Meeting with Guillaume Lurson. “Refounding a Philosophy of the Soul”

What awakened your interest in metaphysics?

I would say it was a path of personal reflection. My education, from the preparatory classes onward, was oriented in that direction. I recall particularly stimulating courses on the Phenomenology of Spirit and the Discourse on Metaphysics: I was more drawn to abstract questions concerning notions such as substance, freedom, and the soul—in short, to what might be considered meta ta physica, beyond physics and sensible realities. I was less receptive to political philosophy, for example.

I had the feeling that metaphysics allows one to get to the bottom of things, and that even practical problems ultimately lead back to this type of reflection. Reflecting on Rousseau’s Republic, for instance, means reflecting on freedom, the conditions of its exercise and alienation, the possibility of free will, and so on. One always returns to a metaphysical question: what is this faculty from which we derive the possibility of a common life governed by justice?

Which authors have had a lasting influence on you?

I worked extensively on Kant during my Master’s studies and devoted my two research dissertations to him—one on the antinomies of pure reason, the other on the status of sensibility in the Critique of Practical Reason. I was fascinated by the rigor of his writing and method, and by the clarity with which problems were posed before being resolved.

I found especially accurate his presentation of the tension in which reason finds itself when confronting metaphysical questions. More discreetly, I have always enjoyed reading Plato and Plotinus. Plato’s dialogues are true adventures: he not only thought of everything, but thought the whole in its transformations and articulations. Plotinus appealed to me because of his radicality and his reflection on all degrees of being in their relations of inclusion and exclusion. Yet, until my dissertation, I remained—like Kant in the preface to the Critique of Pure Reason—torn between a desire for the absolute and the impossibility of attaining it.

What led you to write this book?

My doctoral work on Ravaisson, and the book that followed, allowed me to explore this tension further. Ravaisson, rereading Aristotle’s Metaphysics at a time when it had fallen into neglect among French philosophers, highlights a gap that remains constitutive of every metaphysical enterprise. One must distinguish metaphysics as a disposition from the Metaphysics as a work whose unity is problematic.

Aristotle conceived metaphysics as torn between theology and ontology, but unlike Heidegger, Ravaisson considers this split accidental rather than constitutive. What interested me was the “problem of separation”: by thinking being as being as culminating in the Prime Mover, Aristotle separated it from the rest of creation. Ravaisson argues that the self-sufficiency of the Prime Mover prevents us from thinking its effective deployment and generosity—what I called its “solicitude” in my dissertation.

Metaphysical reflection must therefore overcome the separation between being and beings, subject and object, and consider the mediations that allow us to relate to Spirit conceived as a whole.

What do you seek to demonstrate in this book?

Following Ravaisson, metaphysics is possible only through a method rooted in spiritualism. Spiritualism seeks to show that Spirit is both substance and immanent force present in all beings, and that it is found at every level of being—from crystal to the absolute. Differences between beings arise not from the presence or absence of Spirit, but from the modality of its exercise.

Habit, in particular, is a method that allows us to descend into the most obscure layers of being. The pianist who plays a piece reveals an activity beneath understanding—an unconscious thought that makes possible a coincidence of being and thought. This activity is present in every thing, but in the human being it can be reflected upon and understood as both cause and end of existence. In other words, I sought to show how fidelity to Spirit can provide a way of addressing moral, aesthetic, and religious questions.

Did you encounter particular difficulties? What assessment do you make of this writing process?

I took great joy in this work. My doctoral years were extremely stimulating and marked by freedom. The difficulties came later, due to the current state of academic research: few positions, financial tensions in universities, limited prospects in secondary education.

I have since changed direction and become a heritage curator. Artistic questions are now approached not only metaphysically but also through preventive conservation, exhibition practices, and the democratization of cultural access. I remain attached to the idea of transmission, and heritage is a powerful means of achieving it. Is this not also a way of giving Spirit its due, since culture is one of its manifestations? The museum, I believe, is a fascinating field for philosophical reflection, and I intend to work in that direction in the coming years.

Which metaphysical problems interest you most deeply?

The question of the soul, in particular, seems largely devalued today. The challenge would be to refound a philosophy of the soul at a time when neurological and analytic approaches are predominantly materialist. Without falling into reactionary romanticism, I believe we can do justice to this notion, which is also weakened by disenchantment in political and economic life.

We speak of “losing one’s soul”—an idea central to works such as Faust or to Günther Anders’s reflections on technology. Beyond metaphor, something essential is at stake regarding the self and its relations with others. Contemporary anthropology, through thinkers such as Philippe Descola and Nastassja Martin, has renewed the question by opening it to other cultures. The soul is not only a substance but also a power of openness to alterity. All this remains programmatic—but I hope one day to devote the necessary time and energy to it.