I promised earlier, however, that we also find ekstasis at the root of language, and “symbolic thinking” generally. This is a claim that has to be heavily qualified. By “language” I do not mean simply a system or practice of making sounds in order to communicate information. We find this sort of “language” in certain animals, of course. What we understand to be human language is something qualitatively different. Its primary purpose is not to communicate information, but to say what is. Now, one might object, “Doesn’t ‘saying what is’ constitute communicating information to others?” No, it does not.
The first step in seeing the error here is to understand that as human beings we do not “say what is” to others, not primarily. We “say what is” to ourselves, and for ourselves. We are the beings who are arrested by the experience of Being (the experience I have called ekstasis). And we feel moved to express Being, to penetrate and explore it. As I have discussed, this is what gives rise to art. This is the yearning at the root of religion; the wonder that is the beginning of philosophy and science. The primary medium for the expression of Being, however, is language. This is obviously true of philosophy and science, and it is true of religion as well when religion takes the form of myth, revelation, and theology. Is it true of art? Not of painting or sculpture or instrumental music, of course. But it is true of what may be the primary form of art, poetry (and the song, prose fiction, and drama that develop out of poetry).
The position I am developing here concerning language and Being owes a great deal to Heidegger’s thought.106 Heidegger states that without openness to Being there would be no language at all.107 Thus, if he is right, the theory that somehow the development of “fully modern language” explains the emergence of cave art simply won’t do; both language and art are made possible by something still more fundamental: ekstasis, or openness to Being.
Heidegger tells us that “to be human means to be a sayer.”108 It means to say what is; to give voice to Being. In Greek, logos, from which “logic” is derived, can also mean “speech” or “saying.” Logos is derived from legein, which means “to discourse or talk.” But Heidegger points out that the root meaning of this word is actually “to gather” or “to collect.” What is “gathered” in saying, in logos? Heidegger answers: “Being-human, according to its historical, history-opening essence, is logos, the gathering and apprehending of the Being of beings.”109 The root precondition of saying, of language, is openness to the Being of beings.
To be human (to be what Heidegger calls Dasein) is to apprehend, to think, to be open to the Being of beings—and to speak this Being, to express it in language. This is not simply one human function among many others—it is our very essence. “To be human,” Heidegger tells us, “means to gather and apprehend the Being of beings, to take over the knowing setting-into-work of appearance and thus to govern unconcealment [i.e., to bring things into the light of aletheia, truth], to preserve it against unconcealment and covering up.”110
This is precisely what we see happening on the walls of Lascaux, Chauvet, and Trois Frères. Our ancestors were engaged in what Heidegger calls the “receptive bringing-to-a-stand of that which shows itself in itself” (Being). They were “gathering” and “apprehending” the Being of things, and they sought to “preserve it against unconcealment”; to “fix” it, in a sense, by painting the Being they apprehended.
To clear up one final point, the way in which “openness to Being” (ekstasis) founds “symbolic thought” as such is fairly obvious. A symbol is something that stands for, or represents, something else. In the ecstatic experience of essence, when The Horse shines through this horse, what is happening is that an individual comes to stand for or represent the universal. (And when we look at a painting of a horse, the same thing is happening.) Things can only be taken as symbols through our capacity to see the universal in the individual. Symbols can arise or come forward “naturally,” in the way I have just described: we see the universal through an individual, so that the individual comes to stand for the universal. Situations can also be manipulated to produce the perception of the universal. And this is just what artists do. A very simple example would be the human stick-figure (in its male and female versions) that marks public toilets all over the world. We see “Man” in this, or “Woman.” (We’ll come to the significance of the Upper Paleolithic stick-figure later on.)
There are other sorts of symbols as well, that do not actually depict what they refer to. For example, this symbol $ refers to money, but it is not an image of money. Nonetheless, it is an object that refers to something universal (or to a group or set).111 Furthermore, words themselves are such symbols: the word “horse” does not somehow depict the phenomenon it stands for, any more than Pferd does. No symbols would be possible unless we had the ability to take individuals (broadly construed—including individual sounds or words) as conveying or reflecting some meaning or essence that transcends their individuality.
But the phenomenon of ekstasis is just the experience of being captivated by the meaning or essence shining through the individual. Ekstasis, openness to Being, is thus at the root of our capacity to think and communicate in terms of symbols, a capacity that is not shared by any other animal.112 I argued a moment ago, drawing on Heidegger, that ekstasis is at the root of language, given that the primary purpose of language is to give voice to the Being of things. Now I may add that ekstasis is at the root of language in another, very basic sense: without it we would be unable to take words as meaning something.
So, what we find in the European Upper Paleolithic is the sudden arrival of a new form or dimension of consciousness. And it makes possible art, religion, language, and symbolic thought generally (then, later on, science and philosophy). Furthermore, ekstasis cannot be thought of as if it were a new “tool” acquired by our ancestors. Rather, all the evidence suggests that human beings did not—and do not—possess ekstasis; it possesses them.
Heidegger makes this clear: “Apprehension [i.e., openness to Being] is not a way of behaving that the human being has as a property; to the contrary, apprehension is the happening that has the human being.”113 Men, in the Upper Paleolithic and today, do not choose to do art and practice religion. In a fundamental sense, they do these things because they have to.
Seen in this way, ekstasis emerges as a phenomenon greater than humanity; that has humanity, or comes at a certain point to take possession of it. (And, for some odd reason, it seems to emerge for the first time in Europe.) This is a point that needs to be kept squarely in mind, for it will be directly relevant to my treatment of why ekstasis arose in the first place. Ekstasis, I will suggest, is a feature of a larger process that transcends human nature and human history—but that implicates human beings, and gives them a crucial role to play. In the next section, I will begin my discussion of how to explain the origin of ekstasis.
5. CAN BIOLOGY EXPLAIN EKSTASIS?
I have already mentioned that scientists speculate that cave art (and religion, language, etc.) came about as a result of some kind of genetic mutation, perhaps a “sudden, serendipitous, genetically-based brain reorganization.” Since I have argued that it is ekstasis that founds the possibility of art, and other things, we must now entertain the hypothesis that ekstasis can be explained biologically: specifically, in terms of Darwinian evolutionary theory. I will argue that there are inherent difficulties with this.
Discussing these difficulties will bring to light some further facts about ekstasis and human nature, which will set the stage for my own account of how ekstasis arose. My theory will not be a rejection of science, however. Instead I will argue for a new scientific paradigm—a new type of evolutionary theory—that can make sense not only of how ekstasis took possession of our Paleolithic European ancestors, but of what our place is in the scheme of creation. Sections Six and Seven will lay out these ideas. But let us now begin by considering the more conventional, and generally accepted scientific approach.
Recall Schopenhauer’s w
ords quoted earlier. He says that in the experience I have called ekstasis we “lose ourselves entirely” and “we forget our individuality, our will.” “Will” is a special technical term in Schopenhauer’s philosophy.114 At the risk of greatly oversimplifying matters, essentially this refers to the natural self, with its biologically-based instincts and drives, which normally enthralls us.
When we are in the grip of will, everything is viewed in terms of utility. To put the matter in the language of current biological theory, we approach everything in terms of whether (or how) it will advance our survival and reproductive success. Now, the basic problem with explaining ekstasis in biological or Darwinian terms is that it is precisely a state in which—as Schopenhauer makes very clear—we disengage completely from concern with the satisfaction of biological drives. Those drives, by contrast, narrow our interests to the concerns (short and long term) of the organism. In ekstasis we prescind from all such concerns. We transcend our biological drives—the preoccupation with survival and reproduction—as well as the immediate moment, and even our personal identity.
Darwinism, as it is understood today by the majority of its proponents, insists that human characteristics that have proliferated (and are not, by contrast, isolated anomalies) must somehow serve to advance survival and reproductive fitness. How can Darwinism, then, make sense of ekstasis, the defining characteristic of humanity, when central to it is our ability to negate or transcend the concern with survival and reproduction?
Now, I can imagine what the response might be from Darwinians. They will point to the fact that ekstasis makes possible symbolic thought, which makes possible language, which has obvious survival value. Or they will point to the fact that ekstasis makes possible the grasp of essences, which enables us to engage in scientific investigation, which enhances our ability to survive by allowing us to make predictions about nature, and to harness nature’s power. And, perhaps, those who were able to experience ekstasis and to engage in these sorts of activities were more attractive to mates.
All of this is quite plausible. Ekstasis does make possible certain things that enhance our ability to survive and reproduce. “So,” the Darwinian will say, “ekstasis is a faculty or act that allows us to momentarily disengage from biological concerns—only so that we may produce results that are biological advantageous.”
So far, so good. But matters get trickier when we turn to the other products of ekstasis: the Hegelian triad of art, religion, and philosophy (the highest forms, for Hegel, in which human spirit strives for self-knowledge). To try to explain such matters in terms of their theory, Darwinians will put themselves through the most absurd mental contortions.
For example, in an otherwise valuable book, Nicholas Wade asserts that “the essence of religion is communal,” because “religious rituals are performed by assemblies of people.”115 He then argues that religion must therefore have been a device for strengthening communities. But this is an obvious non sequitur.
Most people see films in cinemas, gathered together with others. Does it follow from this that the essence of cinema is “communal”? Is sitting in the dark with other people the point of going to a movie? (It’s certainly not why I go: I usually wish the other people would leave.) Will Darwinians of the distant future conclude that human beings made films as a device for strengthening communities? If so, they will be quite wrong.
When we turn to how Wade actually thinks religion strengthened communities, matters get positively absurd. He theorizes that the invention of language gave “freeloaders” the power to deceive others, and then speculates that, “Religion could have evolved as a means of defense against freeloading. Those who committed themselves in public ritual to the sacred truth were armed against the lie by knowing that they could trust one another.”116 Now, up to a point what he has said is quite true: religious commitment is a way of increasing trust (as when we swear on the Bible in court). But it doesn’t follow that this is the point of religion, or why it arose in the first place.
Wade’s theory is just one example of the clumsy approach some scientists take in explaining religion and other matters. As in Lewis-Williams’s account of the origins of art, these are cases of people trying to explain a phenomenon they find quite alien, which involves feelings and desires they have simply never experienced (or will not acknowledge having experienced). But the nadir of the Darwinian explanations of such matters are the “sexual selection” theories that have been offered by many. How do we explain philosophy? The pursuit of wisdom for its own sake can’t really be for its own sake, can it? No, it’s got to be about attracting mates. Philosophy is a reproductive strategy developed by nerds. They can’t compete with the jocks on the playing field, so instead they dazzle females with their dialectic. Such hypotheses simply do not deserve to be taken seriously.
The theory of natural selection is a powerful tool for explaining a great deal in nature, and a great deal about us. The trouble is that Darwinians totalize the theory. When faced with a human activity that clearly has nothing to do with advancing survival or reproductive fitness, and even perhaps to sometimes imperil these, they respond by inventing highly implausible stories about how that activity must really fit their theory after all. And, often in the absence of any other evidence, they treat the simple fact that they have made up such a story as “proof” that Darwinism has now explained things. Stretched and contorted in this way, Darwinism becomes an unfalsifiable pseudo-science: nothing can disconfirm it.
Plus, the neo-Darwinians fail to understand Darwin. He never said that all traits that get passed along must have something to do with advancing survival and reproductive fitness. Darwin merely claimed that traits that are positively inimical to survival and reproduction will not get passed along. Some traits may be entirely neutral to these considerations, neither advancing nor hindering biological interests (e.g., male nipples). Whereas others may be ambivalent, like ekstasis: sometimes advancing, sometimes hindering.
Art, religion, science, and philosophy all may, in some direct or indirect way, contribute to our ability to survive and reproduce. But this fact is merely incidental—it is not the reason why these activities are engaged in by human beings, nor (as I will argue anon) why they originated. Indeed, all of these activities may actually threaten survival. Consider the artist who practices celibacy or ruins his health for the sake of his art. Or the scientist who does the same: Nikola Tesla was just such a man. Consider the chaste monk, or the religious fanatic who immolates himself in the name of his faith, or starves himself to death (as some Jains still do to this day). Consider the philosopher who, like Socrates, chooses to die rather than to renounce the love of wisdom.
All these activities—art, religion, philosophy, science—are, as I have argued, founded on ekstasis. And ekstasis is just the capacity to disengage ourselves from our biological drives, our selfish concerns, and the immediate moment, and to awaken to the Being of things. And in that engagement with Being, we may glimpse possibilities for human life that have nothing to do with the call of nature.
Of course, my readers may be having some misgivings at this point. The very idea that we can “negate” the nature inside and outside us may strike some of you, justifiably, with horror. Isn’t this the human tendency that has caused all the problems in the world? Isn’t it what’s behind not just environmental devastation, but also the modern denial of biologically-rooted human differences (i.e., natural inequality)? This is undeniably true.
There is a kernel of truth in the Christian doctrine of freedom of will. Unlike the rest of his creatures, God did not place man completely under the subjection of natural drives and instincts. Instead, he left him free to choose—up to a point. He can choose to be in thrall to those instincts and drives, as is the man the Hindus call pashu. But if he chooses to transcend (or to try to transcend) the pull of nature, things can go either way. He may find truth, beauty, and goodness. Or he may make a complete mess of things. He may envision impossible ideals that go so mu
ch against nature they are inimical to human flourishing, even the flourishing of alienated intellectuals. In such cases, nature usually bites back, or finds a way back in.
Ekstasis is indeed a double-edged sword: helpful to us sometimes, harmful at others.117 But it is crucial to understand that our ability to negate or, better put, transcend the natural is also the source of everything that is great about us. I need say little on this latter point, for I have already argued that art, religion, philosophy, and science involve this “transcendence,” and these are unquestionably the glories of the human race.
As I have indicated, I am skeptical of the ability of modern, Darwinian biology to explain ekstasis and the peculiar duality it produces in our nature. However, in fairness I must concede that it would be plausible for a Darwinian to take the position that although ekstasis produces behaviors that are sometimes inimical to survival and reproductive fitness, it produces enough results that actually advance biological interests for ekstasis to have proliferated. This is a reasonable position—but in fact it does not show that Darwinism can explain ekstasis. Far from it.
Darwinism, in truth, can only explain why certain traits have been passed along, or not passed along. It cannot explain why these traits originated in the first place. Darwinian theory essentially explains everything in terms of two components: random mutation and natural selection. Biological novelty arises as a result of genetic mutations that occur when organisms reproduce themselves. Those mutations that are disadvantageous to survival and reproduction will tend not to be passed along (the organisms that bear them will tend not to reproduce, and so eventually the mutations die with them). Whereas mutations that enhance survival and reproduction, or are neutral with respect to these, tend to be passed along to subsequent generations.
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