Ben Myers, our favorite Australian theologian at Faith and Theology, has kindly asked me to write a “guest post” on Jean-Luc Marion. If you are interested, take a look and while you are there spend some time lingering on Ben’s прекрасный blog.
Jeremy Begbie makes the interesting observation that “in music, structure is built primarily on relations based not upon difference or contrast but on attraction” (Theology, Music, and Time, pp. 158-159). Music of course utilizes sameness and difference, and repetition is largely responsible for the sameness. Yet unlike other art forms, music “tends toward the pole of absolute sameness” (p. 156). In a musical score, one commonly finds entire sections repeated note for note at the command of a repeat sign. Begbie also points out that repetition comes in different flavors and types. Repetition can be of the concealed sort and one only becomes aware of this type with intimate familiarity. Other kinds are more “immediate,” i.e., the repetition is obvious and repeated in close proximity (e.g., a section repeated by means of a repeat sign). Then there is “remote” repetition (or “return”), when the section or motif recurs after a significant time interval (p. 157). To illustrate the way in which music “gets away” with repetition in the extreme, Begbie cites the first movement of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6 in F major, op. 68, bars 151-162, where we find a rhythmic motif relentlessly repeated. Begbie then asks, “Why has this music claimed so much enjoyment? What is novel amidst the almost the almost obsessive reiteration? Prima facie it would seem that we should be thoroughly weary after only a few bars. Why are we prepared to put up with so much repetition?” (p. 158). Begbie suggests that though “variation of musical parameters” (e.g., changes in orchestration, dynamics, re-harmonization etc.) and a constantly changing musical “environment” in regard to the repeated unit are partial answers, they do not reach the heart of the matter, viz., “each repeated component of music will have a different dynamic quality because each occurs in relation to a different configuration of metrical tensions and resolutions.” In other words, Begbie is highlighting the various points of tension and resolution in both micro and macrocosmic view. “It follows the every re-iterated note, motif or whatever is going to possess a different dynamic quality. The repetitions ride the waves in different ways. This is where the fundamental novelty lies within tonal music—two occurrences of the same motif can be sensed as different because each relates to a different combination of metrical tensions and resolutions. Viewed from the point of view of metre, everything is ‘new,’ […] This is why, as Berleant puts it, ‘Repetition … becomes regeneration rather than reiteration’” (p. 252). Thus, Begbie concludes that the harmonic, dynamic and other alterations do not serve the purpose primarily of keeping our attention and staving off our boredom, rather “they bring to our ear the patterns of tension and release in metrical waves. We are left with a fascinating irony:
The tones do not alter for the sake of variety, that is in order to give the same thing an appearance of being different; on the contrary, because what is apparently the same is basically always different, the tones do not always want to remain the same” (p. 162).
As Michael Hanby notes, in the Confessions, Augustine teaches that there is a “plenitude of true meanings for a single text” […] The ontological warrant that underlies this insistence throughout the Augustinian corpus derives, in part, from the very nature of truth’s oneness, which defies its circumscription or possession” (Augustine and Modernity, p. 34). For example, in Confessions XII, Augustine writes:
“Having listened to all these divergent opinions and weighed them, I do not wish to bandy words, for that serves no purpose except to ruin those who listen. The law is an excellent thing for building us up provided we use it lawfully, because its object is to promote the charity which springs from a pure heart, a good conscience and unfeigned faith, and I know what were the twin precepts on which our Master made the whole law and prophets depend. If I confess this with burning love, O my God, O secret light of my eyes, what does it matter to me that various interpretations of those words are proffered, as long as they are true? I repeat, what does it matter to me if what I think the author thought is different from what someone else thinks he thought? All of us, his readers, are doing our utmost to search out and understand the writer’s intention, and since we believe him to be truthful, we do not presume to interpret him as making any statement that we either know or suppose to be false. Provided, therefore, that each person tries to ascertain in the holy scriptures the meaning the author intended, what harm is there if a reader holds an opinion which you, the light of all truthful minds, show to be true, even though it is not what was intended by the author, who himself meant something true, but not exactly that?” (Augustine’s Confess. XII.27, pp. 327-328, M. Boulding translation).
Maria Boulding (the translator) adds the following note in regard to the passage above, “Augustine’s recognition that meanings other than those intended by the writer can legitimately be discovered in the sacred text is grounded in his conviction that the God of truth who inspired the writer and guarantees the text abides in the minds of believing readers, and that though God makes use of human words, they are never adequate to fully express his mystery; there is always a ‘plus’ of meaning” (p. 323, note 71).
We definitely have something more than gramatico-historical hermeneutics in place here. (Anachronistically speaking, our apologies to Spinoza and company).
This is my last post on the BG series. It has been great to interact with new theophenomenology friends. Going back through these notes makes me want to read the book again and to continue further study of Marion.
Marion begins book V with a critique of the shortcomings of the modern view of the subject. First, Marion says that Kant’s “I think” fails to accomplish individuation. Kant’s famous distinction is of course between the phenomenal and the noumenal. The “things-in-themselves” are the “source” of the phenomenal realm, but cannot themselves become objects of experience. Consequently, the “I think” is not an object of experience, but in a sense makes itself as an object of experience possible. In other words, I have no knowledge of myself except that I appear to myself as an object. Kant says that there is an “I think” that constitutes the unity of our experience (the “transcendental apperception of the ego”). So the “I think” is something that precedes things like quantity, quality etc. Here the critique is that Kant allows for no individuation as the “I think” is too abstract. [N.b., see Dr. Philipp W. Rosemann’s article in the American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly in which he argues that Kant is an Averroist, i.e., there is one agent intellect for all of humankind; hence, no individuation].
Next we have Marion’s second critique, viz., that all representation in Kant is in the end self-representation—otherwise, it is not an object of my experience. So there is an “I think” that makes everything that I experience have a certain unity. Here we encounter a circularity problem, which in the worse case scenario moves into solipsism. Marion’s third critique (as Rosemann points out) relates to Foucault’s critique of modernity. That is, Kant dichotomizes the subject into a transcendental subject and an empirical subject. On the one hand, “I” am the function that constitutes the unity of my thought (i.e., a transcendental subject), but on the other hand, “I” am an empirical subject. Because the “I think” is outside of experience, we have an essentially divided subject. An additional problem emerges in that we can appear to ourselves only as another object of experience. So subjectivity is reduced to a special kind of thing (an object). Heidegger as we recall speaks of a human being as Dasein—emphasizing that a human being is not an object. Here, Marion seems to suggest that even Heidegger’s critique doesn’t overcome modern problems because he fails to emphasize two crucial themes: personal relationships and love. In passing over personal relationships and love, Heidegger fails to recognize that love is the acknowledgment of one’s need for the Other.
In section 26, Marion discusses his new subject. “My task therefore is only to describe this scene, where what comes after the ‘subject’ is in the end born —that is to say, finally admits its inability, or especially its unobligedness, to constitute itself by the cogitatio sui or causa sui, but receives itself from the given phenomenon and from it alone” (262). That is, the receiver is no longer simply the subject that constitutes the world. Rather, in light of the fact that something is given to me, I emerge as a receiver. No longer is the subject that which presides over the world and filters and orders the flux of sense. The new subject is now constituted by something that is given to it. Here Marion is not doing away with Kantian notions in toto. In other words, Marion does not deny the insight of modernity of the constitutive subject. As Marion explains, “The receiver does not precede what it forms by means of its prism—it results from it” (p. 265). So the receiver is still formative, however, a new metaphor, that of the prism [he also speaks of a “filter”], is introduced. Marion continues, “The filter is deployed first as a screen. Before the not yet phenomenalized given gives itself, no filter awaits it. Only the impact of what gives itself brings about the arising, with one and the same shock, of the flash with which its first visibility bursts and the new screen on which it crashes. Though arises from the pre-phenomenal indistinctness, like a transparent screen is colored by the impact of a ray of light heretofore uncolored in the translucent ether that suddenly explodes on it.” (p. 265). With the prism/filter metaphors, Marion is replacing the Aristotelian conception of human mind understood as a wax tablet on which something is impressed. The new subject is now best described as a screen, filter, or prism. Rosemann points out that a word that Marion uses but is not here employed is “co-constitutionality.” Here we have the gifted on the one hand and the given on the other, and they enter into manifestation. There would be no gifted without a given—i.e. the subject exists only because there is something given to it. On the other hand, the given requires the gifted, which requires a kind of screen allowing the given to appear, to become manifest. The point being that there is still a good deal of Kantianism is in place here. E.g., the Given is a thing-in-itself, the screen is the a priori. Yet, in this construal, neither subject nor object is prior, rather, they are co-constitutionary.
Another “subverting” passage of significance (and of course more than just subverting) is Marion’s discussion of the “summons.” Though lengthy, the passage is well-worth contemplating. First, Marion describes the overwhelming power of a call that compels the subject to surrender to it—“in the double sense of the French s’y render; being displaced and submitting to it. […] The pure and simply shock (Anstoss) of the summons identifies the I only by transforming it without delay into a me ‘to whom.’ The passage from the nominative to the objective cases (accusative, dative) thus inverts the hierarchy of the metaphysical categories. Individualized essence (ousia prōtē) no longer precedes relation (pros ti) and no longer excludes it from its ontic perfection. In contrast, relation here precedes individuality. And again: individuality loses its autarchic essence on account of a relation that is not only more originary than it, but above all half unknown, seeing as it can fix one of the two poles—me —without at first and most of the time delivering the other, the origin of the call (for the call can be exercised without coming into evidence). Individual essence thus undergoes a two-fold relativization: resulting from a relation and from a relation of unknown origin. Whence a primordial paradox: in and through the summons, the gifted is identified, but this identification escapes him straightaway since he receives it without necessarily knowing it. He therefore receives himself from what he thinks neither clearly nor distinctly; he is, despite the failure in him of the ‘I think (myself).’ Subjectivity or subjectness is submitted to an originally altered, called identity” (p. 268). This is an incredibly dense passage—not only do we have a subverting of Aristotelian metaphysics—i.e., a rejection of the primacy of substance over relation, but also a criticism directed at Descartes “clear” and “distinct” ideas. Regarding the idea of relation having priority over substance, if we turn to pre-modern thought—viz., Trinitarian theology—we have the Trinity as a relation of Persons; hence, both postmodern and pre-modern thought have room for the de-throning of substance and giving primacy to relation. In terms of the present work, Marion seems to be saying that we should not think of the gifted as a substance, but instead should think of the relationship between the gifted and the manifestation as coming first.
Though there is significantly more to say concerning book V, I will close with a statement by Marion reminiscent of GWB, viz., the Other is reached in his “unsubstitutable particularity, where he shows himself like no other Other can. This individuation has a name: love” (324).
Personally, I ﬁnd Marion’s desire to introduce a “new subject” among the most intriguing aspects of his project. Instead of the modern, even idolatrous and all-controlling subject, Marion pursues a sub-ject, i.e., a subject who subjects himself and is thus constituted by the situation. Nonetheless, Marion, as we have seen, does not want to do away with all modern assumptions, nor does he desire to return to a pre-critical realism. However, as with others of the postmodern tradition, he does ﬁnd modernity lacking in signiﬁcant ways. Thus, we encounter in Marion both an embracing of and a moving beyond modern assumptions; however, one wonders whether this harmonization can be successfully sustained—perhaps it can in the same way that Augustine suggests—by “plundering the riches of the Egyptians” and leaving behind the dross? Such questions notwithstanding, Marion has undoubtedly given us something beyond a strictly Kantian notion of subjectivity, which in and of itself is quite an accomplishment.
In book IV, Marion continues his deconstruction but now focuses on the “privilege of certainty” that metaphysics has given to what he calls “poor phenomena,” i.e., phenomena poor in intuition and which “claim only a formal intuition in mathematics or a categorical intuition in logic” (222). This abstract epistemological certainty is for Marion a radical phenomenological deﬁcit. Instead of privileging such poor phenomena, Marion introduces his “saturated phenomena” and accords it paradigmatic status. “What metaphysics rules out as an exception (the saturated phenomenon), phenomenology here takes for its norm” (227).
So having challenged the traditional concepts of the paradigmatic yet impoverished phenomena, Marion presents the saturated phenomenon—that which ﬁlls the expectation and goes beyond it. Marion builds this concept in contradistinction to Kant and analyzes the saturated phenomenon in terms of four categories (quantity, quality, modality, relation), purposing to show that the saturated phenomenon explodes each of these categories. In terms of quantity, the saturated phenomenon is unforeseeable because it cannot be understood as being constituted by means of previous experience. As to quality, the saturated phenomenon is unbearable, i.e., it simply has a super-abundance of quality. Thirdly, in terms of relation the saturated phenomenon is absolute, i.e., it is given as something that does not stand in relation to other phenomena but rather stands on its own. Lastly, with regard to modality, Marion wants to express the idea of the movement from the “I” that constitutes the experience to the “witness.” This leads to the reduction of the subject—i.e., the subject takes on a receptive position in which he/she becomes the screen on which the saturated phenomenon appears.
Next, Marion proceeds to discuss the four types of saturated phenomena: the event, the idol, the ﬂesh and the icon. First, the saturated phenomenon as event or historical phenomenon saturates the category of quantity. Secondly, the saturated phenomenon as idol is manifest in its bedazzlement, thus saturating the Kantian category of quality. As Marion explains, the idol bedazzles the subject to such an extent that she must come back to it again and again. In other words, the idol offers a kind of visibility that overﬂows the capacity of the subject to take it in. Thirdly, the ﬂesh negates the Kantian category of relation. Here Marion speaks of the immediacy of the ﬂesh in terms of auto-affection. So whether in agony and suffering or love and desire, the ﬂesh always auto-affects itself ﬁrst in and by itself—”all arise from the ﬂesh and its own immanence” (231). Fourthly, the saturated phenomenon as icon explodes the category of modality as it is irregardable and irreducible. Interestingly, Marion says that the icon gathers together certain characteristics of the previous three types of saturated phenomena in that “it demands a summation of horizons and narrations,” “it opens a teleology,” “it begs to be seen and reseen,” “it exercises an individuation over the gaze that confronts it,” and lastly “it accomplishes this individuation by affecting the I so originally that it loses its function as a transcendental pole,” thus bringing it close to auto-affection (233).
Having discussed the various types of saturated phenomena, we arrive at the saturation of all saturations—the phenomenon of revelation. By concentrating the other four types of saturated phenomena in itself, the phenomenon of revelation takes saturation to its maximum. Here Marion is simply presenting the phenomenon of revelation as a “mere possibility” without presupposing its actuality (235). Though as Marion points out, “phenomenology cannot decide if a revelation can or should give itself,” yet in case it does, phenomenology (and it alone) can determine that “such a phenomenon of revelation should assume the ﬁgure of the paradox of paradoxes” (235). Here Marion is attempting to remain within the strict phenomenological bounds, as he describes the phenomenon of revelation in its pure possibility and in the reduced immanence of givenness. Moreover, he makes explicit that in the present work he does not have to “judge its actual manifestation or ontic status, which remain the business proper to revealed theology” (236). Of course, Marion does speak of Christ as the saturated phenomenon par excellence and goes on to speak about the various ways in which Christ explodes the Kantian categories. Though I will not discuss each of these “explosions” individually, I will mention Marion’s discussion of Christ in terms of modality. Here Christ appears as an irregardable and irreducible phenomenon because He transforms the “I” into his witness (240–241). With his concept of “witness”, Marion has moved beyond a strictly Kantian subject.
In book III, Marion introduces the essential characteristics of the given phenomenon, each of which describes how the event becomes accessible: anamorphosis, unpredictable landing, incident, event and fait accompli. Here what is significant about these features of the given is that because they are neither metaphysical nor causal, the given is not determined by any transcendental conditions. Though each of these characteristics could be discussed in detail, I have decided on three, the “unpredictable landing,” the “incident,” and the “event,” because each provide examples of the ways in which Marion deconstructs foundational elements of the traditional metaphysical landscape.
With his discussion of the “unpredictable landing,” Marion deconstructs the traditional definition of contingency as the property of what is not necessary, and likewise suggests that metaphysical opposition between contingency and necessity becomes irrelevant in phenomenology. “In fact, it shows itself to be inadequate, indeed erroneous” (131). In this section, Marion interacts with a well-known passage from Aristotle in order to show that Aristotle has to admit that the necessity of event x occurring (or not) remains inscribed within the horizon of possibility. In addition to deconstructing necessity, he also questions whether potentiality must be thought in a lesser way than actuality. Instead Marion says that something arrives to me in a way that I am not determining it, i.e., it contingently imposes itself on me.
Turning to his discussion of the “incident,” Marion deconstructs the traditional understanding of substance and accident. In the tradition, substance has always been given primacy. Marion, however, wants us to think of the incident in terms of accident. According to Marion, even Thomas Aquinas was forced to recognize that substance is an accident of an accident. In other words, Marion is saying that from an historical perspective Aquinas got his idea of being (esse) from Avicenna who claimed that being is an accident of the substance. Thomas, of course, did not say this, but Marion’s point is to show that there is a continuum between Aquinas and Avicenna, and if the act of being is like an accident, then we have a primacy of accident over substance. (N.b., Avicenna claims that essence is sheer possibility. When essence is actualized in reality, then existence is added to it as an attribute/accident). So again we encounter a challenge to the Western tradition of metaphysics with its static presence over dynamism. Substance has been understood as something stable, yet its accidents can of course change. Marion, however, subverts this idea and says that substance “shows itself only as accident of the accident—as second-order incident” (158). This new privileging of accident over substance suits Marion’s project well as accident has the determinations of givenness much more than substance.
Marion’s discussion of the “event” likewise challenges the tradition of the primacy of cause over effect. Here Marion says that the traditional claim that the cause precedes the effect is mistaken; the effect should instead be given primacy. As Marion points out, even Aristotle would say that an effect is ﬁrst for us, but in itself the cause is ﬁrst. In our analysis of givenness we must accept that a phenomenon that gives itself gives itself as an effect that cannot be reduced to its causes—it contains more reality than its causes. To illustrate his point, Marion gives the example of World War I, viz., there have been numerous explanations offered concerning the cause of this event. So instead of reducing the effect to the cause, we should allow the effect to be taken seriously—allow the given, to be given. In other words, Marion’s emphasis is that the event is something that resists the reduction to its causes.
With the introduction and explication of these characteristics, we gain insight into Marion’s notion of givenness, yet we also see the ways in which he challenges traditional metaphysics as to their privileging certain primacies. Here one might ask whether Marion’s deconstruction of metaphysics is actually a destroying of metaphysics or whether his desire is more along the lines of subverting the primacy of traditional metaphysics because it prevents givenness from being seen. In other words, is Marion’s aim here more or less to bring to our attention that traditionally construed, metaphysics explains givenness away, or does he have more in mind?