Adam Kotsko: Zizek and Theology @ An und für sich, 11.Oct.2013

Adam Kotsko - Žižek and Theology.

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 1. In general, what are the fundamental formulations of Žižek on theology?

Žižek interprets Christianity along Hegelian lines, as an enactment of the death of God. His approach is similar to that of Thomas Altizer, whose declaration of the death of God caused significant controversy in the US in the 1960s. The basic claim is that when God became incarnate in Christ, that was a total and irreversible decision to empty himself into Christ—and so when Christ died on the cross, God truly and irreversibly died, emptying himself into the world.

2. What is the peculiarity of his approach?

Žižek’s approach goes against the mainstream of Christian theology, where the doctrine of the Trinity has allowed theologians to affirm that only one of the divine persons underwent the ordeal of the incarnation—hence isolating the impact of the incarnation on the divine life. From the orthodox perspective, it is correct to say that “God is dead” in view of Christ’s death, but in a more important sense, God “survived” even when Christ was buried in the tomb.

The Hegelian approach Žižek adopts also differs from traditional Christology, which holds that God raised Christ personally and individually from the dead. In the Hegelian interpretation, by contrast, Christ’s divine power is “resurrected” as the new form of community known as the “Holy Spirit.” Here, however, Žižek differs from Hegel insofar as he views the “Holy Spirit” not as an institutional form of life (like the Catholic Church) but as a fundamentally new form of human life together.

3. In what sense are the works of Žižek, especially the latest ones, relevant to the current theological debate?

I see many mainstream theologians as torn between two desires. On the one hand, they recognize that the Greek philosophical categories through which the early Church Fathers interpreted the gospel were not the best fit and in some ways wound up distorting the Christian message. On the other hand, though, they want to remain faithful to the orthodox doctrines that grew out of that conceptuality. Karl Barth is emblematic of this conflict—he claims to be providing a radical new basis for Christian doctrine, and yet he always comes up with essentially the same answers that orthodoxy had always provided.

In that context, I think Žižek’s approach represents a way out of this deadlock, insofar as the Hegelian interpretation of Christianity attends to the inherent logic of the incarnation without troubling itself about philosophical presuppositions such as the unchangeability of God. In a sense, Hegel, Altizer, and Žižek may represent a real attempt to follow up on Paul’s claim to know nothing but Christ crucified.

From the other direction, I believe that Žižek’s project provides support for other radical attempts to rethink the Christian tradition—particularly in the various liberation theologies. This is not to say that such theologians “need” Žižek, but rather that Žižek’s work could point more mainstream theologians toward the creative, radical work that is already going on.

4. In what sense is the argumentation of Žižek on this subject complex and unusual?

One challenge for theologians who want to read Žižek is the importance of Lacan for his project. While Žižek’s reading of Hegel is somewhat idiosyncratic, Hegel is at least familiar to most theologians—Lacan, on the other hand, is a less frequent point of reference and is in many ways more difficult to approach given that he uses a lot of his own jargon and symbols in developing his concepts. I try to provide some orientation in Lacanian thought in my book, so that people can at least know where to begin.

5. How can we understand the claim of Žižek that, to become a true dialectical materialist, one must go through the Christian experience? Is not this about a paradoxical stance from him?

Žižek understands the Christian experience in terms of the death of God. For him, Christianity is the most radical form of atheism insofar as even God himself becomes an unbeliever in Christ’s cry of dereliction on the cross. This differs from other forms of atheism or skepticism, because Žižek believes that most people who deny a particular God still believe in something else that fills the same role. A scientist, for instance, will generally believe in something like the laws of nature, or a Communist might believe in the laws of historical necessity. Only the Christian experience of a God who doesn’t believe in himself provides the guarantee that we won’t be able to sneak in a new idol to take the old God’s place.

The Christian experience is thus the experience of the undeniable and irrevocable emptying out of any transcendent meaning or purpose—of any “master signifier,” in Lacanian terms. From the traditional Christian perspective, this may seem contradictory or strange, but from Žižek’s own perspective, it doesn’t seem right to call it paradoxical.

6. How can we understand the fact that Žižek is interested in the emancipatory potential offered by Christian theology?

Žižek believes that the total emptying out of transcendent meaning is necessary to open up the possibility of real freedom. For him, death and resurrection represent the movement of completely withdrawing from the present order and setting to work building something new.

7. How does Žižek analyze the continental philosophy and the future of Christian theology from the legacy of Paul of Tarsus? What is the significance of Paul, in this perspective?

For Žižek, Paul’s Christian communities are a model of withdrawing from the present order—or as Žižek puts it in The Puppet and the Dwarf, “unplugging” from the force of law. Where many interpreters believe that Paul is an opponent of the Jewish law, Žižek claims that Paul is trying to give Gentiles access to the uniquely Jewish stance toward the law. In this perspective, Paul’s famous discussion of the law inciting its own transgression in Romans 7 is not talking about the Jewish law, but about distinctively pagan attitudes toward the law. Paul is trying to give his Gentile followers a way out of the vicious cycle he describes there.

This is relevant for today, insofar as Žižek views contemporary culture as embodying a kind of law that incites its own transgression—everything has to be “subversive” and “irreverent.” People don’t feel guilty about having sex, but about not having enough sex. In this context, rebellion against social norms becomes meaningless. A completely different stance that breaks the dichotomy of obedience and rebellion is needed, and that’s what Paul provides in Žižek’s view.

8. To what extent are Pascal, Kierkegaard, and Chesterton leading thinkers in the theological stance of the Slovenian philosopher?

This is an area where I believe Žižek has been misunderstood. Many readers view his use of these thinkers, particularly Chesterton, as an endorsement. In reality, though, his ultimate goal is to show that they don’t go far enough. He enjoys Chesterton’s Hegelian style, for example, but he views Chesterton’s Catholicism as a betrayal of the gospel that returns to the pagan approach to law and transgression. Similarly, though Pascal and Kierkegaard provide very real insights, he wants to go beyond them because they don’t take the next step and embrace the death of God.

9. What are the main points of the debate between Žižek and Milbank in “The Monstrosity of Christ: Paradox or Dialectic”?

The encounter between Žižek and Milbank is the encounter between the Hegelian death of God approach and traditional orthodoxy. The debate was productive insofar as it allowed Žižek to develop his critique of traditional theology, particularly of the doctrine of the Trinity, and to reflect on the ethics implied in his position, but both authors’ essays were so long and full of so many digressions that it was almost impossible to discern any actual debate.

For me, the biggest benefit of this debate was that it allowed Žižek to draw a clear line in the sand. Milbank’s followers had sometimes viewed Žižek as a natural ally of their Radical Orthodoxy project, but Žižek declares that Milbank’s vision—which is centered on escaping from the problems of modernity by reasserting hierarchical authority and traditional family values—as “light fascism.” He also makes it clear that he views Milbank’s Anglo-Catholicism, like Chesterton’s Catholicism, as a reversion into the pagan stance toward law and transgression.

10. To what extent does the debate between these two thinkers deepen the dialogue between faith and reason?

In my view, the debate was a disappointment. Žižek and Milbank are simply too far apart for a truly productive struggle to emerge. Far more interesting, in my view, is the confrontation staged between Žižek and Terry Eagleton in Ola Sigurdson’s Theology and Marxism in Eagleton and Žižek: A Conspiracy of Hope. A confrontation with a less traditional theologian like Jurgen Moltmann or Catherine Keller would also have been more interesting. Between Žižek and Milbank, though, there was little more than a missed encounter. Žižek has not yet found a theological interlocutor who can challenge him in a productive way—and I hope that someone does step up to fill that role, because it is so rare for a contemporary philosopher to have any interest at all in contemporary theology. I don’t think I am the right person for the job, but I hope that in my book, I helped to clear the space for such an encounter to occur.

Pic Post: evangelista Giovanni by Antonio Calandriello

Another interview with Colby Dickinson on Agamben @ An und für sich blog, 10.Oct.2013

Another interview with Colby Dickinson on Giorgio Agamben

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1. What are the peculiarities of faith in contemporary continental thought?

In many ways, I think we are continuously reiterating a particular historical tension, that between a normative measure (or rule) and those who seek to oppose or undo it, what I would call the supposed ‘antinomian’ (anti-nomos or ‘law’) movements that we still don’t know what to do with in either religious or political terms. For its part, antinomianism arose as a label used during the Reformation to describe those who were seemingly wanting to do away with law altogether—those who in effect read Martin Luther’s critique of the Catholic system (i.e. its ‘rules’, canon law, system of indulgences, etc.) as being a departure in some sense from all law. In many ways, this response was something already embedded in Jesus’ positioning of himself in relation to Judaic Law, and this possibility only further inflamed the passions of some of Luther’s most devout followers. Luther, however, as we know, had to try to stop such antinomian measures from going too far away from the ‘rule of God’, which Luther himself still wanted to maintain in some form. As we recall, there were still too many connections for Luther to draw between the established Church on earth and existing structures of political power; he sought therefore in his writings to maintain some allegiance to the form of law and its ‘necessity’, and its ability to utilize the ‘sword’ in order to restrain its unruly citizens was something he took great interest in linking to God’s ordering of society.

What I am particularly fascinated by today is the manner in which contemporary continental thought has returned us to the contemplation of this fundamental ‘antinomian’ impulse that undergirds many revolutionary political and religious movements. In many ways—and Jacob Taubes takes this up directly in his lectures on The Political Theology of Paul—Christianity itself is perhaps the original antinomian impulse in relation to Judaism (Judaic Law, or Torah). This is something he extracts from Gershom Scholem’s studies on messianic movements within Judaic history, in particular the story of Sabbatai Zevi. As Giorgio Agamben would later rehearse such impulses (and with citations of Sabbatai Zevi being present in his work as well), there is an internal messianic ‘antinomian’ impulse perhaps within Judaism that challenges its normative representations of itself (as when the prophets cry out against the structures of religious ritual, when a notion of a Messiah first develops, etc.). This last point is seemingly only further underscored by Jacques Derrida’s many formulations of the messianic as an internal deconstructive force working within a given structure, a sentiment which has been read as being either Jewish (G. Ofrat), atheistic (M. Hägglund) or even Christian (L. Lawlor). My response to such diverse readings has been to say that all of them are correct in a sense, because all are trying to access that central, messianic core of our political and religious thought that continues to motivate the restructuring of our given (social, cultural, political, religious and even economic) norms. We continue to try to find new ways to describe why we are constantly giving birth to new paradigms, and we continuously come up against a wall: where does revolutionary reform come from? How do we alter the structures that appear to be unchangeable and upon which so many people depend (‘have faith in’) for their everyday lives? Derrida’s answer, much like Agamben’s in this regard, is that it comes from within what was already operational as a canonical structural form, but one that has been pushed to its limits and is in the process of becoming aware of its limitations within a new context and its need for more justice to be done.

What I sense at present is that the foundations of (organized) faith is being given a second glance within contemporary continental-philosophical thinkers because it seems to adhere to (or perhaps even generate) the fundamental dynamics that lie beneath our political and ethical paradigms in the West. As much as we might culturally seek to turn away from organized religious traditions, there is something persistent within them that deserves attention, even the attention of self-proclaimed atheists (and I think the current Pope is aware of this, and playing to some of this desire with his public remarks). I read Slavoj Žižek’s continuing reference to Christianity as just such an example of how we are greatly in need today of reformulating what it means to read the relationship between religion and politics as central to our present grid of culturally intelligible forms—even, perhaps especially, when people think that faith is becoming obsolete for many. (... A suivre/ Read the full interview)

Pic post: evangelista san Luca by antonio calandriello

Roberto Esposito - Due. La macchina della teologia politica e il posto del pensiero - Einaudi, It, Giugno 2013 + Ateologia Politica @ Repubblica, 27 maggio 2013. Intervista di Leopoldo Fabiani al filosofo Roberto Esposito che in un libro, "Due", affronta il rapporto tra religione e potere.

Alla fine di un dibattito che ha attraversato l'intero Novecento, il significato ultimo della nozione di "teologia politica" continua a sfuggirci. Nonostante i tentativi di venirne a capo, parliamo ancora il suo linguaggio, restiamo ancora nel suo orizzonte. Il motivo, per Roberto Esposito, sta nel fatto che la teologia politica non è né un concetto né un evento ma il perno intorno al quale ruota, da piú di duemila anni, la macchina della civiltà occidentale. Al suo centro vi è l'articolazione tra universalismo ed esclusione, unità e separazione.

La tendenza del Due a farsi Uno attraverso la subordinazione di una parte al dominio dell'altra. Tutte le categorie filosofiche e politiche che adoperiamo, a partire da quella, romana e cristiana, di persona, riproducono ancora questo dispositivo escludente. Perciò il congedo dalla teologia politica - in cui risiede il compito della filosofia contemporanea - passa per una radicale conversione del nostro lessico concettuale. Solo quando avremo restituito al pensiero il suo "posto" - relativo non al singolo individuo ma all'intera specie umana - potremo sfuggire alla macchina che da troppo tempo imprigiona le nostre vite.

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Ateologia Politica @ Repubblica, 27 maggio 2013.

Intervista di Leopoldo Fabiani al filosofo Roberto Esposito che in un libro, "Due", affronta il rapporto tra religione e potere.

«Tutti i concetti politici sono concetti teologici secolarizzati ». La celebre definizione di Carl Schmitt ha segnato per tutto il Novecento la riflessione filosofica sulla politica. “Teologia politica” è divenuto così un paradigma irrinunciabile per comprendere non solo i rapporti tra potere e religione, tra Stato e chiesa, ma tutta l’evoluzione della civiltà occidentale. Ma “teologia politica” è anche una “macchina” di pensiero dentro la quale siamo da sempre imprigionati. La “cattura” non riguarda solo le menti ma, nell’era della biopolitica, anche i corpi, per mezzo del debito, figura centrale della “teologia economica”. È arrivato il momento di liberarcene. 

Questo è il tema dell’ultimo libro di Roberto Esposito, Due. La macchina della teologia politica e il posto del pensiero  che esce in questi giorni. Un testo che mentre ricostruisce la genealogia di questa categoria concettuale, ne mina allo stesso tempo le fondamenta. E sostiene che se vogliamo uscirne non si tratta solo di abbandonare una millenaria tradizione di pensiero, ma anche di ritrovare le ragioni profonde del vivere insieme in una collettività.

Professor Esposito, l’idea della fede come “instrumentum regni” è solo funzionale a una ideologia conservatrice o nasconde qualcosa di più profondo?
«L’idea che senza valori religiosi dominanti non si tenga insieme una società non è solo degli “atei devoti” come Giuliano Ferrara. Anche pensatori raffinati come Massimo Cacciari o Mario Tronti credono che il riferimento alle radici teologiche sia decisivo. Ecco dimostrato, se ce ne fosse bisogno, quanto sia persistente e pervasivo questo modo di pensare».

Altri però ritengono che viviamo nell’era della secolarizzazione, del relativismo, della morale “fai da te”.
«Ma questo non significa affatto che ci siamo “liberati”. Categorie come “secolarizzazione”, “disincanto” “ateismo” sono concetti teologici negativi o rovesciati. Esistono solo all’interno di quell’orizzonte che si vorrebbe invece oltrepassare».

Possiamo fare un esempio di qualche concetto “teologico” operante nell’attualità politica di questi giorni?
«Se ne possono fare molti, pensiamo al dibattito recente sul presidenzialismo. Si è sostenuto che siamo una società che non può fare a meno della figura del padre. Ora, l’azione del presidente Napolitano è stata un bene per tutti, ha trovato soluzioni, ha sbloccato una situazione che era arrivata alla paralisi. Sul piano simbolico però c’è qualcosa che non va. Perché la democrazia non deve essere un regime di “figli”, bensì di “fratelli”. Non è vero che abbiamo bisogno di un riferimento superiore, trascendente».

Ma in cosa consiste il meccanismo oppressivo che lei attribuisce alla teologia politica?
«È una tradizione di pensiero che taglia in due le nostre vite. Che tende a realizzare l’unità attraverso l’emarginazione di una delle parti. Che esclude mentre pretende di includere. L’uguaglianza, storicamente, è stata sempre “tagliata”: tra bianchi e neri, uomini e donne. Ecco, l’Occidente che sottomette il resto del mondo, la globalizzazione che impoverisce tante parti di umanità».

Secondo lei è giunto il momento di uscire da questo “dispositivo” che ci ha catturati e impedisce un’autentica libertà di pensiero. Ma come è possibile riuscirci?
«Non è certo un compito facile, al contrario, è difficilissimo. Io credo che la cappa che ci tiene prigionieri e che dobbiamo provare a rompere, sia fondata sul concetto di persona. Più precisamente, sull’idea che il pensiero appartenga al singolo, all’individuo. Dopo Cartesio, ci pare ovvio. Invece occorre tornare a una tradizione che da Aristotele arriva a Bergson e Deleuze, passando per Averroè, Dante e Spinoza. È una catena che risale all’antichità dove il pensiero è visto come un luogo che tutti possiamo attraversare, un patrimonio cui tutti possiamo attingere. Il primo e più importante, si potrebbe dire, dei beni comuni».

Arriviamo alla “teologia economica” dove la parte centrale del suo ragionamento si svolge attorno all’idea di debito.
«Intanto pensiamo all’ironia di definire i debiti degli stati con l’espressione “debito sovrano” (concetto, quello di sovranità eminentemente teologico). Oggi, chiaramente, la sovranità non appartiene più ai singoli stati, ma alla finanza».

Cosa c’è di teologico nel concetto di debito?
«Walter Benjamin definiva il capitalismo “l’unico culto che non purifica ma colpevolizza”. L’origine teologica di questo concetto è chiarissima. Se pensiamo che nella lingua tedesca la stessa parola significa sia debito sia colpa, capiamo molte cose. Comprendiamo perché i tedeschi vivano se stessi come virtuosi e considerino ad esempio i greci non solo indebitati, ma anche colpevoli. Ma oggi, attraverso il debito pubblico, siamo tutti indebitati».

Siamo tutti “prigionieri” del debito?
«Nietzsche diceva che il debito ci ha reso tutti schiavi gli uni degli altri. E non solo in senso simbolico. Il cerchio biopolitico che lega il corpo del debitore al creditore ha origini lontane. L’istituzione romana del “nexum” consegnava il destino della persona indebitata al suo creditore, che ne poteva disporre liberamente, per la vita e per la morte. Il mercante di Venezia di Shakespeare pretende di essere ripagato con una libbra di carne da chi non può farlo col denaro. Ma anche oggi il debito si paga con la vita. Pensiamo agli immigrati che devono ripagare per sempre con il lavoro chi gli ha prestato i soldi per uscire dai loro paesi. Pensiamo ai suicidi per debiti».

Se siamo arrivati a questo punto non è solo frutto della “macchina” teologica, ci sono anche responsabilità più recenti.
«Senza dubbio tutto questo processo è stato agevolato dalla governance liberale, attuata a partire dagli anni di Margaret Thatcher e Ronald Reagan, che non ci ha affatto liberato, anzi. Ha trasformato il welfare in un peso insostenibile, teorizzando il “Lightfare”, lo stato leggero. È l’ideologia dell’“ognuno per sé” che ha portato alla crisi e reso il 99% della popolazione più povera».

Per liberarci come individui, lei sostiene, bisogna agire collettivamente.
«Io credo di sì. Il meccanismo di sviluppo va cambiato, dobbiamo tornare a pensare agli investimenti socialmente utili, non al guadagno personale. In questo ci aiuta il concetto di “communitas”. Che significa avere in comune un “munus”, parola che originariamente significava al tempo stesso debito e dono. Nelle società arcaiche il debito era vissuto come un legame sociale. Essere comunità non significa cercare di sopraffarsi uno con l’altro, ma sentirsi vincolati da un dono di fratellanza ».""

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