In the year 415 BC, there took place one of the most infamous episodes in the history of ancient Athenian religious politics. Residents of Athens awoke one morning in the summer to discover that almost every statue of Hermes to be found across the city had been systematically vandalized in the space of a single night. Now, while historians still debate over the right way to read this riot of iconoclasm, we might read the event in the following terms: as a brutal, premeditated message sent to the God of Messages. We might say – only half-jokingly – that these ‘mutilators of Hermes’ (
Hermokopidai) were hermeneutics’ first critics.
Much more recently, Hermes has taken a further hammering from people inside the academy (which was Plato’s place, originally). Critics such as Viveiros de Castro (channelling Deleuze) or Bruno Latour (trouble-making mediator of Michel Serres) have attacked the easy efficacy of hermeneutics. And already in France, post-modern, post-68 thinkers (Deleuze and Guattari, Baudrillard, Lyotard) had enthusiastically backed the Nietzschean programme of practising philosophy with a hammer, going out on nocturnal raids against the somnolent certainties of interpretation. Like graffiti writers who, by night, blaze trains in calculated aerosol assaults, Deleuze and Guattari went about spray-painting their own slogan: ‘Experiment, don’t signify and interpret!’ An anti-hermeneutic ethic part-inspired by ethnography; i.e., the intensive experiments in Yaqui sorcery undergone and documented by Casteneda (a trickster if ever there was one).
These attacks on hermeneutics were not directed against interpretation in general, but against a particular vision of it, a semiotics of a certain kind, complete with its own code. The code (applied in psychoanalysis and ethnography alike) issues the following command: treat everything as a code to be broken. Everything said is a cipher, a symptom of something else. One might well speak of data mining here: the goal is to go beyond the surface, dig down till you hit that hidden seam of meaning, extract it, refine the information and present it. Empirical materials are then so many surfaces to be excavated, manifest meanings to be accessed, in search of solutions found only at depth. But the conceit of the method is, of course, that the patient, the native, knows nothing of depths; she is merely (
really) a cipher. Hence the all-seeing eye of exegesis, X-ray exegetic vision:
I know you better than you know yourself. Witness the method at work:
A Berber: The
agurram [a holy man] is selected by God.
Gellner: That’s what you say – the
agurram is selected by the people, because (I know) there is not God.
A Dorze: Help me kill this dragon which has a golden heart.
Sperber: You are mistaken. There is no such dragon. What you are asserting is just a kind of pseudo-knowledge.
(Talal Asad has criticized Gellner on the first point; John Morton and Julia Tanney have attacked Sperber on the second.)
Here’s a savage comparison – but then (to paraphrase Wittgenstein on Frazer) are we not much more savage than so-called savages? During the Vietnam War, an American army major said, after a battle, ‘We had to destroy the town in order to save it’. Yes, yes,
of course – crazy exaggeration. Hermeneutics is radically different in terms of its methods and effects, but the logic is the same for all that: destruction-salvation, the logic of cognitive colonialism. The strategy: evacuate the content of native assertions in order to make them make sense (Argyrou calls this the ‘salvation intent’). But this is an entirely asymmetric operation, bringing to bear disproportionate forces in order to achieve its objectives: for the price of explanation is the pacification of native discourse, flattened beneath the tank-tracks of our own common sense. As Serres implies of interpretative method, it’s pretty spooky – capable of seeing into everything (apart from itself): ‘It spies, shadows, sounds hearts and minds.’ (Does that last bit sound familiar?)
A final example, an early instance of the hermeneutic tic, the interpretative itch: scratch any social phenomenon to reveal what it really is. Shirokogoroff, that brilliant ethnographer of Tungus shamanism, said that ‘spirits are hypotheses’, models that make sense of illness and other afflictions. But this is a hypothesis too, and it works just as well the other way round. Hypotheses, that is, are
our spirits. As anthropologists, we are (are we not?) bewitched by witchcraft, entranced by trance (‘I’d rather be possessed than study possessed people’ – Michel Leiris); animism animates our discussions. Perhaps then, Turner was right (Edith, this time, not Victor): spirits
are spirits. And if so, rather than explain, excavate the passive terrain of native discourse, we should let ourselves be affected, allow (to paraphrase Lyotard) that other discourse to set our own in motion.
This mention of motion brings us back to Hermes, the winged divinity. Now, the god, of course, gives his name to the method, but the method itself, in its modern form, was devoted to a very different god, deployed in attempts to make sense of Scripture. Increasingly, however, hermeneutic method spread to the understanding of texts in general, so that the potential of the method was realized, said Dilthey, once exegesis was liberated from religious dogma. But if hermeneutics became demythologized, it was itself, as part of secular, scientific method, co-opted as a device for demythologization. And yet, seemingly so secular and objective, it’s been dogged by dogma to this day, for it still draws its power from secret, underground sources. Hermeneutics remains a crypto-Christian discourse.
Hence, my irreverent suggestion: to agitate for a more open, pagan programme; to show reverence to Hermes by giving him back the discipline that bears his name. Hermes, mediator between heaven and earth, who presides over all communicative moves, has been grounded for some time. He is a god hobbled, restricted by the original division (consecrated by Dilthey) between the human and the natural sciences, between
Geist and
Natur. But the functions of Hermes were always more expansive than that. A god of messages, yes, but he was also the deviser of weights and measures, author of alchemy and arithmetic. Hermes, aka Thoth, aka Mercury, was originally ‘thoroughly cosmopolitan’ (Fowden) and more than capable of bridging the divisions we take for granted.
So let’s turn the whole hermeneutic circle around, re-inscribe the circle (perhaps make it a magic one this time). For we no longer need a model of translation that reduces things to what we know already. (Serres again: ‘The messenger always brings strange news; if not, he’s nothing but a parrot.’) As currently configured, the model is oh so circular, conformist and confirmatory of our own common sense. Make no mistake, as currently conceived, the hermeneutic turn is a turn off, and the hermeneutic circle is for squares.
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