Chapter 4
The Lost Art of Deep Attention in a Hyperactive World
Our society's excessive positivity manifests as an overabundance of stimuli, information, and impulses. This overload fragments our attention and perception, creating a state of constant distraction. Multitasking, often celebrated as a skill of the modern professional, actually represents a regression to a more primitive state of consciousness rather than civilizational progress.
Consider the attention patterns of wild animals. They must simultaneously eat while watching for predators and rivals-their survival depends on dividing their attention across multiple tasks. They cannot afford the luxury of immersing themselves contemplatively in any single activity. Our modern hyperattention increasingly resembles this vigilant but scattered awareness, pushing human society deeper into what Han provocatively calls "wilderness."
The cultural achievements of humanity-philosophy, art, literature-depend on deep, contemplative attention that our modern condition increasingly displaces. The capacity for sustained focus, for dwelling with a single thought or perception, has become rare. We have developed a low tolerance for boredom, that empty space where creativity once flourished.
Walter Benjamin beautifully described deep boredom as "the dream bird that hatches the egg of experience." This profound idleness-not to be confused with mere laziness-creates the mental space necessary for genuine thought and creativity. Yet achievement society has all but eliminated this contemplative state, replacing it with constant activity and stimulation.
When we cannot tolerate emptiness, we lose what Benjamin called "the gift of listening" and "the community of listeners." Conversation becomes mere exchange of information rather than shared contemplation. Reading becomes scanning rather than absorption. Thinking becomes processing rather than reflection.
Someone who cannot endure boredom while walking simply accelerates to running-a faster version of the same utilitarian movement. But someone who can dwell in that boredom might discover dancing-a luxurious movement that transcends mere utility. This transformation requires precisely the contemplative lingering that achievement society discourages.
Only through contemplative composure can we access phenomena that are fleeting or slow-developing. Cezanne claimed he could "see" the fragrance of things-a perception possible only through patient attention. Without such contemplative depth, Nietzsche warned, civilization degenerates into barbarism through "deadly hyperactivity."
This isn't merely nostalgic longing for a simpler time. The stakes are our capacity for depth itself-in relationships, in thought, in experience. When attention becomes a scarce resource, what suffers isn't just productivity but humanity's distinctive capacity for contemplation, for seeing beyond the immediate and obvious, for dwelling with complexity rather than reducing it to digestible bits.
Chapter 5
The Transformation of Human Activity: From Contemplation to Labor
Hannah Arendt's "The Human Condition" attempted to rehabilitate vita activa (active life) against the traditional primacy of vita contemplativa (contemplative life). She observed that modern society had nullified genuine action by degrading humans into animal laborans-mere beasts of burden concerned only with biological survival. For Arendt, the modern individual was "submerged in the over-all life process of the species," abandoning individuality for functional behavior. She even warned that humans might be developing into "that animal species from which, since Darwin, he imagines he has come."
However, Arendt's analysis no longer fully captures our contemporary condition. Today's achievement society has transformed the animal laborans in ways she couldn't have anticipated. The late-modern achievement-subject isn't characterized by surrender of individuality but by an ego "just short of bursting." Rather than passive submission to biological necessity, we see hyperactivity and hyperneurosis-an intensification rather than diminishment of selfhood.
Modern life has become radically fleeting, with nothing promising duration or substance. This transience produces a profound nervousness and unease. Work itself has been reduced to bare activity corresponding to bare life-mere survival without higher meaning. In the absence of transcendent purpose, health has been elevated to divine status-not as a means to a good life but as an end in itself.
We've all become what Giorgio Agamben calls homines sacri-but with a crucial difference. We aren't expendable lives that can be sacrificed; we're "undead" bare life that must be preserved at any cost. The hyperactivity and hysterical work ethic of achievement society represent reactions to this bareness-attempts to fill the void left by the loss of meaning beyond survival.
This creates a society where everyone carries what Han calls "a work camp inside"-simultaneously prisoner and guard of their own productivity. The achievement-subject has internalized the imperative to work, transforming external compulsion into self-compulsion. The walls of the factory have disappeared not because work has been abolished but because it has been universalized-life itself has become work.
The tragedy is that this internalization presents itself as freedom. The achievement-subject believes they are acting autonomously when they push themselves to exhaustion. They experience their self-exploitation as self-realization. This is the perfect ideology for late capitalism-workers who drive themselves harder than any external authority could, all while believing they are expressing their freedom.
Chapter 6
Learning to See: The Forgotten Value of Contemplative Resistance
The vita contemplativa-that increasingly rare contemplative life-requires instruction in a particular way of seeing. As Nietzsche explains in "Twilight of the Idols," learning to see means developing "calm, patience, letting things come to you." This isn't passive reception but active cultivation of deep, contemplative attention-what he calls "the first preliminary schooling for spirituality."
This contemplative seeing involves learning "not to react immediately to a stimulus" but to exercise "inhibiting, excluding instincts." It requires resistance to the constant flow of impressions and impulses that bombard us. In our hyperactive society, this capacity for contemplative resistance has become increasingly rare.
What's particularly insidious is that hyperactivity often masks mental exhaustion. The person who cannot sit still, who must constantly check their phone, who fills every moment with activity, isn't displaying energy but its absence. They lack the mental strength to resist stimuli, to create space between impulse and action.
What Arendt missed in her analysis is that hyperactive intensification leads paradoxically to hyperpassivity-obedience to every impulse without resistance. True action requires what Han calls "the negativity of an interruption"-a making-pause that allows us to measure contingency and possibility. Our accelerated world lacks these vital "betweens" and "between-times" that make reflection possible.
The loss of negativity-our capacity to say "no," to resist, to interrupt-diminishes our capacity for rage. Unlike mere annoyance, which is reactive and fleeting, rage requires a temporality incompatible with acceleration. Rage questions the present entirely and can initiate new states. It requires depth that our surface-level reactions lack.
Similarly, the positivization of society weakens negative feelings like dread and mourning, reducing thinking to mere calculation. We're becoming what Han calls "autistic performance-machines" as efforts to maximize performance abolish the very negativity that keeps existence alive and meaningful.
Consider how we've transformed meditation into yet another productivity tool-"mindfulness" becomes not a practice of contemplative depth but a technique for better performance. Even our attempts to slow down are co-opted by the achievement paradigm, becoming means to greater productivity rather than alternatives to it.
The capacity to resist immediate reaction, to create space between stimulus and response, isn't just a philosophical luxury-it's the foundation of human freedom. Without this negativity, this ability to say "no" to the constant flow of stimuli, we become mere reaction machines, responding automatically to whatever appears before us. The pedagogy of seeing that Nietzsche advocated is ultimately a pedagogy of freedom-learning to see differently is learning to be differently.
Chapter 7
Bartleby's Refusal: Exhaustion in the Disciplinary Workplace
Herman Melville's "Bartleby the Scrivener" provides a fascinating window into an earlier form of workplace exhaustion. Rather than reading Bartleby as a heroic figure of resistance, Han interprets him pathologically-as a victim of an inhumane working world where inhabitants have degraded to animal laborans. The office atmosphere Melville describes is hostile to life, surrounded by black walls creating a cistern-like workspace "deficient in life."
While Turkey and Nippers, Bartleby's colleagues, suffer from neurotic hyperactivity (each in their own way), Bartleby falls into silent immobility, developing neurasthenic symptoms. His signature phrase "I would prefer not to" expresses not spiritual deferral but apathy and lack of drive-a passive resistance rather than active refusal.
This disciplinary society is marked by walls and partitions-"wall" being one of the most frequent words in the text, often associated with death. Bartleby ultimately dies in prison isolation, having refused to leave the office building after being dismissed. Unlike subjects of late-modern achievement society, he doesn't suffer from feelings of inadequacy or self-aggression; his monotonous copying work leaves no space for initiative or self-flourishing.
Giorgio Agamben's ontotheological interpretation of Bartleby as embodying "pure potentiality" misses the mark. Bartleby exhibits neither self-reference nor world-reference, existing in apathetic absence with "dim eyes." His refusal to write doesn't announce potency but reflects a negative being-unto-death. The narrative ends not with messianic hope but exhaustion: "Ah Bartleby! Ah humanity!"
Bartleby's condition differs fundamentally from contemporary burnout. He suffers from the constraints of disciplinary society-the walls, the monotony, the lack of autonomy. His refusal is passive, his suffering imposed from without. The achievement-subject, by contrast, suffers from too much possibility, too much autonomy. Their burnout comes not from external constraints but from internal compulsion.
This distinction highlights the historical transformation from disciplinary to achievement society. Bartleby is crushed by a system that demands obedience and offers no space for self-realization. The contemporary burnout patient is exhausted by a system that demands self-realization and offers no limits to achievement. Bartleby's "I would prefer not to" expresses withdrawal from an oppressive system; the achievement-subject lacks even the language to refuse, having internalized the demand to achieve.
The wall that confines Bartleby is visible and external; the walls that confine the achievement-subject are invisible and internal. This makes contemporary exhaustion more insidious-there's no obvious oppressor to resist, no clear constraint to refuse. The achievement-subject is both prisoner and guard, victim and perpetrator of their own exploitation.
Chapter 8
The Paradox of Freedom: Tiredness in Achievement Society
Achievement society is evolving into a doping society where "neuro-enhancement" enables achievement without the experience of achieving. Some scientists argue these substances should be used responsibly, ensuring fair access for all. Yet doping merely represents the reduction of complex human vitality to functional capacity-another step in the transformation of humans into performance machines.
The flipside of our achievement society is excessive tiredness-not an immunological reaction to otherness, but the result of too much positivity, too much sameness. The Austrian writer Peter Handke distinguishes between two fundamentally different kinds of tiredness: a divisive, solitary tiredness that isolates and blinds us, and a reconciliatory tiredness that opens possibilities.
The first kind destroys language and proximity: "Such tiredness destroyed our power to speak, our souls." It distorts perception and leads to violence-the exhaustion that makes us incapable of seeing others as anything but obstacles or instruments. This is the tiredness of the achievement society, the burnout that isolates us in our failure.
But Handke also describes an eloquent "fundamental tiredness" that loosens ego strictures, creating a between-space where "the Other becomes I." This world-trusting tiredness shifts gravity from ego to world, making one accessible to touch and being touched. It enables lingering, inspires through not-doing, and grants access to slow forms that hyperattention misses.
This deep tiredness becomes a kind of salvation, bringing wonder back: "Everything becomes extraordinary in the tranquility of tiredness." It loosens identity, makes things vibrate with friendly indifference, and reveals connections between singularities-like creatures in a Dutch still life existing together in a single moment, neither hierarchically arranged nor in competition.
This "we-tiredness" holds people together in an "ethereal" cloud. Unlike exhaustion's positive tiredness that renders one incapable, inspiring tiredness is a negative potency of "not-to." Like the Sabbath (meaning "stopping"), it creates an interval free from all "in-order-to" purposes-a sacred time for "the use of the useless."
This disarming tiredness replaces resolution with calm, creating periods of in-difference as friendliness. Handke envisions an "immanent religion of tiredness" where a particular rhythm emerges, creating proximity without familial connections. The tired person becomes "a new Orpheus" around whom even wild beasts gather. This "Pentecostal company" of the specially tired might be the society of the future-a society of tiredness that transcends achievement society's compulsive activity.
In Kafka's revision of the Prometheus myth, "The gods grew weary, the eagles grew weary, the wound closed wearily." Han reinterprets this as depicting today's achievement-subject inflicting violence upon itself. Prometheus, who gave mankind both fire and work, represents the self-exploiting subject, with the eagle as its alter ego. The liver pain symbolizes overwhelming fatigue. Yet Kafka envisions a healing tiredness where "the wound closes wearily"-suggesting the possibility of recovery through a different relationship to tiredness itself.
Chapter 9
The Self-Exploiting Subject: Depression in the Age of Freedom
The contemporary achievement-subject differs fundamentally from Freud's disciplinary subject. The Freudian ego operates within a repressive apparatus of commandments and prohibitions, appropriate for disciplinary society. But contemporary achievement society has shed these negative prohibitions, presenting itself as a society of freedom. The modal verb shifts from "Should" to "Can."
The late-modern achievement-subject possesses an entirely different psyche than Freud's obedience-subject-poor in negation, rich in affirmation, possibly without an unconscious in the Freudian sense. The Freudian/Kantian subject was internally divided, acting at the behest of Another within itself-a "doubled self" simultaneously defendant and judge. This subject of duty represses pleasurable inclinations in favor of virtue, expecting God to reward moral labor with happiness.
But today's achievement-subject pursues freedom, pleasure and inclination, expecting enjoyment from work and hearkening mainly to itself as a self-starting entrepreneur. This freedom from the Other isn't merely liberating-it creates new constraints through narcissistic self-relation, causing many contemporary psychic disturbances.
The absence of relation to the Other causes a crisis of gratification. Recognition and gratification require the instance of the Other-it's impossible to truly reward oneself. For Kant, God was this instance of gratification, rewarding moral accomplishment. Without this relation, the achievement-subject feels compelled to perform more and more.
Contemporary relations of production exacerbate this problem by making definitive work impossible. One works endlessly "into the open" without conclusive forms that have a beginning and end. Richard Sennett correctly traces this gratification crisis to narcissistic disturbance and absent relation to the Other: "Self-absorption does not produce gratification, it produces injury to the self... nothing new, nothing 'other,' ever enters the self."
While experience involves encountering the Other and being altered, mere experiencing expands the ego into the world through comparison. Self-love maintains distance from the Other, but narcissism blurs boundaries. Without reference to the Other, no stable self-image can form.
Depression is not a disorder of repression but of aspiration-not what we're forbidden to be but what we're compelled to become. The depressive has failed not against external standards but against their own internalized ideals. They suffer not from external prohibition but from internal impossibility-the inability to meet the limitless demands they place upon themselves.
The late-modern ego lacks definition, making it flexible, able to assume any form or function. This shapelessness creates economic efficiency but leads to psychic disturbances like depression, burnout, and ADHD-conditions indicating not repression but an excess of positivity and inability to say no. The achievement-subject is not forbidden from being themselves; they are commanded to be themselves-but a self that must constantly outperform itself.
Chapter 10
Beyond Burnout: Rethinking Freedom in a Self-Exploiting World
Contemporary psychic maladies like depression, burnout, and ADHD indicate not negativity but an excess of positivity-the inability to say no. Unlike psychoanalytic disorders that stem from repression and negation, these conditions emerge from being-able-to-do-everything rather than not-being-allowed-to-do-anything. Psychoanalysis therefore offers no adequate approach to these phenomena, as depression doesn't involve repression from dominating forces like the superego.
Achievement society dismantles barriers and prohibitions of disciplinary society to enhance performance, creating a state of general dissolution and boundlessness. The unconscious plays no part in depression, yet Ehrenberg mistakenly holds to this idea, throwing his argument off course by linking depression to "the irreducible" and "uncontrollable"-figures of negativity no longer constitutive of our positivity-dominated achievement society.
New media and communications technology dilute being-for-otherness. The virtual world lacks alterity and resistance, allowing the ego to move independently of the "reality principle." In virtual spaces, the narcissistic ego primarily encounters itself. Virtualization makes the real disappear-that which offers both resistance and support.
The late-modern achievement-subject, with surplus options, cannot form intensive bonds. Depression severs all attachments, unlike mourning which maintains strong libidinal connection to an object. Depression is objectless and undirected, distinct from melancholy which maintains a negative relation to something absent. The achievement-subject devotes most libidinal energy to itself, scattering remaining energy among fleeting contacts. Social networks primarily heighten narcissism by granting attention to the ego exhibited as commodity.
Burnout isn't failure of self-mastery but the pathological consequence of voluntary self-exploitation. The imperative of transformation and self-reinvention-depression's flipside-serves capitalist production by encouraging identity changes that dynamize markets. While disciplinary society relied on fixed identity, achievement society requires flexibility to heighten production.
The achievement-subject's problem isn't competition with others but self-referential competition-the destructive compulsion to outdo itself repeatedly. In the shift from disciplinary to achievement society, the repressive superego transforms into the seductive ego ideal. The achievement-subject projects itself onto this ideal rather than submitting to external authority. When the ego cannot reach its unattainable ideal, it experiences auto-aggression.
No longer subject to others, the achievement-subject becomes a "project" that exploits itself until burnout, developing self-aggression that often escalates to self-destruction. The project becomes a projectile aimed at oneself. The society of positivity, believing itself free from external constraints, becomes entangled in destructive self-constraints.
The achievement-subject stands free from external domination yet gives itself over to freestanding compulsion to maximize performance. Auto-exploitation proves more efficient than allo-exploitation because it's accompanied by a deceptive feeling of freedom. The exploiter is simultaneously the exploited.
Capitalist economy absolutizes survival rather than the good life, reducing existence to bare biological processes stripped of narrativity. Health becomes self-referential, a purposiveness without purpose. The homines sacri of achievement society differ from those in sovereignty society-they cannot be killed at all but exist as the undead: too alive to die, too dead to live.
This is the final paradox of achievement society: in pursuing unlimited life, we create a form of living death-existence without meaning, activity without purpose, freedom without fulfillment. The way beyond burnout society requires not just different work practices but a fundamental rethinking of freedom itself-not as unlimited possibility but as meaningful limitation, not as absence of constraint but as presence of purpose.
