Drive

“It's all very simple really: Women, money - It's like a movement of perpetual revolt” – journalist Robert Poiccard, advising his lovelorn friend in Godard’s Masculin/Féminin [1]

The economist linked to in my last entry, Paul Krugman, has traced the wealth disparity that has been growing in the United States over the past 35 years to “movement conservatism” [2] – a movement led by organizations like The Heritage Foundation. These organizations urge arguments such as that more money will motivate people to create more wealth, wealth that will eventually benefit everyone. But there is research that shows that offering more money is not an effective way to foster better work. (In fact, it seems to often be a hindrance. [3])  Wondering how this and other [4] information has done little, if anything, to start turning the tide to a more equitable society, I consulted Marxist psychologist Jacques Lacan’s lecture “The Impotence of Truth.” [5]  For assistance, I’ll turn to the movie by his fellow countryman, quoted above.

The film opens in a restaurant, and we meet Paul, played by Jean-Pierre Léaud, famous for his earlier portrayal of Antoine Doinel, a working-class adolescent in Truffaut’s 400 Blows [6]. Like Antoine, Paul is an aspiring writer, and we hear his thoughts as he starts to compose a story of the monotony and toil of a nameless boy from Marseilles.

{We can let this exposition usher in Lacan’s lecture, in which he sets the goal of demonstrating the relationship between the “analyst's” and “master's discourse” [7] using the news media’s “attempt to minimize the seriousness of failed, suppressed little demonstrations” while it disingenuously asks what is “eating” university students. [8]}

Paul recognizes a young woman, an aspiring pop singer named Madeleine Zimmer [9], and he asks about a friend of hers, Dumas – someone who, Paul has been told, might be able to get him a job. She says that he is probably referring to Marcel Dumas, who works on a magazine, and asks if Paul is looking for work. He says he has just finished his military service, and he goes into depth about how oppressive he found the experience, how it confirms that even relative freedom is difficult to achieve for a young Frenchman who has had “the wrong education,” and that his oppression will likely continue in the country’s military/industrial complex – “Discipline and finance share the same logic.” We can extend the connection Paul makes, and its relation to education, to Lacan’s four discourses, three of which he refers to early in the lecture as those of the “impossible professions.”

[the overlapping discourses of governing, educating, and analyzing] which are nothing other than the signifying articulation, the apparatus whose presence, whose existing status alone dominates and governs anything that at any given moment is capable of emerging as speech. [10]

Madeline agrees that Paul’s service “doesn’t sound like much fun,” and, after Paul goes into more detail about his troubles (and those of workers in general,) she says that Dumas will be meeting her at the restaurant. This seems a good place to add another early point of Lacan’s, that not working is out of the question, an “impossibility” which

… is surely an accomplishment of what I am calling the master’s discourse. {Lacan compares the S1/S2 relationship in his discourse charts to that between a human’s “carrion” and the faithful dog that is incapable of resisting anything that comes from its master’s plate.} [11]

Angry voices interrupt them – a couple at another table are arguing, the man calling the woman a “slut.” When she says she is sick of his insults, he says that is all she understands – she doesn’t know what she wants. She starts to leave with their son, Patrick, but his father wrests him from her and leaves. After yelling after him, “Find someone else to slave for you!,” she goes back to their table, takes a gun out of her purse, runs outside (while Paul calls for her to shut the door,) and shoots him. This exchange and outcome can summon Lacan’s insight that there

… is obviously no better way to pin down the master signifier S1, which is up there on the board, than by identifying it with death…{Lacan credits Hegel with showing that the outcome of a series of dominant/submissive relationships} is that in the end it is the slave who, through his work, produces the master’s truth, by pushing him down underneath. By virtue of this forced labor, as you can see from the outset, the slave ends up, at the end of history, at this point called absolute knowledge. [12]

The setting changes to a café where Paul meets his friend Robert. They discuss a strike and a petition to free political prisoners, and they agree - to an intertitle - that “human labor resurrects things from the dead.” Paul then imitates another customer to refute the idea that putting yourself in others’ shoes helps a person understand them, and Robert counters by borrowing sugar from a woman at another table to get a look at her breasts. Paul follows in his footsteps and experiences the same admiration.

In the next scene we meet two of Madeline’s friends, if only briefly. We spot one, Catherine, right before seeing Paul at the job that Madeline had gotten him. Then we watch a female reporter typing behind him and hear a voice-over of her article – “What do Young Girls Dream About?” The article describes various Parisian “girls,” - when she gets to those of the bourgeois class we see Madeline buying a dress, and when the article concludes that “the average Frenchwoman doesn't exist,” we see Catherine again. We can use these associations as a signal that

...Truth has more than one face. But that’s the point, what could be the first line of conduct to maintain as far as analysts are concerned is to be a little suspicious of it, and not to become all of a sudden mad about a truth, about the first pretty face encountered at the first turn in the road. [13]

Paul runs after Catherine, and when he catches up to her, she gestures toward what he wants. He turns back, knocks on restroom door – and Madeline emerges. He tells her that she had said she would go out with him that day, which she denies. He accuses her of being a liar, and when she acts surprised asks, “Don't you ever lie?” With this dialogue we can recall another point about Lacan's discourses. Lacan, referring to his diagram, says:

it is now a matter of seeing, as is already indicated by the place given to the term “truth,” whether it might be at the level of the second line that one would have the last word. However, at the level of the second line there is no suggestion of an arrow. And not only is there no communication, but there is something that acts as a block. [14]

They flirt while she brushes her hair, expressing different ideas about what the center of the world is for each of them – his: love, and hers: herself. We hear Paul’s voice reading from his diary as he discusses his political hopes and activities and his “progress” with Madeline, who has now introduced him to another friend of hers, Elisabeth. He notes that Robert is interested in Catherine (while we get views of her backing away from his advances and looking fondly at Paul) and comments, “probably a virgin, but good militant material.” Afterwards, we watch Paul divert a military driver while Robert sprays “Peace in Vietnam” on his car, and we hear Madeline’s voice reading her own diary, with thoughts that include her hopes that Paul won’t become a pest if she sleeps with him and that, when her record sells, she can buy a Morris-Cooper. [15] These expressions, showing the various disconnects between our couple, especially their hopes, drive home Lacan's claim that what blocks truth:

… is what results from the work. And what a certain Marx’s discovery accomplished was to give full weight to a term that was already known prior to him and that designates what work occupies itself with—it’s called production. [16]

We see Madeline from her bedroom watching a train, then see Paul and Robert inside it, before the camera focuses on a depressed fellow passenger as others off-screen hurl racial and sexual slurs at each other. A white woman says that “níggers” are “killers in the making,” and a man of African descent retorts that her dream is to be a “Hollywood whore,” then adds that white people don’t understand black musicians – “It's not about desire or the blues.”  He claims that if someone told Charlie Parker, “throw away your sax...and you can kill the first ten whites you see, he'd do it — He'd never play another note.”  As he talks, Paul looks at the woman, starts, and says, “Watch out!” - The woman, who has a gun on her lap, asks him, “What are you staring at?!” We can let his warning echo Lacan's caution about university discourse, a

...position of unheard-of pretension of having a thinking being, a subject, as its production. As subject, in its production, there is no question of it being able to see itself for a single instant as the master of knowledge ... Let’s be careful, this is indeed what is dangerous about it, but all the same it does have the strength to be articulated in this way, as one can see by reading people like Aristotle, principally, who have not read Hegel. [17]

We hear gunshot, and the next intertitle answers her: “Nothing: Just A Woman And A Man And An Ocean Of Spilt Blood.” The scene changes to Elisabeth and Catherine dressing while discussing the most important physical aspect of sexuality (Catherine thinks it is the skin, Elisabeth, the genitals and eyes), then Catherine asks if Elisabeth thinks Paul is “good in bed.” Catherine's question can reveal her “truth,” the truth

...is that she has to be the object a in order to be desired. The object a is a bit thin, at the end of the day, although, of course, men go crazy about it and they are unable even to suspect that they could get by with anything else—another sign of the impotence that covers the most subtle of all impossibilities. [18]

After the next intertitle, “The Mole Is Blind, Yet Burrows In A Particular Direction,” Paul brings an impatient Madeline into a bar, and after he has them sit in three different places (in unsuccessful attempts to get the proper ambiance,) Madeline gets up to leave, and Paul asks her to marry him. These movements can help us imagine another configuration of the terms that form the discourses – that of the analyst’s discourse. Lacan notes that what the analyst produces

… is nothing other than the master’s discourse since it’s S1 which comes to occupy the place of production. [19]

Madeline tells Paul that they will discuss his proposal later. We hear her singing to a bouncy pop tune, during this scene and into the next, declaring her faithfulness but wanting time to dream – a song that goes into a montage showing Paul’s frustration and her indifference. Later, after she and Elisabeth decide that they have “had enough of him for the day,” a woman asks if he would like to take some pictures with her in a nearby photo booth. Inside, she offers to let him see her breasts for 15,000 francs, and after he says he has only 10,000 and she says that he can look but not touch, he leaves. The anticipation and frustrated longing in these scenes can give some sense of a concept Lacan introduces here – the concept, “jouissance.” Lacan contrasts this concept to his concept of the (hysteric) subject:

Whatever fertility the hysteric’s questioning has displayed, questioning which, as I have said, is the first to introduce the subject into history, and although the entry of the subject as agent of discourse has had very surprising results, the foremost of which is that of science, it is not here, for all that, that the key to all the mainsprings is to be found. The key lies in raising the question of what jouissance is. [20]

Paul enters another booth and pays to make a disc, recording a free-form poem expressing his desire for Madeline and enjoining her to remember a romantic time they had together. This display lets us look further into the aforementioned concept, a state that Lacan describes as limited, although he says that we don’t know by what processes:

We simply know that we have ended up considering to be natural the mollycoddling that a society that is more or less orderly maintains us in, except that everyone is dying to know what would happen if things went really bad. Hence this sadomasochistic dread that characterize our nice sexual ambiance. [21]

The scene ends on a surreal note, with Madeline's voice singing about her heartbreak while Paul goes into an arcade and gets threatened by a man with a knife who ends up stabbing himself with it. This event can symbolize the split that is created in a being who has been taught a language:

It is on the basis of the split, the separation, between jouissance and the henceforth mortified body, it is from the moment that there is a play of inscriptions, a mark of the unary trait, that the question arises. There is no need to wait until the subject has shown itself to have been well hidden, at the level of the master’s truth. The subject’s division is without doubt nothing other than the radical ambiguity that attaches itself to the very term, “truth.” [22]

In a Laundromat, Paul and Robert argue when Paul says he can’t help Robert put up posters that Saturday, because he will be with Madeline that day, and that she wouldn’t want to go with him and Robert. Robert tells Paul that “there are no individual solutions” and makes the observation quoted at the top of this entry. Paul says that he might leave Madeline, but that he has lost his room, and she might let him live with her. He expresses dislike for her friend, Elisabeth, and Robert says he likes her freckles. Paul says that “Catherine is a better bet,” but Robert disagrees, saying that she had slapped him when he asked what make of bra she wore.  The two speculate loudly on the question while a woman walks by, and then laugh at an obscene joke of Paul’s. Paul’s communist friend can embody another aspect of the concept jouissance:

We have to begin by seeing why it is that the master’s discourse is so solidly established, to the point where few of you, it seems, judge how stable it is. This stems from something Marx demonstrated—without, I have to say, emphasizing it—concerning production and which he calls surplus value, not surplus jouissance. [23]

Over another montage, Paul, Madeline and their friends paint verbal pictures of their time and of the “near future.” Elisabeth says that soon, “each citizen could well be wearing an electrical apparatus designed to stimulate pleasure and sexual satisfaction” and Catherine has the final word: “Give us this day TV and car, but deliver us from freedom.” Later, we see Paul and Catherine in the dining room of his new home – Madeline had let him move in. Eating a banana, Catherine reads a passage aloud from a poetry book [24] asking a Marquis if he has the right to be as debonair as he appears. Paul charges that Catherine's apparent straightforwardness is a defense, and says it is a shame that he is interested in Madeline, not her. Catherine says that Madeline asked her to tell him that she is afraid of getting pregnant (and, to Paul’s questioning, says that she isn’t herself—Catherine has a diaphragm, a device which Madeline wouldn’t use.) Madeline and Elisabeth then join them, and Elisabeth says they should bathe and go to bed. When Paul plays a Mozart LP, Madeline, annoyed, leaves the room while Catherine stays and listens.  After drawing her attention to his favorite part of the work, Paul leaves the room and watches Elisabeth's and Madeline's shadows behind the shower doors, then, when Catherine walks by, complains that there’s no paper in the bog. Catherine tells him to use a copy of Le Figaro, [25] and laments that Beaumarchais [26] invented the word “Figaro,” and now it's a synonym for “bourgeois.” These references to former cultural icons can bookmark Lacan’s next point, that

…Something changed in the master’s discourse at a certain point in history… [O]n a certain day surplus jouissance became calculable, could be counted, totalized. This is where what is called the accumulation of capital begins. [27]

In the bedroom, Elisabeth tells Catherine to let Paul sleep in her bed, but Madeline overrules her. When Elisabeth tells Madeline to move her “backside” over, they all joke about what synonym should be used instead. Madeline asks how they should refer to the sexual organs, and Paul says, “three-piece suit.” Later, Catherine and Paul discuss the Marquis de Sade and play with a toy guillotine and accessory doll. We hear a speech on the radio where an official boasts that their “nation took up Turenne's sword...launching the first army of justice into Europe,” and Paul helps Catherine chop off the doll’s head.  We can use this decapitation as a foil for Lacan’s comment on the consequences of the aforesaid accumulation:

Don’t you feel, in relation to what I said before on the impotence of conjoining surplus value with the master’s truth, that ground is being won here? I am not saying that it is the most recent step that is the decisive one, but the impotence of this conjunction is all of a sudden emptied. Surplus value combines with capital—not a problem, they are homogeneous, we are in the field of values. Moreover, we are all up to our necks in it, in these blessed times in which we live. [28]

We find in the next segment, “Dialogue With A Consumer Product,” that Paul has gotten a second job, taking public opinion surveys. We watch him interview a woman who had been chosen as that year’s spokesperson for the magazine, Miss 19. She had previously been studying for her Baccalauréat [29], but now “everything changed,” and she feels lucky and satisfied with her high school diploma, since in her new position she gets a car and “fabulous trips.” She has difficulty answering many of Paul’s questions, afraid of getting “muddled,” and doesn’t know whether there is a war going on.  The ability to commodify a human being can demonstrate the expanding power of the present master signifier:

What is striking, and what no one seems to see, is that from that moment on, by virtue of the fact that the clouds of impotence have been aired, the master signifier only appears even more [un]assailable, precisely in its impossibility. Where is it? How can it be named? How can it be located?—other than through its murderous effects, of course. [30]

In the next scene, Paul plays pinball at a restaurant where Elisabeth works, then orders her to bring dinner for the two of them (and for the tardy Madeline) to the table. He frets that if Madeline appears at the Olympia [31], he will kill her. Elisabeth tells him that he has to work it out with Madeline. As he starts to eat, she gives him a sidelong glance and asks if he's still thinking about Madeline. He says no — looking at his mashed potatoes reminds him of when his father had, when eating potatoes, re-discovered why the earth goes round the sun. He smiles, reminiscing having gotten the mashed potatoes thrown in his face for being sarcastic about the “discovery.” This mention of a universal force can emphasize the enormity of the task Lacan asks us to consider:

Denounce imperialism? But how can this little mechanism be stopped? [32]

Madeline enters, saying that she has been to the studio, and gives an autographed pop record to Elisabeth and a less modern one to Paul. Paul says he would have preferred Bach's Concerto in D, and whistles the melody. While he occupies himself, Elisabeth strokes Madeline's hair and nose, and Madeline smiles at her until Paul looks back at them. They observe a woman (from the first scene) at a nearby booth discussing her price with a potential John. Watching this move from one form of exploitation to another, we can ponder Lacan's next passage:

Where do things stand now with the university discourse? Nowhere else can there be any possibility that things should move a bit. How can they move? I reserve the right to point this out to you later since, as you can see, I am going slowly. But I can already tell you that at the level of the university discourse the object a comes to occupy a place that is in play each time it moves, the place of more or less tolerable exploitation. [33]

Elisabeth then notices that a woman at another table looks just like Brigitte Bardot (who she in fact is) and we hear her with her colleague discuss her delivery of some lines for a play called, The Marvels—he thinks she should deliver them more quickly. The famous sex symbol incarnates an object a of the time. Lacan notes:

The object a is what makes it possible to introduce a little bit of air into the function of surplus jouissance. [34]

Asking Brigitte to re-read a portion about “the projects,” he tells her to forget that she has rehearsed it. “Do it as if you were reading it for the first time.” She complies, and we get a view of a bleak section of Paris while she reads, “There was nothing, nothing at all. They were lost and happy, nothing left to desire.” This “nothingness” can let us meditate on our own status:

You are all an object a, insofar as you are lined up there—so many miscarriages of what has been, for those who engendered you, the cause of desire. And this is where you have to get your bearings from—psychoanalysis teaches you this. [35]

Paul and his three roommates enter a theater, and, after they sit down, Elisabeth has Paul move to insert herself between him and Madeline, but when Paul sits next to Catherine, Madeline switches seats with her and tells Paul that she loves him. An audience member calls out, “Have you finished, darlings?,” and Paul yells back, “Shut up, Trotskyite!” They watch a scene, a parody of Bergman's The Silence, a scene in which a man rapes a woman. The Trotsky comment can help us focus on the picture Lacan is drawing

Please don’t bore me stupid telling me that I would do well to point out to those who are agitating here and there that there is a world of difference between the miscarriage of the high bourgeoisie and that of the proletariat. After all, the miscarriage of the high bourgeoisie, as miscarriage, is not obliged constantly to carry its incubator around with it. [36]

Back at the apartment, we see Catherine and Robert in the kitchen. Robert asks her why she loves Paul (which she denies several times during the conversation) and not him. After more questioning, she says that the things he wants to know are none of his business. He replies, “But I love you, so I want to know what you're like.” Catherine answers, “Well, if it isn't mutual, it's just egoism on your part.” Robert's egotism reflects an anecdote of Lacan's, one that illustrates

... that the claim to situate oneself at a point that would all of a sudden be particularly illuminated, illuminable, and that would manage to make these relations move, must not, all the same, be elevated to the point to which things were pushed by a person—a little recollection that I give to you—who accompanied me for two or three months of what it is customary to call the folly of youth. This delightful person said to me, “I am of pure proletarian race.” [37]

When Catherine, to Robert’s question, says she’s not particularly interested in democracy, he asks if she is interested in anything that goes on around her. She protests that she is curious about many things, but says it's difficult to give an example. They ask various questions of each other, and she points out continually that many of his questions (such as whether she's had sex) are none of his business, then Robert starts reading a paper, and Catherine asks what it is. He says it is his lecture for his cell. She starts washing dishes and asks, “Why is a workman described as skilled, but not actors or clerks?” He says it's explained in his lecture. He says he belongs to the category of skilled worker capable of executing a “complete revolution,” and reads his speech, comparing producing complex machinery to the revolutionary process. She takes the paper and reads the last part, “while working, your mind functions since you already know the outcome...no pun intended, but this, too, is the revolutionary spirit.” The delusion of perfection expressed in Robert’s paper continues the aforementioned theme:

We are never finally done with segregation. I can tell you that it will only ever continue to increase. Nothing can function without it—what is happening here, as the a, the a in living form, miscarriage that it is, displays the fact that it is an effect of language. [38]

After an intertitle saying, “This Film Could Be Called, The Children Of Marx And Coca-Cola.  Make Of It What You Will,” we see Paul and Catherine walking down the street. A man asks Paul for a light, and when Paul brings a matchbox out, he takes the whole box. Paul goes after him, then returns, telling Catherine that he has set himself on fire. Catherine argues that she would have heard him if that had happened, and asks why he would do it outside the American Hospital. Paul says that he had taped his mouth shut. He says that the man left a note and tells her to go see for herself. When she returns she says he is dead, and that the note says, “Peace in Vietnam.” With this darker evocation of an early scene, we can remember that,

[b]e that as it may, there is in every case a level at which things do not work out. It’s the level of those who have produced the effects of language, since no child is born without having to deal with this traffic by the intermediary of his beloved so-called progenitors, who were themselves caught up in the entire problem of discourse, with the previous generation behind them also. And this is the level at which it would really [be] necessary to have made enquiries. [39]

As they reach their destination, Catherine asks Paul if he loves Madeline, and he answers, “Don’t start that again!” They enter a studio, and we hear Madeline singing, making her new disc. After Paul interrupts her, the Director asks Madeline, in American English. to try it again, and sing it “very sweetly.” Madeline listens to the recording and asks him if it could be re-done the next day, and he consents. A reporter from Radio One is waiting outside, and Madeline tells Paul to get “the car.” During Madeline's interview, Paul asks Catherine where he is supposed to get one, and she says, “You said you were a whiz kid, so prove it.” When he goes to “make a call,” Catherine wanders back to where Madeline is being interviewed, and looks on innocently as Madeline answers various questions, such as her favorite music, which she claims is “The Beatles; and for the classics, Bach” The interviewer asks if she has joined "The Pepsi Generation," and she replies yes, she loves Pepsi. After the interview, Madeline and Catherine meet Paul, who, to Madeline's surprise, has managed to trick the War Ministry into thinking he is a general in need of a car – a trick that Paul and Robert had tried before. These rotations and switchings can help us recall the next passage:

If it’s one’s wish that something turn—of course, ultimately, no one can ever turn, as I have emphasized enough—it is certainly not by being progressive, it is simply because it can’t prevent itself from turning. If it doesn’t turn, it will grind away, there where things raise questions, that is, at the level of putting something into place that can be written as a. [40]

We get a montage of street scenes and a voice-over of Paul's thoughts on his opinion polls. “I discovered that all these questions I was asking French people...expressed an ideology of the past and not of the present.  I had to remain vigilant; I had gleaned a few insights as guidelines.  A philosopher is a man who pits his awareness against opinion. To be aware is to be open to the world.  To be honest is to act as though time didn't exist.  To see life, to really see it, that is what wisdom means. Such philosophical musings resonate with Lacan's next question:

Has that ever existed? Yes, no doubt, and it is the Ancients who, in the end, give us its strongest proof and, subsequently, over the course of ages, the informal, classical things that in some way were copied from them. [41]

The final scene takes place at a police station. An officer (or detective) asks Catherine what had happened. She replies that Paul's mother had left him money, and he had bought an apartment. Elisabeth told her that he and Madeline had argued, because Madeline had wanted Elisabeth to move in. Catherine thinks that he wanted to take photos and probably moved too far back, falling to his death, and she concludes that it couldn't have been suicide. The policeman then questions Madeline, who says that it happened just as Catherine said. The officer says that he has heard she is pregnant, and asks what she is going to do. She says that she doesn't know, but that Elisabeth had mentioned curtain rods. We see the word, “feminine” on the screen, then, to the sound of gunshot, all the letters disappear except for the ones that spell, “fin.” Lacan concludes:

For us, at the level at which things are happening for the moment, what can this point of auscultation, everything that in the body remains alive, remains as knowledge, the nursling, … what can this hope for ? [42]

1. Jean-Luc Godard. Masculin Féminin. (1966) in: transcriptvids.com. December 10, 2012.

2. Paul R. Krugman. The Conscience of a Liberal. 2007. in: books.google.com. Undated.

3. “Intrinsic and Extrinsic Motivation” 2003 The Review of Economic Studies Limited in: Oxford Journals (January 1, 2003.)

4. “The cost of inequality: how wealth and income extremes hurt us all” (January 18, 2013.) in: Oxfam.org. (02/2013.)

5. Jacques Lacan. “The Impotence of Truth” (1970) from The Other Side of Psychoanalysis. in: springhero.wordpress.com (June 24 - July 1, 2010.)

6. “The 400 Blows.” in: Wikipedia. June 1, 2014.

7.“Four discourses.” in: Wikipedia. July 29, 2013.

8. Lacan. “Impotence of Truth [1.]”

9. Played by singer Chantal Goya in her first acting role. “Chantal Goya.” in: Wikipedia. December 15, 2013.

10. Lacan. “Impotence of Truth [2.]”

11. Lacan. “Impotence of Truth [2 & 3.]”

12. Lacan. “Impotence of Truth [4.]”

13. Lacan. “Impotence of Truth [5.]”

14. Lacan. “Impotence of Truth [6.]”

15. “Mini.” in: Wikipedia. June 2, 2014.

16-19. Lacan. “Impotence of Truth [6.]”

20-23. Lacan. “Impotence of Truth [7.]”

24. “Nicolas Boileau-Despréaux.” in: Wikipedia. May 13, 2014.

25. “Le Figaro.” in: Wikipedia. April 17, 2014.

26. “Pierre Beaumarchais.” in: Wikipedia. May 8, 2014.

27-28. Lacan. “Impotence of Truth [7.]”

29. “Baccalauréat.” in: Wikipedia. May 28, 2014.

30. Lacan. “Impotence of Truth [8.]”

31. “Olympia (Paris).” in: Wikipedia. May 16, 2014.

32-42. Lacan. “Impotence of Truth [8.]”