To explain the mind, we have to show how minds are built from mindless stuff, from parts that are much smaller and simpler than anything we would consider smart. Unless we can explain the mind in terms of things that have no thoughts or feelings of their own, we’ll only have gone around in a circle. Marvin Minsky, The Society of Mind, p.18

When first you found some building toys in early childhood, you probably spent joyful weeks of learning what to do with them. If such toys are now relatively dull, then you must ask yourself how you have changed. Before you turned to more ambitious things, it once seemed strange and wonderful to be able to build a tower or a house of blocks. Yet, though all grown-up persons know how to do such things, no one understands how we learn to do them? And that is what will concern us here. To pile up blocks into heaps and rows: these are skills each of us learned so long ago that we can’t remember learning them at all. Marvin Minsky, The Society of Mind, p.21

Common sense is not a simple thing. Instead, it is an immense society of hard-earned practical ideas - of multitudes of life-learned rules and exceptions, dispositions and tendencies, balances and checks. If common sense is so diverse and intricate, what makes it seem obvious and natural? This illusion of simplicity comes from losing touch with what happened during infancy, when we formed our first abilities. As each new group of skills matures, we build more layers on top of them. As time goes on, the layers below become increasingly remote until, when we try to speak of them in later life, we find ourselves with little more to say than “I don’t know”. Marvin Minsky, The Society of Mind, p.22

For us, therefore, communism is not a finality. There is no "transition" towards it. It is transition entirely: it is en chemin, in transit. The different ways of living will never cease to chafe and move against each other, to clash with and occasionally combat each other. Everything will always have to be rethought. There are bound to be the usual Leninists who will reject an immanent conception of communism such as this, by citing the necessity of a vertical, strategic articulation of the struggle, and an instant later we're sure to hear the lumbering "question of organization." The "question of organization" is still and always the Leviathan. In a time when the apparent unity of the Self can no longer mask the chaos of forces, attachments, and participations that we are, how could we still believe in the fable of organic unity? The myth of "organization" owes everything to the depictions of the hierarchy of natural faculties that were handed down to us by ancient psychology and Christian theology. We are no longer nihilistic enough to think that inside us there is something like a stable psychic organ-a will, let's say-that directs our other faculties. This neat invention of the theolo­gians, much more political than it appears, had a dual purpose: first, to make man, newly provided with a "free will," into a moral subject and to deliver him over in this way to the Last Judgment and the century's punishments; second, based on the theological idea of a God having "freely'' created the world and essentially standing apart from his action, to institute a formal separation between being and acting. For centuries, this separation, which was to mark Western political ideas in a durable way, made ethical realities illegible-the plane of forms-of-life being precisely that of a non­ differentiation between what one is and what one does. So "the question of organization" exists since those Bolsheviks of Late Antiquity, the Church Fathers. It was the instrument of legitimation of the Church just as it would later be that of the legitimation of the Party. Against this opportunistic question, against the postulated existence of the "will”, it's necessary to emphasize that what "wants" within us, what inclines us, is never the same thing. That it is a simple outcome, crucial at certain moments, of the combat waged within and outside us by a tangled network of forces, affects, and inclinations, resulting in a temporary assemblage in which some force has just as temporarily subdued other forces. That the sequence of these assemblages produces a kind of coherence that may culminate in a form is a fact. But to always label with the same noun something that in a contingent way finds itself in a position to dominate or give the decisive impetus, to convince oneself that it's always a matter of the same authority, to convince oneself finally that every form and every decision are dependent on a decision organ, is to perform quite a trick, but one that's been repeated all too long. By believing in such an organ for such a long time, by stimulating that imaginary muscle over and over again, one ends up in a fatal aboulia that seems nowadays to be afflicting the late offspring of the Christian Empire that we happen to be. In opposition to that, we propose paying careful attention to situations and to the forces that inhabit and traverse beings, in conjunction with an art of decisive assemblages. The Invisible Committee, Now, p.154-157

[…] it must surely be admitted that the visions which come in sleep are like paintings, which must have been fashioned in the likeness of things that are real, and hence that at least these general kinds of things — eyes, head, hands and the body as a whole — are things which are not imaginary but are real and exist. For even when painters try to create sirens and satyrs with the most extraordinary bodies, they cannot give them natures which are new in all respects; they simply jumble up the limbs of different animals. Descartes, Meditations of First Philosophy, Edited by John Cottingham, Cambridge University Press 2017, p.17