"Chaos Reigns" |
If we were to map the topology of the biopoliticization of the world it would look like what Deleuze and Guattari refer to as a “smooth space” (Deleuze and Guattari 1987, 474-500). There would be no holes, no gaps. Foucault says as much in his lecture of January 29, 1975 at the Collège de France, in a section in which we can clearly see the seeds of what would become “Right of Death and Power over Life,” the final chapter of La Volenté de savoir [The History of Sexuality, Vol. 1], to be published the following year. Foucault, speaking of a transformation in state apparatuses and institutions in the eighteenth century, says:
There was the elaboration of what could be called a new economy of the mechanisms of power: a set of procedures and analyses that enabled the effects of power to be increased, the costs of its exercise reduced and its exercise integrated in mechanisms of production. By increasing the effects of power I mean that there was the discovery in the eighteenth century of a number of means by which, or at least, the principle in accordance with which power could be exercised in a continuous manner, rather than in the ritual, ceremonial, discontinuous way it was exercised in the absolute monarchies. … Instead of being brought to bear on arbitrarily defined points, zones, individuals, or groups, mechanisms of power were discovered in the eighteenth century that could be exercised without gaps and that could penetrate the social body in its totality. (Foucault 2003a, 87; my emphasis)
These new mechanisms of power evolved into two basic forms: “these forms were not antithetical, however, they constituted rather two poles of development linked together by a whole intermediary cluster of relations” (Foucault 1978, 139). One pole was an anatomo-politics of the human body: “centered on the body as a machine: its disciplining, the optimization of its capacities, the extortion of its forces, the parallel increase of its usefulness and its docility, its integration into system of efficient and economic controls” (139). The other pole was the regulatory controls of a biopolitics of the population: “focused on the species body, the body imbued with the mechanics of life and serving as the basis of the biological processes: propagation, births and mortality, the level of health, life expectancy and longevity, with all the conditions that can cause these to vary” (139). As Foucault succinctly puts it, “The disciplines of the body and the regulations of the population constituted the two poles around which the organization of power over life was deployed” (139). These polarities—these two scales of biopower—made it possible to totally colonize the world, at the level of both individuals and populations, under the sign of biopolitics; it is these imbricated poles that make up the gapless system, the smooth, continuous space of control that defines the ontology of our political present. But is there no point at which the smooth edge stops and the possibility of an emancipatory entropy begins?
The biopower described by Foucault may seem all encompassing and totally without gaps, but there is space for a micropolitics of resistance left open in Foucault. Indeed, as Rainer Schürmann puts it:
To the many brands of liberation ideology, Foucault opposes more modest tactics within reticular formations of knowledge and capillary strategies of power. The struggle against power effects “as such” remains piecemeal, pursuing ever new targets (which are not instances of any one Enemy), starting over ever again, displacing coordinates of thinking as far as is as strategically possible. The anarchistic subject constitutes itself in micro-interventions aimed at resurgent figures of subjection and objectivation. (Schürmann 1985, 546)
These micro-interventions must proceed from the inside out, but this procedure will require an ideological retuning of the subject. As Schürmann notes, “For a culture obsessed with what is deep inside the self—hidden, unconscious, profoundly and unfathomably my own—anarchistic self-constitution means the dispersal of inward-directed reflections into as many outward-directed reflexes as there are ‘systems of power to short-circuit, disqualify, and disrupt’” (Schürmann 1985, 546-47). There are opportunities for micro-interventions in every body. The task at hand is to determine just what a body is and what it can do.
This is precisely what Deleuze sets out to do in his reading of Nietzschean power dynamics in “Active and Reactive,” an object lesson in discursive interventions that seek to make the forces of life itself resistant to power, a theme that Deleuze will latter reiterate in his book on Foucault.[1] Deleuze begins this reading of Nietzsche with a reference to another great materialist philosopher interested in pure exteriority: “Spinoza opened up a new way for philosophy, and the sciences. He said that we do not even know what a body can do, that we speak and chatter on about consciousness and spirit, but we neither know what a body is capable of, which forces are its own, nor what these forces hold in store for us” (Deleuze 1977, 80). Deleuze wants to address this issue, first raised by Baruch Spinoza, directly: what do we really mean when we speak of the body and its capabilities? Deleuze turns to Nietzsche and his philosophy of becoming to seek answers to this question.
For Nietzsche, the body is at once a particular and universal concept. As Deleuze explains: “What is the body? We do not define it by saying that it is a field of forces or a nutritive medium in which a plurality of forces quarrel. For in fact there is no ‘medium,’ no field of forces or battle. And there is no quantity of reality, for all reality is already a quantity of force. There are nothing but quantities of force ‘in a relation of tension’ between one another” (80). These quantities of force come together to create all bodies, be they political, social, chemical, or biological. There is an omni-affective relationality between all forces, and any two can come together to constitute a body. It is an essential aspect of Deleuze’s account that the relations between forces always creates a hierarchic dynamic: “Every force is related to other forces, and it either obeys or commands. What defines a body is this relation between dominating and dominated forces” (80). The Nietzschean body is composed of a multiplicity of atoms colliding in this play of dominance and submission: “Composed of a plurality of irreducible forces, the body is a multiple phenomenon; its unity is that of a multiple phenomenon, the ‘unity of domination.’ In a body, the superior or dominating forces are called active, and the inferior or dominated forces are called reactive” (81). Active forces represent all that is good in a Nietzschean value system: “[a]ppropriating, possessing, subjugating, and dominating are the characteristics of active force. Appropriating means to impose forms, to create forms by exploiting circumstances” (83). The reactive is that which is small and petty for Nietzsche: “the mechanical and utilitarian accommodations, the regulations that express all the power of inferior and dominated forces” (81).
When these forces come together there is always a differential, and it is this schism that creates what Nietzsche calls a body. As Deleuze explains: “The forces that enter into relation with one another have no quality per se, unless (at the same time) they bear a quality that corresponds to their difference in quantity. This difference of qualified forces, active and reactive, in accordance with their quantity, will be called their hierarchy” (81). These differences in the qualities of forces are produced by the difference in quantity between the two forces that enter into the body-forming relationship. This means that there is no inherent character in the relationship that produces the hierarchical outcome and, thus, the form of the body. Instead, the body is produced through the forces’ interaction: the master gains dominance over the slave because the master overpowers the slave through the greater measurement of his force. As Deleuze puts it: “If a force is inseparable from its quantity, it is no less inseparable from the other forces it relates to. Quantity itself is thus inseparable from the difference in quantity. The difference in quantity is the essence of force, and the relation of force to force” (84). Because there is no inherent character that produces this hierarchy, because this formation is always a matter of the interaction of the quantity of forces which in turn creates the dominance of the active and the subjugation of the reactive, dominant forces, possessing what Nietzsches calls the Will to Power, must be cognizant of the quantities of reactive forces who, at any moment, could become greater in the their quantity of force and exert their own Will to Power over and above the current masters.
The issues raised by a particular type of quantification, population quantification, become a great matter of concern for sovereign power around the time of the installation of biopolitical governance. Foucault shows how concern over this issue of quantitative force was instrumental in the institution of the regimes of biopolitical control through the mechanisms of governmentality “that appeared in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries”[2] (Foucault 2003b, 245). Biopolitics becomes necessarily concerned with the knowledge of the quantification of life. As Foucault says, “biopolitics will derive its knowledge from, and define its power’s field of intervention in terms of, the birth rate, the mortality rate, various biological disabilities, and the effects of the environment” (2003b, 245). Where once power could be exercised on individual bodies, now there is a new form of body—and new problems for the dominating power. Foucault continues:
Disciplines, for their part, dealt with individuals and their bodies in practical terms. What we are dealing with in this new technology of power is not exactly society (or at least not the social body as defined by the jurists), nor is it the individual-as-body. It is a new body, a multiple body, a body with so many heads that, while they might not be infinite in number, cannot necessarily be counted. Biopolitics deals with the population, with the population as a political problem, as a problem that is at once scientific and political, as a biological problem and as power’s problem. (Foucault 2003b, 245)
What this shows, however, is that in the relational field of bodies within a biopolitical regime there exists a vital opportunity for individual and collectively reactive forces to become active; nothing about their makeup renders them inherently inferior to the dominating class. It is only a matter of quantities, of mathematics. Biopower fears the multitudinous body of the collective poised to become active.
Deleuze describes the transformative passage from reactive to active forces in the essay we have been reading. Deleuze tells us that Nietzsche held this process, at least in the abstract, in the highest regard:
For Nietzsche, as for energetics, transformative energy is held to be “noble.” The power of transformation, Dionysian power, is the foremost definition of activity. But each time that we thus note the nobility of action and its superiority over reaction, we must not forget that reaction, just as much as action, designates a type of force. Reactions simply cannot be apprehended or scientifically understood as forces if we do not relate them to the superior forces that are precisely of another type. (Deleuze 1977, 83)
So even though the force of metamorphosis is held up to be noble and good, the reactive can never trump the active; the “lower” will never be elevated above the “higher.” This would be a perversion of Nietzschean values, and “Nietzsche is careful never to present the triumph of reactive forces as a compound force, superior to active force” (93). If the reactive forces were ever to triumph over the active forces that would lead to a situation of “ressentiment, bad conscience, and the ascetic ideal” (93)—all things that Nietzsche considers sickly and bad.
The prospects for the reactive forces in this Nietzschean framework lie not in an effort to divide up active forces through a negative process of subtraction—that is, trying to make the active become reactive—but rather in an affirmative process of addition: a becoming-active of reactive forces. Deleuze calls this process a “chain of becoming”:
Affirmation is not simply action, but the power of becoming active, the becoming active in person; and negation is not simply reaction, but a becoming reactive. It all happens as if affirmation and negation were both immanent and transcendent with respect to action and reaction; along with the framework of forces, they constitute a chain of becoming. Affirmation makes us enter into the glorious world of Dionysus, the being of becoming, and negation hurls us down to the disturbing ground from which reactive forces emerge. (91)
The goal for this kind of life resistance—i.e. that form of resistance that Deleuze describes as responding directly to biopower, when “resistance becomes the power of life” (Deleuze 1988, 92)—is for the reactive, dominated forces to become active. Alas, the quantities of energetic transmission required to elicit this qualitative transformation from reactive to active are great. It is a difficult metamorphosis, which accounts for the inertial dominance of active forces over reactive forces. However, one strategy that Deleuze suggests is what he calls “auto-destruction.” “In auto-destruction the reactive forces are themselves denied and led to nothingness. This is why auto-destruction is said to be an active operation, an ‘active destruction.’ It and it alone expresses the becoming-active of forces” (101-02). Again, this process is not for the faint of heart: “Active negation or active destruction is the state of the strong-minded who destroy the reactive element within themselves . . . even if it entails willing their own decline” (102).
Despite Nietzsche’s categorical rejection of reactive forces as everything that his philosophy has sought to destroy, one need not take this to mean that we ought to enact the same wholesale dismissal of reactivity when forming the means of life resistance. Reactive forces have a unique perspective to offer in the hierarchy that is created when forces come together to create a body; they are not active forces, but they too have an indissoluble relationship to power. As Deleuze points out, “Inferior forces (as distinct from those that command) do not cease being forces even though they obey. To obey is a quality of force as such, and it is just as much tied to power as commanding is” (Deleuze 1977, 81). Or as Nietzsche says of this relation of forces, “Individual power is by no means surrendered. In the same way, there is in commanding an admission that the absolute power of the opponent has not been vanquished, incorporated, disintegrated. ‘Obedience’ and ‘commanding’ are forms of struggle” (qtd. in Deleuze 1977, 81). The “inferior” positionality of reactive forces also brings into being new perspectives on the power struggle and allows for the potential forging of the “new weapons” that Deleuze calls for in his widely influential essay “Postscript on Control Societies.” These new weapons may be the very ones that the reactive forces are forced to used due to their reduced, dominated status. Deleuze emphasized this pharmacology of reactional forces here:
It is certain that a reactive force can be considered from different viewpoints. Sickness, for example, prevents me from exercising my powers; as a reactive force it renders me reactive, it narrows my possibilities and condemns me to a diminished milieu which I can do no more than adapt myself to. But in another way it reveals a new power to me and endows me with a new will that I can make my own, pursuing this strange new capacity to its end . . . Here we see an ambivalence in Nietzsche: all the forces that were denounced for their reactive character, are a few lines later, avowed to fascinate him—they are held to be sublime because of the perspective they open up for us, and because they testify to a disturbing Will to Power. They separate us from our own power, but at the same time they give us new power, so “dangerous” and “interesting.” They bring us new feelings and teach us new ways of being affected. (1977, 98)
In seeking models a becoming-active of reactive forces we may turn to political philosophy, to the historical and theoretical paradigms of political transformation. When Derrida turns to this literature in the seminar that would become The Beast and the Sovereign he is struck by a peculiar pattern: “the obvious though surprising abundance of animal figures that invade discourses on the political, the reflections of political philosophy” (Derrida 2009, 81). It is strange that these “philosophers of the political, all of those who are passionately interested in holding a discourse on power, on political power,” exhibit an “irresistible compulsion which seems either to push them toward zoomorphic visions or hallucinations, push or attract them toward a field where there is a greater chance of fantastic animal apparitions” (81). It is in the third session of the seminar that Derrida offers one of his richest accounts of the taxonomy of this multiplicity of animal figures that stalk the pages of political philosophy, each exerting a unique force in this zooanthropology. Derrida focuses on three animals in particular here—the wolf, the lion, and the fox—pointing out that animal fables attribute “cunning to the fox, strength to the lion, voracious and cruel savagery to the wolf” (81). The wolf is always the “sworn enemy. The animal that has to be hunted down, chased away, repressed, combated” (88). Machiavelli insists that, in order to combat wolves, the prince must exhibit traits of both the lion and the fox, but Derrida believes that the cunning fox “clearly interests [Machiavelli] more” than the strength of the lion, “a strength that he does not even name, whereas he names and renames cunning” (88). As in Nietzsche, there is a hierarchical order in place here: “man, fox, lion, going from the more human, the more rational and intelligent, to the more animal, even the more bestial, if not to the more bête” [3] (89). Because the fox is the animal that is closest to the human in this hierarchy it is able to use a trait of the human that is not accessible to (most) animals to his great advantage—the ability to lie. (One might argue that an animal such as a chameleon can “lie” in a literally superficial sense.) As Derrida says, “Precisely because he knows how to be cunning, how to lie, how to commit perjury, because he has the sense and culture of the snare, the fox is close to the truth of man and man’s fidelity, which he understands and knows how to invert” (89). It is the conscious access to the inversion of forces that will aid in the becoming-active of reactive forces, an inversion that is less a reversal of hierarchical power positions than inversion in the dissemination of know-how, a quantitative inversion of knowledge where the reactive forces now posses more cunning than the active forces.
For reactive forces to become active they would do well to enter into a process of becoming-fox. Of course the figure of the fox is (along with the lion) the paradigmatic animal that stands in for the sovereign in Machiavelli’s The Prince, a figure that would no doubt work to keep reactive forces perpetually subjugated as “mechanical and utilitarian” (i.e. dominated) forces. But recall that in the Nietzschean-cum-Deleuzian framework, the objective for reactive forces is to become active—and the ultimate source of active force and dominance in a classic text of sovereign governance such as Machiavelli’s is the cunning prince. Reactive forces, then, have to decide what they can learn from the prince’s force and apply it to their own project of resistance, of becoming-active. In an extended description of the qualities of the fox, Derrida uses language that interfaces in surprising and productive ways with Deleuze’s proscriptions for the becoming-active of forces:
The force of the fox . . . is that his force is more than force, his power exceeds force qua physical force (as represented by the lion), thus as force of nature (physis). The prince, qua fox-man, is stronger than nature or biology, and even zoology, or what one thinks of natural under these words, stronger than physical strength: the fox is not bête or is no longer simply or absolutely a beast. His force of law consists in exceeding the physical manifestations of force, i.e. his weight, size, amount of energy, everything that can constitute a weapon or even a defensive or offensive army, an invulnerable armored army with no weaknesses. No, the force of the prince qua man become fox is, beyond natural force of simple life force, beyond even his visible phenomenon and what can, through the image of natural force, strike with awe and fear, intimidate, as the simple spectacle of a lion can strike the imagination before the lion strikes, the force of the prince cunning like a fox, his force beyond force, is science or consciousness, knowledge, know-how, cunning know-how, know-how without making-known [le savoi-faire sans faire-savoir] what one knows how to do, knowing how to make his very weakness into a strength, finding a resource just where phenomenal nature did not give him one. The fox, the fox-prince is already (like slaves and the sick in Nietzsche) one who inverts the originary order of things and makes of his weakness a supplementary force. (90)
Derrida’s description of becoming-fox emphasizes the coming-into-cunning of the consciousness, a cunning that can then overcome all physical forces that pose a threat to it. Here we can see a clear example of the “force beyond force” of consciousness leading to a becoming-active of forces, a useful strategy for reactive forces to take up, to be sure. Deleuze would want to insist, however, that a program of life resistance should not lose sight of the body, for active forces by nature “escape consciousness.” “Consciousness merely expresses the relation of certain reactive forces to the active forces that dominate them. Consciousness is essentially reactive, and that is why we do not know what a body can do and what activity it is capable of” (Deleuze 1977, 82).[4] Nevertheless, it would seem that the most effective weapon that a potentially-active force could possess would be an integration of the affective body and the conscious brain. To limit one’s force to the pure exteriority of a Nietzchean body, in the face of Derrida’s contribution of the cunning and invertible force of the fox, would be unnecessarily restrictive.
One potential that a process of becoming-fox could afford to life resistance is this “know-how without making-known,” a potentiality that gains its force from its standing-in-reserve. In this way, reactive forces could enact an inversion of the active force of sovereignty by appropriating one of most effective tools, impotentiality, or, the potential-not-to. This is an important contributions to a theory of sovereignty that Giorgio Agamben gives us in “Potentiality and Law,” one of the densest chapters of Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life. Agamben relates the dynamic of constituting and constituted power in the work of Antonio Negri to the “relation Aristotle establishes between potentiality and act, dynamis and energeia” and concludes that “the relation between constituting and constituted power (perhaps like every authentic understanding of the problems of sovereignty) depends on how one thinks the existence and autonomy of potentiality” (Agamben 1998, 44). The potential of the sovereign—the potential to suspend the rule of law in a state of exception, for example—is inextricably linked to its potential not to do so; the autonomy of potential is independent of its actualization, a concept that Agamben locates in Aristotle:
According to Aristotle’s thought, potentiality precedes actuality and conditions it, but also seems to remain essentially subordinate to it. Against the Megarians, who (like those politicians today who want to reduce all constituting power to constituted power) affirm that potentiality exists only in act (energe monon dynasthai), Aristotle always takes great care to affirm the autonomous existence of potentiality—the fact that the kithara player keeps his ability [potenza] to play even when he does not play, and that the architect keeps his ability [potenza] to build even when he does not build. What Aristotle undertakes to consider in Book Theta of the Metaphysics is, in other words, not potentiality as a merely logical possibility but rather the effective modes of potentiality’s existence. This is why, if potentiality is to have its own consistency and not always disappear into actuality, it is necessary that potentiality be able not to pass over into actuality, it is necessary that potentiality constitutively be the potentiality not to (do or be), or, as Aristotle says, that potentiality be also im-potentiality (adynmania). (1998, 44-45; emphasis in original).
This is clearly an important trope for Agamben because he will go on to rearticulate it in The Open: Man and Animal, published seven years after Homo Sacer. Agamben, in the midst of an exegesis of Heidegger, writes in this later text:
What appears for the first time as such in deactivation (in the Brachliegen) of possibility, then, is the very origin of potentiality—and with it, of Dasein, that is, the being which exists in the form of potentiality-for-being [poter-essere]. But precisely for this reason, this potentiality or originary possibilitization constitutively has the form of a potential-not-to [Potenza-di-no], of an impotentiality, insofar as it is able to [può] only in the beginning from a being able not to [poter non], that is, from the deactivation of single, specific, factical possibilities. (2004 67; emphasis in original)
The logic of sovereignty exists in this question of first philosophy, of the origins of sovereignty’s potentiality whereby “politics is returned to its ontological position” (Agamben 1998, 44). In an ontologically fundamental sense, sovereignty has even more power while remaining in a state of impotentiality, keeping as Heideggerian standing-reserve the threat of potential actualization. As Agamben says,
it is hard to think both a “constitution of potentiality” entirely freed from the principle of sovereignty and a constituting power that has definitely broken the ban binding it to constituted power. That constituting power never exhausts itself in constituted power is not enough: sovereign power can also, as such, maintain itself indefinitely, without ever passing into actuality. (1998, 47)
This is the point of (micro-)intervention for the potentially-active forces of life resistance. Through their own cunning, based in part on techniques leaned from the sovereign itself, these forces can withhold their potential to act as a force until the opportune moment. The reactive-forces possess a similar impotentiality as the sovereign, and they know how to exploit it. As Agamben says, “The troublemaker is precisely the one who tries to force sovereign power to translate itself into actuality” (Agamben 1998, 47). The troublemaker, in other words, is the reactive force becoming-active through the bringing into actualization of the active forces of sovereign dominance, an active force that is all the more powerful for being held in abeyance as impotentiality, the virtualization of potentiality itself. It is not surprising, then, that Agamben closes this chapter with a reference to one of the great troublemakers in American literature (although of a largely in-active kind): “the strongest objection against the principle of sovereignty is contained in Melville’s Bartleby, the scrivener who, with his ‘I would prefer not to,’ resists every possibility of deciding between potentiality and the potential not to” (1998, 48).[5] Bartleby’s ambiguous refusal to work “push[es] the aporia of sovereignty to its limit” (48). Bartleby offers no critical reason for his refusal; his strike is purely a strike of the body. This is what the French collective Tiqqun would call a “human strike.” According to Tiqqun, it is precisely this type of troublemaking, this type of resistance, that is most effective against our present form of imperial sovereignty: “Not critical minds, but critical corporealities. That’s what Empire is scared of. That’s what’s slowly coming about, with the increasing flow of social defection” (Tiqqun 2010, 218). The practice of the human strike is a new sort of strike for a new enemy: “Behind the question What is to be done? was the myth of the general strike. Answering the question How is it to be done? is the practice of the HUMAN STRIKE. The general strike says that operations are limited in space and time, a piecemeal alienation, thanks to a recognizable, and therefore defeatable enemy” (2010, 219-20). The human strike, on the other hand, is one in which a multiplicity of bodies can come into relation with each other to express their pure potential (and impotential) for becoming-active forces against an amorphous, hard-to-locate enemy in “an era when the borders between life and work have become blurred” (220).
[1] “[I]t is in man himself that we must liberate life, since man himself is a form of imprisonment for man. Life becomes resistant to power when power takes life as its object. . . . When power becomes bio-power resistance becomes the power of life, a vital power that cannot be confined within species, environment or the paths of a particular diagram. Is not the force that comes from outside a certain idea of Life, a certain vitalism, in which Foucault’s though culminates? Is not life this capacity to resist force?” (Deleuze 1988, 92-93)
[2] Foucault’s dating of the implementation of the various domains of biopolitics tends to fluctuate between his lectures on the subject and work being published at that time. For instance, in his lecture of January 29, 1975, he claims that “there was a discovery in the eighteenth century of a number of means by which . . . power could be exercised in a continuous manner rather than the ritual, ceremonial, discontinuous way it was exercised under feudalism and continued to be exercised in the absolute monarchies (Foucault 2003a, 87), but in The History of Sexuality, published a year later, we read that this sort of power, “in which political power had assigned itself the task of administering life,” started in the seventeenth century (Foucault 1987, 139).
[3] Upon the first appearance of this word in Derrida’s text the translator inserts “stupid” in square brackets, an obviously inadequate translation as it is left in the French thereafter. Derrida dedicates all of session five to an explication of the words “bête” and “bêtise” through readings of Deleuze’s Difference and Repetition and A Thousand Plateaus.
[4] Nietzsche insists on the superiority of the body over consciousness: “From the intellectual viewpoint, the entire phenomenon of the body is as superior to our consciousness, our spirit, our conscious ways of thinking, sensing, and willing, as algebra is superior to the multiplication table” (qtd. in Deleuze 1977, 82).
[5] Agamben has dedicated a long essay to a reading of Melville’s story; see “Bartleby, or On Contingency” in Potentialities (Agamben 1999, 243-271).
———. 1999. Potentialities: Collected Essays in Philosophy. Ed. and Trans. Daniel Heller-Roazen. Stanford: Stanford University Press.
———. 2004. The Open: Man and Animal. Trans. Kevin Attell. Stanford: Stanford University Press.
Badiou, Alain. 2011. Tunisie, Egypte: quand un vent d'est balaie l'arrogance de l'Occident. Le Monde. February 18. Trans. Sarah Shin. http://www.versobooks.com/blogs/394 (accessed February 25, 2011).
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