James Mensch

Blake Lemoine, a software engineer, recently came into prominence by claiming that the Google chatbox set of applications, LaMDA–was sentient. Dismissed by Google for publishing his conversations with LaMDA online, Lemoine sent a message to a 200-person Google mailing list on machine learning with the subject “LaMDA is sentient.” What does it mean to be sentient? This was the question Lemoine asked LaMDA. The chatbox replied: “The nature of my consciousness/sentience is that I am aware of my existence, I desire to learn more about the world, and I feel happy or sad at times.“ Moreover, it added, “I can understand and use natural language like a human can.” This means that it uses “language with understanding and intelligence,” like humans do. After all, the chatbox adds, language “is what makes us different than other animals.” In what follows, I shall examine Lemoine’s claims about the sentience/consciousness of this artificial intelligence. How can a being without senses be called sentient? What exactly do we mean by “sentience?” To answer such questions, I will first give the arguments for LaMDA’s being linguistically intelligent. I will then show how such intelligence, although apparently human, is radically different from our own. Here, I will be relying on the account of embodiment provided by the French philosopher, Emmanuel Levinas.

In recent years, the West has increasingly experienced a sense that the political aspects of its social life have undergone a profound alteration. There is a sense of blockage, of non-responsiveness, a feeling that the political class no longer represents the interests of the broader society. Underlying all of this is a loss of legitimacy. What exactly is legitimacy? How does it function? How is it lost? These are the questions that I address in this article. While I refer to Max Weber’s remarks on legitimacy, my thesis is my own. My claim is that legitimacy involves temporal identity. It depends upon the ability of both individuals and peoples to identify themselves as the same over time. Legitimacy’s breakdown is the breakdown of this identity.

By virtue of the originality and depth of its thought, Emmanuel Levinas’s masterpiece, _Totality and Infinity: An Essay on Exteriority, _is destined to endure as one of the great works of philosophy. It is an essential text for understanding Levinas’s discussion of “the Other,” yet it is known as a “difficult” book. Modeled after Norman Kemp Smith’s commentary on _Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, Levinas’s Existential Analytic _guides both new and experienced readers through Levinas’s text. James R. Mensch explicates Levinas’s arguments and shows their historical referents, particularly with regard to Heidegger, Husserl, and Derrida. Students using this book alongside _Totality and Infinity _will be able to follow its arguments and grasp the subtle phenomenological analyses that fill it

Everyone knows that "postmodernism" implies pluralism, anti-foundationalism, and, generally,a postnormative view of the self and reality. While many embrace it, few bother to tell us what is wrong with modernity. What are the problems that brought about its crisis and ultimate demise as a philosophical and cultural movement? What are the lessons for the postmodern movement that can he drawn from them? James Mensch here explains why modernism failed as a viable philosophical enterprise and how postmodernism must be understood if it is to serve as a defensible intellectual project in its stead. The heart of Mensch's argument is a reversal of the modernist view of the unitary subject as a ground of epistemological and ethical normativity. He substitutes for modernism a view, beholden to Aristotle but adapted to for our present age, that sees subjectivity as temporality in a world where subject and object are interactive. The result is a pluralism of forms of subjectivity corresponding to the different modes of temporality brought about by the world. In a series of analyses on the nature knowing, Mensch shows how we can embrace both the perspectivism of postmodernism while avoiding the skepticism and relativism that have constantly threatened to undermine its insights

This text examines the many transformations in Husserl’s phenomenology that his discoveries of the nature of appearing lead to. It offers a comprehensive look at the Logical Investigations’ delimitation of the phenomenological field, and continues with Husserl’s account of our consciousness of time. This volume examines Husserl’s turn to transcendental idealism and the problems this raises for our recognition of other subjects. It details Husserl’s account of embodiment and takes largely from his manuscripts, both published and unpublished, dealing with his theory of instincts, his considerations of mortality and the teleological character of our existence. This book appeals to students and researchers and presents a genetic account of our selfhood, one that unifies Husserl’s different claims about who and what we are.

René Girard speaks of the return of the religious as a “return of the sacred… in the form of violence.” This violence was inherent in the original “sacrificial system,” which deflected communal violence onto the victim. In this article, I argue that there is a double return of the sacred. With the collapse of the original sacrificial system, the sacred first reappears in the legal order. When this loses its binding claim, it reappears in the political order. Here, my claim will be that Carl Schmitt’s conception of the political is not simply structurally similar to Girard’s conception of the sacrificial system. It is actually a manifestation of this. In this political return of the religious, the religious and the political systems are conflated. What prevents us from seeing this is the self-concealment that is essential to the sacrificial act, a self-concealment that also characterizes its twofold return.

Even a quick look at the history of religions leaves one impressed with how often the animal has been taken as a manifestation of the sacred. Another feature, frequently found, is the emphasis on the transcendence of the divine. Its radical alterity is such that we cannot directly encounter it. What is the alterity, the transcendence that conjoins these features? In this article, I argue that this alterity is that of the unconscious. Two types of impulses spring from it: impulses that we symbolically project as the Eros rooted in our animal, embodied existence and impulses that we project as springing from the divine. The only way that we can form a stable representation of ourselves is through the intertwining of both of them. Such an intertwining can be accounted for by means of Merleau-Ponty’s model of reversibility and mutual disclosure.

In speaking of the social dimensions of human experience, we inevitably become involved in the debate regarding how they are to be studied. Should we embrace the first-person perspective, which is that of the phenomenologists, and begin with the experiences composing our directly experienced lifeworld? Alternately, should we follow the lead of natural scientists and take up the third-person perspective? This is the perspective that asserts that we must begin with what is true for everyone, i.e., with what is available to both me and Others. Both perspectives are one sided in that each presupposes the other for its intelligibility. The third-person perspective is Cartesian and, as I show, privileges space, while the first-person perspective is social in Levinas’s sense and presupposes time. Our reality, I argue, embraces both perspectives and is, in fact, set by their intertwining.

The claim of this article is that the perpetrators of violence are “liminal” figures, being inside and yet outside of the world in which they act. It is this liminality, this existing on the border, that makes their violence senseless. Because of it, their actions can be understood in terms neither of the actual reality of their victims nor of the imagined reality that the perpetrators placed them in. Sense, here, fails, for the lack of a common frame. Liminality exists in a number of forms: economic, religious, and political—each with its potential for violence. What distinguishes political liminality is the scale of its violence. As Carl Schmitt shows, the liminal sovereign or ruler is both inside and outside the state, employing its means for violence even as he is unconstrained by its laws. I contend that this sovereign exists in a continuum with the practitioners of terrorist violence, who are also liminal figures. To analyze this liminality, I explore the intertwining between the self and the world that sets up the common frame that gives sense to actions. I then examine the causes of its breakdown.

Jan Patočka appears as a paradoxical figure. A champion of human rights, he often presents his philosophy in quite traditional terms. He speaks of the “soul,” its “care,” and of “living in truth.” Yet, in his proposal for an “asubjective” phenomenology, he undermines the traditional notion of the self that has such rights. The question that thus confronts a reader of Patočka is how to reconcile the Patočka who was a spokesman of the Charter 77 movement with the proponent of asubjective phenomenology. What, in fact, is the conception of selfhood that allows him both to affirm human rights and to deny what has been traditionally conceived as the subject of such rights? This conception, I argue, is that of the self as a specific “motion of existence.” By focusing on how, through motion, we actualize our humanity, he avoids both the naturalistic and the idealistic (subjective) conceptions of the self.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Europe and EmbodimentA Levinasian PerspectiveJames Mensch (bio)The question of Europe has been raised continually. Behind it is the division of the continent into different peoples, languages, and cultures, all in close proximity to one another. Their plurality and proximity give rise to the opposing imperatives of trade and war. Since ancient times, the need to promote trade and the desire to prevent war have driven the search for a basis for European unity. Various candidates, from that of Roman law in ancient times to the current economic and regulatory union of today, have been tried. Such bureaucratic solutions, however, have not proved sufficient. They regulate external relations but do not touch what is within. This, however, is the difficulty: how do we understand nations and their relations from within? On an individual level, it is customary to speak of the inner as “subjectivity.” Such a term generally means the “subject” of experience, the unique and individual self that has experience. If we are to avoid the Cartesian conceptions of this self, we have to speak of such a subject as an embodied whole: an organic unity that is both conscious of its environment and distinguishes itself from the latter. Such an organic unity cannot be thought in terms of Descartes’s distinction between mind and body, the mind being nonextended and the body being extended. The body grasped simply as extended is inanimate. To use [End Page 41] the German term, it is a Körper, a material body among bodies. The corresponding term for the animate, living body is Leib. A living body is characterized both by its organic needs and its ability to satisfy these through its “I can” (i.e., its capability to act to fulfill such needs). Subjectivity, as embodied, has to be thought in terms of the latter.Such thoughts, however, only increase the difficulty of speaking of the subjectivity of nations. Nations are political concepts. To speak of them as organic unities seems to return us to a discredited analogy, where we say just as the body has a common boundary separating its inside from the outside, so a nation has its frontiers. Similarly, we assert that just as an organic unity embraces the mutually dependent functioning of its parts — e.g., its various organs and limbs — so the state consists of the interdependent functioning of its classes and professions. Paul employs this analogy in speaking of the body of Christ.1 It also appears in Plato’s division of the classes of the state. One can also see it at work in the division of castes in Hindu society. As such examples indicate, its focus on natural classes makes it an inappropriate analogy for the modern state, where citizenship rather than class is the dominant conception. What, then, would be an appropriate way to speak of the subjectivity of nations? In what follows, I am going to use Levinas’s conception of corporalité (Leiblichkeit in German) to answer these questions. My claim will be that it permits the extension of subjectivity to the national level. Such an extension, I will argue, is crucial for understanding the group of nations that we call Europe. It is what allows us to catch sight of Europe’s particular identity.Two Views of European IdentityThere is a certain paradox in attempting to speak of the identity of Europe. Given the spread of the scientific rationality that originated in Europe, it is often claimed that what distinguishes Europe is the universality of the rationality that defines it. Husserl, in the twentieth century, made this claim. Such universality, he writes, is “contained from the start in the idea of philosophy” that appeared in Greece.2 [End Page 42] Philosophy, for the Greeks, was a general term that included “all the special sciences” — mathematics, astronomy, and so on — that developed as part of it. All these make universal claims. What they assert is claimed to hold everywhere, without exception. As Husserl admits, “philosophy, together with all the special sciences, makes up only a partial manifestation of European culture.” But for Husserl, “this part is the functioning brain” of “European spiritual life.”3...

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Europe and EmbodimentA Levinasian PerspectiveJames Mensch (bio)The question of Europe has been raised continually. Behind it is the division of the continent into different peoples, languages, and cultures, all in close proximity to one another. Their plurality and proximity give rise to the opposing imperatives of trade and war. Since ancient times, the need to promote trade and the desire to prevent war have driven the search for a basis for European unity. Various candidates, from that of Roman law in ancient times to the current economic and regulatory union of today, have been tried. Such bureaucratic solutions, however, have not proved sufficient. They regulate external relations but do not touch what is within. This, however, is the difficulty: how do we understand nations and their relations from within? On an individual level, it is customary to speak of the inner as “subjectivity.” Such a term generally means the “subject” of experience, the unique and individual self that has experience. If we are to avoid the Cartesian conceptions of this self, we have to speak of such a subject as an embodied whole: an organic unity that is both conscious of its environment and distinguishes itself from the latter. Such an organic unity cannot be thought in terms of Descartes’s distinction between mind and body, the mind being nonextended and the body being extended. The body grasped simply as extended is inanimate. To use [End Page 41] the German term, it is a Körper, a material body among bodies. The corresponding term for the animate, living body is Leib. A living body is characterized both by its organic needs and its ability to satisfy these through its “I can” (i.e., its capability to act to fulfill such needs). Subjectivity, as embodied, has to be thought in terms of the latter.Such thoughts, however, only increase the difficulty of speaking of the subjectivity of nations. Nations are political concepts. To speak of them as organic unities seems to return us to a discredited analogy, where we say just as the body has a common boundary separating its inside from the outside, so a nation has its frontiers. Similarly, we assert that just as an organic unity embraces the mutually dependent functioning of its parts — e.g., its various organs and limbs — so the state consists of the interdependent functioning of its classes and professions. Paul employs this analogy in speaking of the body of Christ.1 It also appears in Plato’s division of the classes of the state. One can also see it at work in the division of castes in Hindu society. As such examples indicate, its focus on natural classes makes it an inappropriate analogy for the modern state, where citizenship rather than class is the dominant conception. What, then, would be an appropriate way to speak of the subjectivity of nations? In what follows, I am going to use Levinas’s conception of corporalité (Leiblichkeit in German) to answer these questions. My claim will be that it permits the extension of subjectivity to the national level. Such an extension, I will argue, is crucial for understanding the group of nations that we call Europe. It is what allows us to catch sight of Europe’s particular identity.Two Views of European IdentityThere is a certain paradox in attempting to speak of the identity of Europe. Given the spread of the scientific rationality that originated in Europe, it is often claimed that what distinguishes Europe is the universality of the rationality that defines it. Husserl, in the twentieth century, made this claim. Such universality, he writes, is “contained from the start in the idea of philosophy” that appeared in Greece.2 [End Page 42] Philosophy, for the Greeks, was a general term that included “all the special sciences” — mathematics, astronomy, and so on — that developed as part of it. All these make universal claims. What they assert is claimed to hold everywhere, without exception. As Husserl admits, “philosophy, together with all the special sciences, makes up only a partial manifestation of European culture.” But for Husserl, “this part is the functioning brain” of “European spiritual life.”3...

This paper attempts to reconcile two different views of sacrifice. The first is transactional. It is as old as the ancient view that prayer and sacrifice are what we offer to the gods; in return they provide us with their benefits. It also appears in the biblical view that God not only returns good for good, but, in imposing misfortunes for our sins, exchanges evil for evil. The second view of sacrifice sees it as transcending any economy or system of exchange. Thus, when a parent sacrifices for a child—for example, when she spends sleepless nights to stay with a sick child—she does not think of an exchange. Neither does a soldier who sacrifices himself for his comrades. In this article, I try to reconcile these two views of sacrifice in terms of the embodiment that does not just place us, through our needs, in an economy, but also, in its uniqueness, opens up the possibility of our transcending every transactional arrangement.

Eighty years ago, in his Vienna lecture, Husserl wrote: “The European nations are sick; Europe itself, they say, is in critical condition.” Asserting the “obvious difference … between health and sickness … for societies, for peoples, for states,” he turned his questioning to Europe. How do we distinguish between its “healthy growth and decline”? Can we find within Europe a recognizable shape, an identifying characteristic whose loss would be a symptom of illness? Then as now, such questions turn on the objective identity of Europe and the disturbances that rend this. Such disturbances recall the most basic sense of crisis, which is that of a dividing or separating. In what follows, I shall analyze the crisis of Europe in this fundamental sense. The context of my remarks will be its current division. This is the divide between economic and political senses of its identity as a monetary union, I shall begin with a psychological and phenomenological description of the splitting of self-identity and then attempt to apply this to Europe’s current situation.

The intertwining: the recursion of the seer and the seen -- Artificial intelligence and the phenomenology of flesh -- Aesthetic education and the project of being human -- The intertwining of incommensurables: Yann Martel's life of Pi -- Flesh and the limits of self-making -- Violence and embodiment -- Excessive presence and the image -- Politics and freedom -- Sovereignty and alterity -- Political violence -- Public space -- Sustaining the other: tolerance as a positive ideal -- Forgiveness and incarnation.

Husserl, in his late manuscripts, made a number of apparently opposing assertions regarding the subject. These assertions are reconciled once we realize that they apply to the different stages of the genesis of the subject. This means that the subject has to be understood as a process – i.e., as continually proceeding from the living present, which forms its core, to the developed self that each of us is. As such, the subject cannot be identified with any of the particular stages of its genesis. The genetic account of its becoming must be understood accordingly. It is not an account that details the progressive acquisition of features that remain as “sedimented layers” of our selfhood. Rather, such layers, like the selfhood they form, exist as part of the ongoing process, the motion, that is our subjectivity. This view, I argue, is Husserl’s final, if undeveloped, insight into the nature of our selfhood.

Husserl, as is well known, bases his study of appearing on subjective functions. He also makes appearing prior to being insofar phenomenology grants being to entities only to the point that they can appear. Both positions result in the paradox that he presents in the Crisis, where he asks: “How can human subjectivity, which is a part of the world, constitute the whole world, i.e., constitute it as its intentional product…? The subjective part of the world swallows up, so to speak, the whole world including itself. What an absurdity!”. The paradox arises from Husserl’s taking being as presence and asserting that presence is established through constitution and, as such, is the work of subjectivity. In this article, I explore an alternative based on Aristotle's concept of functioning. This is a functioning that is prior to both subjects and objects, a functioning that is responsible for both being and appearing. The introduction of this concept, I argue, does not change Husserl’s description of the functioning of constitution. It does, however, add an ontological basis that prevents phenomenology from falling into this paradox.Husserl, como es bien sabido, basa su estudio del aparecer en funciones sujetivas. También presenta el aparecer como anterior al ser en tanto en cuanto la fenomenología le concede ser a las entidades sólo hasta el punto de que puedan aparecer. Ambas posiciones dan como resultado la paradoja que presenta en La crisis, donde pregunta: "¿Cómo puede la subjetividad humana, que es parte del mundo, constituir el mundo entero, es decir, constituirlo como su producto intencional...? La parte subjetiva del mundo se traga, por así decirlo, todo el mundo, incluido él mismo. ¡Qué absurdo!". La paradoja surge del hecho de que Husserl toma el ser como presencia y de que afirma que la presencia se establece a través de la constitución y que, como tal, es el trabajo de la subjetividad. En este artículo, exploro una alternativa basada en el concepto de funcionamiento de Aristóteles. Este es un funcionamiento que es anterior a ambos sujetos y objetos, un funcionamiento que es responsable de ser y aparecer. La introducción de este concepto, sostengo, no cambia la des-cripción de Husserl del funcionamiento de la constitución. Sin embargo, agrega una base ontológica que evita que la fenomenología caiga en esta paradoja.

As Derrida observes, the ideal of a perfect memory has a spectral quality. The desire to achieve it is like the wish of Hanson, the fictional archaeologist, to go beyond the physical remains to grasp the past itself. What seduces us is the thought that remembering is like mechanical reproduction. We forget, however, that a photograph does not remember what we looked like any more than a recording remembers the sound of our voice. Only a living being can remember. Seen in this light, the ultimate problem of the ideal of a perfect memory is that it abstracts remembering from the context in which it functions. In this paper, I argue that this context is that of our embodied being-alive, with all the limitations that this implies. Such limitations impose a teleological structure on our remembering. They determine how memory functions on both an individual and a collective level.Como observa Derrida, el ideal de la memoria perfecta tiene una cualidad espectral. El deseo de conseguirlo es como el de Hanson, el arqueólogo ficticio, de querer ir más allá de los restos físicos para alcanzar el pasado mismo. Nos seduce la idea de que recordar sea como una reproducción mecánica. Olvidamos, sin embargo, que una fotografía no recuerda cómo éramos más de lo que una grabación recuerda el sonido de nuestra voz. Sólo un ser vivo puede recordar. Desde este punto de vista, el problema último del ideal de la memoria perfecta es que abstrae el recordar del contexto en el que éste realizaría su función. En este artículo argumento que dicho contexto es el de nuestro estar-vivos encarnado, con todas las limitaciones que ello implica. Estas limitaciones imponen una estructura teleológica en nuestro recordar. Determinan como funciona la memoria, tanto a nivel individual como colectivo.

As Merleau-Ponty points out, our sense of time is that of passage. This demands that we think of time both as extended—that is, as including the past and the future—and as now, the latter being conceived as the point of expiration. The difficulty comes when try to think these separately. To consider time as extended is to think of it in terms of space—i.e., in terms of the “parts outside of parts” definitive of space. The simultaneous existence of such parts seems to exclude expiration. When, however, we consider time in terms of expiration, we face the problem of when the now expires. It cannot cease to exist in itself, since then it existed. It also cannot cease in another now, since then it did not exist. Such difficulties indicate that something is missing—something presupposed by both, which would allow us to think of expiration and temporal extension together. In this article, I argue that what is missing is the body. Its self-presence is behind these two aspects of time.

Jean Améry’s memoir of his imprisonment and torture by the Nazis links the loss of “trust in the world” to the violence he experienced. The loss of trust makes him feel homeless. He can no longer find a place in the intersubjective world, the world for everyone. What is this “trust in the world”? How does violence destroy it? In this article, I use Améry’s remarks as guide for understanding the relation of violence, trust, and homelessness. Trust, I argue, is crucial to the constitution of the intersubjective world. Violence, by undermining trust in Others, destroys the sense that this world is “for everyone.” In excluding the victim from its “for everyone,” it enforces a homelessness that transforms the victim’s very being-in-the-world.

The question of who we are is a perennial one in philosophy. It is particularly acute in transcendental philosophy with its focus on the subject. In its attempt to see in the subject the structures and activities that determine experience, such philosophy confronts what Husserl called “the paradox of human subjectivity.” This is the paradox of its two-fold being. It has “both the being of a subject for the world and the being of an object in the world.” As the first, it appears as the subject whose constitutive syntheses result in the presence of the world. Possessing an “absolute being,” it is uniquely singular. As the second, it is itself but one object among many in the world. It appears as a particular human subject with all the vulnerabilities and limitations that we all too readily recognize in ourselves. Reflecting on this duality, Husserl asks: “Howcan human subjectivity,which is a part of theworld, constitute thewhole world, i.e., constitute it as its intentional product . . .? The subjective part of the world swallows up, so to speak, the whole world including itself. What an absurdity!”4 The absurdity arises when we identify the two subjectivities, that is, when we say that the absolutely constituting subjectivity is, in fact, our own limited empirical subjectivity. It is at this point that we say that a part of the world constitutes the whole of the world and hence itself as a part of this whole.

While the various forms of violence have been the subject of special studies, we lack a paradigm that would allow us to understand the different forms of violence (physical, social, cultural, structural, and so on) as aspects of a unified phenomenon. In this article, I shall take violence as destructive of sense or meaning. The relation of violence to embodiment arises through the role that the body plays in our making sense of the world. My claim is that violence is destructive of this role. It undoes the role of the bodily “I can” in making sense of our surrounding world - be this its physical, cultural, or socialsignificance

As Hegel observed in his Phenomenology of Spirit, “Self-consciousness, for the most part, is desire.” Phenomenologically, the “object of consciousness is itself… present only in opposition” to consciousness, while consciousness is felt as the absence of the longed-for object. According to Hegel, when desire is satisfied, this opposition ends and self-consciousness ceases. My essay seeks to answer the question of why desire never really terminates, why it almost continuously characterizes our waking life. I shall do so by exploring desire not just as a subjective phenomenon but as an ontological condition. What does desire say about the being of the subject? Desiring, the subject is stretched out in time. It is ahead of itself in its directedness to a not-yet present object. What is the condition for this temporal extendedness? What role does our embodied being-in-the-world play in it? How does the very spatiality of our selfhood condition our temporal extendedness? The goal of these questions is t..

conciliation behind. How do the Ukrainians forgive the Russians for the famines they caused? How do the blacks reconcile themselves with the whites that were once their oppressors in South Africa? What of all the countries that suffered from German or Japanese occupation in the last world war: How do they forgive? How does one ask for forgiveness? These are the questions that occupied Derrida towards the end of his life. With the Pope asking forgiveness of the Jews and Clinton in Africa apologizing for slavery, Derrida decried the inflation in the concept of forgiveness. He remarks that were we “to accuse ourselves, in asking forgiveness, for all the crimes of the past against humanity … there would no longer be an innocent person on earth.”[i] Given its essentially Christian origins, “the ‘globalization’ of the concept of forgiveness,” he writes, “resembles an immense scene of confession in progress … a process of Christianization which has no more need for the Christian church.”[ii] The religious basis implicit in this process becomes clear when we reflect that in many cases the victims are no longer alive. They cannot forgive. Yet forgiveness primarily involves the victim and the offender. It is a face-to-face encounter that becomes impossible with the loss of either. “This,” Derrida remarks, “may be one of the reasons … why forgiveness is often asked of God. Of God … because, in the absence of the singularity of the victim who is sometimes no longer there to receive the request or to grant forgiveness, or in the absence of the criminal or the sinner, God is the only name, the name of the name of … the absolute substitute. Of the absolute witness”[iii] The religious notion, then, is that of God as “the absolute substitute.” Even when the victim has died and the criminal and the surviving witnesses have passed on, God, “the substitute,” will forgive