Following is an excerpt from Michel Serres' 'The Parasite' (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1982):
Professor Michel Serres is a member of the Académie Française, one of its 40 "immortels," the highest honor that can be bestowed on an intellectual in France. Serres walks a daily loop in the Stanford foothills using the solitary time to write his next lecture.
I live among things—divine things—and I am plunged in the obscure group. They are easier to understand than it is—not more simple, for they are exquisitely complex. I find happiness in the divinity of things themselves; they push me toward pantheism; I suffer quite often in the group and in the dark, in my intelligence and in my life. Soon, in order to make the collective clearer, I shall use the notion of quasi-object. It circulates, it passes among us. I give it; I receive it. Thank you; you're welcome. Eucharist and Paraclete. We are the second and third persons, submerged in the incarnation and in the wind of Pentecost, leaving the Father to infinity for all eternity. Grace passes in the fuzzy area between words and things, between the canals where substantial foods and sonorous voices flow, between the exchanges of energy and information, an intermediate space, a space of equivalence where language is born, where fire is born, where it makes the things of which it speaks appear, an unstable distance of ecstasy and existence, of incarnation and ascension, of bread and birds. I move forward a bit in the black box. I hear the invitation to live together in the space in which the material and the logical are exchanged. The third appears; the third is included. Maybe he is each and every one of us.