Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Interpretation, Tradition.
Dr Existenz
Contents
1). Endless Impossible
2). Force of Habit: On Believing Strange Tales in Canonical Gospels
3). Re-writing Jack Caputo’s Hermeneutics
4). Three Things are Appropriate
5). Its Immaterial
6). A New New Testament or No New Testament?
7). Those Not Ourselves
8). History and Fiction
9). Nothing and Being
10). Existenz on Existence
11). Jesus and the Gospel of the Poor
12). Being-in-the-midst as Being-in-time-and-fiction
13). A Tale of Two Libraries
1
Endless Impossible
When God began to create heaven and earth - the earth being unformed and void, with
darkness over the surface of the deep and a wind from God sweeping over the water - God
said, “Let there be light!”; and there was light.1
God does not exist. But if this is the point of this essay, and it is certainly one point of this
essay, then I am going to have to do a lot of work in what follows to fill this statement out and
make it mean something useful as opposed to mundane, interesting and not merely obvious.
All sorts of people believe that God does not exist but many of them do not do so in a very
interesting way and that, being optimistic for the moment about what is to follow here, is what
I hope to do. For in what follows I want to stick most vehemently to the notion that “God does
not exist” but, at the same time, I also want to suggest that that is not the conversation
stopper for “God talk” that you might think it is. I want to say that “God does not exist” is not
the end of God. In fact, I think its only the beginning. But remember, nothing in what follows
will be an argument that God exists or that there is a God: I firmly and sincerely believe there
isn't. But I have a problem here for, recently, I have started to think about this notion that
“God does not exist” and treat it seriously rather than trivially. For example, to what, in that
sentence, does the word “God” refer? If it refers to a specific idea about God then what
about other ideas? Is the notion “God does not exist” referring only to certain ideas about
what God is or to any and all imaginable ideas, a rather different claim? I came to a position,
in my own thinking, of trying to think of a God - who doesn’t exist! - but that could
nevertheless have substance. Is that even possible?2
We need to begin from where we are and where most of us are is with thinking of God as a
person. The trouble with this is that the more you genuinely think about it the stupider it gets.
Thinking of God as a person is thinking of God as like us only, perhaps, infinitely,
exponentially, more so. And that is why its not the right place to start. Its understandable, of
course, that you might start from what you know, yourself, human beings, and move to what
you don’t know but we need to listen to what we are saying here in thinking this way. In effect
1
Genesis 1:1-3 according to The Jewish Study Bible (2nd ed.; eds. Adele Berlin and Mark Zvi Brettler:
OUP, 2011).
2
I should point out before going any further that when using “God” here I’m coming from a mostly
Judeo-Christian perspective.
2
we are reversing the polarity on the statement of Genesis 1:26 that the first human being,
Adam, was made “in the image of God,” a troublesome enough description as it is. But can
you just reverse the polarity, work backwards from us, and get God? No, you can’t, because
in doing so you only get more problems. If you define God as a person, for example, then
you limit the notion of what “God” could refer to. Persons are limited beings. Mention of
“beings” is apposite and appropriate here as a person is a being. But is God a being, a thing
(even a supernatural thing), an object? This does not seem very godly. It does not seem to fit
in with other things we perhaps think about God. To think of God as a person is to think of a
divine parent or some kind of Greek mighty hero, a counterpart to the human drama but on
another, heavenly plane. But, these days, we imagine there is no such plane because we
know, as the ancients didn’t, that space is infinite and physical rather than a “vault” in the
sky. There is no Asgard, there is no Olympus, there is no place called heaven.
So why do we think of God as a person at all? It is because with think of being as presence.
If God is to exist then he must literally make his mark and be capable of making marks in the
physical universe we inhabit. Just like us, in fact. How do we know we exist? Because we
can do things and observe their consequences, or so we think. So if God exists he must be
able to as well. Being is presence and to be present is to act with observable consequences.
To be able to act with reason or purpose (as we think both we and God can do) is to be a
person. So this one conjecture, that being is presence, leads to consequences itself.
Thinking of being as presence leads to the need for rational persons who can act with
consequences in a physical universe. It is a physical universe that we experience and so in
our thinking about God we utilise physical metaphors and thinking to think about God. He
must be a person and be assigned to a place, heaven, (although theology gets itself in a
twist about this, never quite sure where or how God is) and be capable of doing physical
things. This is quite a mechanical God, albeit that we give this kind of God supernatural
powers that we can’t quite explain. But we need to note that this kind of God is tied to certain
forms of thought and is basically Superman, if with good doses of love, justice and mercy to
make him theological enough to carry the sheen of divinity. Yet there is a basic problem here:
if being is presence and if God is a person then where is he?
In my own mind this becomes silly. There is no place where God as a person is. Even if God
were a person, a defined, limited being, he cannot be one on the analogy of ourselves. To
think of God as a person is even somewhat blasphemous, in fact, in its limitation of that
thought of as unlimited, a profound contradiction in terms. So I propose, moving forward, that
3
3
Available on Scribd or the Internet Archive. See the first chapter, “Textual Jesus”.
4
Einsof is a Hebrew word for God used in the Kabbalah. It means “endless” or “infinite”. In modern
Hebrew it is used as the regular word for “infinity”.
4
substance of created things, a realm alienated from Einsof, Ha-Olamot. Into this creation
came Adam Kadmon, the first created person, the Primordial Human, who embodied the
ideas and values of G*d in creation which humans came to know as the Sephirot. Yet the
Sephirot, emanated vessels which reveal the fundamental dimensions of meaning and value
in G*d, in effect the content of G*d’s speech and divine writing, are unstable and deconstruct
which leads to more alienation from Einsof and to a creation in a state of exile. This leads to
oppositions, perplexities, absurdities and unfathomables such as we know intellectually,
spiritually and morally in the created world today. The human task is to collect up and
liberate the deconstructed shards of emanated divine light through a spiritual, intellectual and
psychological process so that the ideas and values of the creation can be restored in a
manner that enables them to structure and contain the primal energy of The Endless
Nothing, Einsof, which completes both G*d and all created things. This is known as Tikkun
Ha-Olam and is the restoration and emendation of the World and we are thus seen as
fulfilling and completing the act of creation itself by this action. Human action, as such,
completes the activity of G*d.5
The Interpretation
G*d, The Endless, was both nothing, endless nothing, and yet also something. Nothing and
something here mean the same thing for human language cannot distinguish between them.
G*d both exists as endless nothing and yet also as something beyond any kind of existence.
This something beyond existence operates as nothing. G*d is nothing, endless nothing
without end. Something implies nothing, nothing is the only something the endless G*d can
be. G*d is the existence of nonexistence, the nonexistent existence, Endless Nothing
Without End. Before the beginning was Nothing.
It is with letters and language that G*d creates, these things which are, at one and the same
time, both nothing and something. With them was created something from nothing. Write
letters on a page in any order. They are meaningless. Yet rearrange these same things and
from meaningless chaos and empty void comes meaning, from a valueless arrangement of
components comes valuable structure and interconnection. This can be seen as The
Endless inscribing eternal language and order in the Primordial Ether, a way of describing
5
It should immediately be clear to biblically literate readers that this is a mythological retelling of the
creation story in Genesis, and its consequences, when set into a Kabbalistic context. I do not intend to
delve deep into Kabbalistic interpretation here but the myth itself is enough to help us think about God
in other ways.
5
how from meaningless nothing comes meaningful something: something literally from
nothing. The difference between something and nothing here is not empirical or
metaphysical; it is only a matter of wisdom and wisdom is experience. To arrange letters and
language one way is to say nothing, to be powerless, to impart no meaning. But to arrange
letters and language another way is to create meaning from nothing, to take part in the
activity of The Endless and to reveal the power of language in creation. The Word of The
Endless both created from nothing and sustains from nothing for “G*d said” and “it was so”
(Genesis 1). Humanity participates in The Endless in all its creative activity (“created in his
image” Gen 1:26).
At the same time and in the same action language conceals and reveals. The G*d who says
“I am what I am” (Exodus 3:14) both says something and nothing and something as nothing
in this declaration and there could be no better self-revelation of The Endless than to reveal
as a concealment or to conceal as a revelation. Language is thus a taking part in the activity
of G*d and our use of it is part of the action of rendering the world meaningful. This action
can be seen as Tikkun, part of the restorative action that is necessary for the fulfillment of
creation. Creation, in turn, can be seen as the signature activity of The Endless, that activity
in which the divine name is inscribed in all things, in which all things endlessly refer back to
nothing, to endless nothing without end. Before the beginning there was Ayin, nothing. After
the end there will also be Ayin, nothing. (Compare “the big bang”.) Everything in between is,
then, also essentially nothing for it came from nothing and will return to nothing. It should not
surprise us that all creation takes part in the activity of The Endless for it is endless nothing
without end. Language is the means by which an infinite plenum or superfluity of meaning is
constricted, concealed and finitized into a more specific meaning. Language is, thus, a
means of tzimtzum, a means of creating specifics from endlessness. This suggests that the
divine limitation and contraction of The Endless can only result in finitude and specificity. It is
here that the human subject emerges. Here activity of The Endless can be seen to be
imitated in language itself.
Now I will be the first to admit that there is a lot to this and that it is also speculative. But
please allow me to immediately remind you that the point of this essay is exploratory and not
to make claims about reality or, more broadly, “what is”. We are thinking about “God” and to
what “God” could refer and how we might understand use of that term. It will be clear to see
that the Kabbalistic myth is based on Jewish thought about the Genesis myth in the Torah of
the Jewish bible and basic familiarity with this text is assumed. We also see that the
6
interpretation of the myth is wrapped up with thoughts about human language. Indeed, one
basic issue here is how human language might or might not be adequate to the concept of
God in the first place. Wittgenstein, in his Tractatus, spoke in its final proposition about
something beyond language about which “we must be silent” and one wonders if God was in
any sense here hinted at. Even if not, this is an interesting thought: why would we imagine
something infinite like God might be confinable in language? In addition we must keep in
mind the Jewish attitude towards God, prevalent throughout the Hebrew bible and its
interpretation by rabbis and scholars as well as the Kabbalists, which forbids the use of
God’s name, YHWH, or “his” reduction to a being or any over-precise definition of the same.
For Judaism, God, or G*d if we preserve the Jewish reverence for the referent of the
signifier, is an ineffable beyond description and there should be no lazy or easy equation of
human description with that to which it refers. This is why God is equated with theophanies
of weather or winds or clouds and such like. There is a symbolic language in the Hebrew
scriptures indicating God but not as describing or naming or equating. God, implicitly in these
texts, is not to be equated with the descriptions used.
The question becomes how such a myth as the Kabbalists have, or the equally mythical
interpretation which I made of it, can be put to use to help us think about a God implicitly
thought to be “Nothing” or “Infinite” or “Endless”. I want to offer up a number of exploratory
thoughts here that rhizomatically extend their tendrils from such mythical thinking:
1). The 20th century liberal theologian, Paul Tillich, said that “God is not finding an alien
being but overcoming self-alienation” and that this was “the basic model of theology”. This is
helpful, I think, in that it puts the onus on us to conceptualise ourselves, our existence, our
experience, in the context of alienation not just from ourselves but from all things. Alienation
itself (sometimes also thought of as exile) is a deeply theological subject, one the Kabbalistic
myth itself felt the need to incorporate and explain, and overcoming the felt alienation we
experience in our lives is a part of much religious and philosophical thought. In thinking of
God it would be entirely natural to imagine it as a matter of some form of reconciliation with a
whole, a holism, over an alienation which tends to emphasise partition.
2). If God is not a person, if God is “No-Thing”, then, in a way, we can say that God is death,
not being, the absence of identity, life, spirit, mind, consciousness. But, once again, this
reveals how much our thinking is wrapped up within our form of life and how we think by
analogy to ourselves, our culture, our experience. In a real sense, to say about God is
7
already to say too much. Yet, to persevere with the thought “God is death”, this imagines
God as a nothing from which we come and to which we return.
3). I have already suggested that we think of being as presence. But what if we didn’t, what if
being was something else? God is only a person because in our linguistic thinking we
privilege presence over absence whilst still regarding absence as a strange kind of presence
we struggle to account for, a potentiality for presence. This itself is instructive for if absence
is a kind of presence then can the absence of God not be a kind of presence too?
4). Musing on the notion of how human beings think I offer up some ideas. Here we need to
think about how we think (the process) and not just what we think (the content):
It is the fact that there is no rule for “reading correctly” that makes reading possible.
It is the fact that God is impossible that makes God possible.
It is the fact that God is not knowable that makes God knowable.
It is God’s non-existence which constitutes God’s existence.
God’s absence is God’s presence.
5). God, by definition, cannot be “real” by analogy to any definition of that term we would
regularly have in our current, materialist frame of mind (the “spirit of the age”). But what
might be the sense of a hyper-real God? Or the possibility?
6). Silence is nothing, silence is absence, but silence exists. And silence has meaning,
silence can be interpreted; silence is hermeneutic. How would one understand silence or
God by analogy to silence? (In 1 Kings 19 God is imagined as a “still, small voice”.) Perhaps
one doesn’t understand or come to knowledge of such things. Perhaps it is a matter of
experiencing them. Perhaps one is as someone being-in-its-midst?
7). In discussing Heidegger and Derrida in his book Hermeneutics,6 John D. Caputo raises
the interesting concept of “hauntology” as an alternative to ontology, the study of being.
Without delving too deeply either into the thought of that book or the two philosophical titans
it discusses, hauntology, as I want to appropriate it here, thinks of God as a spectre, as
rhetoric, as a splinter in the mind, a ghost in the machine, as possibility, opportunity or
aporia. Its not there yet it is there, confounding of forms of thought and the language in which
6
John D. Caputo, Hermeneutics: Facts and Interpretation in the Age of Information (Pelican, 2018).
8
they must be couched. Here we are not talking about ontology, the study of what is, but of
hauntology, an appeal to something other, an experience of an unconditional beyond, that
which we talk of as “is”. God, in the light of hauntology, is not a predicate but an insubstantial
but of no less substance (yet as substance with a completely recreated and recontextualised
meaning) because of that for a ghost is there...but you can’t grasp it! Substance but
insubstantial. Absent yet “present”.
8). So God is not an “is”, a linguistic formulation which is itself predicating what cannot be
predicated. We need to disentangle God from the notion of predication. (We actually need to
question predication, and how it works, tout court, but that’s another story.) God becomes
(not a bad description in itself!) possibility or the space between “exist” and “doesn’t exist”.
Our language is not really up to the task of describing this and we can only be apophatic, we
can only affirm what is inappropriate and inadequate. God is not a being, we say, God does
not have presence, but we are then left with little else to say which brings us back to that
which, as Wittgenstein said, we must pass over in silence. Can we say, then, that God is not
a being that has existence but, rather, the possibility for existence? Does God fit between
atheism and theism, two sides of a modern binary whose form of thought is actually
inadequate to the subject which they imagine they address? Is God an experience rather
than something about which a knowledge or an epistemology could be formed? Here both
atheists and theists are challenged as to the adequacy of their discourse.
9). I think about this and imagine God as the Impossible, the experience of the Impossible.
An Impossible Endless. The possibility of impossibility. The impossible has been becoming
possible for the entirety of our existence and this is nothing new. Even as we pretend that we
are the measure of all things there is always, hidden, unprobed, the knowledge that, actually,
we are not. I think of God as a hermeneutic experience of the Impossible Endless, an
unconditionality that is other, beyond, glimpsed yet never captured, barely imagined yet
sensed intuitively. An instinct. Would this be the God that doesn’t exist, that never existed…
but where that never mattered in the first place? Would this be the God that confounds and
subverts our thinking entirely, that mutes our language and is beyond expression?
At this point you might be thinking that this is all very well but I haven’t actually said much;
there’s precious little predication going on. And you’d be right because there is precious little
predication going on. This, in fact, is part of my point; predication, when it comes to God-talk,
is inadequate and inappropriate to the task. Saying what God “is” or isn’t is a surefire way to
9
speak above your pay grade, as it were, or, better, to talk out of turn. This is why when, in the
past, folks like Christopher Hitchens or Richard Dawkins or Sam Harris or Daniel Dennett
have dismissed God with an uninterested wave of their scientific hands I wondered what it
was that they thought they were dismissing. Notions of a God who is a person? Good, I am
too. But did they think they were dismissing any and every notion of any possible
configuration or conception of what we might call “the divine”? I wonder. And, if they were,
can they do that without going into details about the things that they don’t think exist? Yet, of
course, even this is to not go far enough because right here in this essay I have boldly
claimed that God does not exist… but that God-talk is not thereby exhausted because of it. A
subject that is not a subject at all and refuses the objectivity of being an object or the notion
of being a being or a person or a thing is not so easy to talk about or to dismiss. I rather think
that these scientific despisers of divinity are locked into a discourse that delineates that
which they do not believe in as much as it does that which they do. I question how much
thinking they have done to think outside of this discourse though or to think outside the box.
This is relevant because, as I see things, to imagine any kind of God at all is not to imagine
something that could be in a box. Indeed, in that scenario we would be in the box and not
God. I ask myself if characters in computer games get to decide what the creator of the
game is like. You might respond that this is a stupid analogy because gaming characters are
not alive and don’t have independent thought. I would retort that some very brilliant minds
have speculated that we might be in a simulation now ourselves. It goes without saying that
it is relatively simple to fool the human senses which are the only things informing us about
our environment and our existential situation but if they’re easily fooled then where does this
leave us? For me this problematizes the very idea of “epistemology”, the study of knowledge
and how we know, to the extent that I wonder what actual use epistemology is. Only a
person who thought that they could actively, objectively, foundationally know things could
even begin to predicate. I am, due to experience, not such a person. It seems to me much
more the case that we take things for true because experience seems to verify these things
than that we inherently describe the nature of anything. Our knowledge, a badge we give to
things we think we know, is practical rather than essential, experiential rather than
foundational and relational rather than inherent. Its a “what works” rather than a “what is”.
When I apply this to God and I see how so much of what we call knowing is very much more
like “using based on experience” then I ask how we might ever claim to “know” anything
about God in the first place.
10
In fact for me God becomes words. “Impossible” and “Endless” are the two primary words
that come to mind. Hence this essay is about “Endless Impossible”, more regularly and
popularly known in public as “God”. This god is not an old fella who either loves or judges
according to mood or taste. He didn’t create the universe like you might bake a cake, doesn’t
speak, write, think or act in humanistic ways like you or I might do and neither is “he” a he or
a she. This God, if there is to be one, slips through the cracks of our ability to describe and is
alien to our customary and traditional forms of thought which issue in human language.
Neither theology not atheology talks about this god and theism and atheism are equally
inadequate responses to the idea of such a god. Agnosticism and Gnosticism also don’t
apply since this god would not be about knowledge as if God were a thing you could know
something (like facts) about. Such a God would instead be about an experience, a
being-in-the-midstness. So what I am saying when I say these things is that, as of first
importance, our language is not created to talk about God. Our language talks of subjects
and objects, of hes and shes, but none of this works for God. It only makes objective and
earthbound that which, by very definition, cannot be. This makes talk about God strange and
other for it means we have to find new and other ways to pretend to even approach
expressing something beyond any culture or language. Both culture and language talk about
things by possessing and domesticating them but this doesn’t work with God for God must
remain strange and other, perhaps sometimes instinctively close but never graspable… like
a ghost! With God there is hauntology not ontology.
So what I have been saying in this essay is that we can talk about God - sort of. But it
doesn’t make much sense to talk about God as a person even if, for the majority of our
existence on earth, gods have been thought of as persons. Yet its clear to see why we have
done that because we think of things by analogy to ourselves. We need to go beyond this,
however, if we want to take the idea of God more seriously. But, doing this, we find ourselves
in a different place, beyond beings with intentions and desires. It is not clear that we can
really say anything positive about God at all for how can any human being talk about that of
which they have no experience and so no cultural or linguistic means to express? We fall
back on that which we know and can use to express it. That’s what various holy scriptures
do when they talk about gods. These scriptures are at best metaphorical and at worst utterly
inadequate to describe the things they imagine - but they still try anyway. The more precise
they are, the more inappropriate they become. Symbol, myth and metaphor are used
because, in saying too much, we simply expose that this is about something beyond our
ability to both comprehend and express.
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This leaves me with an Endless Impossible of a god. God, of course, can never formally be
ruled out because who are we to say what is or isn’t? Yet if we are going to think about such
things we have to do so with authenticity and honesty. To me it makes more sense to speak
of experience rather than knowledge of God and to not try and subsume God under
scientific, modernistic or mechanistic notions of the world. We cannot bolt God on to human
worldviews as something extra that makes it all work. God is an unconditional, an other, a
beyond, a No-Thing, that to which our language struggles to apply to or make sense of. Its
very structure gets God wrong for it is humanistic and God would not be. When it comes to
God, less is more. That’s what we need to think about, that’s how we discuss an Endless
Impossible that exists in the spaces in between our thinking, language and experience.
Force of Habit: On Believing Strange Tales in Canonical Gospels
At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth
shook, and the rocks were split. The tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the saints
who had fallen asleep were raised. After his resurrection they came out of the tombs and
entered the holy city and appeared to many. (Matthew 27:51-53)
This essay takes as its point of departure an observation of New Testament scholar, Stephen
Patterson. Patterson observes in passing, as he is writing about the relevance of apocryphal
gospels for historical Jesus research, that “There are many odd things in the canonical
gospels with which we have become comfortable through repeated exposure, and many
scholars just assume Jesus said or did these things.” Or, one imagines, it is thought that the
things reported to have taken place in the gospels did so and perhaps just as described.
Patterson’s own suggestion is that the issue here is that repeated retelling or repeated
reading is the cause of the problem. He suggests that familiarity breeds acceptance. The
more familiar we become with the narratives the more comfortable we feel in their presence.
This bothers me. Take as an example the section of Matthew’s crucifixion narrative which I
have placed at the head of this essay. Only Matthew reports it. Secular history is silent about
it. There is no extant Jewish polemic seeking to discredit it, deny it or otherwise explain it
away. Would we not expect that if “many bodies” came to life, struck from the grave and
wandered about Jerusalem that someone besides Matthew might have noticed it? British
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New Testament scholar, Tom Wright, describes this incident as the report of a “localized but
quite large scale rising from the dead” in his discussion of it in his book dealing with the
resurrection of Jesus.7 Wright further suggests that “Matthew knows a story of strange
goings-on around the time of the crucifixion” and that “Some stories are so odd that they may
just have happened”.8 In doing so he betrays his frequent tendency to believe whatever the
gospels say just as Patterson has suggested. Wright demurs from arguing for the story’s
historicity, however, since not only would it be hard and too obviously apologetic to do such a
thing but it is, in the final analysis, not such an important story in terms of the gospel that it
needs to be the scholarly hill you are prepared to die on. Jesus’ own resurrection, however,
is such a hill and Wright argues for it as a historical, bodily fact.9
But we do not need to slog through 27 chapters of Matthew, as a random example of a
canonical gospel, to catch the force of Patterson’s assertion. Here are 13 more examples
from Matthew of “odd things” or strange tales that you may be familiar with:
1). The virgin birth (1:18-25). Matthew relates that Mary was “found to be with child” before
she and her husband to be, Joseph, had yet lived together. This necessitated “an angel of
the Lord” appearing to Joseph in a dream (get used to dreams!) so that he didn’t get rid of
her on the quiet and a quotation of scripture from Matthew. The quotation is Isaiah 7:14, part
of which says “The virgin shall conceive and bear a son”. At least, that’s what you may be
used to in English. But, as the Jewish scholar who is writing the commentary in the Jewish
Annotated New Testament notes,10 neither parthenos, the Greek word in the LXX (Greek)
translation of Isaiah used by Hellenistic Jews nor the original Hebrew word behind that,
‘almah, necessarily means “virgin”. “Young woman” without any sexual connotation works
equally as well. The Hebrew word betulah, used many times in the Hebrew text of Isaiah as
well as elsewhere in the Tanakh, is the more usual Hebrew word for “virgin”. If you read this
in English you would never know all that because it has always been rendered “virgin” with
all the miraculous and portentous connotations and consequences that go with it.
7
N.T. Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God (Christian Origins and the Question of God, Vol. 3;
SPCK, 2003), p. 632.
8
See pp. 632 - 636 for Wright’s compact discussion of the incident which, formally, he leaves open.
9
This, indeed, is the point of Wright’s The Resurrection of the Son of God.
10
The scholar is Aaron M. Gale. See The Jewish Annotated New Testament (eds. Amy-Jill Levine and
Mark Zvi Brettler; OUP, 2011), p. 4. Interestingly, this comment on the virgin birth seems to have been
removed from the second edition of this book from 2017. The Hebrew bible (Tanakh) counterpart to
the Jewish Annotated New Testament, viz., The Jewish Study Bible (2nd Ed; eds., Adele Berlin and
Mark Zvi Brettler; OUP, 2014), translates ‘almah at Isa 7:14 as “young woman”.
13
2). Wise men following a star (2:1-12). This is the story, known only from Matthew, of “wise
men from the East” who came to worship the infant Jesus and give him strangely symbolic
gifts. This story is “odd” for several reasons. Not the least of these reasons is that in order to
find the baby they follow a star and one wonders how this ever seemed like a reasonable
proposition even to the writers and first readers of this book. Not only does the following of a
star not make sense but it seems the text itself knows it as the wise men need to stop off and
ask in Jerusalem where “the child who has been born king of the Jews” is. Are they not
following the star? Yet, after a conversation with Herod, the current king of the Jews, in
which they are told Bethlehem is the place to look (according to the scriptures, no less), the
star leads them on again: “ahead of them went the star that they had seen at its rising until it
stopped over the place where the child was.” The word “place” is ambiguous but the next
verse begins “On entering the house” which means that the idea the star stopped over a
specific dwelling is not ruled out, a fantastical suggestion even were we to think “place” only
meant “town” instead. The wise men, subsequent to presenting their gifts, are in receipt of a
warning dream to avoid Herod after this and return home by another route. But how would
Matthew know what dreams wise men from the East have?
3). The flight to Egypt and return (2:13-23). Now Joseph gets another dream (in which an
angel of the Lord appears) in the ongoing saga of Jesus’ infanthood and is told to move his
family to Egypt to escape Herod’s deadly clutches. Herod, upset because the wise men
never came back, orders the slaughter of all children in Bethlehem under 2 years old
(something else no one else seems aware of). This, for Matthew, fulfills another scripture, as
did going to Egypt in the first place, and, some time later when Herod is dead, Joseph gets
another dream telling him to go back to Israel. It seems as if he is heading back towards
Bethlehem, certainly Judea, but learning that Herod’s son is now on the throne the family go
north into Galilee (outside Judean jurisdiction), after yet another dream, and settle in
Nazareth instead. Here dreams do not seem so much historical reminiscences as narrative
devices. Do we need a character to do something? Let’s say they had a dream. As a
narrative device it is rivaled only by scriptures to be fulfilled.
4). The temptations of Jesus (4:1-11). You’re in the wilderness for 40 days (a symbolic fact if
ever there was one) and you’re “famished” when up pops the devil himself to tempt you.
What is being described here, a vision, a physical manifestation? Jesus is asked to turn
stones to bread, he is whisked away to Jerusalem and placed on the pinnacle of the temple
and then he is taken up a very high mountain and shown all the kingdoms of the world. Did
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this happen or was it all in Jesus’ mind? What are we being asked to accept? The story
ends, after Jesus has beaten the devil by constantly quoting Deuteronomy at him, by the
devil leaving to be replaced by angels who “came and waited on him”. It does not seem as if
we are meant to take these as imaginary or metaphorical angels so why should we imagine
the devil was any more imaginary or metaphorical than they in Matthew’s mind?
5). Stilling the storm (8:23-27). Here is a story of Jesus and his disciples in a boat crossing
the Sea of Galilee which is, in fact, not a sea but a lake. The lake is prone to storms which
come and go and one is reported here: “A windstorm arose on the sea, so great that the boat
was being swamped by the waves;” Jesus, however, is managing, somehow, to sleep
through this so that the disciples have to wake him, fearing for their lives. This should strike
readers as a little odd when we learn elsewhere that a number of the disciples of Jesus were
apparently experienced fishermen and so, one imagines, somewhat accustomed to weather
in the area. Nevertheless, the disciples wake Jesus saying “We are perishing!” Jesus sees
this as an opportunity to criticise their lack of faith, the transparent point of the story, before
“he got up and rebuked the winds and the sea; and there was a dead calm.” So here Jesus
is shown, like past prophetic figures such as Elijah and Elisha, to be able to command nature
and to bring it to complete calm.
6). Demoniacs and pigs (8:28-34). Matthew has changed this story from that one in Mark
5:1-20 which is the ostensible source for the story here. In doing so, Matthew multiplies the
demoniacs from one (“Legion”) to two, as if one guy with lots of demons was lesser of a
miracle than two. The story is set in a gentile area since it contains pigs which are not kosher
animals for Jews. These demoniacs (people possessed by demons) call Jesus “Son of God”
and hint at an eschatological time (we may assume Judgment Day) when demons will
presumably be defeated and punished by God and in their speech they seem to concede
that Jesus has power over them. The demons, who seem to speak through those they are
possessing, beg to be sent into a herd of pigs and Jesus grants their wish, whereupon the
pigs rush down a “steep bank into the sea and perish... in the water.” Whether the demons
drowned too or not is not indicated. None of this, however, impresses the locals who begged
Jesus to leave the area when the swineherds whose pigs they presumably were repeated
the tale in the local area.
7). The woman with a hemorrhage (9:20-22). Jesus has been contacted by someone whose
daughter “has just died” but the father believes that if only Jesus will come and lay his hand
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on her then she can still be saved. Jesus gets up from what he is doing to go with this
distraught father, presumably to accede to his request, when, on the way, a woman
“suffering from hemorrhages for 12 years” thinks to come up behind him and touch just the
fringe of his cloak, believing that if she does she will be cured. In Matthew’s telling of this
story it does not seem as if the woman even manages to do this and no mention of her
touching Jesus or his garments is made. Instead, Jesus turns around and seemingly knows
everything about her need and what she was trying to do. Jesus pronounces that her faith
has made her well and she is instantly cured.
8). Feeding 5000 (14:15-21). The story of the feeding of the 5000 is one of the most
well-known stories of the gospels. Jesus is teaching a crowd in the countryside and his
disciples are with him. It becomes late in the day and the disciples become concerned that
the people need to be sent away to feed themselves. Jesus, however, says they need not be
sent away and instructs the disciples to feed them. They, in turn, only have “five loaves and
two fish”. Jesus asks for these to be given to him whereupon he blesses them and then
gives them to the disciples for distribution to “about 5000 men, besides women and children.”
Not only do all these people eat their fill but twelve baskets of leftovers are collected up,
indicating the superfluity of provision that Jesus has worked. Once more, we can compare
this action to those of Elijah and Elisha who themselves provided a superfluity of food from
seemingly inadequate resources.
9). Walking on water (14:22-33). Jesus dismisses his disciples back across the lake and
says goodbye to the fed crowds and then goes up a mountain to pray by himself. When
evening comes (which we can assume to mean that it was dark) Jesus, alone, sees the boat
struggling against the wind on the lake, still far from the shore. So, “early in the morning” he
sets off walking across the lake towards the boat. The disciples, terrified once more,
proclaim him to be “a ghost” and cry out in fear. Jesus, however, tells them to stop being
afraid and identifies himself. This doesn’t seem to be enough, however, as Peter asks this
apparition to call him out onto the water too if its really Jesus. Jesus having done this, Peter
takes note of his surroundings though and, with the wind and the waves, becomes frightened
and starts to sink, crying out for help once more. Once more Jesus gets an opportunity to
talk about faith. Jesus saves Peter from sinking and gets in the boat whereupon this storm
also ceases and Jesus is worshipped by the amazed disciples as the Son of God.
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10). The Canaanite woman (15:21-28). Jesus goes to the region of Tyre and Sidon which is
north of Galilee and was somewhere that God also sent Elijah in 1 Kings. Whilst there “a
Canaanite woman” (i.e. not a Jew) cries out to Jesus as “Lord, Son of David” (the latter being
messianic nomenclature) and informs him that her daughter is tormented by a demon. Jesus
makes no reply, not even when his own disciples urge him to do something, and claims that
he “was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” In effect, the non-Jewish
demon-possessed are not his concern even if they are children and the story above of
demoniacs and pigs (which also took place in a gentile area) where Jesus did act
notwithstanding. Jesus makes a vaguely racist statement comparing Israelites to children (of
God, of course) and people like this Canaanite woman to “dogs”. You feed God’s children
rather than feeding the dogs is the upshot. However, the woman has a smart comeback for
Jesus (where she rhetorically agrees with Jesus’ racial distinctions) to the effect that even
dogs get the crumbs. Jesus, impressed by her persistent faith, grants the woman’s wish and
her daughter is healed. Here we can see the beginnings of a racist Jesus who only acts
along strictly racial lines which is at an interesting juxtaposition to how he is usually
presented in any number of gentile, Western churches. Perhaps, then, those attending such
places imagine that they are in the position of the Canaanite woman, showing an exemplary,
persistent, Jesus-impressing faith? Meanwhile, Jesus here seems to make an exception not
change his basic position.
11). The transfiguration (17:1-8). The transfiguration is the story of an occasion when Jesus
took his inner circle of closest disciples, Peter, James and John, up a high mountain. There
“he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became
dazzling white.” Moses and Elijah, traditionally regarded as representing the law and the
prophets of Judaism, appear also and talk with Jesus yet in such whispers that our narrator
does not know the contents of the discourse. Peter utters some gibberish about making
some tents for them to stay in but is interrupted by a cloud (a Jewish symbol for the
presence of God) from which a voice speaks: “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am
well pleased; listen to him!” which is very like the speech reported in the vision Matthew
reports Jesus as having at his baptism by John the Baptist in Matthew 3. (In Matthew this is
a private vision of Jesus rather than a shared or public experience. See Matthew 3:16-17.)
Here, however, those in attendance do hear the words and they fall to the ground, afraid
once more. Its Jesus to the rescue again, however, as he asks them to get up and when they
look up he is once more alone. Here the comparison with what Matthew seems to report as a
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baptismal vision of Jesus is interesting as in this case the voice is audible for all those
present as, we must imagine, the vision was visible as well.
12). Two donkeys (21:1-11). Matthew is one who, in his gospel, thinks more is better. We
have already seen how he doubles the demoniacs in the story of the demoniacs and the
pigs. But he can go one better than this for in his story of Jesus riding into Jerusalem in
triumph and to the acclamation of the crowds on a donkey he has Jesus on not one but two
donkeys! He gives quite specific instructions to two of his disciples in preparing for this: “Go
into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her;
untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord
needs them.’” Here Matthew seems led by the nose (like a donkey) by his use of scriptural
interpretation in coming to this conclusion: “This took place to fulfill what had been spoken
through the prophet, saying, ‘Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you,
humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey’” which is a combining
of Isaiah 62:11 and Zechariah 9:9. The disciples are nothing if not obedient, however, and in
case you were in any doubt that Jesus sits on two donkeys at once its all there in black and
white: “The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and
the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them.” Needless to say, no parallel to
this story has Jesus on two donkeys at the same time. It is a peculiarity of Matthean
interpretation.
13). The empty tomb (28:1-10). We have had some odd stories so far but the best is saved
for last. Jesus has been crucified and laid to rest. Mary Magdalene and “the other Mary” go
“to see the tomb”. But what is this? There is “a great earthquake” (which didn’t make it into
secular history) and “an angel of the Lord” descends from heaven (which also didn’t make it
“to see the tomb”. But what is this? There is “a great earthquake” (which didn’t make it into
secular history) and “an angel of the Lord” descends from heaven (which also didn’t make it
into secular history although it can hardly have been inconspicuous) and this angel rolls
away the stone at the entrance to the tomb and sits on it. The angel’s “appearance was like
lightning, and his clothing white as snow.” Not exactly inconspicuous, as already noted. In
Matthew, Jesus’ tomb has guards and these collapse at such a sight. The angel, however,
calm as a cucumber, addresses the two Marys who have seemingly not been similarly
overcome as the stout guards were and are told Jesus has been raised from the dead and
that they are to pass this information on to the disciples. In fact, they all need to go to Galilee
which is where they will see Jesus again. Matthew next exhibits a sleight of hand when he
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and, second, we must maintain the proviso that the door to new experience, learning, is
always open. This is to say that these individuals in communities with their traditions do not
know everything and, in any case, have had their thinking shaped, in turn, by all the life
experiences that make up their hermeneutic situation and outlook. And by the ones that
aren’t a part of this, of course. This is why the proviso that the door to learning will always be
open is also important. It is always the case that people can learn new things, gain new
understandings, come to a new kind of wisdom.
2). In general, I think that extraordinary, “beyond our community’s accepted norms” kinds of
claims require either extraordinary evidence or extraordinary attestation. Whilst one single
report of something might be true, it should not expect to be regarded as true. This is
sometimes the case of gospel stories of the odd variety (as Matthew’s birth stories here) but
not always, although we should note that many gospel stories (depending on your model for
reconstructing the gospels) might actually be based on one written source which others have
copied and modified or combined with others. Here stories such as feeding the 5000 and
walking on the water are taken from Mark, according to many New Testament scholars and
the prevailing view of gospel relationships, and used by Matthew. We are well within our
readerly rights to ask if such sources have provided either evidence or attestation that is of a
magnitude that means we should take their contents seriously as genuine events, not least if
we read the gospel as positing this or readers, ancient or modern, are reading the text to
suggest this. We are not in a situation where special or holy books can claim a unique
trustworthiness or connection to truth for themselves. Indeed, I would argue the opposite; if
you claim a special right to truth (or, in the case of holy books, have it claimed for you) or
argue that your text is more trustworthy than most others, then you should provide special or
extraordinary demonstrations of it. Failing this test, texts should expect to be read as any
other and to the same standards.
3). I have already mentioned that individual readers will read as individuals in communities
with their traditions which guide and delineate their reading strategies with all the possibilities
and probabilities that they entail. But, this being the case, such odd stories as those
mentioned here become opportunities both to interrogate those traditions you are a part of
and to be interrogated by them. Such stories, I suggest, are opportunities for dialogue as an
individual within community. But, it being the case that other individuals are in other
communities that connect or intersect with your own in differing and perhaps tangential
ways, you also have the opportunity to read as others read, with all the possibilities and
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probabilities their traditions and reading strategies entail, and to be questioned by, and
question, those as well. This will not only jolt the stories, as things read, out of the cosy
familiarity they’ve been allowed to settle into, but it will also allow fresh angles of view upon
them and set them in different traditional contexts. Some may read such stories as we have
here as strict, historical reports whilst others read them as literary devices. Some see miracle
whilst others see imagination. In the interplay there is an opportunity for dialogue and mutual
learning. This may not amount to knowledge but it cannot but add to the store of readerly
wisdom.
4). My second point was that extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence or
extraordinary attestation. My final point is that extraordinary claims require extraordinary
stories. We should consider that none of the gospels, canonical or non-canonical, set out to
list meaningless or random events and to combine them, in narrative or other ways, to tell a
tale full of sound and fury but signifying nothing. This is especially true of the canonical
gospels in view in this essay. Here a narrative format has been chosen and the narratives
have been constructed in such a way as to enlighten the reader, from the authors’
perspective, about the character Jesus. The stories included in the narratives are meant to
be informing us what Jesus was like, what Jesus said and did, what happened to him and
what it all means. The stories take place in an actual but also a symbolic universe where the
fact of the latter is also meant to have meaning in the former. That stories take place in such
a symbolic universe is not a strike against their reality or truthfulness necessarily and,
indeed, we might even expect that historical actors would perform actions in full
consciousness of the signs and symbols of their own traditions and histories. The point here
is that even odd stories or strange tales have meanings and purposes which it is the reader’s
task to define, arrange and evaluate. In the case of the gospels this is not merely an
historical but also at least a literary and theological action. In short, saying “that didn’t
happen” and leaving it there, as if the matter of historicity was the only useful question we
could ask of the text, is not good enough. It is not a proper interaction with the text in the
fulness of its meaning, expression and purpose. We can do more, and we should, to
interrogate the text than merely filter it through our grid of historical probabilities and
possibilities (using capabilities which may be severely hampered in any case). We need to
examine the stories as meaningful text and not merely as potential report and get involved in
this process hermeneutically as things that we can both question and be questioned by.
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As readers, we always need to beware of the dreaded “familiarity” which breeds the cosy
acceptance Patterson points out. “Getting used to reading things a certain way” is a
sometimes unavoidable but often detrimental aspect to reading things over and over again.
Human beings gain habits and think according to patterns they become used to but it is
never a bad thing to interrogate these things and to help in the process of their evolution
which we must encourage in order to grow and become wiser and more educated readers. It
is also advisable to be those who can question ourselves generally about how we read
things and to ask ourselves if we are special pleading or making special rules in certain
cases which are not always openly acknowledged. The phenomenon of those who can go to
church and read and accept stories that they would not believe in their own life, which takes
place, at least physically, in the same world as those stories do, always needs to be
questioned, critiqued and explained in open conversation as it does of their opposites, the
militant atheists, whose worldview is staunchly against what they call a miracle and so a
fable because “miracles don’t happen”. Miracles may indeed not happen but, as I have
already pointed out, no individual or community is infallible and everybody has something
new to learn. The wise are eager to find out what that is and the foolish are happy to rest on
their imagined laurels.
Re-Writing Jack Caputo’s Hermeneutics
Recently I read Jack Caputo’s book Hermeneutics11 in which he attempted a broad
introduction to a subject he called “the art of interpretation” along a pathway that began with
Heidegger, primarily his Being and Time, went through Gadamer’s Truth and Method and
Derrida’s Of Grammatology and Writing and Difference and ended up amongst the thought
of religious secularist Gianni Vattimo and atheist pragmatist Richard Rorty. For Caputo,
hermeneutics has become “postmodern” and this does away with things like subject and
object. It also lets in at least the notion of God by the back door since Caputo is both a highly
credentialed philosopher and a highly credentialed theologian. (Indeed, he’s an emeritus
professor of both.) So in four further chapters of Hermeneutics, in which Caputo aims to
situate the theories of high falutin’ philosophers in the actual dirt of real life situations, we find
that the religious is one such area. Caputo finds something valuable in religion and he
argues that even atheists like Derrida and Rorty had something almost religious (or, at least,
religiously useful) to say as well.
11
John D. Caputo, Hermeneutics: Facts and Interpretation in the Age of Information (Pelican, 2018).
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As I read the book I found it an interesting experience. Not only did some gaps in my
knowledge of those discussed get filled in but I was also facilitated in my own thinking.
Positions I had seemingly arrived at by my own, circuitous route I found others had already
taken up years or even decades before and expressed in highly detailed and academic
ways. It is my usual practice when reading a book seriously to mark it with highlighter pens
and much ink was evident in my reading of this book, so important was its subject matter.
“Hermeneutics,” I decided, was really a posh word for interpretation. Both are essential to life
for they are both what we cannot help doing. They are how we survive, how we process
experience, how we grow, how we learn, how we exist. Caputo distinguishes the former from
the latter by saying that hermeneutics is “the art of interpretation,” hermeneutics is using
interpretation with an artful wisdom, and interpretation is our practice of reading existence,
our experience of being-in-the-world, of being alive as thinking, sentient beings. But don’t
press me too hard on that distinction.
I want to give a flavour of Caputo’s book in this essay and that will involve some extensive
quoting of it. I do this not to steal Caputo’s thunder but because, in doing so and then
extrapolating for myself, it will show my own working out, how I got from A to B. It will also be
a kind of negative autobiography since what made an impact with me as a reader will
necessarily say something about me in so doing. But you should, it goes without saying, buy
and read Hermeneutics for yourself. It is not an expensive book and it is not difficult to
understand if you are a reader of any decent education. My method here will be to quote
extensively from the book (in terms of number of snippets rather than whole chapters at a
time!) in the context of questions that I shall generate myself. (I may take some small
liberties with Caputo’s text that I use as the answers and, occasionally, interpolate my own
but not, I hope, in ways injurious to him or his intentions.) This method will have numerous
ramifications for my readers here. One is that you can take the quotes themselves as things
to think about in their own right. A second is that you can take the quotes and combine them
yourself in ways that you yourself find insightful. Third, you can go along with the narrative I
give to the quotes and see how that grabs you. Fourthly, several hermeneutic ideas should
spring from this essay and they will also be worth your time.
In my own case reading this book has helped me get to the verge, or the cliff edge if we are
more Kierkegaardian about it, of what I begin to call a philosophical position of my own.
Having a philosophical position sounds very grand and perhaps it is. But I don’t think of it in
egotistical terms, I think of it in terms of coming to some conclusions about the life I have
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Hermeneutics stresses that we do not begin from scratch; we begin from an inherited
situation that is already up and running… In radical hermeneutics, we take the point of view
of the outliers, the outsiders, the ones whose views have been neglected or excluded.
Deconstructors cultivate a congenital disposition to look at things otherwise.
11). Do you believe in objectivity?
There are good reasons to believe one thing rather than the other.
12). Should wrong interpretations be got rid of where, for example, we can prove they are
wrong?
I am not trying to abolish interpretations (which is absolutism)… but to multiply them.
13). You start in your discussion of hermeneutics with Martin Heidegger. What is the first
insight on hermeneutics we get from Heidegger in your view?
Heidegger talks about “facticity” or “factical life” in his early years at Freiburg University after
World War 1. By facticity, or factical life, Heidegger meant how we live, concrete experience.
Factical life meant a form of life, a way of living in the world, a mode of “being-in-the-world,”
as he called it himself. “Factical” does not mean a matter of fact but of interpretation. The
hermeneutic ‘how’ refers to how we interpret our lives and our world and our ‘being-with’ one
another in our world. Interpretation is not an isolated act, one thing among many that we do;
it is what we are, the pivot, the crux of our being. Interpretation adjusts the settings of our
being-in-the-world; it tunes the way we are attuned to the world. Interpretation is a
world-making where the world is where and how we dwell. We are not ‘in’ the world the way
water is in a glass but by living and dwelling there.
14). So would I be right in thinking that interpretation here is not a solitary act?
Whenever I open my mouth it is not just I myself doing the talking but rather something
greater than me; it is life itself coming to words. Hermeneutics taps into a deeper, prior
self-interpretation.
15). This sounds kind of reflexive. Can you expand on that aspect a little more?
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The being we intend to interpret in hermeneutics is itself the being who interprets, the being
whose very Being is to interpret itself - and consequently to interpret others, with whom it is
bound, and the world in which it is embedded. Hermeneutics is interpretation interpreting
itself. We are the beings who make our Being a matter of interpretation, who put our Being
into question.
16). If ‘hermeneutics is interpretation interpreting itself’ where does that leave ‘the way things
are’, that which we seek to interpret?
The work of hermeneutics is to work out our ‘always and already being interpreted’, to bring
it to the forefront or to the surface. It requires a certain ability to read between the lines of life
and track down what is being presupposed, what is not being said explicitly. Hermeneutics
does not seek to find some pure, eternal ahistorical essence but rather to tap into the
deepest roots of our inherited historical existence. Hermeneutics is not a matter of making a
presuppositionless beginning but of rethinking the beginning with which we originally began.
Hermeneutics does not begin with nothing; it begins with everything.
17). So if we say that something ‘is’ something then what does this ‘is’ mean?
The is is the how; the is is the as.
18). Sorry? Can you expand on that please?
There is no pure, uninterpreted fact of the matter which is layered over with an interpretation.
Being-in-the-world is not a matter of pure, disinterested consciousness which neutralizes the
world into a set of pale, impersonal objects. It is a matter of being deeply engaged with the
world of everyday concerns. Second, things are parts of wholes, belonging to a holistic and
concatenated system. The whole makes sense (has significance) in terms of the parts, and
the parts in terms of the whole. They form a ‘hermeneutic circle’ of part and whole. Third,
being-in-the-world is always and already being-with others. Fourthly, things are not
interpretation-free-things-in-themselves. They are the fruit of another interpretation, the result
of suspending the movements of everyday life and taking a thing differently, as a measurable
spatio-temporal object.
19). You seem to see human beings doing ‘interpretation’ everywhere. Why?
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25). I want to come back to subjects and objects if I may. How does hermeneutics handle
them?
Let us consider Hans-Georg Gadamer. Gadamer sets out a phenomenology of play as a
model that dissolves the sharp distinction made between the disinterested aesthetic subject
and the pure aesthetic object. The game has rules, and so the field has boundaries, which
set the tensions of the play. So, by play, Gadamer does not mean ‘anything goes’ or random
arbitrary motion, but rule-governed activity. Without the rules, we would not have more play
but no play at all. Play is made possible by the rules, by exercising a spontaneity,
innovativeness and creativity within individual situations that do not themselves have rules.
Key here is that a player participates; the observer merely looks at. Here the task is not to
observe but to experience the play of the game which is its truth. What sort of truth? The
truth of a world-disclosure, of a form of life, of a mode of being-in-the-world, a truth it alone is
uniquely able to open up, and a truth that is visited upon me as player of the game
(existential truth). By losing myself in the play, I regain myself as transformed by the work.
We should not ask what does this thing mean but how do we play it? Players play the play
and are in turn played by the play.
26). You talk about play which seems a kind of context for what takes place. In addition both
hermeneutics and interpretation seem very textual, even literary, ideas. Where do authors
stand in this, authors who write things and give them meanings, where understanding this is
what we would normally call ‘making sense’?
If the play’s the thing then, for Gadamer, the ‘intentions of the author’ are no longer
normative for the interpretation of the work. Why? First of all, it would in fact be impossible to
reconstruct what is in someone’s mind, not to mention the problem posed when an author
perhaps later changes their mind (as, in fact, happened with Heidegger who later tried to
change the meaning of his earlier work). Second, works do not have an absolute sense but a
contextual sense whose meaning is fixed by being fitted to a changing context. What
something means is context-dependent; it is a function of both the works themselves and the
context in which they are repeated.
27). Gadamer is trying to pretend authors don’t exist then?
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Truth, and this is true for both Heidegger and Gadamer, is both existential, since we are
personally engaged with the tradition that bequeathes it to us, we belong to it, and
phenomenological, since it is a new configuration of the world, a new figure of life, a new
configuration of our lived experience.
31). What would be a good model for this kind of truth?
Conversation, the play of the dialogue, the plasticity of discourse, is the central operative
model of hermeneutics (and so the truth that comes from it) for Gadamer. We address things
with questions but they in turn answer back and put us in question. Every serious question
puts us in question in return.
32). What about neutrality?
Conversation is not a methodology but a way of avoiding misunderstanding. Take a search
for historical truth as an example. ‘Neutrality’, were it even possible, would make no sense
because the historical distance that separates contemporary sensibilities from the past is
creative and productive - which brings new questions to bear upon the past. (Example:
feminist studies.) Otherwise, historians would be like people with a tin ear judging a music
competition. They must approach the past as a conversation partner looking for answers,
and that demands having a living question to begin with, having something that matters,
along with a willingness to be put into question by the answer that comes back.
33). This seems a matter of relatability and tradition as you explain it then rather than a
subject beholding objects. Is that on the right track?
We belong to the thing we are trying to talk about. We stand downstream in the history of its
effects. There is a consciousness that understands that it stands in and is formed by the
history that it is trying to understand. Standing in that flow is how we have access to it in the
first place. The tradition, if I may call it that, is never simply over; nothing is ever simply dead.
The tradition is us, part of our being, where we have come from, and we are reflecting upon
it with the resources that it itself has given us.
34). How are the language we must use and the form of being you have spoken about
implicated in this?
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Gadamer said, “Being that can be understood is language.” Heidegger said, “Language is
the house of being.” Here language is not a prison, the lack of language is. Nothing will be
understood without language. Here even silence is a gap, an empty space, a caesura that
occurs within language. Yet there is a mysticality, an unexplainability, to this, something
beyond grasping. For can we not say that whatever we say is not true (inadequate) and
whatever we do not say (when we admit our inability to ever comprehensively understand)
is? In language we live and move and have our being yet as participants in something both
before and after us which we use but never completely control rather than as all-knowing
outside observers.
35). So even as we can change and adapt language it changes us, our being, too?
A genuine question is lost for an answer and puts the questioner in question. We do not
‘understand’ in the hermeneutic sense if we are not changed. If you can’t do it, you don’t get
it, or rather it has not got you.
36). Your book makes use of Jacques Derrida, a person many academics in certain
traditionalist places seem not to have liked. Why is this and what does he have to do with
hermeneutics?
In the 1960s Derrida had a job preparing students wanting to enter into philosophy. To do
this they had to pass an exam where they needed to show both a detailed knowledge of
European philosophy (Descartes, Kant, Hegel) but also show stunning originality in doing so.
Derrida’s way of dealing with this was to push the students to undertake a reading of
philosophy that would be a punishingly meticulous reconstruction of the original, but so
close, so micrological, as to expose the hidden presuppositions in the text, which would in
turn expose a conflict. Derrida’s hypothesis, from which his fame and infamy both spring,
was that the text is implicitly divided against itself, that the presuppositions push against the
very positions pursued in the text, which a close reading would make explicit. If you dig deep
enough, you will hit conflict, not an underlying unity. A close reconstruction becomes a
deconstruction. That spells trouble for hermeneutics as I’ve discussed it so far but much
more so for those who wouldn’t even accept my rhetoric up to this point.
37). So is Derrida following the hermeneutical agenda you are speaking to here or against it?
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Derrida seems to have thought he was critiquing the hermeneutical agenda but I prefer to
think of him as radicalizing it further. Derrida seems to think of hermeneutics as he found it
as talk about a code to crack the meaning of things. As an idea, he doesn’t like that. Hence
why he argues that texts deconstruct themselves meaning that codes obfuscate themselves.
The key point here, though, is that Derrida himself would insist that he is actually not doing
anything. His point is that the text itself is auto-disruptive. So don’t blame him, blame texts!
38). So what is Derrida getting at if he is not doing anything?
It starts with context which I have already mentioned in my answers to you. Derrida agrees
there is always a context, be it the original or current one. Or, as Derrida puts it himself,
‘there is nothing outside of the text’, nothing without a context, nothing that is ever
non-contextual, no reference is ever made without or outside of a textual system of
references. This statement ‘there is nothing outside of the text’ actually became notorious
because it was not read in context, that is, precisely in violation of what it itself was saying!
The statement was wildly misconstrued to mean that Derrida doubted or denied the
existence of the world or maintained that there is nothing outside of words (the most stupid
reading). However, Derrida was saying that we can never understand what the words are
talking about without the words, or without some sort of way to signify in the most general
sense, which is what the word ‘text’ means here. You cannot sneak around the language to
get a supposedly naked reality; even when you want to signify something, you make use of a
system of signifiers. When you learn to speak a second language you have widened your
world rather than built yourself a second prison to enclose the first.
So Derrida is not thinking that we are locked up in a prison house of words called language.
Beyond the first reading of the author I spoke about previously, which Derrida acknowledges,
he conceives of a second which seeks something at work in the text behind the author’s
back, something that the author did not see coming. As Derrida himself writes, ‘The writer
writes in a language and in a logic whose proper system, laws, and life his discourse by
definition cannot dominate absolutely’. Derrida sees that the problem, of course, is that our
words are not our own; we do not own them and cannot stipulate what they mean. We did
not make them up (even, in fact, if we did) and they are not our private property. They are
the common property of the language that was already running when we first opened our
mouths, the one we heard and learned by miming. As soon as we use a system of signs, we
sign on to a whole string of associations and connotations of which we are not the author. If I
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say that English is my first language it is not because it belongs to me but because I belong
to it. I enter into something already up and running, I have agreed to a whole take on
(interpretation of) the world. To take up language is to dive into the waters of a system by
which I am also inundated.
39). So, if you like, we dive into the stream of language. But words and texts have meanings,
yes? There is an original we should take note of despite talk of ‘first readings’?
Derrida thinks that people should guard against the illusion that the original really is original.
The so-called original has not dropped from the sky, it, too, is the effect of everything that
precedes it, of the systems of signification of which it was a part. There never was anything
that was originally original. (The same as saying there is nothing without a conditioning
context, in fact.) Thus, we come to a Derridean point: ‘There are thus two interpretations of
interpretation, of structure, of sign, of play. The one seeks to decipher, dreams of
deciphering, a truth or an origin which escapes play and the order of the sign, and which
lives the necessity of interpretation as an exile. The other, which is no longer turned toward
the origin, affirms play and tries to pass beyond Man and Humanism, the name of Man being
the name of that being who has dreamed of full presence, the reassuring foundation, the
origin and the end of play’.
40). I’m guessing that Derrida chooses the second over the first?
Wrong! Derrida thinks that it is never a question of choosing between the one and the other,
between ‘original Truth’ and ‘no Truth’ with a capitalised “T”, between deciphering “the
meaning” and interpolating and inventing new meanings. Interpretation is always conducted
in the space between (inter) the two interpretations of interpretation. What this perhaps
means is that interpretation happens as intervention; an interpretation is an event of
intervention upon the conventional. This, of course, is never ex nihilo. An interpretation is
always a negotiation. An interpretation happens in the space between, the space between
the regular and irregular, the commensurable and the incommensurable, the normalized and
exceptional, the centre and the margins, the same and the other, the possible and the
impossible, the conditional or unconditional.
41). I see an issue here which I would like you to address. How do words relate to the world?
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We may say that in hermeneutical thinking, particularly the radical hermeneutical thinking of
Derrida, words are not hard-wired to the world or to reality. But that does not mean that
words do not have a reference to the world. It just means that words do not have a reference
to the world independently of their difference from one another. No reference without
difference. Take colour theory, for example. Colours are what they are because they are not
other colours. Colour theory is relational all the way down. Language works the same way,
which is why the meaning of a given word or phrase or sentence is irreducibly contextual.
Taken out of the (con)text, we can make anybody say pretty much anything we want. Without
some context, words just don’t work, they collapse under the stress. Editions, redactions,
citations, all are a function of differential differences. So, in hermeneutics, language is no
longer treated in the classical humanist manner as the way an inner consciousness
expresses itself in outer signs which signify concepts and refer, simply, to reality.
42). Its all context again. Why the ubiquity of context in hermeneutics?
How many words are there in the English language? How many rules of grammar (ways to
combine the words) are there in the English language? How many sentences are there in the
English language? By the time we get to the possible sentences we realise that we will never
stop counting. Not as long as we have to do with a living language which finds ways to
create on a constant basis. The new, the innovative, is part of the process. The reason for
that unlimited number of new sentences is the inextinguishable flow of time which keeps
changing the… yes you guessed it… the context! We can’t step in the same linguistic river
twice. Even if I repeat the same thing to the same audience using the same words, at the
very least the time has changed and a subtle shift has happened. American musician John
Cage realised the very same thing when, in 1952, he composed the piece 4’33”, a so-called
‘silent piece’ (not what Cage thought) in which the performer, following the score which Cage
had meticulously produced, made no sounds at all in three ordered movements. The point
was not that the performer on stage was doing nothing but that every time the piece was
performed the context was completely different, the ambient noises which could be heard in
the absence of performed sounds were always different. 4’33”, as it were, was different
every time. Time, quite literally and constantly, changes everything.
43). Language is sometimes talked of as a matter of structure and in talking earlier of ‘no
reference without difference’ you can be seen to be talking structurally, of language as a
structure of differences. How do your reflections about time interact with that notion?
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The characteristic feature of contemporary, perhaps postmodern or radical, hermeneutics is
its affirmation of unforeseeable openings, surprising events, unprogrammable effects.
Derrida criticises the structural linguist Ferdinand de Saussure by asserting that there is no
finite, atemporal set of rules that could contain or anticipate the infinity of possible utterances
written or spoken in time. This is because, in time, we cannot see what is coming, not fully or
perfectly. So, the ‘event’ has more teeth to it than the structuralist is prepared to admit. The
linguistic event is not just the instance of a rule; it is idiosyncratic and unanticipatable; not
lower than the universal but higher. So ‘the rules’ (any rules) are just another effect of the
system, just as time-bound. The rules do not absolutely regulate the system because they do
not exist outside or above the system, they are produced (in time which is both context and
change) by the system; they are not essences governing the system but temporal effects of
it. In short, time cuts deeper than structure.
44). How does this play out for us as interpreters?
It means that humans do not sort through every possible combination of a complex series of
0s and 1s until they finally hit the right one. They interpret.
45). You give a good account of yourself but this all sounds very weak when contrasted with
those who talk about ‘reality’ and ‘a necessary objectivity’ and say things like ‘it is the case
that some things are true in ways that are not to do with how we talk or what we think’. How
do you respond to this?
Nietzsche once wrote, ‘God is dead and we have killed him’. Notice that he does not say
‘God does not exist’ or ‘There is no God’. He avoids making the metaphysical statement
about something called ‘the nature of reality’. He is saying that God is a fictitious perspective.
But you can’t hold that against God. So is everything else. What matters is that the fiction
has worn out. So talking of hermeneutics being ‘weak’ is actually quite apt and Italian
philosopher Gianni Vattimo would agree that such thought is ‘weak’ in comparison to former
talk but that this is not thereby a bad thing. Vattimo, after the death of the fiction of God and
the absolutes that he was once thought to guarantee, sees the nihilism that critics of this
move sometimes call it as the history of the weakening of these structures, of their
becoming-nothing, their becoming unbelievable, which, for him, is an emancipatory
development. The name of this weakening is hermeneutics, that is, the displacement of
objective absolutizing thinking by interpretation. This can easily be seen as ‘weak’ depending
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Benedicta Ward, The Sayings of the Desert Fathers (Cistercian Publications, 1975).
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But I turn to Andrew’s three things in turn now beginning with “exile”. Exile is a prominent
theme throughout the Jewish and Christian scriptures where the exile is from God but also
from his promises such as “land” or “salvation”. We may sum up the notion of exile here as
being cut off from God. Meanwhile, both modern thinkers such as Jacques Derrida and
theologians such as Tom Wright have used “exile” as a metaphor in their own academic
work, the former perpetuating an argument about language as an alienating and exiling force
whereas the latter has argued that Jesus was God’s agent of the end of human exile from
Himself in a theological interpretation of the historical Jesus. If we ask ourselves what the
monks are exiling themselves from the answer must be “society” and so, basically, outside
influence or temptation to straying from the existential path the monk has set before them.
This is not an inconsequential choice or an easy path to take, as anyone who has ever been
alone for a decent period of time will likely testify. It is noteworthy, however, that here exile is
regarded as a positive thing, something which gives the monk space and time to go about
their monkish business. Often exile is perceived religiously as a punishment or in a negative
light in contrast to this.
So why is exile appropriate for a monk? Because they are those who have single-mindedly
chosen to focus on a vertical relationship with God which, they believe, will result in their own
eternal good. But in choosing exile from society they have also chosen exile from friendship,
from comfort, from diversion from themselves, from simple help, for such monks historically
lived alone in cells. Exile is a choice to bear one’s existence alone without assistance, to
forego the horizontal community for the vertical eternity. This puts oneself under a terrible
microscope in which hitherto unnoticed details about the self become apparent. It seems that
Abba Andrew finds this entirely appropriate for the monk who must seek to root out all
insufficiencies from the one who seeks to dedicate himself to a God thought perfect. That
one cannot be of God and of the world is an old Christian thought and so the monk is to
choose exile from the world in an attempt to better approach God instead. Abba Arsenius is
reported to have heard God say to him, “Flee from men and you will be saved.” This is the
attitude that Andrew also preserves here. Human society in general, so it is thought, can only
distract and contaminate thought that should be on higher and more eternal things. “The
perfection of the self cannot be carried out amongst the distractions of the crowd” is the
thought at work here.
Next in the list of things appropriate for a monk is poverty. Monks should not have “things” in
general and for much similar reasons as to why they should not have neighbours: they can
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“Endurance in silence” is then an inward attitude of silent resilience without distraction yet
also a witness to something beyond words.
Having given brief thoughts I now want to change tack and interpret this from a Taoist / Zen
perspective. Consider the following Zen / Taoist sayings culled from a popular Twitter
account dedicated to tweeting such things within 24 hours of me writing this:
Mirror facing mirror. Nowhere else. - Ikkyu
If you try to change it, you will ruin it. Try to hold it, and you will lose it. - Taoist proverb
The art of simplicity. - Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche
Without the Tao, kindness and compassion are replaced by law and justice. - Lao Tzu
The supreme form of wealth is contentment. - Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche
To a mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders. - Zhuangzi
The valley stream's rushing sound is the eloquent tongue of Buddha. The mountain's vibrant
colours are nothing but the Buddha's form. - Dogen Zenji
If you let go a little you will have little happiness. If you let go completely you will be free. -
Ajahn Chah
Do your work, then step back. The only path to serenity. - Lao Tzu
Silence is proactive. - B. D. Schiers
When you have realized understanding, even one word is too much. - Zen proverb
Fundamentally, the marksman aims at himself. - D.T. Suzuki
What mindset, what attitude, what worldview, is being cultivated and recommended by these
sayings? How does it compare with that put forward by Abba Andrew as an example of the
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Desert Fathers? One big difference is that the Desert Fathers, as Christians and
monotheists, have personalised the infinite and eternal, that which is beyond them, whereas
Buddhists and Taoists in general have not. Taoists, for example, have “the Tao” which
translates loosely as “the Way” and it is thought to be in, around and through all things.
“Buddha” itself is a title (like Christ is whether applied to Jesus or not) meaning “the
awakened one” or “the enlightened one” and not a name and the Buddha, Siddhartha
Gautama, is not a god within Buddhism but merely the most enlightened human being who
ever lived, one in balance with all things and at perfect peace. This latter point, however, is a
point of possible contact with the Fathers who also seek peace yet through communion with
their god. Yet we may say, in general terms, that there is a very different point of emphasis
for these two ways. The focus of the Desert Fathers is God and they themselves are
regarded as those who need to be perfected to be in perfect communion with him. Along the
way they may expect to struggle, to have to purge themselves of sin or evil desires and this
will more than likely be a painful experience. In contrast, the Buddhists and Taoists might be
represented by the quote of Zhuangzi above: To a mind that is still, the whole universe
surrenders. Here the focus is the individual themselves, albeit in the context of absolutely
everything else one may experience or encounter. Neither Buddhists nor Taoists seek
communion with a being but perhaps they do seek it with Being, an ineffable oneness with all
things in a peaceful harmony. Peace or serenity we may see as a, if not the, goal of these
latter paths.
Here the mention of silence in both traditions is interesting and worth exploring. From both
Abba Andrew’s words here and those of some of my Zen and Tao quotes we can see that
words have their limitations. For Andrew words were confusers or distractors that pulled the
monk from the place he needed to be. Yet for both Abba Pambo and B.D. Schiers silence
itself is saying something, perhaps plenty, yet without words. In both these religious
traditions more widely conceived it seems to me that there is just so much room for what
cannot be said, for acknowledging that words fail and language reaches a limitation. One
need not be overtly religious to reach this conclusion either since 20th century philosophers
of language, Martin Heidegger and Ludwig Wittgenstein, both seemingly come to similar
conclusions should you read their work. I see in both of these ways, that of Christian Desert
Fathers and that of Zen Buddhists and Taoists, that neither perceive of everything as a mass
of facts scientifically understood, a very instrumental and detached mode of thinking. The
world, existence, could not for any of these people potentially be tagged and catalogued so
that one day we could imagine that everything could be logged, known and worked out. Both
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operate with a much more experiential and even existential understanding of knowledge than
that. For them, we are in a world of experience and not one of subjects and objects where
the former can, with ingenuity, skill and patience, learn all about the latter. I see the
importance of silence in all these traditions as related to this. I see the recognition that words
stop as a recognition that “knowledge” stops too. It is not the supreme need, the major
requirement. It is merely a tool but the true riches are so much more than it can ever provide.
Words are inadequate to experience as knowledge is inadequate to understanding.
So what happens when the talking stops? For one thing, other things then become possible
such as listening and thinking (the latter perhaps being a kind of listening to yourself). In the
Zen proverb quoted above “understanding” takes one beyond the realm of words so that
even one is too much, or, perhaps, not enough. Thinking like this even seems to make
something like a Derridean deconstructive operation something of religious significance.
Here, according to Derrida, language is itself insufficient to the task it sets for itself. In use
we find that it cannot fix the price of things. It sets out to say something but, in the act of so
doing, we find that it disrupts its own operation. It can also be seen to say other things it did
not mean to say, it can be subverted and used against itself, it falls short of its target. This, in
philosophical guise, is not far from the monkish notion that silence can be more edifying than
speech or the Zen notion that even one word is too much. According to one Buddhist
proverb “the no-mind thinks no-thoughts about no-things” which expresses this mode of
thinking perfectly. Not only is there no-mind but there are no-thoughts and there are
no-things. How would a knowledge-based, instrumental, objective, scientific mindset cope
with something like that? Neither tradition here has to worry about that, though, since, I
argue, they are experience-based mindsets and not epistemologically-based mindsets. They
are focused on experience not facts. Experience, unlike facts, is not simply known; it is felt, it
is intuited, it can be instinctive, it embraces more than intellect. Experience gives cash value
to the lives, and the pathways those lives take, of every thinking being.
I discussed above how, for the Desert Fathers, exile was primarily a matter of separation
from the world for the purposes of personal devotion to God and the cultivation of that
vertical relationship. The figure of exile applies in Buddhist and Taoists contexts too but here
it is in the guise of alienation from the Tao, if Taoist, or “all things” if we talk more generally.
The aim of these religious paths, it seems to me, is therapeutic: they aim at universal peace
and harmony and so rest which becomes understanding or enlightenment. Their aim is the
dissolution of a grasping, desirous existence which can only lead to conflict and turmoil. As
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are special but because the whole, everything, anything, is, in that sense, special. Here we
partake in the All just because we are, because we exist. We seek peace within it not by
grasping it and bending it to our will but by flowing as it flows. Unlike the God of the Desert
Fathers, the Tao is not a will and so it is not a matter of using our will or bending it to that of
another. Instead, its absence and negation is sought. “Simplicity” here is a life of non-action
lived without will, an openness to all things. And if we are open to all things then the value of
specific things dissolves accordingly. Things are made simpler. Less is more.
I have not wanted to suggest in this brief essay that Christian Desert Fathers and those of
Buddhist or Taoist persuasions are versions of the same thing. This essay has been far too
brief for even a cursory evaluation of such issues and my intuition is that, if such an essay
were attempted, it would find areas of common interest but also others of conflict and
differing agendas. But what I would take from the words of Abba Andrew, and from the
Buddhist/Taoist interests that I introduced to discuss those words, is that exile, poverty and
endurance in silence are not merely matters for monks in the desert in the conscious gaze of
their god nor Eastern mystics seeking enlightened harmony with all things. They are matters
for all of us. Exile, alienation, is very prevalent in the world of anybody who looks out of the
window. The question of what is needful for a human being, and if the economic treadmill so
many willingly climb onto, and to which so many others are either coerced or forced, is
beneficial or necessary, is very apparent. That people’s experience of life is disregarded and
vilified to their detriment for a mentality of “knowledge is power,” the logical conclusion of an
epistemological approach to life, takes its toll upon the existence of many who are regarded
as inconsequential casualties of progress or as natural wastage, those who couldn’t keep up.
“Exile,” “poverty” and “endurance in silence” may seem very objective things in Abba
Andrew’s statement but when read through any number of real lives they come to have
consequences far more far-reaching than Andrew himself can ever have imagined. They
also come to be relevant to every human being.
Human society is constructed from an ever growing number of human beings. Each, by
means of any number of connections, is connected to all the rest. Each, by virtue of living in
a shared space, has consequences for the rest. It is my intuition that it would do us good to
concentrate on these notions of exile, poverty and endurance in silence, and their
consequences, some of which I have teased out in this short essay, and that doing so would
be to our common good. It is my view that we each have our part to play in the world and
that any “change” that we think the whole needs begins with each one of us. You cannot
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change a system if you cannot change the people within it and so positive change of any
kind is a matter not merely of changed circumstances but of changed people. Abba Andrew
recognises this in the monk when he requires him to completely change his lifestyle in order
to change society for, in fact, the Desert Fathers were taken as examples by many of how to
devote oneself to God. They acted for many as examples of devotion and commitment. We
may not believe in God but the point remains that to change the whole it starts by changing
yourself. (Of course, it may be granted that Christianity in general has had a mixed record of
effects upon society in general and that all but the most bitter of its critics would admit that
these were not all bad.) The Buddhists and Taoists, too, recognise this in that their thinking is
about a program of personal change which works a holistic harmony through the dissolution
of both individual wants and an obsession with knowledge as power. No one can force
people to change themselves. No one can even enlighten them to the notion that they need
to be changed. Yet it remains my own personal, perhaps spiritual, conviction that when
people change, societies change. And if they can change then why not for the better? The
battle is not merely at societal level but, fundamentally, at the personal one as Abba Andrew,
sundry Zen Buddhists and Taoists seemingly know so well.
Its Immaterial
Are you conscious? Do you have a consciousness? You instinctively want to answer "Yes"
and maybe you think its rather dumb of me to even ask the question, so common-sensical
does the answer "Yes" seem to you. But a number of scientists and philosophers, extremely
materialist ones, would say that you aren't. And neither are they. They think your sense of
consciousness is a very powerful illusion and that it is a function of your brain to generate
this illusion. Of course, they think this partly, maybe even mostly, because they have a
dogmatic view of reality as a whole. They think that everything is explainable in physical
terms, in terms of physics and chemistry. So you can't really have a consciousness because
that does not admit of a physical explanation. Therefore, they say, your sense of
consciousness must be something the brain is doing. These people do not so much explain
consciousness as explain it away.
It was with some enthusiasm that during a lull of mental activity I dived into texts and online
video about varying views on human consciousness. Forty eight hours later that enthusiasm
had been severely tempered if not completely extinguished. I had been following my
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secrets people hoped to unlock by it have not come to pass.) We don't know how plants
know to grow and look a certain way or why they look the same as the others like them.
Sheldrake proposed what I understand as some kind of memory field. Basically, plants know
how to grow because they know how other plants like them grew in the past. This holds true
for animals too. For example, teach an animal to do something somewhere in the world and
then other animals like it will learn the same thing much faster next time because they now,
somehow, have the knowledge the other animal like them gained. The blurb for Sheldrake's
book says
"the past forms and behaviors of organisms..... influence organisms in the present through
direct connections across time and space".
Yes, I know it sounds a bit incredible but then if I'd told you the Earth went around the sun at
some point in time you would have thought that silly too. (Also please note I'm not saying
that this theory convinces me. To be honest, I haven't read the literature on it thoroughly
enough to come to any conclusion at this point. I can say I have described it with far too little
explanation here and maybe not too well so go read Sheldrake's books for a fuller and more
adequate description of it. His experimental results that I read about, however, did make me
think and sit up and take some notice.)
The book Sheldrake published, A New Science of Life, was denounced as heresy (yes,
literally) against a materialist view of the world, the standard scientific view of the world that
is put forward today and, thereafter, Sheldrake was viewed by the defenders of the
mainstream and of this view of the world with a snigger and a sneer. The editor of Nature
asked in an open review of the book if it should not, in fact, be burned. This is unfortunate
because Sheldrake appears himself to be quite a reserved, quietly spoken and profoundly
scientific man. Its important to note here that this is the case whether you happen to think
there is something in his scientific hypotheses or not. To my mind Sheldrake is merely a very
curious and scientific man who happens to want to investigate things other people don't. This
is something to be praised, is it not? If you follow where evidence leads you should not stop
if you start saying things that might threaten your career, your standing or your status within
a professional field. Evidence leads where it must. But for many it doesn't. Some things are
ruled kooky, off limits and things you don't talk about in polite society by those more
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those like Richard Dawkins who hold this view are not the opposite of a religious believer:
they are a religious believer and their religion is materialism. For example, to take the final of
Sheldrake's points, materialists, so Sheldrake submits, would rule out any kind of healing or
medicine that was not on the basis of the body being thought of mechanistically. So drugs
are fine (since they treat the body as a big chemistry set that needs all the chemicals in
balance) but holistic, alternative or other therapies are regarded as New Age and hokey folk
magic.
Sheldrake would also argue that the so-called "placebo effect" (where someone gets an inert
pill thinking its actual medicine but gets better anyway) or the power of prayer or simply
willing yourself to get better are also problematic for those of a mechanistic, materialist
persuasion because such a point of view rules such things off limits as possibilities and, by
definition, can have no explanation for them. If people could think themselves or be thought
better that would present an insurmountable challenge to the materialist worldview which
demands physical causes for physical things. Sheldrake is saying "Why not investigate this?"
whilst others laugh and snigger at the very idea. Which seems more scientific to you?
So what to think of all this? Immediately one must admit that to accept Sheldrake's criticism
of a science held in the grip of materialist dogma is not to accept his own positive
contributions or theories regarding alternatives or additions to it. These are separate things
and one is not committed to both by accepting one. Interestingly, in many of the forums and
blogs I read about Sheldrake's criticisms of science the most common refutation was that
"real scientists don't really think the way Sheldrake says they do". Sheldrake was accused of
building a handy straw man it was easy to hack down. But I'm not so sure this is true. I see
plenty of evidence at hand that science and scientific worldviews are held in the grip of a
mechanistic materialism, one falling apart in the modern physical world of processes, energy
and waves. I also take Sheldrake's point that all too many prominent scientists today are
virulent atheists against anything that could be regarded as spiritual, mysterious or
unexplainable from within a mechanistic materialist paradigm. Sheldrake correctly asserts
that this position is held as a dogma. How else to explain those like Richard Dawkins who
speaks of "wonder" on the one hand but "blind watchmakers" on the other? The watch image
gives Dawkins away: the universe is like clockwork. And so Sheldrake is correct: there are
those out to expunge beliefs in immaterial things or explanations and to make them, in a way
quite Orwellian, unthinkable thoughts.
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I am against this not because I believe in ghosts and ghouls, in gods and monsters, but
because it is to artificially close off areas of enquiry for no other reason than that you
personally don't believe in them. This seems a very dumb and thoroughly unscientific thing
to do to me. You may regard Sheldrake's own theories as foolish and that is OK. It would be
scientific to demonstrate that though if science is your game. The trouble is the most regular
response to Sheldrake's own experiments is to ignore them. Some skeptics, he reports, have
replicated his experiments and largely replicated his results too. But they are shy of doing
this. In one debate Sheldrake reports that Richard Dawkins, another biologist, flat refused to
debate his evidence preferring to criticize Sheldrake's refusal to take up the materialist
position instead. Often this is done from a supposed position of power as the utility of
science is lauded and, indeed, this cannot be denied. But it is surely relevant that those who
endlessly chirp on and on about their passion for truth (as Dawkins does ad infinitum) should
be criticized for their dogmatic assertion that truth will only be found in one place and not in
others. Sheldrake is right to say that enquiry should go where it leads in a spirit of
disinterested curiosity. Dawkins and his like are notable only for their remarkable lack of such
curiosity where some things are concerned. This is a dogma, a boundary of faith.
And this is the point where the partisanship of modern day debate kicks in. By now you've
made your choice and chosen a side I wouldn't be surprised to find out. But is it really about
taking sides? My essay here is presented as the rambling thoughts of a man going through
life just trying to understand the things that go on around him and sometimes impinge upon
his own life and existence. That is what it is. I hope to do this in a spirit (but not an actuality!)
of somewhat lucid detachment. I don't need to defend my thoughts or my position because
they are mine. I'm not saying everyone or even anyone else has to believe them. Its simply
about me having a very naive honesty as much as I can. I'm well aware that my experience
is narrow and that I know very, very little about anything. That is why the fact that you can
read and communicate with others is a very good thing because you can take what they
share and add it to your own data for analysis. But that doesn't happen as much as it should
because confessional boundaries come into play and defensive walls get built by those more
interested in defending what they think they've got than exploring together in a spirit of
mutual curiosity. This is a source of great frustration. We live in a very public world where it is
easy to belittle others and many can't resist the temptation for an easy "win" as they see it,
often based merely on a numbers game.
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Often in my thinking I find something interesting to read and, underneath, there is now the
seemingly mandatory "comments" section. Often this is just hell. People of dubious
qualifications (although this doesn't matter and is really an ad hominem approach) launch
straight into personal attacks on those who think one thing or another. It doesn't really matter
what they believe. What's important is that someone else doesn't believe it and that makes
those who do stupid beyond belief. I find the whole exercise stupid beyond belief and I wish
there were more places where debate could be to the point and not to the person (which is
by far the biggest problem in any kind of discussion, that the subject switches from what is
believed to who it is that believes it). Many times in comments sections about Sheldrake's
books or work there are just insults tossed casually Sheldrake's way because he is that
crazy guy who thinks dogs know telepathically when their masters are coming home. In a
world of public forums you get a reputation and that reputation usurps the place that should
have been reserved for consideration of the arguments. People get lazy and where formerly
they needed to think now they just take "the word on the street" under advisement. There is
a nihilistic schadenfreude at play that loves to tear down rather than build up.
There seems, not for the first time in one of my essays, a lack of humility in many, if not
most, people who debate these things. Sheldrake diagnoses this problem too when he says
the problem is that some people these days think that science has resolved all the issues
and now all we need to do is fill out the details. He gives examples from the ends of both the
19th and 20th centuries of people who have written that science will from now on discover
less and less because we have already found out about most things. It is merely a matter of
time not possibility. If we go on long enough we will answer all our questions and understand
everything there is to understand. This belief strikes me as both arrogant and egotistical (as
well as philosophically naive that there would be one eternal answer to any question in the
first place). Why, as Thomas Nagel writes in another recent book criticizing the materialist
dogma, Mind and Cosmos, to which I will turn shortly, should any of the questions about the
universe be within our power to answer? Doesn't that seem just a little bit egotistical to you,
that human beings automatically must have the ability to understand? Why would all the
answers of the universe be, as it were, human-shaped in their resolution, much less
human-shaped and materialist? Is this a post-experimental conclusion or a pre-reflective
condition? For the materialistic dogmatists this can only be because they have willed it so,
forming a clockwork universe that can be measured and reproduced. But what happens
when, finally, they are forced to accept that the clockwork was merely their illusion, a function
of their indefatigable will to believe, another phase in human history?
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And so, briefly, to Thomas Nagel and his book Mind and Cosmos which, according to one
commentator, resulted in Nagel, an otherwise circumspect American philosopher, being
“dragged into America’s culture wars over the respective roles to be played in intellectual life
between the claims of scientific belief and of religious faith.” At the heart of Nagel’s
problematic is his basic belief that materialist answers to questions do not thereby explain,
which is to put under a convincing description, mental phenomena which he himself finds
human beings generally unable to explain away. The error of the materialist, who Nagel sees
as a reductionist wanting to reduce all things to physical explanations, is the claim that the
reductive materialist world picture, which excludes the mental from its inception, suffices
reflexively to explain its own generation and acceptance by conscious subjects with reason.
The reductive materialist, thinks Nagel, can give us no reason to believe her own view since
the very idea of “reasons for belief”, a mental phenomenon, does not feature in her austere
ontology. Nagel fits this view within a double conception about human beings in general:
1). First, that we think of ourselves as conscious subjects who have a rational nature and
who engage with value and,
2). Second, we also think of ourselves as part of the natural order. By “the natural order” is
meant, in turn, a conception of nature – viewed as a totality – whose existence is
independent of us and which we claim to know via different forms of understanding including
that exemplified by the sciences.
Nagel thinks that a tension arises because, at the level of reflection, we have two sets of
irreconcilable commitments: that to which we seem committed when we explain mentality
seems to be ruled out by a conception of ourselves as part of the natural order as that latter
idea has been developed by the physical sciences. Nagel, thus, criticises a philosophical
view based on the content and implication of a science materialistically and reductionistically
understood. As he says, his target is a: “comprehensive, speculative world picture that is
reached by extrapolation from some of the discoveries of biology, chemistry and physics – a
particular naturalistic Weltanschauung that postulates a hierarchical relation among the
subjects of those sciences, and the completeness in principle of an explanation of everything
in the universe through their unification.” This, however, is problematical because “The
intelligibility of the world is no accident. Mind, in this view, is doubly related to the natural
order. Nature is such as to give rise to conscious beings with minds; and it is such as to be
comprehensible to such beings. Ultimately, therefore, such beings should be comprehensible
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to themselves. And these are fundamental features of the universe, not byproducts of
contingent developments whose true explanation is given in terms that do not make
reference to mind.” Nagel, thus, believes that our current form of scientific understanding is
inherently limited. Nagel does not mean by this that, given our current methods, there are
things we do not know – that would be merely platitudinous. Rather, our current methods
have necessary, not contingent, limitations: there are some things we cannot know relative
to our current understanding. That is, however, no reason to cut reality down to our size by
drawing a principled connection between the knowable and the real that ensures that the
latter cannot outstrip the former. This is, essentially, what Nagel sees materialists as doing:
they make the universe fit our thinking, they reduce what is to what we can imagine. Nagel
himself, on the other hand, wants to make “mind, meaning, and value as fundamental as
matter and space-time in an account of what there is.”
Here one issue is that Nagel is a “panpsychist”, a term which denotes someone who
believes that mentality (some prefer the term “consciousness”) is fundamental and
ubiquitous in the natural world. This clearly puts him on collision course with the materialist.
Yet Nagel also points out that he is not a theist and so his materialist-critical views do not
lead him to believe in gods or personal consciousness and identity of a kind analogous to
our own yet far beyond our own. Nagel does, however, believe that we cannot understand
mentality as having emerged from the fundamentally non-mental. It can have arisen as a
development only from that which was “proto-mental” or, in another Nagelian term,
“proto-psychic”. For Nagel, then, mentality, or proto-mentality, must be built into our
understanding of the universe and its workings at the base level: its most fundamental laws
of working must include the capacity to explain how proto-mentality led to mentality in the
guise in which it is exemplified in us. As Nagel puts it in a metaphor, at some point the
non-mental universe “woke up”. He seeks a non-reductionist, non-materialist, explanation of
how that could be possible that makes it intelligible that such an occurrence would be a
probable development in the workings of nature. He thinks the only way in which that is
possible is by postulating some fundamental laws of nature that are teleological in form and
that must necessarily cut across the reductionist beliefs of materialists with a mechanistic
universe who rule out such things from the off. Here things like consciousness, cognition and
value are seen as invaluable and phenomenologically evident parts of who human beings
are and they represent challenges that merely materialist explanations, as Sheldrake before
him would agree, seem unable to account for.
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It was the American philosopher and psychologist William James who said "We have the
right to believe at our own risk any hypothesis that is live enough to tempt our will" (italics
mine). He said this in the context of explaining why he thought people had a right, if not a
duty, to hold religious beliefs which they found themselves genuinely unable to escape the
force of. He did it by expounding a general theory of human belief across the board and did
not make any special exceptions for religious beliefs, something some would want to do
today in these more polemical and materialist times. Of course, believing something does
not make it a scientific belief nor one that attains the recommendation of that credit but this is
another matter involving the tenets of scientific peer review and debate. Beliefs are things
which, for most people most of the time, function as true, even where they are contradictory
from one person to the next. It is, when you think about it, common-sensically true that this is
the case and the world keeps on turning nevertheless. Indeed, our world of sense and
sensibility is the one which allows this state of affairs. For some this will be irrationalism but
is it really? I sense I may need further essays on this and I may yet provide them but, for
now, it is enough for me to say that one person's shibboleth is another's possibility. Where
our world allows us to hold such a belief others should not be so dogmatic as to dismiss
another's opportunity to explore it or so authoritarian as to disallow it. This is not to take
sides in the debate or nail one's colours to the mast. There is a time and place for that. It is
to say that for all genuine people holding their beliefs is not a choice but a necessity.
All this puts me in mind of something Nietzsche pointed to when he said that "Truth" was but
the history of Man's "irrefutable errors". This thought puts in question if we ever really know
anything in an absolute sense, if what we call “knowledge” has anything so grandiose as an
ontological or metaphysical or epistemological status at all, in the sense that a "law" of the
universe would rightly have. I would argue that Nietzsche's insight tends to suggest that we
may not. “Irrefutable errors” are not, at any stage of the game, “truths”. But the good news is
that we may not need to in any case. We have happily got by on our habits of belief and our
practical observations of the universe until now and there is no suggestion from anywhere
that we will ever need anything else to do so. We don't need to make of the universe a
mechanism nor say that everything that is must, as a dogma, be physical. Indeed, the vast
majority of our species has got on with life just fine without ever concerning themselves with
such specialized technicalities. We can be be sure that even the world's most dogmatic
scientist would have to agree that we do not know everything, nor even how much there is to
know and how much we know of it. But it doesn't matter. We get on fine anyway. I would
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humbly suggest that the best way forward is to let people explore where their beliefs take
them in a spirit of disinterested curiosity and let us see where that takes us.
A New New Testament or No New Testament?
About five or six years ago an American theologian, pastor and biblical scholar by the name
of Hal Taussig convened a council of 19 biblical scholars and religious leaders (not all of
whom were Christian) to deliberate on forming a new collection of books that would together
constitute a “new” New Testament. At the end of this process the book A New New
Testament was published by a major American publisher to much fanfare and debate. The
book contained the traditional 27 documents in the standard New Testament but also ten
other books not normally found there, each themselves of comparable vintage to those they
were set beside. Of these ten books, eight are books that were discovered in 1945 at Nag
Hammadi in Egypt. Traditional scholarship generally designates the Nag Hammadi books as
“Gnostic”, a word Hal Taussig finds abusive and inaccurate. One of these eight books, The
Thunder: Perfect Mind, some would argue is not even a Christian book at all.
As I read recently about this project, watching talks Taussig has given about the project on
You Tube and reading interviews by him and reviews of the book by others, lots of questions
began to form in my mind. These questions began to gain some importance when, reading
more about how A New New Testament came to be, I realised that my own former teacher,
Stephen D. Moore, now of Drew Theological School but formerly of the Department of
Biblical Studies at the University of Sheffield in the UK, was actually a member of the council
that decided what the contents of A New New Testament should be. In my own contact with
Moore, which primarily consisted of three years being taught by him, I had always found him
to be a man asking profound yet, perhaps, unbiblical questions. You should note at this point
that I do not find this to be a mark against Moore but a mark in his favour. Finding out that
Moore was involved in the project, as was historical Jesus scholar John Dominic Crossan as
well (another whose work I have enthusiastically engaged with), made me want to dive in
deeper and ask what was going on.
And so I did. The book seems motivated, if we are to accept Taussig’s rhetoric as sincere, to
be formed along not merely historical-critical lines but spiritual and pastoral ones as well. A
New New Testament (ANNT) is not trying, on the basis of academic scholarship alone, to
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separate the authentic sheep from the inauthentic goats, to deliberate between which are the
genuine books and which are the fakes and pretenders. Neither is it, at least overtly, wanting
to forward a certain version of Christian belief in its deliberations and choices (although
some opponents of the whole project would and have disputed that). Taussig, and the
council of worthies he convened, nominally on the model of church councils of the past,
seem to have been genuinely concerned to create a collection of books that could generally
be perceived as of spiritual and edificatory use for Christian believers besides keeping some
historical criteria in mind. One of these historical criteria was that the documents contained in
ANNT should be plausibly from the first two centuries of the common era. The basic
procedure for the inclusion of books was that each scholar was given an equal number of
votes. They could then cast these votes as they wished for books they felt worthy of
inclusion into ANNT. They could also cast several votes for a particular book, from their total
number of votes, thus indicating how strongly they felt about a given book’s inclusion. In
various meetings of the whole council, and at further sub-meetings, books for consideration
had been discussed and chosen as worthy tomes to be voted upon. The result was that no
books of the pre-existing canon were rejected (Taussig has confirmed in talks he’s given that
the question of rejecting some books already in the New Testament had at least been raised
but ultimately refused by him as Chair) and ten new ones were admitted. These new books
were as follows:
The Prayer of Thanksgiving
Gospel of Thomas
Odes of Solomon
The Thunder: Perfect Mind
Gospel of Mary
Gospel of Truth
The Prayer of the Apostle Paul
The Acts of Paul and Thecla
The Letter of Peter to Philip
The Secret Revelation of John
I do not intend in this essay to go over the credentials, or lack of credentials, for each of
these books. Those involved in the creation of ANNT have done that, not least Taussig
himself, and it is for those involved to make the appropriate case for the book that is a
collection of books that they have created. I will make one point though and this is that this
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book is called A not THE New New Testament. I have, in a number of places I’ve sought
opinions on this book, found those accusing Taussig and his cohorts of trying to usurp both
history and the church by trying to foist a new canon upon Christian believers. Having read
and watched Taussig speak about this project on numerous occasions (thanks to the
Internet) I can only say that this is not what he claims the project was about and not what he
thinks they have achieved. Here it is best I quote Taussig himself:
“It is important to get the longer project of re-thinking Christian “scriptures” off the ground and
in a practical, hands-on, manner. But this ground-breaking effort of proposing an actual
revision of Christian scripture/canon does not need to be—indeed should not be—definitive.
In the book I suggest that other groups should also publish new New Testaments. Our initial
effort, although it was as conscientious and carefully formulated as possible, cannot be the
last word.” (from The Fourth R)
What we perhaps can say from this is that Taussig (and, presumably, his council) imagines
that the canon of the New Testament, the notion of Christian scriptures, is a matter for
debate. And so, perhaps, it is unless you are one of those people who, like Danish king
Cnut, tries and fails to hold back the tide of time. Indeed, one of the questions that reading
about this book raised for me was the notion of “canon” at all, the notion of special books
and where their perceived authority comes from. In one talk I watched, in which Taussig
appeared to be giving a talk about ANNT to the congregation of an Australian church, a
member of the audience stood up when he was taking questions and asked him if the
formation of the New Testament was not a matter of the activity of the Holy Spirit and, thus,
something to be contrasted with the deliberations of 21st century scholars in the USA. What
this question said to me, though, is that if you are going to accord the contents of books the
inspiration of divine actions then the only valid process for (literally) divining which they are is
a spiritual one.
The trouble here is that numerous critics I have read of this project, the ones who talk about
“liberal” or even “postmodern” critics of “traditional Christianity”, have laid out what they
regard as the historic (and historical) criteria for deciding the contents of the original New
Testament. Most often cited is the notion of “apostolicity”, the belief that a given book inside
the New Testament has apostolic authority. This seems like a good criterion and speaks not
just to the source of the material, people close to Jesus, the claimed source of Christianity as
a whole, but also to historicity, the notion that the documents in your New Testament are
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foundational documents for Christian faith. Taussig and his council show some interest in this
too by not extending their interest in documents past the end of the 2nd century and it must
here be admitted by any involved in this discussion that the dating of all but very few early
Christian books and documents makes for a dating with forensic precision anyway. Yet I
have pause. I go back to my traditional New Testament and I look at the list of the books and
I get two very pertinent questions:
1). What is “apostolic authorship”?
2). Having answered the first question, which current New Testament books can claim it?
It is important here not to fiddle the argument by working out the consequences for the New
Testament ahead of time from your answer to the first question and any sub-questions it
raises. It seems to me that “apostolic authorship” must mean “was written personally by an
apostle”. I do not take this to mean that the book or document must be in the apostle’s own
hand. I allow that this can mean an apostle who had an amanuensis, a literary assistant who
transcribed at the apostle’s directions. The important point is that the book is written directly
under the auspices and at the express and intimate direction of an apostle of Jesus. But this
raises a further two questions: what is an apostle and who was an apostle? The formal
answer to the first question here is that it is a person who was commissioned and directly
instructed by Jesus. The word “apostle” comes from a Greek root meaning “to send”. So an
apostle is one sent by Jesus. But in New Testament terms we will find this is going to be a
problem moving forward and coming to the second question that the answer to our first has
raised.
Inside and outside the New Testament Paul is widely called and regarded as “the apostle
Paul”. But Paul didn’t know Jesus. Paul never met Jesus. Paul was not a member of the
pre-Easter Jesus movement. Paul was not directly commissioned by a living Jesus standing
in front of him such as Peter or John might have been able to claim. The best Paul can do is
claim to have had visions of Jesus and claim to be acting under the auspices of the Holy
Spirit that has been sent. (Which, to be frank, you or I might be able to do in appropriate
circumstances.) Yes, the New Testament records Paul meeting with apostles whom Jesus
has sent personally and, apparently, receiving their agreement to go about his business, but
its somehow not quite the same. (Paul would want to protest he is every bit as much an
apostle as any other at this point, of course.) But, from the outside looking in, is Paul really
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an apostle as some others, companions of Jesus, were? The best we can do is concede that
he has always been accepted as such, although the fact that in the New Testament itself
Paul becomes at times defensive about his apostleship suggests that even at the time there
were those who doubted his credentials. (See Galatians 1-2. Galatians begins “Paul an
apostle — sent neither by human commission nor from human authorities, but through Jesus
Christ and God the Father, who raised him from the dead.)
We move to my second major question having decided that an apostle was one directly sent
by Jesus and having noted the questions around Paul in particular. Here I want to discuss all
27 books of the traditional New Testament and it is important to cover all of them as we will
soon see. We start at the beginning with Matthew.
It is a fact that none of the gospel titles are titles that they themselves claim. Matthew does
not begin by calling itself “The Gospel According to Matthew”. It just begins and nowhere
does it say that a Matthew wrote it. “Matthew” himself is imagined to be Matthew the disciple
of Jesus, the one called in Matthew 9:9 by Jesus as he walks past a tax booth in which this
Matthew is sitting. But there is no claim in the book that this is the writer and so the
ascription to him is legendary and its origination lost in the mists of time at the very best. Is
this enough to fill out our description of an apostolic authorship? It seems to me it can’t really
be that simple. If “apostolic authorship” comes to mean “books claimed to have apostles as
authors” well then the gospel of Thomas, which Taussig and his council have included in
ANNT, is right front and centre with a genuine and decent claim for entry into a new canon
and, in fact, it has a much stronger claim than Matthew does. Thomas at least claims from
the very first sentence to have been written by Thomas! It also, intriguingly, mentions
Matthew in Thomas 13 as well as sharing about half of its content with the book Matthew. So
is Matthew apostolic? Its a “case not proven” from me. Its out.
We come to Mark’s gospel and this seems much clearer. There was no apostle called Mark.
Its not apostolic. But hold on. The legend here is that Mark is writing under the auspices of
Peter, the first among equals of apostles. Peter clearly was an apostle. But what evidence do
we have for this story? Can we verify it and so retain Mark in our apostolic New Testament?
Unfortunately, there is very little evidence and it is, once more, a pious legend we cannot
verify. Mark, for all its rough Greek and spontaneous nature, is very much a connected,
theological document but it is frankly impossible to locate its thought in the mind of the
apostle Peter even via the hand of someone called Mark who knew him. We don’t know
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the Apostles which was also assumedly written by the same Luke. FIve books down and
only one retained!
Next in the New Testament we hit the Pauline corpus of writings, 13 in total, and several
issues confront us. Paul’s apostleship has already been addressed and has been granted as
a sort of apostleship but not of a kind that some others could have claimed. Yet, since he
was seemingly accepted by others at the time, I don’t seek to remove it from him now whilst
formally continuing to note its peculiarity amongst the apostles. In a context of modern
scholarship we must immediately note that some of the 13 documents traditionally ascribed
to Paul are no longer argued to be Pauline on stylistic and literary grounds. In other words,
they betray attitudes, content, literary or aesthetic features which are not consistent with
those from writings thought more genuinely to be Pauline. One obvious example here is the
Letter to the Hebrews which mentions companions of Paul right at the end but which is
strictly anonymous and is not written like any supposedly authentic letter of Paul. Its out.
The letters of Paul thought by most to be certainly genuine and about which little controversy
swirls on that score are Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1
Thessalonians and Philemon. I keep them in my apostolic New Testament. The other books
to consider here are
2 Thessalonians, about which scholars are split on its authorship and which notes people
writing letters pretending to be from Paul but which aren’t (2 Thess 2:2!);
The pastorals, 1 and 2 Timothy and Titus, which some see as even critical of or in dialogue
with Paul as opposed to being statements of his beliefs and which were not accepted by all
as being from Paul even in the 2nd century;
Ephesians and Colossians, which are now thought non-Pauline or “deutero-Pauline”
creations based on authentic works of Paul;
These are ejected from the New Testament on the grounds of not being able to demonstrate
apostolic authorship and being sufficiently unlike the authentic letters as to raise sufficient
doubts about them. Our list of New Testament books is now John, Romans, 1 and 2
Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians and Philemon.
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authority with the Jewish Scriptures. Finally, the sophisticated Greek of the letter is, again,
unlikely to have been written by a presumably uneducated Galilean fisherman whose
primary language was Aramaic. The letter’s skillful blending of allusions to the Hebrew Bible
with allusions to Greco-Roman literature and the religious language of the Hellenistic world
suggest an author at home in both Jewish and Greek traditions. Origen (ca. 185 - 254 CE),
the first church father to mention the letter, indicates that its Petrine authorship was already
disputed, as reported in the church history of Eusebius. In addition, the earliest existing
manuscript of the epistle dates to the third or fourth century. Both 2 Peter and its numerical
precursor are therefore out.
We come to more Johannine literature or, at least, literature claimed to be Johannine in the
letters 1,2 and 3 John. We should note that an author is not named in any of the three letters
and neither do they claim to have been written by the same person (or people) who wrote
the gospel of John. There is, however, a noticeable similarity of vocabulary and themes and
this is one reason why these letters are necessarily not ascribed all to the same hand or
mind but to a school or community. There are family resemblances rather than evidence of a
singular authority, much less a singular writer. 2 and 3 John mention someone called “the
Elder” (“presbyteros” in Greek) who later scholars have regarded as “John the Elder” and not
necessarily as the same John as the one who was an apostle of Jesus and is claimed as the
authority behind John’s gospel. This terminology could indicate someone of age, physically
old, or someone of authority as in a leader of any age. There is much of interest to be
studied regarding these three epistles and the gospel claimed for “John” and the school or
community method of explaining their similarity but also noticing their differences is the one
that, to date, most recommends itself. Consequently, I am prepared to leave these three
letters in my apostolic canon pending further examination of their relationships and their
history.
The last general epistle of the New Testament is one that claims to come from “Jude, a
servant of Jesus Christ and brother of James” (Jude 1). Who could that possibly be and was
he an apostle? Jude could also equally be Judas and Mark 3:6 mentions a Judas who is a
brother of a James… and they are both brothers of Jesus! So could this be a similar case to
that of the Letter of James in that here we have a letter ascribed to a further brother of
Jesus? Some scholars do suggest that the epistle may actually have been written by Judas,
the brother of Jesus, in the 50s of the first century. Others insist that the letter is later
(perhaps early 2nd century) and pseudonymous; the reference (in verse 17) to “the apostles”
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as established authorities suggests institutional hierarchies already in place. This later dating
would not make it likely to be an authentic letter from a brother of Jesus though and neither
would being a sibling of Jesus make such a person an apostle to begin with. So Jude, on
balance of arguments, is also out.
We are left with the book of Revelation, thought yet more Johannine literature by several
scholars. The book actually begins by claiming to be “the revelation of Jesus Christ” rather
than that of any John but it is then said to have been made known in that this Jesus Christ
sent “his angel to his servant John who testified to the word of God and to the testimony of
Jesus Christ, even to all that he saw” (Rev 1:1-2). Its pretty clear that here we are dealing
with the scenario of a vision or series of visions but this is not to suggest that we take the
book at face value. Why should we believe this is a record of visions rather than a simple
literary fiction set in the context of a vision or visions? A question to ponder. We are here
more concerned, in any case, with the identity of “John” if we are not to take a risen Jesus
Christ himself as the author! Whilst the author’s name and the title “Lamb” for the risen Christ
might suggest some relationship to the “Johannine community” represented by the gospel
and epistles I have already dealt with, as well as the extra-canonical Acts of John, the
language and interests of Revelation bear unfortunately little in common with these other
texts. Revelation has been dated by scholars to various points in the second half of the 1st
century, based on the author’s interest in the emperor Nero who was assassinated in 68 CE,
whilst his bitterness towards Rome and elevation of blood-martyrdom in the book might
suggest imperial persecution of Jesus-believers. One period favoured by scholars is the
reign of the emperor Domitian (81–96 CE), depicted as especially horrendous by the 4th
century historian Eusebius, who also quotes the 2nd century church father Irenaeus as
attributing Revelation to late in Domitian’s reign. Yet modern historians have found little
evidence that Domitian instigated any greater degree of persecution than other 1st century
emperors. The scenes of eschatological battles in the book might reflect the Jewish revolt of
66–73 CE, while the image of a holy city without a Temple could imply a date after the
historical Temple’s destruction in 70 CE. The problem is that none of this detail tells us who
“John” is leaving his status formally as an otherwise unknown prophet “John” in Asia Minor.
Revelation must therefore also be left out too since no apostolic claim for its author is made
or found.
I have analysed the entire traditional New Testament on the basis of a criterion of apostolic
authorship, one beloved of conservatives, evangelicals and defenders of a “traditional” or
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“historical” New Testament canon, and found a majority of books wanting. The New
Testament that would be left to us were this criterion truly in place, I am suggesting, would be
John, Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, Philemon and
1+2+3 John, 11 out of 27 books or 40.7% of the New Testament. It will be noted here, too,
that we only really have two kinds of literature, Johannine and Pauline. This is not much of a
canon or a New Testament yet my point here is not merely to uncover the shady and
tendentious reasoning regarding the authorship of historical Christian books but, more
properly, to get us to look at the content of the books which, I believe, is something that Hal
Taussig and his council of scholars and spiritual leaders have done. My argument would be
that a New Testament, should we even have one at all, is not a matter of dubious ascription
of historical texts to various worthies, thereby trading on name or reputation rather than
literary content, but on what is actually in the books concerned. As I understand the process
for the creation of ANNT these are exactly the kinds of discussions that Taussig and his
colleagues had and that is exactly as it should be. What kind of faith is promoted where the
identity of the writer can close down all discussion on a book’s acceptance or rejection?
Which human being should be taken notice of for anything they may care to publish? This
mode of judging historical books says little about the books themselves and what they
contain but much more about the views of those making such choices regarding the authority
of individuals over others. Indeed, this is a top down, authority-based mode of selection tout
court. This, by the way, is not to suggest that we totally disregard who a writer may be. It is to
say this is interesting but never enough. For this reason I would argue that discussions over
the removal of books from the traditional New Testament are entirely appropriate and I’d start
by putting Revelation under the microscope. But in case you have me down as someone out
to wreck the New Testament let me equally suggest I’d reinstate Matthew, Mark and Luke
whoever wrote them because, in my view, they have many interesting things to say.
Talk of “authority” is at the heart of much of this debate, in my view, and I see authority
issues very much at the heart of Taussig’s critics’ criticisms of the project. It seems that, for
some, Taussig has been trying to push a new reading list on all Christians as they perhaps
imagine him to be a mirror image of their own authoritarian imaginations and creeds. (He
isn’t.) For many the New Testament is a collection of books to be enforced, a rule, an
authority, and there is some (but in my view not much) sense in this. But it always comes
back to mentality. Do we imagine Christian faith, and Christian writings, to be a matter of
authoritative points in time that come complete with fixed interpretations that are meant to
apply in all times and all places (and which always, quite miraculously, seem to be the ones
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that “we” already hold right now)? If so, it is the testimony of the hermeneutic point of view
that I am presenting throughout these essays in this book that that is neither true to life or
reality. Its also not a stance to be found or recommended in the New Testament itself for the
Jewish interpretation of texts from which Christianity springs is simply much more fluid and
ad hoc than much Christian interpretation in contemporary contexts would ever allow. It
would certainly be interesting to know things about Jesus, his life, teaching and even his
death and supposed resurrection. It would be good to know how Christians responded to
these things in the first years after Jesus had gone. It would be good to read prayers,
sermons and homilies from early Christians practicing the first versions of Christian belief in
communities very different to ours. But the question will always be how do we regard this
material? How do we use it? How do we characterise it? It is, on the one hand, a matter of
judging texts. But it is, on the other hand, no less a matter of how we make use of them for
bad uses of good texts are no better, are in fact worse, than good uses of bad texts.
In the course of my research for this essay I read a number of critics who charged Taussig
and his council with, effectively, self-selecting a New Testament for themselves. Taussig
himself has testified to arguments within the council chamber and has admitted that books
he himself wanted to be in ANNT did not make it. We can only assume that some others on
the council felt the same way. Unless we believe that all 19 members of the council shared
substantially the same views and were of one mind on which way they wanted to go
(something one would never be able to accuse a more conservative body of, of course!) then
we must, in good faith, accept that genuine debates were had given the remit of the council
as a starting point which was to consider the contents of a new New Testament. But what
about this charge of “self-selection” that has been applied? Are there people who imagine
that the New Testament we actually have is not “self-selected”? This is not to suggest, as
some erroneously do, that any one council or meeting or group of Christian leaders ever sat
down anywhere and said “these are the books of the New Testament” and that this was then
expected to be applied for all time. There are, in fact, several canons operative across the
world, some with primary and secondary canons of books, more especially as these
decisions apply to books of more Jewish origins falling within the time period before Jesus
and so consigned by Christians to what they, I think insultingly, call the “Old” Testament
apocrypha. Individual churches, of which there are now far more then ever there was in the
1st to 4th centuries, do make their own choices. So whilst some have said Taussig’s council
have no authority or right to make such decisions all they are really saying, in modern
context, is “you can’t tell me and my kind of Christians what to do”. But what is stopping a
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their divergent multiplicity, of their faith. Not so much a new New Testament as better
Christian education all round.
Those Not Ourselves
“Cultivating a close, warm-hearted feeling for others is the ultimate source of success in life.”
- The 14th Dalai Lama
1.
This essay is to start off by being about a common issue that I see infecting cultural, social
and political issues in general. The issue, or, more properly, the problem, as I see it, is what I
call “classism” or “kindism”. This is the notion, widely evident and made apparent in our
language use, that there are groups of people who are all the same be these men, women,
feminists, transgender folks, blacks, refugees, etc., etc., etc. The problem, the error, here, I
want to maintain, is talking about people using collective terms, thus erasing the manifest
and obvious differences that must necessarily exist between them and so forming and
maintaining in our minds and thinking the idea, the manifestly false idea, that such groups
actually, empirically exist in the real world of our experience. It is to be my contention
throughout this essay, counterintuitively and contrary to this notion, that such groups do not
exist empirically at all but that they become part of our language and so part of a loose kind
of thinking that we uncritically and to our detriment take to be the way the world actually is. I
want to further maintain that even though we can point at a group of women, for example,
and call them, in a very non-controversial way, “women”, that is entirely different from taking
the notion of “women” and then imagining we can talk about said “women” as if the collective
noun “women” was something we could apply equally to all women thought to exist right now
in exactly the same way and so forgetting their many differences in favour of what they have
in common. So this essay is about how we talk and about critiquing how we talk and so,
necessarily, how we think. I want to diagnose problems, question ideas and set out new,
arguably better, ways of thinking instead. This will then later link to a discussion of those
people, who we all know of, who are not like us and how we might get along with them. This
is because it is usually people not like us who talk in the way that I am here starting my
essay by talking about.
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A few proximate causes have triggered my desire, if not need, to write this particular essay.
One is the ongoing refugee crisis in which “refugees” is a catch-all term often used to mean
“foreigners” or “outsiders”, themselves collective terms for describing what, in fact, will be a
multiplicity of individuals with their own particular stories to tell. A second motivating force is
a recent article in the UK national press by the former footballer, the former black footballer,
John Barnes. Barnes in more recent years has increasingly been found in the press giving
his views on race issues and one of his points is that we cannot talk about “blacks” as if all
black people were the same, as if they had the same likes, wants, desires and needs.
Barnes says he finds this idea “insulting” and this makes sense. Would we imagine all white
people were the same? Then why might we talk about black people as if they are? Such a
viewpoint steamrollers individuality, and individual agency, in favour of a catch-all (and
non-empirical) collectivity. A third case is the case of feminism and particularly feminism as it
seems to view the world. But I must be careful here. I must be careful because my argument
is to be that feminism, like men, women, feminists, transgender folks, blacks, refugees, etc.,
does not empirically exist. So if I now talk about “what feminism thinks” I will be making the
basic mistake of contradicting myself, of talking about an idealist notion in my head as if it
corresponded to an actual phenomenon in the world. But there is no feminism in the world,
only individuals who call themselves feminists and who talk about and work to enact things
that they regard as compatible with what they regard a feminist agenda as being. Empirically,
there is only particularity related to other particularities. There is no empirical collectivity
outside of the ways that individuals may choose to link up their desires and goals with each
other. Collectivity is, thus, entirely rhetorical albeit that this rhetoricity may lead to collective
and empirical action with empirical effects.
It is through a discussion of one particular expression of feminism, then, that I want to lay out
the major part of my discussion in this first part of my essay. It will be based on a Twitter
thread titled “Feminism also frees men” that I came across when someone known to me
retweeted said thread with apparent approval of its content. What is important to me here is
not whether you might happen to agree or disagree with the content of the thread itself but
with the premises involved in positing the content in the first place. This part of my essay,
then, is about a Nietzschean genealogy of the beliefs themselves or some of the
“subterranean thinking” that the “Polish nobleman” once engaged in. I want to ask what is
involved in holding certain beliefs and to ask about what our situation is in the world.
Particularly, I want to ask how we should orientate ourselves to others. I want to suggest that
this is not through any God-like person, or idea, or authority. In so doing, I want to
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emphasize that the human situation is one of particularity relating, unavoidably, to other
particularity and not one of collective groups (that don’t actually exist) arguing over who has
the power which often seems to be the idea uppermost in the thoughts of many today. At the
end of my discussion I will turn to what I regard the better goals for human society are,
human society being a place where humans, who are manifestly different, must, somehow,
try to get along with each other. I conceive of this essay as broadly humanist (for all the
inadequacies of this term in its speciesism) in so doing.
The statement “feminism also frees men” is quoted, in capital letters, at the top of each of 26
statements our speaker makes in the thread about feminism that was posted. I should say
here that I don’t count it important who the person is who is speaking. It is my view that we
speak to the content of the argument rather than the identity of the speaker. That this even
has to be pointed out speaks to how often people, to the contrary, play the person rather
than the ball. However, my initial reaction to this statement was a) that it is an example of
pure rhetoric and b) that there are any number of reasons why it is false. Some of these
reasons, the ones that immediately come to mind, are that “feminism” is, and has never
been, a singular phenomenon: you will find “feminists” who hate men and others who
welcome them as allies; second, any number of men might honestly testify that they don’t
feel that what they’ve heard about it seems particularly liberating where they are concerned;
third, which “men” feminism is claiming to free is a matter of debate since not all “men” are
the same, etc.
Meanwhile, the first tweet in the thread also speaks of “angsty young men angry at women
and angry at ‘feminism’ as some kind of evil conspiracy to enslave them” (the speaker is
right to use quote marks around feminism here). Granted, some forms of feminism may not
be that or present themselves as it. But is the speaker ruling out other forms which may
appear to be much more like that? Here the notion of “feminism” is contestable in itself.
“Feminism” is not and has never been one thing. If one takes the examples of those
feminists contributing to a broadly feminist newspaper such as the UK’s The Guardian then
its sometime contributors Julie Bindel, Hadley Freeman, Bidisha, Laura Bates, Jessica
Valenti, Caroline Criado-Perez and Jill Filipovic are not all the same. They do not stand for a
list of the same things. They might very well not even describe “feminism” as the same thing.
Some may claim to be (some do claim to be) more ‘original’ feminists than others. In
actuality, it will be a matter of similarities and differences which are rhetorically expressed
and conversationally negotiated. To speak of what feminism does or wants is never a given,
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never an object there for viewing by all viewers alike. Its a matter of it being something in a
tradition, a conversation, something that we each have walked in upon as it was already
underway, something we have each interacted with on our own terms from our own life
situations. One thing feminism isn’t is one thing.
Our speaker moves to the second tweet where it is stated that “Feminism is the belief that all
people, regardless of their genitalia or sexual orientation, have inherent and equally priceless
value as human beings.” Again, my first thought here is that this is not a belief I would
personally associate with “feminism”. (I’d call that a humanistic belief.) My experience of
feminism, even through reading The Guardian over several years, is that those who choose
to bandy the word about are as diverse a bunch as any I’ve ever become aware of. Some of
these people would have naively assumed feminism was a byword for equality; yet others
seem much more concerned to take power they think men have and give it to people who
aren’t men. Others, again calling themselves feminists, would raise arguments against
transgender people and claim that those transitioning from male to female gender are,
implicitly, trying to muscle in on “women’s rights”. So it seems to me that the notion that
“feminism means equality” is, at the very least, contestable and, at worst, rhetoric in favour of
a particular flavour of feminism which, it turns out, is a contested agenda in itself. Our
tweeter may go on to say that “There is no grand conspiracy to subjugate men to Amazonian
hordes” but that would be because feminism is not one thing in the first place rather than
because all feminists think one way, the Amazonian way. Neither is it the case that some
Amazonians may, in fact, not exist either. They may well but without binding all other
feminists to be Amazonians too.
So to the third tweet. Here our speaker says, “Equality and freedom are not zero-sum
games. When one group of people is treated with more dignity, that does not LESSEN the
dignity of anyone else. Women being treated as human beings doesn't cheapen the value of
men in any way. It's not either/or.” At first flush this seems a decent argument but we need
to be careful about accepting it too easily. What the speaker is actually talking about here is
the way we regard other people, other people in general. This will always be fitted to some
way of seeing the world, a way we have inherited, a way that has been molded by our
education in, by and through life, a life which is unique yet in community in every case.
“Equality” and “freedom” many will hold as good ideas and things to be promoted. I am one
of these people. But there are conceivably others who don’t agree and its my view that there
are no universal laws or principles which trump or negate the understandings that have been
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given birth in each one of us due to the lives that we have been a part of. So what our
speaker is talking about here is actually the big picture for each one of us, how we see the
world and how other people, those like and not like us, fit into it. But at any one time different
people will inevitably carry different such pictures with them, the backdrop to how they see
the world. What our speaker here is saying is that the backdrop spoken to is better than
some other backdrops others may have. But to change how you see the world is not
necessarily nor even normally an easy thing to do. Who, seeing the world a certain way,
does not think that their way is right? For some ways of seeing the world changing how you
view one group of people may very well belittle some other grouping. Our speaker cannot act
as if their way of seeing the world were universal except rhetorically so. And if the speaker
does that then it is comparatively easy to show how inadequate their thinking is to the world
simply by producing other points of view held by other people.
Our speaker, in a sequence of tweets, now talks about something they refer to as “toxic
masculinity”. This, says our speaker, is a “social construct” which manipulates men into
being and acting in certain ways. It “betrays men” and it is exampled in things like men being
taught that they should never cry (I, a man, have never once been taught this by anybody
nor, I think, by my society either) or in teaching them that saying “I love you” is unmanly. This
“toxic masculinity” “robs (men) of (their) ability to connect meaningfully to those (they) care
about”. This “toxic masculinity” makes teen male virginity “shameful” and teaches men that
“you only had value if you could control, possess, or use women”. This “toxic masculinity”
“dehumanizes you (our speaker is addressing men), and it dehumanizes women. It turns
them into objects that you, in order to measure up to other men's opinions, must command.”
This “toxic masculinity”, thinks our writer, “must be proven endlessly to strangers” in their
conception of such a thing. But this “toxic masculinity” strikes me as nothing other than a
rhetorical construct. It is a joining the dots, by a scheme of the author’s own choosing, to
create a picture they have already decided upon. But let me be clear: there is nothing wrong
with this. My point is not that it is wrong but that it only has rhetorical force. Are there men
taught these things? No doubt, since any belief must itself rest on some evidentiary basis for
it even to be maintained as a belief about the world. But are all men like this? Does “toxic
masculinity” affect all men equally? Can we judge all men alike in the light of this rhetorical
construct? No, of course not. So in putting forth the rhetoric, in making the argument, we
have described a phenomenon but it sits there as an abstract idea waiting to be applied
appropriately to actual people in the world. We have not described any given person, much
less a group of people as a whole. Men are not themselves toxic. The speaker themselves
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says that masculinity itself is not toxic, although they then leave themselves open to more
generalisations about what they think it might be. Here, whatever anyone says will be at
least false for this is what generalisms must inevitably be in the particular.
Next, in tweets 10 and 11, we get some general principles of our speaker’s kind of
“feminism” for, by now, we should be onboard with the notion that there are only ever
feminisms, particular examples of feminist beliefs, feminist people and feminist activities,
rather than a universal feminism which describes all equally. (Here its interesting that such
use of “feminism” as our author has is a making equal, making the same, of that which in
nature is not! We are different and this is something we appreciate about all things and value
as adding to life’s rich and diverse tapestry. This is itself a Nietzschean point, the point that
Truth is itself a falsification of the particularity of actuality into the “equality” of things that
become the same for the purposes of human use. This equality is rhetorical and never actual
or empirical.) Our speaker says, first, “When we argue for gender equality, we don't simply
mean that women should be treated as equals to men (although we do mean that), but that
we want ALL people, YOU INCLUDED, MEN, to be FREE from the gender expectations of
others. Feminism is freedom.” Here we see exactly the same move as Nietzsche has
diagnosed of how human beings make truth. We falsify the actuality, each moment, event,
belief, person is different, and we make them equal, the same. Of course, our speaker is
saying they should be treated the same and not that they are the same. But should people
be treated the same (which is an abstract, non-actual, ideal) or is it more the case that every
situation is different and people should be treated as the situation best demands? And what
about our speaker’s idea of “freedom”? Does anyone actually alive live a life free of
expectations, gendered or otherwise? I would suggest not since to be alive, to be a member
of any human society, is a matter of relating yourself to all those other people who will have
beliefs, desires, ideas, expectations. So our author’s vision of life is, to my mind, very idealist
and needs to be brought down to the dirt and grime of life on Earth where expectations,
another name for the fact that people like and unlike you exist and you must interact with
them, is a part of the furniture.
We find more of this thinking, though, in tweet 11 where our author writes that “Feminism
means that women are autonomous to choose their own individual paths in life, free from
control, coercion, or prejudice... but men are also!” But that’s not true either, is it? It seems to
me that women are no more “autonomous” or “free” to do things then men, fish, tigers or
crocodiles are. “Autonomy” is not a useful category in which to discuss creatures with habits
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and desires, much less with a consciousness. I think the problem here is that our author
thinks of people too idealistically as subjects, individuals, people-in-themselves. But this isn't
the actuality for in actuality we are never alone and always in society or community. We
inevitably do things to avoid other things and to make more or less likely certain outcomes
that might involve us with other people or their thinking. It is more we are nodes in a network
than that we are individual subjectivities for we are always us yet in the context of others. In
my thinking I have come to see this as but one facet of what I call being-in-the-midst. We are
never alone; our thinking, our language, our forms of expression and ideas, do not belong to
us, were not formed or created by us, except as a manipulation of what came before us into
something we can use in the situation before us in our lives right now. Here “autonomy” and
“freedom” are idealist and therefore dubious words for if we seek to describe real and
apparent things we cannot seek refuge in non-actual concepts. “Autonomy” or “freedom”
would make much more sense in such contexts if they were used to give real world cash
value rather than to express eternal ideas. “Being-in-the-midst” means that people are free
and not free, autonomous and not autonomous, alone but always in company. People can
choose their own paths… but also they can’t. As Sartre put this, “Hell is other people.”
Our speaker now moves to the example of “an MMA fighter” to demonstrate what they
regard as a bad example: “I watched the account of a man who has spent his entire adult life
trying to prove his worth to other men. He's an MMA fighter. He acquires cars and houses.
He objectifies and uses beautiful women. He talks about violence. He's miserable. He
develops no intimate relationships, acknowledges no need for personal growth, and has
denied himself the great joys of family and fatherhood. He's too busy peacocking for the
world, trying to hide his raging insecurities.” This, it goes without saying, is the apparent
values of one person judging the lifestyle (from the outside) of another person. It is not too
clear to me on what basis our speaker thinks they can do this (universal values? better
values?) but they seem confident to pronounce other people “miserable” based on their
outside viewing of a person’s “account”. But how is this anything other than one person
deciding that some things in life are good and others are bad? Is having “cars and houses”,
or being able to “acquire” them, inherently wrong? And what of objectifying and using
beautiful women? If this is done without coercion and with the consent of those women
concerned I struggle to understand how this is anything other than prudish dislike for
another’s private lifestyle and I am generally not one who thinks we should interfere in the
private lives or values of others where they do not directly impinge upon our own lives.
Talking about violence, or even fighting in the nominally sporting arena of MMA (a sport,
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incidentally, I myself find distasteful), is not the same as being violent in general towards
other people. As much as we may not like it and as much as we may wish that people were
other than they are, we can do nothing to change these other people outside of conversation
and education. Why, a priori, must people develop “intimate relationships”? Why must they, a
priori, acknowledge the need for “personal growth”? If people wish to act as peacocks are
they not free to do so, ignoring our distaste for it as they do? Is life about the authoritarian
imposition of our tastes, our likes and dislikes, upon other people as whole? Here we need to
raise the spectre, to which we will return, of “those not ourselves”. We need, once more, to
come back to actuality and put away the idealism and ideology through which we view the
world. In the real world there are lots of other people and very many of them are not like you.
As they have every ability to be. This is an issue for us as much as it is for them.
In tweets 14 and 15 of the “feminism also frees men” thread we find our author contrasting
“toxic masculinity” with “real masculinity”. Both are rhetorical constructs. In fact, what we
have here is masculinity our author recommends and masculinity they don’t recommend.
One “teaches men that weaknesses are to be ignored, suppressed, or denied” whilst the
other “acknowledges that, as men, we can grow, change, learn, become better, become
happier... but we need the courage to be honest with ourselves.” The former “is weak. It puts
on the pretense of strength. It plays at power like a child wearing his daddy's shoes” whilst
the latter “doesn't have to pretend anything. It's real. It's the hard work of BEING the men we
can and ought to be.” Here the obvious point of my rhetorical attack of these arguments must
be the notion that there is any “real masculinity” at all. Certainly, the question may be asked
why this person’s notions of “masculinity” should be taken anymore seriously than the ones
which they diagnose negatively in others. Growing, changing and learning are, no doubt,
good things and I would recommend them to anybody. But we do not need to bandy around
notions of any “real” masculinity to do so. Indeed, why are these even masculine qualities or
desirable personality traits at all? These are desirable human traits and neither are they ones
that people not like us might not embody too. For even those who hold values or beliefs we
despise can grow, learn and change.
In tweets 16 to 18 of our thread the author makes three points noting that “many men…
resent the sentiment that masculinity is monstrous, that they are lumped in as complicit in
violence against women.” The author suggests that these men:
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“First: Imagine how women feel. Listen to their experiences before you claim victimhood or
innocence. Second: Men, the destructive potential of a false rape accusation is not the same
as the systemic degradation and objectification of women over the history of the human race.
‘End rape and end false rape accusations’ is a disingenuous comparison. Third: Men, I don't
think most of us have any idea what the objectification of women FEELS like. The vast
majority of us don't ever even bother trying to find out. We ignore women's experiences, or
find them threatening to our comfortable narratives.”
I have no argument here with listening to the experiences of others. For my model of
“being-in-the-midst” this is not only necessary but essential and probably unavoidable. It is
vital that we acknowledge that we are not the only person, or kind of person, in existence as
part of the process of accommodating ourselves to, and negotiating with, those not like us.
Such people are not other versions of us and may think in very different ways. Only listening
can open us up to what they are and what matters to them. But when we come to the second
point we must freely admit its absurdity. To compare any single case of any wrongdoing to
the entirety of all examples of any other in the whole of human history is itself “a
disingenuous comparison”. Instead, we should agree that all false rape accusations and all
degradation of women (or men or simply human beings) is wrong. Earlier in the thread our
author has argued that there need not be an either/or. It is no less true here either. On the
third point our author is probably right but only at the cost of stating the obvious. Do any of
us know what something feels like for another, for ‘the other’? This is why listening, why
putting ourselves in another’s place, is so important in the first place. We need to see
through more than our own eyes. This used to be called empathy back when that was a
thing and before the world became a raging torrent of personal interest and personal interest
groups led by the nose as adherents of an ideology. So I don’t know what “objectification of
women” feels like (neither do I think other women do either, at least in the same way) but I
doubt many understand what it feels like to be a mentally ill middle aged man with no job or
children who expects to die alone and unnoticed (for example) either. Human beings come in
many shapes and sizes and no one kind is of more inherent worth than the other. “We are all
equal” our author claims as their mantra. This is one genuine example of how this is so.
From this point on and to the end of the thread our author rhetoricizes about what he regards
“being a real man” as being all about. I don’t have much to say about this in detail except to
note one point. Our author writes that “For me, one of the defining characteristics of healthy
masculinity is active and engaged fatherhood… Feminism frees men to enjoy fatherhood: to
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laugh, to cry, to attend stuffed animal tea parties, to engage in play, to teach, to cook, to
clean, to play catch, to push swings, to listen, to celebrate, to genuinely find joy in the lives of
others.” Fatherhood can no doubt be a life-affirming and beneficial thing for all concerned.
But let me get a little personal and talk about my own experience of it. I never really had a
father to speak of except in the biological sense that my father impregnated my mother. My
own father had abandoned my family before I was really old enough to know who he was.
The word “Dad” to me is a strange word that I know the dictionary definition of but that, when
I try to relate its meaning to myself, I find only a strange and painful absence, the kind of pain
that is a dull ache.
So I have always carried in my consciousness the notion of something missing, an aporia, a
space that was not filled and could not be filled. I was, then, a jigsaw with a permanently
missing piece. My father apparently lived a life of going from one family to another. He had
other children and married other women. He died about three years ago quite painfully as
the result of a lifetime of fags (cigarettes to you American readers) and booze. I felt no
sympathy upon finding out. I felt nothing. It felt like hearing news about a stranger or
someone you had never known yet should have. You maybe hear of someone’s death on the
news. You don’t really care. Perhaps a second’s sadness then they never existed. That’s my
father to me. I myself have never had any children and I’m quite sure I never will. And I’ve
never minded. The possibility has never really existed for me. So I have a problem with our
tweeting author here who is defining masculinity, no, healthy masculinity, as “active and
engaged fatherhood”. He is described something I’ve never known and will never be able to
be or practice. I don’t know what feminism, what feminisms, think about fatherhood and what
they think is a good way to go about it, but I’m pretty sure that I would have paid no attention
to that anyway had the opportunity ever presented itself to me. And why should I? I, like I
imagine all fathers, would have attempted to provide my child with all the things about life
that I thought were important, that life had taught me. Values I would have shared would
have been playfulness, the importance of educating yourself (in ways much wider and fuller
than the merely academic ones) and the belief that its better to be kind, if you can manage it,
than not. Apart from anything else, less friction between people is one way of easing us all
through this vale of tears called life, I would have taught my daughter. Or son.
But enough personal rambling. I have tried to show in this extensive interaction with the
arguments of a Twitter author that their arguments are just one example of arguments that
could be made. They are not the arguments of a universal and monolithic feminism although
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many feminists may call them feminist even as others, who also call themselves feminists,
critique or disdain them. My argument is that the general does not exist and only concrete
and particular examples of things actually do. Labels are at best heuristic and not empirical
and so we make a serious mistake if we push them too far and imagine they refer to
genuine, actualized entities. Now, however, I want to turn from this point to the one of human
society and where it is going. I want to ask what a better way to see things is and to argue
for certain goals over others. All this, as with the arguments of my self-described feminist,
will be rhetorical. I do not know of any way to make arguments except rhetorically and
conversationally which is a matter of negotiation and persuasion of others to points of view.
So I see no way to appeal to something higher than “good reasons” or “human happiness” or
“better outcomes in the common good” and, if I could, I am not sure that these would be
good things in themselves. As already explained, I see our common human situation as that
of being beings-in-the-midst and there is no divine, God-like position over this occupied by
any being, ideal or ethical imperative. We must, I insist, therefore simply make the best of
what is to hand instead. We are, as someone once said, all in this together.
2.
Richard Rorty was an American pragmatist philosopher who was a prolific writer and
speaker throughout the last quarter of the 20th century and into the early years of the 21st
before his untimely death in 2007. During these years he expended much energy attempting
to change the language and discourse of English-speaking society as a whole on matters
philosophical, political, social and cultural. His major idea was that human discourses do not
map the essence of things or mirror eternal laws of nature so much as articulate where it is
that we humans, we thinking animals, want to go. He thought that what would prove good in
the way of belief would be the things that provided the most happiness for the largest groups
of people and that, through conversation and intersubjective agreement and losing our
desire to look for eternal truths or non-perspectival norms, we might approach what all would
come to agree is a better form of human progress. His was, then, a conversational form of
philosophy which looked to negotiate the common human future. In his fourth book of
published philosophical papers13 there are two essays in the first section of the book
“Religion and Morality from a Pragmatist Point of View” which, I think, bear on the subject of
my essay here. These two papers are ones which regard the philosophical temperament of
pragmatism as “romantic polytheism” and the idea of justice as a “larger loyalty”. “Romantic
polytheism” is nothing to do with gods but Rortian terminology for the idea behind what
13
Richard Rorty, Philosophy As Cultural Politics (Philosophical Papers, Volume 4: Cambridge, 2007).
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This mentality is carried forward when Rorty, in his next essay, comes to speak about
“Justice as Larger Loyalty”. Smart readers may already be running ahead of the narrative
here and have figured out what Rorty is going to be getting at. Rorty starts this essay by
asking who we humans should have loyalty to and he points out that it will almost universally
be to those with whom we are most familiar, blood relatives, marriage partners, perhaps
extending to very close friends we have known for a long time. But as the relationships
become less and less familiar we can really plot a graph which shows our loyalty to such
people ebbing away too. By the time we get to total strangers there is barely any loyalty at all
and, were disaster to strike, its not a question of whom we would help first: it would be those
we are familiar with rather than the total strangers. Rorty goes on to point out that we can
export this issue to countries as they deal with each other on the world scale and that things
can become messy. Many First World countries rely on Third World labour, which they can
pay substantially less for, to produce the many gadgets, gizmos and accoutrements of life in
a modern, First World economy. Got an iPhone? What conglomeration of political, economic
and social factors put that in your hand and what are the consequences? This is perhaps not
something you consider when WhatsApping your friend, colleague or relative. Neither,
perhaps, do you ask if such a product was produced in a “just” way or to whom your
purchasing of the product shows loyalty. But we live within a system of relations and any
action will have effects for others. We don’t live in a vacuum. Things that may seem
inconsequential often are not. Whom should we have loyalty to here and will this conflict with
the claims of justice? Rorty, however, wants to reconfigure our thinking here. He does not
want us to imagine that loyalty and justice conflict with each other at all. He wants us to
reimagine justice as loyalty to the largest group of people we can imagine, “one’s fellow
citizens, the whole human species, or all living things” rather than to imagine that loyalty is
something always conflicting with something, usually based in Reason or Truth, that is
abstract and idealist called Justice. For Rorty “justice” does not spring from something called
“reason” just as “loyalty” does not spring from something called “sentiment”.
These are difficult matters to consider and in working through them it will, necessarily, cause
us to ask ourselves what we conceive a just society to be. So feel free to go ahead and
daydream for a minute or two and ask yourself. Will it be one with “rights” (the right to life,
the right to freedom, the right to personal property, etc) and, if so, what rights will people
have? What about dealing with other societies that have different rights either to those we
currently have or to those that we would want to see? When we talk of justice or rights are
we making universal claims or speaking only to and from our own cultural location? In such
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conversations are we the “reasonable” people (ones who embody “the epistemic superiority
of the Western idea of reasonableness”) because we set certain standards of justice and
propose certain rights and are those with what we see as lesser standards of both
consequently those who are less reasonable than us? Is there a way to arbitrate between
different conceptions of rights and justice in different parts of the world since, quite obviously,
we exist in a context of a plurality of both of these things? In short, do our conceptions of
justice and rights actually limit those people in the world who we may think of as just and
living with a tolerable conception of human rights at all? What is our way out of this?
In Luke’s gospel in the New Testament a story is told of a lawyer in a crowd of people
listening to Jesus who stands up to test him with a question. The lawyer asks what he must
do to “inherit eternal life”, a question which, in the proper historical context, is really asking
how he should ideally live his life. Jesus replies to him by asking him how he reads the
Jewish law, the Torah, the most revered section of the Jewish scriptures. The lawyer
responds, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and
with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself” which is as
Jewish an answer to Jesus’ question as could be imagined and is one repeated by other
rabbis in ancient Jewish teaching as well. Jesus, in the story, approves of this answer and
advises the lawyer to live this way. But the lawyer doesn’t stop there. Being of a legal
mindset and, according to the commentary of the story, wanting “to justify himself”, he goes
further and asks “And who is my neighbour?” Jesus replies with the following parable:
“A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who
stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was
going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a
Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a
Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He
went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put
him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out
two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back,
I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a
neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”
The key to the understanding of this parable is the recognition of the identity of the
characters involved in it. There were three classes of Israelites, the priests, the levites and
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the mass of Israelites themselves. Here Jesus goes through them but with a twist for when
we expect the third person along the road to be “an Israelite” it is, instead, a Samaritan, an
enemy of Jews. It would be like an extreme far right activist being found injured in the road
by a muslim if this story was being told at a far right rally. Samaritans were those of Jewish
heritage who were carried off into exile many hundreds of years before Jesus told this story
by an Assyrian invasion of what we would now call northern Israel. In that process they
intermarried with gentiles and so, to pure bred Jews, became outcasts. We see how much
they are outcasts in that, in the pay off to this story when Jesus asks who the neighbour is,
the lawyer can only reply “The one who showed him mercy” which Jewish interpretation
informs us is because the lawyer cannot even say the word “Samaritan”. That’s how much
Samaritans were regarded as outcasts, so much that you couldn’t even say the word. And
that is the radicality of the parable that Jesus tells here for in answering the question “Who is
my neighbour?” which is itself answering the question “How should I live?” the answer Jesus
replies with is that you should live it showing compassion and mercy even to sworn blood
enemies. This is basically to say, in a neat piece of intra-Jewish interpretation, that “my
neighbour” is everybody and even my enemy can, in certain circumstances, become my
neighbour too. Responsibility to others can overrule the vicissitudes of history and culture.
We bring this back to the context of Rorty’s “larger loyalty” and we begin to see a
progression, a set of circles moving out from us towards those least likely to be in receipt of
our loyalty, those such as enemies, for example. Rorty’s progressive idea is that our loyalty
should fan out through these circles until such point as we can have loyalty to those most on
the outside like we do those in our most tight-knit circle of those closest to us. This, he
thinks, is what justice would be. It is, of course, true to say that one of the reasons he thinks
this is because he cannot imagine a notion of justice that is a set of rules or obligations or
imperatives that come from nowhere or that hover above us as arbitrators of our conduct.
Justice, for Rorty, is not an abstract ideal nor a trigonometry we perform from contextless
principles. Neither is it, for him, an authoritarian imposition of a belief or a creed. Rorty’s
answers to the questions “Why should we live this way?” or “Why should we act like this?”
will always only be to show that the fruits of living a certain way or carrying out certain
actions or regarding people in certain ways are demonstrably better than what he considers
as worse alternatives. So it is not for Rorty a matter of principles but rather a matter of
outcomes. If something is a better outcome than a given alternative then that in itself should
be all the recommendation a given course of action or behaviour needs to recommend it.
Justice becomes a matter of growing our loyalty to the greatest audience imaginable. It is
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true to say that such a notion involves giving up the idea, deeply ingrained in some, that
there just are certain right actions, or things that are in themselves right or just. But Rorty is
more than ready to do that for he has recast such things as the rhetoric of those who
disguise their own choices as “eternal truths”. Rorty, and I with him, does not think there are
any eternal truths but only contextual choices.
This Rortian ethical mathematics is one that I have myself come to value. It deals with the
notion of “moral absolutes” by deftly side-stepping them, by pointing out that we do not need
them, provided that we are language users who can articulate where it is that we want to go.
Here we can live in a world with those not ourselves by appealing to common interests rather
than common beliefs. We can point out the fruits or outcomes of courses of action or types of
behaviour rather than compare ideals. We can, in other words, focus on the common future
we both envisage living in rather than the continuance of our eternal pasts. Here there are no
“universal moral obligations”, neither Feminist ones, Western ones, Muslim ones nor
Buddhist ones, but there will always be the possibility to build communities of trust. Here we
recommend courses of action or arguments in favour of certain behaviour on the basis of
where they take us rather than because of their point of origin. So we do not concern
ourselves with how reasonable or right or just or true they are according to our standards of
reason, righteousness, justice or truth. Instead, we value them for they persuasive ability to
achieve outcomes in the common good. Here “reason” is not an authority but a process of
agreement via persuasion.
The beauty of this way of seeing things is that it fundamentally starts where we are. Where
we are is in a world of different people, different groups, different beliefs, associations,
relationships and alliances. That being the case, we need to be light on our feet if we are to
be able to cope with this diversity and complexity with any kind of success. We can, of
course, try to deny the diversity or recast the complexity with the imposition from above of
any number of so-called universals, whether they come from our social justice principles or
religious beliefs or anywhere else. It may be observed, though, that throughout history this
has not worked out too well. It is a motivating factor of Rorty’s thinking that we get rid of the
notion of universals we are meant to show fealty to just because we are a member of the
species and, instead, we substitute the value of building communities of trust. We do this not
because it is a better universal but because it will lead to a better outcome. Here larger
loyalty, and so justice, is built on the notion that “any unforced agreement between
individuals and groups about what to do creates a form of community and will, with luck, be
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the initial stage in expanding the circles of those whom each party to the agreement had
previously taken to be ‘people like ourselves’”. We seek, then, to promote a “fellow-feeling”
throughout our species which encourages the finding of commonalities, common interest,
which, in time, may lead, at least in common areas, to a kind of communicative common
reasonableness. In the end, this is the recognition that people are not ever totally other and
nor are they, especially when they think they are, defined by their principles, their logic or
their reason. People, we may say, are not ever totally ‘other’ but we all together, instead,
exhibit a complex overlap of beliefs and desires. The truth is that there is always much that
even bitter enemies have in common nevermind those who merely have simply different
opinions.
3.
I have argued that when we judge people by class we make a mistake for classes exist only
rhetorically and never empirically. Whilst the idea “black people” may exist, the reality is that
“black people” encompasses the empirical notion of any number of black individuals, each
with their own subjectivity. In continuing that argument I interacted with one, and only one,
account from a point of view that called itself “feminist”. In doing this I wanted to show both
that other feminist views were imaginable and also that we could not impose a “feminist”
reason upon human beings as a whole for there are no universal truths or universally
applicable forms of reason (not “feminist” ones or “the feminist ones” either) but only
contextual conversations and choices. In this I showed, through a brief personal digression,
that everyone’s experience of life is different and this will go a long way to molding the kinds
of people they are and what they want out of life. We are all, I tried to claim,
“beings-in-the-midst”, and one of the things we are in the midst of is everybody else and
where they have been too.
Thereafter, I moved two discuss two ideas put forward by the philosopher Richard Rorty. The
first, which articulated the belief that all the gods have fallen and so could not be replaced by
an arbitrating Reason, Justice, Truth or Big Idea, was that we be “romantic polytheists”,
which was that kind of people who would like to promote humanity’s richest diversity and
who can get along fine with a plurality of norms. Such people value not one form of life but
see value in many forms of it. So such people don’t worry about making everything hang
together in one, canonical account. Instead, they can separate things into those we need to
cooperate on and those that are our own, personal business. Such a conception is not about
power but peaceful, human fraternity. Being such a person leads us to a conception of
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justice as but a larger, expanded version of the loyalty we already accord those closest to us.
It finds ways to show concern for those not like us by realising that, based on common
interest, they could, at any moment of unforced agreement, become those more like us,
each of us expanding our circles of loyalty, and so the scope of common justice, in the
process. Here our neighbour, at any time, could be someone totally unfamiliar to us just as
much as those familiar.
This philosophy of the future that I have articulated is a philosophy that starts with each one
of us for it is a cooperative philosophy and a participatory philosophy. It is a philosophy of the
future for it asks each one of us where we want to go and it is cooperative for no one can act
alone when they are beings-in-the-midst. This is why the quote at the head of this essay,
which is this essay thematically encapsulated in one sentence, is one from the current Dalai
Lama. He says, “Cultivating a close, warm-hearted feeling for others is the ultimate source of
success in life.” This is Rorty’s larger loyalty and Jesus’ expression of who your neighbour is
spoken in other words. It is a choice to be kind over a choice not to be. It is to see wider than
yourself. Throughout humanity’s history we have been plagued with various kinds of tribalism
where the very marker of enmity was that those people over there were not like us people
over here. It is my suggestion in this essay that the continuing story of human progress, if
there is indeed such a story, is one in which such enmity must be overcome and we must
evolve to be people who are warm-hearted and kind to all alike. We must imagine a day
where there are no “those not ourselves”. It is further my belief that this will be achieved not
by any imposition from above but by each one of us individuals organically changing and
transmitting that change to others from below as the beings-in-the-midst change and affect
the midst that they are irretrievably in. It is, you may think, a utopian view. Yet if this be a
criticism I have but one question in reply: are those who cannot dream any longer human
beings at all?
Postscript
Towards the end of his essay “Justice as Larger Loyalty” Richard Rorty makes the point that
“as a loyal Westerner” he thinks that we should attempt to inculcate Western views in other
parts of the world, we should recommend our ways as better ways of doing things, as better
practices and behaviours due to their better outcomes, than others have and he is
unembarrassed by this. Yet elsewhere in his great corpus of literature he will also make the
point several times over that we, by which I now mean all people everywhere, are entirely
contingent beings who just happen to have been born at certain places and times, been
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raised by certain people and educated in certain ways amongst certain forms of society and
community. We have read, or not read, certain books and been part of various differing
political systems and lived wondrously various and different lives that have affected us in
diverse ways. None of this was forced, in the sense of given, and we all recognise that had
each of these things been different we would be other people with other beliefs and
practices.
In thinking about these two points I am prepared to grant Rorty them both on the basis that
thinking your beliefs and practices are better is not the function of particular beliefs any one
of us may have but it is the function of having any beliefs at all. So it seems to me that
non-Westerners may also very well imagine behaviours and practices that they engage in as
better than those of Westerners. They do this because to hold beliefs is to think they are
worth holding or, as Stanley Fish might phrase it, because beliefs are things that hold us
rather than being things we hold. It is a function of believing to have rejected other
alternatives in favour of those you feel you have chosen to follow through on. Thinking your
beliefs better, or perhaps merely just prudent in the circumstances, is why we hold beliefs at
all. It is why we believe this and not that and why we practice this and not that. Rorty’s two
points together are, I think, an argument against a universal rationality conceived of as
universal moral obligations or a natural order and so I think Rorty is right to think of rationality
here as “a process which leads to persuasive common cause” or some such circumlocution
rather than as a way the ‘more rational’ people convince their ‘less rational’ fellow human
beings of their greater rationality. So we should never ask the question, “But which behaviour
is really best?” for this is simply an unanswerable, a logical cul-de-sac, a mental tripwire that
doesn’t ask something genuinely important such as, “What common trust can we build
between peoples on how to live together in peace?” Social polity and living in peace also
involves knowing which questions matter and which questions don’t. To try to find an
algorithm which helps us know “whose morals are the best morals” thus avoids the more
important question by being obsessed with a lesser one but, worse, an unnecessary one.
We don’t need to answer that question to live in peace. We can leave it for private debates
among interested parties whilst the rest of us get on with living in peace as the mix of
belief-holding, contingent beings none of us could help being in the first place.
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14
John Dominic Crossan, The Power of Parable (SPCK, 2012).
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2012. (The Historical Jesus Crossan claims was a book written to academic colleagues
about how one should, as an academic, study the subject of the historical Jesus at all.) In
many respects the book is a return to books Crossan was writing in the mid 70s (the
common theme being parables) yet in other ways it stands in the shadow of The Historical
Jesus, Crossan’s major contribution to biblical scholarship, and another of his books, The
Birth of Christianity from 1998, which was the necessary follow up to that earlier book. As I
have written in my own work, one cannot attempt to explain Jesus without also explaining
Christianity. The Power of Parable is relevant to both of these topics since it is about the
contents of the gospels in the New Testament, that is, their parabolic content, but also about
these same gospels as parables, or “megaparables”, themselves. In reporting about this
book since its publication this has been somewhat sensationalized as Crossan saying that
the gospels aren’t historical for parables are, simply put, stories, fictions. But such reviews
are a bit wide of the mark as I have read the book for Crossan wants to distinguish between
straight up parables that are fictional stories which never actually happened (like the parable
of the Good Samaritan which is his favourite) and parables which are stories about factual
people such as Jesus or his disciples, etc. Crossan never ventures near the question of if the
gospels are either true or false or if them being parable (as he sees it) means that they aren’t
history. He does, however, ask if all the talk of parable means that Jesus himself becomes
only a parable. But more on that most interesting question later.
Before we delve deeper into Crossan’s thesis in The Power of Parable, though, I need to
make a confession. This is that the book that Crossan gave his readers is not the one that I
had expected to read and comment on in this essay. I suppose I was deceived by the subtitle
of the book (“how fiction by Jesus became fiction about Jesus”) and by the few sections of
the book that I had read. I was expecting great discourse on fiction and history, my subject in
this essay, but, instead, Crossan shares his great knowledge of parables and types of
parables and of the gospels themselves to present a thesis which is more about parable and
what it does and is for than about some metadiscussion concerning fiction and history and
their relationship. Frankly, I was at first disappointed. Yet as I have had time to think more
about it I see new questions presenting themselves and new ideas forming. Not least of
these is the title itself which focuses on what is perhaps the reason why anyone at all still
cares about Jesus of Nazareth 2,000 years later - the power of parable, the way a certain
kind of story can make such an impact that it is hard to forget. It is quite amazing to think that
a Galilean peasant totally foreign and alien to our modern contexts is still mentioned or
referred to so much within them. Amazing and puzzling. We need, I think, to ask ourselves
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why that is and what need it is feeding in our doing it and I hope in this essay to say
something that might bear on that, even if only tangentially.
Crossan’s thesis itself is relatively simple. There are various types of parable. First we have
riddle parables which hearers are meant to work out in terms of what things mean or stand
for. The parable of the sower is his example here:
“A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seed fell on the path, and the birds came
and ate it up. Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil, and it sprang
up quickly, since it had no depth of soil. And when the sun rose, it was scorched; and since it
had no root, it withered away. Other seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and
choked it, and it yielded no grain. Other seed fell into good soil and brought forth grain,
growing up and increasing and yielding thirty and sixty and a hundredfold.” And he said, “Let
anyone with ears to hear listen!” (Mark 4:3-9)
You need “ears to hear” to figure this parable out just as you need “ears to hear” several
times in the Gospel of Thomas (which also has a version of this parable), a gospel based on
figuring out the “interpretation” of “secret sayings” of Jesus. Here, parables are riddles the
smart can decode. But there is a second type of parable and this is the example parable.
Here the case study I will use is the Good Samaritan:
“A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who
stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was
going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a
Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a
Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He
went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put
him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out
two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back,
I will repay you whatever more you spend.’” (Luke 10:30-35)
An example parable is one in which an example of ethical or moral behaviour is put forward,
one the just should emulate. The story is told for hearers to be taught what kind of behaviour
to copy. Here you should be like the Samaritan not the priest or the Levite. But there is also a
third type of parable and this is the challenge parable. However, here the case study is
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exactly the same parable but this time I will set it in its Lukan frame of reference, its Lukan
context:
Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit
eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He
answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and
with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself.” And he said to
him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.” But wanting to justify
himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbour?” Jesus replied, “A man was going down
from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him,
and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road;
and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came
to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came
near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his
wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought
him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the
innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever
more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbour to the man who fell
into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to
him, “Go and do likewise.” (Luke 10:25-37)
In this literary context we see that the Lukan framing of the actual parable within a debate
between Jesus and a lawyer about how to live is what sets the parable in the context of
being an example parable. ‘How should we behave?’ asks the lawyer. Jesus’ answer, in
Lukan context, is with the example of the Good Samaritan. But in making this point Crossan
makes the point that the parable by itself, shorn of a Lukan literary context it almost certainly
did not have in any historical telling (Luke takes this from another story in Mark and sets the
parable in the middle of it here), is not an example parable at all but a challenge parable
instead. A challenge parable is one which “challenges listeners to think long and hard about
their social prejudices, their cultural presumptions, and, yes, even their most sacred religious
traditions”. In other words, Crossan is arguing that Luke has changed this parable from a
challenge to an example by his presentation of it. Crossan’s own view is that Luke prefers
parables as examples whereas Jesus preferred them as challenges. Challenge parables are
there to make us think and are a form of “participatory pedagogy”, one Crossan thinks
characteristic of Jesus. Challenge parables function as “permanent questioning”. But you
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may be wondering what about the Good Samaritan makes this such a question and such a
challenge to the first hearers. It is quite simply that Samaritans were outcasts. In John’s
gospel Jesus can even be accused of being a Samaritan and having a demon as a form of
insulting accusation (John 8:48). In Matthew 10:5 Jesus tells those he sends out to avoid
Samaritan towns. That is how bad being a Samaritan was regarded as being for pious Jews
and so in presenting a challenge parable Jesus puts his hearers in the position of having to
get their head around the notion that a despised enemy might be the good guy and the pious
in faith, the priest and the Levite, might be the bad guys. It involves a complete change of
mind to do so. That is its challenge.
There is a theological point here for Crossan that goes to the heart of his own scholarship on
Jesus and his own theological views about God. This is that God is not a violent God and
that Jesus was a non-violent person. Crossan sees both God and Jesus as collaborational
and in a context of our potential participation with them. So here it is important Crossan sees
Jesus as primarily a purveyor of challenge parables for they “concede ultimate authority and
responsibility to the audience”. They put trust in the audience to come to the right
conclusions and make the right choices. So, for Crossan, the message of Jesus was not just
“The kingdom of God is here!” It was “The kingdom of God is here only if and when you
make the right choices and it is ‘accepted, entered into, and taken upon oneself’”. It is a
matter of a “divine-human participation and a divine-human collaboration”. Jesus requires
participants with changed minds, people who have had their thinking addressed, engaged
and challenged. For the changes Jesus wanted to work in society it was absolutely vital,
thinks Crossan, that Jesus challenge prevailing ways of thinking yet non-violently. He did not
want to enflame, enrage or accuse. He wanted to get the wheels turning in people’s minds.
For that task, the challenge parable is perfect.
These (riddle, example and challenge) are the three major types of parable Crossan moves
forward with as he now goes on to characterise the four gospels of the New Testament,
Mark, Matthew, Luke-Acts and John. They are listed there as Crossan lists them, a
supposed historical order of their writing and with the appropriate designation of Luke’s
gospel as really a single gospel of Luke-Acts, a two volume gospel and necessarily so as
only Luke would have fit on a first century scroll before you would risk breaking it by writing
any further. Crossan designates each gospel in terms of what type of “megaparable” it is
telling about Jesus and, partly based on this, in terms of what he regards as its original social
location. We learn here that Mark wants to issue a challenge to Jesus’ disciples (and, by
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is why he thinks Jesus must have existed. Jesus was the non-violent creator of challenge
parables but the later gospels (and wider New Testament) made him into the purveyor of
rhetorical violence through attack parables in gospels and attack parables as gospels. But
you wouldn’t change something that didn’t exist. You might, however, change something that
did.
This, right at the end of Crossan’s book, is my jumping off point and all that has come so far
has been merely (extensive) prologue. To deal with Crossan’s conclusion first: it seems to
me that, in distinction to Crossan’s view, his first reason for Jesus’ existence is better than
his second. This is because, if we take on board the insight of a hermeneutical kind of
thinking, nothing stays the same anyway. Whether Jesus existed and was characterised a
certain way by contemporaries or later others or not, time and so context is always going to
be moving on. It is an insight of the hermeneutical mode of thinking that things never stand
still, context always changes. Things always change, move and shift, relative to everything
else which mandates, unavoidably, new accommodations, new descriptions, new
understandings of things. So whether Jesus was a real person or whether Jesus was
invented it is no argument for or against his existence that those who believed in him had to
change how they viewed him and how they presented him for in what world that we inhabit
would this not have been the case? In what world would one size ever fit all? To live in a
world of time and space is to have to constantly and consistently keep relating yourself to
everything else that is changing even as you are so we cannot make any argument for
Jesus’ reality as a human person of our common past based on change. Change is both a
commonality and an inevitability. So this leaves us with Crossan’s first reason which is not
the worst reason for the existence of Jesus as a historical person but, at the same time, it
does not exactly tell us a lot about him. Such, the more one studies the historical Jesus, is
one of the more common findings. We cannot know much with any level of certainty and that
is probably why we have so many stories about him at all because there are so many gaps
that can be filled. Here Crossan’s descriptions of likely scenarios for the settings of each
gospel, as well as his parabolic designations of them, become interesting as studies of how
people have addressed the person of Jesus and from what socio-cultural locations in terms
of which questions they are seeking to address.
But what I really want to do here is oppose all of Crossan’s discussion with a position on
“fiction and history” that I have already taken up myself in four studies of the historical Jesus
and, as a necessary concomitant, the gospels themselves. This position is not one in which
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parable is seen as fiction and opposed to history as fact (not that Crossan does that either)
but in which human seeing, whole and entire, is seen as fictional and so, whether history or
parable, its all fiction to me. This is to say that history and parable are both types of fiction
because to tell a story, a create a narrative, to link any point A to any point B to any point C,
is to fictionalise, to make a necessary connection between things which, in our world of
experience that we call reality, are not necessarily linked themselves at all and that are only
ever linked by our entirely rhetorical connections as acts of creative meaning-making. This is
something which, even if Crossan happens to think it, he does not say and so I take it as
something which marks out my approach from his. Crossan calls his parable gospels “history
as parable” and he concedes that one aspect of his parabolic gospels is that they are
parables about real people as opposed to Jesus’ parables which are about imaginary
people. This is all well and good but is also, I think, not cutting with a very sharp knife.
Crossan essentially is making the claim that people tell stories and can tell certain types of
stories which may lead to certain responses or effects. I, in turn, am saying that a narrative
understanding of the world such as we humans seem to have, one which necessarily and
usually advances human understanding by linking things together relationally and in terms of
relativity, is itself a continual making and remaking of fictional understandings of the world of
our experience. This narrows the distance between parable and history even more than
Crossan is often accused of doing.
So one question here that becomes important in thinking about this is not Crossan’s first
question from his epilogue “Was Jesus real or story?” but his second one “What difference
does it make?” On the one hand it makes no difference for whether we talk about an actual
Jesus people understood in their narrativised ways or whether he was a creation that those
same people understood in their narrativised ways people still took what they received as
“Jesus” and understood, each in their own narrativised ways as only they, as the
beings-in-the-midst they are, could. But, you will say to me, surely it makes a difference to
these people if such a person existed or not? This is the sense in which it does make a
difference and here Crossan’s answer to his second question is interesting. Crossan says it
makes a difference because it makes a difference whether we say “here is a really good,
uplifting, optimistic story of hope” or say “here is a person who actually lived this life” instead.
Is he correct? His example is Martin Luther King, one fresh in the minds of many and one
whom people still alive knew and even marched with. Crossan contends that it makes a
difference if King was a real person who lived the life he lived or if he is just a character from
a book or a Hollywood film. His inference is that to be either of the latter is to be less
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impactful than to be the first. But the problem with this is that Jesus, if we agree with
Crossan that there was a Jesus at all, lived 2000 years ago. There is no one alive who knew
him. It may be that when some of the four gospels mentioned above were written no one
who had ever met him and knew him personally was alive even then. So surely it doesn’t
matter to us now, 2,000 years later, whether there was a Jesus or whether Jesus is just,
instead, a very good, convincing character from a story with some great and still relevant
things to say? Or does it? Does that passage of time make a difference?
Perhaps what matters here in answering this question is how we understand history. History
we take as a true telling of a narrative about people that really existed and existed as the
people we are told they were as shown through their reported speech and actions which we
expect to reveal them truthfully. History is taken to be fact (if any story can even be a fact)
and to relate to actual things that happened whereas parable is taken to be fiction and so not
to relate to any past actuality in the same way at all. One way to articulate this difference,
then, is that history is true and parable, fiction, is false. But is that right when we can say
truly that any narrative understanding is fiction because any narrative understanding, call it
history or call it fiction or call it parable, is an arbitrary linkage of events to create a desired
meaning? (It is an arbitrary linkage because other people will always be able to link things in
other ways meaning that every narrative is a choice rather than a necessity.) If we come
back to Jesus how can someone now wanting to disentangle Jesus from parable and
entangle him in history establish one from the other? How can a gospel reader say at a
2,000 year remove where the parable stops and the history begins or where the history stops
and the parable begins?
The thing is, with MLK we can ask people still alive about him but we can’t ask anybody
about Jesus. We could believe he was real and be wrong and believe he was made up and
be wrong. None of us know for sure. So what does a “Jesus of history” actually mean here
outside of a rhetorical decision we may feel we can justify and try to justify to others? No one
is putting stone cold proof (or a resurrected body) on the table either way. So even if it might
ideally make a difference, in the rhetorical reality of our actual world the only difference it
makes is a rhetorical one because of the way we value a narrative accorded past actuality
over one of parable or fiction about the past. Yet it is important here to note that even if
Jesus existed in past actuality, as Crossan maintains, no narrative of the past (history) is
factual about him in the same way as his past actuality would be factual. History, like
parable, is embroiled deeply in narrativity and its fictionality; right up to its neck, in fact.
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not, when both are creative and both are a making sense of phenomena in much the same
interpretational and hermeneutical way. In fact, I submit that history is a subset of fiction as I
have described it in this essay. What matters, once this insight be granted, is not “history
good, parable bad” or “history bad, parable good” but what is useful or not useful to human
beings in the world, to beings-in-the-midst, and so the purposes that those same people
have which will determine what is even to be useful to them in the first place. So it does not
matter, I think, whether Jesus existed or not. It does not matter if he is history or fiction (not
that we could ever know now anyway). It matters more what stories are told about him or put
on his lips and how they can be interacted with by people in today’s world as expressions of
ideas and modes of behaviour with consequences. Crossan finishes his book with Jesus as
an example (or a challenge) which he thinks is more powerful for his belief that Jesus was
historically actual. Yet I maintain that even were he historically imaginary it would make no
difference. For if a simple story changed anything, or even everything, so much, and beyond
our ability to ever verify it, then that was all the reality he ever needed anyway. Or put this
another way. If everything, as I maintain, is fiction, then rhetorical arguments over what kind
of fiction they are are less important than what it is such fictions do to those who read them
or because their readers or hearers respond appropriately to their challenges.
Nothing and Being
Nietzsche’s infamous proclamation, “God is dead,” marks the end of a metaphysical era in
which a single order underpins all of existence. The ‘Polish nobleman’ inveighs against the
notion that meaning depends on certainty, and argues that participation in the dynamic
movement of life is more conducive to meaningful existence. He further rebels against
philosophies that invoke a transcendent realm of permanence, to denigrate and devalue the
flux of life, arguing that this is the nihilistic act par excellence. But to what does ‘nihilism’
refer? Nihilism, in this case, refers to a world stripped of its meaning. In this guise, nihilism
often reflects the metaphysical assumptions to which we are still wedded because it
assumes that without a singular order life is meaningless as we are merely buffeted about in
a chaotic realm of flux. It follows that nihilism is the symptom of beings who only reluctantly
part with their metaphysical guiding stars and are imbued with nostalgia in their absence.
The disdain for change and flux evidenced is then the residue that an inappropriate
metaphysical thought has left behind. In response, order is then pursued for its own sake
even if it is no longer invested with metaphysical significance. The status quo is
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thoughtlessly adhered to because a superficial stability becomes the substitute for the
waning metaphysical horizon. Comfort takes the place of meaning as the primary goal. This,
according to Nietzsche, marks the crippling aspect of such nihilism.
But nihilism does not only appear as a negative for Nietzsche. There are also positives. For
example, nihilism as groundlessness can make human beings aware of their endless
potential since the destruction of absolute metaphysical truths in Nietzsche’s mind could
allow for the creative proliferation of many truths. This kind of active nihilism overcomes what
Nietzsche refers to as the more passive nihilism of the herd. However, it is important to
recognize that nothingness and nihilism cannot always be equated. Here an examination of
Taoist philosophy proves to be very fruitful in this regard for it illustrates that nothingness
cannot simply be reduced to a negation of what is or once was: an idea that the Western
mind often has difficulty coming to terms with. Attunement to nothingness in Taoism signifies
openness to other beings and therefore reminds us of our fundamental interconnectivity in
addition to being described as a cosmological point of origin. The Taoist sage wanders not
because he is warding off a surrounding abyss but because he tries to mimic the openness
of nothing. So rather than associating nothingness with meaninglessness, Taoist thinkers
suggest that it imbues the world with meaning because it is the space or opening that allows
things to connect to each other. As the “in-between” aspect of all things, “nothing” is
something to be celebrated for it brings particular beings into harmonious accord. So being
and nothingness are interdependent rather than diametrically opposed, for things only come
to be through nothing. Nothingness, then, is not simply an absence for its presence is keenly
felt.
In his thinking Nietzsche makes the radical suggestion that the erosion of permanent
horizons is not the beginning of nihilism but, rather, that reigning immutable truths whittle
away the meaning in our existence by eviscerating and heaping scorn on life. “Life” pales in
comparison to the glorious realm of truths, such as the Platonic forms, and it becomes the
target of an increasing contempt. Ironically, the revenge against life eventually deprives truth
of the nourishment it needs. This is why Nietzsche insists we should celebrate, rather than
mourn, the demise of such truths. Paradoxically, once we are taught to hold life itself in
contempt, we become infected with an emptiness that makes it impossible to love even the
truths that we allegedly hold so dear. Truth becomes debilitating rather than invigorating.
Nietzsche, thus, suggests that Socrates and Plato are “symptoms of decay”, in his Twilight of
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the Idols, because they are the fathers of the universal reason which has since become the
hallmark of Western thought:
“If one needs to make a tyrant of reason, as Socrates did, then there must exist no little
danger of something else playing the tyrant... The fanaticism with which the whole of Greek
thought throws itself at rationality betrays a state of emergency: one was in peril, one had
only one choice: either perish or - be absurdly rational.” (Twilight of the Idols I:9)
Reason becomes irrational once its tentacles begin to extend to all aspects of life in the
attempt to expunge all spontaneity, sensuality, and movement which are the truth an
inauthentically static, metaphysical fiction of life never wants you to realise.
Another face of nothingness, that becomes increasingly pronounced in Heidegger’s later
writings, resembles a kind of absolute emptiness and groundlessness that is not defined
against anything. Here, nothingness is not a limit but rather limitlessness itself and it draws
attention to the interconnectedness of all things rather than to the separation between them.
But for these reasons we confront a formidable conundrum when trying to describe it
because language operates on the basis of limitation. Such nothingness is both part of our
being and at the same time other to it. It can be experienced and is therefore present but at
the same time is nothing so it cannot be present. Since it is no “what” about which anything
can be said, and language depends upon defining such “whatness,” the only option available
to us is to provide examples wherein such nothingness is experienced. Nothingness is also a
kind of radical openness and groundlessness that we experience as the uncanny call of
conscience. The call of conscience constitutes an acknowledgement that that which is not
our own allows us to return to the self: “When Dasein (see below) interprets itself in terms of
that with which it concerns itself, the call passes over what Dasein, proximally and for the
most part, understands itself as. And yet the Self has been reached, unequivocally and
unmistakably” (Being and Time). Heidegger insists that “in its ‘who,’ the caller is definable in
a ‘worldly’ way by nothing at all.” One way of making sense of this confusing juxtaposition of
opposites is to see the call as a kind of force that reminds us of our non-differentiation from
all that is, namely Being. On one level, the self is part of the indefinable whole that is Being,
and this is why the call is familiar. And yet, on the other hand, the self is individuated, and
this is why the call is also alien to it. In uncanniness our separateness and connectedness to
Being is experienced at the same time. The self in its non-differentiated form brushes against
the self as differentiated Being.
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Here the word “Da-sein” (“being-there”), a peculiarity of Heidegger’s highly idiosyncratic
philosophical vocabulary, is intended to draw attention to the dialogical nature of the human
being. Here human agency emerges out of interaction and does not have its roots in the
subject alone; the interactive relationship between beings and Being is stressed. More
attention is paid to nothingness as an opening which is to free human beings from some of
the constraints that subjectivity imposes upon them. Nothingness is to help loosen the
shackles that bind the self too firmly to its own boundaries and permits what in Buddhist
philosophy is often referred to as a kind of self-emptying or what Taoists call self-forgetting.
The later Heidegger stresses that nothingness acts as a kind of gateway through which
connections to other beings are forged. This is why it cannot simply be equated with nihilism
and indeed can be invoked in order to overcome nihilism. Individual authenticity is not
abandoned but rather is seen as emerging out of this interconnectedness. While Being and
Time focuses on the individuation of Dasein (albeit not exclusively), the later Heidegger
focuses increasingly on authenticity as the in-between aspect of our existence. Nothingness
reminds us that we are not only creatures between birth and death, but are also always
between beings. This realization can help to relieve us from some of the anxiety surrounding
our mortality. If we focus on the fact that we are between beings, then our mortality is not
associated with absolute finality in the same way.
Heidegger’s later accounts of nothingness have much in common with Eastern spirituality.
Therefore, they are subject to constant misinterpretation in the West and Heidegger himself
expresses his frustration at the Western inability to differentiate between the experience of
nothingness and nihilism. In a postscript to What is Metaphysics? written in 1943 he defends
his account of nothingness against charges of nihilism and we may truly say that
Heidegger’s analysis of nothingness sets him apart from almost all other Western
philosophers. Indeed, as some have pointed out, the concept of nothingness was almost
immediately understood by Heidegger enthusiasts in Japan but in the West it was simply
equated with a stifling nihilism. So, to discuss briefly What is Metaphysics?, which was
Heidegger’s inaugural lecture at Freiburg, we can say that it combines two aspects of
nothingness. On the one hand, Heidegger describes nothingness as the “negation of the
totality of beings; it is non-being pure and simple”. This, coupled with the prominent role that
anxiety and dread play in his work, implies that he sees nothingness primarily as a negative
force. Yet, he also claims that the idea of nothingness as negation must itself be negated,
implying that it has a kind of presence to which we respond: “Is the nothing given only
because the ‘not’ i.e., negation, is given? Or is it the other way around? Are negation and the
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‘not’ given only because the nothing is given?”. Heidegger insists that Dasein has to “hold
out into the nothing” because it requires an open space into which it can emerge. Without
this space, it would have no place to go, and thus, it must recognize its debts to the spaces
that allow it to be. Dasein cannot be itself without not being itself. It not only needs
boundaries but also boundlessness in order to be. Without this it “could never be relate to
beings or even to itself. Without the original revelation of the nothing, no selfhood and no
freedom”. Nothingness is not just a negation of beings; it is also a home that houses beings
and a force that draws them out by enabling them to appear. It is the connective tissue
between things that permits their unfolding: “The nothing does not merely serve as the
counter-concept of being; rather, it originally belongs to their essential unfolding as such”.
Heidegger asserts that “the nothing is more original than the ‘not’ and negation”, because it
refers to the connectedness of all things. This statement utterly confounded many of his
Western interpreters and prompted them to argue that he had tumbled into a nihilistic abyss.
Unfortunately for them, nothing could be further from the truth. If anything, this conception of
nothingness marked Heidegger’s departure from nihilism. He now acknowledges that without
the “emptiness” of nothingness, our self-making would not be possible. Furthermore,
nothingness is also the space between things that allows them to connect to each other and
thereby engage in a process of mutual transformation. Opening one’s soul to nothingness
entails making a space for the entry of others. In What is Metaphysics? Heidegger claims
that nothingness rears its head through the emotions of anxiety and love, which upon
cursory examination seem to have little to do with one another. Yet both reflect aspects of
concern where indeterminacy and openness play a central role. Love demands an openness
of the self to another. Anxiety reflects discomfort with the idea that we are beings in
perpetual progress: “The indeterminateness of that in the face of which and for which we
become anxious is no mere lack of determination but rather the essential impossibility of
determining it. Anxiety reveals the nothing”. We are anxious when we are reluctant to
relinquish the self’s boundaries whereas love evokes the pleasurable aspect of letting go of
such boundaries.
This letting go of boundaries is described in Heidegger’s later works as Gelassenheit. The
traditional connotation of “letting-be” (Gelassenheit) implies an attitude of neglect which has
more in common with a perception of nothingness focussed on absence: “Ordinarily we
speak of letting-be whenever, for example, we forgo some enterprise that has been
planned… To let something be has here the negative sense of letting it alone, of renouncing
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it, of indifference and even neglect”. However, Heidegger wants to underscore the positive
use of this term as opening:
“How is this essence of freedom to be thought? That which is opened up, that to which a
presentative statement as correct corresponds, are beings opened up in an open
comportment. Freedom for what is opened up in an open region lets beings be the beings
they are. Freedom now reveals itself as letting beings be.”
Further to this, it permits a genuine engagement with things which does not attempt to
manage them or subject them to our control:
“However, the phrase required now - to let beings be - does not refer to neglect and
indifference but rather the opposite. To let be is to engage oneself with beings… To let be -
that is, to let beings be as the beings which they are means to engage oneself with the open
region and its openness into which every being comes to stand, bringing that openness as it
were, along with itself.”
We move on now more specifically to Taoist thought. The predominant and largely positive
role that nothingness plays in Taoist writing provides a stark contrast to many Western
philosophical works, where nothingness is greeted with apprehension and dread. What is
immediately noticeable to the Western reader is that, while there is repeated reference to
nothingness in these writings, there is virtually no trace of nihilism to be found in these texts.
While this can in part be attributed to historical factors, it is also characteristic of an approach
to existence which stresses the interconnectedness rather than the separateness of all
things. Thus, an elucidation of nothingness in the preeminent Taoist writings, by Zhuangzi
and Laozi, helps not only to illuminate Western presumptions about the “abyss” but also
highlights the shift in perspective that characterizes the later Heidegger, who borrowed many
of his ideas with respect to nothingness from Taoist texts.
Both the early Heidegger and Nietzsche see nothingness as the negative limit that forces the
individual to create meaning freely in an attempt to fend off an encroaching abyss. While
Nietzsche pays homage to the power of nothingness that his Zarathustra confronts, it is
viewed primarily as a negative force that catapults him towards an almost rebellious
affirmation of life. Furthermore, individual death is seen as symptomatic of a larger
meaninglessness and therefore nihilism emerges out of a worldview which grants the subject
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primacy. It is against the backdrop of nothingness that the contours of the individual are
brought into sharp relief, impelling her or him to carve out a “unified whole” out of the
fragments that compose the self. By threatening to dissolve all boundaries, nothingness
encourages the individual to demarcate them. In a philosophical tradition which privileges
individuation, nothingness is interpreted primarily in the negative sense of deprivation. Whilst
it might be pointed out that Nietzsche’s notion of the eternal return also tacitly (and perhaps
unwittingly) provides an alternative understanding of nothingness as opening, his insistence
on nothingness as a force of negation is never entirely abandoned. Here he differs from the
later Heidegger who did shift his emphasis from a negative understanding of nothingness to
one that is predicated on openness.
Rather than casting being and nothingness as polar opposites, Taoist thought consistently
underlines their complementary nature. For the early Heidegger and Nietzsche being and
nothingness are connected through their opposition. Yet Taoist philosophy stresses the
entanglement of being and nothingness while viewing nothingness itself as creative rather
than as the negation that stimulates human creativity:
““... ‘non-existence’ I call the beginning of Heaven and Earth. ‘Existence’ I call the mother of
individual beings. Therefore does the direction towards non-existence lead to the sight of the
miraculous essence, the direction towards existence to the sight of spatial limitations.” (Tao
Te Ching, 1)
This text helps to underscore an important point for it makes nothingness primary. From the
perspective of Western tradition, which tends to equate being with substance, this seems
incomprehensible. But the fact that nothingness is associated with the beginning in Taoism15
suggests that the interconnectedness and oneness of all things assumes priority over the
divisions between them. This does not imply that existence and nothingness are mutually
exclusive for, as can be shown, each is part of the other. One of the foremost interpreters of
Laozi, Wang Bi, suggests that the notion of wu (nothingness) is central to an understanding
of the Tao Te Ching and uses it to describe the nature of the Tao itself. In his interpretation of
the opening lines of the text, Wang Bi maintains that non-being is a point of origin:
“... all being originated from nonbeing. The time before physical forms and names appeared
was the beginning of the myriad things. After forms and names appear, “tao” develops them,
15
As it also is with the Jewish mysticism known as Kabbalah. See the first essay in this book.
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nourishes them, provides their formal shape and completes their formal substance, that is,
becomes their Mother. This means that the Tao produces and completes things with the
formless and nameless.”
Wang Bi’s analysis suggests wu is neither simply the negation of being but rather has a kind
of mysterious presence as the underlying unity of all things. Alan K. Chan builds upon Wang
Bi’s analysis to suggest that wu has a fundamental substance which is both “ontologically
distinct from and prior to ‘being.’” In the work of Laozi which emphasizes the
interconnectedness and oneness of all things, “non-existence” is primordial because it
highlights the non-differentiation between beings. Wu cannot be named, but it is precisely
that which ties the ten-thousand things together and makes them one. Existence as
distinguished from nothingness is the site of particularity and the “ten thousand things.”
Because nothingness cannot be expressed in names, the Tao Te Ching begins with a series
of what appear to be negations. This should not be interpreted simply as an incorrigible
skepticism but rather as a reverence for that which cannot be spoken:
“The Tao that can be expressed Is not the eternal Tao. The name that can be named Is not
the eternal name.” (Tao Te Ching, 1)
Our finite names will always fall short of the infinite Tao which is being spoken about. This
criticism of language manifests a kind of respect for the Tao and is intended to preserve a
sense of wonder in relation to it. It also opens up a path for non-verbal forms of knowing:
“... day and night follow each other and we have no idea why. Enough, enough! Morning and
night exist, we cannot know more about the Origins than this. Without them, we don’t exist,
without us they have no purpose. This is close to our meaning, but we cannot know what
creates things to be thus. It is as if they have a Supreme Guidance, but there is no grasping
such a One.” (Zhuangzi 2:10)
Heidegger here might add that, by continuously undermining language it is nevertheless
compelled to use, Taoism avoids the illness of the West which was to transform logos into
ratio. In Heidegger’s view, the tendency to equate logos with rationality obscured the original
meaning of the term logos, which means “to gather things together.” Rather than trying to
ground things, Taoist language is self-critical in order to emphasize the groundlessness of
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what it is describing. The Tao is something that will always elude human expression because
it can never be subjected to limited human categories: “To use what has a boundary to
pursue what is limitless is dangerous; with this knowledge, if we still go after knowledge we
will run into trouble” (Zhuangzi 3:22). So the experience of nothingness is necessary, in order
to free us from an excessive attachment to words, because it can help reveal a truth that
names all too frequently conceal. Words necessarily draw boundaries impelling human
beings to forget that the nature of a particular being can only be known through its
interconnection with other beings. While the maze of networks that any entity is entangled in
is infinite, the ultimate essence of a thing can never be postulated. This is why nothingness
makes us aware of the “thisness” of a thing, which is irreducible to thought. For example,
some of the most intimate moments of friendship are often experienced in silence. There are
occasions when speech would ruin a kind of nonverbal understanding between people. It is
in the interest of preserving this non-verbal form of knowing that nothingness must be
safeguarded. When names are substituted for the direct encounter with things themselves,
we can sink into a comfortable familiarity which nevertheless distances us from the things at
hand. The Taoist exhortation to foster nothingness reminds us that the phenomenological
call to go “to the things themselves” demands an attunement to non-verbal forms of knowing
that sharpen our sense of the particularity of a thing that is not confined to words.
In contrast to Laozi in the Tao Te Ching, Zhuangzi’s writing puts less direct emphasis on the
cosmological understanding of nothingness as a kind of primordial source. But Zhuangzi still
invokes the concept in order to point to problems of our understanding. In the Zhuangzi,
there is a wonderful section that underscores the interplay between being and nothingness,
and also describes the gradual movement away from attunement to nothingness:
“In the beginning they did not know that anything existed; this is virtually perfect knowledge,
for nothing can be added. Later they knew that some things existed but they did not
distinguish between them. Next came those who distinguished between things, but did not
judge things as ‘being’ or ‘not being.’ It was when judgments were made that the Tao was
damaged, and because the Tao was damaged, love became complete.” (Zhuangzi 2:14)
Here, a lack of knowledge is described as the most perfect knowledge because nothing is
yet seen as differentiated from anything else. Later, it became known that things existed but
no distinctions were made between them, because they were still viewed in terms of their
interconnectivity rather than in terms of their separateness. Next distinctions were made, but
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being and non-being were not separated from each other. This suggests that non-being is
recognized as an aspect of being because the opening that connects one thing to other
things is recognized. Therefore, things are seen as distinct but not as isolated from each
other. Finally, when judgments were made, and an account of things was given that focused
on their differentiation from each other, human beings strayed furthest from the Tao. And yet,
because the Tao was damaged, love became complete because the irresistible pull of
nothingness is still manifested in the desire to return to the non-differentiated oneness of all
things. The suggestion, that the most perfect knowledge is a lack of knowledge, makes clear
that, for Zhuangzi, it is the undifferentiated nature of things that assumes priority.
Yet neither Laozi nor Zhuangzi would insist that we try to dispense with names. But at the
same time, we should maintain an awareness of nothingness that reminds us of the
non-oppositional nature of opposites: “If all on earth acknowledge the beautiful as beautiful,
then thereby the ugly is already posited. If all on earth acknowledge the good as good, then
thereby is the non-good already posited” (Tao Te Ching, 2). On one level, this suggests that
we think in dichotomizing terms. For example, we can only know what heat is in relation to
cold. If a hand is plunged into two pots of water of differing temperatures, we will describe
the difference between them as hot and cold. At first glance, this appears to be simple
negation, because one is identified by virtue of the way in which it is not the other. Yet, at the
same time, if hot and cold were not somehow connected to each other through their
opposition, then we would also be incapable of comparing them. To say that hot and cold are
experienced relative to each other suggests that they are intertwined. And because of this
entanglement there is a sense that there is no difference between them. The argument that
they are absolutely distinct from each other presupposes that the fundamental relationship
between things is one of division. But there is another perspective which is no less valid and
this constitutes the awareness that each thing is also a confluence of all other things that
exist. In Indian philosophy this understanding is often described through the analogy of the
fishnet, where an individual life is portrayed as a single knot which is both distinct from
others and yet at the same time is connected to every other knot in the net. Because it is
connected to everything else, it is everything else. From the perspective of
interconnectedness, all things are their opposites.
Turning to moral judgments, for Zhuangzi moral judgments such as good and evil emerge
out of a worldview that sees things primarily in terms of their division from one another.
However, from the perspective of the radical openness represented by nothingness,
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everything is one and so the distinction between right and wrong also begins to fade away.
When it is said that the sage “manages to harmonize right and wrong” (Zhuangzi 2:14), this
is not a prescription for a kind of moral relativism in which anything goes. Rather it means
that from a standpoint which regards things as non-differentiated, the distinction between
good and evil becomes less pronounced. However, Zhuangzi is not implying that the sage is
completely indifferent to the course of events. Because he recognizes that things are both
differentiated from each other and not differentiated from each other, he must harmonize
between right and wrong rather than dispensing with morality entirely. He must balance his
knowledge of the separation between things, with the understanding that they are also
connected. Thus, Taoist philosophy would deny the possibility that good can ever completely
triumph over evil for without evil there could be no good:
“With regard to what is right and wrong, I say not being is being and being is not being... But
let us not get caught up in discussing this. Forget about life, forget about worrying about right
and wrong. Plunge into the unknown and the endless and find your place there.” (Zhuangzi
2:20)
The characteristic type of activity the Taoist sage engages in and promotes is often referred
to as wu-wei ( 無為), which is frequently translated as non-action: “In stillness they take
actionless action... Through actionless action they are happy, very happy; being so happy
they are not afflicted by cares and worries...” (Zhuangzi 13:107). However, this translation
can be somewhat misleading for Western readers, since wu-wei does not imply the
cessation of activity, but rather means that we should act in such a way that nothingness is
part of one’s action. Heidegger’s concept of letting-be (Gelassenheit) resonates powerfully
with the idea of wu-wei. One must provide an opening for other beings through one’s action.
This is by no means an easy task which is why only the very few will become sages. If I am
德
to establish accord between things I must also be familiar with their te ( ), or particular
virtues, in order to provide the proper spaces that they can enter into. A pot that is to hold
liquids must be tailored to that which it is intended to hold. Thus, non-action is a very difficult
skill to master because it demands a sophisticated attentiveness to the openings in the world
around one. Cook Ding expresses this when he describes his talent for butchery: “Between
the joints there are spaces, and the blade of a knife has no real thickness. If you put what
has no thickness into spaces such as these, there is plenty of room, certainly enough for the
knife to work through.” (Zhuangzi 3:23). Yet the cosmological understanding of nothingness
and its practical application are not divorced. It is Cook Ding’s awareness of spaces between
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particularistic and chaotic multiplicity, and this “super-terrestrial” realm. That which the
symbol leaves out is summarily ignored and therefore there is very little possibility for the
revitalization of such abstractions. As a result, the symbols collapse and life is pronounced
meaningless. Taoist thinkers would agree with a diagnosis which holds that abstract symbols
had become too powerful in Western philosophy. Taoist words act as pointers rather than
essences and thus the expectations placed upon them are not as great. From a Taoist
perspective, one could argue that what leads to the nihilism Nietzsche describes is not the
idea of god itself but the notion that such a god could be described. A discomfort with silence
and speechlessness in Western thought results in a gradual whittling away of the meaning in
speech which becomes what Heidegger refers to as Gerede (idle talk). Furthermore,
because many Western thinkers ignore the fact that a thing cannot be grasped by the name,
they ignore the irreducible thisness of the thing that allows us to form connections with it.
Perhaps an analysis of friendship can help to underscore how this process works. On the
one hand, we become close friends with another person because we are alike. At the same
time, friendship is also based on the encounter with the “strangeness” of a friend who is
radically other as well. This may in part be what prompts Nietzsche to say that his enemies
are his best friends: “In your friend you should possess your best enemy. Your heart should
feel closest to him when you oppose him” (Thus Spoke Zarathustra I,14). It is the
combination of strangeness and familiarity that allows us to become close, for it shows an
appreciation of connectedness that arises through the particularity of two different things:
“Have you ever watched your friend asleep - to discover what he looked like? Yet your
friend’s face is something else beside. It is your own face, in a wrought and imperfect
mirror... The friend should be a master in conjecture and in keeping silence: you must not
want to see everything. Your dream should tell you what your friend does when awake.”
(Thus Spoke Zarathustra I,14)
When we attempt to expunge “strangeness” or “uncanniness” from experience then we also
have a much harder time forming social bonds. If nothingness is not part of our
understanding of difference, we will begin a precipitous fall towards social atomisation. Yet
while there are many Western thinkers who readily acknowledge the importance of
difference and consequently admit that knowledge is perspectival, this observation is often
tinged with despair. Not only is such despair notably absent in Taoist thought but human
“limitations” are greeted with jubilation and also laughter. Furthermore, because oneness is
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seen as predicated on the connections between things, differences in perspectives are not
seen as limits to the understanding. When one perspective is assumed to be all
encompassing, it becomes the source of a joke. For example, in a humorous anecdote
Zhuangzi refers to a woman who is revered by human beings for her beauty but whose
presence the animals flee instantly upon sight:
“Monkeys mate with each other, deer go with deer. People said that Mao Chiang and Li Chi
were the most beautiful women in the world, but fish seeing them dived away, birds took off
into the air and deer ran off. Of these four, who really knows true beauty?” (Zhuangzi 2:17)
Zhuangzi suggests that this beauty is relative and that the animals merely have a different
perspective of beauty than human beings. But this is not interpreted as misguided
knowledge on the part of either human beings or animals. Zhuangzi appears to place much
more emphasis on the multiplicity of the world than Laozi, as is evidenced by the diverse
panoply of human beings and animals that parade through his stories and there is a
consequent strong connection between the particularity of things and nothingness. In a very
complex passage, Zhuangzi elucidates this link:
“Nothing exists which is not ‘that,’ nothing exists which is not ‘this.’ I cannot look at
something through someone else’s eyes, I can only truly know something which I know.
Therefore ‘that’ comes out of ‘this’ and ‘this’ arises from ‘that.’ This is why we say ‘that’ and
‘this’ are born from each other, most definitely. . . . When ‘this’ and ‘that’ do not stand against
each other, this is called the pivot of the Tao. Compare birth with death, compare death with
life; compare what is possible with what is not possible and compare what is not possible
with what is possible; because there is, there is not and because there is not, there is.”
(Zhuangzi 12)
Multiple layers of meaning can be gleaned from this passage. On the one hand, it is clear
that “this” and “that” are not one another. The fact that there is nothing which is neither “this”
nor “that” indicates that each thing is radically distinct from the next and its particularity
cannot be reduced to words. Zhuangzi uses the vague terminology of the “this” and “that” to
point out that the specificity or “thisness” of a thing cannot be defined. Yet, at the same time,
what a thing is only makes sense through that which it is not since “this” and “that” are
connected. Because of this connection, each thing is both “this” and “that.” Each thing “is”
what it “is not” because of the connection between things made possible by the openness of
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consists the room’s effectiveness. Therefore: what exists serves for possession. What does
not exist serves for effectiveness.” (Tao Te Ching 11)
利
In the original Chinese the term translated here as possession is li ( ) which does not
strictly mean possession but is also used to describe benefit, advantage, effectiveness, or
potential. Without the empty spaces, the pot could not hold things, nor could the spokes
come together to form a wheel. In an essay entitled, “On the Thing,” Heidegger directly
appropriates these metaphors by emphasizing that the emptiness of the jug is what makes it
a container. He points out that the purpose of the jug is to hold liquids as well as to pour and
therefore its nothingness not only allows the jug to hold things in place but also permits it to
gather things together. The empty space in a wine jug draws attention to the wine which it
holds but at the same time the act of pouring allows the wine to become a source of
interconnection. Both the distinctness and non-distinctness of things come into play in
Heidegger’s portrayal of the jug.
From the perspective of Taoist thinkers, as we have seen, everything is interconnected. But
therefore there is no such thing as a pure ending or pure beginning: “There is the beginning;
there is not as yet any beginning of the beginning. There is what is, and there is what is not,
and it is not easy to say whether what is not, is not; or whether what is, is” (Zhuangzi 2:15).
Non-being is not only pure absence but also represents potentiality. There is never any pure
beginning that is not an ending as well as a continuation. The end of one particular thing
marks the beginning of another. Because endings and beginnings are always connected in
Taoist thought it shows little trace of a kind of Heideggerian or Nietzschean Angst.
Nothingness marks the birth of all things because it is no-thing in particular and therefore
represents endless potential as well as harmony. Richard Wilhelm points out that the
deepest secret is wu ji: the non-beginning that is often represented by a simple circle. The
circle is both whole and infinite because each point along it can be seen as both beginning
and end.
While nothingness in philosophical Taoism is seen as an opening, in Western thought it is
often associated with closure. This is indicative of the individualist assumptions that
undergird Western philosophy for, if we live primarily for the self, then “the nothing”
constitutes a haunting spectre of finality. Nietzsche’s tightrope walker perceives nothingness
as the horrifying abyss which signals the end of his movement. It is literally the dead-end that
forces him to focus fully on the activity he is engaged in. Similarly, Heidegger’s authentic
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person must confront his own death in order to remind himself of his potential as a being
continuously in process. This is why death becomes an important cornerstone of the
authentic experience in Heidegger’s view. The absolute finality of death contrasts starkly with
the open-endedness of Being, Yet, at the same time, and from a Taoist perspective, one
could argue that if death were only an ending then it could not draw attention to our potential.
Thus, it must also be an opening. Heidegger concedes that death is only absolute from an
individual’s perspective since the process of mourning allows the deceased to live on in the
rituals of others. The act of mourning underscores the continuity that is made possible not
only in spite of death but also through it. When we worship or pay homage to our ancestors
we are not simply mourning their passing but are reconsolidating the community’s bonds.
Meanwhile, in Taoist thought death is a (yet another) reminder of the interconnection of all
things. There is no passing-away that is not also a coming-to-be. This is why the Taoist sage
confronts his own death with relative equanimity. He is not frightened by his mortality
because he “simply uses his physical body as a place to dwell” (Zhuangzi 5:39). He knows
that “death and birth (being and non-being), are one and the same” (Zhuangzi 6:52). Rather
than viewing his self in terms of the constraints he faces, he regards himself as one thread in
an infinite net. The boundaries of his body are perceived not as limits but as openings. For
this reason he transcends his limitations not by struggling against them in a superman-like
fashion, but by accepting them through the acknowledgement that they are also points of
connection. The sage is described as a non-self not because he is devoid of personality but
because he allows his personality to develop out of interaction with others.
To sum this all up, Heidegger, Nietzsche, Laozi, and Zhuangzi cross paths in their
understandings of nothingness. For both Nietzsche and the early Heidegger, an awareness
of nothingness helps to overcome a paralyzing nihilism in part because it helps shape the
distinctive features of the individual. It serves as a powerful force of individuation that
prevents us from succumbing fully to the kind of amorphous blob that is the herd. But the
experience of nihilism is largely foreign to Taoist thinkers because they focus on nothingness
as an opening, thereby privileging interconnection over individuation. Nevertheless, it is
unfair to say that Taoist philosophers completely ignore the importance of individuation just
as it would be a gross oversimplification to maintain that Western thinkers are blind to the
importance of interconnection. Despite their differences, all four thinkers would concur that
nothingness makes possible a unity based on the interconnection of particular beings rather
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than a unity predicated on homogeneity and sameness. It allows us to relish both the unity in
diversity and the diversity in unity.
However, the comparison between Laozi, Zhuangzi, Heidegger, and Nietzsche helps
unsettle rigid dichotomies. Heidegger demonstrates that philosophy has always been
motivated by the desire to think a whole that cannot be adequately defined and resists
linguistic formulations. These mystical origins of philosophy have been driven underground
by a tradition that impugns the unspeakable, overlooking the fact that philosophy could not
have emerged without them. Heidegger maintains that even the rationalism of the West has
mystical beginnings and their forced obfuscation is reflective of an irrational desire to render
everything subject to human control. He insists upon “beginning the beginning again” and
repeatedly refers to the “other beginning of philosophy” in order to distinguish it from the
Platonic and Aristotelian penchant for clarity and form. By ignoring its mystical element,
Western philosophy helps to seal its own death warrant, for it cannot survive indefinitely
without drawing sustenance from that which cannot be thought. Heidegger is one of the few
modern Western philosophers to make the revolutionary suggestion that philosophy must
celebrate the unknowable. His invocation of the gods in his later writings does not signify his
abandonment of philosophy but rather represents his effort to revitalize a tradition that had
become moribund because it had cut itself off from its wellspring.
On the other hand, while Nietzsche is often assumed to be the anti-spiritual thinker par
excellence, this constitutes a misinterpretation stemming from the assumption that his
disdain for Christian religion signifies a repudiation of spiritualism altogether. It is no accident
that Eastern thinkers such as Nishitani have often been more receptive to the spiritual
dimension of his thought than Western commentators who are more inclined to equate
spirituality with Christendom. The Nietzschean idea of the “eternal return” exhibits a mystical
understanding that is very close to that of Taoist thinkers since it refers to a kind of
wholeness rooted in the earth and celebrates the interconnection between all living things.
Like Laozi and Zhuangzi, Nietzsche admits that our sense of belonging depends in part upon
our willingness to concede that we constitute but a small speck in an infinite cosmos. The
sense of cosmic unity is not achieved through a kind of transcendent denial of the concrete
world but rather emerges from the affirmation of life’s interconnectedness. Nietzsche’s
eternal return collapses the transcendent/immanent dichotomy and offers the paradoxical
possibility of experiencing transcendence through an affirmation of the particular moment.
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It has often been claimed that Heidegger, Nietzsche, Laozi, and Zhuangzi are all unethical
thinkers because of the acerbic critiques they level against moral dogma. Nietzsche’s
diatribes against Christian moralism have led many commentators to presume that he
favours a morally relativistic universe where anything goes. In addition, Taoist statements
that good and evil are one and the same are also alleged to represent a kind of moral
indifference. The absence of a direct moral message in Heidegger’s thought, coupled with
his history of collusion with the Nazi regime in 1930s Germany, has forced many readers to
cast doubt on his moral sincerity. Yet such prejudices overlook the ethical importance that
the non-human world assumes for all of these thinkers. According to Heidegger, the most
dangerous legacy of modern metaphysics is a triumphant humanism which assumes that
human beings alone bestow meaning upon existence. Because we fail to acknowledge the
non-human realm of Being, we lack the openness that enables us to respect diversity and
other beings on their own terms. Rather than constricting the moral realm, one could argue
that Heidegger’s thought provides the rationale for its expansion since he also insists that
the world of nature must be sheltered and protected by human beings. Furthermore, by
participating in the openness of Being, and recognizing that the agency of human beings is
not absolute, Heidegger hopes we can learn to relate to the world without falling victim to a
kind of master-slave dynamic in which the only alternatives available are either domination or
submission.
Similarly, Taoist thinkers are critical of moral dogma, something they insist presupposes a
kind of divisiveness between beings and ignores the world of nature. If anything can be said
to constitute a source of Taoist “ethics,” then it would be nothingness. Nothingness is the
radical openness that allows the sage to treat all beings with respect because it enables him
to focus on the connections between things rather than on the barriers that divide them.
Nothingness is the space between things that makes them distinct from each other and the
space within things which links them. As the “space between,” nothingness draws attention
to the particularity of things, and as the “space within,” it draws attention to their essential
sameness. Both Laozi and Zhuangzi are critical of their contemporary Confucian moral
rigidity. They argue that rituals, which are simply followed, prevent people from relating to
each other on more direct terms. As a result, the links between individuals become artificial
and tenuous and do not allow the uniqueness of one person to cultivate uniqueness in the
other. The natural potential (te) of individuals is undermined and therefore such a morality
must always be buttressed by instruments of force. Taoist thinkers maintain that the sage,
attuned to openness, would not need to rely upon coercion to achieve social peace. He does
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not forcefully mold people into the shape he desires but rather provides an environment in
which they can become what they already are.
If there is one matter that all of the thinkers being discussed in this essay agree upon, it is
that the whole should be conceived of as process rather than substance. The word “Tao”
makes this very clear, for it can mean path, way, and thought. Heidegger’s term “Being” is
deliberately ambiguous as both noun and verb, while Nietzsche’s metaphor of the eternal
return underscores the importance of unity in movement. This has important ramifications for
the way we relate to each other: for a whole that is interpreted as process need not result in
the diminution of the particulars that comprise it. There can be no process without the
interaction of finite beings. As Zhuangzi repeatedly reminds us, there is no need to choose
between the one and the many for the unity in diversity and the diversity in unity must be
celebrated together. In his later writings, Heidegger insists that the irreducible “thisness” of
beings must be affirmed and that Being withdraws in order to make this possible. Zhuangzi’s
assertion that things are always both “this” and “that” reminds us that they cannot be
reduced to conceptual categories. Nietzsche’s plea that we affirm the moment both in its
specificity and as a part of the cycle of the eternal return conveys a similar message.
However, the insistence upon the singularity of things that this entails is by no means
indicative of atomization. When Zhuangzi stands on a bridge and revels in the frolicking of
the fish he admits that, although he cannot know what it means to be a fish, he nevertheless
can be attuned to the Tao through them. Without the Tao, Te could not exist, but without the
Te, Tao could not exist. The particularity of a thing does not develop in isolation but rather
through its connections with other things. Nevertheless, one thing cannot be reduced to the
other. Not only the Tao but also each particular is one and multiple. This is why Laozi
suggests that “three” and not the “one” gives birth to all things. Heidegger and Nietzsche, on
the other hand, offer trenchant criticisms of the metaphysical tradition in Western philosophy.
They argue that the rigidity of conceptual thought has obscured the importance of process
and resulted in the brutal annihilation of difference. This is epitomized for them in the mass
culture of modernity. The problem with metaphysics lies not in the fact that it pays tribute to
the whole but rather in its compunction to define the whole and distill it into a single essence.
Therefore, it is unfair to claim that Nietzsche’s and Heidegger’s attempts to overcome
metaphysics constitute a complete annihilation of its legacy for there are some aspects of its
heritage that they wish to preserve. One such is the notion of thinking the whole is not
abandoned. Heidegger’s idea of Being, and Nietzsche’s metaphor of the eternal return,
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attest to its importance. However, meaning is no longer derived from grounding or defining
the whole, but rather arises out of the process of connecting to it on an ongoing basis.
However, it is important to bear in mind that metaphysics here represents something far
more dramatic than something such as an overestimation of the power of names since it
assumes that the truth of concepts is timeless. There is no such concept of universal
legitimacy in Chinese philosophy. Although Confucian practices may have become ritualized,
virtues are not turned into de-contextualized transcendental categories that are blessed with
universal significance. Even though certain virtues may occasion unthinking compliance, the
understanding of the terms is still always contextual. It would be a mistake to identify in
Confucianism the seeds of the metaphysical impulse that Nietzsche and Heidegger identify
in thinkers such as Aristotle and Plato for whom ideas and concepts enjoy a truth and validity
independent of the world. In addition, Zhuangzi’s philosophy has often been compared to the
deconstructive thinking of postmodern philosophers such as Derrida and there are indeed
important similarities that can be observed in the methods of the two thinkers. Zhuangzi
constantly challenges preconceived notions of right and wrong and delights in pointing out
contradictions that undermine knowledge-claims much as deconstruction is claimed to do.
However, there is also an important difference. Zhuangzi’s purpose is not only to deconstruct
but to facilitate the experience of oneness with the Tao by pointing to the divisiveness of
language. Meanwhile, many postmodern thinkers are repelled by the idea of unity and
oneness because they assume that a totalizing tendency is always implicated in these
notions. Oneness and sameness are equated. They thus reveal the metaphysical bias to
which they are still wedded which assumes that we must choose between either oneness or
difference. For Laozi and Zhuangzi no such choice is necessary.
While Taoist thinkers do not react against universalism per se, they do urge caution against a
tendency to impose a single perspective on a continuously evolving and multiperspectival
reality. In the Zhuangzi, there is a wonderful story about Lord Hundun, or chaos, which
illuminates some of these dangers. Lord Hundun was renowned for his hospitability and
managed to bring kings of various states together. In a well-meaning outburst of gratitude,
some of his guests decided to reward him by boring holes into him in order to equip him with
the same orifices that human beings enjoyed. As a result chaos died. It had been his very
formlessness that accounted for his hospitality and the attempt to saddle him with a human
form was the cause of his destruction. This story issues a powerful warning about the
dangers of trying to recreate the world in our image that is not altogether dissimilar from
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Heidegger’s warnings about the dangers of a humanist metaphysics of subjectivity.
Nietzsche also condemns metaphysics for its temptation to impose limits on the limitless.
While the use of concepts cannot be avoided, the attempt to cling to them too fiercely ushers
in a slow death. On Nietzsche’s account, when the belief in God had managed to render the
behaviour of human beings too predictable, life began to lose meaning.
And so we come back to nihilism again. Both the feeling of pain and the desire to eradicate it
can give birth to nihilism. According to Nietzsche, there is a kind of primary nihilism reflected
in the need to deny life because of the pain it produces. The Christian God or the Platonic
forms are for him the most paradigmatic examples of such nihilism. Yet there is also a kind of
secondary nihilism which overcomes us when we realize that the truths, which we assumed
to be stable, have been discredited, and we conclude that as a result life is meaningless.
This by no means necessarily marks the end of a life-denying posture for the most
comfortable response is to simply engage in acts of mimicry which provide predictability but
no longer furnish us with value. As one of the higher men remarks to Zarathustra in Thus
Spoke Zarathustra, it is preferable to worship a braying ass than nothing at all. However, for
truth to be valuable, it must bring about a change in our condition and allow us to reconnect
with the world in a new way.
Nihilism plays an important role in its own self-overcoming for the realization that there is no
absolute truth also provides endless opportunities for creation and interconnection. There is
a link between this understanding of nihilism and the Taoist conception of nothingness as
opening rather than negation. Nothingness is a force that draws things out of themselves
and therefore cannot be reduced to the concept of absence. Heidegger clearly appropriates
such an understanding of nothingness in his later writings wherein he maintains that
nothingness is more primary than negation. But if Western thinkers are often blind to the
positive potential of nothingness then perhaps Taoist thinkers are equally dismissive of the
importance of nothingness as negation. Most human beings do not confront the knowledge
of their death with the equanimity of the Taoist sage. Indeed, we resist it knowing full well
that such resistance is futile. Heidegger notes that as beings-towards-death we attempt to
sculpt ourselves into a whole while knowing we will ultimately fail in our efforts. Nevertheless,
there is an understanding here that our particular individuality develops as a result of the
negative pull of nothingness.
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Another forceful complaint which Nietzsche and Heidegger launch against an absolutizing
metaphysics is that it resists kinesis and attempts to freeze the dynamic pulse of life into
static and immutable categories which are then crowned as self-evident truths. And yet,
Taoist thinkers, who take for granted that the cosmos is always moving, also underscore the
virtue of motionlessness, which Heidegger incorporates in some of his later writings as the
ideas of Gelassenheit and reservedness that demand an attunement to the stillness of the
cosmos. Throughout the Tao Te Ching, the most graceful motion is the kind that appears
motionless, as is evidenced by the sage who wanders in such a way that he appears to sit
still. Motionlessness is associated with a kind of harmonizing. Even Nietzsche, who is the
philosopher of striving par excellence, occasionally draws attention to Zarathustra’s
meditative moments. This is more than just accidental. Asian philosophies which accept the
inevitability of change are also more attuned to the art of meditation and the value of
stillness. Western culture on the one hand endlessly struggles to identify timeless truths and
on the other hand refuses to realise the value in standing still. A year without increasing
economic growth is considered catastrophic news. Yet Heidegger astutely points out that the
frenzied pursuit of material goods does not represent genuine change but rather more of the
same. Perhaps even the incessant striving Nietzsche deems to be meaningful is as much a
product of metaphysics as a rebellion against it for forcing a changing world to conform to
abstract ideals requires a great deal of overcoming. Nietzsche himself admits this when he
acknowledges how difficult it must have been initially to implement the denaturalizing
principles of Christianity. Perhaps it is precisely because such abstract ideals are alien to
Taoist thinkers that they do not advocate frenetic striving but instead a gentle movement
which mirrors stillness through continuous adaptation to surroundings. One could argue that
the dramatic mood swings and frenetic activity of Zarathustra arise from an inattentiveness
to the stillness of the cosmos.
It is time to start winding up this essay and I do so by focusing on wandering. Not only is
wandering an essential part of authenticity, but truth is wandering. Nevertheless, the effects
of such journeying are described very differently by my four thinkers here. The calmness of
the sage-wanderer contrasts sharply with the exuberance and despair of Zarathustra.
Heidegger’s accounts of anxiety are alien to both Laozi and Zhuangzi. And yet all these
thinkers would maintain that our wandering is in part propelled by our interplay with an
elusive divine. Heidegger suggests that we are thrust into a game of hide and seek with the
gods who are far and close at the same time. They both taunt us and entice us through their
acts of appearance and disappearance. Their existence can neither be affirmed nor denied
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process of self-transformation is by no means an easy task and human beings cannot simply
turn a blind eye to the fact that they are not only beings replete with possibilities but beings
who are trapped within confining walls. Individuals are distinct from each other in part
because they are separated from each other. Laozi and Zhuangzi point to the joy that can be
gleaned from the process of spontaneous harmonizing which not only fosters connections
between things but also allows the self to become the unique being that it is. Heidegger and
Nietzsche point out that there will always also be tension and suffering in a world that is both
one and multiple. Despite these important differences of perspective, these thinkers would
concur that oneness and difference do not stare at each other across an unbridgeable
chasm but rather are irrevocably intertwined.16
Existenz on Existence
What follows is a short interview with myself. I conceived the questions without reference to
what answers I would give as much as I could so as to simply conceive questions that
interested me as questions. But it doesn’t matter anyway as the questions are merely
opportunities to speak about the subjects raised in a conversational way. Readers are
encouraged to struggle with their own answers too/as well. And so to the first question.
1). Where does existence come from?
The interesting aspect about this question to me is that from multiple angles we get the
answer “nothing”. This is true for science with the “big bang” (although I’m no scientist so
don’t quote me on that) but it is also a religious or philosophical conclusion too. For example,
if you take the first words of Judaism’s Torah, the first words of Christianity’s Gospel
According to John and the first words of Taoism’s Tao Te Ching what do you get?
When God began to create The way that can be spoken In the beginning was the
heaven and earth - the earth of is not the constant way; word, and the word was with
being unformed and void, The name that can be God and the word was God.
16
For much more on these topics see Katrin Froese, Nietzsche, Heidegger, and Daoist Thought:
Crossing Paths In-Between (SUNY Press, 2006). This essay has been a conversational rather than a
systematic distillation of some of the thoughts from a couple of chapters of this book.
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with darkness over the named is not the constant He was in the beginning
surface of the deep and a name. The nameless was with God. All things came
wind from God sweeping the beginning of heaven and into being through him, and
over the water - God said, earth; The named was the without him not one thing
“Let there be light”; and mother of the myriad came into being. What has
there was light. creatures. Hence always rid come into being in him was
yourself of desires in order life, and the life was the light
to observe its secrets; But of all people. The light
always allow yourself to shines in the darkness, and
have desires in order to the darkness did not
observe its manifestations. overcome it.
These two are the same but
diverge in name as they
issue forth. Being the same
they are called mysteries,
Mystery upon mystery - The
gateway of the manifold
secrets.
As I read these three they are all semi-poetic ways of saying you can get something from
nothing. Yes, you may say that the Jewish and Christian texts talk about God but we know
from other places that there are certain Jewish interpretations of God that conceive of him as
nothing or as not even a person besides the general Jewish disposition not to overly identify
or name God as the very concept is beyond such limiting activities. The Christian text speaks
of “the word”, usually taken to refer to Jesus and to mean that Jesus is regarded as the
wisdom or logic of God, but this is hardly a substantial concept in itself. The notion of “word
of God” is one full of poetry and descriptive power without needing to fall back into personal
identities or or straightforward identifications. With the Tao Te Ching we get the notion, very
similar to a Jewish conception of God, that to name is not to describe and to describe is not
to limit. To talk about something is not to box it up as an object at your command or under
your linguistic description. Here and throughout the Tao Te Ching, and Taoism generally,
experience of something is valued over instrumental knowledge about something. In various
strands Judaism and Christianity are approached the same way too.
So where does existence come from? An experience of nothing.
2). What thinkers have influenced you and in what ways?
If we stick with the word “thinkers” and get no more technical than that then I can think of a
number of people. It also shames me somewhat to realise they are all men. I would wish that
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was not so but, it being so, I cannot honestly deny it. I was almost 30 before I seriously
began to interact with and study the thought of certain people and when I did it was Richard
Rorty, William James, Friedrich Nietzsche and Ludwig Wittgenstein that I alighted upon. I
would never claim that these were the best people. They were simply what fate handed to
me, if I may put it like that. What links them together when I think about it is the notion that
we don’t need universals in order to get by and that, even if we did, they are not to be found.
Rorty and James I see as American pragmatists, older and newer versions thereof, and
Nietzsche and Wittgenstein I see as European variations upon, or interacting with, the same.
That, of course, is a gross simplification but hopefully you get the point. Reading the books
of these four thinkers has made it very difficult for me to think of reality as a fixed entity or
substance with any essence or foundation at all. It has also highlighted the huge gap
between language and that which we use language about. Perhaps it is easier to say it has
focused my attention on language, what its for and how we use it and to ponder that there
need only be as much connection between language and reality as there needs to be for the
language to have meaning and to do work. Ideas like absolute truth or infallible knowledge
seem to become an egotistical claiming too much if you read the books of any of these
people. They also become unnecessary ideas.
But its not only philosophers who have made an impact with me. In recent years various
spiritual traditions, albeit ones tinged with philosophy, have interested me as well. This is not
because I am looking for a creator. The Kabbalah has some interesting speculations based
on interpretations of Judaism and particularly the Torah, the most sacred part of the Tanakh,
the Hebrew bible. Its mythological and mystical for sure but I see nothing wrong in that. I
interact with it for the poetry of its descriptions and the type of understanding it seeks more
than for an objective presentation of facts or a canonical narrative. One wonders if the latter
even exists, in fact. The Kabbalah is very textual and that is attractive to me as texts and
interpretations I find interesting in themselves. This is perhaps why any formal academic
studies I have done have been about religious texts as well. Interpreting texts and finding
ways to parse them, connect, reconnect and even disconnect them, is something I have
always enjoyed. The second spiritual and philosophical thought world that I have become
interested in is Taoism. In this case I think the attraction is that questions of God can be put
aside for the main idea, the Tao itself, is not personalised. Its just “the Way”. Also the
mentality of this thought world is at odds with Western thinking and seeks a different goal,
peace based on balance, than does the philosophy of the West. I have found it very
therapeutic and this has greatly recommended it to me based on my own experience. If we
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may call the philosophy of the West the philosophy of taking possession then that of the
Taoist East is that of peaceful harmony with all things. I know which I prefer.
Partly to do with the work I’ve been doing over the past year, I would say that another
“thinker” that has influenced me over many decades is probably Jesus of Nazareth. I
definitely put him in the moral category as opposed to any other though as you will see with
the essay “Jesus and the Gospel of the Poor” from this book. But I suppose you could say it
leaks into ethical and even political contexts, broadly conceived, as well. The trouble with
Jesus is that all the ways I want to describe him, such as as a fighter of social injustice, only
remind me, in modern context, of people I might be critical of for the language of social
justice has been aggressively claimed by certain people in our world and I’m not always
convinced that what such people want is really that just. Jesus’ fight was, I think, really an
economic one that wanted to do away with the inequality of poverty and riches. It was, of
course, all based in religious convictions and soaked in the Judaism of his time and place yet
it was an interpretation of these things, his interpretation, that he pushed forward. Jesus tried
to conceive and reinterpret human relationships as he thought his God conceived his
creation and this was not a matter of survival of the fittest but of love, care and compassion.
He thought you could choose to be this way or you could choose to be that way and so he
thought that people had a choice in how they saw the world and in how they acted towards
others within it. Only this makes sense of all his parables. Jesus was not saying people
couldn’t change towards each other. In fact, he was saying they could and should. They
should, in fact, become radically dependent upon each other, interdependent, rather than
independent of each other. Being-in-the-midst, as I conceive of it socio-politically, comes
straight back to Jesus as I think of it here.
The final person I want to mention as an influence is the American musician, John Cage.
This is not necessarily as a musical influence even though I have made lots of music in the
past. Yet both Cage and I were and are about more than music. Cage wrote a number of
books as well, about music and not, but even when they are about music they were always
about more than that. Cage became a devotee of Zen Buddhism in the mid 1940s and this
changed his outlook on life which is why, in 1952, he could write a piece of music that
contained a blank score (yet, which most people still pass over, still a score) because Cage
conceived of music as something other than the deliberate intentions of human beings
communicated to others on instruments as directed. What Cage was doing here was so
much more than music; it was a reorientation of life itself (and music within it). It was
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learnt. The whole point of a book, as I read them, is to have an engagement with thought
and to be taken beyond yourself. A book is a point of engagement and interaction for me and
a good one changes who you are to some degree.
That said, the books I would pick are the Tao Te Ching, The Odyssey and Thus Spoke
Zarathustra. As to why, well one reason I have already given: you need to think and imagine
in order to read them. A second reason is that they are all very different. No one way is
promulgated here. To read these books together you have to interpret, make sense and
make choices. They also all have a poetic sensibility; they are imaginative and not about
facts. They are much more about experience of life and even living life for the experience of
living it. So I think that they teach but they don’t dogmatise which is important. I also like
these books for their fluidity and movement. In Zarathustra and The Odyssey there are
journeys and Zarathustra himself is even “a wanderer and a mountain-climber”. In the Tao Te
Ching it is the Tao itself which is always moving and so all things within it. Put together, I
think all these books make you question life and orientate readers towards it as an adventure
without a safety net. They are also books of self-discovery too. Reading them makes you
more mature as a human being.
6). Do you believe in God?
The obvious retort is “Which god?” and that itself is revealing. It is hard to take seriously the
person who believes in their god but not all the other gods of all the other people,
presumably because that god is not their god which is often nothing more than the
contingency of time and place in action. More interesting to me, in my thinking in this book
and more generally, has been to ask the question “To what does the word ‘god’ refer?” If we
ask that question we can then go down interesting avenues of thought that take the
discussion beyond a superhuman being of choice which is really just a human being raised
to the nth degree. That sort of talk is ultimately empty, in my view. So do I believe in god, a
being? No. Do I believe that that ends ‘god-talk’? Also no. The concept ‘god’ does not seem
to me like one that could inherently be encapsulated in human language anyway and it
seems to me that if it could be perceived at all it would be at the extreme limits of human
perception, understanding and experience rather than as this thing we’ve got all boxed up. I
do not think we could ever domesticate God in a such a way. That, in fact, would be the
definition of something not a god. So its also true that I don’t see this as me leaving the door
open for God but as me admitting what seems to me to be quite human limitations whilst
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I think of dogmatism and tribalism as our worst traits. Put them together for our worst
problem, a dogmatic tribalism, the separation of people essentially based on things that
aren’t essential. As I see things, not least due to the influences I’ve mentioned in this essay,
differences can still (and must always) co-exist and so need not be destructive of each other.
The solution is the larger loyalty I’ve spoken about in another essay and educating people to
the sense of the view that we are the same species making contingent choices. These
choices are fine but need not be the cause of strife. If we see people as those both like and
not like us this might enable us to consider others when we need to and mind our own
business when we don’t.
11). If you had read different books and had different guides would you now be a different
person? What do you think about that?
I would and it induces a great sense of humility both in me and about my views. It is a bit
scary how contingent we are as people when so often we egotistically insist on our
importance or the importance of our thoughts. Questions like this one show most clearly that
humility is probably the most appropriate characteristic for a human being.
12). What is “being-in-the-midst” really all about?
Let me start by saying what its not about: its not about being right or getting things right
where I claim others have them wrong. I am not trying to philosophically or metaphysically or
ontologically observe a reality and then talk truly (in an epistemologically valid way) about it. I
suppose its an experience-based way to describe how I can’t help seeing life and to apply it
to everyone and everything else too as a context. So effectively it is what some military
personnel call a “sit rep” (situation report). The major requirement there is that the way you
describe the situation be useful for where you want to go and what you want to do. I think
that describing people as standing in streams of tradition (of multiple kinds) in ways that
relate to each other (seen and unseen, acknowledged and unacknowledged) makes a lot of
sense and is a helpful way to describe our many lives and how they interact. At bottom,
being-in-the-midst is the idea that no one stands alone because they are never just of
themselves. We are individual yet social beings who come into life as it is already under way.
But it is also most definitely a way of saying that being is full of “midst” and midst is full of
being. I find it a very fertile image that its hard to pare down to a compact description for it
really is rhizomatic in nature.
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paid. But he also instructed them that if a place did not welcome them then they should
shake the dust from their feet in protest against them, informing them that the kingdom of
God was near.
2). Jesus said, “The one who keeps seeking finds and the one who asks will receive.”
3). Jesus was taken to a place called Golgotha which means “The Skull” and there he was
crucified between two other criminals, one on his right and one on his left. The clothes that
had been taken from him were divided up among them and there was a notice above him
which read “The king of the Jews.” People were mocking him, including those being crucified
with him, and challenging him to save himself whilst others offered him sour wine to drink. In
the afternoon it became darker and at about 3pm Jesus let out a shout and then died. The
soldiers, being urged to get rid of the bodies before the Sabbath would begin, came forward
to break the legs of those still hanging on their crosses to hasten their deaths. But, finding
Jesus already dead, they did not bother with his.
4). Jesus said, “If your leaders tell you, ‘Look, the kingdom is in the sky,’ then the birds in the
sky will precede you. If they say to you, ‘It's in the sea,’ then the fish will precede you. But the
kingdom is inside you and outside you.”
Jesus’ disciples said, “When will the dead rest and the new world come?” Jesus replied,
“What you are looking for has come but you don’t know it.”
They said to him, “When will the kingdom come?” Jesus said, “It will not come by watching
for it. No one will announce, ‘Look, here it is,’ or ‘Look, there it is.’ The father's kingdom is
spread out upon the earth and people don’t see it.
The kingdom is among you.
5). Anyone who has ears had better listen!
6). Jesus put a child in front of them and said, “Whoever accepts this child in my name
accepts me. And who accepts me accepts the one who sent me.”
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Whoever hears you, hears me. And whoever rejects you, rejects me. And the one who sent
me.
7). Jesus said, “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery. And
anyone who marries a woman who has divorced her husband also commits adultery.”
8). Jesus said, “What goes into your mouth won’t defile you but what comes out of your
mouth will.”
9). Jesus said, “Children are like those who enter God’s kingdom. I tell you, if you don’t
accept his kingdom like a child you will never see it.”
10). Jesus said, “There is a light within the person of light.”
Jesus said, “You are the light of the world.”
Jesus said, “Become children of light.”
11). Jesus said, “No prophet gets respect on his own home turf.”
12). Jesus said, “All blasphemies will be forgiven, even those against the father or the
human being. But whoever blasphemes against the holy spirit will not be forgiven.”
13). A woman shouted to Jesus, “Lucky are the womb that bore you and the breasts that fed
you!” He replied to her, “Lucky are those who have heard the word of the father and truly
kept it.”
14). Jesus said, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. For
if you forgive others your father in heaven will forgive you.”
15). Jesus said, “Many of the first will be last and the last first.”
16). Jesus said, “There is nothing covered up that won’t be revealed, nothing hidden that
won’t be exposed.”
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killed. So it was with many others; some they beat, and others they killed. Then the man sent
his son, thinking, ‘They will respect my son.’ But the tenants said to one another, ‘This is the
heir; come, let us kill him, and the inheritance will be ours.’ So they seized him, killed him,
and threw him out of the vineyard. What then will the owner of the vineyard do? Anyone who
has ears had better listen!”
26). Jesus said, “Blessed are those who are persecuted for seeking justice for theirs is the
kingdom of God! Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all
kinds of evil against you falsely because you follow me.”
27). Jesus said, “I will destroy this house and no one will be able to build it.”
28). Jesus said, “The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few; therefore ask the harvest
boss to send out workers to the fields.”
29). Jesus said, “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the
wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes?”
30). Jesus said, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens and I
will give you rest. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
31). Jesus questioned them, saying, “You are able to interpret the weather and the sky but
you are unable to interpret the time or this present moment?”
32). They showed Jesus a gold coin and said to him, “The Romans demand taxes from us.”
He replied to them, “Give to the emperor that which is the emperor’s and give to God that
which is God’s.”
33). Jesus said, “The one who is not with me is against me and the one who doesn’t gather
with me scatters.”
34). In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the
Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and
the Spirit descending like a dove on him. He heard a voice saying, “You are my son,
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44). Jesus said, “What I say to you in the dark, speak in the light. What you hear whispered
in your ear, proclaim from the rooftops.”
45). Jesus said, “If the blind lead the blind won’t both of them fall into a hole?”
46). Jesus said, “No one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his property without
first tying up the strong man; then you can plunder the house.”
47). Jesus said, “I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body,
what you will wear. For life is more than food and the body more than clothing. Consider the
birds: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds
them. You are much more valuable than the birds! And can any of you by worrying add a
single hour to your lifespan? If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that then why
do you worry about the rest? Why worry about clothing? Consider the lilies and how they
grow: they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed
like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and
tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you, you of little faith!
Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we
wear?’ For it is the nations of the world that strive after all these things and your Father
knows that you need them. Instead, strive for his kingdom and these things will be given to
you as well.”
48). Jesus said, “The Pharisees and scholars have taken away the key of knowledge and
hidden it; they do not enter themselves and they hinder those who want to enter.”
49). Jesus said, “I tell you, among those born of women no one is greater than John the
Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of God, even a child, is greater than he.”
50). Jesus said, “No one can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love
the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and
wealth.”
51). Jesus said, “Nobody drinks aged wine and immediately wants to drink new wine.”
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57). Jesus said, “Blessed are you who are hungry for you will be filled.”
58). Someone in the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family
inheritance with me.” But Jesus replied to him, “Friend, who made me a judge or arbitrator
over you?” Turning to his disciples he said, “I’m not a judge, am I?” And then he addressed
them all, saying, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed for your life does not
consist in the abundance of possessions.”
59). Jesus said, “The father's kingdom is like a merchant who owned a supply of
merchandise and found a pearl. The merchant was prudent. He sold his goods and bought
the single pearl for himself.”
60). Jesus said, “Seek treasure that is unfailing and enduring, where no moth comes to
devour, no thief comes near and no worm destroys.”
61). Jesus said, “Foxes have holes, birds of the air have nests, but I have nowhere to lay my
head.”
62). Jesus said, “Why do you wash the outside of the cup? Don't you understand that the
one who made the inside is also the one who made the outside?”
63). Jesus said, “If you have money do not lend it at interest but give it to someone from
whom you will not get it back.”
64). Jesus said, “The father's kingdom is like a woman who took a little yeast, hid it in dough,
and made large loaves of bread.”
65). Jesus went to his hometown and a crowd came together so that they could not even
eat. When his family heard about it they went out to restrain him for people were saying, “He
has gone out of his mind.” His mother and his brothers arrived and, standing outside, they
sent word to him and called him. So Jesus’ disciples said to him, “Your brothers and your
mother are standing outside asking for you.” But, looking around the crowd, he replied to
them, saying, “Those here who do the will of my father are my brothers and my mother. They
will enter my father's kingdom.”
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66). They said to Jesus, “Come! Let us pray and let us fast.” But Jesus replied, “You cannot
make wedding guests fast while the bridegroom is with them, can you? When the groom
leaves the bridal suite, then let the people fast and pray.”
67). Jesus said, “What do you think? If a shepherd has a hundred sheep, and one of them
has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety nine on the mountains and go in search of the
one that went astray? And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he rejoices over it more than over the
ninety nine that never went astray.”
68). Jesus said, ““The kingdom of God is like treasure which someone found hidden in a
field. In his joy he went and sold all that he had and bought that field.”
69). Once, when Jesus was in one of the cities, there was a man covered with leprosy. When
he saw Jesus, he bowed with his face to the ground and begged him, “Lord, if you choose,
you can make me clean.” Then Jesus stretched out his hand, touched him, and said, “I do
choose. Be made clean.” Immediately the leprosy left him. “Go,” he said, “and show yourself
to the priest, and, as Moses commanded, make an offering for your cleansing, for a
testimony to them.” But now more than ever the word about Jesus spread abroad and many
crowds would gather to hear him and to be cured of their diseases. When he could he would
withdraw to deserted places and pray.
Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village,
ten lepers approached him. Keeping their distance, they called out, saying, “Jesus, Master,
have mercy on us!” When he saw them, he said to them, “Go and show yourselves to the
priests.” And as they went, they were made clean. Then one of them, when he saw that he
was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet
and thanked him. He was a Samaritan. Then Jesus asked, “Were not ten made clean? But
the other nine, where are they? Did none of them think to return and give praise to God
except this foreigner?” Then he said to him, “Get up and go on your way; your faith has
made you well.”
70). Jesus said, “Why did you call ‘Lord, Lord’ but do not do what I tell you? Not everyone
who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the father’s kingdom but only the one who does his
will.
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71). As Jesus was walking along he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax booth and
he said to him, “Follow me.” Matthew got up and followed him. And as he sat at dinner later
in a house many tax collectors and sinners came and were sitting with him and his disciples.
When the Pharisees saw this they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax
collectors and sinners?” Later, when Jesus heard of this, he said, “Those who are well have
no need of a physician but those who are sick do.”
72). Jesus said, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate
your enemy.’ But I say to you, ‘Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. Do
good and lend, expecting nothing in return.’”
73). Jesus said, “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners
love those who love them. If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to
you? For even sinners do the same. If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive,
what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners to receive as much again.”
74). Jesus said, “Pray in this way: Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your
kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily
bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And do not bring us
to the time of trial, but rescue us from the evil one.”
75). Scribes came down from Jerusalem and said, “He has Beelzebul and by the ruler of the
demons he casts out demons.” So Jesus called them to him and spoke to them in parables,
saying, “How can Satan cast out Satan? If a kingdom is divided against itself that kingdom
cannot stand. And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand.
And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided he cannot stand but his end has
come.”
76). As Jesus taught he said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes,
and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the
synagogues and places of honour at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the
sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”
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88). Jesus said, “Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for bread, will give a
stone? Or if the child asks for a fish, will give a snake? If you then, who are evil, know how to
give good gifts to your children, how much more will your father in heaven give good things
to those who ask him!”
89). Jesus said, “Now if I cast out the demons by Beelzebul by whom do your exorcists cast
them out? Therefore, they will be your judges. But if it is by the finger of God that I cast out
the demons then the kingdom of God has come to you.”
90). Jesus said, “Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten
in God’s sight. But even the hairs of your head are all counted. Do not be afraid for you are
of more value than many sparrows.”
91). Jesus said, “Where your treasure is there your heart will be also.”
92). Jesus said, “The law and the prophets were in effect until John the Baptist came. Since
then the good news of the kingdom of God is proclaimed and everyone is strongly urged to
enter it.”
93). Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away not one letter, not one
stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until everything is accomplished.”
94). Jesus said, “If the same person sins against you seven times a day and turns back to
you seven times and says, ‘I repent,’ you must forgive them.”
95). Jesus said, “A man who was going on a journey summoned his slaves and entrusted his
property to them; to one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each
according to his ability. Then he went away. The one who had received the five talents went
off at once and traded with them and made five more talents. In the same way, the one who
had the two talents made two more talents. But the one who had received the one talent
went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money. After a long time the
master of those slaves came and settled accounts with them. Then the one who had
received the five talents came forward, bringing five more talents, saying, ‘Master, you
handed over to me five talents; see, I have made five more talents.’ His master said to him,
‘Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put
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you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.’ Then the one with the two
talents also came forward, saying, ‘Master, you handed over to me two talents; see, I have
made two more talents.’ His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you
have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the
joy of your master.’ Finally, the one who had received the one talent also came forward,
saying, ‘Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and
gathering where you did not scatter seed; so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in
the ground. Here have back what is yours.’ But his master replied, ‘You wicked and lazy
slave! You knew, did you, that I reap where I did not sow, and gather where I did not scatter?
Then you ought to have invested my money with the banker, and on my return I would have
received what was my own with interest. So take the talent from him and give it to the one
with the ten talents.”
96). Jesus said, “I have not come to call the righteous but sinners.”
97). They came to Capernaum and when Jesus was in the house he asked his disciples,
“What were you arguing about on the way?” But they were silent for on the way they had
argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to
them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.”
Jesus said, ““You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers
lord it over them and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you.
Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant and whoever wishes to
be first among you must be slave of all.”
98). One of the Pharisees, Simon, asked Jesus to eat with him, and he went into the
Pharisee’s house and took his place at the table. A woman came with an alabaster jar of
very costly ointment of nard and she broke open the jar and poured the ointment on his
head. Then, she stood behind him at his feet, weeping, and began to bathe his feet with her
tears and to dry them with her hair. She continued, kissing his feet and anointing them with
the ointment. Yet some were there who said to one another in anger, “Why was the ointment
wasted in this way? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred
denarii and the money given to the poor.” And they scolded her. But Jesus said, “Let her
alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. Then, turning
towards the woman, he said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house but
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you gave me no water for my feet and yet she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried
them with her hair. You gave me no kiss but from the time I came in she has not stopped
kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil but she has anointed my head and my
feet with ointment. Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven and
so she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.” Then he said
to her, “Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”
99). Herod sent men to arrest John and they bound him and put him in prison on account of
Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife, because Herod had married her. For John had been
telling Herod, “It is not lawful for you to have your brother’s wife.” So Herodias had a grudge
against him, and wanted to kill him. But she could not for Herod feared John knowing that
the people regarded him as a prophet. When he heard him he was greatly perplexed; and
yet he liked to listen to him. But an opportunity came when Herod on his birthday gave a
banquet for his courtiers and officers and for the leaders of Galilee. When his daughter
Herodias came in and danced she pleased Herod and his guests; and the king said to the
girl, “Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will give it.” And he solemnly swore to her,
“Whatever you ask me, I will give you, even half of my kingdom.” She went out and said to
her mother, “What should I ask for?” She replied, “The head of John the baptizer.”
Immediately, she rushed back to the king and requested, “I want you to give me at once the
head of John the Baptist on a platter.” The king was deeply grieved; yet out of regard for his
oaths and for the guests, he did not want to refuse her. Immediately the king sent a soldier of
the guard with orders to bring John’s head. He went and beheaded him in the prison,
brought his head on a platter, and gave it to the girl. Then the girl gave it to her mother.
When his disciples heard about it, they came and took his body, and laid it in a tomb. Then
they went and told Jesus.
100). Jesus said, “How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!
Indeed, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is
rich to enter the kingdom of God.” Those who heard him said, “Then who can be saved?” He
replied, “What is impossible for mortals is possible for God.”
101). Jesus said, “When you know yourselves then you will be known and you will
understand that you are children of the living father. But if you do not know yourselves then
you dwell in poverty and you are poverty.”
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and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him and went in where the
child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha cum,” which means, “Little girl,
get up!” Immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age).
At this they were overcome with amazement.”
105). Jesus went about among the villages teaching.
106). When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat.
When they got out of the boat people at once recognized Jesus and rushed about that whole
region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. Wherever he
went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him
that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.
107). Jesus set out and went away to the region of Tyre and Sidon. He entered a house and
did not want anyone to know he was there. Yet he could not escape notice and a woman
whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him and she came and
bowed down at his feet. Now the woman was a Canaanite of Syrophoenician origin. She
begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. He said to her, “Let the children be fed
first for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” But she answered
him, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” Then he said to her, “For
saying that, you may go, the demon has left your daughter.” So she went home, found the
child lying on the bed and the demon gone.”
108). Some people brought a deaf man to Jesus who had an impediment in his speech and
they begged him to lay his hand on him. He took him aside in private, away from the crowd,
and put his fingers into his ears and he spat and touched his tongue. Then, looking up to
heaven, he sighed and said to him, “Ephphatha,” that is, “Be opened.” Immediately his ears
were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly.”
109). Jesus said, “What will it profit you to gain the whole world but forfeit your life?”
110). Jesus said, “What will give in return for your life?”
111). A man was setting out on a journey but before he left he ran up and knelt before Jesus,
and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him,
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“Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments:
‘You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear
false witness; You shall not defraud; Honour your father and mother.’” The man said to him,
“Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.” Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said,
“You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor and you will have
treasure in heaven. Then come and follow me.” When he heard this the man was shocked
and went away grieving for he had many possessions.
112). Jesus said, “Know what is in front of your face and what is hidden from you will be
disclosed.”
113). Jesus said, “Be passersby.”
114). Jesus said, “A person cannot mount two horses or bend two bows.”
115). Jesus said, “Blessed is the person who has laboured and has found life.”
116). Jesus said, “Whoever is near me is near fire and whoever is far from me is far from the
kingdom.”
117). Jesus said, “The father's kingdom is like a woman who was carrying a jar full of meal.
While she was walking along a distant road the handle of the jar broke and the meal spilled
behind her along the road. She did not know it. She noticed no problem. When she reached
her house she put the jar down and found it empty.”
118). Jesus said, “The father's kingdom is like a person who wanted to put someone
powerful to death. While at home he drew his sword and thrust it into the wall to find out
whether his hand would go in. Then he killed the powerful person.”
119). Jesus said, “The one who has found the world and become wealthy should renounce
the world.”
120). Jesus said, “When you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your
brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go and
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first be reconciled to your brother or sister and then come and offer your gift.”
121). Jesus said, “You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not
swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.’ But I say to you, Do not
swear at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, or by the earth, for it is his footstool,
or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. And do not swear by your head for you
cannot make one hair white or black. Let your word be ‘Yes, Yes’ or ‘No, No’; anything more
than this comes from the evil one.
122). Jesus said, “All who exalt themselves will be humbled and all who humble themselves
will be exalted.”
123). Jesus said, “You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not
murder’ and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are
angry with a brother or sister you will be liable to judgment and if you insult a brother or sister
you will be liable to the court and if you say, ‘You moron,’ you deserve the fire of hell.”
124). Jesus said, ““You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I say
to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her
in his heart.”
125). Jesus said, “Do not worry about tomorrow for tomorrow will bring worries of its own.”
126). Jesus said, “Whoever becomes humble like a child is the greatest in the kingdom of
God.”
127). Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is like a king who wished to settle accounts with his
slaves. When he began the reckoning one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought
to him and, as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, together with his wife and
children and all his possessions and payment to be made. So the slave fell on his knees
before him, saying, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.’ Out of pity for
him, the lord of that slave released him and forgave him the debt. But that same slave, as he
went out, came upon one of his fellow slaves who owed him a hundred denarii and seizing
him by the throat, he said, ‘Pay what you owe.’ Then his fellow slave fell down and pleaded
with him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you.’ But he refused and then he went and
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threw him into prison until he would pay the debt. When his fellow slaves saw what had
happened they were greatly distressed and they went and reported to their lord all that had
taken place. Then his lord summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked slave! I forgave you
all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow
slave, as I had mercy on you?’ And in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he
would pay his entire debt.”
128). Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is like a landowner who went out early in the morning
to hire labourers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the labourers for the usual daily wage,
he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o’clock, he saw others standing
idle in the marketplace and he said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you
whatever is right.’ So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three
o’clock, he did the same again. At about five o’clock he went out and found others standing
around and he said to them, ‘Why are you standing here idle all day?’ They said to him,
‘Because no one has hired us.’ He then replied to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard.’
When evening came the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, ‘Call the labourers and
give them their pay beginning with the last and then going to the first.’ When those hired
about five o’clock came each of them received the usual daily wage. Now when the first
came they thought they would receive more but each of them also received the usual daily
wage as well. When they had received it they grumbled against the landowner, saying,
‘These last guys worked only one hour and you have made them equal to us who have
borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.’ But he replied to one of them, ‘Friend, I
am doing you no wrong. Did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what
belongs to you and go for I choose to give to the last guys the same as I give to you. Am I
not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am
generous?’”
129). Jesus’ disciples said to him, “Is it better not to marry?” He replied to them, “Not
everyone can accept this teaching but only those to whom it is given. For there are eunuchs
who have been so from birth, and there are eunuchs who have been made eunuchs by
others, and there are eunuchs who have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the
kingdom of God.”
130). Jesus addressed them, saying, ““What do you think? A man had two sons. He went to
the first and said, ‘Son, go and work in the vineyard today.’ He answered, ‘I will not’ but later
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he changed his mind and went. The father went to the second and said the same and he
answered, ‘I am going, sir’ but he did not go. Which of the two did the will of his father?”
They answered him, saying, “The first.” Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors
and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you
bringing justice and you did not believe him but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed
him. Even after you saw it you did not change your minds and believe him.”
131). Jesus was accompanied by some women who had been cured of evil spirits and
infirmities: Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, and Joanna,
the wife of Herod’s steward Chuza, and Susanna, and many others, who provided for them
out of their resources.
132). A man asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbour?” Jesus replied, “A man was going down
from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the hands of robbers who stripped him, beat him, and
went away leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road and
when he saw him he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the
place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near
him and when he saw him he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his
wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought
him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the
innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him and when I come back I will repay you whatever more
you spend.’ Which of these three do you think was a neighbour to the man who fell into the
hands of the robbers?” The man replied, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to
him, “Go and do likewise.”
133). Jesus said to them, “Suppose one of you has a friend and you go to him at midnight
and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread for a friend of mine has arrived and I
have nothing to set before him.’ And he answers from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door
has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed. I cannot get up and give you
anything.’ I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his
friend at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.”
134). Then Jesus told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard and he
came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, ‘See here! For three
years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree and still I find none. Cut it down! Why
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140). Jesus said, “What woman. having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not
light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it
she calls together her friends and neighbours, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the
coin that I had lost.’ Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over
one sinner who repents.”
141). Jesus said, “There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his
father, ‘Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.’ So he divided his
property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to
a distant country and there he squandered his property in reckless living. When he had spent
everything a severe famine took place throughout that country and he began to be in need.
So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country who sent him to his
fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were
eating and no one gave him anything. But then he came to himself and he said, ‘How many
of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare but here I am dying of hunger! I
will get up and go to my father and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven
and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me like one of your hired
hands.’ So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off his father saw him
and was filled with compassion. He ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then
the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer
worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe, the
best one, and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Get the fatted
calf and kill it and let us eat and celebrate for this son of mine was dead and is alive again,
he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate. Now his elder son was in the field
and when he came and approached the house he heard music and dancing. He called one
of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, ‘Your brother has come home and
your father has killed the fatted calf because he has got him back safe and sound.’ Then he
became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he
answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you and
I have never disobeyed your command. Yet you have never given me even a young goat so
that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back who has
wasted your property with prostitutes you killed the fatted calf for him!’ Then the father said
to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate
and rejoice because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life, he was lost and
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twice a week, I give a tenth of all my income.’ But the tax collector, standing far off, would not
even look up to heaven but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a
sinner!’ I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other for all who
exalt themselves will be humbled but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”
Interpreting The Gospel of the Poor
As I am arguing that Jesus’ kingdom was specifically one “of the poor” my interpretational
comments are going to be restricted to this theme. But it is worth noting that this is a political
and social theme in itself and this is unavoidable when one considers the Jewish theological
context in which Jesus and his world is set (to say nothing of the Cynic context of Jesus).
One should remember here that the land is regarded as God’s and that, in speaking about
the kingdom of God, Jesus is enunciating what he regards the character of God to be. God’s
kingdom reflects the nature of God. That said, I have fifteen brief points to make but the
reader is always referred back to the Gospel of the Poor itself for their own reading and
analysis as that is the major content of this essay.
1). Jesus' (and his followers') mode of existence was itinerant.
2). The poor now will be blessed in the kingdom… merely for being poor now!
3). Jesus requires people to become economically unproductive (there is more than one
reason for the example of children) and radically interdependent to embody the kingdom.
4). There is an obvious theme of reversal. Poor now go to heaven, rich now go to hell.
5). Jesus' made his own lifestyle of a wanderer dependent on God the example for others.
6). Here and now is kingdom time and this requires an immediate following response.
7). You must choose the world or the kingdom. You can't have both.
8). The kingdom will require breaking from the economic security of home, family and
business. That system is over. Jesus envisages an entirely new form of society where even
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naive reliance on the providence of God, the God who clothes the flowers in the fields and
feeds the birds in the sky. His message is a simple one: seek first the kingdom of God… and
the rest will come to you. Reading the Gospel of the Poor fills out exactly what this means in
ethical, social, political and theological terms.
Being-in-the-midst as Being-in-time-and-fiction
“As being-in-the-world, Dasein is always my own, whether explicitly or not, authentically or
inauthentically. It is as impossible to omit Dasein’s being-in as it is to omit its while-ness (as a
specific characteristic of its being-in). As care, this entity, which in each case is oneself,
remains forever on its way to something. Dasein’s being is intent on that which it has not yet
become but is able to become. But how can this entity then serve as an adequate basis for
analysis in the sense of an identifiable informing whole if it has not yet reached a state of
completion? Only when it is what it can become will we be able to grasp it whole. Only in its
having-come-to-an-end is it there in its entirety. But of course in being-finished it has in fact
ceased to be. Hence the difficulty in the ontological interpretation is due not to ‘the
irrationality of lived experiences’, let alone the limitations and uncertainty of knowledge, but
to the being at issue of the entity itself.”17
Martin Heidegger is not the easiest read for anyone. Yet when I opened my copy of his paper
“The Concept of Time”, written in 1924 but unpublished in his own lifetime and regarded as
“the first draft of Being and Time”, his seminal early work from 1927, the particular paragraph
I have quoted at the head of this essay jumped out at me. What struck me was the motion
and fluidity it indicated and it all really came down to one central idea: we exist in time and
place like people floating down a river. Now my task in this essay is not to exegete
Heidegger, a task for which I am singularly unfit, but, instead, to explain my own ideas using
this quote of Heidegger’s as a kind of illustration and a jumping off point. Doing that, I want to
address two broad topics, being-in-time and being-in-fiction, as components of the overall
umbrella topic of this whole collection of essays: the notion of being-in-the-midst. It should, of
course, be noted that this concept itself owes a lot to the thinking of Heidegger and his more
17
Martin Heidegger, The Concept of Time (trans. Ingo Farin with Alex Skinner; Continuum, 2011), p.
38, italics original.
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intelligible interpreter-exegetes in more recent times (such as Richard Rorty and Jack
Caputo), particularly the hyphenated nature of the concept indicating that it is one joined up
idea. The short explanation for what being-in-the-midst means is that we are each points in
any number of spatio-temporal, linguistic, socio-cultural and philosophical networks which
makes our situation one of endless relations with any of the other points. (My cover image is
an attempt to render this visually.) This, in turn, makes our situation always one of diversity in
a unity and unity in diversity. But, thinking beyond such minimalist explanations, there are
any number of related ideas we can ponder that arise from such a unifying notion as
“being-in-the-midst”. And so to the first of these, being-in-time.
It is notable that when Heidegger came to write his ontological magnum opus the two things
he could not escape, and so which became the title, were being and time. They are both
interesting subjects and one reason why is the status of their existence. Do either actually
exist and, if so, how? Can one grasp a handful of being or a handful of time? Is there some
sense in which they are somethings which are also nothings or nothings we treat as
somethings? They are both matters of experience and it is the experience of them that
makes them powerfully real for us human beings rather than the fact that we can touch them
or observe and handle them. But if we read that Heidegger paragraph again which I quoted
at the head of this essay he has more to say about them than this and he wants to intertwine
them, to inveigle the one, time, in the nature of the other, being.
We start with “Dasein”, a typically composite Heideggerian concept but one that is basic to
his work. Dasein is actually two German words pushed together, “Da”, which means “there”,
and “sein” which means “being”. “Dasein” is the notion of “being-there”. “Dasein” is a
roundabout way of talking about human beings ontologically, in terms of the situation of their
being in life. It is our “being-there-ness” which I gloss as being-in-the-midst. This, Heidegger
says in my headline quote, is “my own”, we experience a subjectivity, but it is also a matter of
our “being-in”. Being-there means being-in something or, in my terms, being-in-the-midst
requires a midst to be in. But what is this midst? For the moment that does not matter but
one thing Heidegger is clear about is that one component of this midst is “while-ness”.
While-ness is temporal as are the further Heideggerian notions that our being-there is “on
the way to something” and that it is “intent on” something. These are all ideas which set our
being-there in time and Heidegger makes it clear that time and our experience of time, our
setting of our being-there and its activity in time, in realms of past, present and future, are
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contexts from which our being does not escape. So the question of how time affects or
shapes our being, our being-there, then becomes apparent.
For Heidegger, then, we should regard ourselves as beings-there-in-time. He observes that
this is, however, an imperfect or incomplete mode of existence for when we are finished,
when we in fact do complete ourselves, we are dead and so no longer have any being to
think about (or any capacity to think about being with). Heidegger, of course, points out in all
this that any reflection upon our being-in-time is done as people with being who are in time.
Time interacts with and acts upon our being even as we think about it. We are, then, as it
were, submerged in both being and time and being-in-time. Our being always has the aspect
of a while-ness about it and we always think spatio-temporally as people getting from one
point to another, an experience we recognise will involve both movement and duration.
Another name for this is change. (This, it might be noticed, is actually a constant for even if
we stand still everything else does not and so the whole moves all the time, even if only
relatively so.) But what this lends to our being, by which I mean these spatio-temporal
notions of being-in and while-ness that Heidegger has introduced, is that our being is lent a
character of specificity or particularity or relativity which becomes a matter of relatability as
we interact with other aspects of the world. Being-in is being in one place (and one time)
which we differentiate from all the other ones, actual or imagined. While-ness is a temporal
particularity, a while-something as opposed to a while-anything. Temporality thus introduces
the notion of difference by enabling us to differentiate where we are from where we might be
or where we could be or where we imagine we have been. In turn, that means we can, or
rather, we must, relate ourselves to those other times and places which are both like and not
like where our being-there is now.
But besides being-in-time our being-in-the-midst, I want to argue, is also a matter of
being-in-fiction. “Fiction” here is the creative understanding that attempts to speak truly about
the world from Dasein. As it comes from Dasein, a temporal notion as already described, it
takes on a narrative form which links things together (for we describe ourselves and our
world spatio-temporally and so movement, or the metaphor of the journey, are descriptions
natural to our form of being) and it is specific, particular, relative and relational (for it comes
from being-in and while-ness, always “my own” yet always in the contexts of more than me).
The fiction our being is in as being-in-fiction is one that is descriptive (existence under
description) but never prescriptive, it is not a foundation and neither is it essential. Indeed, it
is contingent, temporary, revisable, experiential. The fiction our being is in is at one and the
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same time how we see but not how we must see nor how anybody else either might or will
see. But seeing is not the only aspect here for being-in-fiction is also how we be and that,
too, is not how someone else might be. Here we should remember the image of nodes on a
network but, to understand the concept of being-in-fiction as I do here, conceive that every
node both be and see that network as themselves but in the context of what it is they see
and be (a two-way thing not a one-way thing). Our fictions are always truth claims (and ones
we would imagine that others could take up), always our own, yet always more than our own
and always more than just about us. Indeed, because of being-in, we should always be
reminded that it is both what is not us as well as what is us that gives any being-in-fiction its
sense or meaning. A person born on a desert island who never saw another living being
would not experience life as we do. They would still be a being-in-the-midst but their midst
would not be our midst, both in terms of our common experience of sociability or our
personal experience of Dasein, our being-there.
A key aspect of this being-in-fiction, as our being-in-time, is movement, otherwise known as
change. My description of being-in-fiction acknowledges that reality is not, is never, static.
This, rather, as Nietzsche stated, is its falsification, the halting of the otherwise constant
movement of reality and the taking of a still photograph for what is actually a constantly
moving scene. Instead, reality’s characteristic is movement, change, being-in-time. This is
contrary to the substantial, static, fixed metaphysics of the West which privileges stasis over
movement, substance over process and fixity over contingency. A fictional appropriation of
our being, however, must reverse all these choices. A being-in-time-and-fiction cannot but be
something that changes because time and place change things, both us and the contexts in
which we live. They necessitate an interpretational outlook on life and privilege it over a
canonical outlook. Life, and our explication of life, becomes a rhetorical activity.
Being-in-fiction is the notion that everyone can describe the world truly from where they are
and that the fact these might all be different is entirely to be expected. But its guiding
metaphor is the network and so it is never a matter of one truth that all must relate to or
explain for there is no centre. This pronounces the charge of “relativism” dead before it can
even be uttered. It is, instead, always a matter of a being-there, a being in a there where
both the being and the there have equal importance and relevance, a being and a there that
are both ours and yet not only ours. Knowledge or truth claims, in this sense, are never
merely personal or subjective for without others they would never exist in the way that they
do or with the meaning and sense that we give them. Sociability abounds. There is no
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personal expression without an intersubjective entanglement and there is no me without a
you. Being-in-fiction is a diversity of unity and a unity of diversity.
A further thought-world, besides that of Heidegger’s, which influences my thinking about
being-in-the-midst, in which the notions of being-in-time and being-in-fiction are here
involved, are the worlds of Zen Buddhist and Taoist thought which, we may say, are Eastern
cousins. Numerous aphorisms from these traditions can be fitted into, or interpreted fruitfully
by, the thoroughly fictional and hermeneutic mode of thinking I am here recommending and,
in what follows, I would like to present some of these aphorisms and integrate them into my
“being-in-the-midst-as-being-in-time-and-fiction” outlook that I am here presenting. In this
activity I will make no claim for authentic Taoist or Buddhist interpretation just as I have not
claimed to be getting Heidegger right either. It is more a case of a hermeneutical interaction
between my being-there and these texts and seeing what results from that.
Here we need to attune our minds to a kind of thinking for, as William James knew well in his
late 19th century Principles of Psychology, we are creatures of habit. A basic orientation to
the oriental schools of thought I am now addressing are the following aphorisms:
The fundamental delusion of humanity is to suppose that I am here and you are out there.
A fool sees himself as another, but a wise man sees others as himself.
You are one with everything; that things are separate is an illusion.
We are here to awaken from the illusion of our separateness.
The sense of the first aphorism here I have tried to communicate in my own text in this
essay. The notions of pure subjectivity or pure objectivity find no place in a
being-in-the-midstness for such a mode of thinking never thinks anything is entirely separate
from anything else. Things are, quite literally, in-the-midst of other things; it is always a thing
in the context of other things, in connection with other things, a philosophy of relations. So
this is always a collective, fluid, social, relational notion. We can never completely separate
things out even if we can rhetorically distinguish them. Its never just about you, a subject or
an object. So, the third and fourth aphorisms here in their spiritual and philosophical
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The truth you believe and cling to makes you unavailable to hear anything new.
In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities but in the expert's mind there are few.
The beginner sees many possibilities, the expert few. Be a beginner every day.
Relearn everything. Let every moment be a new beginning.
It is the child that sees the primordial secret of nature and it is the child of ourselves we
return to.
I take sayings like these to be promulgating an anti-epistemological attitude, at least as this
might be understood in the Western philosophical tradition. It is also notable that the
imagined setting here is the therapeutic living of human life. It is about giving up rather than
attaining; about “nothing” rather than something. It is about not walling ourselves in with
“knowledge” or “truth” which becomes a boundary to further mental or intellectual
exploration, something which is also fundamental to the notions of being-in-time (time
changes what the “knowledge” even is) and being-in-fiction (which might even be the claim
that knowledge is fiction, if useful fiction, in itself). It is also fundamentally against the notion
that a set of facts can describe or even be adequate to the world of lived experience at all
times and in all places. It is the idea that flexibility of thought trumps canonicity of your
thoughts and descriptions which are themselves canonised as “knowledge”. The prime
example here is children. They are not smart, clever, scientific or locked into canonical
narratives. Instead, they are open, curious, persuadable and inquisitive. There is about this a
certain (necessary) innocence, a quality widely derided in modern Western thought that has
increasingly been hijacked by scientific notions of knowledge and truth. Where, in the
Western mind, the ideal is to be knowing, in these Eastern traditions it is to be innocent of
such a thing for it is seen as a self-built prison.
This attitude, I would even call it a mood or a disposition, can be discerned in further
aphorisms which can be viewed under the overall rubric of what Taoists call wu wei. Often
translated as “non-action”, the rendering “actionless action” is actually better as it is a fluid
rather than a static concept. Again, we see here the mentality of co-existence with things to
which we relate rather than a grasping or possessing of them into things we domesticate and
make our own. Consider the following sayings:
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Can you remain unmoving until the right action arises by itself? The action of actionless
action.
By plucking the petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower.
Ask a cloud "What is your date of birth? Before you were born, where were you?"
Be like water.
Treat every moment as your last. It is not preparation for something else.
There is no connection between I myself yesterday and I myself in this moment. Who I am
tomorrow is not connected to who I am today.
Time is not a line but a series of now-points.
Can you see time? No. Then you should stop looking for it.
We must realise that nothing is as it seems, that what we think is not the same as what is.
All teachings are mere references. The true experience is living your own life.
Everything changes. There is nothing to stick to. That is the Buddha's most important
teaching.
In difference there is completeness. In completeness there is difference.
Thoughts aren't really fixed realities, but simply movements of the mind that is thinking.
We see thoughts for what they are: the passionate attachment to unreal and non-substantial
things.
The identity fades, the energy remains.
"Is" is a deception in a world where everything is always becoming.
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Key here is the notion of being “like water” which is noted for its flexibility and its ability to
flow wherever it goes. In another saying not quoted here it is noted that the softness of
water, by simple perseverance, overcomes the hardness of rock and yet the water is doing
nothing but being water, being itself, to achieve that. There is, as one saying says, “nothing
to stick to” in life and so a life of simple adaptation to circumstances (rather than the
dogmatic appropriation of hard and fast rules) is all that is needed. Here difference is
completeness and the whole is seen as a whole rather than atomised into lots of parts
thought separate from both the whole and other parts. There is always a relationship
between parts and whole and parts and other parts within the whole within the Eastern
mentality I am here describing. But we must also remember that identity, so much a part of
the Western mind, is downplayed in the Eastern one under scrutiny here. There identity is
always in the midst of passing away and is not a permanent characteristic: “Identity fades,
the energy remains.” The character of this Eastern universe is change rather than identity
and permanence. Indeed, change is here another name for what I have called being-in-time.
Time is change. But change also exposes being-in-fiction (or being-as-fiction) and questions
the ideas of truth and knowledge as anything other than pragmatic and utilitarian
accommodations to lived experience. As said here, “all teachings are mere references. The
true experience is living your own life.” This statement is broadly against the notion of
universals of any kind and not because they aren’t true but because they aren’t thought
necessary or helpful. It is a completely different attitude to life that is being spoken to here
and within that attitude it doesn’t matter how much knowledge or truth you think you grasp,
things like “the beauty of the flower” will still be beyond you. Here life is much more
harmonious, a living-with-all-things-as-they-are, rather than an intellectual possession as
they become in the Western mind. A final selection of aphorisms displays this disposition as
well:
The entire teaching of Buddhism can be summed up in this way: Nothing is worth holding on
to.
True peace cannot be achieved by force... it can only be attained by training the mind and
learning to cultivate.
What you possess, you lose.
Think lightly of yourself and deeply of the world.
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Renunciation is not getting rid of the things of this world but accepting that they pass away.
How you live today is how you live your life.
Mindfulness is the aware, balanced acceptance of the present experience.
Know nothing.
No self is true self.
Be happy without reason.
If you understand, things are just as they are. If you do not understand, things are just as
they are.
With eyes watching, one cannot see. With eyes closed, one can see clearly.
The world doesn't happen to you; you happen to it.
The function of mind is response. The function of life is adaptation. Forests are adaptations
of seeds and seeds of dust.
Here the attitude is that things pass away and so trying to hold onto them would be futile.
Instead, we should learn “to cultivate”, an active process. For me this “cultivating” takes on
the character of fictionalising, a way of “cultivating experience” as the furtherance of life.
Here, since to possess is inevitably to lose since what you grasp is always less than what
escapes your grasp, we should accept that things pass away and are more impermanent
than permanent. But this impermanence means that we should not take our thoughts about
the world too seriously and much less should we take them as canonical statements about
reality. “The now” becomes more important as a consequence and being attuned to your
surroundings, conceived of as an always moving and ever changing circumstance. So fluidity
reigns supreme over stasis and cultivation (fictionalisation) over canonisation. We adapt, we
fictionalise, we are aware of the contingency of the world.
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This is the mentality, attitude or disposition I call being-in-the-midst. It is both submerged in
time (and so subject to its effects and consequences) and submerged in fiction (and so
intellectual humility is entirely appropriate in a world where everything is interpretation). It
recognises humanity’s greatest ability as creativity, an ability to fabricate and fictionalise in
ways that can be progressive. It is an awareness to your surroundings and an openness to
experience without rules thought of as canons for reality. Indeed, when you are a
being-in-the-midst reality is simply an openness to experience that is thought of lightly.
Being-in-the-midst, things will be what they will be and we are happy with that for we do not
need reasons to be happy. We are mindful that we are in time, in fiction and in the world that
is the midst we are all in.
A Tale of Two Libraries
1). Judaism and Christianity
a). Jesus.
There are stories in the gospels about Jesus and his relationship to the Jewish scriptures.
One is the parable of the Good Samaritan, already mentioned a couple of times in this book,
as found in Luke 10. Luke frames this parable in the context of a question from a “lawyer”:
“Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” (Lk 10:25). Jesus replies by asking
the lawyer what is written in the law which is the first five books of the Hebrew bible known
within Judaism as the Torah. These books are the most sacred and authoritative within
Judaism. The lawyer replies with one of the most famous Jewish texts, the Shema, which is
Deuteronomy 6:4 and both a confession of God’s oneness and of personal commitment to
this God, and tacks onto the end of it a quotation from Leviticus 19:18b, “You shall love your
neighbour as yourself”, which is taken here to sum up Jewish ethical imperatives. In the
Lukan narrative Jesus is impressed by this answer, which he seems to find full and
complete, and, seemingly, totally in line with his own thinking. So we can read this as Jesus
saying that to live as he thinks you should live you should simply be this kind of good Jew,
one who acknowledges and commits oneself to God and who loves neighbour as self. This
is a very archetypally Jewish answer. But then Jesus was a Jew not a Christian and so
perhaps we should not be so surprised.
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There is another, similar, story, told this time by Mark, in Mark 10. In this scene a man runs
up to Jesus as he is preparing to set out on a journey and he asks Jesus, once more, what
he must do “to inherit eternal life” (Mk 10:17). This time Jesus is the one who answers the
question and he does so by reeling off some of the Ten Commandments, those commands
of God which were received by Moses on Mt Sinai (according to the Jewish book of Exodus)
and are foundational for an understanding of Jewish faith. The man inquiring of Jesus replies
to Jesus that he has kept all these commands since he was a youth which probably means
since he was 13 and became a full adult member of the Jewish community. Jesus, once
more, is pleased with this answer. The text even says Jesus looked at the man and loved
him (Mk 10:21). But there is a sting in the tail: Jesus tells the man he lacks one thing. He
needs to sell everything he has and give the money to the poor which will give him “treasure
in heaven” and then he has to come and follow Jesus. The man is not too happy about this
for it turns out he is very rich. Mark reports that “he went away grieving”.
So that is two stories there in which Jesus is a good Jew who knows the Jewish scriptures.
In the first a Jewish commitment to God and an ethical commitment to others is espoused
through quotes from the Torah and in the second the Commandments are quoted by Jesus
as ethical guides. If one were to read in the Torah, for example, in the first couple of chapters
from the so-called “Holiness Code” to be found in chapters 17-26 of the book of Leviticus,
one would see that Jesus here is being a model Jew. There is nothing new about anything
Jesus is saying here. He is speaking as a Jew talking to Jews. In those chapters we find
Jews being taught through their sacred texts that they are to be a “holy” people. Holy, which
means “separate”, is what they should be because God is holy. God’s people are to be like
him. But also here we find ethical rules about how to live. This indeed includes loving your
neighbour as yourself but it also includes not completely reaping the harvest to the very
edges of your fields or stripping the vines bare of all their fruit when you gather the crop in.
What’s more, if you drop some of the crop as you are gathering it you should not go back
and pick it up. You should leave it there. Why? “You shall leave them for the poor and the
stranger” (Lev 19:10). And why should you do that? Because “I the Lord am your God”. That,
so the text intimates, is what God would do and so his people should too. Jesus, as
someone who is one of these people, passes on this thoroughly authentic Jewish teaching
as any good Jew would.
But there is more than this to these two stories from Luke and Mark for in both cases Jesus
actually reinterprets (or simply interprets) what these texts mean. In Luke Jesus gives the
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parable of the Good Samaritan in order to interpret who a neighbour actually is. We can
imagine that this was a matter of some hermeneutical interest for the occasion to arise.
Jesus tells his interlocutor that a neighbour is even a despised Samaritan and
neighbourliness is found in tending (at your limitless expense) even to an enemy you find in
need on your way. In Mark keeping the Commandments since youth is enough to earn
Jesus’ love but one must do more than even this; one must share everything with the poor
and become part of Jesus’ own kingdom community. Here in both these cases again Jesus
is being very, and unsurprisingly, Jewish. For Jewish interpreters know very well that a text is
never simply a text. Jewish interpreters know that having a text in black and white is never
enough. In Judaism there is also the oral as well as the written law, two streams of tradition
which interact with each in whatever ways they can. “Text”, for Jewish interpreters, is never
without its companion “interpretation”. In many places in the gospels we find examples of
Jesus the interpreter taking texts and saying what they mean right here, right now,
explicating how traditions found in texts and their interpretations fit together. This is a very
Jewish thing to be and a very Jewish thing to do.
b). Gospels.
Consider the following texts from Christian gospels:
“Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish
but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one
stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks
one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called
least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called
great in the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 5:17-19)
“The law and the prophets were in effect until John came; since then the good news of the
kingdom of God is proclaimed, and everyone tries to enter it by force. But it is easier for
heaven and earth to pass away, than for one stroke of a letter in the law to be dropped.”
(Luke 16:16-17)
“You search the scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they
that testify on my behalf. Yet you refuse to come to me to have life.” (John 5:39-40)
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“His students said to him, ‘Twenty-four prophets have spoken in Israel and they all spoke of
you’. He said to them, ‘You have disregarded the living one among you and have spoken of
the dead.’” (Thomas 52)
I do not have any speculative narrative to give here about the development of these texts
from one to another. But what I do want to do is formally note their difference and make
explicit these differences. In Matthew “the law and the prophets” means the Hebrew
scriptures. We do not know in precise detail exactly what those were or when the Jewish
canon was formally closed, accepted or adopted as we know it today but we can probably
imagine it was substantially similar to the Torah and the prophets as found in Jewish bibles
currently. These, says Matthew’s Jesus, will not pass away as long as there is an earth and a
heaven and Jesus seems quite deferential to them. This position is modified and
contradicted in Luke. Here the time of the Jewish scriptures is up from when John (the
Baptizer) appeared and now it is the time of the kingdom and the “good news” (or gospel).
But Luke then contradicts himself, perhaps because he knows a saying of Jesus which says
not one letter of the law will drop away. Its hard when you have your own agenda to fit in that
of others too. In John the script has changed again. Now Jesus acknowledges that the
Jewish scriptures have “eternal life” - but only because they were about him in the first place!
Here Jesus charges that the Jewish readers are refusing to follow through on the correct
interpretation of the text. Finally, Thomas modifies this Johannine position even further. The
Thomasine text acknowledges “24 prophets”, here a circumlocution for the 24 books of the
Hebrew bible, but Jesus dismisses them as “dead” whilst he, archetypally in Thomas, is the
living voice. The message here is listen to Jesus and not to the Hebrew scriptures.
c). “New” Testament
The Christian New Testament would not exist as it is without the Hebrew scriptures. It is a
book which is materially dependent on those former writings for its whole outlook and
direction before we even mention direct quotes, indirect quotes, allusions and even vague
references. One Jewish scholar, Marc Zvi Brettler, has estimated that there are about 250 of
the roughly 8000 New Testament verses which are direct quotes, about double that which
are direct allusions and very many more that are indirect. How would Matthew’s gospel look
if the author had not been able to use the Hebrew bible to mold a picture of Jesus as a new
Moses and how could John’s book of Revelation (with over 600 references and allusions
alone by one count) have existed if the books of Daniel and Ezekiel had not? What meaning
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would the gospel of John have if there were no Hebrew scriptures to allude to as witnessing
to Jesus and what sense would Paul’s theological argumentations have without the
background the Jewish bible outlines? And what of the Epistle to the Hebrews? This text
makes no sense without the Hebrew scriptures by your side. In the case of almost every
book in the New Testament when the authors had something to say the Hebrew bible stood
either as unavoidable background or directly quoted inspiration for their text. The New
Testament claims to be speaking about the continuing action of the Jewish god of the
Hebrew bible and so those former writings are indispensable for a reading of it.
d). The First Christians
Talk of the New Testament leads into an important historical point. Obviously, the first
Christians but, more importantly, the first pre-Christian followers of Jesus, were all Jewish.
There is evidence within the New Testament that some of those writing the books contained
there are Jewish (read: Jewish Christians) too. But there is also evidence that some aren’t
and that others are actively fighting ideological wars with more orthodox Jewish views and
the communities that hold those views. The fact is that what began as a small sect that was
wholly contained within Judaism and Jewish interpretation of its own tradition became, by the
end of the first century CE and into the second, an overwhelmingly non-Jewish movement.
Whilst sometimes we see suggestions of debates about whether gentiles should even be
accommodated to this Jewish belief system, at a later historical point such discussion
became irrelevant as a tide of gentile converts to Christianity made the Jewish believers
within it a distinct minority. Things became accommodated in the favour of non-Jews rather
than Jews as Christians became those who had no Jewish heritage and tradition to draw on
to begin with. It is against such a background that we have to read the New Testament
polemic about “the Jews” or Pharisaic interpretations of Jewish law and practice. Of course,
the Christian writers are always going to hide behind their Jesus as the authentic interpreter
of the Torah and the prophets but we shouldn’t let that blind us to the fact that debates may
be contemporary to them but not to him. Christianity finds its roots in an interpretation of
Judaism but as that shoot grows it moves away from Judaism which formally rejects it even
as it separates itself from its roots to lay down its own. It is my view that the less Jewish it
becomes, the more it distances itself from Jesus. Jesus, I think, did not envisage Christianity
then nor would he see the need for it now. Jesus was a Jew concerned with an interpretation
of Judaism and not the founder of a new religion.
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being used and discussed by Christian exegetes in debates about meaning and as proof
texts that refute opponents. By the late fourth century a Christian canon is also set in place
of 27 uniquely authoritative writings, one that is quite uniform across Christianity in all its
guises even today.
A word on the relation of these two books that are collections of books is in order. Contrary
to Christian interpretation and doctrine, it must be pointed out that the Tanakh is not a
Christian book. It was not written for or by Christians and the Christian story was not the
point of writing it. The Tanakh, it must constantly be insisted, was not written for Christians,
who didn’t exist when probably all of it was written, nor was it written from their perspective.
The New Testament, on the other hand, having the benefit of coming after the Tanakh, has
the ability to write itself as the fulfillment and true meaning of the texts that came before it.
The Tanakh, by the way, is formally different from the Old Testament in that, though the
books are often the same within it, they are ordered very differently. Whereas the Old
Testament ends with the 12 minor prophets, Malachi being the last, the Tanakh ends with
Chronicles, a retelling of a period of Jewish history. The shape of these different canons thus
has different meanings and provides different hermeneutical possibilities. That said, the New
Testament gives an, at times, possessive and aggressive interpretation of the earlier Jewish
texts as one might expect from those who are claiming ownership of something and to be its
true heirs. How true this is to Jesus one can only speculate for he himself wrote nothing and
we cannot say what views he might have had on his textual descendants about the views of
his textual forebears. It goes without saying, though, that to Judaism as a whole the New
Testament is often blasphemous and more generally simply wrong. It is not for them an
interpretation of Judaism or the Tanakh but a novelty posing as an imposter. But to explore
this further we need to move to a literary analysis of the texts themselves and that is what I
will provide in the next section of this essay.
2). Literary Analysis
a). Tanakh
The Tanakh is formally split into three unequal sections. The first and by far the most
important section is the Torah, the Jewish law, which, in broad terms, goes from the tale of
the Jewish God creating the world, through the story of God and the great ancestor of
Jewish faith, Abraham, to the creation of Israel through his descendants, Isaac and Jacob
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(Jacob was renamed Israel) and Jacob’s sons (most of whom would become the ancestors
of the individual tribes of Israel). The first book of the Torah finishes with the story of Joseph
and how the ancestors of Israel came to be in Egypt in the first place. Then a great journey is
related of “the Hebrews”, after their flight from Egypt where they had come to be held under
oppression, in the story of Moses and Aaron. Their escape from Pharaoh is related followed
by a 40 year wandering in the wilderness in which many tales are recounted, not the least of
which is the giving of the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai. Although the Torah does
contain many laws, these are largely set within the context of a narrative. The Torah as a
whole, it is now thought by scholars, is not a literary unity. Instead it is made up of several,
initially separate, literary strands which, at some point in the distant past (perhaps prior to
the time of the Judean exile in the early 6th century BCE), were brought together. These
strands are distinguished by biblical literary critics, for example, by the way they refer to God.
Scholars have distinguished a strand that refers to God by the supposedly revealed name
YHWH and another strand which simply refers to Elohim (literally “gods” as the suffix -im is
plural in Hebrew). In addition, there is at least a priestly strand in the Torah that is concerned
with the priests, their rituals, places of worship/sacrifice and their laws. There are five books
that make up the Torah and they are often referred to as “the five books of Moses” as, within
Judaism, he is regarded as their author. Scholarship, however, finds this an extremely
remote possibility, not least because, outside of the biblical narrative, there is no evidence
Moses even existed.
The second section of the Tanakh is the Nevi’im, the Prophets, and readers unfamiliar with
Judaism or its bible may be surprised to learn that the first four of these “prophets” are
Joshua, Judges, Samuel and Kings (the latter two being split in two in Christian bibles but
not in Jewish ones). These four books, although they do relate stories about prophets
sometimes (Elijah and Elisha being the most famous examples), are narrative histories that
take the story of Israel from their entering the land that would become Israel under the
leadership of Joshua through the period of local Israelite judges to the heights of kingship
under King David and beyond. By the end of Kings the fact that the incoming Jews had been
split into two kingdoms, Israel in the north and Judah in the south, is related as well as the
northern kingdom’s destruction by the Assyrians and then, later, the destruction of Judah
(including Jerusalem and its first temple) by the Babylonians. It is at this point, after Kings,
that we find books more naturally called “prophets” in that we find Isaiah, Jeremiah and
Ezekiel followed by “The Twelve” (Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, Nahum,
Habakkuk, Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah and Malachi) which is counted as one book in the
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Tanakh. These books, which range from the 66 chapters of Isaiah to the single chapter and
291 Hebrew words of Obadiah, are prophetic (yet literary) comment upon the events of
Israelite history in both northern and southern kingdoms. Often we find that these prophets
were involved in the historical events that they must be fitted into and there is much overlap
between the political events occurring at the time and the prophetic activities related in the
books of these prophets. Perhaps the major thing this prophetic section of the Tanakh
achieves is the idea that the Jewish God is not outside history but, to the contrary, is an
intimate part of, and active participant within, it. God’s activity is revealed prophetically
throughout history.
The third and final section of the Tanakh is called Kethuvim, “Writings”. This, it is thought,
was the last section of the Tanakh to be written, a number of the books showing signs of
historical or linguistic context in the post exilic period of the 2nd to 4th centuries BCE. Here
the contents are more varied, too, as we find the great Hebrew song collection, Psalms, as
well as the wisdom literature of Proverbs and Job, the Five Megillot (Scrolls) of Song of
Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes and Esther (which are read liturgically on
appointed Jewish feast days), the apocalyptic prophecy of Daniel and the immediately
post-exilic books of Ezra-Nehemiah (again one book) and Chronicles (same again). We
should note that Chronicles is the last book of the Tanakh and so the Jewish scriptures end
with the edict of King Cyrus of Persia to build a new temple to God in Jerusalem. This is
markedly different to how Christians would organise their “Old Testament” books, influenced
in doing so by the LXX (Septuagint) translation of Hebrew scriptures into Greek for Diaspora
Jews of the Hellenistic period in the immediate centuries before the birth of Jesus of
Nazareth. Christians, in contrast to Jews, end their collection of Jewish books with Malachi
which ends on a note of messianic hope and looks for the coming of Elijah and the Day of
the Lord which some Jews still take as a message of messianic hope and which Christians
(not least in the gospels) read as being fulfilled in the coming of John the Baptizer and Jesus
himself. But sticking to more orthodox Jewish views, this section of the Tanakh evinces much
greater scope of Jewish literary activity than the previous ones and here we find everything
from rules for wise living to involved fictional narratives that examine existential concerns to
the ideological rewriting of history. But what we also find here is knowledge of the previous
writings and overt reflection upon them as what would become biblical text begins to turn in
and reflect on itself hermeneutically. It is this aspect of the Tanakh that I want to focus on
here briefly by looking at the three examples of Chronicles and Ruth from the Kethuvim and
Jonah from the Nevi’im.
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In broad outline the book of Chronicles, a singular book in Hebrew tradition rather then the
split into two halves version more common in bibles today, is a rewriting of Jewish history
that focuses particularly on the Temple in Jerusalem and on Kings David and Solomon as
those who brought it about. The book has a singular vision of Israel as a unity based on
cultic worship in this Jerusalem Temple. One surprising thing here is that David is so glorified
in the book that it takes an edict from God himself to stop him actually building the Temple
himself. Outside of this, David does everything but build the actual Temple in Chronicles
which portrays him as collecting all the necessary materials together to build it and the
accoutrements which will furnish it. This picture of David seems to follow that from the book
of Samuel, of which the writers of Chronicles are clearly aware, but it follows it far from
slavishly. Some argue here that the text before the writers of Chronicles is not that of the
Samuel we know today. But they do this because the character David portrayed in
Chronicles is not the same as the one portrayed in Samuel. Most particularly the event which
served as a major dent in the character of David from Samuel, his adultery with Bathsheba
and his consequent actions which led to the death of her husband, Uriah the Hittite, and his
bringing of her into his household, are completely omitted from David’s characterisation in
Chronicles. Chronicles, instead, presents a much more one-sided (but not totally
white-washed) view of David as a king zealous for the Jewish God and, most especially, one
who wanted to build his Temple in Jerusalem. The interesting hermeneutical issue here, as
just hinted, is how the history that fills out most of Chronicles and is coterminous with that
related in the books of Samuel and Kings from the Nevi’im, relates to it in that it is often
presented differently. Different reasons for events are given, some events seem deliberately
missed out or ignored and a strict theology of “trespasses” is put in place such as when, at
the beginning of Chronicles’ historical recitation in 1 Chronicles 10, King Saul’s death is
blamed on his trespasses, something the story of Saul in Samuel doesn’t say. Of further
hermeneutical interest to me in this light is that Chronicles, with its different historical
conclusions and theological outlook, is placed in a book alongside (albeit in a separate
section) Samuel and Kings which, to some extent, stands as a witness to another version of
events. Just by having these books within the same book a hermeneutical dialogue is
created as text comments on text, as text differs with text.
This phenomenon is also evident in the inclusion of the book of Jonah in the Nevi’im. There
is reason to doubt there ever was a prophet Jonah but it doesn’t matter anyway for the
narrative and the questions it motivates are the point rather than Jonah being significant in
his own right. The book of Jonah itself is essentially a funny (read: comic) story. Here we
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have a prophet of God who doesn’t do as he is told and thinks he can run away from God
(cue laughter). This notion should be read against the background of other prophets such as
those amongst which the book of Jonah is situated. It is silly to think one could run from God
and it is barmy to decide you are not going to obey the word of the Lord you have received
without any consequences for yourself. Readers of Jonah are expected to realise this. But
why has Jonah done this anyway? God has asked him to go the people of Nineveh,
Assyrians who toppled the northern kingdom of Israel in the late 8th century BCE, and to
preach repentance to them. But Jonah is not having any of that. He reasons that is just
setting himself up for trouble. They are not followers of the Lord and they won’t hear his
message with favour. Who knows what they will even do to him? Jonah doesn’t care about
the Ninevites nor for their salvation. So he sets sail on a ship in the opposite direction and is
eventually thrown overboard when the other sailors realise he is running from his God. God
details a fish to swallow Jonah (a fantasy element not a genuine proposition) and Jonah
prays for forgiveness inside the fish from which he is then released. But only to get the same
commission agan! Yet this time Jonah does as he is commanded and tells the Ninevites they
have 40 days to repent before God will send destruction. However, contrary to Jonah’s
prejudices, they do repent and the king orders all, even animals, to fast and pray for
forgiveness. God relents and forgives them which annoys Jonah mightily and he, in a huff,
pointedly and disapprovingly, says “I knew this would happen!” Thereafter, a further
sub-parable about a plant which grows up to shade Jonah from the blistering heat but then
subsequently dies, to Jonah’s further chagrin, leads to the point that if Jonah cares about
plants he had nothing to do with then why not also about tens of thousands of Ninevites that
God sent him to save?
The story of Jonah is a theological story and, although its main character is Jonah, its major
points are about God and relation to his word through prophecy. But considering it can be
read quite cogently as a parable or fictional tale, one must ask why Jonah exists amongst
the texts of others who could quite legitimately have been real prophets who gave genuine
prophecies in times of national crisis. The reason seems to be to comment on prophecy, the
prophetic tradition and the source of prophecy, God, in themselves. As I read the text it is
about not binding God to what you think he wants or what you think he is capable of doing.
Jonah’s flat dismissal of the notion of prophesying to the Ninevites is contrasted with a God
who directs affairs and cares for more than just Israelites or Judeans and this results in
utterly surprising outcomes. In Nineveh, even the animals are repenting! That being the
case, Jonah can only act in its wider literary context as a way of seeing and talking about
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God. This is not uniform in the Tanakh and different texts or traditions of texts take different
views on, for example, whether God is nationalistic or the God of all. Jonah says that God
directs and cares for the lives of Ninevites too and so takes a more universal view than does
nationalistic prophet Jonah who doesn’t think foreigners should even get the chance to be
saved.
Another surprising example in this nationalistic/universal debate is the book of Ruth, one of
the Five Megillot from the Kethuvim section of the Tanakh. The ostensible purpose of Ruth is
to argue, perhaps scandalously, that David, the same King David so glorified in Chronicles,
was not actually a pure Jew! The consequential reading of this thesis is that if David was not
a pure Jew but was raised up by God to become the archetypal Jewish king anyway well
then perhaps being a Jew in terms of ancestry (we would now say genetics) isn’t so
important in itself after all. Perhaps something else like character or your actions is important
instead. The heroine of the story, Ruth, is portrayed as the Moabite wife of one of the sons of
Naomi and her deceased husband, Elimelech. There is a famine in Judah which
necessitates Elimelech and Naomi, with their two sons, going to Moab to find food. Whilst
there the two sons marry but then die, along with their father, leaving Naomi and two
daughters-in-law, one of whom is Ruth. Naomi eventually returns to Bethlehem in Judah and
strongly urges her two Moabite daughters to find husbands in their own land. One eventually
agrees but Ruth refuses and, instead, binds herself to Naomi and so, necessarily, to her
people, land, customs and God. Ruth follows through on this commitment once back in
Judah, looking after her mother-in-law faithfully and according to Jewish custom, through
which she finds a kinsmen (of Naomi's husband Elimelech and so her own ex-husband too)
eligible to be her new, Jewish husband. The surprising conclusion is then revealed that
David’s ancestral line goes back through Boaz, Ruth’s new husband, and the baby, Obed,
that was born to her. In Rabbinic reading of this tale Ruth is often seen as a paradigmatic
case of a perfect convert to Judaism. In the context of the Tanakh, Ruth stands as a contrary
view to those such as are found in another writing included in the Kethuvim, Ezra-Nehemiah
(one book in the Tanakh rather than two), which contains prohibitions against intermarriage.
Most imagine that this story was written later rather than earlier making the questions of its
purpose and interpretation very pertinent ones for the intertextual conversation that is the
Tanakh as a whole.
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Of course, this is not to deny that the writings of the New Testament also have things in
common and the paradigmatic commonality is the significance given to Jesus (although even
this is slight almost to invisibility in James which reads as simple Jewish piety). But
surprising things, like his birth or even his earthly activities, are not necessarily or uniformly
important for all in the New Testament. John’s gospel manages not to mention that Jesus,
the veritable wisdom of God who even utters the words “I am” in a textual allusion to the
name of God from Exodus in that gospel, was baptised by John the Baptizer or that he ever
taught in parables. In the letters of Paul it is the subject of lots of fervent and polemical
scholarship just exactly what Paul did and did not know about a Jesus he never met in
regular, human form. Paul seems textually concerned only to know that Jesus died and rose
from the dead and to then extrapolate this according to his theological and eschatological
agenda. In Revelation a Jesus who says “Blessed are the poor” is an alien figure before a
Jesus who is now a supernatural warrior fighting mythological wars with fictive beasts. Here
we find that the two cultural backgrounds to what is a Christian Testament are present, these
being the Greco-Roman background and the Jewish background. One cultural marker that
differentiates the New Testament from the Tanakh is that the former was written entirely in
Greek (bar a few Hebraisms and Aramaisms) whereas the Tanakh was written in Hebrew
(sometimes bleeding into Aramaisms but never into Greek.) This becomes relevant when
one asks who could read Hebrew and who could read Greek. It is worth noting that where
New Testament writers quote the Tanakh it is often from the LXX (Septuagint) version which
was the first translation of the Hebrew text into another language (Greek). This was not
thought canonical by later Rabbinic Jews and sometimes the text is actually different from
what became the received Hebrew text. This should remind us that all books in these times
were scrolls and that they were copied by hand and often changes or even simple mistakes
(not to speak of deliberate changes or interpolations) were carried forward in the various
textual traditions.
The New Testament, then, is a book containing varieties of Christianity, differing views on the
significance of Jesus, and how to live your life according to those views in the Greco-Roman
world. But it is also, bringing in its second cultural context, an interpretation of both the
Tanakh and of Judaism in its fundamental claim that Jesus is the Christ, the Jewish God’s
messiah. Whenever it speaks about God it is speaking about the Jewish God. So this
interpretation its contents give is an interpretation of Judaism through the hermeneutic prism
that is Jesus. This often, even within the pages of the New Testament, puts it on a collision
course with Jews and Judaism and there are numerous passages which are claimed to be
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That’s it, the whole context. As a Jew within Judaism, according to the Tanakh, you are
always “in community”.
The interesting question here is how one takes this when one comes to Jesus and the New
Testament. What, for instance, does Jesus say? Does he say “Follow Judaism?” Does he
say “Follow me?” Is Jesus saving individuals or building a community of people? If we read
Jesus Jewishly he is saying “Join God’s family and be in covenant relationship with him as a
people” just as the Tanakh takes this as a near universal context for its texts. But if we read
this in line with later protestant Christianity it comes to mean “Put personal trust and faith in
Christ and, bingo, you’re saved.” We can also read it more contemporaneously with the time
of the New Testament, in the polytheistic world of the Romans, as a simple choice to follow a
certain god over another. It has been noted before that Christians were noted in their first
flourishing as atheists because they didn’t believe in any recognised god. The important
point for me, though, remains that Christianity developed an individualistic reading of its faith
and its texts that the Tanakh and Judaism never has. One does not become a Jew by simply
choosing to believe in the Jewish God, at least not according to the whole context of the
Tanakh (compare the book of Ruth once more as one example). This difference with how the
New Testament has come to be read is fundamental.
3). What Are The Tanakh and The New Testament?
a). The Tanakh as The History of a Relationship
The last point leads into my characterisation of the Tanakh as a book which is, in general
terms, to be seen as the history of a relationship. Whether we are reading laws in Leviticus,
of battles in Judges, the argumentations of Job with his friends or of Daniel in the lions’ den,
the overarching context is the one initiated in Genesis and carried throughout the whole. This
is that there was a God who created all things, who then made a promise to Abraham which
he followed through in the events of the Exodus and, in so doing, created a people for
himself. This people, Israel, entered into covenant relationship with this God and this God, if
not always the people, took this relationship very seriously and regarded it jealously. The
Tanakh then becomes about the relationship between this people and this God in these
covenantal terms, about what this God reveals about himself and expects and about how the
people react to him and observe their side of the bargain. This is achieved in multiple types
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of literature, although quite a lot of it is historical narrative, and develops into a rich,
multi-faceted collection of traditions, not all of which see things the same way.
b). The New Testament as Catechesis
“Catechesis” is in one online location defined as “basic Christian religious education of
children and adults” and it is my suggestion that this is what the New Testament basically is.
One has to think of the situation of the Christians in the time when this literature was first
produced. They produced gospels - good news - which set out, in compact form, the
message about (not necessarily of) Jesus for people who would be unfamiliar with him. They
had to do this in culturally acceptable ways but also in ways which would distinguish Jesus
from the Judaism that was his context. They also had to relay events about him and his life
that they regarded as especially significant. So gospels are basically compact teaching about
Jesus that would fit on a scroll of the type first century books were written on. Much of the
rest of the New Testament is letters from some Christian worthy or another to fledgling
Christian communities and their catechetical content and purpose is easily demonstrated as
they contain recommendations of behaviour to pursue and warnings of things to avoid whilst
also containing what are regarded as orthodox beliefs to stick to and other beliefs that should
be avoided.
In many respects I think this makes the New Testament much less than the Tanakh for it is
merely one interpretation (and its reinterpreted expression) of that whole tradition of a
relationship with God that is the Tanakh. Although I have already suggested that the New
Testament contains multiple Christianities and not just one, the trouble is that all of these
Christianities are new and only in their first flush in the New Testament where the Tanakh
certainly contains texts that were composed hundreds of years apart and so have the
opportunity to develop, grow and even reflect on each other. We cannot blame the New
Testament for this though and Christianity’s invention would certainly have required initial
documents containing the core of the faith that could be read out to others (most became
aware of these texts through hearing rather than reading themselves). In the New Testament
we have those documents which are a result of this process, a basic orientation to
Christianity, belief in Jesus as the Jewish Christ of the Jewish God, which, it is argued in an
interpretation of Judaism, is a matter for the whole world and not merely ethnic Jews.
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