Jean Grenier, in a small book entitled Choice, wrote: 'We are not in the world, this thought is the genesis of philosophizing ... It is not that the world seems bad, but that it seems different. Pessimism is not necessarily the starting-point of philosophical speculation, but rather a more general feeling, a feeling of strangeness.' In his Myth of Sisyphus Camus describes man as 'divorced' from his world. Yet on the other hand 'being-in-the-world' and Mitsein are key concepts of phenomenology. How are these apparently mutually exclusive positions reconciled, if at all? Is there any meeting-point between human sense and the world's nonsense? The most extreme expression of the 'feeling of separation' and strangeness spoken of by Grenier is to be seen in those two works of twenty and more years ago, Sartre's La Nausée and Camus's Le Mythe de Sisyphe. Here the world of things is presented as something intractable, incompatible with our rational and moral demands; it is the view of disappointed idealists. Because predictability is only intermittent and partial in the real world, and logical necessity entirely absent from it, we find French writers, just before and after the war, adopting a tragic, not to say melodramatic, attitude to life, which was seen as an 'interminable defeat'. Camus's Myth of Sisyphus purports to be a systematic exposition and justification of this attitude. Camus's argument in this work runs roughly as follows. The absurd means, variously and interchangeably, in the first place the irrational, that which has not rational link with other things.
 
[문제 2]

Language for Deleuze and Guattari is a means of action, a way of doing things. As speech-act theorists have long pointed out, there are certain expressions that in their enunciation clearly constitute an action, such as "I thee wed" when pronounced by a minister. Deleuze and Guattari see in such performatives the paradigm of all language and argue that linguistics should be regarded as a subdivision of a general pragmatics, or theory of action. The function of language is not primarily to communicate, they argue, but to impose order - to transmit what they call mots d'ordre ("slogans," "watchwords," literally "words of order"). Every language encodes the world, categorizing entities, actions and states of affairs, determining their contours, specifying their relations, and so on. With the inculcation of a language comes the organization of reality according to a dominant social order, and everywhere speech-acts take place a dominant social order is confirmed and reinforced. Language operates by inducing "incorporeal transformations" of the world, speech-acts changing things, acts, states of affairs, and so on, through their codification, in the same manner as the groom and bride are transformed into husband and wife with the phrase, "I now pronounce you man and wife." Such incorporeal transformations presuppose regular patterns of action and organized configurations of entities, and it is via socially sanctioned networks of practices, institutions and material entities that the codification of language is enacted. These complex networks are comprised of "assemblages", collections of heterogeneous actions and entities that somehow function together.
 
[문제3]

With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city. Omelas, bright-towered by the sea. The rigging of the boats in harbor sparkled with flags. In the streets between houses with red roofs and painted walls, between old moss-grown gardens and under avenues of trees, past great parks and public buildings, processions moved. Some were decorous: old people in long stiff robes of mauve and grey, grave master workmen, quiet, merry women carrying their babies and chatting as they walked. In other streets the music beat faster, a shimmering of gong and tambourine, and the people went dancing, the procession was a dance. Children dodged in and out, their high calls rising like the swallows' crossing flights over the music and the singing. All the processions wound towards the north side of the city, where on the great water-meadow called the Green Field boys and girls, naked in the bright air, with mud-stained feet and ankles and long, lithe arms, exercised their restive horses before the race. The horses wore no gear at all but a halter without bit. Their manes were braided with streamers of silver, gold, and green. They flared their nostrils and pranced and boasted to one another; they were vastly excited, the horse being the only animal who has adopted our ceremonies as his own. Far off to the north and west the mountains stood up half encircling Omelas on her bay. The air of morning was so clear that the snow still crowning the Eighteen Peaks burned with white-gold fire across the miles of sunlit air, under the dark blue of the sky. There was just enough wind to make the banners that marked