The first-hand knowledge of Michel Serres

How to approach this book on the five senses (that aren't really five after all)? I loved it, but it's so hard to explain why. It's more the ideas it gives birth to than what's in it. But let me try:

Take your index finger and place it on your bottom lip.

Do it! You have to do it, or you wont understand this post. Please do it.

Now, without moving, fix your attention on feeling your lip through your finger (do it, take your time, close your eyes if it helps). OK? Now, shift perspective, and feel your finger through your lip. Isn't that amazing?! One moment you are in your finger, feeling your lip - another moment you are in your lip, feeling your finger! Your consciousness, your self-awareness is somehow shifting place, moving from inside your lip and outside your finger to inside your finger and outside your lip. Yet only one event, one touch, is actually happening. So where are you? In this encounter, this relation, this instance of first-hand knowledge, you are both the knowing subject and the known object. You are outside and  inside.

When your finger touches your lip, that is your body sort of folding back on itself, and your self-awareness emerges from within that folding. Of course, not only from that single folding alone - but from the innumerable foldings immersing your whole body: sounds, touches, smells, visions - the air around you, the particular places where your bottom touches the chair you are sitting on, or where your shirt hangs on your shoulders, or in the muscles that strain your eyebrows as you read of the screen, the way you fold your tongue in your mouth. There is no 'you' apart from these complex processes.

This is familiar stuff to those who read too-much-to-be-healthy 'postmodern' theory: There are no stable essences (there is no essential 'you'), and where there appear to be such essences, these are only constituted through violent differentiations and cutting-offs - which nevertheless always leave a trace of the rejected within themselves - however, there is no alternative and so we might as well 'get on with things'. The essence of the self is in other words constituted by a kind of pretense, an unconscious exclusion of something unwanted. In this sense, whenever we claim to know the essence or nature of anything, we are doing violence to something else by excluding it. Violence is at bottom what makes us able to imagine something stable and peace-like.

Interestingly, Michel Serres rejects this view of violence as fundamental and somehow necessary for things to be what they are. Yet he doesn't believe in stable essences either. In a way, he seeks to portray a Reality that is characterized by difference as something harmonic rather than something violent, a philosophy that is radically inclusive rather than dialectic or exclusive. Serres is completely opposed to any idea that violence is a necessary part of Reality as such. Commenting on this, one otherwise positive reader of him has complained that "there is a hole in Serres' philosophy where negativity should be." (How there can be a 'hole' that isn't in itself negative is another question).

For me, this lack of basic negativity signals not a 'lack' in Serres, but rather a subtle overlap of interests with theologians Serres allegedly has not even read. One reason is, as is mentioned above, that Serres seeks to view difference as harmonic rather than violent, as somehow positive rather than negative. This has been a major (of course contested) theme for metaphysical theology over the last decades. Secondly, Serres describes Reality where everything is always being mediated through something else, always  intermingled, hybrid, mutating, emerging. For him, the constitutive in-between - relation, mediation, communication - is Reality's fundamental characteristic. Anyone who have skimmed an issue of the journal Modern Theology would recognize how this resonates with contemporary concerns in Christology and general theological interests in incarnation, sacramentality, mediation, translation, etc.

Serres himself seems blissfully unaware that the paganism he celebrates is already redeemed and made even-more-itself by Christendom. If he does know, it doesn't trouble him. His style is wandering, suggestive, and at all costs avoids enmity and rejection. His flowing descriptions of mundane experiences are unparalleled as far as I know. Perhaps the best thing I can say about this book is this: reading Serres' poetic philosophy-of-Everything makes me want to stop reading and just go and experience the world in all its infinite, mundane, nitty gritty wonder. And, of course, do a doctorate in theology. And then retire and be a gardener. As planned.

Theory and practice - what's up with THAT?!

Norwegian Marxist Georg Johannesen (1931-2005) was once invited to the Norwegian branch of the international PEN association to participate in a debate on the controversial question “Is There Freedom of Speech in Norway?”. He opened by saying that he could only see four possible answers to that question:

(1) Yes, fortunately there is freedom of speech, as there should be.
(2) No, fortunately there is not freedom of speech, and neither should there be.
(3) No, unfortunately there is not freedom of speech, but there should be.
(4) Yes, unfortunately there is freedom of speech, but there should not be.

He went on to say that people who believed that (2), (3), or (4) was true, would never say so in a public debate. Those who believe (2) that there is no freedom of speech in Norway, and that this is fortunate, would not risk ruining everything by speaking up. Neither would those who agree that there is no freedom of speech in Norway, but that this is unfortunate (3). They might wish there was freedom of speech, but they will not use it if they don’t believe it is there. Likewise, those who regret that there is in fact freedom of speech will also not participate in a debate, because that itself would undermine their interests (4). It seems that we are therefore left with people agreeing that there is freedom of speech, and that this is fortunate (1). In that case, it is impossible know how large the three groups of non-participants are, since they either can or will not make themselves known. We cannot, therefore, have any idea whether there is truly freedom of speech in Norway.

“However”, he added, “I know that there is NOT freedom of speech in the Norwegian PEN association, because here we are being told what questions to debate!”

Hold for applause - nope, nothing.

Now, one thing to draw from this story would be that Johannesen is of course absolutely right. A similar argument could be made for example about something so simple as internet access. The internet is accessed by people who all assume that everyone else are able to access the internet. Thus, when Iranians were 'tweeting' about the late turmoils, 'we' saw this as a sign that the internet allowed free speech for everyone, 'even in Iran' - ignoring that the ones who were 'tweeting' were all located in Western democratic states. The simple fact is that most people in the world have no internet access, whether that is because of being too old (most people over 65 don't use the internet, yet the size of this group is increasing annually in many Western countries) or too young, or because they cannot afford it, or are hindered by social customs, or whatever it is - most of us are simply not there. As Wikileaks-founder Julian Assange states, in general, bloggers are really more concerned about what their peer group thinks of them (us!) than whether their blogging has actual consequences. Internet is great for freedom of speech among the wealthy minority that set it up, and have spare time to use it. How large the concealed majority/minority(?) of the voiceless really is, there is simply no way of knowing from within the system. The same is true of the global market.

But there is another interesting thing about Johannesen's argument, and that is the fact that it is so difficult to accept.

We somehow, for some reason, find it hard to take his argument seriously - it is not like we would end the debate after he had spoken. The show must go on. My view is that this reveals how used we are to separating theory from practice, our thinking from our doing. We find it hard to accept his argument because we don't actually expect anyone - or ourselves - to practice their beliefs. We assume that even if people don't believe in free speech, they would still be speaking. That if people were against it, they would deny that by saying so.

We react to his argument with disbelief because we are so used to separating thinking from doing - we don't expect people's thoughts and actions to match up. Oh, we would like to live consistent lives. Some of us may even consciously be trying to achieve such consistency on a daily or weekly basis, using self-help books, mentors, disciplines. We want to combine the two as much as possible. But then we do assume that the two - our thought and our practice - as a general rule, are separated. We act as if we have one 'self' that performs certain actions, and another 'self' that can discipline the first 'self' into doing the right thing, eventually. There is a deep ironic split between thought and action, and we expect there to be.

We don't conceive of thinking as something we do. But both thinking and doing take time, demand our attention, state certain values. Entertaining a belief is performing that belief - performing an action is entertaining the ideas implicit in that action. In other words - we may say we hold whatever belief, but our actions always give us away. Could it be that we are indeed open letters, to be read by anyone? (2. Cor. 3:2) Actions don't speak louder than words - but they definitely speak truer.

Political views

I am, as many of us are, currently updating my facebook status in response to the 'New Profile' design, and in a sincere attempt to fill in as much as possible I have come up with a fitting term for my political views:

"Cynysis"

Cynysis denotes an subtle cynicism toward political rhetoric, structures, and practices, disguised as penetrating intellectual analysis. It is characterized by substantial self-awareness and an adolescent rejection of practical responsibility. Cynysis is practiced by being quiet for most of the conversation, before - still leaning back in the chair, and with a single string of well-articulated senteces - softly killing every expressed view with an analysis that 'reveals' that they are fundamentally "the same". Cynysis claims to be neither 'Left' nor 'Right' nor 'Centre', since these categories are "all screwed up anyway", yet it can present no plausible alternative. For this, it blames political elites/social structures/culture/ideology/discourse/mass media/modernity/lobbyists/capitalism/secularity/religion/postmodernism/patriarchy, etc.

Christian Tradition, part 2

In part 1, I set out how we must consider 'Christianity'  in all its aspects without reducing it to any one of them. Now it's time to look again at the word tradition. If you have read my rationale behind this blog, you know that the word tradition stems from the latin traditio, which carries several meanings.

For now, we can put it simply this way: Traditio means 'handed over', and its relation to what we have called 'Christianity' can be understood in two different ways.

1) On the one hand, it can be understood to mean that all of these things have been ‘handed over’ to us. On this view Christianity is something that has been ‘handed over’ to us, from our forefathers, from our leaders, from the Lord. Certain stories have been handed over to us for us to tell each other with our own voices and from our perspectives; certain teachings and concepts have been handed over to us so we can (re)think them and make sense of our own circumstances; certain practices have been handed over to us so we can perform them together in our way in the contexts where we are; certain calendars have been handed over to us so we can mark specific moments and days that are important to us in the ways we find best; certain structures have been handed over to us so we can facilitate good and effective leadership and service fitting for our contexts. We shape all of these aspects according to who, where and when we are, and we give them a particular flavour of our talents, our views, and ourselves.

2) On the other hand, traditio can be understood to mean that it is we who have been ‘handed over’ to all of these things. On this view it is we who have been handed over to Christianity. We have been handed over to certain stories that put our lives and identities in perspectives that are not our own; we have been handed over to certain teachings and concepts that will shape our imagination and our reason; we have been handed over to certain practices that will determine our habits and eventually our spine reactions; we have been handed over to certain calendars that determine when we fast and when we feast, that provide and determine our rhythms and set our pace in the world; we have been handed over to structures that are not of our own making, but that we simply must submit and surrender to. All of these aspects shape us according to themselves, no matter who we are, and they give a particular flavour to our talents, our views, and ourselves.

This 'two-sidedness' seems to be the human predicament: It is true that we are all born into a world where everything is set and determined without our consent; where we do not get to choose who will influence us the most during the early, or even late, years of our lives; where all decisions seem to already have been made before we arrive, and where we have no say in any important matter whatsoever. At the same time it is also true that we are born into a world where we cannot avoid changing reality around us no matter what we do or avoid doing; where our decisions to touch or not touch, say or not say, be or not be, have vast consequences even if we cannot tell what is important and what is not; where we shape the lives of ourselves and of others far beyond what we can imagine. 

For the record, both 'sides' of tradition can be legitimized by biblical contexts. (I add this so that no one will say 'but the Bible clearly states...etc'). Consider the following examples:

(1) The ancient Hebrew poems about the origins of the world in the Book of Genesis (ch. 1-2) describe how, after having created everything, God lets the Human (Adam='Man' as in ‘Mankind’) name the animals. It is remarkable that God in this story is portrayed as not putting any limits on Adam regarding which names to choose for which animals. It is not that God has the right answer, and then waits to see if Adam can get it right. It really is Adam who makes the decision; who names the created world. Adam is him/herself part of creation, but somehow this human naming, categorizing, defining, drawing a line, introducing boundaries and divisions, is a legitimate endeavour. Adam is created, but does to a certain degree participate in God's act of creation.

In the book of Esther (9:18-28) we read how the righteous and god-fearing man Mordecai, after having saved the Jews in Persia from an impending holocaust, invents a new feast in the Judaic calendar - a calendar that God himself had established in the time of Moses. Since then, the feast of Purim became a legitimate part of the annual rhythm of the Judaic tradition, even though it was a late addition compared to e.g. Passover. Nowhere is there any hint that this made it a 'less authentic' feast.

The apostle Paul calls himself God’s co-worker (1. Cor. 3:9), and describes his own work as dependent on God’s primary work, but also indispensible. Paul’s contribution in building the church is legitimate, and mixes with God’s work.

Finally, the early church had to figure out what to do with the new gentile Christians who did not share their Judaic background. Jesus had not given specific instructions regarding this. Christianity was to a large degree painted on a Judaic canvas, and many Christian customs loose some of their flavour if separated from the Judaic roots. After a committee meeting with much theological discussion the early apostles and Jewish church leaders in composed a letter to the gentile churches saying what “we and the Holy Spirit have decided” about the matter (Acts 15:28). This might seem a bit arrogant, not to say abusive, as if they were simply adding “and the Holy Spirit” to make their own decisions seem as if they were God’s decisions. But I believe this is a matter of the early church leaders understanding that in spite of human limitations and fallibility, human creativity and co-operation with God - even in the area of church leadership - is legitimate (if not necessarily always final – Paul later deviates from the Jerusalem council’s decisions in these matters. Renegotiation is thus an important part of the picture).

From this perspective it seems the God portrayed in the biblical canon invites and encourages human co-creation and co-operation with Godself, and that God hands over to us a huge repertoire of teachings, practices, stories, structures, and calendars that we can then take an active part in shaping. In a way we are always already doing this, and the canonical view is that this is in fact pleasing to God. We cannot avoid renegotiating and reshaping what has been handed down to us through the ages, and this is legitimate and good. We need not pretend that we are not contributing, as if that would contaminate 'eternal truths'. Our creativity is in itself participation in God’s sustaining and creative act.

On this view, commitment to Christ is a constant and intentional working-out of what it means to be a Christian in the present unprecedented circumstances.

(2) At the same time, the biblical canon seems to take seriously the notion that everything seems to be set without our conscious involvement or consent; That there is a (God-)given way that things actually are.

In the Genesis poem mentioned above, God sets limits to how far the ocean is allowed to go, separates light from darkness, etc. The ancient confidence in God as justly upholding the ultimate and final framework of His creation, constitutes the foundation of any hope. For Christianity these things are given, but not in the watered-out common sense of the word – where it really means ‘just so’. For Christianity they are given by a Giver, they are granted, provided, bestowed in love from Godself.
The boundaries and milestones make possible navigation, communication, stability.

St. Paul (Eph. 3:6) tells us that (Gentile) Christians have become heirs to a promised made to someone else’s (Jewish) forefathers. Christians do not have a say in what this promise includes or excludes. We cannot add or withdraw points from the agreement. We did not take part in the forging of the treaty. We arrive on the scene too late, and must submit to what has been decided. Another example is when St. Paul reminds us (Romans 11:16-20) that we are branches on a tree, and that we are not carrying the root, but the root carries us. Commitment to Christ is on this view a trust in something that has already been done without any contribution on our part.

In conclusion, the biblical canon is self-consciously committed to both of these perspectives at the same time. All of the aspects of Christianity have been handed over to us - and we have been handed over to all the aspects of Christianity.

This very tension is what is meant by 'Christian tradition'.

In the next and final post on this topic, I will try to argue that many disputes and debates between different denominations stem from our futile attempts to somehow resolve this tension between what is seen as 'God-given' and what is seen as 'human-made', and that by devaluing either perspective regarding any one of the aspects of Christianity, we might in fact be betraying the Christian tradition.