In these notes, I use the expression “subject of life” not as Giorgio Agamben’s own term but as a heuristic device for clarifying what I take to be the central question of Homo Sacer: who comes to be recognized as a living subject? Who is recognized as a living subject? It should be noted that the term “life” as used here does not refer solely to biological life. I deliberately employ the word “life” to designate the very realm where the distinction between zoē and bios is politically constituted.
What is a “form-of-life”? Typically, we distinguish between “life” (biological existence) and “way of living”—categories such as profession, social status, nationality, role, and legal standing. For instance, I might define myself through various attributes: teacher, office worker, doctor, father, or Japanese national. Together, these constitute what we call one's identity. Believing that it can separate zoē from bios, the state subjects all these forms of life to political decision-making through biopolitics. Consequently, we encounter numerous instances of such segregated management.
This corresponds to what Giorgio Agamben calls bios—the politically qualified form of life. However, the state is capable of governing—and indeed governs—all these dimensions. Consequently, Agamben envisions a different kind of life: the “form-of-life.” While the concept is complex, it refers to a life in which the act of living itself constitutes the person’s form. In other words, it is a state where life itself and the way of living are inseparable. Agamben describes this, as a life that the state cannot isolate as “bare life” (or “mere life”).
In this context, Agamben points to the life of the monastic life. It does not mean living in a monastery. Nor does it mean living according to a set of rules. It is a life in which existence itself constitutes the monastic life. For the monk, life and the mode of living have become one and the same. The state cannot extract life as "bare life" and subject it to political management. Agamben seeks to discover the potential for a new kind of politics in this state where life and the way of living coincide.
If we observe the modern era as a capitalist society, the state in which one’s life and one’s way of living do not coincide traces its origins to the advent of the division of labor as defined by Karl Marx. The question arises: can this situation be analyzed simply as a matter of individuals constantly adapting to new roles? Regardless, one cannot survive without continually updating oneself in response to changes in the labor market, state institutions, family structures, and technology. Ultimately, this means one cannot attain a “form-of-life” (a “complete way of living”). Agamben does not endorse this endless process of self-updating. Instead, he aims for a state in which roles themselves are deactivated and life coincides with the mode of living. This is the concept he terms inoperosità (inoperativity).
According to Marx’s analysis, the capitalist division of labor alienates human beings and distributes life into social functions, thereby fracturing human activity. This line of argument requires us to reintroduce capital as the mediating element through which the state isolates bare life.” Similarly, Agamben does not advocate a simple return to a pre-division-of-labor state; rather, he envisions—within the structure of capitalist production relations—a “form-of-life” that cannot be reduced to the “roles” imposed by the division of labor.
I believe this perspective transforms the very framework within which ethics is understood. What Agamben seeks to demonstrate is not merely a change in ethical norms, but a structural transformation whereby “life itself” becomes the object of political decision at the intersection of ethics, law, medicine, and politics. This, I would propose, constitutes the core of his argument.
To put it in my own words, this is a question of the “subject of life.” Agamben does not actively employ the term “subject of life.” Instead, he focuses on how the very concept of the “subject” becomes unstable within the framework of biopolitics. Modern philosophy, for example, posits a sequence where the subject (the human being) exists first, and then that subject lives. In short, the order is: Subject precedes Life; the subject comes first. Consequently, ethics asks, “How does the subject act?”
However, within Agamben’s conception of biopolitics, the order of precedence is reversed: the question becomes whether or not a given life is recognized as a “subject.” For instance, with fetuses, brain-dead patients, those in a vegetative state, Homo Sacer, and the Muselmann of the camps, the very question of whether they constitute “subjects” becomes the point of contention. Is Homo Sacer a subject? Legally, they are hardly subjects at all; they belong to no political community and possess no rights. Yet, they do possess life. Thus, they occupy an intermediate state—not quite a subject, but certainly a life. The Muselmann in the camp is a being that neither judges, resists, converses, nor hopes; their personhood has effectively vanished. And yet, they remain alive. This renders the very definition of a “subject” unclear.
This is my understanding of what I call the “subject of life.” I use this term to ask who is recognized as a “living subject.” Framed this way, it aligns precisely with Agamben’s inquiry. A subject is not something that exists naturally; rather, subjectivity is created—or stripped away—by law, the state, medicine, and politics. This is why Agamben turns to the concept of “form-of-life” (forme di vita); this concept represents an attempt to make subjectivity and life inseparable once more. In other words, he seeks to envision a state where living itself constitutes subjectivity, moving beyond the linear progression of either “subject → life” or “life → subject.”
I consider my expression “subject of life” to be a somewhat more contemporary phrasing than Agamben’s own. Were Agamben to rephrase it, he would likely say: the power to determine “who is a subject” constitutes the very essence of biopolitics. The issue, then, is not “who the subject is,” but rather the fact that “being recognized as a subject” has itself become an operation of politics. Viewed from this perspective, Homo Sacer is less a “philosophy of life” than a work of political philosophy that interrogates how subjectivity is established and how it is stripped away. My own formulation is intended as one possible point of entry into that line of inquiry.
The three-part work Homo Sacer concludes each of its sections at a “Threshold.” Rather than simply presenting a “conclusion” at the end, Agamben writes in a way that leads the reader to a “threshold” or “boundary.” Throughout the text, concepts such as boundary, threshold, zone of indistinction, and exception appear repeatedly. These are all simultaneously “lines separating two things” and “places where the two come into contact.” Examples of the “two things” that meet at the boundaries in Homo Sacer include zoē and bios, law and fact, life and death, public and private, human and animal, inside and outside, and inclusion and exclusion. Agamben’s focus is not on the details of each, but rather on “what occurs at the threshold separating the two.”
Homo Sacer is itself a liminal figure—a being of the threshold. Human yet not fully human; outside the law yet within it; killable yet unsuited for sacrifice; excluded yet included. In short, Homo Sacer is the threshold itself. Agamben does not seem to aim for a definitive conclusion regarding a single concept; instead, he appears to urge the reader to “think about the threshold itself.” Even more intriguing is that the idea of “form-of-life,” which appears at the end, is not presented as a fully realized concept. Agamben concludes Homo Sacer not by declaring “this is the politics that exists,” but by asserting that “we must conceive a new politics starting from this threshold.” In other words, he leaves the reader with a task rather than a conclusion. I believe this reflects Agamben’s philosophical method itself: he prioritizes dwelling within the threshold and illuminating its workings over attempting to “surpass” or “transcend” it. This stance suggests that he has learned from Martin Heidegger—who persistently questioned the threshold between “Being” and “beings”—while independently pursuing his own inquiry into the threshold between “life” and “politics.” In other words, I believe that Homo Sacer can be read not merely as a treatise on “biopolitics,” but also as a “philosophy of thresholds.”
Now, regarding the concept of the threshold, I must address—from my own perspective—Walter Benjamin’s characterization of Niobe as a boundary marker (Grenzmal) in his Critique of Violence. If we adopt an approach that references concrete examples—as Agamben does—the question becomes: —or who—serves the bearer of the threshold? When Benjamin calls Niobe a “boundary marker” she is neither merely a living human of myth nor simply a dead human slain by the gods; she is a figure who has turned to stone and continues to weep, thereby marking the boundary. In other words, she does not merely “represent” the boundary itself; she is an entity that indicates precisely where the boundary lies. Thus, Niobe signals that “beyond this point lies the realm of the gods.” In contrast, Homo Sacer is a figure in whom life itself takes the form of the boundary.
One might be tempted to think that Agamben’s analysis goes beyond Benjamin in this regard. I, however, do not share that view. If Benjamin's concern is with a "something," then that "something" is the marker, the wound, or the trace of the threshold.
In this sense, linking the concepts of “boundary,” “threshold,” “separation,” and “form-of-life” gives rise to a question: not “where does the boundary lie?” but rather “by whom—or by what—is the boundary borne?” I believe this question holds the potential to take the reading of Agamben a step further and bring it into dialogue with Derrida and Marx.
Indeed, this line of argument also connects to the concept of the "subject of life." The "subject of life" concerns the question of who is recognized as a living subject. Beyond this lies a further question: who comes to serve as the boundary marker? Refugees become the boundary markers through which the nation defines who counts as one of its members. The Muselmann functions as the boundary marker through which the limits of the human are determined. Homo Sacer, in turn, is the boundary marker that renders visible where the law draws its own limits. They are therefore not merely examples used to illustrate concepts; rather, they are the boundary markers through which those concepts themselves become possible.
The concept of “pure being” (being simply, or haplōs) suddenly emerges in Part 3, as the work approaches its conclusion. It is here that the argument shifts from political philosophy to ontology—a point I consider the final major hurdle of this philosophical text. To begin with, what is “pure being”? Agamben states: “The ‘bare’ in ‘bare life’ corresponds to the Greek word haplōs.” This is a sentence that demands careful reading; it implies that “bare life” and “pure being” share the same structure.
Regarding “pure being”: we typically speak of humans, trees, or dogs existing—that is, the form “X exists.” Yet, Western philosophy has long grappled with the question of what “being itself” is. Since the time of Aristotle, “being” has held various meanings—such as human existence, divine existence, or the existence of numbers. Philosophers, however, sought to isolate the “being itself” common to all these instances. This is what constitutes “pure being.” Agamben critiques this concept—a crucial point in his argument. He posits that philosophy separated “pure being” from existence, just as politics separated “bare life” from human life. In essence, he asks whether the philosophical inclusive exclusion of pure being from concrete existents and the political inclusive exclusion of bare life from concrete living are not, in fact, the same operation. This is how I understand the underlying hypothesis of his argument.
What does it mean to “separate”? Consider the example of a “teacher.” A teacher has a family, hobbies, religious beliefs, and an age. Yet, the state can extract “life alone” from this teacher; that is “bare life.” Philosophy has done the same thing. Humans, dogs, trees, God... from these, it extracted “being alone.” That is “pure being.” In other words, this constitutes what philosophy calls ontology. Derrida would likely argue that such pure being always contains traces—due to différance—and thus can never truly exist as something pure. Why, then, did Agamben introduce ontology at the end of Homo Sacer? This is arguably the most significant leap in the book. Agamben’s point is this: it is not merely politics that is at fault; at a more fundamental level, Western philosophy itself has persisted in a mode of thought characterized by abstraction and separation. Politics is simply an extension of this. That is why Agamben draws a parallel here between bare life and pure being.
What Homo Sacer leaves with the reader is not a single answer. Rather, it compels us to confront the questions themselves: “Who is the living subject?” and “By whom is that boundary drawn, and how does it function?” The concept of a “form-of-life” (forma di vita) can be understood not as an ideal that erases that boundary, but as an attempt to deactivate the political apparatus that establishes it—thereby exploring the possibility of a life in which existence and the way of living are inseparable. Ultimately, the “form-of-life” is invoked not to “confuse” these elements, but to demonstrate the possibility of deactivating the very operation of separation. This perspective allows for a direct connection between the discussion of the “subject of life” and the current discussion of “pure being.” I believe that the “operation of separation” constitutes the core of interpreting Homo Sacer.
In this sense, Homo Sacer is not merely a book that discusses biopolitics. It is an attempt to re-examine the very “operation of separation” characteristic of Western philosophy—an operation that has always constituted boundaries and functioned within them—and a philosophy that seeks to open up the possibility of new “forms of life” by rendering that operation inoperative.