Watkin’s thesis is bold and unapologetic, and shapes the path of his reading and thinking with intense focus. His main concern, bordering on a battle cry, is that the ground gained by atheism is being lost once more to a new ‘colonisation’ by theism.
Watkin proceeds systematically and with an admirable thoroughness.
Reading Meillassoux produces ‘aha!’ moments, where he turns a philosophical concept on its head (as when he advocates for radical possibility, which must be if everything is necessarily contigent); Watkin does an admirable job of waking us up from our thrall and pointing out the deep problems with such seemingly magical moves.
Watkin accomplishes a daunting task in this book, managing to summarize and explain some of the most complicated, complicating works we have from these thinkers while at the same time issuing forth his own provocative thesis, thus ﬁnding points of commonality in unlikely places.
On August 5 at 11am I will have the pleasure of speaking at the Melbourne University of Divinity philosophy seminar on the subject “Varieties of Contemporary Atheism: Badiou, Nancy, Meillassoux”. The talk seeks to synthesise and develop some of the main lines of thinking from Difficult Atheism and to open the argument of the book to a wider audience.
Here is the abstract:
This paper summarises and extends the argument of my 2011 book Difficult Atheism to argue that contemporary “atheism” is an umbrella term used to describe three distinct positions. I briefly explore these three positions in the work of French philosophers Alain Badiou, Jean-Luc Nancy and Quentin Meillassoux, showing that they seek to position themselves in relation to the theological in three mutually exclusive ways. As well as being of interest to scholars working in contemporary French thought, the talk aims to offer to a broader audience a framework for understanding and evaluating modern atheisms.
The opening paragraph gives a flavour of the review’s tone and also of Bryan’s style, which, for all the right reasons, is best left undescribed:
Christopher Watkin’s thoughtful, learned and above all deeply nuanced book about three major contemporary French philosophers brings a welcome depth, conceptual deftness and almost unprecedented sobriety to a topic (namely the relationship between philosophy, religion and politics) which more often than not is completely swallowed in a kind of bathetic tennis match between the ideological nostrums du jour.
It is clear that Bryan found the chapters on Meillassoux most engaging, and after gently questioning the way I bring in Jean-Luc Nancy to sit alongside (and against) Badiou and Meillassoux, he concludes thus:
Difficult Atheism is a first-rate, profoundly illuminating book. Scholarly without being portentous, rigorous without being dry, it is the kind of book which retroactively renders whole shelves redundant. And while it is in no way a manifesto, nor a political tract in a conventional sense, I think that its reflections on justice and religion will be of interest to Marxists, for whom, after all – following Marx, and against 19th century positivism – atheism has always been difficult, precisely because it is tied to the project of a world where religious opiates will not be necessary.
It is a very gracious and elegant review, and I am grateful to Bryan for the time and care he clearly spent considering the book’s arguments.
‘No gods anywhere now, not for me, now’: Meillassoux’s Oedipal atheism
In Difficult Atheism I left the discussion of Meillassoux’s divine inexistence after having sketched a series of arguments detailing why I think he does not succeed in demonstrating the principle of factiality in the way I think he intends. In this post I want to take these arguments a stage further and ask ‘so what?’ If, as I think is the case, Meillassoux does not pull off the grand challenge he sets himself, what then? Is it all over? Do we leave him move on? Is there nothing more to say?
I don’t think so. So far we have tended to take Meillassoux au pied de la lettre and work on the principle that his ‘divinology’ must either succeed or fail in its own terms, with no third option, but here I want to suggest a different reading of Meillassoux, one that starts where Difficult Atheism finishes.
This reading begins with two premises. The first I have already stated: in my opinion Meillassoux fails in his explicit aim of demonstrating divine inexistence, for reasons I won’t rehearse again here. The second premise is that any reading of Meillassoux’s ‘The Divine Inexistence’ must come to terms with, and provide some sort of accounting for, why his thought imitates theological terms and theological structures as much as it does. Meillassoux’s divinology is so close to theology, not only in its motifs (think of Meillassoux’s Child of Man, the rebirth of the dead and the bringing of justice, conversion, the ex nihilo) but also in its overall structure (with its arc of a secularised creation—redemption—consummation/judgment) that any comprehensive reading of ‘The Divine Inexistence’ has to have an answer to the question of ‘why so much imitation?’ I am not saying there is only one answer to that question, but it seems to me that every reading of Meillassoux has to have something to offer in that department.
Discussion to date has centred mostly around whether one or another Meillassouxian motif still has the whiff of incense about it (Peter Hallward on the ex nihilo in his Radical Philosophy review of After Finitude is the first example that springs to mind). The reading I am proposing here does not pick through these motifs again, one by one, but seeks to understand them as a whole, not as a series of propositions but as a coherent gesture that traces itself in such a series. I want to explore not whether this or that motif is still trading on its theological capital, but what we can say about Meillassoux’s imitation of theological motifs per se, regardless of whether we end up concluding they remain theological or not.
Starting from these two premises—Meillassoux imitates a remarkably comprehensive theological structure, and he fails in his explicit aim—I offer the following reading of ‘DI’ with the intention of making sense of the imitation and not writing him off because of the failure. In other words I aim to make sense of his imitation of theological motifs and structures as a coherent gesture and not just as a set of atomisable propositions, and I also aim to make constructive sense of his failure to come good on his promise to demonstrate divine inexistence, rather than merely dismissing it, or him.
More broadly, the possibility I want to open here is that, even if ‘The Divine Inexistence’ is not successful in its own terms, that very failure can itself help us to understand what different forms post-theological thinking might take. To be clear, I am not saying we should all from now on read Meillassoux in this new way, but I am offering it as a way of broadening the debate beyond the simple (sometimes simplistic) question of whether his divinology works in its own terms or not. There is more to Meillassoux’s engagement with theology than a yes/no answer to that question.
The reading has two moments: 1) What I have elsewhere identified in the ‘split rationality critique’ can be read as a moment of Meillassouxian tragic hubris, and 2) his attempt to demonstrate divine inexistence can be read not as a proof his divinology in its success, but as a catharsis of the divine in its failure.
This reading is elaborated in conversation with themes of imitation, failure and catharsis in Hölderlin’s ‘Remarks on Oedipus’, as glossed by Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe in Typographies 2: l’imitation des modernes, partially translated into English as Typography: Mimesis, Philosophy, Politics. Lacoue-Labarthe’s thoughts on Hölderlin are set alongside other treatments of the theme of imitation in Western thought and literature, and they help us to approach Meillassoux with an eye not simply to whether this or that motif imitates of theological thinking, but through a consideration of the significance of imitation itself.
Lacoue-Labarthe on Hölderlin’s Oedipus
Oedipus, it is well known, describes himself in Sophocles Oedipus Tyrannus after his fall as atheos, without god or abandoned by the gods: ‘No gods anywhere now, not for me, now’. It is usually assumed that Oedipus’ nefas, his infringement of divine law, is the murder of his father and an incestuous relationship with his mother, but Hölderlin discerns a different cause of his downfall: an unwarranted trust in his own power to interpret. Oedipus arrogates to himself the divine role of prophecy in his interpretation of the following oracular words:
King Phoebus in plain words commanded us,
drive out the pollution of the land, nourished on this ground,
This oracle need not have had anything to do with King Laius’ death, Hölderlin insists, but could simply mean that Oedipus should ‘generally create a strong and pure court and keep order among the citizens’. Oedipus’ nefas is to interpret it ‘in a priestly fashion’, in other words taking upon himself a divine role, bringing together the saying of the oracle and the story of Laius’ death. Hölderlin summarizes:
in the immediately following scene the spirit of Oedipus, knowing all, expresses, in angry premonition, the nefas itself by interpreting the general command as pertaining to the particular and then applying it to the murderer of Laius, and then casting the sin as inﬁnite.
Oedipus’ nefas, then, is to assume the prerogative of the divine and ‘interpret the statement of the oracle towards infinity’ as Hölderlin says elsewhere. He is guilty of hermeneutic hubris, according a divine certainty to his own powers of interpretation or, in Lacoue-Labarthe’s terms, ‘The tragic fault is the imitation of God’. I have shown in my ‘split rationality critique’ of Meillassoux how he similarly interprets the notions of contingency and hyperchaos towards infinity, like Oedipus elevating his own reasoning above the mortal sphere of change and contingency. It is in Meillassoux’s trust in his own logic to survive any hyperchaotic change that he imitates the divine.
Yet it is this failed imitation of the divine, Lacoue-Labarthe argues, that leads Oedipus be atheos. It is through striving, and in a measure succeeding, to imitate the gods that Oedipus is estranged from the gods. This logic, according to which Oedipus’ imitation of the divine both brings him close to the divine and estranges him from the gods, is for Lacoue-Labarthe an instance of hyperbology, the paradoxical logic of imitation he identifies in a number of Western thinkers of mimesis from Aristotle through Diderot to Nietzsche, and of course including Hölderlin himself. Oedipus’ atheistic condition is hyperbological because it is through his mimetic proximity to the infinity of the gods that he finds them most absent. The logic of hyperbology is ‘the more x, the less x’: the closer Oedipus is to the divine, the more he will find himself abandoned by the gods.
However, Oedipus atheos provokes, for Lacoue-Labarthe, a catharsis of the divine. His imitation ‘towards infinity’ of the divine oracle is not merely offset by his subsequent abandonment by the gods; the essence of the tragic is the monstrous coupling of god and man in an unlimited becoming-one that is purified (katharei) by a limitless separation. Tragedy presents the necessary cathartic purification of all hubristic imitation of of the divine; it is a catharsis of desiring to imitate the divine, achieved through a hyperbolic mimesis resulting in hyperbolic abandonment.
This condition of Oedipal abandonment is, Lacoue-Labarthe insists, a turning of humankind to the earth and an opening of an a-theistic space that is unrelated in any way whatsoever to the ‘death of God’, in either its speculative-Lutheran or Nietzschean guises, and therefore free of the problems of theological imitation that haunt the death of God in Western thought. The catharsis of the divine does not consist in the death of God but in a ‘categorical turning away [détournement]’ form God. Détournement, it is worth pointing out, not only means ‘turning away’ but also ‘(mis)appropriation’; it is what the SItuationists did with the images of Gaullist France in May 68, and what unnamed photoshoppers did with Nicolas Sarkozy’s ‘La France Forte’ poster in the 2012 French Presidential elections. The term captures the double sense of a turning-away-as-imitation and, in a way I don’t have time to elaborate more here, it opens a way to think the post-theological in the West that does not rely on the problematic notion of the death of God.
This catharsis is crucially, for Lacoue-Labarthe, not a dialectic but a paradox; it issues not in a sublation of the theological into the a-theological but in a tension maintained between infinite imitation and infinite separation. Catharsis is a paradoxical logic that maintains the contradiction of ‘the more… the less…’: ‘the more unlimited the becoming-one, the more unlimited the separation itself ’. The desire to imitate the divine leads to an utter separation from the divine, with imitation and separation frozen in a non-dialectised relationship.
This atheism is not a proof of divine non-existence (understood in the terms of traditional atheism, not Meillassoux’s divine inexistence), for this would once again be a bid for the infinite. Rather Lacoue-Labarthe describes this mimetic logic in terms of a homeopathic medicine or an animal sacrifice that expels violence from the polis by the simulacrum of a spectacular transfer of the murderous desire to an animal.
If Meillassoux’s nefas is his imitation ‘towards the infinite’ of his own rationality, then as in the case of Oedipus it is this imitation of the divine that leaves him without god. If Meillassoux’s claims are correct then he can legitimately expect the coming of the Child of Man and the future existence of the divine in the fourth world, as ‘The Divine Inexistence’ describes. But if he cannot then he is bereft of any such future hope, bereft of hope in the rebirth of the dead, in justice for past wrongs. Like the Oedipus of Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus he suffers a state of unremitting abandonment. It is because of Meillassoux’s failed imitation of the divine that he is atheos. If Meillassoux’s system in ‘The Divine Inexistence’ paints a picture of a universe in which God is currently absent but can be hoped for and expected in the future, then the Meillassouxian nefas brings about a double absence, taking away not only the presence of the divine but also any sanctioned hope in future divine existence.
The question that remains, however, is over the extent to which Meillassoux’s failed imitation may, like that of Oedipus of Typographies 2, issue in a catharsis of the divine. In answering this question we may first note that the logic of the catharsis of the divine is that it is necessary to over-reach and fail. If we read ‘The Divine Inexistence’ in terms of such a catharsis, then, it is not in the least an embarrassment that Meillassoux draws on so much theological material and such a comprehensive theological structure. It could not be any other way; it is his felix culpa. Oedipus would not be atheos had he not failed in his attempt to become like the gods by interpreting ‘to infinity’. In the same way, Meillassoux would not be without god if he had not failed in his attempt to demonstrate divine inexistence. Both Oedipus and Meillassoux are ‘without God’ as a result of their own failure.
And what about the catharsis of the divine for Meillassoux? We might say that it is because his imitation of theology is so wholesale that, when it fails, he is left nowhere to go, no hope for redemption in some as yet unexploited theological motif or structure of thought to keep alive the divine hope. If post-theological thought merely imitates this or that theological motif then there is always more theology waiting around the corner, more hope for a theological redemption in the ideas not yet exploited, but only an attempt to incorporate and imitate the whole arc and structure of (Christian) theology as such, when it has failed, is left with nothing. Oedipus is only atheos because his imitation of the divine was so grand, so infinite. So also Meillassoux, in seeking to imitate not this or that element of theological thinking but its overall structure finds himself, when he fails, an abandoned Oedipus without hope but, also, without god.
 Peter Burian and Alan Shapiro (eds.), The Complete Sophocles, Volume I: The Theban Plays
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010) 278.
 Friedrich Hölderlin, ‘Remarks on Oedipus’, in J. M. Bernstein (ed.), Classic and Romantic German Aesthetics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003) 196.
 Hölderlin, ‘Remarks on Oedipus’ 196.
 Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe, Typographies 2 : L’Imitation des modernes (Paris : Galilée, 1986) 128. CW’s translation.
 Lacoue-Labarthe, L’Imitation des modernes 128.
 Lacoue-Labarthe, L’Imitation des modernes 198.
 Lacoue-Labarthe, L’Imitation des modernes 198.
 Lacoue-Labarthe, L’Imitation des modernes 128.
 Lacoue-Labarthe, L’Imitation des modernes 208.
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I am currently preparing for a paper I have been invited to give at the Center for Contemporary European Philosophy at Radboud University, Nijmegen in September, and I am trying to refine my understanding of what is ‘imitative’ about imitative atheism. It is a journey that is taking me from Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannus through Aristotle’s Physics, Thomas a Kempis’s Imitation of Christ, Kant’s Critique of the Power of Judgment, Diderot, Nietzsche, Bonhoeffer, Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe and Miguel de Beistegui. The short version is that there’s a great deal more to say about imitation than I was able to include in Difficult Atheism, and the leisure-time pursuit of “spotting” theological motifs in purportedly atheistic thought is on even shakier ground than I indicated in my critique in DA of the idea that Badiou has recourse to the miraculous.
In the process of preparing for Nijmegen I am working through The Locus of Tragedy, and the book contains a word cloud in its front matter. I found it to be a great way of gaining a quick, intuitive sense of the main concerns of the book, and so I decided to visit wordle.net to generate clouds for Difficult Atheism, Phenomenology or Deconstruction? and the recent French Studies article ‘Thinking Equality Today’. The site can filter out either common English words or common French ones, but not both it seems, hence the preponderance of French prepositions and articles in the images below. Here they are…
With a new issue of Analecta Hermeneutica just out there has been some discussion this past week of Peter Gratton’s article on Meillassoux’s ontology of divine inexistence (here, here and here, with some reaction on Gratton’s own blog, Philosophy in a time of error). The discussion put me in mind of a paper I gave way back in 2010 at the UK Society for French Studies conference (a paper that eventually became part of Difficult Atheism), which I reprint here. I by no means offer this as a reaction to the recent discussion (the current mountain of marking precludes any such luxury), just as a small contribution to the more general debate.
For more on Meillassoux, and specifically whether this split rationality critique need necessarily undermine his claim to post-theological thinking, see my ‘Quentin Meillassoux’s Oedipal atheism‘.
Quentin Meillassoux’s ‘L’Inexistence divine’
Introduction: varieties of atheism
The ideas in this paper are drawn from Difficult Atheism, in which I argue 1) that French thought is seeking a new articulation of atheism, and 2) that in their different ways Alain Badiou, Jean-Luc Nancy and Quentin Meillassoux are all attempting to find it.
In Difficult Atheism I employ three categories to try to come to terms with what is currently happening in atheism. They describe tendencies, and are not mutually exclusive.
Imitative atheism, the first category, keeps a fundamentally theological structure but substitutes for God a placeholder (Humanity or Reason, for example) that provides the same functions that God would perform in theological thinking. Imitative atheism thinks it can enjoy all the fruit of theological thinking: it has access to the absolute, it can provide the principle or reason of the world and can access ‘capital T’ Truth. In this category we find Auguste Comte’s religion of humanity with man as the new Supreme Great Being, or what has been called Feuerbach’s anthropotheism, where he famously argues that ‘man is a god to man’. Much of the current Anglo-Saxon new atheism would also follow this tendency. The bottom line of imitative atheism (there is no time to unpack this claim today) is that it is parasitic on the structures of theology.
The second tendency, residual atheism, recognizes that the parasitism of imitative atheism is a problem, and seeks to avoid it. Residual atheism is a retrenched atheism, careful to exclude any thinking that relies on religious or theological assumptions.
- if a certain understanding of Truth relies on God, then we must renounce that Truth;
- if the absolute or the unconditioned are inseparable from God, we must renounce the absolute and the unconditioned;
- If transcendence is the domain of theology then we must restrict ourselves to immanence.
- If God is dead, then any humanity in his image must also be dead
We can discern this tendency to different degrees in what we broadly call poststructuralist thought: Foucault, Levinas, Bataille, Derrida, Blanchot. It is summed up neatly in Lévinas’s evocation of an atheism that is not humanism:
La pensée contemporaine nous réserve la surprise d’un athéisme qui n’est pas humaniste : les dieux sont morts ou retirés du monde, l’homme concret, même raisonnable ne contient pas l’univers. (Lévinas, Sur Maurice Blanchot 10).
Residual atheism is an ‘atheism that is not x’, where x is something deemed to be parasitic.
But residual atheism has two problems.
- First, it is suffers from a certain asceticism: the way it resists theism is by a systematic self-denial of all theism’s tasty fruits.
It preserves its purity at the cost of its potency.
- Secondly, it has only gone half way to rejecting parasitism; it still inhabits theology’s categories, only it does so negatively.
- immanence is what is not transcendent
- relative is what is not absolute
- atheism is the scraps left over once theology has eaten its fill
The besetting problem of these two atheisms is that, to the extent that an atheism seeks to avoid parasitism it risks asceticism, and to the extent that it avoids asceticism it risks parasitism.
The solution, the ‘unholy grail’ of atheism, if you like, is…
- to avoid the asceticism of residual atheism; reclaim truth, the absolute
- to avoid the parasitism of imitative atheism: to reclaim truth and the absolute, and so on, in a way that does not merely perpetuate religious thought under another name
In my wider project I look at how Badiou, Nancy and Meillassoux all attempt to secure an integrated atheism in different ways. Today, I want to sketch some brief details of Meillassoux’s attempt, and provide a brief critique of it.
Meillassoux’s proposal for an integrated atheism
Meillassoux’s attempt to secure the absolute and necessity hinges on what he calls the principle of factiality, in French le factual. Meillassoux’s factial must a) secure a notion of eternal necessity, while b) excluding any necessary being (ID 283), because any recourse to a necessary being is a religious move. Meillassoux must refuse every metaphysical absolute, yet retain ‘a little of the absolute’ (‘un peu d’absolu’ Meillassoux, AF 68).
This is how he does it. If there can be no necessary being, then it follows that the facticity of a thing – in other words its contingency, that it can be otherwise – is not itself a fact (AF 107), because if facticity were itself a fact there could be a necessary being, and we would be back with parasitism. So there is no necessity, except the necessity of contingency itself:
ce qui est, est factuel, mais que ce qui est soit factuel, voilà qui ne peut être un fait. Seule la facticité de ce qui est ne peut pas être factuelle. Ou encore, dit autrement : ce ne peut être un fait que ce qui est soit un fait. … La contingence de l’étant, et elle seule, n’est pas une propriété contingente de l’étant. (ID 44 ; QM’s italics)
Note here that le factuel refers to facticity, and le factual (with an a) to Meillassoux’s principle of factiality. Factiality is the non-facticity of facticity (AF 107), or the non-contingency of contingency. Contingency is itself necessary in order to avoid a necessary being which, after the death of God, we have no grounds to admit into our thinking. We may say that an object is de facto red, but not that it is de facto de facto (ID 46). In order to avoid falling back into metaphysics, Meillassoux stresses that the principle of factiality does not maintain that contingency is necessary, but that only contingency is necessary (AF 108), as a direct correlate of the absence of any necessary being, event or law.
Meillassoux is at great pains to stress that the necessity of contingency does not replace the ‘laws of nature’ with a meta-law of contingency itself: ‘il n’y a pas de loi du devenir, parce qu’il y a devenir des lois’ (ID 5). So although the necessity to which Meillassoux appeals is eternal, this eternity does not signify the eternity of the laws of becoming, but the eternity of the becoming of laws (ID 158). In ‘Temps et surgissement ex nihilo’ Meillassoux describes this state of affairs as an inverted Platonism: there is an illusory fixity of objects but a real contingency ‘behind’ that fixity; the intelligible is on the side of the most radical becoming, the sensible on the side of fixity.
Where, then, does the principle of factiality leave the question of God? In a position that can be adequately described neither as theistic nor as atheistic. There are four, and only four, possible ways that man can relate to God, Meillassoux argues, only three of which have hitherto been exploited (ID 388). In these four options, it is clear that Meillassoux is using ‘belief in’ not in the sense of ‘assent to the existence of’ but ‘hope in’.
- First option: one can not believe in God because he doesn’t exist. Meillassoux lets his attitude to this atheistic option be known by summing it up as a position that leads to sadness, luke-warmness, cynicism and ressentiment. It is, he concludes, the immanent form of despair, a form of what I am calling ascetic atheism.
- Secondly, one can believe in God because he exists, but this leads to the deadlocks of fanaticism, a flight from this world, and the confusions of holiness with mysticism and of God as love with God as power. It is the religious form of hope.
- Thirdly, one can not believe in God because he exists. This is the Luciferian posture of revolt, maintaining a haughty indifference which in effect is a mixture of animosity towards God (in which the displayed indifference is only hatred expressed in the most hurtful way) and classical atheism, whose deadlocks (namely cynicism, sarcasm towards every aspiration, and self-hatred) it exacerbates. It is the religious form of despair.
- The fourth way of relating man and God, and the option which has until now remained unexploited, is to believe in God because he does not exist: the immanent form of hope. This is the option with which Meillassoux identifies his philosophy:
Le divin philosophique n’est ni une religion – a-t-on déjà vu un croyant nier l’existence de Dieu ? – ni un athéisme – a-t-on déjà vu un athée croire en Dieu ? (ID 384)
But what does it mean to ‘believe in God because he does not exist’? The response is found in examining Meillassoux’s notion of divine inexistence, and the hope which he invests in it. If, as Meillassoux fiercely defends, there is no law of becoming, then becoming is capable even of God (ID 6), and every ‘miracle’ adds to the experimental proof in the inexistence of God (ID 5), because miracles demonstrate the contingency of the world, and show thereby that no divine will underwrites the so-called ‘perennial laws’ of nature.
God ‘inexists’, which is to say that he happens not to exist, but that – in accordance with the principle of factiality – his possible existence is necessary. Just as everything that exists, exists de facto, so also everything that does not exist does not exist de facto (ID 75). Inexistence, Meillassoux insists, is not more negative than existence, because the essence of a thing’s existence is that it can not exist, and the essence of a thing’s inexistence is that it can exist (ID 87). Both contingencies (existence and inexistence) are designated by ‘being’.
So this is how Meillassoux tries to secure an integrated atheism: ‘philosophy’ secures its absolute and its necessity without the help of God, and God’s own inexistence avoids the asceticism that comes from accepting religious categories. Meillassoux, it seems, is enjoying all the fruits of religion without partaking in the theological roots of religion.
A critique of Meillassoux’s proposal: ‘split rationality’
It is an audacious attempt, but I don’t think he manages it. I’ve got five reasons why, but only time for one today.
In Après la finitude, Meillassoux makes it clear in a way that remained obscure in ‘L’Inexistence divine’ that the principal of factiality demands that the laws of logic be contingent, just as are the laws of nature: ‘Tout peut très réellement s’effondrer – les arbres comme les astres, les astres comme les lois, les lois physiques comme les lois logiques’ (AF 73). Nevertheless, non-contradiction is derived from the principle of factiality and so stands, or so Meillassoux claims, as absolute, because it must be assumed in any attempt to contradict it.
But this position is prey to what I am calling a ‘split rationality critique’: Meillassoux acknowledges that what is thought about (trees, stars, laws) is absolutely contingent, but he exempts from contingency that thinking itself. The problem for Meillassoux is that, in order to be consistent, the logical laws that govern his own thinking must be up for grabs in the contingency of logical laws. In other words, the processes by which he arrives at the notions of ‘necessity’, ‘contingency’ and ‘factiality’ must themselves be able to be replaced by other, currently unimaginable, ways of thinking.
In order to walk through this argument in more detail, I want to consider Meillassoux’s reconstruction of facticity in terms of what he calls correlationism. In this reconstruction, Meillassoux draws a necessity out of the strong correlationist model itself, where the strong model of correlationism is summarized as ‘it is unthinkable that the unthinkable is impossible’. In this model, the ‘logicity’ of the world does not conform to the structures of logical reason, and the givenness of the world in a representation does not conform to the structures of representative reason (AF 55). We cannot be sure that things are not Wholly Other to how they are represented to us. This uncertainty, the canonical limit of the rational, also legitimates faith in a God who transcends the limits of the thinkable (ID 49).
This reasoning yields a ‘precise and remarkable’ consequence: ‘il devient rationnellement illégitime de disqualifier un discours non rationnel sur l’absolu sous prétexte de son irrationalité’ (AF 56 ; QM’s emphasis). Let’s try to reconstruct in our turn what is at stake here. There are two instances of rationality in play in this quotation. First, the ‘non-rational discourse on the absolute’ which cannot be disqualified, and secondly the ‘rational illegitimacy’ of such a disqualification. It is the second of these two instances that shall detain us, because it is this second instance that Meillassoux fails to take into account in his argument for absolute contingency. In order to know whether or not it is rationally legitimate or illegitimate to do x, I must have some notion of rational legitimacy. But this notion of legitimacy, just as much as the ‘non rational discourse’ that is being reasoned about, must be contingent.
So, to rephrase Meillassoux’s reconstruction of strong correlationism with this proviso inserted: It is rationally illegitimate, according to the contingent norms of rationality that prevail at the moment, to disqulify a non-rational discourse on the absolute on pretext of its irrationality. A modest proviso, perhaps, but one with the deepest consequences for Meillassoux’s principle of factiality. The very judgment by which it is decided what may or may not be ‘rationally legitimate’ must not be unaccountably exempted from a possible future contingent rationality that in the present remains radically unforeseeable, on pain once more of a theological fideism in the enduring necessity of rationality as it is currently understood and practiced. Crudely : you can’t bootstrap rationality out of contingency.
It follows that what Meillassoux calls his ‘Cartesian proof’ has failed:
Nous avions dit que l’absolutisation des mathématiques devrait prendre la forme de son modèle cartésien: trouver un absolu premier (l’analogue de Dieu), dont serait dérivable un absolu second, c’est-à-dire un absolu mathématique (l’analogue de la substance étendue). Nous avons bien un absolu premier (le Chaos) (AF 87)
Meillassoux has done no such thing, not because Chaos is not absolute, but because the ‘absolute’ of Chaos is only ‘necessary’ providing that the meaning of ‘necessary’ is guaranteed by our current understanding of the laws of logic. Perhaps something can be neither necessary nor contingent in a way as yet radically unforeseeable, and perhaps the categories of ‘necessity’ and ‘contingency’ will prove themselves to be neither necessary nor contingent but something else entirely, once more in a way as yet unforeseeable (ways that render even the idea of ‘foreseeability’ or the notion of the ‘radical’ defunct). The difference between Meillassoux’s and Descartes’ ‘proofs’ is that Descartes has a benevolent God who will not, it is supposed, trick the hapless philosopher into self-deception. Meillassoux has no equivalent guarantee that he will not be cheated out of the laws of logic and plunged into a situation where his notions of ‘necessity’ and ‘contingency’ do not, for whatever currently unforeseeable reason, continue to demonstrate the principle of factiality that, presently, they do with such elegance. Whether God can or cannot deceive Descartes, the ‘laws of logic’ certainly can deceive Meillassoux.
Just to be clear, this argument does not fall into the trap of trying to contradict the logical law of contradiction. I am suggesting something more radical : that if, as we understand things now, the only necessity is contingency, there might arise a change in the laws of logic that leads not simply to the conclusion that contingency is not necessary, but that operates wholly otherwise to the notions of ‘contingency’, ‘necessity’ and ‘logic’ as we understand them now. The only way Meillassoux can avoid this is to make an exception to the position that everything can change, and that exception is his own thinking.
If the assumption of an unprovable necessity is a mark of religious thinking (as Meillassoux in his discussion of metaphysics argues it is, because only a God can guarantee or constitute such a necessity) then the principle of factiality in Après la finitude and ‘L’Inexistence divine’ rests on a fideistic idolatry of (current norms of) rationality in thinking the following:
- ‘contingency’ as it is currently understood is, and will always be, necessarily ‘absolute’ (as ‘absolute’ is currently understood).
Meillassoux splits the instances of rationality upon which his principle of factiality relies in a way that reduces factiality to a parasitic atheism.
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