The “Yawning Chasm between Reason and Feeling”: The Dæmoniacal/Dionysian Seduction of the Abyss in Russian Symbolist Poetry

Mikhail Vrubel’s “A Seated Demon” (1890)

THE “YAWNING CHASM BETWEEN REASON AND FEELING”: THE DÆMONIACAL/DIONYSIAN SEDUCTION OF THE ABYSS IN RUSSIAN SYMBOLIST POETRY

The catalyst for the literary explosion of the Russian Silver Age can be accurately traced to Symbolism. Symbolism was imported into Russia during the fin de siècle from France, where such pioneers as Charles Baudelaire, Arthur Rimbaud, Stephane Mallarmé, and Paul Valéry had helped to engineer it as the first truly modern poetic style. Members of the Russian intelligentsia, an amalgamation of petty nobles from the old aristocracy (dvoriane) and the mandarins of the Russian bureaucratic class, were generally educated in the French language. They were thus aware of recent literary trends afoot in France, and were often receptive to their cultural influence.

“On the Causes of the Present Decline and New Currents in Contemporary Russian Literature,” a long critical essay by Dmitrii Merezhkovskii, was published in 1892, setting in motion the Symbolist movement in Russia. In this essay he bemoaned the poverty of literary genius in Russia after the death of Dostoevskii. He felt that there should be a distinctly modern literary form to express the content of modernity — content which had been shaped by the aftermath of the epistemological crisis of Kant. Citing the example of the French Symbolism, Merezhkovskii proposed that Russian poets adopt a similar poetic program and attempt to transcend the limits of knowledge. His argument captured the literary imagination of the day, and many responded to his national call for a fresh poetic form to frame the content of modernity.

The Russian language lent itself well to Symbolist verse, and soon Konstantin Balmont, Valerii Briusov, and Fedor Sologub established themselves as the premier representatives of the new genre. Cafés, clubs, and salons began to thrive as popular purlieus for Symbolist intellectuals. The æsthetic philosophies of Friedrich Nietzsche and Oscar Wilde were frequent topics of discussion. Its incorporation of the religious philosophy of Vladimir Solovev, which was widely-read at the time, also helped secure Symbolism’s favorable public reception. The further assimilation of nineteenth-century Russian influences such as Gogol and Leskov, Symbolism swiftly gained acceptance amongst the intelligentsia and cultural elite. After the initial wave of Symbolism had won the general recognition of the Russian public, Aleksandr Blok, Viacheslav Ivanov, and Andrei Bely eventually surfaced as the new poetic masters in the movement. Blok’s career would be celebrated in all its stages, and he was judged by many to be the greatest national poet since Pushkin. His poem “The Stranger” became a defining piece of Russian literature. Bely, a longtime friend of Blok’s, was likewise adored in his time, publishing Petersburg in 1916, which would go on to become one of the most famous literary accounts of life in the Russian imperial capital. With the successful promotion of the Symbolist æsthetic, Russia was finally ushered into the modern European literary discourse.†

Updates

Karl Leonhard Reinhold

 

I’ve diligently read through F.H. Jacobi’s 1785 Letters Concerning the Doctrine of Spinoza in Conversations with Lessing and Mendelssohn and K.L. Reinhold’s 1789 The Foundation of Philosophical Knowledge over the last two days. From here I’m going to proceed to G.E. Schulze’s 1790 Aenesidemus essay, which harshly challenged the claims of Kantian-Reinholdian philosophy from the perspective of Humean skepticism. After that I can finally advance into Fichte’s and Maimon’s contributions to the fate of the Critical philosophy in the 1790’s.

No clever observations, groundbreaking realizations, or didactic expositions today, folks. But you can expect something along these lines in the next couple days. I’m quite confident that this study I’m making will prepare me well for an inquiry into François Laruelle’s notion of “the One.” Perhaps a comment on the new Speculative Heresy blog is in the works.

In the meantime, however, I’ve received the latest revision of my paper on Spinoza and Leibniz from Boston University’s Arché magazine for undergraduate philosophy. This piece will appear in the forthcoming issue. Check out the current articles on their site, however; they have an interview with Jaako Hintikka!

From Kant’s Critiques to the “Spinoza Controversy”

 

Today I finished reading Kant’s Critique of Judgment.  This was my first reading of this work in its entirety; it has been my goal (now accomplished) in the last three weeks to read all three Critiques from start to finish, chronologically, interrupted only by reading his essays “What is Enlightenment?”, “Perpetual Peace,” and “Speculative Beginning of Human History.”  While all these works are excellent, the third Critique might be my favorite.  Kant didn’t even realize how good it is.

Now I plan to begin exploring in earnest the famous “Spinoza controversy” that involved Lessing, Mendelssohn, Jacobi and others in the 1780’s and, along with the presentation of Kant’s critical philosophy, dominated the philosophical scene therein.  As a preliminary measure, I’ve been brushing up on Spinoza’s Ethics.  From there, I hope to finally familiarize myself with Jacobi’s work from this period.

Quite happily, my reacquaintance with Spinoza might complement nicely the project that I have been asked to join with regard to Laruelle’s notion of “non-philosophy.”  In revisiting Spinoza’s concept of the One, I might better be able to understand Laruelle’s non-philosophical emendation pf it.

Speculative Heresy

Taylor Adkins from Fractal Ontology has invited me to participate in a new blog, Speculative Heresy, which will deal with issues of non-philosophy.  “Non-philosophy” refers to a position that has been expounded in the last few decades by prominent French thinkers such as Laruelle.  Authors from the blogs Naught Thought and Accursed Share will be contributing to this effort as well.  I am excited to have received this opportunity, and hope to do my part in this collaboration.

Thoughts on François Laruelle’s Preface and Introduction to Principles of Non-Philosophy (as translated by Fractal Ontology’s Taylor Adkins)

Thoughts on François Laruelle’s Preface and Introduction to Principles of Non-Philosophy (as translated by Fractal Ontology’s Taylor Adkins)

Taylor Adkins, from Fractal Ontology, has graciously shared with me some advanced rough drafts of his continuing translations of François Laruelle’s work from French into English. This morning I read one of the more introductory, programmatic pieces he sent — the preface and introduction to Principles of Non-Philosophy. This outlines in broad strokes Laruelle’s notion of “non-philosophy,” which, from what I gather, is one of the central themes of his work. The work exhibits an uncommon originality in its interpretations of traditional philosophical (and extra-philosophical) problems, accompanied by a casual erudition which appeals to my tastes greatly. Personally, I do foresee problems (or at least significant obstacles) which will present themselves to Laruelle’s enterprise, which may be dealt with more or less adequacy. Given the competence and ingenuity he displays in this short piece, however, I have no doubt that he will make an honest go of it. It would be ridiculous, in any case, to demand an exhaustive treatment or solution to these problems from a work which he openly admits is propaedeutic in its function (i.e., it only aims to be “the most complete introduction to non-philosophy in the absence of its realization”).

What follows are my initial thoughts in response to this piece. I will refrain from idle speculation into those sections which exceed my topical familiarity at present, and focus mostly on some of the references and implications which I take to be most plainly evident in the text. In this way I might perform some small service of gratitude to Taylor for offering his work for discussion, contributing the occasional insights my background makes available for those who are interested. It is quite possible that my own take on what Laruelle is trying to say is mistaken; aware of this fact, I welcome criticism and correction from all sides.

Departing from the continental orientation toward questions of ontology (the logic of Being) and its differential corollary of alterity which has predominated in recent years, Laruelle grounds his exposition of “non-philosophy” in its (ontology’s) traditional rival, henology (the logic of the One). This classification is misleading, however. For Laruelle’s conception of the One is highly idiosyncratic. It differs in many respects from the object of the classical Platonic, Stoical, and Spinozistic henologies — the One(s) which philosophically ground(s) the order of appearances in their modal correspondence and community with one another.

On this point we may elaborate. Specifically, Laruelle seems to take issue with the place the One occupies within philosophies and mystical tradition, as something which is accomplished or realized through the relation of its subsidiary modes. This holds whether the One is reached by speculative/dialectical ascent (as in transcendental and Hegelian logic) or through revelation or religious vision (as in mysticism). This is why categorizing Laruelle’s thought as henological is potentially confused, because any “logic” which is thought to articulate the One cannot be conceived as literal. It can appear only in scare-quotes, since the One “is immanent (to) itself rather than to a form of thought, to a ‘logic.’”

Instead of being a mere object of philosophical and mystical discourse, a metaphysical ultimate, Laruelle therefore suggests that the One is already the Real, and constitutes the sole ground by which experience (and thus philosophy) are even possible. The inversion lies here: the One does not philosophically ground reality; rather, the One really grounds philosophy (along with every other mode of knowledge or experience). Moreover, this ground is original — which is to say that it does not follow from anything, but everything follows from it. Hence his repeated emphasis on the transcendental status of the One (the Kantian “conditions necessary for the possibility of”). These two aspects, the original and the transcendental qualities of Laruelle’s One, together form the critical points on which the thrust of his argument rides.

François Laruelle

François Laruelle —

This contemporary French philosopher has been brought to my attention by Fractal Ontology’s Taylor Adkins, who has apparently taken up the task of translating some of his works. This is a generous labor for the philosophical community at large, since practically none of his thought has been rendered into English. I must say that my interest has been piqued; Taylor informed me that Laruelle is influenced by J.G. Fichte, a philosopher whose work is largely skipped over or mentioned only briefly in the history of thought. Several translated sections of his work have appeared on the Fractal Ontology blog ( here, here, and here) , which I hope to read in some depth.

Taylor has expressed an interest in discussing Fichte’s work in its relation to Laruelle’s philosophy with me, an opportunity which I welcome enthusiastically. I think we might learn a lot from one another, since our research seems to be developing along similar lines.

Review of Lenin’s State and Revolution

Review of Lenin’s State and Revolution

Lenin’s State and Revolution, composed during the summer months of 1917 (between two revolutions), is praxis embodied in text. While its content is ostensibly theoretical, the corrosive criticism it contains simultaneously served practical ends. The work may therefore be viewed in two fairly distinct formal lights: first, qua Marxist political treatise; second, qua polemic. But, in true dialectical fashion, Lenin’s two central motifs constitute an inseparable unity. They interweave with one another, sundering apart at one moment only to again coalesce in the next. Lenin distinguishes himself from many other dialecticians in this work, however. For while he remains faithful to the oscillating (even hypnotic) method of presentation that typifies dialectical reasoning, his style nevertheless retains its lucidity. His examination is thoroughgoing, yet the conclusions it yields are unambiguous. It is at once a testament to the author’s political genius as it is to the demands of the times in which it was written, bearing the stamp of irreducible brilliance (contingency) alongside the incumbent historical conditions (necessity).

Before proceeding, however, a couple paragraphs might be devoted to the stylistic features of this work. From the outset it must be noted that Lenin’s writing style cannot be properly characterized as popular — this would be a distortion. The logic of his rhetoric was pathically directed to appeal a specific audience (Lenin’s revolutionary ethic was not much in question). What sort of audience did the author have in mind? A cursory investigation of State and Revolution reveals plainly its intended readership. Though it was published as a pamphlet (a relatively popular medium), Lenin obviously meant for this text to appeal to a more literate and politically-active audience. The author’s ideas are organized into terse paragraphs, often no more than a sentence or two long. Some of Lenin’s pithy rejoinders against his “Marxist” adversaries almost seem reminiscent of political slogans, witty and memorable.

Moving from the aforementioned generality (about the text’s audience) to the particular, one moreover gets the sense that Lenin meant to sway some of the more radical Mensheviks over to the Bolshevik camp (these two parties constituting the divergent strains of Marxism in Russia at that time). As such, the document includes numerous invocations of and lengthy citations from the works of Marx and Engels. This alone presents a hindrance to the uneducated (or even politically “moderate”) reader. It implies that Lenin presumed that his audience would be sympathetic to the political and economic philosophy of Marxism, and be at least partially aware of its central texts (both those of its founders and its later exponents). Without this inclination or familiarity with the subject, one gets quickly bogged down by the tedium of Marxist exegesis. The language Lenin employs is not extraordinarily abstruse, but it does take for granted that its reader is conversant with the pertinent issues which it addresses and references it makes. The few explanatory digressions which Lenin briefly makes before introducing a passage by Marx or Engels strikes one as mere reminders meant to “jog the memory” of its reader. It is difficult to imagine the average Russian proletarian or peasant reading State and Revolution — a Bolshevik agitator or a disillusioned Menshevik, however, is an altogether different story.

Competing Determinisms

COMPETING DETERMINISMS:

BOETHIUS, KANT, AND SCHELLING

ON THE RELATION BETWEEN

FATE AND PROVIDENCE

Reading through Kant’s excellent 1795 political essay “Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch” last night, I happened across and interesting passage regarding the relation between Fate and Providence. Since this is a topic I became interested in through Schelling’s discussion of it in his 1802 Philosophy of Art, it captured my attention with exceptional force. It runs as follows:

The mechanical process of nature visibly exhibits the purposive plan of producing concord among men, even against their will and indeed by means of their very discord. This design, if we regard it as a compelling cause whose laws of operation are unknown to us, is called fate. But if we consider its purposive function within the world’s development, whereby it appears as the underlying wisdom of a higher cause, showing the way towards the objective goal of the human race and predetermining the world’s evolution, we call it providence.[1]

The italicized words are his own, so let it not be thought that I am reading any undue emphasis into his meaning. And, while its mention must be regarded as transitional, a remark made in passim, so to speak, it nonetheless reveals an interesting philosophical tradition underlying the distinction between the two forms of determinism. According to this tradition, Fate operates efficiently/ætiologically (as a causa efficiens), while Providence functions purposively/teleologically (as a causa finalis). This difference was first introduced to discursive prominence by the sixth-century philosopher Boethius, who in his masterpiece The Consolation of Philosophy writes that

[t]he generation of all things, and the whole course of mutable natures and of whatever is in any way subject to change, take their causes, order, and forms from the unchanging mind of God. This divine mind established the manifold rules by which all things are governed while it remained in the secure castle of its own simplicity. When this government is regarded as belonging to the purity of the divine mind, it is called Providence; but when it is considered with reference to the things which it moves and governs, it has from very early times been called Fate.[2]

In other words, viewing the determination of objects and persons, from the standpoint of Fate, their sequence seems wholly natural, impersonal. Conversely, its interpretation as an effect of Providence would have the succession proceed in a spiritual, personal manner.

An important reminder must be issued in reference to one of the greater subtleties of this distinction, however. This concerns the recognizability of the legal character by which Fate impersonally operates. I raised this issue in my essay on Schelling’s notion of the tragically sublime. For Fate’s compulsions do not appear to us as following from a uniform pattern of causal laws, by which we could sensibly establish its character as a law of nature. Rather, it is intelligible only as a regulative causa noumenon (Providence would also have to be regarded in this manner), the constitution of which we can form no positive judgment. This is perhaps the reason underlying the ancients’ common description of Fate as “blind” and “capricious.” Obviously, this has implications within Kant’s philosophy, in which the division between phenomena and noumena is foundational. Schelling, who along with the other post-Kantian idealists would reject this separation, would simply describe the phenomenal character of empirical laws of nature as “relative” or “conditioned” and the noumenal character fatal/providential laws as “absolute” or “unconditioned.”

This brings us to our final point of consideration. It offers an interesting resolution to a rather obscure remark of Schelling’s in his Philosophy of Art — that “[f]ate…is a form of providence, except that it is intuited within the real, just as providence is fate intuited in the ideal.”[3] Aligning the apparent antinomy of the real and the ideal as corresponding to the opposition of nature and spirit, the reason behind Schelling’s reciprocal inversion becomes clear. Fate and providence are indeed two sides of the same coin, and each compliments its other by providing its negative definition. Fate is determination according to the purely efficient rules of nature, however inscrutable its ordinances might appear. It thus manifests itself cyclically. Providence, on the other hand, is determination according to divinely purposive plan of the supreme Spirit (the archetypal intellect, or intellectus archetypus, as Kant would have it). It delineates itself historically. Schelling sought to use this distinction to explain an overarching distinction he makes in his philosophy of history. He contended that the understanding of transcendent determination as Fate is a defining feature of antiquity (the Greek epoch), while its conception as Providence is characteristic of modernity (the Christian era and beyond). On the correctness of this point I can make no judgment. Nevertheless, I hope to have shown that he had ample ground for drawing this distinction in the long tradition of philosophy, and not least in the thought of his immediate predecessor, Kant.

---

[1] Immanuel Kant. “Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch.” From Kant’s Political Writings. Translated by H.B. Nisbet; edited, introduced, and annotated by Hans Reiss. (Cambridge University Press. New York, NY: 1979). Pg. 108.

[2] Boethius. The Consolation of Philosophy. Translated, introduced, and annotated by Richard Green. (The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc. New York, NY: 1962). Pg. 91.

[3] Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph Schelling. Philosophy of Art. Translated, edited, and introduced by Douglas W. Stott, with a foreword by David Simpson. (University of Minnesota Press. Minneapolis, MN: 1989). Pg. 61.

Reflection on Kant’s First Two Critiques

I just finished reading Kant’s Critique of Practical Reason. Having thus reached another benchmark on my journey through the major works and essays of Immanuel Kant, I feel this is a good space to pause and reflect on the substance of Kant’s thought.

Apart from the obvious rigor and judiciousness with which Kant undertook his first two Critiques, the nobility of the man’s thought cannot be too highly esteemed. The distinctions he draws, however tedious, are central to the feasibility of his system. It works as a functioning whole, despite its unfortunate dualisms and the murky connection which ostensibly unites them (“freedom,” according to the second Critique).

So, without going too much into the specifics of Kant’s argumentation (an exhaustive discussion would prove far too long for popular presentation), a few words might be said about the general “direction of fit” in his first two major works.

The Critique of Pure Reason deals with theoretical cognition. It moves from objects given to us by sensory intuition and proceeds to the categories of our understanding and their derived principles by which we make such objects intelligible. The second Critique, by contrast, deals with practical volition. It proceeds from the moral law prescribed by our will to a formal principle (the famed Categorical Imperative) to fundamental concepts of good and evil and then finally to the world of sensibility, which we hope to effect by our rational action upon it. This can be (analytically) organized as follows:

First Critique: Noumenal source of intuition → Sensibility (Aesthetic) → Pure concepts or categories of the understanding (Logic) → Natural principles

Second Critique: Noumenal source of volition → Moral principles → Pure concepts of the understanding (good and evil) → the Sensible world

An interesting incongruity lies between the implied noumenal sources in each case. (The difficulty in any positive description of these sources is obviously compounded by the fact that Kant claims that we cannot say anything about their constitution). In the first case, it would appear that the objects in-themselves (apart from our cognition of them) are the causa noumena of objective appearances. In the second case, it would appear that the transcendental freedom of the will is the causa noumenon of the moral law. Might this be a contradiction? It is difficult to say, because Kant only allows for noumena to occupy a purely negative place in his exposition.

Against Pedantry

Against Pedantry — Criticism must not be haughty or overly digressive. The feigned sobriety of scholarly disinterest robs artwork of its vital power. Interpretation should participate in the emotion of the piece,

playing off

its frenzied passions,

its fits of laughter,

its (whispered) seductions.

It must not fear to follow form into madness, meter into

boredom, color into ecstasy.

Formality needs not be abandoned altogether, however: there is a certain wisdom in its restraint, a polite virtue in its conventions. How sad they are who cannot notice the elegance of its regularity. How ungrateful we are to scoff at its quiet dignity.

………………………………………………………………

But let us not be pushed to a false distance by our rational conceit.

Who can still live the tired fiction of indifference?

Art is rendered lifeless so that it might be dissected without the pang of conscience.

But how can we forget the original murder?

Our hands are not wiped clean by any act of cleverness.