Loving Multiplicity

In last week’s post we looked at how, whether we are conscious of it or not, we desire participation for singularity, in a way that participates in the oneness of the one God.

At the same time however, stained as we are by original sin, this seeking participation in oneness is cut across by another type of desire. Furthermore, this is one that the Christian tradition (after Origen) has long recognised, and one that postmodern culture now seems to show signs of recognising.

This kind of desire follows Origen’s ancient dictum: Where there is sin, there is multiplicity.

In the wake of original sin, what should be a unitary, cohesive and directed desire becomes misfired and splintered. Our hearts start to desire many things at once. Furthermore, and more often than we care to admit, our hearts may desire two opposing things at once, in a manner that plays out Paul’s statement to the Romans that

I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me (Rm 7:15-18)

And as mentioned above, it seems postmodern culture is picking up on this conflict in our desire. One instance where I noticed this was when I found myself mentally juxtaposing two songs with a cult following. The first was Culture Beat’s Mr Vain from 2003, and the other was Somebody Else by the 1975, from 2016.

In the former we hear Culture Beat’s iconic line “I know what I want and I want it now”, expressing the certainty and clear directions of one’s desire. On the other hand, the second’s elegantly worded chorus speaks of a lover who says “I don’t want your body but I’d hate to think of you with somebody else”.

What I noticed in putting those two songs side by side was how, in a space of little over 10 years, we had gone from the forceful expression of our wants, to admitting that we are not sure what we really want.

Or more accurately, in the wake of our splintered loves (and thus splintered selves) that we want conflicting things at the same time.

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