History is not the past. History is the story of the now - specifically how and why it came to be. For this reason, history has no objective existence. History is a story. Stories are nothing but representations. Furthermore, there are many versions of this representation, and it will change according to the teller. Also, it cannot be said that there is one meta-story to rule them all, because we lack the power to determine which, if any, is true. We can’t even say for certain if there is an objective truth to history.
As such, history is not primarily shaped by what happened (in the past) but what is happening (in the present). History is being written write now. Furthermore, the History that we know is based on a shifting nexus of power relations. For instance, historians will talk about authoritative texts or the credibility of a source. How are these authorities (power-relations) determined? They are determined by the struggle between the dominant discourse - who get to say what is authoritative now - and the dissenters - who through struggle may supplant the dominant discourse and change that which is authoritative. This is not to say that history is wrong, but merely to say that history is made by power. Knowledge in general is not divorced from power, but is in fact a product of power (and thus ideology). Michel Foucault was particularly important to our development of this understanding. John McGowan said of Foucualt's work, "In this holistic model, 'there is no outside.' (Foucault, 1979). There is no disinterested or objective knowledge, just as there is no autonomous self."[i] Foucault wrote:
"Perhaps we should abandon a whole tradition that allows us to imagine that knowledge can exist only where power relations are suspended and that knowledge can develop only outside its injuctions, its demands and its interests... We should admit rather that power produces knowledge (and not simply by encouraging it because it serves power or by applying it because it is useful), that power and knowledge directly imply one another, that there is no power relation without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does not pressupose and constitute at the same time power relations."[ii]
History is a discipline because there are rules, and for rules to mean anything someone or some group has to enforce them. Who enforces the rules? Well in the knowledge-discipline of history it is other historians. For instance, to be published, you must satisfy a journal editor and peer reviewers; to be considered interesting enough to add to the story of history (i.e. to be quoted), you must satisfy the entire community of historians; and to be considered authoritative, you have to impress even more people. Therefore, history is controlled by a complex web of relations that impact how the story comes out.
Therefore, reading histories, it's not enough to consider the political motivations of the authors - though they likely affect their conclusions. Instead, one must consider the entire field that constitutes knowledge-power, and how that affects the outcome of the story. This is likely what Michel Foucault was getting at when he said he wanted to write a "History of the Present". He wanted to write a history that recognized that power is essential to any understanding of history and cannot be divorced from its study. Furthermore, the source texts, upon which our histories are based, are products of other complex nexuses of power-relations, and therefore, need to be considered as such. The question is thus, how did they constitute themselves (as subjects and objects in a web of power relations), in order to perceive the world in such a way? And, how is it that we now constitute ourselves differently, in order to perceive the world in a different way? The story of the past is, in this way, more about how we think now, and less about what really happened then. Michael S. Roth explains it like this, “Writing a history of the present means writing a history in the present, self-consciously writing in a field of power relations and political struggle.”[iii] Reading and writing history is a political act, and should be recognized as such. Furthermore, to participate in this activity requires a great deal of introspection and self-criticism. History is an exercise in power; it shapes how we perceive, and relate to, ourselves and others. Therefore, history should be handled with great care and attention, because it is so critical to our present and future.
One final note, this discussion should also make us pause and think critically about how the story of history is shaped by the dominant discipline of positivism. Thus, it should not surprise us that the story of history is basically the story of the progress of science and rationality. There may be some validity to this, science did have a roll in opening-up new modes of thought, but a critical reader should recognize this is not the whole of the story. Science too is a product of power, and can be just as freedom killing as other disciplines of knowledge-power. Therefore, avoid scientism.
[i]Foucault, Michel.Discipline and Punish: the Birth of the Prison. New York: Pantheon, 1977. 120-21. Print.
[ii]McGowan, John. "Postmodernism and Its Critics."Google Books. Cornell University Press. Web. 28 Aug. 2011. .
[iii]Roth, Michael S. "Foucault's 'History of the Present'"History and Theory20.1 (1981): 32-47.EBSCO. Web. 28 Aug. 2011. .
The Rule of Law is a concept that is very important to the legal profession, because it is upon this rock that the legal establishment builds its legitimacy and prestige.
The idea of the Rule of Law is that the law, and the law alone, controls the direction, process and outcomes of the legal system. Therefore, no person, no matter how powerful or influential, is above the law. The courts do not make the law, they merely enforce the law. Based on this logic, the decisions made in courts of law are - or at least should be - impartial, objective, and immutable. Like a prophet is a mouthpiece for God's word, the legal system is a mouthpiece for The Law - and deserves to be respected and honored on this basis. Where the legal system fails to accurately uphold the law - we are told - the legitimacy of the system is questionable.
The real shtick with this line of thinking is that in order for the law to rule, regardless of the people, there needs to be some kind of objective legal rule to follow. The problem, of course, is that there is almost never a clear legal rule to follow. Every legal pronouncement is subject to interpretation. If there were simple, objective legal objects about which everyone agreed, then we wouldn't have so many legal disputes. Furthermore, through the course of these legal disputes people, largely legal professionals, end-up assigning meaning to the law - in other words, they make the law (which did not really exist beforehand). Therefore, it is not enough to say that the law determined the outcome - the law does not have a will, it cannot determine anything (Schlag, 1998) - instead, it is more accurate to say that people infuse their will into the law in order to make it speak, and thereby determine the outcome. Thus, we find behind the proverbial wizard's curtain, not A Law that Rules (Rule of Law), but fragile mortals with their hands on the levers of power.
(For a more in depth discussion about the inherent ambiguity and contingency of all language, including law, read Derrida, Foucault, and Schlag).
Now, people - especially in the legal profession - will interact and exert social pressure on one-another in a way that will tend to enforce a set off norms. These norms can easily be mistaken for the "Rule of Law." But this nexus of social pressure is always driven by people, who make the law in the very act of enforcement. Now, I happen to believe that a certain degree of social coercion and even violence is inevitable, and I would like to be able to preserve the prestige of the legal system in order to be able to use it to make a good living some day. However, I do not want to whitewash the inherent fuzziness and moral ambiguity involved in legal practice. And I certainly don't want to pretend that there is some magical, objective, form-of-law which justifies all the violence and ugliness that has been perpetuated in the name of law and order. The law as mystical objectivity does not exist, instead there is only the law as we people apply it. We have always and will always have the power to shape the law into forms that are either more or less horrible.
Acknowledging that the legal system is fueled by people, (who create and enforce norms) is particularly important for us lawyers to recognize, so that we don't become so enchanted with the Law (Schlag, 1998), that we begin to trivialize the impact of our decisions on people. We need to recognize that the violence of the system is a violence for which we are personally responsible. We cannot disavow the pain we cause others. Hopefully, this understanding will serve to somewhat mitigate the violence. But, at the very least it should prevent us from excusing ourselves. There is no Big Other (Zizek, Lacan). We are alone. When bad things happen it is not the The Law that wills those bads things, it is the people who make and enforce the law, which is all of us.
If your love doesn't make demands of you, difficult demands, then how do you know it's real?
Love, lifelong-soul-partnering love, is best identified not by the happiness it creates, but by the pain it causes. Every short-term infatuation is fun - possibly even more fun than a serious love, because a fling doesn't make demands on your ego, but instead just strokes it slowly. True love on the other hand can be rough on one's ego and will compel one to do things. (Slavoj Zizek in his book violence says that 'love is violent' and here I write about another aspect of that violence.) Therefore, it stands to reason that some of the most loving people are some of the most miserable.
So if you're looking for examples of great loves perhaps it shouldn't be extremely happy perfectly compatible people who love in a very convenient manner. Perhaps the greatest loves are those who seem mismatched. Who don't even seem particularly happy, but are compelled to stay together; regardless of the fact that their love may make them miserable. The most meaningful love is one that isn't perfect. The most meaningful love is one where happiness and love are actually incompatible. I choose for myself a model of love which puts love in opposition to happiness. And if you really want love, you have to accept a fair amount of pain and unhappiness.
Maybe I just resent the idealized couple whose relationship is nothing but sunshine and perkiness, but as it is I prefer couples who are not ideal. Rocky and violent love is for me much more beautiful, because that love is much more real (both in the sense of being actual and in the sense of their love being genuine with depth and meaning). I prefer love that is difficult to love that is shallow.
Aubry and I went to the amusement park, Lagoon, the other day. While waiting in line for a roller-coaster we read a sign that said "No single riders in the front and back carts".
I then told Aubry, "Good thing we're married, we can sit wherever we want."
"Your Eyes are Just For Looks"
Aubry and I were swimming the other day. The day was sunny and her blue eyes look very beautiful in the sunlight. So I looked over at her and said, "You have very pretty eyes". She strained into the glaring sun to look back at me and said, "I can't see."
In response I said, "O, I guess your eyes are just for looks?"
First of all, thank you for your compliment and for commenting on my blog. You, likewise, seem very handy with words.
Now, for my critique, I find your blind faith in reason to be a bit naive. You yourself admit the limitations of subjectivity, but then go on to act as though we can know things through "physical evidence," without providing any reason why so called "physical evidence" is preferable to so called emotional, spiritual, intuitive and personal evidence.
All physical evidence is mediated through our faculties, meaning there is no guarantee of any fidelity to any objective reality. Furthermore, we have very good reasons to believe that we are not very good at observing reality, free of interpretation. Hence, Nietzsche's statement that "there are no facts, only interpretations." That which we observe is more a reflection on internal mental structures than on an external objective reality. Philosophers of science Kuhn and Feyerabend have shown very clearly that paradigms determines the observations (and not the other way around) - phenomenon that contradict theory are simply unobservable prior to the acquisition of a new conceptual framework from which to observe them. Hence Copernicus precedes Galileo.
Furthermore, I find it interesting that you should use Galileo as your example of someone who used "physical means to uncover a better explanation," because both ideas - that Galileo relied on physical evidence and that his explanations were better - are highly problematic.
In Against Method, Paul Freyerbend has conducted research that shows that Galileo's theory was not only radical, but was also just flat-out irrational.
None of Galileo's observations or experiments could ever be duplicated by his peers in the scientific community - i.e. the academics of his age. Records tell of Galileo bringing his instruments to dinner parties. He would claim to observe incredible things in the night sky, but no one else at all could ever see the things he was claiming to see. As reproducibility of outcomes is a central tenant of "objective" scientific research, it cannot be said with a straight face that Galileo's theory was based on reasonable "physical means". Furthermore his drawings, "maps", of the moon and mars appear to be entirely works of fiction, as they have absolutely no fidelity to the surface of the moon, as viewed today from modern telescopes (And again the people of his day never saw anything like Galileos drawings when they looked through his primitive spy-glass). Furthermore, Galileo's calculations, derived from his theory, of the movement of celestial bodies, were grossly inaccurate; On the other hand, the much more strongly developed Aristotelian theory with its mathematically sophisticated epi-cycles, was much better at predicting the movement of planets in the night sky. Thus, Galileo's theory actually confirmed much worse to physical evidence then the dominant theory of the day.
Therefore, given that, at the time, the Geo-centric Aristotelian theory produced results which were more closely aligned with observed phenomenon, it is ironic that you would stake your claim that "reason" and "physicality" should be the basis for determining beliefs on Galileo. It was only because people like Galileo pursued their theories in spite of the irrationality of said theories that these beliefs were eventually developed - through arduous series of refutations and refinements - into what we have today. Therefore, the take-away lesson from Galileo is that if one feels intuitively that something is true and right, then one should develop that belief, regardless of the irrationality and "physical" evidence to the contrary. All beliefs systems, theories, and religions should be developed into their most sophisticated manifestations. The pursuit of truth is thus multifaceted and conditional, with multiple lines of inquiry.
Finally, there's also a good argument that your insistence on "reason" as a way of revealing nature, is part of an ongoing heterosexual male narrative of dominion (domination) of nature, which is not entirely devoid of sexism. But I'm not going to develop this idea any further at this time.
Now, what you fail to recognize is that among the myriad of interpretations and "truths" out there, there is no singular "Truth" with a capital 'T'. In assuming that there is an objective knowable Truth out there which can, and should, "sort among all these" differences in an authoritative fashion, you make the same mistake of idolatry (trying to force the name of God unto something physical and therefore transitory and unsustainable) as the inquisitors of Galileo's day (and all other absolutists). (This mistake is limited to your logic, and I don't mean to trivialize the awful experience of those who live in oppressive regimes, and I'm of course not saying that you are guilty of the inquisition, merely that your guilty assuming something without basis.) All phenomenological experience exists on an even playing field - so called physical evidence is just as compelling as intuitive and "spiritual evidence" - and no more so.
I'm afraid many mormons, like me, also commonly make the same mistake of idolotry in assuming they have "the Truth". I'm hoping to somewhat disabuse some of them of their naivety with this talk. However, I share a common paradigm with the mormon community within which I was raised. Furthermore, I have had experiences which seem to support these beliefs, and therefore feel comfortable expressing this shared communal beliefs with others - such as how prayer, love of neighbor and community involvement (church) all seem to better my life. If someone feels something as a result of hearing my words, and wants to join this community of church-goers that's fine, if they don't that's fine too, I'll still try to love them, because they have their own truth to pursue. This is the proper attitude for mormon missionary work.
Empathy is an injunction to understand the other. We feel the weight of the other's gaze and in recognizing them as human (or part of us) we seek to empathize with them. This injuction however, is impossible to satisfy. We are trapped in the mirror-world of our own consciousness; wherein, everything we see is merely a reflection of that which is inside of us. Consciousness is characterized by intentionality - consciousness is what we view consciously, or with attention (intention). The eye takes in many things, (light streams into the iris from all around at all times) but we are only conscious of that which is viewed intentionally (intentional objects). Everything outside of our intention is outside of consciousness - i.e. subconscious. In order to be conscious of an object we must intend to see it; meaning that what we see is only that which we intend to see. As such, the objects we view are not external to the gaze, but rather are part of the gaze. Objects exist inside our minds rather than without - and the external world cannot be reduced to the objects that we create and place in it. Therefore, objects are mirrors of consciousness, which show only that which is inside our own mind.
The mirror-world is a necessary implication of my subjective existence. Therefore, I can never experience the 0ther as such, because I can only experience myself and my own phenomenological objects. I can never experience the other as the other experiences themselves. Which is to say I can never be 0ther - a literal impossibility as it would require me to cease being myself and become other, which would then render 0ther as part of myself and thereby make it not-0ther (because it is I). Empathy is impossible. I can never know the other, I'm trapped in my own head and can't experience the other as such.
Therefore, how can one satisfy the impossible injunction to empathy, given empathy's impossibility in the face of our subjective existence?
Jean Luc-Marion contemplates this same difficulty in his attempt to chart a philosophical path to love, through the lonely expanse of subjectivity. Here is a passage from Prolegomena to Charity in which Marion finds that it is through a renunciation of seeing the other which allows one to begin to experience the other as such (as alterity):
"Of the face offered to my gaze I envisage only what cannot be seen in it - the double void of its pupils, this void that fills the least empty gazes imaginable - because if there nothing to see there, it is from there that the other takes the initiative to see (me). Gazing on the other as such, my eyes in the black of his own, does not imply encountering another object, but experiencing the other of the object. My gaze for the first time, sees an invisible gaze that sees it. I do not accede to the other by seeing more, better, or otherwise, but by renouncing mastery over the visible so as to see objects within it, and thus letting myself be glimpsed by a gaze which sees me without my seeing it - a gaze which, invisibly and beyond my aims (invisablament), silently swallows me up and submerges me, whether I know it or not, whether or not I want it to do so. The gaze of the other, or better, alterity as gaze, is not 'hypertrophied consciousness, but consciousness that flows against the current, overturning the consciousness' (E. Levinas). Consciousness that flows against the current, indeed the counter-current of consciousness: the other does not become accessible by means of intentional consciousness, but at the price of consciousness's very intentionality. Consciousness, my consciousness, should not claim to reach the alterity of the other by diving into its own depths as intentional consciousness; for intentionality merely radicalizes the irreducible and solitary primacy of the gaze of a subject on its objects. In short, with the best intentionality in the world, consciousness can intend and see only objects, thus forbidding itself the alterity of the other. The other remains invisible to my consciousness, not despite intentionality, but because of it... Of the other, who slips away as visible object, I can only passively experience the invisibility - losing consciousness of him. The other, or my loss of consciousness. But if the very moment wherein my consciousness exteriorizes itself confirms the imperially self-enclosed primacy of my consciousness, that is, if my opening still belongs to me, as the horizon where the sun of my power never sets, is it necessary, if we are to have any hope of loving, to enter into a twilight of all consciousness, to expose ourselves in all unconsciousness to the black sun of an invisible light?" (Emphasis added by me.)
The injunction to empathize - upon which rests ethics most sure foundation and humanities brightest hope - brings us to a point where we are forced to renounce empathy for its own sake (or at least empathy as a conscious project). The other is invisible to our conscious gaze. Therefore in order to understand (or at least get a sense of) the other as such we must turn our gaze away from the other and accept the invisibility, indivisibility, and infinite contingency (or haecceity) that is the essence of the other.
I understand empathy as a dialectic - a conversation between two impossibly irreconcilable positions. We feel the injunction to understand and therefore better accommodate the other, but in so doing we nuetralize the other and render him or her as an object of our intentional gaze (the other slips away as we turn our gaze towards him or her). Therefore, we must turn our gaze, and let the other be other - impossibly unknowable and irreducible to the object(s) of our gaze. This process characterizes ethics. There is a movement towards the other, but that movement can never bridge the gap that separates us from the other (and will broaden the gap if we assume we have grasped the other - thereby creating an idol). Therefore, empathy, love and ethics are never-ending projects whose completion will always allude us. Learn to love the journey. Constant progress and constant set-back (push and pull) is the most we can hope for.
“Now we see through a glass, darkly” (I Cor 13:12)
“whether there be propheicies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge it shall vanish away…” (I Cor 13:8)
-The Apostle Paul
Language mediates reality. In trying to express the profundity of experience and phenomenon we rely on language. However language is always an imperfect substitute for raw emotion and experience – this insight is captured nicely in the common phrase “a picture is worth a thousand words”. Indeed, a thousand words word be a rather pathetic attempt at re-creating the phenomenon readily accessible to our mind in a very simple picture. Therefore, at the level of experience, a thousand words can never actually re-present the experience involved in seeing a picture. Words are thus not only a representation – they are usually a rather poor one – like a painting of a scene captured through a glass, darkly.
Plato was among the first in written history to seriously cast doubt on language’s ability to accurately capture reality.
In Plato’s Apology, the hero Socrates tells of various confrontations with supposedly “wise men.” Socrates discovers that all the politicians, artisans and poets all presumed to know something. However, the mediating influence of language was such that the moment they proclaimed to “know” something, Socrates could immediately invert their so-called knowledge and prove that it was not. Therefore, Socrates went about demonstrating that knowledge is impossible, or at least language as knowledge is impossible, as in the proclamation, “I know”.
Socrates has an advantage over the wise man, as he explains, “I neither know nor think that I know. In this particular, then, I seem to have slightly the advantage…” Therefore, even though Socrates did not know any more than his interlocutors he did possess an attitude towards knowledge that they all lacked, in that he did not pretend to know anything. This ontological bent (or this way of being) was, according to Plato, the distinguishing factor that separated the hero Socrates from every other person in Athens.
Plato writes, “The truth is, O men of Athens, that God only is wise; and in this oracle he means to say that the wisdom of men is little or nothing; he is not speaking of Socrates, he is only using [his] name as an illustration, as if he said, He, O men, is the wisest, who, like Socrates, knows that his wisdom is in truth worth nothing.” (Emphasis Added)
To reiterate, the second one tries to put something true into words; one begins to engage in representation, which is a lie (a representation is a copy, an inauthentic simulation of some supposed original). As such language can never reveal “the truth of all things” (Moroni 10:5). (And for this we must look somewhere else.) Furthermore, to proclaim, “I have the Truth,” is to immediately give voice to a lie. Hence, like Socrates, truth must always be defended through negation, included in our system of belief by its exclusion. However, this acknowledgement of human weakness and frailty, need not cause us to despair. Rather, saying, “I know nothing”, should help prepare the way for faith, which is essential both in that it is inevitable (because we cannot know, the most we can do is trust), and in that it defines our relationship to Deity (faith is the most basic attitude we cultivate as we trust in the Lord).
The application of this insight to missionary work is really quite simple. You will never reveal “truth” to another human being – how could you when truth cannot even be conveyed in language. Instead, the promise given to us is that, given heartfelt prayer and preparation, when we preach, despite the inherent weakness of language, truth will be revealed via the power of the Holy Spirit. “Unto what were you ordained? To preach my gospel according to the spirit, even the Comforter which was sent forth to teach the truth.” (D&C 50:13-14) When we engage in missionary work we engage in a lie (language), in the hope that truth might be revealed inside the other through the Holy Spirit. This occurs to me as rather strange, but I am reminded that the Lord works in mysterious ways.
Elder Dallin H. Oaks states, “The Lord knows more than any of us, and if we are His servants, acting under His Spirit, He can deliver His message of salvation to each and every soul.” We can and should strive to rely on the spirit. For, “If ye receive not the spirit, ye shall not teach” (D&C 42:14). Before acquiescing to the call to preach we should do our best to give place for the spirit. I believe words of teaching and exhortation have the potential to signal and point to divine truths (which I believe to be contingent truths with a small ‘t’). Preach with an eye not to the perfection of words but with an eye to the perfection that the words cannot access. In other words, “Cursed is he that putteth his trust in man, or maketh flesh his arm, or shall hearken unto the precepts of men, save their precepts shall be given by the power of the Holy Ghost.” (2 Nephi 28:31)
The other lesson I would like to draw from this analysis is a simple injunction to be humble.
The Apostle Paul, in his letters of exhortation to the Corinthians, expresses very beautifully the highest ideal in the Christian lexicon, which is Charity:
“Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in truth; Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.” (I Corinthians 13: 4-7)
Charity, a pure love of the other, excels and exceeds all else. The apostle Paul’s long list of what constitutes Charity makes clear the fact that Charity is irreducible to any singular, temporo-material act. Therefore, no one of the actions or mindsets listed by Pual perfectly encompasses the absolute ideal of Charity. Furthermore, no list of attributes and/or actions, no matter how long, could ever perfectly capture the divine perfection of Christ’s love – just as no words can ever perfectly re-present a picture to our mind. Therefore, just as Truth can never be mediated through language or representation, Charity can never be perfectly mediated through actions.
Psychiatry and simple deduction both point to the fact that we never fully understand the motivations for actions. The reasons for our actions are as likely an after-the-fact justification. Since we don’t have direct access to what Nietzsche called the “affects” within us we can never know for certain if it was love or else a desire for reciprocation or physiological superiority which determined our gift to the Other:
As Theologian John D. Caputo says, “Love can be a very clever way to possess, to make demands, to build up credit. Just like a good banker who happily extends credit—beware of bankers bearing gifts—so that he can some day collect on his IOUs, the lover can also at a strategic moment demand payment on all his I-Love-Us. Love is a very clever way to seduce… Love follows the cunning logic of the gift: as soon as it makes itself visible, it begins to put the beloved in its debt and makes the lover look good, that is to say, to annul itself.” (John Caputo, Love Among the Deconstructibles).
I think this problem often manifests itself to LDS people by those who express frustration at being treated as a “project” rather than a person. These people may be non-members who we attempt to fellowship, or home-teachees, or acquaintances in the Elder’s quorums, whom we readily reduce to our easily understandable obligations towards them, rather than as a uniquely situated and irreducible Other. In these cases, we mormons are likely guilty of giving ourselves to missionary work for the sake of feelings of righteousness and superiority rather than the out of love and caring for the other. But how does one distinguish between these two motivations? After all, self-righteous feelings of superiority may very easily disguise themselves as a righteous concern for and love of the other. This risk is inherent in all missionary efforts, and to deny its possibility is merely to live in denial, and risk halting one’s progress, rather than come to terms with an uncomfortable reality – “If we say we have no sin, the truth is not in us” (John 1:18).
The pursuit of charity is an irresolvable dialectic between acting as though we could fulfill an impossible demand, and then simultaneously acknowledging that we never could and never will. In other words, in order to engage in missionary work, we must act as though we could be perfectly loving and caring, while simultaneously acknowledging that we cannot. This attitude inspires introspection. There should be a constant give and take between recognizing our lack and then pushing onward in spite of it. I believe this attitude will nourish a proper ontological bent toward the Other, whom we seek to love in our missionary efforts.
I’d like to share another passage form John D. Caputo:
"So we must love the other and respect the distance of the other, which means to love the other without trying to reappropriate the other for ourselves, without deploying love as a cunning strategy in a war we are waging with the other. We must constantly fear the strategies of love, but we must not fear to take the risk of love, which means both to make ourselves vulnerable to rejection and to risk reappropriating the other. We must love the other in ourselves and so love ourselves… But of course that is all quite impossible, a paralyzing impossibility.
Still, like it or not, that is the axiomatics of love… That aporia does not defeat but defines love. After all, when we go where we have gone many times before and where we know full well that and how it is possible to get there, that is not ‘going’ anywhere, not in any robust sense. We are really on the move, really underway, just when where we want to go is impossible, when it is impossible to take a single step forward. That is why Derrida is so fond of the verse from Angelus Silesius, ‘Go where you cannot go.’"
“Love is a passion for the impossible."
(John D. Caputo, Love Among the Deconstructibles)
Recognizing the impossible demands of perfect love we must, as John D. Caputo says, “surrender” to the impossibility of love; This does not mean to be paralyzed and frozen by indecision. Rather, despite the impossibility, move forward and take the risk inherent in love. Hopefully, this surrender to the impossible, will teach us to give ourselves more fully to faith in Christ and his grace. After all what is grace if not the possibility of the impossible?
Missionary work is a daring act, in that it is so likely to fail. It’s impossible to love others they way you should, but that shouldn’t stop you from loving others the way you should. I encourage you all to engage in attempts to love your neighbor as I believe you can find a great deal of excitement and fun in engaging in such a ridiculous (by which I mean logically improbable) project. May the Lord guide you.
Finally, I’d like to bear my testimony that sharing our understanding of the Gospel with others can brighten and deepen our own insights into Deity and Her/His love.
I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
