing Ball, 1 8 67, a model of Nietzsche's typewriter. " Our writing tools are also working on our thoughts" (letter to Peter Gast). (Repro- . duced courtesy of the Stiftung Weimarer Klassik, Goethe-Schiller-Archiv)
of a human subject. With the help of blind machines, people, whether blind or not, acquire a historically new proficiency: ecriture automatique. Loosely translating BeyerJen's dictum that "for writing, visibility is as unnecessary today as it has always been,"85 an American experimental psychologist (who in I904 measured the "Acquisition of Skill in Type- Writing" and who obliged his subjects to keep typed test diaries) recorded
documentary sentences like those of Andre Breton:
? Self-advertisement of the medium-a typewriter with visible type.
24th day. Hands and finger are clearly becoming more flexible and adept. The change now going on, aside from growing flexibility, is in learning to locate keys without waiting to see them. In other words, it is location by position.
25th day. Location (muscular, etc. ), letter and word associations are now in progress of automatization.
38th day. To-day I found myself not infrequently striking letters before I was conscious of seeing them. They seem to have been perfecting themselves just be- low the level of consciousness. 86
"A Funny Story About the Blind, etc. " (Beyerlen's essay title) was also the story of the mechanized philosopher. Nietzsche's reasons for pur- chasing a typewriter were very different from those of his few colleagues who wrote for entertainment purposes, such as Twain, Lindau, Amytor, Hart, Nansen, and so onY They all counted on increased speed and tex-
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tual mass production; the half-blind, by contrast, turned from philosophy to literature, from rereading to a pure, blind, and intransitive act of writ- ing. That is why his Malling Hansen typed the motto of all modern, high- brow literature: "Finally, when my eyes prevent me from learning any- thing-and I have almost reached that point! I will still be able to craft verse. " 88
1889 is generally considered the year zero of typewriter literature, that barely researched mass of documents, the year in which Conan Doyle first published A Case of Identity. Back then, Sherlock Holmes managed to prove his claim that the typed love letters (including the sig- nature) received by one of London's first and ostensibly myopic typists were the work of her criminal stepfather engaging in marriage fraud. A machine-produced trick of anonymization that prompted Holmes, seven- teen years prior to the professionals in the police, to write a monograph entitled On the Typewriter and Its Relation to Crime. 89
Our esteem for Doyle notwithstanding, it is nonetheless an optical- philological pleasure to show that typewriting literature began in 1 8 8 2- with a poem by Friedrich Nietzsche that could well be titled On the Type- writer and Its Relation to Writing.
In these typed, that is, literally forged or crafted, verses, three mo- ments of writing coincide: the equipment, the thing, and the agent. An author, however, does not appear because he remains on the fringes of the verse: as the addressed reader, who would "utilize" the "delicate"90 writ- ing ball known as Nietzsche in all its ambiguity. Our writing tool not only works on our thoughts, it "is a thing like me. " Mechanized and automatic writing refutes the phallocentrism of classical pens. The fate of the philosopher utilized by his fine fingers was not authorship but feminiza- tion. Thus Nietzsche took his place next to the young Christian women of Remington and the typesetters of Malling Hansen in Copenhagen.
But that happiness was not to last long. The human writing ball spent two winter months in Genoa to test and repair its new and easily mal- functioning favorite toy, to utilize and compose upon it. Then the spring on the Riviera, with its downpours, put an end to it. "The damned writ- ing," Nietzsche wrote, self-referentially as always, "the typewriter has been unusable since my last card; for the weather is dreary and cloudy, that is, humid: then each time the ribbon is also wet and sticky, so that every key gets stuck, and the writing cannot be seen at all. If you think about it! ! "91
? ? ? A facsimile of Nietzsche's Mailing Hansen poem, February-March 1 8 8 2 . The text reads, "THE WRITING BALL IS A THING LIKE ME: MADE OF / IRON / YET EASILY TWISTED ON JOURNEYS. / PATIENCE AND TACT ARE REQUIRED IN ABUNDANCE, / AS WELL AS FINE FINGERS, TO USE US. " (Reproduced courtesy of the Stiftung Weimarer Klassik, Goethe-Schiller-Archiv)
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And so it was a rain in Genoa that started and stopped modern writing- a writing that is solely the materiality of its medium. "A letter, a litter, " a piece of writing, a piece of dirt, Joyce mocked. Nietzsche's typewriter, or the dream of fusing literary production with literary reproduction, instead fused again with blindness, invisibility, and random noise, the irreducible background of technological media. Finally, letters on the page looked like the ones on the right retina.
But Nietzsche did not surrender. In one of his last typewritten letters he addressed media-technological complements and/or human substitu- tion: the phonograph and the secretary. "This machine," he observed in another equation of writing equipment with writer, "is as delicate as a lit- tle dog and causes a lot of trouble-and provides some entertainment. Now all my friends have to do is to invent a reading machine: otherwise I will fall behind myself and won't be able to supply myself with sufficient intellectual nourishment. Or, rather: I need a young person who is intelli- gent and knowledgeable enough to work with me. I would even consider a two-year-long marriage for that purpose. "92
With the collapse of his machine, Nietzsche became a man again. But only to undermine the classical notion of love. As with men since time im- memorial and women only recently, "a young person" and a "two-year- long marriage" are equally suitable to continue the failed love affair with a typewriter.
And so it happened. Nietzsche's friend Paul Ree, who had already transported the Malling Hansen to Genoa, was also searching for its hu- man replacement: somebody who could "aid" Nietzsche "in his philo- sophical studies with all kinds of writing, copying, and excerpting. "93 But instead of presenting an intelligent young man, he presented a rather no- torious young lady who, "on her path of scholarly production," required a "teacher":94 Lou von Salome.
And so a defunct typewriter was replaced by the most famous me? nage a trois of literary history. The question of whether, when, and in what grouping Professor Nietzsche, Dr. Ree, and Ms. von Salome went to bed with one another may be amusing to psychologists. But the question as to why young women of the Nietzsche era could replace his writing ball and even his proverbially rare students is of priority to us. The locally known sister of the globally known brother (as Pschorr put it) gave an an- swer to that question. In her monograph, Friedrich Nietzsche and the
Women of His Time, Elisabeth Forster described how professors at the University of Zurich "very much appreciated having emancipated women of the time at universities and libraries as secretaries and assistants"95 (es-
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pecially once emancipation had "gradually taken on more temperate forms" and was no longer synonymous with gender war). With the logi- cal consequence that young women from Russia or Prussia (where the management of discourse and higher education was to remain a male mo- nopoly until 1908) had every reason to enroll, as did Lou von Salome, at the philosophical faculty of Zurich. With the further logical consequence that former professors of the University of Basel had every reason to wel- come them as secretaries and assistants. At any rate, the die had long been cast before an impassioned philosopher and his Russian love climbed Monte Sacro . . .
Nietzsche's philosophy simply implemented the desexualization of writing and the university. Since no colleague and hardly a student in Basel could be enthused about Nietzsche's most deeply felt wish, namely, to establish a Zarathustra chair, Nietzsche dismantled the elementary bar- rier of philosophical discourses. He recruited his students from the women who had just recently been admitted to the universities. Lou von Salome was only one of many students of philosophy in Zurich who con- tacted him: aside from her, there were the forgotten names Resa von Schirnhofer, Meta von Salis, and especially Helene Druskowitz, who suc- ceeded (and competed with) Nietzsche all the way to her death in an in- sane asylum. Curiously enough, what Nietzsche called The Future of Our Institutions ofHigher Education began, of all places, in the quiet and re- moved Engadine. Beginning in 1 8 8 5 , emancipated women students trav- eled to Sils Maria "only to get to know better Prof. Nietzsche, who ap- peared to them as the most dangerous enemy of women. "96
But that's how it goes. Just as the hundred-year-Iong exclusion of women from universities and philosophy led to the idealization of grand Dame Nature, so their renewed inclusion altered philosophy as such. What Hegel in his youth called Love (and a Love that was one with the Idea), Nietzsche in Ecce Homo notoriously transvalued into the definition that "Love in its means, [is] war; at bottom, the deadly hatred of the sexes. "97 And if the new philosopher, following such insights, fought against emancipation as a form of conscientious objection and even de- fined Woman as both truth and untruth, only female philosophers had an answer. The hatred for males of Helene Druskowitz, Nietzsche's former student, even outdid his hatred for women. The escalation of positions in the work of two writers, a man and a woman, gave proof of Nietzsche's media-specific notion of heterosexuality.
Nietzsche and Lou von Salome's honeymoon would have been nice and forgotten. Their ceaselessly escalating gender war is what started
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Nietzsche's fame. Women (and Jews) brought an almost completely si- lenced ex-professor back into the public. Whether out of hatred, as with Druskowitz, or love, Nietzsche's private students became writers, and their careers in turn afforded them the opportunity to write books on Nietzsche. "With all kinds of writing, copying, and excerpting," as de- sired, women did their secretarial work.
That is just how precisely Nietzsche registered discursive changes. Even if the system of higher education had attuned him, as it did all oth- ers, to handwriting and academic homosexuality, he himself started some- thing new.
The two relayed innovations of his time, writing machines and writing women, recorded his speech.
"Our writing tools are also working on our thoughts. " Hence Nietz- sche's next thought-four years after the malfunctioning of his type- writer-was to philosophize on the typewriter itself. Instead of testing Remington's competing model, he elevated MaIling Hansen's invention to the status of a philosophy. And this philosophy, instead of deriving the evolution of the human being from Hegel's spirit (in between the lines of books) or Marx's labor (in between the differential potential of muscular energy), began with an information machine.
In the second essay of On the Genealogy of Morals, knowledge, speech, and virtuous action are no longer inborn attributes of Man. Like the animal that will soon go by a different name, Man derived from for- getfulness and random noise, the background of all media. Which sug- gests that in 1 8 8 6, during the founding age of mechanized storage tech- nologies, human evolution, too, aims toward the creation of a machine memory. Guyau's argument presupposes the phonograph, Nietzsche's, the typewriter. To make forgetful animals into human beings, a blind force strikes that dismembers and inscribes their bodies in the real, until pain itself brings forth a memory. People keep promises and execute orders only after torture.
Writing in Nietzsche is no longer a natural extension of humans who bring forth their voice, soul, individuality through their handwriting. On the contrary: just as in the stanza on the delicate MaIling Hansen, humans change their position-they turn from the agency of writing to become an inscription surface. Conversely, all the agency of writing passes on in its violence to an inhuman media engineer who will soon be called up by Stoker's Dracula. A type of writing that blindly dismembers body parts and perforates human skin necessarily stems from typewriters built before 1897, when Underwood finally introduced visibility. Peter Mitterhofer's Model 2, the wooden typewriter prototype of 1 8 66, unlike the MaIling
? ? ? ? ? Hansen did not even have types and a ribbon. Instead, the writing paper was perforated by needle pins-inscribing, for example, in a rather Nietzschean manner, the proper name of the inventor.
Such is the solidarity among engineers, philosophers, and writers of the founding age of media. Beyerlen's technical observation that in typ- ing, everything is visible except the actual inscription of the sign, also de- scribes On the Genealogy ofMorals. Neither in Nietzsche nor in Stoker can the victims see and hence read what the "most dreadful sacrifices and pledges," "the most repulsive mutilations," and "the cruelest rites"98 do to their body parts. The only possible, that is unconscious, kind of read- ing is the slavish obedience called morals. Nietzsche's notion of inscrip- tion, which has degenerated into a poststructuralist catch-all metaphor, has validity only within the framework of the history of the typewriter. It designates the turning point at which communications technologies can no longer be related back to humans. Instead, the former have formed the latter.
Under conditions of media the genealogy of morals coincides with the genealogy of gods. Following Beyerlen's law-namely, the invisibility of the act of inscription-we can deduce the necessary existence of beings that could be either observers or, as with Dracula, masters of inhuman commu- nications technologies. "So as to abolish hidden, undetected, unwitnessed suffering from the world and to deny it, one was in the past virtually com- pelled to invent gods and genii of all the heights and depths; in short some- thing that even roams in secret, hidden places, sees even in the dark, and will not easily let an interesting painful spectacle pass unnoticed. "99
It is Nietzsche's most daring experimental setup to occupy the place of such a god. If God is dead, nothing is there to prevent the invention of gods. "The poor man," as he was described by an emancipated woman, "is a true saint and ceaselessly working, even though he is almost blind and can neither read nor write (except with a machine)"lOO-this poor man identifies with Dionysus, the master of media. Once again, philoso- phizing or studying are followed by the crafting of verse. On the Geneal- ogy of Morals deploys itself in rhythms and unfolds an interesting and painful spectacle: Nietzsche's dithyrambs of Dionysus entitled Ariadne's
Complaint. Composing and dictating into a machine are, following Hei- degger's recollection, in word and deed one and the same thing.
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Ariadne's composed lament arises out of complete darkness or blind- ness. She speaks about and to a "veiled" god that tortures her body, fol- lowing all the rules of mnemotechnology or memory inscription de- scribed in Genealogy. Dionysus has neither word nor style nor stylus- except for torture itself. His female victims are faced with the painful attempt to decode from their bodily pain the trace of a desire, which is truly the desire of the other. And only after 1 5 0 lines or laments can Ari- adne read that she herself desires the desire of the god:
Come back!
With all your torments!
All the streams of my tears run their course to you!
and the last flame of my heart it burns up to you.
Oh come back,
my unknown god! my pain! my last happinesspOI
This last cry is not a fiction. It is a quotation-from one of the new women writers. One of Lou von Salome's poems, accompanied by Nietz- sche's music, contained the following lines: "Have you no more happiness to share with me, so be it! as yet you have your torment. " The poet of dithyrambs is once again only a secretary who puts the words of one woman, von Salome, into the mouth of another woman, Ariadne. And as the Genealogy predicted, the god of inscription can and must come forth from inscribed pain itself. After Ariadne's or Salome's last cry, the long- concealed Dionysus himself becomes "visible" in blinding and "emerald beauty. " The dithyrambs come to a necessary close because their answer transmits plain text: the whole scene of writing has been a scene of torture:
Be wise Ariadne! . . .
You have little ears, you have ears like mine:
let some wisdom into them! -
Must we not first hate ourself if we are to love ourself? . . . I am thy labyrinth . . . 102
A Dionysus that occupies the ear of his victims and inserts smart words turns into a poet (Dichter) or dictator in all senses of the word. He dictates to his slave or secretary to take down his dictation. The new no- tions of love and heterosexuality become reality when one sex inserts painful words into the ear of the other. University-based, that is, male, discourses on and about an alma mater are replaced by the discourse of
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two sexes about their impossible relationship: Lacan's rapport sexuel. That is why Nietzsche describes Dionysus's existence as an "innovation" once he has invented him as a "philosopher. " Unlike Socrates with his Greek noblemen, and unlike Hegel with his German civil-servant appren- tices, Dionysus dictates to a woman. According to Nietzsche, Ariadne's Complaint is just one of the many "celebrated dialogues" between Ari- adne and her "philosophical lover" on Naxos. 103
The Naxos alluded to here was not a fiction either, but the future of Germany's institutions of higher education. The widow of Max Weber has described how new female students, "from unheard-of intellectual points of contact with young men," were afforded "unlimited opportuni- ties for innovative human relationships": "camaraderie, friendship, love. "104 (To say nothing of the innovative human relationships that, as in the case of Lou Andreas-Salome, grew out of the opportunities between male and female psychoanalysts. ) Following the double loss of his MaIling Hansen and his Salome, Nietzsche at any rate was on the lookout for sec- retaries into whose ears he could insert Dionysian words. For Zarathustra and his whip he "needed . . . just somebody to whom he could dictate the text"-and "Fraulein Horner fell from the sky," it seems, precisely "for that purpose. " 105 Then, for Beyond Good and Evil, that Foreplay to Phi- losophy of the Future, a certain Mrs. Roder-Wiederhold set foot on the is- land of Naxos.
"I am your labyrinth," Dionysus said to the tortured Ariadne, who in turn had herself been the mistress of the labyrinth during the Cretan rit- ual dance. And Zarathustra added that poet-dictators who write in blood and aphorisms want not to be read but to be learned by heart. 106 That is precisely why Mrs. Roder-Wiederhold caused some problems. Unfortu- nately, certain gods, demons, intermediate beings of Europe had already inserted the morality of Christendom and of democracy into her ears. That made the scene of dictation in Engadine into a scene of torture. Her own hand had to write down what was beyond good and evil, beyond Christendom and morality. Ariadne's complaint turned into an empirical event. Every history of writing technologies has to account for the fact that Beyond Good and Evil was not easily written. Nietzsche knew and wrote it. "In the meantime I have the admirable Mrs. Roder-Wiederhold in the house; she suffers and tolerates 'angelically' my disgusting 'anti-de- mocratism'-as I dictate to her, for a couple of hours every day, my thoughts on Europeans of today and-Tomorrow; in the end, I fear, she may still 'fly off the handle' and run away from Sils-Maria, baptized as she is with the blood of r 848. "107
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Against human and/or technological typewriters such as Nietzsche and the MaIling Hansen, substitute secretaries could not compete. Nietz- sche stuck to his love affair with the writing ball from January through March 1882: "Between the two of us," the media master wrote about his "admirable woman": "I can't work with her, I don't want to see a repeat (Wiederholung). Everything I dictated to her is without value; as well, she cries more often than I can handle. "lo8
A complaint of Ariadne that her dictator might have been able to foretell: "Must we not first hate ourself if we are to love ourself? . . . " Nietzsche and his secretaries, no matter how ephemeral and forgot- ten, have introduced a prototype into the world. Word processing these days is the business of couples who write, instead of sleep, with one an- other. And if on occasion they do both, they certainly don't experience ro- mantic love. Only as long as women remained excluded from discursive technologies could they exist as the other of words and printed matter. Typists such as Minnie Tipp, by contrast, laugh at any romanticism. That is why the world of dictated, typed literature-that is, modern litera- ture-harbors either Nietzsche's notion of love or none at all. There are
desk couples, two-year-long marriages of convenience, there are even women writers such as Edith Wharton who dictate to men sitting at the typewriter. Only that typed love letters-as Sherlock Holmes proved once and for all in A Case of Identity-aren't love letters.
The unwritten literary sociology of this century. All possible types of industrialization to which writers respond have been thoroughly re- searched-ranging from the steam engine and the loom to the assembly line and urbanization. Only the typewriter, a precondition of production that contributes to our thinking prior to any conscious reaction, remains a critical lacuna. A friend writes or dictates a biography of Gottfried Benn. Upon rereading the 200 typed pages, he begins to realize that he is writing about himself: the biographer and the writer have the same ini- tials. After 200 additional pages, his secretary asks him whether he has noticed that secretaries and writers (Schriftsteller) have the same ini- tials. . . . Lacan's three registers cannot possibly be demonstrated more ef- fectively: the real of the writer, the imaginary of his doppelganger, and, fi- nally, as elementary as forgotten, the symbolic of machine writing.
Under such conditions, what remains to be done is to start a register of the literary desk couples of the century (Bermann's film was never realized).
Case I. When, beginning in 1 8 83 , Wyckoff, Seamans, & Benedict developed a sales network and (following the example of Mark Twain)
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solicited writers to advertise typewriting, "the Petrograd salesman came up with the most spectacular big name, Count Lyof Nikolayevitch Tol- stoy, a man who loathed modern machinery in every form ("The most powerful weapon of ignorance-the diffusion of printed matter. "-War and Peace, epilogue, part 2, chapter 8 ), and got a great photograph of the author, looking quite miserable, dictating to his daughter, Alexandra Lvovna, who sat poised over the Remington keyboard. "109
Case 2. When Christiane von Hofmannsthal finished the sixth grade of secondary school, instead of continuing on she transferred to learn Gabelsberg stenography and typewriting. In 1919 her father and poet wrote about how difficult it would be if he "had to do without the little one as my typist, which she is. "110
Case3. In1897,Hofmannsthal'sAustriaallowedfemalegraduates of secondary school to study philosophy, in 1900, medicine (including state exams and the doctorate). Consequently, Sigmund Freud, university professor of nerve pathology, began his Introductory Lectures on Psycho- Analysis in Vienna during the winter semester of 19 I 5-16 with the revo- lutionary address, "Ladies and Gentlemen! " Since "the ladies among you have made it clear by their presence in this lecture-room that they wish to be treated on an equality with men," Freud scorned "science . . . for schoolgirls"l11 and identified primary sexual markers by their names. He told the women in the lecture hall that the secular distribution of gender roles, including the symbols of pen and natural paper, was psychoanalyt- ically obsolete: "Women possess as part of their genitals a small organ similar to the male one. "
Women, however, who have a "clitoris"112 in the real, and who are "wood, paper, . . . books" l13 in the symbolic of the dream, stood on both sides of writing technologies' gender differences. Nothing and nobody barred them anymore from professions involving case studies and hence writing. Sabina Spielrein, Lou Andreas-Salome, Anna Freud, and so on, up until today: female psychoanalysts became historically possible. An in- stitution that banned phonographs from its examination rooms and ig- nored the cinema altogether still adjusted its writing equipment. "In Feb- ruary [of 19 1 3 J Freud took the novel step of buying a typewriter. . . . But it was not for himself, for there was no question of his employing an amanuensis and giving up his beloved pen. It was simply to help Rank to cope with his increasing editorial duties. " Exceeding the mechanization of psychoanalytical secretaries and film interpreters, the machine also al-
216 Typewriter
tered their sex; for, curiously enough, the typewriter, according to the same biographer, remained not with Rank but in the lifetime possession of Anna Freud, the bridal daughter and psychoanalyst. 114
"Typewriter," after all, signifies both: machine and woman. Two years after the purchase of the machine, Freud wrote to Abraham from Hofmannsthal's Vienna: "A quarter of an hour ago I concluded the work on melancholy. I will have it typewritten so that I can send you a copy. " 115
Case 4. In 1907, Henry James, the writer and brother of Miinster- berg's great sponsor, shifted his famous, circumlocutionary style of novel writing toward "Remingtonese. "116 He hired Theodora Bosanquet, a philosopher's daughter who had worked for the offices of Whitehall on the Report of the Royal Commission on Coast Erosion and who learned to type for James's sake. After a job interview, during which James came across as a "benevolent Napoleon,"l17 novel production got under way. The Remington, along with its operator, "moved into his bedroom," where dictation "pulled" texts from James "so much more effectively and unceasingly" than did "writing. " Soon a reflex loop was created: only the clanking of the typewriter induced sentences in the writer. "During a fort- night when the Remington was out of order he dictated to an Oliver type- writer with evident discomfort, and he found it almost impossibly discon- certing to speak to something that made no responsive sound at all. "118
So it went for seven years, until a less benevolent Napoleon said farewell. James had several strokes in 19 I 5 . His left leg became paralyzed, and his sense of orientation in space and time was impaired; only the con- ditioned reflex of pure, intransitive dictation remained intact. Writing in the age of media has always been a short circuit between brain physiol- ogy and communications technologies-bypassing humans or even love. Hence, James ordered the Remington, along with Theodora Bosanquet (not the other way around), to his deathbed, in order to record the real behind all fiction. Henry James had become emperor and dictated: a let- ter to his brother Joseph, the king of Spain; a decree specifying new con- struction at the Louvre and in the Tuileries; finally, some prose on the death of the royal eagle and the cowardice of its common murderers. ll9 That is how deliriously, how lucidly a paralyzed brain recorded itself, the situation, and the system of media. From 1800-1815, Napoleon's noted ability to dictate seven letters simultaneously produced the modern gen- eral staff. His secretaries were generals and a marshal of France. J20 From
1907-17, a typewriter and its female operator produced the modern American novel. From that, imperial eagles died.
? Typewriter 2 I 7
Case 5 . Thomas Wolfe, who made a point o f selling his American novels in a highly industrialized fashion, by word count (350,000 in the case of Look Homeward, Angel),121 was nevertheless
the most completely un-mechanical of men and never knew how to operate a typewriter, although on at least two occasions he got machines and swore that he would learn. He rented a Dictaphone in 193 6, in the hope that he could recite his work into it and have it typed up later, but the only thing he ever actually dictated was a few remarks on the ancestry and character of his most unfavorable critic, Bernard De Voto. He would sometimes play this back and listen to it, grinning.
At any rate, because of his inability to type, he hired a stenographer for $25 a week, who came each day and transcribed his longhand as fast as he could get it down on paper. . . . A typist had to have both practice and a vivid imagination to read what he had written, and most of them worked for him for only a short time. He was constantly distracted by this difficulty: "I can always find plenty of women to sleep with," he once blurted out, " but the kind of woman that is really hard for me to find is a typist who can read my writing. " 122
Case 6. In I93 5, Dr. Benn quit his medical practice to serve as chief medical officer for the recruitment inspection offices in Hannover. Re- maining in Berlin were two female friends whom Thomas Wolfe would have had no trouble finding: the actresses Tilly Wedekind and Ellinor Biiller-Klinkowstrom. But the military, Benn's aristocratic form of emi- gration, had its everyday problems. After two "terribly lonesome and se- cluded years," he wrote to the second of the two women:
The sheets are torn, the bed isn't done from Saturday through Monday, I've got to do the shopping myself, even getting the heating stove going, sometimes. I don't respond to letters, since I've nobody to do the writing for me. I don't do any work, since I neither have the time nor solace nor anybody to dictate to. At 3:30 in the afternoon, I make some coffee, that is the one content ofmy life. At nine in the evening I go to bed, that's the other. Like cattle. 123
On the Genealogy of Morals predicted it all: in the chaos without recording technologies, literature basically had to take the shape de- scribed by Benn's tripartite organization: First, a beer or wine pub, read- ing, meditating, and radio listening, in order to bring highbrow poetry up to par with the sound and standard of popular songs. Second, an "old desk ( 7 3 cm x I 3 5 cm) " with unread " manuscripts, j ournals, books, sample medication packages, an inkpad (for recipes), three pens, two ash- trays, one phone," in order to "scribble" the poem the next day in one of those physician's scrawls that Benn "himself could not read.