Rethinking God as Gift

Marion, Derrida, and the Limits of Phenomenology

Robyn Horner

• Publisher: Fordham University Press
• Year: 2009
• ISBN:
  9780823221233
• Topic: Philosophy
• Subtopic: Phenomenology in Philosophy

Rethinking God as Gift is situated at the intersection of philosophy, critical theory and theology. The first sustained study of the work of Jean-Luc Marion in English, it offers a unique perspective on contemporary questions and their theological relevance. Taking its point of departure from the problem of the gift as articulated by Jacques Derrida, who argues that the conditions of possibility of the gift are also its conditions of impossibility, Horner pursues a series of questions concerning the nature of thought, the viability of phenomenology, and, most urgently, the possibility of grace. For Marion, phenomenology, as the thought of the given, offers a path for philosophy to proceed without being implicated in metaphysics. His retrieval of several important insights of Edmund Husserl, along with his reading of Martin Heidegger and Emmanuel Lévinas, enables him to work out a phenomenology where even "impossible" phenomena such as revelation and the gift might be examined. In this important confrontation between Marion and Derrida issues vital to the negotiation of postmodern concerns in philosophy and theology emerge with vigour. The careful elucidation of those issues in an interdisciplinary context, and the snapshot it provides of the state of contemporary debate, make Rethinking God as Gift an important contribution to theological and philosophical discussion.

1
The Problem of the Gift

THE QUESTION OF THEGIFT

A Gift IS ANY OBJECT given by one person to another, gratuitously (in the OED we read that it is the “voluntary transference of property without consideration,” where “consideration” is taken to mean “reward” or “compensation”). This gratuitousness is emphasized as an essential part of the gift: a gift has to be given in a certain spirit if it is to be a Gift at all, and that spirit is sheer generosity. The purest of Gifts is the one that is given without motive, without reason, without any foundation other than the desire to give. A Gift is, in the best sense, something that emerges from a preparedness to expect nothing in return, to be dispossessed unconditionally. The attitude of the giver of the true Gift must be to expect nothing in return. And the recipient, in like spirit, must accept in complete surprise and genuine appreciation. For a Gift cannot be something earned, something automatically due, any more than it can be something passed on merely out of obligation. When I receive a Gift that is not given in a spirit of generosity, I am instantly suspicious. Once there are “strings attached,” what is given is no longer a Gift, but a sign of something else. Perhaps it is a bribe. Perhaps it is like a contract, binding me in debt once accepted. Perhaps it befalls me as a blow, something intended to embarrass me, a sign of an unequal relationship between myself and the giver. And I may sometimes give a Gift simply because it is expected or necessary. There may be a situation where a Gift is appropriate but where my intention is begrudging rather than generous. In each of these cases, the Gift becomes something burdensome, and the title “Gift” is used only tentatively. There is no other word, but we recognize a certain lack that undermines the very Gift itself.

Of what, then, does the Gift consist? It would seem that the Gift is the object that passes from one to another. Or does the true Gift consist in the givenness? Does the Gift-object serve only as a conduit for a certain excess: an excess of generous intention on the part of the one who gives, and a recognition and acceptance of that excess on the part of the one who receives? This focus on the excessiveness of the intention forms part of the work of Russell Belk, who tries to define the characteristics of the “perfect Gift.”¹ Belk interprets the expression of the perfect Gift as agapic love, where the Gift “is not selected and given to communicate a message… but rather to express and celebrate our love for the other. It is spontaneous, affective and celebratory rather than premeditated, cognitive, and calculated to achieve certain ends.”² Such a Gift, he suggests, would have the following properties: the giver makes an extraordinary sacrifice; the giver wishes solely to please the recipient; the Gift is a luxury; the Gift is something uniquely appropriate to the recipient; the recipient is surprised by the Gift; and the recipient desires the Gift and is delighted by it.³ Belk’s list does not reduce the Gift solely to the intentions with which it is given and received, but the determinative value of the Gift clearly resides in the intentional realm. Nevertheless, there can be no Gift-intention without a Gift-object, whether that object itself be real or ideal. Yet is there such a thing as an ideal Gift-object? It is common to speak of Gifts such as friendship, although there may be a degree of imprecision in their definition. If a Gift-object were ideal, would it be possible to separate this object from its givenness? Imagining such Gifts as forgiveness, friendship, love, or inclusion, it is interesting to note that the same measure of freedom and generosity that would characterize what has been called “the excess” also necessarily characterizes each of these particular Gifts. So at least in some cases, there may be ideal Gift-objects that also embody the quality of givenness, although they are not inevitably identical with it.

Perhaps there is still something else to learn regarding the definition of the Gift from the way in which it can also be known as a present. The use of the word “present” to mean a Gift apparently originates in the Old French locution mettre une chose en presence à quelqu’un, to put a thing into the presence of someone (OED). We also speak of presenting someone with something, making a presentation, or making a present of something. So a Gift seems to have something to do with presence in the present. A Gift is made present, it is brought before its intended recipient, it enters into the presence of the one who is to receive. Does this mean that there can be no giving in secret? If I am present to a present do I have to be completely aware of it, or aware of its value as a Gift? On the basis of the definition suggested earlier (that a Gift is something given to someone, gratuitously), possibly not. A Gift may be present, but it need not necessarily be present as a Gift. This introduces a distinction between receiving and accepting. To receive is to take something into one’s possession, which does not focus the attention so much on its origins. To accept, on the other hand, means to “consent to receive” (OED), to agree to take something, which implies a greater scrutiny of its importance or its impact. But can someone give without knowing that he or she gives? At first glance this would not appear to fulfill the conditions of Gift-hood, because it would alter the necessary factor of gratuity. One cannot give freely without some intention of the will. At the same time, a puzzling passage in the Christian scriptures suggests that in giving alms, the left hand should not know what the right is doing.⁴ And if it is possible for a Gift to be received without being identified as such by the recipient, why should it be impossible for a Gift to be given without a similar identification? If I accept as a Gift what I understand to be freely given, it effectively operates for me as a Gift. In other words, to the extent that I perceive a Gift to be Gift, on one side or the other, it functions as a Gift, and this may well be sufficient to define it as a Gift. On the other hand, the risk of self-deception seems large.

This leads us to the consideration of another, related word that emerges in this context, the given. If something is a given, then it is assumed, it is already there, or it is simply what presents itself. In this last sense, the given is that to which the philosophical discipline of phenomenology is oriented. The origin of a given may well be unknown. So the given may also be a Gift, or it might not be. At times it will be impossible to say, or the affirmation that the given is a Gift will rest on criteria other than demonstrable proofs.

At the most fundamental level, then, giving takes place where a Gift-object is transferred freely from one person to another. But additional specifications have emerged that inevitably amplify this definition. It is clear that for a pure Gift to occur, there should be no motive of return on the part of the donor and no anticipation of reward on the part of the recipient. Further, according to Belk’s analysis, a Gift should involve some sacrifice by the donor, and it should have luxurious and particularly personal qualities that place it out of the realm of the ordinary for the recipient. It has also been noted that it is givenness on the one hand and/or acceptance on the oilier that modify a real or an ideal object into a Gift-object. Further, a Gift is a present, that is, something brought into the presence of its recipient. Finally, a Gift is a given, although a given may bear some or even no relation to a Gift. With regard to the phenomenon or concept we call Gift, these appear to be its conditions of possibility. Summing up, it seems to me that these conditions are reducible to two. One is that the Gift is free. That is expressed in the demand for no motive of return, the requirement of sacrifice, and the need for placing the Gift beyond the necessities of the everyday. The other condition is that the Gift is present. This relates to the recognizability of the Gift as a Gift and draws in the corollaries of giving and receiving (or accepting). Freedom and presence are the conditions of the Gift as we know it.

THE IMPOSSIBILITY OF THE GIFT

In the preceding analysis of the Gift, I described those conditions that seem to determine what can be known as a Gift. But has a Gift ever met these conditions? There is a kind of purity about giving reflected in the desire that such conditions be met, but this is almost inevitably lost in the fact. The name of Gift seems to preserve the hope of its integrity, but it leaves unspoken the constant compromise of that integrity. The Gift is never as we would like it to be. For is any Gift given in complete freedom, where nothing returns to the giver, even gratitude on the part of the recipient? When I acknowledge the birthday of a friend, do I really relinquish the expectation that I will be similarly acknowledged in due course? Do I ever give when there is no reason to give, or if I give spontaneously and not in relation to any occasion or act, do I not enjoy the excitement and surprise of the one to whom I give? And if I give anonymously, do I not still receive my reward in the subtle self-congratulation that frequently attaches itself to acts of altruism? In short, does not the whole enterprise of giving essentially depend on conditions to which it cannot adhere? The pure Gift must not return to the one who gives, but as soon as we recognize a Gift, the Gift gives back, contradicts itself, stubbornly resists being truly given. Our Gifts are tainted with the stain of self-interest. Why is this the case? Why is it so difficult to give without getting, to avoid what in effect becomes a series of exchanges? Why does my Gift always end up having a purpose, or being a response to someone or something? Why does your Gift to me never say everything? Why are Gifts always set in the context of other Gifts, of lesser or greater Gifts, of Gifts that measure each new Gift within an inch of its life? Perhaps it is because our Gifts always take place according to a particular horizon, and therefore within a restricted economy, whose measure cannot be escaped.⁵

In nuce, there are two dimensions of Gift-giving that make it problematic. The giving of a Gift depends on freedom: the freedom of the giver to give and the freedom of the recipient to receive. Any compulsion on either side fundamentally alters the Gift-character of what is given. The first part of the problem therefore resides in the relation between freedom and the economy. If the Gift forms part of an economy, it is implicated in a process of exchange, and the Gift is no longer Gift but obligation, payback, return, tradition, reason, sweetener, peace offering, or a thousand other things. The giving of a Gift also depends in varying degrees on its presence, that is, on our ability to identify it as something that is a present, that is transferred between one person and another. It depends, in other words, on our knowing that it is a Gift, our perceiving its dimensions or borders. The second part of the problem therefore resides in the relation between presence and the economy. If the Gift is present—that is, if it can be identified as such—then the Gift is no longer Gift but commodity, value, measure, or status symbol. The basic definition of the Gift (someone freely gives something to someone) never seems to accord with its practical reality. A Gift is ideally something for which we do not try to lake account, and yet our Gifts seem to suffer the malaise of being measured. This difficulty relates especially to two factors that are central to the whole idea of the Gift, the features of freedom and presence. The significance of these features, and the way in which they become problematic, is brought out in the analysis of giving offered by Jacques Derrida in Given Time: 1, Counterfeit Money, which I shall now follow in some detail,⁶

In his discussion of the Gift, Derrida locates one of many points of resistance to economic thought, that is, to thought that tries to take account of everything. That there can be such points of resistance does not mean it is possible for us through them to escape an economy altogether, for we always and already find ourselves within at least one, but instead indicates that it is impossible to reduce everything to economic terms.⁷ There are some ideas, for example, that exceed the capacity of economic thinking, and hence that exceed the human capacity to achieve their reality. Such an idea would be that of the Gift. Economically speaking, the Gift simply does not work. It is resistant to calculation, unable to be fully thought, impossible, a black hole. In Derrida’s words, the Gift is structured as an aporia.⁸

An aporia is, in the Aristotelian sense, a problem. Derrida suggests it is “the difficult or the impracticable, here the impossible, passage, the refused, denied, or prohibited passage, indeed the nonpassage, which can in fact be something else, the event of a coming or of a future advent, which no longer has the form of the movement that consists in passing, traversing, or transiting.⁹ In other words, an aporia is a problem that resists being solved because it defies any usual frame of reference. An aporia is a problem that exceeds our capacity even to hold onto it as a problem.¹⁰ It is resolved, not by reasoning or by proof, but only by decision.¹¹

Derrida is not the first to write on the question of the Gift, but it is he who powerfully highlights the contradictory tension in its very definition, who points out its aporetic qualities. “These conditions of possibility of the Gift (that some ‘one’ gives some ‘thing’ to some ‘one other’) designate simultaneously the conditions of impossibility of the Gift. And already we could translate this into other terms: these conditions of possibility define or produce the annulment, the annihilation, the destruction of the Gift.”¹² In Derrida’s analysis, the Gift cancels itself by being elemental in an economy, a cycle of return. The Gift cancels itself because as a present, it is never completely free. Derrida analyzes these conditions rigorously with reference to each element of the Gift formula: donor, recipient and Gift-object.

On the part of the donor, any recognition of the Gift as Gift anticipates some kind of return. For according to Derrida, whenever I intentionally give, I invariably receive. I may receive another tangible Gift, or I may simply receive gratitude. Even if the worst happened, and my giving were greeted with displeasure or rejection, there would still be some return, if nothing more than the reinforcement of my own identity as a subject.¹³ From the point of view of the recipient, any awareness of the intentional meaning of a Gift places that person, too, in the cycle of exchange. When I receive something I perceive to be a Gift, I have already responded with recognition. Even if my response to the giver is one of indifference, it would be in my recognizing the Gift as Gift, in recognizing that I am indebted, that I would have unwittingly entered the Gift economy.¹⁴ The goodness of the Gift is transformed into a burden as soon as I recognize it and therefore contract it as a debt.¹⁵ Considering the Gift-object itself, we are faced with further difficulties. The Gift-object may be a real thing or it may be simply a value, a symbol, or an intention.¹⁶ Again, the problem is one of recognition, which always has a reference to perceiving subjects in the present. So the problem is not whether or not the Gift is phenomenal, but the fact that as soon as it appears as a Gift, its Gift-aspect disappears. As Derrida notes, “its very appeara...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction
• 1 The Problem of the Gift
• 2 Husserl and Heidegger
• 3 Levinas
• 4 Refiguring Givenness
• 5 Being Given
• 6 The Limits of Phenomenology
• 7 Rethinking the Gift I
• 8 Rethinking the Gift II
• Epilogue: Naming the Gift, Giving a Name, Rethinking God As Gift
• Select Bibliography
• Index of Names
• Index of Subjects
• Footnotes