Category: Laura Schranz

  • In Conversation with Professor Marjolein Oele

    Marjolein Oele is Professor of Philosophy of the Humanities. The new Chair position she occupies is aimed at bridge building between the Faculty of PTR (Philosophy, Theology and Religious Studies) and the Faculty of Arts. Oele’s research intertwines: Ancient Philosophy, Continental Philosophy, and Environmental Philosophy. She is the author of “E-Co-Affectivity: Exploring Pathos at Life’s Material Interfaces” (SUNY, 2020) and co-editor of “Ontologies of Nature: Continental Perspectives and Environmental Reorientations” (Springer, 2017). Her most recent book project thematizes a sense of loss in the relationship to our world, and is entitled “Elemental Loss: Shifting Constellations of Water, Fire, Air and Earth.” Her articles have been published in a wide range of journals, including Ancient Philosophy, Configurations, Environmental Philosophy, Epochê, Radical Philosophy Review, and Research in Phenomenology. She is also teaching the course “Critique of Green Ideology” in the PPS “Ecology and Sustainability” module. I, Laura Schranz, had the pleasure to interview her for Splijtstof .


    Laura: Thank you, Prof. Oele! You have a very interesting and niche field of research, at least I for my part have not heard of this way of doing philosophy before meeting you. Could you maybe give me an introduction to it?

    Prof. Oele: I have a few research fields that I’m interested in, the broader one being this question of affect and affectivity, how we’re being moved by other people, by the world as such, by other living beings, by our own bodies, our own thoughts, our own emotions. This question of how we come to become ourselves, or how the world comes to be itself in relationship to all those things. I’ve tried to unravel this bigger question with regard to a number of other big themes. One of them is climate change and the ecological crisis, because I think it is the predominant ethical question of our time. So, I have found it very important as a philosopher to use some of the philosophical concepts that I’ve been trained in, for instance through Aristotle or through Heidegger, and make them applicable towards this question. I also philosophize about pregnancy and embodiment as a part of that constellation, insofar as how we come to be.

    Laura: In the course you teach to me and other fellow PPS students, you indeed mentioned that you are very interested in incorporating pregnancy into your philosophy. In terms of how we come to be, that seems a very literal form of becoming then, no?

    Prof. Oele: Indeed, I have written about the question of embodiment in pregnancy. I’ve explored that by using, for instance, Plato’s Republic; thinking through how we become to be who we are. A big part of my research on pregnancy has been devoted to the placenta, an organ of the in-between which I think of as installing a pregnant city. What happens if we think about pregnancy in terms of the messy material of being, the emergence of community out of a space of the in-between rather than just being informed by individual beings? Beyond the obvious exchange of nutrients and other factors taking place in and through the placenta, when I looked at the placenta, there’s current research investigating the exchange of cells that are from siblings or even (miscarried) previous children. Maternal cells are also being transferred across the placenta. This “microchimerism” as it is called offers access to a community that is much bigger than that contemporaneous community of cells that’s there in the placenta.

    The mutual exchange happening is also cross intersected with lots of environmental factors that are seeping through, for instance toxins. Further, the traces of what happens in that community are being transported into the future. For instance, foetal cells will remain even if the pregnancy is interrupted. Microchimerism carries forward into the future in many unpredictable ways, insofar as bodies will retain those communities within them.

    Laura: You mentioned that you are interested in this messy material of being. The image of the pregnant city in the placenta very well fits that, do you like to think about the environment in such a way?

    Prof. Oele: I do! I also work with soil, which is also very messy. Oftentimes, we romanticise it and talk about Earth and its power, but I like to dig into the dirty, messy stuff of life. There is this new group of philosophers called the “new materialists” that draw attention to this notion of matter. I have found real inspiration in that, especially in combination with my background in medical school.  There is this tendency in modern culture to sterilise life, to use sterile concepts, and I think it’s a uniquely challenging thought to dig into the messiness of life, for instance into soil and into organs such as the placenta. So yes, I like to think about these messy interfaces, as I call them, or “e-co-affective interfaces”, as my book has it. And to make them philosophically appealing and interesting and complex.

    Laura: That is such an intriguing way of looking at it! You have also mentioned this term of the “pregnant city”. And you write about loss, too, both in the contexts of pregnancy and environmental loss. How does this go together with the community you are describing?

    Prof. Oele: Oftentimes we think about pregnancy as a one-way street towards birth, which is very much a misconception. 70% of conceptions, so it’s estimated, do not continue. This is a discourse that’s often forgotten, due to the teleology that exists around pregnancy. To philosophically thematize pregnancy and loss has recently been on the upswing, with a few publications coming out on miscarriage and stillbirth from a philosophical perspective. I find it important to write about this, as it is key to undo the silencing around these topics and use philosophy as a way to transform discourses, and, possibly, aid those suffering from such losses.

    Another topic that I feel very dear about is to think about questions of loss that don’t just have to do with the loss of a particular being, but with the loss of a certain kind of constellation. There is an intersection here. Both with environmental loss and with pregnancy loss (which I have named the loss of the pregnant city), you lose a certain kind of constellation, a world, and a certain kind of future. I am intrigued by what it means to be confronted with a world that shrinks or transforms, that is never ever going to be the same as what we had expected or hoped for earlier on. Moreover, what does it mean to mourn when you don’t exactly know what it is that you are mourning, since there is no one particular “thing” that you lose?

    These are losses that speak to a transformed world, and, at least in my experience, pregnancy loss involves such a transformation of world. I see a connection there to a world of climate change. We may mourn the loss of certain species, but we may be more affected by this larger question of a transformed world where we find less and less hope for places of refuge, of trust, of rebirth, where the world can reconstitute itself.

    Laura: That really resonates with me, these different facets of loss that climate change imposes on us. It reminds me of texts I have read on the way environmental grief is experienced differently, depending on your cultural relationship to nature and the world. What you say speaks of a deep relationality between us, each other and the world in all its forms.

    Prof. Oele: Right, I am after all a philosopher of affect. As Butler would say it, we are always originally composed of relationality, yes. And so, when we experience loss, we actually lose  ourselves, since we’re always relational. This notion of grief gets us into this sense of relationality that underlies us very deeply in a fundamental way, and can thereby make us a bit more aware of how we are connected to each other. If we would see ourselves as much more relational, also in terms of climate change, experiences of loss that we currently may have could possibly afford us a way forward. We become much more aware of the fact that the world as we had imagined it to be isn’t just our own mirror, but that we have always been part of this environmental ecological system. Much of the meaning of who we experience ourselves to be is dependent upon that larger network.

    I lived in the United States, California specifically, for a long time. We know how many of the indigenous populations have been uprooted or unsettled, long before climate change, due to the colonial settlers. These indigenous populations have already experienced loss for a long time. If we are now confronted by climate change and mention this loss as sudden, those indigenous populations would say “what event are you talking about now?” When I talked earlier about grief, how it may connect us and make us more sensitive towards the world, in some sense maybe our own climate grief now can also make us more sensitive towards the grief that others around the globe have felt regarding lifestyles and colonialism that we have imposed upon them. Therefore, it may not just make us more empathetic or sympathetic, but make us form alliances.

    And of course, I don’t want to say that suffering is a precondition for having a different kind of relationship to the world. But I do think that given the current crisis within which we are, suffering could instil transformation. Not just one-on-one, but also through creating different kinds of affective-sensitive dispositions and transforming political economic policies. In this regard, affective dispositional changes can transform societies.

    Laura: I think those are some beautiful words to end with. Thank you very much for the conversation!

  • What Gary Lachman Taught Me About Surrendering To Myself

    Gary Lachman, Rejected Knowledge: A Look At Our Other Ways of Knowing, 2015


    A few weeks ago, I had the great pleasure to attend a reading group in Arnhem with a dear friend, hosted by the interdisciplinary philosophy platform “future based”. The evening was filled with the laughter of strangers, sitting muddled up on the floor of an industrial looking alleyway house, swirling their minds around modernity and the (apparent) separation between mind and body. The event was centred around medieval witch hunts and the knowledge that was denounced and lost, which inspired many discussions about the underlying assumptions and motives that led to the killing of wise (mostly) women, and the idea that the only valid way to scientific discovery passes through the calculating, rational mind of a Western man.

    Descartes´ separation between mind and body, so we quickly agreed, finds its most dominant expression in the way emotions are seen as separate from and subjected to the control of the mind. This theme is present from Aristotle to modern day self-proclaimed alpha males who stress that true power lies in conquering your own emotions, their synonym for weakness.

    As the group consisted of mostly women, the gendered dimension of this separation was discussed with great passion and intimacy, moving from a “speaking about” to a “speaking from within”. In Western modern knowledge production and modes of thinking, but also in many spiritualities or religions such as Hinduism, women, emotions, and nature are muddled up into one entity that encompasses wilderness, impulsiveness, untamedness, and must be risen above in order to reach true enlightenment. Nature and humans are thus gendered into opposites, and organized along the lines of a control-obsessed rejection of emotions as valid knowledge.

    I was lucky enough to read and discuss texts by various incredible authors that night, but there was one that stood out especially and stuck with me for many days after. Our conversation became deeply personal to me when we discussed an excerpt of the book “…” by Gary Lachman, bass-guitarist of the band Blondie. Lachman writes in such a poetic way that his mere composition of words is already beautiful to me.

    Lachman argues that we have entered a new mode of relating to the world, which is defined by us placing ourselves outside of it. Rather than recognizing our interconnectedness to the world we exist in, we have created a distance that places us into a position of observation and separateness. The world, in this case, is everything natural around us, that we dissect, observe, explain, disconnect, and hide away from through what Lachman calls “the scientific mode” or “the new tradition”.

    This objectification of nature treats it as a soulless machine, it reduces it to mechanical processes.

    Probably the most fundamental way in which these two kinds of knowing (“know how” and “know why”) differ is that in the new scientific mode, we stand apart from the world. We keep it at a distance, at arm´s length. It becomes an object of observation; we become spectators separated from what we are observing. With this separation the world is objectified, made into an object. What this means is that it loses, or is seen as not to have, an inside. It is a machine, soulless, inanimate, dead. We object to this when it happens to us, when we feel that someone is not taking into account our inner world, our self, and is seeing us as an object, as something without freedom, will, completely determined. But it is through this mode that we can get to grips with the world and arrange it according to our needs. Whether we are scientists or not, this is the way in which we experience the world now, at least most of the time. There is the world: solid, mute, oblivious, and firmly “out there”. And “inside here” is a mind, a puddle of consciousness in an otherwise unconscious universe.

    Lachman argues here that we treat nature in such a way that would feel deeply wrong and hurtful if directed towards ourselves in the same cold, objectifying manner. As already mentioned, nature and emotions, our very own nature inside, have historically been and still are equated with one another.

    What Lachman misses here is that this objectification of nature does not only stem from the need to justify our domination over it, but also comes from a place of fear. We dissect nature into its parts and atoms and mechanisms and chemical compounds and whatnot, we understand every tiny process behind majestic phenomena that could only be grasped through myths back in the day. Dissecting nature allows us to subject it to a conception of primitiveness. That which we understand becomes less threatening, less unpredictable, less wild. It makes nature nothing but a web of calculated mechanical gears and us less small against its forcefulness.

    The flipside of this is that we rob ourselves of a sense of awe and the chance to surrender to being but a fraction in an infinite mosaic beyond comprehension. Wonderment and giving up control share a deeply intimate relationship, something that is not compatible with a mode of being that requires constant control and alertness.

    The new scientific mode of standing outside is an incomplete comprehension of the world, it is fundamentally lacking something, and I believe that people feel this. Currently I am partaking in a project at Valkhof museum, where I am helping to conceptualize and curate an exhibition about black holes. This has given me the chance to speak to various astrophysicists and astronomers. The surprising number of these scientists having turned to art confirmed my thought that this purely scientific, cold mode of observing the world is fundamentally lacking something. Engaging with space in this way allows for a sense of wonder to return that cannot be expressed by numbers, statistics, and scientific reports, and it places the human back into a relation with their surroundings.

    Lachman claims that we would fiercely reject such a denial of our inner world. I have experienced this differently, in fact, I see the need to control and tame nature even more prominently in the way we engage with (or shy away from) its expression within us.

    Throughout the last year I have greatly dealt with this myself, and Lachman´s text made me wonder how the intellectualization of emotions as an escape from their forcefulness is in any way different than hiding from the same force of our surroundings through Lachman´s new scientific mode.

    If we cannot separate ourselves from nature, it also means that we cannot separate the way we engage with ourselves inside from the way we engage with the outside. Even upholding such categories becomes obsolete. Surely, I can explain why I have difficult feelings in a rationally appealing manner, I can choose from an endless number of names to describe them, read self-help books and relate every negative pattern back to some childhood event, but where in all of this do I just feel? Where exactly do we hold still and experience in our new scientific mode?

    Human beings are a kind of microcosm, a little universe, and we contain within ourselves vast inner spaces, that mirror the vast outer spaces in which our physical world exists. In the rejected tradition, the whole universe exists within each one of us, and it is our task to bring these dormant cosmic forces and realities to life. If in the new scientific tradition we have begun to explore outer space, in the rejected tradition we turn our attention inward and explore inner space.

    Exploring inner space in this rejected tradition cannot be successful if done in the same manner that lies at the basis of its initial rejection. Instead of exploring to understand with our mind, we must be willing to give up the false sense of control this rational modus operandi grants us and surrender to the nature within ourselves, even if that means to just sit down and cry. You will be surprised at how many might come to sit next to you.