Archives of Michel Foucault

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The Archives of Michel Foucault

Knut Ove Eliassen

Abstract: The arch ives of Michel Foucaul tA recurring reference in recent scholarly and theoretical studies of archives is the French

philosopher Michel Foucault’s concept of “archive.” Foucault, however, applies the termin at least three different senses: 1) “The archive” is an analytical and systematic conceptin Foucault’s historical epistemology as it is elaborated in the Archaeology of Knowledge .2) “The archives” are historically embedded institutions functioning as administrativetools that register, store, and provide data about populations and nations, but that alsoexist within the aesthetic field, in the form of museums or libraries. 3) “The archive” isthe name of a place with a singular character that is experienced aesthetically. Archivesin this sense are refuges, belonging to a group of socially and historically constructedspaces Foucault referred to heterotopias . It is the interrelation between these threeconcepts, homonymic yet different, the essay investigates.

Key words: Archive, Foucault, Heterotopia, Archival Science, Archaeology

1. General introduction

During the last decade, “archive” has become an increasingly important concept in socialstudies as well as in the humanities; it has for some years been a buzz word , one of those

terms that function as the markers of new trends, indicating an adherence to a particular

school or field of interest, apparently heralding new and important insights. The success

of the concept has not been limited to academia and scholars; there has been, and still is,

a considerable interest in archives and archive technologies in the arts, and a number of

prestigious galleries and museums have opened up their spaces for exhibitions exploring

the nature of archives and their relations to art, life and politics (for instance Appadurai

2003; Foster 2004; Enzewor, 2008).

This development can be explained in several ways. This brief introduction will

limit itself to three: First of all, computer technology has thoroughly restructured the

processes of recording, storing and distributing data. The virtualization of information not

only changed the accessibility of archives, it transformed their very nature. Archives are



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no longer primarily physical storage spaces contained within impressive monumental

buildings, Arkheions , the nation state’s symbols, memory palaces and nexuses of power;

they are now, as the commercial so succinctly put it, “only a click away.” Innumerable

virtual archives are at our fingertips through the interface of the computer on the desk in

front of us. Such a reconfiguration of the storage spaces of knowledge necessarily bears

upon — indeed reformats — the nature of knowledge itself.

However, the relation between archives and knowledge is one that is imbued with

and regulated by power (Ernst 2002: 7). Archives were originally, and still are, primarily

tools for governing and policing. Thus a second explanation for the increasing interest in

archives is the historical and political upheavals of the late 1980s and the subsequent

opening of archives of former totalitarian regimes giving access to documents hitherto

unknown. The discovery of these “archives of evil,” in the words of Jacques Derrida, therecords of the STASI, the KGB and the Khmer Rouge (Derrida 1995, 1), was a turning

point in the concern of and interest in the public archive’s pivotal function in the power

structures of the information society. Against this backdrop, the combination of

increasing electronic surveillance and the possibilities opened up by information

technology with regards to the storage and treatment of data has lead to a growing

concern for the use and misuse of public archives as control technologies.

Third and finally, a series of questions about the technologies as well as the

political dimensions of the public archive have imposed themselves with new and

pressing acuity. What are the functions of the public archive today and what are the

effects, intended or not, by the many and various archiving technologies we, as citizens,

are subjected to on a daily basis? Hence the question of the archive does not limit itself to

issues of the public sphere, as the private sphere is increasingly affected by the diffusion

of private archive technologies such as the computer, the electronic camera or video

recorder, the weblog, and so forth. The issue at stake is thus: How do these technologies

form us, their users, as subjects?

The opening of the secret and inaccessible archives of the former totalitarian

societies was of great consequence for historians as it provided a plethora of new

information that resulted not only in more varied and nuanced images of our immediate

history, but also the occasional necessary revision which in quite a few cases was of



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immediate political consequence. Moreover, the findings provided ample material for

those with an eye for the control functions of public archives in general, including those

of the democratic societies of the Western world.

The art scene showed, at a very early stage, a remarkable sensitivity to these

issues, and set out to examine and analyze the political and policing aspects of the archive

as well as investigating its many technological aspects. Focusing on how modern media

since their inception have been vital components of the modern archive, and thematizing

aesthetically the relationship between archiving technologies and issues of control,

socialization and subjectivity, much contemporary art echoed the research going on

within the humanities. Academia and art seemingly shared a common intuition: that the

part played by archives in that large aggregate that is the condition of possibility of our

social being is today important enough to merit a thorough analysis. Archives, along withtheir corresponding technologies and their various formats and ordering principles,

provide nothing less than the ordering principles of our collective memory; as genuine

memory palaces they can truly be called the hardware of our unconscious. But also, as

Didi-Hubermann has pointed out, they also remain monuments of our forgetting, and of

that which is not registered, lost to the ravages of time and disasters and thus forgotten

(Didi-Hubermann and Ebeling, 2007). In fact, and this is a crucial point in Derrida’s

analysis of the archive, forgetting is an inherent element in any archive; this is what he

refers to as the archive’s inherent illness or “evil”, it “mal”, or even, in Freudian terms, its

death principle (Derrida, 1995). To analyze the structure of our archives, their history,

modes of functioning, and technologies, it is thus essential to understand how we have

become who we are, and how we are, today, at this point in history.

2. Foucault’s archi ves

Since the archive has provided such a fruitful ground for cultural studies, it will not come

as a surprise that a number of prominent scholars have made attempts to conceptualize it.

French philosopher and historian of ideas Michel Foucault is considered by many to be

one of the pioneers in this field and his concept “archive” has become a recurring

reference in scholarly studies. Yet, and this is rarely accounted for, Foucault employs



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“archive” in several ways. This is in itself neither unusual nor dubious, but is in fact

symptomatic of Foucault’s general approach to concepts; his concepts are formed and

shaped less as building blocks of a systematic theory, than as tools for the analysis of a

given phenomena or for the intervention into a particular political issue. Thus the term

“archive”, as an elaborated concept or as a mere name or word, that is as a more or less

precise reference to a given historical institution, takes on a particular meaning depending

on the context in which it functions, thus yielding a polyvalence that Foucault himself

never explicitly articulates. Nevertheless, or perhaps because of this fact, it seems not

only to be necessary but also to be both instructive and productive to differentiate

between the different ways Foucault sets the term to work. They are at least three.

First of all, “archive” is the name of a concept that functions as an important

analytical tool in Foucault’s historical epistemology; that is, his analyses of the historicaltransformation of knowledge and its forms, and more particularly, as he was prone to

formulate it in the latter part of his career, the history of truth. This is what he himself

called, not “archiveology,” but “archaeology,” since archaeology is, as he playfully puts

it in the The Archaeology of Knowledge , the proper term for the science of the archive (in

his sense of the term), even though the philologist might disagree (Foucault 1968, 173;

Foucault 1994 1d, 499). In this respect, “the archive” is a systematic category; it refers to

the analysis of discourse in its “archive-modality” (Foucault 1994 1f, 595); it goes in pair

with the concept of “archaeology”, that should be understood, as Foucault underlines in a

response to his critics in 1971, in a Kantian sense, as “the history of that which makes a

certain form of thought necessary” (Foucault 1994 2a, 221). It is in this very restricted

sense, that Foucault in the period between 1966 and 1970 employs the term “archive”

when he more or less abruptly stops using it. It is thus strikingly absent from his famous

inaugural lecture at the Collège de France held in December 1970.

Secondly, “archive” is dealt with from the perspective of its function as a

historically embedded institution (although it is necessary at this point to bear in mind

that Foucault’s analysis of power is not a theory of institutions in any conventional

sense). In this case, archives are analyzed as administrative and political tools that serve

to register, store, and provide data about populations and nations, but that also exist

within the aesthetic field, in the shape of museums or libraries. This concept of the



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archive is empirical as it refers to the actual and historical archival institutions and the

archives contained within them. In this sense, the archive is both a collection of

documents and an instrument of power, discipline and knowledge (for instance: Foucault

1968, 71 & 73; Foucault 1994 1d, 499; Foucault 1994 1h, 708).

Thirdly, “archive” is also the name of Foucault’s laboratory in the sense that

archives were his preferred place of work; in them, he spent many of his working days,

carrying out meticulous and detailed historical studies of half forgotten documents. For

him, these archives took on a particular character; he saw them as refuges, spaces for

experiment and experience. The archive is a place where time and space are organized

differently; in brief, what he called a heterotopia , a place that, as it differs from the

spaces that surround it, suspends the established schemata ordering the space-time order,

and thus is experienced aesthetically (Foucault 1994 4, 752). Furthermore, it is the placeto encounter the past in its heterogeneity, an encounter that for Foucault remained

aesthetic in the most literal sense as a bodily experience, as a displacement of the self (a

recurring trope in the oeuvre is Foucault’s description of his physical reactions in the

confrontation with otherness: “I shudder…”, “I tremble..”, “the laughter that was brought

forth by…”, the sheer beauty of…”, etc. For this, cf. Eliassen 2008).

Those familiar with the general outline of Foucault’s philosophy will recognize a

similarity in the organizing pattern of these three perspectives, namely the tripartite

division of knowledge , power and subjectivity that, rightly or wrongly, has become the

very trademark of that particular vein of critical theory that bears Foucault’s name. It is

often overlooked or even forgotten that Foucault repeatedly stresses that his concepts are

fundamentally strategic, that they thus have an ad hoc character, and that his

philosophical position is explicitly nominalist. Hence it is not only important to avoid

hypostatization of Foucault’s analytical terms but one should also bear in mind that his

terminological elaborations are not generally the expressions of an attempt at erecting a

systematic philosophy in the classical sense of term, but rather are tool kits – to extend

his own metaphor of the tool box – to analyze and articulate the political and

epistemological implications of a historically given situation in its singularity.

Bearing his nominalist position in mind, his divergent concepts of the archive can

be seen as just as many attempts at circumscribing and designating, on various and not



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necessarily commensurable levels, what “archive” and “archives” might be, or more

precisely, what it or they might might do . Foucault’s interest in the archive, whether it is

from the point of view of knowledge, of power or of subjectivity, does not focus on what

an archive is , but instead on what an archive does , that is, how that particular

phenomenon that is given identity by the term “archive” function . In other word, he is

interested in its workings and its effects, its pragmatic dimensions, not its essence,

“being” or possible definition.

3. The concept of “ the archive”

In his seminal methodological treatise An Archaeology of Knowledge , published in 1968,

Foucault elaborates as an epistemological concept the term “archive.” L’archive in thesingular form is highly unusual in French, and the choice of word is thus in itself signals

the word’s conceptual status. It can in many ways be regarded as a counter-concept, a

strategic term, as one of its key functions is to serve as a stage prop in Foucault’s

criticism of other — just as abstract but more established — concepts that stress historical

continuity and the transfer of historical meaning. These include terms like tradition,

evolution, development, influence, epoch, and so forth, all well established concepts that

by Foucault are contrasted with the non-hermeneutical concepts of “series” and “event”.

Rather than continuity, he emphasized discontinuity. Instead of universals, he focused on

the particular and specific (Foucault 2004, 5). His ambition was nothing less than to

analyze historical documents, and their statements, without turning to and applying

already established forms of interpretation such as context, influence, tradition, or similar

supra-individual agencies: What he suggests as an alternative is to treat the historical

source material through what might be called a “serial” approach. The analytic strategies

he proposes does in many ways deserve the characterization “defamiliarization”; the

peeling away of all that stands in the way of an analysis of historical source material in its

“rawest” possible state — the statements in their pure facticity.

What Foucault puts forward is a theory of statements, les énoncés , and more

precisely, a theory of what might be articulated at a given time in history: “What is it

possible to talk about?” (Foucault 1994 1g, 682). He is interested in those statements that,



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under a particular set of historical conditions, may qualify as being true, and furthermore,

the mechanisms that regulate why some statements and not others can lay claim to truth.

Finally, he focuses on the internal order that regulates the relation between the statements

that are realized. Archive , Foucault writes, does “not mean the sum of all texts that a

culture has kept upon its person as documents attesting to its own past, or an evidence of

a continuing identity; nor do I mean the institutions, which in a given society, make it

possible to record and preserve those discourses that one wishes to remember and keep in

circulation” (Foucault 1968, 169).

So far, this remains only a negative definition of the archive; it remains to specify

“the archive” in positive terms. It is

the law of what can be said, the system that governs the appearance ofstatements as unique events. But archive is also that which determines thatall these things said do not accumulate endlessly in an amorphous mass.[…] It is the general system of formation and transformation ofstatements. (loc. cit.).

It is important to bear in mind that the procedures designated by the concept of

the archive simultaneously both accumulate and differentiate. However, “the archive”

should not be conceived of as a great unifying principle, and it does not translate the

diverse and multifarious nature of what is said at a given time and place into the

homogenous form of a Weltanschauung , a particular historical vision of the world. The

archive is, on the contrary, “that which differentiates discourses in their multiple

existences and specifies them in their proper duration” (Foucault 1968, 170).

It is worth dwelling a little longer upon this quote because it indicates two

important aspects of the concept of the archive: Firstly, it has the character of an agency.

It is, as he formulates it, “that which differentiates.” Hence, as Judith Revel has pointed

out, it can not be considered a structuralist notion because it refers to discourses as

events, that is, what has been formulated, rather than the system of language in general

(Revel 2002, 9; Foucault 1994 1f, 595). The archive, as Foucault repeatedly stresses,

must be understood as a form of practice, but not in the empirical and concrete sense as

the sheer mass of collected documents. It is, he specifies elsewhere, “a sort of a great

practice of discourses, a practice that has its rules, conditions, ways of functioning and



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effects” (Foucault 1994 1i, 786f.). Thus the archive generates statements; it is productive

just as much as it is restrictive. It should be noted, however, that the archive does not in

general generate speech or utterances as such; the archive is productive in the sense that it

transforms singularities into statements providing what appears as acts of language with

forms that make it recognizable as discourse. It produces and selects, or as Foucault

writes, it rarifies . Gilles Deleuze sums it up thus: “Foucault explains that the statements

are essentially rare . Not only in fact, but by right [ en droit ]; they are inseparable from a

law and an effect of rarity” (Deleuze 1986, 12).

Secondly, the archive organizes by specifying and differentiating; hence it

generates similarities and differences and contains within itself these similarities and

differences within the order of its totality. The archive is thus, with Gilles Deleuze’s

felicitous concept, “a multiplicity” (Deleuze 1986, 23). The statements produced are notmerely the mirror images of the matrix that make them possible. What the archive does,

or rather the procedures it is the conceptual name for, is the regulation of the play of

similitudes and differences that are the conditions of possibility for historical meaning.

Secondly, and this is on a level that is ontological rather than historical, the archive

serves to counteract the prolific nature of the discourse by regulating the profusion of

possible and real acts of language.

We have thus established that, as an epistemological concept, “archive” does not

refer to historically existing archives. It should rather been seen at the name of a practice

and a methodological principle, not the name of a particular institution. As Roger Pol-

Droit reminds, us, an important tenet in Foucault’s methodology is that the archive is not

to be interpreted. “This conviction, so typical for Foucault, that everything is said,

explicitly, in the archives. It is useless to imagine any secret strategies, hidden institutions

in the processes of knowledge and power. Everything is formulated, articulated, repeated

for everyone to see.” (Pol-Droit 2004, 21.) Archeology, in the foucauldian sense of the

term, is thus a purely descriptive endeavor (Hubert and Dreyfus 1982, 87).

Within the overall architecture of Foucault’s epistemology, the term archive was

developed to supplement the three other concepts in Foucault’s epistemology: statement,

discourse and episteme. “Statement” designates the actual historical utterance, torn loose

from any established context, not identified other than by provenance, its coordinates in



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time and space. It is an event, a singularity, but also a possible element of a series.

“Discourse” refers to the historically given and ordered field in which a given statement

is realized, “serialized” and thus equipped with a reference, a source and a destination.

Finally, “episteme” is a much wider concept. It emphasizes historical continuities and

symmetries between separate fields of knowledge, disciplines or specific discourses. A

rough but not especially precise comparison with the more familiar concept of historical

“epoch”, might, for the sake of expediency, be justified, since Foucault frequently refers

to the episteme of the Renaissance and the episteme of Classical Age as if they were

distinct historical entities.

An often overlooked but important aspect of Foucault’s concept of archive is that

it, contrary to the more notorious notion of the “episteme” from The Order of Things

(Foucault 1966), emphasizes discontinuity, transformation and change. In many ways, itreflects and highlights a central and pressing concern in Foucault’s philosophy, his

inquiry into the nature of historical discontinuities and his aversion to universals. While

the concepts of discourse and episteme circumscribe processes of permanence and

similarity, archive designates processes of difference and incongruence. So, if archive is

the name of the practices that regulate what might be stated at a given point in time, it

follows that the archive regulating today’s discourses is not, and cannot be described or

conceptualized, as it is precisely that which makes any conceptualization possible.

Paradoxically, the archive thus also becomes the name of an active process of forgetting,

as historical discontinuity implies that the semantic link to the past has been broken and

that original meaning has passed into oblivion and cannot be resurrected.

This point might be elucidated by the further elaboration of the concept in an

article published towards the end of 1968, “On the archaeology of the sciences”: The

archive, Foucault writes, is “the appearance and disappearance of statements, […] of their

paradoxical existence as events and things. To analyze the facts of discourse in the

general element of the archive, is to consider them not at all as documents […], but as

monuments” (Foucault 1994 1h, 708). The choice of the term “monument” signals that

the concept of archive allows us to analyze the internal order of statements of the past, of

that which has ceased to exercise its influence. The monument has a double function; by

the same gesture that it visibly celebrates and thereby commemorates what has passed, it



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also hides and participates in the forgetting of that which eludes the symbolizing power

of the monument, or that which is — willfully or not — ignored. The monument being an

interpretation, it consigns, by force of pure necessity, that which is not symbolized (or

turned into archive) to the pure outside of semantics, that is, the void of history.

On the other hand, by virtue of their symbolizing power, archives as monuments

of the past also form that from which we differ, that to which we do not belong, that

hence, retroactively, provide us, albeit negatively, with an understanding of our own

historical situatedness; they show us what we not longer are, that from which we are

moving: “The archive is that which separates us from ourselves” (Deleuze 1989, 191).

This particular historical perspective, the reflection of what we are today in the laying

bare of what we were, motivates Foucault’s choice of the term archaeology for the

science of the archive. It also lays bare the limitations of an archival analysis of the present as well as the limits of its value for a political intervention (Foucault 1968, 173;

Foucault 1994 1d, 499).

4. The ins tituti onalized arch ive

The concept of the archive that Foucault develops in the Archaeology of Knowledge has

little to do with the terminology of that well-established discipline known as “archival

science.” Actually, hardly reconcilable with any conventional empirical notion of the

word, Foucault’s concept can be interpreted as the mark of an explicit distancing from the

science of the archive that is “archival science” in the sense of die Archivwissenschaft . As

Wolfgang Ernst has pointed out, this is indicated by the use of the uncommon singular

form, l’archive . The term that is usually employed in French to designate a document

storage facility is les archives , that is, the archiv es (Ernst 2002: 90). This underlines that

an archive in Foucault’s analytic terminology should not be confused with the actual

institution; it is in stead an ordering principle that becomes visible through the patterns of

similitude and difference that establish the individuality of historical sets of discourses.

Nevertheless, even though Foucault in the Archaeology of Knowledge , as well as

in the interviews given at the time of its publication, repeatedly stresses that l’archive , in

the singular, is a theoretical construct and that it should not be confused with an empirical



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concept referring to the actual archive institutions, his abstraction remains haunted in a

paradoxical way by, as it were, the ghost of the historically existing archive institutions.

And, in fact, alert readers will find the occasional hint toward empirically given archival

institutions, for instance when, in the article referred to above, “On the archaeology of the

sciences”, he refers to the archive as “discourse in the system of its institutionalization”

(Foucault 1994 1h, 708). And a year earlier, in an essay called “Of other spaces”,

Foucault specifically states that the notion of the archive, the idea that everything should

be kept, accumulated, as if it were possible, in principle at least, to enclose “in one place,

all times, all the epochs, all the forms, all aesthetic preferences,” — belongs to modernity

(Foucault 1994 4, 759). On both these occasions Foucault seems to use the term to allude

to specific and historically situated institutions, specific places dedicated to the collection

and organization of objects over time. This concept of the archive does thus comes acrosswith a meaning that is not only strictly epistemological and systematical but also

historical and institutional.

In fact, the archive analyzed from the point of view of administrative technology

does play a role in Foucault’s analyses of the emergence of modern institutions (Foucault

1968, 71 & 73). A foray into the semantics of the French archive will illuminate this

further. The French term les archives not only signifies historical archives, but also the

records and registers that serve as “working memories” ( Arbeitsspeicher ) for the servants

of the public administration (Ernst 2002, 90f). Historically, with the advent of the modern

state, the archive became one of the technologies by which populations were governed

and flows of persons, information, goods and live stock were controlled, not to mention

the various secret archives of surveillance and repression. Thus, archive does not only

refer to the registration of events, but also to the devices and measures, to what Foucault

calls les dispositifs . “Dispositif” is a term that designates the various devices, systems and

plans that, according to political science, is needed to manage a population, uphold a state

and defend a territory. As dispositifs, archives play an important part in the politics of

life; they are, to apply another of Foucault’s terms, “biopolitical” instruments. The

bureaucrat, the keeper of the archive, is the incarnation of this modern order; or, to quote

Foucault’s words about one of the author Maurice Blanchot’s literary figures, the public



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servant Henry Sorge: “He is the first form of the law as he transforms every birth into

archive” (Foucault 1994 1e, 530).

The archive in the material and institutionalized senses of the word is thereby

inextricably linked to the question of power, and thus it is also a privileged area for

analyzing and documenting the workings of power. It demands interest not only because

of the information that might be gleaned from its records, but also by virtue of the nature

of its documents, and how they are used:

To write a monograph of a hospital would consist in extracting the archive

of this hospital while being established, as if it were a discourse in the

process of constituting itself that at the same time was interwoven with the

development of the hospital, of other institutions, molding them,reforming them (Foucault 1994 2c, 740).

The archive is thus not a concept that only refers to the ordering of the past. Archival

principles also anticipate the future; the science of the archive is less about the past than

about the ordering of the future. It is, in the most literal sense, a technology of time.

The individual experience with the archive also made itself felt in other arenas,

outside the most explicit domains of biopolitics; these are in one way perhaps less

conspicuous and dramatic, but in another way richer in consequences and analytical

insight. I am referring to the impact of the archives of modernity on the arts. The

establishment of aesthetic archives such as libraries and museums changed the conditions

of possibility of art; this social and epistemological fact was duly noted and thematized

by early modern writers and authors. If national and state archives catalogued and housed

documents of the nation-state, art galleries, museums and libraries collected and

organized cultural and natural artifacts for observation and study.

In a text originally written as a preface to Gustave Flaubert’s novel, The

Temptation of Saint Anthony , Foucault notes:

It might be that [Edouard Manet’s paintings] Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe and

l’Olympia were the first ‘museum’s’ paintings; for the first time in



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European art, canvases were painted […] as a manifestation of the

existence of museums, and the modes of existence and interdependence

that paintings thereby acquired. In the same period, The Temptation was

the first literary work that accounts for the moss-grown institutions where

books accumulate, and where, softly and slowly, their organic knowledge

steadily grows. Flaubert is to the library what Manet is to the museum.

They write and they paint in a fundamental relation to what has already

been painted, what has been written – or rather, to that which in the

painting and in writing, remains infinitely open. Their art erects itself

where the archive forms itself (Foucault 1994 1b, 299).

The archive thus marks the end of the romantic notion of the artist. After themuseum and the library, there are no absolute beginnings. What Eduard Manet and

Gustave Flaubert bears testimony to, according to Foucault is that “every painting now

belongs within the squared and massive surface of painting and all literary works are

confined to the indefinite murmur of what is written” (Foucault 1994 1b, 299). The artist

can no longer conceive of his work as a unique; the condition of art is what the archive

has accumulated. This historical reconfiguration of artistic space, and, just as important,

of art’s memory structure, as American art critic Hal Foster formulates it, is, on the one

hand, an expression of the modern experience, of how the individual finds the conditions

of its expressivity preformed by the archive and the art institutions that harbors it (Foster

2002, 65). On the other hand, Foucault finds no reason to lament; instead of a loss, it

marks new possibilities, as does every historical reconfiguration of the space of

knowledge and power, and allows for new forms of individuality, for new forms of art. In

its institutionalized form the archive is thus neither good nor bad, but rather a part of that

dynamic whole of forms of knowledge and power relations that informs the historical a

priori for any being.



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5. The archive as heterotopia

The theme of aesthetic experience made possible, but also circumscribed, by the

historical institutionalizations of the archive known under the monikers library and

museum, brings us to the last of Foucault’s three archives: The archive as Foucault’s

arena of research and experimentation, as a heterotopia . As such, two different,

complementary aspects of the archive are of interest. On the one hand, the archive as the

ground where Foucault confronted and grappled with the documents of past, that fueled

and spurred on his historical imagination. On the other hand, by being the particular

space within which this event took place — an enclosed arena for the experience of

difference — the archive, by the powers of its materiality, was for the philosopher a place

for singular experiences.

It has been repeatedly pointed out that Foucault was a man of the archive

(Chartier 2006 37f.). Not unlike Manet and Flaubert, his historical awareness takes as its

starting point the existence of the archive. It has been argued that this also marks the

limits of his perspective because Foucault was and remained a historian of the classical

archive (for instance by Kittler 1986, and later by Ernst 2002). Foucault’s archives

contain only documents, the argument goes. Made up by written documents, they exclude

recordings, film or other analogue media, and most certainly information in a digital

format. However, it has been forcefully claimed by others, most notably Gilles Deleuze,that Foucault’s archive is audiovisual, and the remarks quoted above with regards to the

painting of Manet seem to point in the same direction (Deleuze 1986, 58f.). Nevertheless,

when it comes to Foucault’s poetics of the archive, that is, his notion of the archive as a

place for experimentation, what the Archaeology of knowledge refers to as “the

discursive” obviously plays a much more prominent role than the “non-discursive”.

However, to once more refer to Deleuze’s forceful reading of Foucault, within the

audiovisual archive the relations that are established between those irreducible entities

“that which can be seen” and “that which can be said” gives the “primacy” to “the

discursive” (the term “primacy” is borrowed from Althusser) (Deleuze 1986, 67). This is

linked to what can be called a poetics or even aesthetics of the historical document.

This idea appears with what, to the best of my knowledge, is the first occurrence

of the word “archive,” although in the plural, in Foucault’s work. It is to be found in the



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original, later to be suppressed, preface to his thesis from 1960, Folie et Déraison.

L’Histoire de la folie à l’âge classique ( Madness and Unreason: History of Madness in

the Classical Age ). For the first time, Foucault here articulates a desire to let the archives

speak for themselves, without the interference of any interpreting mediator. He explicitly

states that he wishes to give access to the statements of those deemed mad, to those who

have not been permitted to speak in their own right, except through the mediation of

others (Foucault 1994 1a, 166).

The idea of letting the unheard voices of the past speak for themselves became a

recurring theme in Foucault’s work. In his analyses of modern society’s disciplining

institutions, such as the hospital, the prison and its educational systems, what

characterizes Foucault’s approach is the attempt to search out that which has been

overlooked and marginalized. The canonical treatises thus have no priority over the half-forgotten or even completely overlooked. A consequence of this approach was his

publication of historical source material that was more or less left to speak for itself, with

a minimum of comments, such as the 1982 collaboration with Arlette Farge, Le Désordre

de familles. Lettres de Cachet des Archives de la Bastille au XVIIIe siècle (The Disorder

of the Families: Letters of Denunication from the Bastille Archives ). This is a large

collection of archival material, so-called lettres de cachet . These are eighteenth century

letters by people from the popular classes, often written with the help of a literate third

person, denouncing family members and neighbors to the police. The accusations cover a

large variety of various crimes, ranging from drunken and disorderly conduct to abuse,

physical violence and murder. By permitting the material to speak for itself, Foucault

illustrates how the archive, in a singular, occasionally almost poetic way, gives access to

unique, often nameless persons that, through singular encounters with institutions of

power and discourse, emerge as individual destinies.

What the collaboration with Farge illustrates, as does the slightly earlier collective

effort from 1973, Moi, Pierre Rivière, ayant égorgé ma mère, ma soeur et mon frère ( Me,

Pierre Rivière, having strangled my mother, my sister and my brother ), demonstrates a

double aspect of the archive. Firstly, it provides an illustration of how public archives are

a tool in the administration and organization of a population, in other words, the

technologies of power. Secondly, and, perhaps more importantly, the documents of the



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archive contain the necessary material for turning a dead past into history. The individual

but nameless appeals of the denouncers emerge from what one with one of Foucault’s

favorite expressions could call the “anonymous murmuring” of the archive. The

documents demands attention, and Foucault’s fascination is evident in the way these

historical documents are characterized in his text on “infamous lives” from 1977 as

“poems” ( poème vies , d’étranges poèmes ), narrating destinies that leave him “trembling”

(Foucault 1994 3, 237pp).

However, it is important not to interpret Foucault’s fascination for the historical

document as a theory of emphatic Einfühlung . It is not about reliving the past, rather, it

allows for a perception of that which is different in the past (necessarily so as these are

voices that have not been allowed to become a part of tradition or canon). One should

rather look towards Foucault’s eponymous monograph on the obscure French proto-surrealist Raymond Roussel from 1963 to find the keys to his aesthetic fascination with

the documents of the archive (translated into English as the Death and the Labyrinth ).

The experience of the historical document, or the particular anecdote, is at the same time

an experience of time and an experience of language.

Before the emergence of accessible digital databases of print documents, the

archive could not be separated from its material expression as a physical edifice.

Metonymically, the archive was the very building that gave room to an “indefinite

accumulation of time” and knowledge. However, this also means that archives are

physical places where people meet and examine the archived objects. In this respect,

archives are a particular place, and due to their particular social and theoretical functions,

spaces set apart. Wholly devoted to the past, they are pockets of different time structures

within a larger social chronotope, organized along different vectors, and, by virtue of this

contrast, what Foucault, in his 1967 lecture “Of Other Spaces,” called “heterotopias”

(Foucault, 1994 4, 752).

Archives, such as national libraries, have, since the seventeenth century, served as

general archives to accumulate everything, to enclose in one place, and erected as shelters

against the ravages of time. In itself a defensive action, an act of preservation, this

archiving was productive in ways undoubtedly unforeseen, as the aforementioned

examples of Manet and Flaubert illustrate. With the steady increase in the sheer quantity



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of accumulated books, documents, texts and information of various sorts, the nature of

what is stored changes. In the words of Foucault:

The nineteenth century invented the absolute documentary conservation: it

created with its ‘archives’ and the library a base of stagnated language

(langage stagnant ) that exists merely to be discovered by itself, in its

essence as pure language” (Foucault 1994 1c, 429).

The pre-digital archives of Foucault are deposits of collections of pure language.

It is the nature of the archiving principle to order collections not on the basis of the

meaning of their elements, but rather on the basis of classificatory principles, such as the

nature of its provenance, or its place in a systematic catalogue like the Dewey Decimal

System. The order of the archive is thus not based on interpretation but on classification.However, this also carries with it a dimension of a possible poetics of the strange, foreign

and uncanny, to which the famous allusion to Jorge Luís Borges’ Chinese encyclopaedia

at the opening of The Order of Things testifies.

This passage quotes a “certain Chinese encyclopedia” in which it is written that “animals

are divided into: (a) belonging to the Emperor, (b) embalmed, (c) tame, (d) suckling pigs,

(e) sirens, (f) fabulous, (g) stray dogs, (h) included in the present classification, (i)

frenzied, (j) innumerable, (k) drawn with a very fine camel hair brush, (l) et cetera , (m)

having just broken the water pitcher, (n) that from a long way off look like flies.” In the

wonderment of this taxonomy, the thing we apprehend in one great leap, the thing that,

by means of the fable, is demonstrated as the exotic charm of another system of thought,

is the limitation of our own, the stark impossibility of thinking that (Foucault 1966, 7;

translation taken from the English edition, 1970) .

Borges’ example stages in a striking manner the arbitrariness of any classification

and the strange poetics hiding within taxonomy. As a contrast to that to which we arefamiliar, this alternative and strange order of things reveals the randomness that, for

historical reflexivity, haunts any systematic organization of words and things. The central

aspiration of Foucault’s Archaeology of Knowledge can be understood as an effort to

overcome this paradox by discarding as far as possible any interpretative grid in the



18

treatment, analysis and the understanding of historical documents; hence the explicit

ambition to dissolve traditional hermeneutic preconceptions like work, intention,

tradition, evolution, development, influence, epoch, and so forth by treating the historical

material as elements in a series, as statements, that is, in their rawest possible form.

Considered from the point of view of singularities, the guiding idea is to treat the

mass of sources in such a way that, by virtue of mere accumulation, they would divide

themselves into groups and families, not based on their contents or intentions, but on their

formal and functional concurrence. Importantly, this is not a question of choice but

rather, follows from the effort to go beyond the metaphysics of history. If history is no

longer a given unified movement to which one can appeal, the serial method offers an

alternative. This is, in a way, analogous to the ways in which the natural historian

organizes his objects based on their morphology. The ambition was, and still remains,daring and challenging; not the least as it so overtly demonstrates how historical

signification and significance are always constructed, always the product of a creation.

In a review, Gilles Deleuze once characterized the nature of Foucault’s project in

The Archaeology of Knowledge as “poetry-archaeology” – poème-archéologie (Deleuze

1986, 28). And there is little doubt that much of the inspiration for Foucault’s

epistemology in general, and his notion of discourse in particular, can be found in the

writings of two authors held in high esteem by Foucault, Maurice Blanchot and Raymond

Roussel. In stressing the productive, even creative aspect of Foucault’s treatment of the

archive, the epithet provided by the title of the same review, “A new kind of archivist,”

seems appropriate (Deleuze 1986, 11).

One might object to such an undertaking and for many different reasons.

Nevertheless, the point remains that the archive, in the plural sense as les archives , and

the order of the archive, in the singular, l’archive , are always the product of an effort.

And archives do not exist in a vacuum, they serve purposes and they have effects. They

mediate between the present and the past, the individual and the society’s institution; they

are part of that which draws the borders for what we may do, what may know, what we

may be. Any revolutionary will know, as Foucault himself put it in one of his more

militant moments, that “the people always constitute its immediate archives” (Foucault

1984 2b, 658). To establish an archive is thus not merely the ordering and, eventually, the



19

interpretation of that which has been left or handed down by past generations. It has less

to do with inheritance than with the creation of a world to come. This is what Foucault

means when he asserts that the archive turns documents into monuments.

6. Concluding remarks

By archive, I primarily understand the mass of the things said in a culture,

conserved, valorized, reused, repeated and transformed. In short, this

verbal mass that has been fabricated by people, invested in their

techniques and their institutions, and that is woven into their existence and

their history. I do not consider this mass of things said, from the side of

language, but from the side of the operations that give birth to it (Foucault1994 1i, 786).

This essay’s point of departure was the observation that “archive” had become a buzz

word, a theoretical brand name, and as such called for some conceptual reflection. One

regularly observes that terms and concepts that are “fashionable” little by little lose their

original precision and that they thus are in need of being “overhauled” so that they may

regain their original precision. Occasionally, such conceptual reworking helps us to gain

new insights and reveals semantic and analytic potential not previously evident.

We have argued that Foucault employs the term archive in at least three different

senses. To differentiate between these three not only provides a better understanding of

Foucault — and one that is both more coherent and nuanced — but also sharpens the

archive as a conceptual elaboration and as an analytical tool, and allowing for more

precise analyses of the nature and function of archives. But even though the differences

between the three senses of the term archive might permit us to speak of three different

concepts, they share one common feature: They are all various forms of practices.

From the point of view of an institutional practice, the archive is a part of a larger

system that turns individuals into citizens; it is a nexus for power relations, forms of

knowledge and processes of subjectivization. Endowing the nation state’s individuals

with a past, an identity, a name, in short, a record – be it of an individual or a collective



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nature – archives belong to the mechanisms of socialization and control of the modern

world. Archives accumulate, order and structure the records of the past, in order to master

the future and regulate historical contingencies (turning what Derrida with Blanchot calls

l’à-venir into l’avenir ). Furthermore, as epistemological concepts, they delineate the

horizon of that which can be said at a given point in time. Their order is the system of

that which we can articulate and acknowledge. Thereby the archive also separates us

from ourselves; that which we now no longer are.

While on the one hand, that which we now no longer are serves as the basis for

mechanisms and protocols of control, it is also, by virtue of its historical foreignness, a

reservoir for the experience of alterity, of the fundamental modern experience of the

temporally and ontologically split subject, Rimbaud’s famous, “je est un autre,” that is,

the I is always-already an other. The archive as the privileged place for the experience ofthis temporal displacement is the archive as heterotopia; in this respect, archives are

collections of time slices, of anonymous language; places of different experiences, for

experimentations, and places that might permit the creation of different pasts, traditions

or individualities. Of a double nature, archives are at the same time that which produces

and reproduces the well-known and familiar and that which allows for ruptures and

breaks with the past and the advent of something new. The archive creates, and it is

created. It is a practice where power is established, but it is also the place where power

structures can be overturned or subverted. Archives might store the past, but they are

fundamentally technologies of the future and as such eminently political.

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Documents

Archives of Michel Foucault