From Spinoza to Lévinas: Hermeneutical, Ethical, and Political Issues in Modern and Contemporary Jewish Philosophy 9781433106972, 9781453904589, 1433106973

Citation preview

studies in judaism / 4

From Spinoza Lévinas TO

Hermeneutical, Ethical, and Political Issues in Modern and Contemporary Jewish Philosophy

ZE’EV LEVY Edited by YUDIT KORNBERG GREENBERG PETER LANG

WWW . PETERLANG . COM

Yudit Kornberg Greenberg is the Cornell Endowed Chair of Religion and Director of the Jewish Studies Program at Rollins College in Winter Park, Florida. Dr. Greenberg is the author of Better Than Wine: Love, Poetry and Prayer in the Thought of Franz Rosenzweig (1996) and the editor of the Encyclopedia of Love in World Religions (2007). She has written articles on topics in modern and contemporary Jewish thought and is presently completing a manuscript on love in Jewish thought.

/ From Spinoza TO Lévinas

Ze’ev Levy is Professor Emeritus of Philosophy at the University of Haifa and was also a guest professor at the University of Heidelberg, the Hochschule für jüdische Studien, and the University of Kassel in Germany as well as at the University of Binghamton and at Queens College in the United States. He is the author of numerous books including Between Yafeth and Shem: On the Relationship Between Jewish and General Philosophy (Lang, 1987) and Baruch or Benedict: On Some Jewish Aspects in Spinoza’s Philosophy (Lang, 1989). His main fields of interest are structuralism, ethics, hermeneutics, Spinoza, and Lévinas.

4

LEVY

In From Spinoza to Lévinas, Ze’ev Levy discusses the pivotal ideas of the most influential Jewish thinkers in modern times including Spinoza, Mendelssohn, and Lévinas. Levy accounts for the political foundation of the philosophies of Spinoza and Mendelssohn and the role of hermeneutics in the writings of Spinoza and Maimonides. He traces the history of modern philosophical and biblical hermeneutics and considers issues pertaining to death and dying in light of traditional Jewish and contemporary concepts of the body and soul. Finally, Levy focuses on the thought of Emmanuel Lévinas, arguably one of the most important Jewish philosophers in the second half of the twentieth century. By articulating and responding to contemporary ethical and political challenges and dilemmas, Levy succeeds in contributing to the rich legacy of Jewish thought.

studies in judaism / 4

From Spinoza Lévinas TO

Hermeneutical, Ethical, and Political Issues in Modern and Contemporary Jewish Philosophy

ZE’EV LEVY Edited by YUDIT KORNBERG GREENBERG PETER LANG

WWW . PETERLANG . COM

Yudit Kornberg Greenberg is the Cornell Endowed Chair of Religion and Director of the Jewish Studies Program at Rollins College in Winter Park, Florida. Dr. Greenberg is the author of Better Than Wine: Love, Poetry and Prayer in the Thought of Franz Rosenzweig (1996) and the editor of the Encyclopedia of Love in World Religions (2007). She has written articles on topics in modern and contemporary Jewish thought and is presently completing a manuscript on love in Jewish thought.

/ From Spinoza TO Lévinas

Ze’ev Levy is Professor Emeritus of Philosophy at the University of Haifa and was also a guest professor at the University of Heidelberg, the Hochschule für jüdische Studien, and the University of Kassel in Germany as well as at the University of Binghamton and at Queens College in the United States. He is the author of numerous books including Between Yafeth and Shem: On the Relationship Between Jewish and General Philosophy (Lang, 1987) and Baruch or Benedict: On Some Jewish Aspects in Spinoza’s Philosophy (Lang, 1989). His main fields of interest are structuralism, ethics, hermeneutics, Spinoza, and Lévinas.

4

LEVY

In From Spinoza to Lévinas, Ze’ev Levy discusses the pivotal ideas of the most influential Jewish thinkers in modern times including Spinoza, Mendelssohn, and Lévinas. Levy accounts for the political foundation of the philosophies of Spinoza and Mendelssohn and the role of hermeneutics in the writings of Spinoza and Maimonides. He traces the history of modern philosophical and biblical hermeneutics and considers issues pertaining to death and dying in light of traditional Jewish and contemporary concepts of the body and soul. Finally, Levy focuses on the thought of Emmanuel Lévinas, arguably one of the most important Jewish philosophers in the second half of the twentieth century. By articulating and responding to contemporary ethical and political challenges and dilemmas, Levy succeeds in contributing to the rich legacy of Jewish thought.

From Spinoza to Lévinas

Studies in Judaism

Yudit Kornberg Greenberg General Editor Vol. 4

PETER LANG

New York y Washington, D.C./Baltimore y Bern Frankfurt am Main y Berlin y Brussels y Vienna y Oxford

Ze’ev Levy

From Spinoza to Lévinas Hermeneutical, Ethical, and Political Issues in Modern and Contemporary Jewish Philosophy

Edited by

Yudit Kornberg Greenberg

PETER LANG

New York y Washington, D.C./Baltimore y Bern Frankfurt am Main y Berlin y Brussels y Vienna y Oxford

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Levy, Zeev. From Spinoza to Lévinas: hermeneutical, ethical, and political issues in modern and contemporary Jewish philosophy / Ze’ev Levy; edited by Yudit Kornberg Greenberg. p. cm. — (Studies in Judaism; v. 4) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Philosophy, Jewish. 2. Philosophy, Modern. 3. Spinoza, Benedictus de, 1632–1677. 4. Lévinas, Emmanuel. I. Greenberg, Yudit Kornberg. II. Title. B755.L48 181’.06—dc22 2009034698 ISBN 978-1-4331-0697-2 (hardback) ISBN 978-1-4539-0458-9 (ebook pdf) ISSN 1086-5403

Bibliographic information published by Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek. Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the “Deutsche Nationalbibliografie”; detailed bibliographic data is available on the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de/.

© 2009 Peter Lang Publishing, Inc., New York 29 Broadway, 18th floor, New York, NY 10006 www.peterlang.com All rights reserved. Reprint or reproduction, even partially, in all forms such as microfilm, xerography, microfiche, microcard, and offset strictly prohibited.

Table of Contents Editor’s Preface............................................................................................. vii Acknowledgments........................................................................................ xiii PART I: POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN THE PHILOSOPHIES OF SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN 1. Tolerance, Liberty and Equality................................................................ 1 2. Spinoza’s and Maimonides’ Esoteric Writings....................................... 21 PART II: PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS 3. Biblical Hermeneutics—J. G. Herder and J. W. von Goethe.................. 41 4. Hermeneutics and Demythologization—Martin Buber and Rudolf Bultmann ....................................................................... 57 5. Hermeneutics and Tradition.................................................................... 75 PART III: ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT 6. Death, Dying, Body, and Soul ................................................................ 97 7. Does It Make Sense to Speak about Jewish Ethics? ............................. 111 PART IV: LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT 8. Lévinas on State, Revolution, and Utopia............................................. 129 9. Lévinas on Secularization ..................................................................... 141 10. Lévinas on Death and Hope .................................................................. 155 Bibliography ............................................................................................... 171 Index ........................................................................................................... 179

Editor’s Preface From Spinoza to Lévinas: Hermeneutical, Ethical, and Political Issues in Modern and Contemporary Jewish Philosophy is a collection of essays written by Professor Ze’ev Levy discussing the pivotal ideas of the most influential Jewish thinkers in modern times including Spinoza, Mendelssohn, and Lévinas. Levy, Professor Emeritu s of Philosop hy at the University o f Haifa has pu blished extensively on th ese and other topics in 17 books and numerous articles written in Hebrew, German, and English. This volume is a retrospective of his contributions to scholarship on Spinoza and Lévinas, to the fields of hermeneutic s and the et hics of death and d ying. Levy is a pioneer in the study of the philosophy of Lévi nas in the Israeli intellectual arena. His b ook The Other and Responsibility: On Emmanuel Lévinas’ Philosophy was the first Hebrew manuscript on th e philosophy of Lévinas. His admiration and knowledge of both S pinoza and Lévinas is manifested in his writings, extolling t heir intellectual virtues and at the same time critiquing even minute shortcomings. In his exposition of Spinoza and Me ndelssohn, Levy reconsiders issues such as tolerance, liber ty, and the separation of religion an d state as elucidated by these influential Jewish philosophers. In his close examination of their philosophical ideas, he also provides personal observations and insights into contemporary debates in Israeli politics. His expertise in modern and contemporary hermeneutics help s to posit ion these and other philosophers in the ongoing conversation on the role of myth and tradition in current religious and phil osophical discourse. His analysis of modern and contemporary ethical theories addresse s recent developments in science and technology that call into question traditional concepts of body and s oul, with implications for the ethics of death and dyi ng and the complex issues of euthanasia and transplantation. His careful re ading of modern and contemporary thinkers such as Buber, Rosenzweig, and Bultmann brings t o sharp focus the tensions between trad ition and modernity. His critical study provides not only a clear understanding of these intellectual gian ts, but also gives us a new lens by which to app reciate the ongoin g dialogue on the subjects of in dividual freedom and mo ral responsibility that commenced in the modern period with Spinoza, and has dominated continental philosophy

viii

EDITOR’S PREFACE

and contemporary Jewish thought since then, culminating in the thoug ht of Lévinas. The manuscript is divided into 4 part s. In Part I, he accounts for the political foundation of the philosophies of Spinoza and Mendelssohn and th e role of hermeneutics in the writings of Spinoza and Maimonides. In Chapter 1, Levy compares the thought of Sp inoza and Mendelssohn on freedom and clarifies the distinction between tolerance and liberty. The notion of tolerance is an important achievement of the Enlightenment, but it is still not yet full liberty because tolerated person s or ideas are merely “tolerated” but not regarded as equal. He addresses the question of whether tolerance can be applied to intolerance, and provides insights into the “culture war ” between religious and secular groups in Israel today. Lev y clarifies that Spinoza considers obedience to the authorities as an important condit ion for the welfare of the state, but that it must b e derived from understanding and not from coercion. The task o f religion is t o educate to wards obedience, but it applies only to religious practice; expressions of thought must remain absolutely free from state interventi on. Unlike Mendelssohn, who sought to ensure the mutual independence of state and religion and freedom of religious practice, Spinoza did not challenge the right of the state o n matters of religious practice. In Chapter 2, Levy compa res Maimonides and Spinoza on the ro le and objectives of esoteric writings in th eir philosophical systems. Maimonides was convinced that the Torah is an esoteric book par excellence whose hidden truths can only be deciphered w ith a hermeneutical method. Spinoza on the other hand denied the divine origins of the Torah and therefore only used hermeneutics for tactical reasons. Maimonides employs hermeneutics in order to av oid contradicting the Bible and in order to appeal to philosophically trained readers who might nevertheless misunderstand his ideas. In contrast, Spinoza limits hi s use of hermeneutics and aims for reaching the maximal number of inte llectual readers and avoiding the intervention of the censor. Maimonides represents the dogmatic approach to scriptures whereby the text ought to be adapted to reason, a view that entails textual (allegorical) hermeneutics, whereas Spinoza insists on textual exegesis or interpreting the text literally. Levy raises the distinction between public and p rivate language and argues in favor of Spinoza’s progressive views and limited use of esoteric writings. In Part II, L evy traces the history of modern philosophical and biblical hermeneutics. In Chapter 3 he highl ights Spinoza as the fir st secular interpreter of the Bible and undersco res his influence on Herder’s and Goethe’s biblical hermeneutics. Levy e xplains Herder’s view that the Bible

Editor’s Preface

ix

represents the national cr eative and poetic spirit o f the Jewish people, and underscores that this favorable view of the Jewish people was more important to Herder than the Bible’s religious message. In considering Goethe’s interpretation of the Torah, he poi nts out his u nique discovery based on his method of literal exegesis (influenced by S pinoza) of the Exodus story that the wandering of Israel in the desert could not h ave lasted 40 years but only 2 or 4. Based on Goethe’s biblical interpretations and his autobiography, Levy concludes that his approach to the Bible placed on the agenda of contemporary hermeneutics the complex relationship between text, author, reader, and interpreter. In Chapter 4, Levy traces the role of myth in Jewish and Ch ristian th thought in the 19 century. He identifies Hermann Cohen as a for erunner in the trend of demythologization as la ter advanced in the t hought of the Christian theologian Bultmann. He examines Bultmann’s endeavor to demythologize biblical texts and beliefs in order to emancipate the Christian Kerygma from “childish” mythological conceptions and render it acceptable for contemporary believers. He then contrasts Bultmann’s disparaging concept of myth with Buber’s positive view of myth as an et ernal part of the soul. In distinction from both and in strong disa greement with Buber’s anthropological view of myth, Rosenzweig’s view of myth is integral to his religious convictions and philosophy of revelation. Furthermore, Levy refers to the recent theories of Lévi Strauss and Roland Barthes on the significance of the historical dimension of interp reting and the possibilities of new myths and new kind of interpretive activities. In Chapter 5, Levy tackles the tensi ons between traditionalism and tradition in general and in Judaism in particular. Using tradition as an example of t he philosophical antinomy of freedom and determinism, he argues that the struggle between philo sophy as free exercise of reason and religious tradition as safeg uarding fixed and binding rules continues. With the use of hermeneutics, h e shows that to accept a tr adition means in fact to interpret, judge, and choose values according to certain standards. Guided in part by t he issue of intol erance, especially as it is manifested in Israeli society, he q uestions Orthodox Jewish views that insist on the obligatory nature of the laws and points to the alienating consequences of rabbinic authoritarianism. With the aid of Gada mer’s hermeneutics, he maintains that a fusion of cultural horizons and an open dialogue can help i dentify the parameters of a spiritual heritage th at is not adversarial to but rather functions within tradition. In Part III, L evy presents definitions and terms pert aining to death and dying as well traditional Jewish concepts of the body and soul. In Chapter 6,

x

EDITOR’S PREFACE

he reviews biblical and rabbinic noti ons of death an d discusses the current debate on euthanasia. His views and comprehensive study of these difficult and controversial issues appeared in his Hebrew b ook Death and Dying published in 2008. Here, he proposes a redefinition of death and dying in light of mod ern technology that is ab le to defer dying, an d raises issues regarding free will, perso nal dignity, t he welfare of the patient and those whose lives can be saved by transplantation. In Chapter 7, Levy proble matizes the n otion of Jewish ethics, an d later utilizes it to investigate the values and concepts expressed by Jewish thinkers while underscoring their essential universal meaning. He contr asts modern approaches to ethics with certain contemporary Orthodox rulings, suggesting that the latter are at times driven mo re by Halachic (rabbinic legal) rather than purely ethical considerations. He distinguishes between the modern concept of rights and the traditional Jewish notion of duties and demonstrates how these are manifest ed in discussions on medical ethics. Furthermore, he reiterates and frames contemporary debate s on euthanasia in the context of the essence of the good life. In Part IV, Levy focuses on the tho ught of Emmanuel Lévinas, arguabl y th one of the most important Jewish philosophers in the second half of the 20 century. In Chapter 8, he situates and identifies Lévinas with the philosophical trend of seeking wisdom in order to pr omote the good life, and recounts Lévinas’ influence on South American revolutionary thinkers and their “philosophy of li beration.” He examines the humanistic and revolutionary focus of Lév inas’ Talmudic readings that advance and defend the notion of human dignity, and under scores Lévinas’ social and political philosophy whose aim is to secure just ice. Levy explains that Marxist and utopian elements shape L évinas’ thinking by stressing his general sympathy for the Marxist idea of solidarity with the oppressed and the exploited and his concept of giving priority to the Other. Furthermore, Levy clarifies Lévinas’ positive view towards Zionism, which to him represents the endeavor t o overcome the Jewish Diasporas’ passivity and achieve justice for the Jewish people. Zionism however does not enta il messianism according to Lévinas. Zionism’s greatest value to him is the people of Israel r ather than the territory of Israel. In Chapter 9, Levy analyzes Lévinas’ notions of transcendence, secularization, technology, and the pressing issues of hunger. He argues that while Lévinas was a religi ous Jew, a clear ly secular outlook that he calls in his work Difficult Freedom “a religion for adults,” guides his p hilosophy. Despite Lévinas’ great admiration fo r Rosenzweig, Levy argue s that his philosophical point of departure is purely secular and springs from his ethical

Editor’s Preface

xi

responsibility to the other and not from any theological premises as held by Rosenzweig. In Chapter 10, Levy expli cates Lévinas’ concepts of death and time and shows how these ideas manifest continuity i n his thinking as well as his gradual progression from ontology to e thics. Levy points out tra ces of th e Heideggerian view of th e existential anxiety of death, yet di stinguishes between death as an ontological category in Heidegger and the experience of the death of others in Lévinas. The face of the dying other is a further reminder of one’s responsibility towards the Other. In the final analysis, one’s compassionate acts and duties towa rds others is Lévinas’ secularized version of redemption. Levy’s writings in this volume create a continuum of ideas and simulate a dialogue between major Jewish thinkers and continental philosophers from the 17th century until the present. Among these thinkers, it is the brilliance of Spinoza and Lévinas that influences and shapes Levy’s scholarship. The primary topics examined here stre ss the values of indi vidual freedom, dignity, responsibility, and social justi ce. Levy’s sensitivity to tradition is balanced with a clear commit ment to personal agency and creativity. By articulating and respondin g to contem porary challenges and dilemmas, h e succeeds in contributin g to the legacy of Jewish thoug ht whose richness illuminates this volume.

Acknowledgments This book a ddresses several issues in modern an d contemporary Jewish philosophy that are derived in part from the thought of Maimonides, Spinoza, Mendelssohn, and Lévinas. Most of t he chapters were published before—in English, German and Hebrew—and have since been revised. I hope that this book will interest American readers who are seeking better understanding of modern and contemporary Jewish philosophy and thought. I want to express my special thanks to Prof. Yudit Kornberg Greenberg, the editor of the book, for her painstaking philosophical and linguistic work on this book. Without her, this book would not have been possible. Z. L .

PART I

Politics and Hermeneutics in the Philosophies of Spinoza and Mendelssohn

CHAPTER 1

Tolerance, Liberty and Equality THE CONCEPT OF FREEDOM ACCORDING TO SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN This investigation focuses on the rela tion between religion and state in the philosophies of Spinoza and Mendelssohn. We will examine the implications of these views for the so-called “culture war” in Israel today where one encounters issues of intolerance and coer cion, spiritual as well as practical 1 ones. While religious coercion, as sanctioned by almost all secular Israeli governments in many areas of civil life is a result of political pressure of the Orthodox religious parties and infringe s on personal and political freedom, religious intolerance is liable to lead to acts of politi cal violence, and indeed has done so. Both are deplorable and requi re rectification. This issue is not restricted to Israeli society, but is relevant to European societ y as w ell, especially with regard to Islamic fundamentalism. The issue of tolerance versus intolerance highlights two separate philosophical problems: (1) Tolerance does not ensure full equality because tolerated views are conceived and treate d as inferio r by the very fact that they are “tolerated.” (2) Tolerance should not be applied to certain manifestations of intolerance. The question therefore is: Does political freedom necessitate a certain restriction of tolerance? The political implications of these issu es will be investigated by taking as our point of departure some conceptions of Ba ruch Spinoza and Moses Mendlssohn’s political philosophy that are still very much relevant and significant today. Spinoza’s Theologico-Political Treatise and Mendelssohn’s Jerusalem share three common subjects: (1) a phi losophical foundation of f reedom of thought and expression; (2) a rationalist conception of the relations between state and religion; (3) an exposition of the religious commandments of the Pentateuch (the Torah) as the political le gislation of the ancient Jewish state. However, a more thorough analysis and comparison of their conceptions reveal some striking differences of mu ch relevance to modern deliberations on these issues. Although Spinoza was one of the first modern thinkers to 2 advocate the separation of theology and philosophy and exhorted freedom of

This term is used in Bismarck’s struggle with the Catholic Church in Germany in the late 19th century. 2 Spinoza, TPT, p. 190: “Theo logy is shown not to be subservient to Re ason, or Reason to Theology.” 1

2

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

thought (libertas philosophandi), he did not recommend a clear-cut division between religion and stat e. He was mostly concern ed with prev enting the influence of the religious establishm ent (the Calvini st preachers in Holland of his time) on the affairs of the stat e, but not the other way round. He aspired to safeguard the i ndependence of the political authorities but not of the religious institutions. There was no symmetry in his approach to religion and state. He limited religion t o the sphere of public education aimed towards obedience; religion ought on no account interfere in matters of state. For Spinoza, public exercise of religious worship is subject to the regulations of the state. 3

The right over matters spiritual lies wholly with the sovereign, 4 forms of religion should be in accordance with public peace.

and the outwar d

Religious practice, unlike philosophi cal thought, is subordi nated to political authority. The vulnerable point in this argument is that the citizens should be completely free to think an d believe, but this freedom of thought does not necessarily entail their right to act freely in line with their 5 convictions. Spinoza was aware of the difficulties of this argumen t, namely that the precise distinction between sp eech and action is not always easy to draw. Mendelssohn’s approach to this issue, more than a hundred years later, was more liberal. Freedom of thought and belief must also include freedom of religious worship. His main philosophical agenda was not the sovereignty 6 of the state but freedom of religious co nviction and its free exercise. The state is an in stitution that concerns itsel f with the rel ationship between and among persons in order to ensure th eir proper f unctioning; it m ay impose laws and ex ert coercion to enforce t hem. Religion is an insti tution that addresses the relationship between h uman beings and God. Its task is, similarly to Spinoza’s view, education, although Mendelssohn remains rather vague on wh at this educati on consists of. For him, the role of religion is certainly not to inculcate obedience. At this point of the inquiry it seems useful to introduce Spi noza’s contemporary, Thomas Hobbes, to whom Mendelssohn re ferred as well. Spinoza was acquainted with Hobbes’ philosophy according to which, subjects must concede all their rights to the sov ereign, the Leviathan, including their indivi dual thoughts and beliefs. The American political philosopher Robert McShea has claimed that the philosophies of Spinoza and “Libertatem philosophandi non tantum salva pietata & rei republicae pace posse concidi…”—from the original title of the TPT. 4 Ibid., p. 245. 5 Viz. also the chapter “Spinoza’s concept of obedience.” 6 Ibid. 3

3

Tolerance, Liberty and Equality

Hobbes are identical, or at least identical with “what Hobbes would have said 7 had he been consistent.” Leo Strauss, who also devoted much thoug ht to political philosophy, asserted that on the contrary, “Spinoza’s political 8 theory… is toto coelo different from the theory of Hobbes. The truth seems to be somewhere in the middle. Spinoza himself explained the difference between his and Hobbes’ views on several occasions. With regard to politics, the difference between Hobbes and me… consists in this that I ever preserve the natural right intact so that th e supreme Power in a S tate has no more power over a subject than is proportionate to the power by which it is superior 9 to the subject. Whatever is the social state that a man finds himself in, he may be free. For certainly a man is fr ee, in so far as he is le d by reason. Now reason (thou gh Hobbes thinks otherwise) is always on the side of p eace, which cannot be attained unless the general laws of the state be respected. Therefore the more a man is led by reason— in other words t he more he is free, the more constantly will he respect the laws of 10 the country.

Spinoza therefore restrict ed the ab solute rights accorded by Hobbes to the sovereign. State authorities should not only abstain from di ctating to anybody what to think or believe, but also fro m interfering with the expression of one’s thoug ht. Obedience should be achieved by appealing to the understanding of t he citizens and not by crude c oercion. Although one may observe some kinship between Hobbes and Spinoza on the political plane, they c ompletely differed from e ach other with regard to the task of philosophy. For Hobbes, philosop hy is no more than a tool of selfpreservation for the sover eign while f or Spinoza, it is an end in itself. It expresses the human desire for knowledge. T herefore the political establishment should assure the free development of knowledge and reason, which is the ultimate end. T hus he continues the thought trend of Maimonides—that philosophy can flourish onl y in a suitable political 11 framework. Mendelssohn, unlike his two predecessors, was a religious person and an observant Jew, yet he considered “eternal truths” or what he identified with religious doctrines and propositions— God’s existence, immortality of the soul, etc.—to be attainable by reason. His religious perspective was in no need of the belief in revelation. According to his view, only one unique event McShea, 1968, pp. 137–138. Strauss, 1965, p. 229. 9 Spinoza, Correspondence, Epistle 50, p. 269. 10 TPT, ch. 16, p. 276, note. 11 Viz. Maimonides’ parable of “the apples of gold in settings Perplexed, pp. 11–12. 7 8

of silver,” Guide of the

4

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

of revelation had occurred—the event at Mt. Sinai—but this revelation did not include dogmas or beliefs, but only the “Law.” This is the element that singles Judaism out. Bein g bound by particular ceremonial laws, the socalled practical commandments constituted the frame work of the ancient Jewish state. What Mendelssohn designates in the first section of Jerusalem as “religion” has nothing i n common with historical “positive” religions; it was some kind of enligh tened theology that hig hlights the phi losophical issues about God’s essence and existence. Philosophically, Mendelssohn was a deist; his only divergence from classical Deism consist ed in that he 12 admitted one single revel ation, namely the giving of the Law t o Moses. Mendelssohn endeavored to safeguard fr eedom of religious belief and also religious worship. This was of spec ial importance for Jews who, li ke Mendelssohn himself, began to particip ate in the i ntellectual, cultural an d spiritual life of their environment, but at the same ti me remained faithful to their own religious worship. While Spinoza strove to vin dicate the autonomous secular framework of t he modern state, Mendelssohn strove to 13 vindicate free religious worship within the state. For Hobbes, religion, like philosophy, was little more than the handmaid of the sovereign, who used it to serve his political interests and to secure his rule. For Spinoza, religion was a useful implement to educate t he “vulgus” towards civil obedience. For Mendelssohn, religi on was an institution whose supposed task was to su pport the state in assurin g the happiness of its citizens. Let us recapitulate this in another way: Hobbes sought to surrender all freedom of thought a nd freedom of action, including speech, to the sovereign. Spinoza aimed to surrender freedom of action if it clashed with the interests of the state, but desired full freedom of thought and expression. Mendelssohn strove to ensure both freedom of thoug ht and belief and freedom of religious practice. The philosophical difficulties of M endelssohn’s view are derived fro m his claim that the distinctive feature of Judaism consists in the ceremonial laws that were given to the People of I srael by God and are still valid and 14 obligatory for their descendants. These difficul ties are absent from Spinoza’s theories about the relations between state and religion. Since h e considered the commandments to have been the political laws of t he ancient Jewish state, and since that state c eased to exist, the commandments have Although Mendelssohn’s knowledge of Hebrew was excellent, when he spoke of the Torah , he followed th e Greek translation of the Septuaginta—nomos, i.e. law—whereas the more exact translation of Torah is “education” or “teaching.” 13 This was still a problem in the first decades of the 19th century. Leopold Zunz wrote his book on sermons in the synagogue o n Sabbath, in order to refu te their prohibition by the Prussian government. 14 They are, however, of lesser concern to the pr esent inquiry. Viz. Ze’ev Levy, Baruch or Benedict, pp. 137–140. 12

Tolerance, Liberty and Equality

5

become obsolete. One does not o bey laws o f a non-existent state. Mendelssohn agrees with Spinoza tha t the commandments had lost their political function, but asserts that they still provide r eligious meaning. Still, Spinoza’s distinction bet ween metaphysics, religion and the M osaic Law may be helpful to better understand some contemporary problems. Spinoza distinguished between three different notions: 1. Metaphysical truth, which is the ultimate truth about God (or nature or substance). It rese mbles, at least to a certain degree, Mendelssohn’s “eternal truths,” a lthough his pantheism, or more exactly pan-entheism, differs from Mendelssohn’s deism and traditional religious concepts. They also dissented o n another point. According to Spinoza, eternal truth must be achieved throu gh an intellectual effort, available to philosophers only—”Intellectual love 15 of God.” While Mendelssohn also conceived of understandin g eternal truths as the highest intellectu al achievement, he believed that every h uman being is capable of it. Furthermore, Spinoza’s assertion still entailed one add itional important inference—to emancipate people from superstitious beliefs and prejudices, to lead 16 them out of the “sanctuary of ignorance,” that is, to help them in ascending to the super ior level of philosophy. Mendelssohn acknowledged the “merit” of Spinoza i n “clearing this path in t he 17 wilderness.” This had been the professed goal of the Ethics. Unlike most medieval philosophe rs who c onsidered belief in revelation to be sufficient for the common people, and unlike Mendelssohn—who considered popular reason to be suffici ent for the m asses, Spinoza insisted that only philosophical truth c an guide the person towards happiness. He continued, inadve rtently perhaps, Maimonides’ conception of philosophical knowledge as the precondition of a veritable understanding of God’s providence, although he did not share the latter’s religious outlook of divine providence. Such a view had no place in his deterministic view of Deus sive natura. 2. General religion, i.e. religion proper that has as its t ask the universal mission of teaching obedi ence. Because it is intended for popul ar thought—”ad captum plebis”—Spinoza emphasized the notions o f justice and charity, and did not refrain from retaining some traditional religious concepts such as a personal God and revelation. Amor Dei intellectualis, The Ethics, Part 5, prop. 32, corollary, p. 219. The Ethics, Part 1, Appendix, p. 62. 17 Jerusalem, Section 1, p. 36. 15 16

6

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN Still, he made it absolutely clear that they are mere pious dogmas— ”fidei dogmata”—that do not belong in his philosophical system. They are, however, useful in or der to enforce a person’s willingness 18 to obey the authorities. He enumerated seven such dogmas. This popular credo represents the common denominator of all religions that are politically acc eptable. They are not based on an y rational motives, but on more or less affective ones: fear, hope, trust, respect, and love, among others. However, th is concept of obedience, unlike that of Hobb es’ theory, does not mention servitude . It stresses the understanding of their usefulness, just as a soldier must understand why he must obey the commands of his officer. Spinoza’s obedience serves not only the interests of the sove reign but the self-interest of the members of the com munity or s ociety as well. This notion has almost no counterpart in Mendelssohn’s thought. 3. Mosaic legislation, which is of a pure political nature. Using modern justification, one could say that although the ori ginal symbolic meaning of the so-called ceremonial laws was probably not ful ly understood by their adhe rents, their implicit politi cal and social functions were very important an d are still very much relevant. “Ceremonies, like lang uage, are the product of social thought, and 19 are themselves essentially social.” Machiavelli, with whom Spinoza 20 was well acquainted, had already stated “those princes or those republics which would endure uncor rupted, must above all keep 21 religious ceremonies intact and hold them always in veneration.”

This third notion of Spinoza’s view on religion and state became the cornerstone of Mendelssohn’s concept of Judaism, b ut it compelled him to transform Spinoza’s purely political interpretation of the commandments into a religious one. What had been political laws in the ancient Jewish state have become, after its destruct ion, religious commandments that sustain their validity for the descendants of the p eople of Israel who received th e teachings at Mt. Sinai. Mendelssohn’s juxtaposition of revelation, the Law, and Jewish religion created many ambi guities and i nconsistencies that are irrelevant in the context of the present inquiry. Yet his view t hat religious TPT, ch. 14, pp. 186/7. Toy, History of Religions, quoted in Kaplan, Religion and Language, p. xxviii. 20 Political Treatise, p. 315, p. 378. 21 Discorsi I, 12. There is still much resear ch to be done on the politi cal and social signification of religious ceremonies and r itual but th at transgresses the scop e of this chapter. 18 19

Tolerance, Liberty and Equality

7

truth is independent of revelation (which according to him was of the Law only) brings him, inadvertently, much closer to Spi noza than to any o ther philosopher. Both asserted that by his revelatory act at Mt. Sinai (although Spinoza denied revelation and ascribed the Torah to Moses) God bestowed laws on the People of I srael. Both assumed that religious truth is of a universal nature and therefore excl uded it from the Sinaitic revelation and Mosaic Law (Spinoza did not believe in its revelatory character anyway). The distinctive feature of Judaism is thus limited t o the political legislativ e aspect of the Laws of Moses. Spinoza already anticipated in this connection Mendelssohn’s final assertion that all men are endowed in potentia with reason. In regard to intellect and true virtue every nation is on a par with the rest, and God 22 has not in these respects chosen one people rather than another.

He also corroborated this assertion by referring to the book of Job. Lastly, from Job xxxviii, 28, it is plain that God had ordained for the whole human race the law to r everence God, to keep from ev il doing, or to do well, and that Jo b, although a Gentile, was of all men acceptable to God, because h e excelled in piety 23 and religion.

Spinoza mentioned numerous biblical quot ations of this sort in order to prove his point that they do not manifest any particular Jewish religiosity but rather, express tenets of universal morality that are based on obedience. Both Spinoza and Mendelssohn identifie d civil and religious law in the ancient Jewish state, yet t hey inferred from it diffe rent arguments. When Spinoza claimed that God had been th e supreme sovereign of the Hebrews, and that all legislative aut hority emanated from Him, he strove to illustrate his general political thesis that all po litical precepts must be derived from state authority. The “fact” that in the ancient Jewish state the sovereign was allegedly God himself, was only incidental. Spinoza explained that it was no 24 more than an idea. Although the state was formally a theocracy, practically, it was a non- hereditary monarchy ruled by Moses. Such a state represents a desirable political realit y, although he considered democr acy to be preferable. It is transferab le in principle and in potentia to other states. In contrast with Spinoza, Mendelssohn proclaimed that only o nce in all human history God had decided to become the ruler of o ne particular people. This event was n ot incidental but uni que. Only then and there political and religious laws were wholly identical but everywhere else, a strict separation must prevail between state authorities and the religious establishment. Unlike TPT, Ch. 1, p. 56. Ibid., p. 19. 24 Ibid., Ch. 17, in particular pp. 219–222. 22 23

8

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

Spinoza, Mendelssohn decreed that religious practice should be autonomous and not subordinated to the state. While Spinoza was one of the mos t important precursors of the Enlightenment, Mendelssohn belonged to its ripe age and was one of its most prominent representatives. But he had to pay a price for his more liberal approach. Without committing himself to any re ligious dogma, Spinoza spoke of God’s kingdom as an idea, while Me ndelssohn, who described the ancient state of Israel as a unique king dom of God, had to accept or presuppose at least one a priori religious belief, namely, the belief in a personal God. Like Maimonides, he acknowl edged the fir st of the Te n Commandments as a compulsory belief. Thus h e was caught in a twofold trap: on the one hand, his presupposition represents an infringement on freedom of thought, and on the other, it clashes with his general deistic conception. Mendelssohn was indeed aware of his predicament. Although he advocated freedom of thought, belief and expression, he was still unwilling to extend this freedom to atheism. He was torn between recommen ding full tolerance and at the same time restricting it. Here he followed in the footsteps of John Locke whose philosop hy had a great impact on him. In his Letter on Toleration and The reasonableness of Christianity, Locke was confronted by the same dilemma. Bo th Locke and Mendelssohn pl eaded for religious tolerance but excluded atheis m from it. Locke, unlike most other thinkers of h is time, distinguished between idolatry, which he somewhat denounced and atheism, which he utte rly resented and identified with immorality. But idolatry (say some) is a sin, and therefore not to be tolerated. If they said that it were therefore to be avoided, the inference was good. But it does not follow, th at because it is a sin it ought therefore to be punished by the magistrate. For it does not belong to the magistrate to make use of his sword in pu nishing everything 25 indifferently, that he takes to be a sin against God.

Idolatry, which Maimonides had enumerated as one of the thre e cardinal sins, punishable by death, is, according to Locke, a very deplorable state of affairs, but it is not subject to the ju risdiction of the secular authorities. The “magistrate” has nothing to do with it; however, all this changes when the charge is atheism. Lastly, there are not at all to be tolerated who deny the being of God. Promises, covenants and o aths, which are bonds of human society, can h ave no hold on an atheist. The taking away of God, though but even in thought, dissolves all; b esides

25

A letter concerning toleration, p. 71.

Tolerance, Liberty and Equality

9

also, that those, that by their atheism undermine and destroy all religion, can have no 26 pretense of religion whereupon to challenge the privilege of toleration.

Like Locke, Mendelssohn also repudiated the opinions of Pierre Bayle and John Toland, who considered superstiti on and idol atry to be m uch more dangerous to morality than atheism, and took the latter’s side in the debate. Neither state nor church is authorized to judge the religious matters, for the members of society could not have granted that right to them by any contract whatsoever. The state, to be sure, is to se e to it from afar that no doctrines are propagated which are inconsistent with the public welfar e, doctrines, which like Atheism and Epicureanism undermine the foundations on which the felicity of social life is based. Let Plutarch and Bayle inquire ever so much whether a state might not be better off with atheism than with superstition. Let them count and compare ever so much the inflictions that have hitherto befallen and still threaten to befall the human race from these sources of misery. Ev ery civil society wo uld do well to let n either of them, 27 neither fanaticism nor atheism, take root and spread.

Thus Mendelssohn assigned to the stat e the explicit duty to pr event the spread of “atheism and Epicureanism; ” he therefore abandoned his main thesis which demanded full freedom of thought and compromised, tho ugh unwillingly, with Locke’s extreme ver sion against tolerance. He was indeed discomforted by this conflict of conscience and tried to rectify it as follows: But it is only from a distance that the state should take notice of this, and only with wise moderation should it even f avor those doctrines upon which its true felicity is based. It should not interfere directly in any dispute or wish to decide through the 28 use of its authority.

Mendelssohn neither accorded the state the candid right of coercion nor fully denied it, but as a co mpromise, he thought that the state should watch the situation “from afar, ” “from a distance,” and interfere as slightly a s possible and only in a del icate manner. For the same reason that he held religion to be helpful in assuring the happiness of the citizens, he limited tolerance with regard to atheism. No such theoretical difficulties could arise in Spinoza’s conception of state and religion. Although he defended himself 29 and his philosophy against the charge o f atheism, nowhere did he as much as insinuated that the authorities ought t o prohibit or restrict any thoughts or beliefs. This gulf between Spino za on the one hand, and Locke and Mendelssohn on the other, highlights another important distinction. Ibid., p. 93, emphasized in the original. Jerusalem, pp. 62/3, my emphasis. 28 Ibid., our emphasis. 29 His adversaries discerned, of course, th e atheistic implications of assertions like Deus sive natura (“God or Nature”) etc. in the Ethics. 26 27

10

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

Tolerance represented a major achievement of 18 century thought, but nevertheless still implicitly hinted at the different status of those who tolerate and those who are tolerated. The views of the latter were regarded as inferior. If one tolerates other opinions, one do es not consider them to b e of equal status to one’s own; one merely “t olerates” them. That is no tautology . Tolerance of other opinions is only the first step towards the ultimate goal of equality in the realm of thought and belief. Therefore, Spinoza’s admonition in the Theological-Political Treatise to award liberty of thought a nd speech without any discriminatio n was more consistent and more progressive than Locke’s and Mendelssohn’s views on tole rance a century later. Their views were certainly inspired by an enlightened philosophy, but that does not alter this essential difference between them. It is interesting to mention in this connection another distinction made by the late Israeli Professor Nathan Rote nstreich. He defined as “intellectual tolerance” the view that one holds manifests a certain philosophical or religious totality, but also other view s and systems that represent similar totalities. However, he defined as “mo ral tolerance” the rejection of some other’s view but at the same time, the recognition that it is the view of a 30 human person. Tolerance is the moral expression par excellence of acknowledging the other’s autonomy. One mu st not interpret this concept of tolerance as some kind of skepticism, i.e. that the other’s view might perhaps be more justified than mine. It si mply asserts that it i s the other’s legitimate view although I may disagree with it. This is certainly correct, but it does not take into account another problem that has caused much public consternation in Israel, especially after the murder of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin. Can it be possible to demonstrate toleranc e with regard to views that deny tolerance? Moreover, can one tolerate views that call for killing persons who hold views to which one is opposed? Did the orthodo x Rabbis in Israel (and also in America), who publicly conde mned Rabin’s political policy by the rabbinic terms for treason—Din Rodef, Din Mosser, Pulsa denura—implying that it was allegedly a criminal act that ought to be p unished by death (even if they did not say so explicitly), have the right to say so? Does the principle of tolerance apply to t hem too, or onl y to those who a posteriori expressed their “apprehension” of Rabin’s murder? This distinction is someti mes difficult to draw, but it cannot be swept under the carpet. The issue of tolerance is n ot limited to such extreme cases. On se veral other occasions Rotenstreich however was less consistent. He wrote for example that on the one hand, the state (that is the government) has no right to restrict the religious establishment, but also that the latter should “not be 31 aggressive against the total political est ablishment.” When he condemned th

30 31

Rotenstreich, 1963, p. 208. Ibid. p. 188.

Tolerance, Liberty and Equality

11

the non-recognition of secular institutions by the orthodox and ultra-orthodox constituencies in Israel, he returned, inadvertently, to what Spinoza had already underscored, namely that the is sue is not on ly the conflic t between state and religion, but the imposition of religious coercion on the individ ual by the state. All the governments in Israel hitherto surrendered on many instances to the pressu re of the religious parties out of coalitional deliberations. After all, the question is not “imposi ng on the st ate, in the name of reli gious freedom, coer cive means and to realize certain religious 32 demands;” it is not on the state that these coercive means are imposed but on its citizens. Rotenstreich rightly a dded that the goal is “to realize modes of conduct t hat the religious sector is unable to r ealize by trusting their immanent truth and the p ower of proo f, examination and education. The y rely on the state and its c oercive means, in order to assure those modes of conduct which a person will not a dopt by his own sentiments and 33 convictions.” Let us return to Spinoza and Mendel ssohn. If one tries to compare their influence upon modern and contempo rary thought, the differen ce between their views might be su mmed up as follows. Spinoza’s metaphysics in the Ethics (and the works leading up to it), as well as his political philosophy i n the Theological-Political Treatise and the posth umous Political Treatise, 34 retain their philosophical vitality and political relev ance. Mendelssohn on the other hand, very much impressed his contemporaries by the fact that an observant Jew could play such an infl uential role in the spiritual life of his 35 age, yet his Popularphilosophie never reached the profundity of his great predecessor. Still, Jerusalem resisted the gnawing teeth of time, and his exposition of the relationship between state and religion, notwithstanding some of its definitional and theoretical shortcomings, is perhaps even more acceptable than Spinoza’s. Spinoza wa s the first modern thinker who openly advocated freedom of thought and speech, but, as we have seen, still justified the employment of coerci on by the st ate authorities in some matters of conscience, such as religious worship. His principal aim was not to assure the mutual independence of state and religion, but the autonomy of the state to which religious practice ought to be s ubordinated. Let us illustrate this by Ibid., p. 206. Ibid., p. 207. 34 The multiple congresses on Sp inoza’s philosophy, the many Spinoza societies the world over, and the ever-growing publications of new editions of his works and books on his thought, all testify to this. In Isr ael there has appeared a few years ago a new tr anslation of the Ethics by Prof. Yirmeyahu Yovel which re places the translation of Ya’acov Klatzkin of 1924. This evident ly also refl ects the fact that Spionoza was one of the greatest philosophers of mankind. 35 Kant, e.g., devoted a special chapter in h is Critique of Pure Reason to a r efutation of Mendelssohn’s concept of the soul. 32 33

12

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

the state of affairs that prevails in Israel today that has already been mentioned earlier. There are various areas of ci vil life where religious coercion is operated by the secular authorities—the Knesset and the government. This unfortunate situation seems prima facie to conform, quite paradoxically, to Spinoza’s conception. He would have bitterly opposed the circumstances that led up to this situation, namely, the menaces and pressures exerted by the r eligious parties on the coalition gover nments in Israel in order to enforce s uch coercion. This had been precisely the core of Spinoza’s strife against the Calvin ist preachers in Holland, and that instigated him to write the Theological-Political Treatise. Insofar as he denied their right to wield pressure on the Dutch government for the sake of their ecclesiastic ends an d interests, he would have acted the same way today. But he would not have questioned the right of the state authorities t o decide on matters of religious practice, on grounds that he called “ius circa sacra.” Mendelssohn expressed these matters in the spirit of the Enlightenment, but at the same time in light of h is personal predicament as a “tolerated” Jew who was still deprived of elementary civil and political rights in his countr y of domicil e. He formul ated his views on these matters in a much more clear-cut fashion. He called for full autonomy of the state as well as of religion. He was o pposed to any form of coercion in matters of conscience whether performed by the st ate or the religious authorities (“church”). Notwithstanding his regret table inconsistency and controversial equivocality with regar d to atheism, his posit ions are certainly more acceptable now and adaptable to modern and progressive conceptions. A final and important not e regards what several thinkers have described 36 as Spinoza’s democratic turn. Mendelssohn, who lived under the rule of an absolutist king, did not devote much thought to democracy. What dominated his thought was, as we have seen, the relation between state and religion and the right of t he Jews to participate in the life and c ulture of their society. Spinoza considered democracy to repr esent the desirable political form of government, although d ue to his untimely death h e did not complete the chapter on democracy in the Political Treatise. But already in the Theological-Political Treatise, when he wrote about the ancient Jewish state, he emphasized that after having been slaves in Egypt, the Hebrews were firm in their resolution never again to become slaves or subjects of another human 37 being. Therefore they only rec ognized God as the supreme ruler. Their 38 government was a theocracy, though he added that this had bee n no more than fiction because Moses, a human be ing, became their veritable ruler. He deplored this turn of events while at the same time, did not conceal that the Smith, 1994, pp. 359–388. TPT, ch. 17, pp. 218/9. 38 Ibid., pp. 219/220. 36 37

Tolerance, Liberty and Equality

13

real target of his argument was the political affair s of his time, and that hi s interpretation of Scriptur es was inte nded to underscore their similarity. “They were, in fact, in much the same position… as the United States of the 39 Netherlands.” In contradistinction to all traditional and ulterior views, including those of Mendelssohn, the biblical Jewish state was no exceptional or unique p henomenon in the history of humankin d, but a theocracy (or quasi-theocratic regime) t hat can serve as a paradigm for any ot her state. Whether the supreme ruler is God (t heocracy), the king (monarc hy) or the people (democracy), does not change the contractual relationship between the sovereign (whoever he is) and his subjects. Spinoza elaborates the concept of democracy in the Political Treatise not from any id eal perspective of the people; rather, he derives it from his concept of sovereignty as described above. In this manner a society can be formed without any violation of natural right, and the covenant can al ways be strictly kept—that is, if each indiv idual hands over t he

whole of his power to the b ody politic,40 the latter will then possess sovereign natural rights over all things, that is, it will have sol e and unquestioned dominion, and everybody will be bound to obey, under pain of severest punishment. A body politic of this kind is called a Democracy, which may be defined as a society, which wields all its power as a whole.41

This obedience ought to be based on ra tional understanding of the utility of democracy. Generally speaking, Spinoza’s preference for democracy is quite plausible although occasionally his distin ction between the intellectuals (the philosophers) and the vulgar (“vulgus”) undercuts it. Thus, he continues the views of Maimonides as expressed in t he introduction to the Guide of the Perplexed. Moreover, when he employs in the Theological-Political Treatise, the concepts of charity and jus tice in t heir traditional religious sense, his primary goal is safeguardi ng tolerance and non-i nterference. His idea of democracy is aimed at promoting human freedom o r individual liberty, but this freedom also includes volu ntary obedience to the bod y politic with the thoughts and beliefs of others. SPINOZA’S CONCEPT OF OBEDIENCE Spinoza’s argument that the ancient Je wish state was a political community whose laws were laid down in the T orah, led hi m to some questionable remarks on the Hebrew prophets. Unli ke most modern biblical scholars, he did not hold their social and anti-clerical message in high esteem. In the TPT Ibid., p. 224. One might perhaps discern here a certain influence of Hobbes. 41 Ibid., p. 205. 39 40

14

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

he asserted that one should not op pose the authorities, and therefore criticized the prophets for their allegedly quasi-subversive sermons. According to him, they preached civil disobedience, imperiled the safety of the state and caused more harm than good: The prophets…rather irritated than reformed through their warning, rebuke and censure; whereas the kings, 42 by their reproofs and punishments, were always effective. A recurrent theme in the TPT is that th e religious commandments of the Sinaitic covenant were pr omulgated in order to regulate the dail y life of the citizens of th e state, and f irst and fore most to tea ch them obedie nce to the political and civil authoriti es. The goa l of the commandments according to him was not so much obedience to God—a metaphysical co ncept—but rather, the goal is to guara ntee obedience to Moses, followed by the priests, judges, and kings. The prophets howe ver in th eir rebellious preaching reprimanded the kings and priests for their evil deeds, thereby deranging the established order. This de rogatory attitude to the prophets is astonishing because Spinoza speaks very approvingly of Jesus, whose sermons were after all no less insurrectionary. The lat ter fulfilled according to him an intermediary role between the Law o f Moses and philoso phical thought. Moses was a great lawgiver of one single people, w hile Jesus addressed his teachings to the whole of humanity. Such utterances by Spinoza create d bitter resentment among his later Jewish readers and contributed to his negative image in the Jewi sh community. According to Emmanuel Lévinas, one of the most important th Jewish philosophers in the second half of the 20 century, Spinoza 43 “subordinated the truth of Judaism to the revelation of the New Testament.” This accusation is unwarranted because Spinoza’s sympathy to Je sus’ moral teachings nowhere implied a belief in the revelatory nature of the Gospels. It is also not true that Spinoza exerted a “pernicious” (“néfaste”) influence on modern Jewish intelligentsia and pushe d its religiosity towards Christian 44 ideas. However, even if we rejects Spino za’s view that transformed obedience into a political principle, as well as his view of Judaism, let us not forget that his was the first secular interpretation of the Bible. He conceived of the Torah as a human creati on and inaugurated the scientific criticism of Scriptures. It is true however that the latter was not only impelled by the aim of pure scientific research. Spinoza engaged in biblical criticism for the sake of his political-philosophi cal arguments th at were of much relevance to his time. The biblical commandments we re imposed on the people of Israel much as the political laws of the state, but they can still serve as a paradigm Baruch Spinoza, Theologico-Political Treatise. 1951, p. 239. Emmanuel Lévinas, Difficile Liberté—Essais sur le Judaisme. 1976, p. 155. 44 Ibid. 42 43

Tolerance, Liberty and Equality

15

for modern constitutions. He expressly said so in the title of chapter XVIII of the TPT: “From the commonwealth of the Hebrews, and th eir history, 45 certain political doctrines are deduced.” Indeed, at the end of the chapter, he referred to the “United Sta tes of the Net herlands” who “always reserved for 46 themselves the authority … and the liberty of the citizens.” Despite the exaggerated r ole that Sp inoza ascribed to the obedience of the authorities, he believed it to be compatible with the liberty of the citizens, and also inferred from it certain humanistic implications: there should not be any distinctions among groups of people on the basis of ethnic criteria. All people share a common nature. Obedience al so emphasizes the pri nciple of tolerance as he explains in the Preface to the TPT: Now, seeing that we h ave the rare h appiness of living in a republic wher e everyone’s judgment is free and unshackled, where each may worship God as his conscience dictates, and where freedom is esteemed before all things dear and precious … not only can such fr eedom be gr anted without preju dice to th e public peace, but also, that without such freedom, piety cannot flourish nor the public peace 47 be secure.”

In the Ethics, he returns to these ideas that form an integral r ole in his philosophy: Finally, this doctrine is also of no small advantage to the comm onwealth, in that it teaches the manner in which citizens should be governed and led; namely, not so as 48 to be slaves, but so as to do freely what is best.

The principal foundation o f Spinoza’s philosophy in the Ethics consists of his assumption that onl y knowledge of truth can guide the individual to true happiness. This is the ultimate end of Amor Dei intellectualis. In the TPT Spinoza employed a more customary theological terminolog y in order not to shock his readers and the cen sor, although this difference causes certain theoretical inconsistencies between the two books. For instance, how can his assertion that true knowledge of God is by necessity a component of the human mind be reconc iled with his assertion that it is accessib le only to the philosopher while the multitude (“vulgus”) is ensnared by superstitious beliefs? (Perhaps the latter are philosophers in potentia; therefore, as we have seen in the former chapter, one of the tasks of t he TPT is to help them to get rid of their superstitions and a ttain true understanding.) Wit hout such inconsistencies, however, Spinoza would not have been able to construct the political-philosophical edifice of the TPT. Whereas in the Ethics moral TPT, op. cit., p. 237. Ibid., p. 244. 47 Ibid., p. 6. 48 Baruch Spinoza, The Ethics and Selected Letters. 1982, p. 100. 45 46

16

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

perfection is the consequence of intell ectual perfection that repre sents the final true virtue reachable only by the philosopher, in the TPT the moral behavior of t he people is regulated by laws and based on the pri nciple of obedience. What the phil osopher understands by reason, t he multitude must fulfill by obeying the laws. The common pe ople, however, do not grasp that obedience serves their proper interests and since they do not comprehend this by intellectual understanding, it has to be admini stered to them through belief. This brings to mind some associations with Jewish phil osophers who preceded him. However, wherea s they tried to deduce religious belief from the concept of revelation, Spinoza de rived it from the political concept of 49 obedience: “The aim and object of S cripture is only to teach obedience.” Furthermore, in flagrant contradiction to his predecessors, Spinoza states that articles of faith are not true and must not be true. Faith does not demand that dogmas should be true as that they should be pious—that is such that will stir up the hear t to obey; though there may be many such which 50 contain not a shadow of truth.

Spinoza does not refrain from proposing seven “dogmas of faith” ( fidei 51 dogmata), whose sole purpose is to teach obedience for the simple believers by means of religion. Therefore, “if o ne of these precepts is d isregarded 52 obedience is destroyed.” In the Ethics, still unpublished at the time, Spinoza employs much stronger terms. Religi on exploits the ignoranc e of the common people in order to ensure its dominion over them; it thus serves as 53 the “sanctuary of i gnorance.” He sarcastically conti nues: “If ignorance is taken away, the only means they [the representatives of religion] have of 54 arguing and defending their authority is also taken away.” We can su mmarize by distinguishing three no tions in Spi noza’s conception of the relation between philosophy and religion: 1. Philosophical truth, which is the impromptu ultimate truth about God (equal t o nature or s ubstance). It concerns the select f ew who are endowed with tru e intellectual knowledge (similar to Maimonides’ view of the philosopher).

TPT, op. cit., p. 183. Ibid., p. 185. 51 Ibid., p. 186/7. See also chapter 1. 52 Ibid. 53 Ethics, op. cit., p. 60. 54 Ibid. 49 50

Tolerance, Liberty and Equality

17

2. General religion, which is devoted to the universal mission of teaching obedience. It is d esigned “ad captum plebis” and befits the multitude, the “ vulgus.” Because it is intended for popular thought, Spinoza does not refrain from retain ing traditional religious notions such as a personal God, revelation and so on, but , as we have seen, these are no more than pious dogmas that have no place in his metaphysical system, yet they are useful and even necessary in order to enforce people’s obedience to the political authorities. Thi s obedience, however, is not equivalent to servitude; it does not serve the interests of the sovereign but on ly serves the self-interest of the citizens. 3. The Law of Moses, which was the particular political legisl ation of the ancient Jewish state. It is no longer binding since the destruction of that state, but it can still serv e as a useful paradigm. Its implicit political and social functions were very important and are st ill relevant. The first notion forms the topic of the Ethics (and before that of the Short Treatise). The other two notio ns are discussed in the TPT in order to corroborate his actual political-philosop hical arguments on the relationship between state and religion, primarily the importance of freedom of thought and expression. He already proclaimed this aim in the preface of the book: “Freedom of philoso phical meditation cannot only be awarded without damage to piety and the welfare of the state, but on the contrary, it cannot be abolished without ab olishing also th e welfare of the state and piety themselves.” Spinoza’s conceptions on state and religion represent one of three characteristic views on this issue in the beginning of the modern era, including those of Hobbes and Mendelssohn. There is in particular a striking affinity between Spinoza’s TPT and Mendelssohn’s Jerusalem. There ar e also, however, certain important diffe rences between them, whi ch are of interest to contemporary discourse . Although Spinoza recommended the separation of theology and philosophy, he did not advocate a similarly clearcut division of state and religion. He was concerned with prev enting the influence of religion on the state— of the Calvinist preache rs in the Netherlands in particular, but not the other way round. He aspired to safeguard the independence of the political authorities, but not that of religious institutions, whose main task is to educate the citizens about obedience, but not to intervene in the affairs of the state. The latt er, though, is fully entitled to force upon its citizens certain forms of ius circa sacra, i.e. religious worship. Public exercise of religion must be regulated by the state:

18

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

“The right over matt ers spiritual lies wholly with the sovereign, and the 55 outward forms of religion should be in accordance with public peace.” Religious practice, contrary to ph ilosophical thought, must be subordinated to the p olitical authority. The idea h ere is that freedom of thought therefore does not necessarily entail the right to act freely in accord with one’s convictions. Spinoza was awar e of this dilemma, primarily that the question of free spe ech is not an ac tion. A few decade s later the English legal philosopher William Blackstone also proclaimed that “ Scribere est agere.” A century later, Mendelssohn’s opinion on this issue was indeed more explicit. He considered freed om of though t and belief to includ e freedom of religious worship. Neither the state nor the religious authority (“church”) has the right of coercion in matters of religious convictions. Both Spinoza and Mendelssohn asserted that by His revelatory act at Mt. Sinai, God only bestowed laws upon his people and excluded religion proper from the Mosaic Law. According t o them, the distinctive feature o f Judaism was limited to its politic al-legislative aspect. Spinoza anticipated in this regard Mendelssohn’s future claim th at all men are endowed with reason in potentia: “In regard to intellect and true virtue, every nation is on a par with the rest, and God has not, in these resp ects, chosen one people rather than 56 another.” He also tried to corroborate this assertion by referring to the book of Job: Lastly, from Job xxxviii:28, it is plain that God had ordained for the whole human race the law to r everence God, to keep from ev il doing, or to do well, and that Jo b, although a Gentile, was of all men most accep table to God, because he excell ed in 57 piety and religion.

Spinoza mentioned numerous biblical quot ations of this sort in order to demonstrate that they do n ot manifest any particular Jewish r eligiosity, but express principles of universal morality based on obedience. When Spinoza claimed that God ha d been the supreme soverei gn and legislator of t he Hebrews, he did so in order to illustrate his thesi s that all political prescripts, including religious practice, must be derived from state authority. Contrary to Spi noza’s view, Mendelssohn asserted th at religion ought to be autonomous and not regulated by the state. Yet Spinoza never insin uated that th e authorities should prohibit or restrict any thoughts or beliefs. This gulf between Spinoza and Mendelssohn highlights yet another important di stinction. Tolerance was a major th achievement of 18 century thought, but it still insinuated, as sho wn above, albeit implicitly, the different status of those who tolerate and those who are TPT, op. cit., p. 245. Ibid., p. 56, see also above. 57 Ibid., p. 49. 55 56

Tolerance, Liberty and Equality

19

tolerated. If one tolerates other opinions, then one does not really consider them to be equal to one’s own; one merely “tolerates ” them. Therefore, Spinoza’s admonition in the TPT, to award full freedom of thought an d speech without any discrimination, was more consistent than Mendelssohn’s view, a century later, on the subject of tolerance. Spinoza’s aim was not, like Mendelssohn’s, to assure the mutual independence of state and religion b ut rather, regarded the unquestioned superi ority of the state and the obedience of the citizens to it in all practical matters. This had been t he core of Spinoza’s strife with the Calvinist preachers in Holland. He denied their right to wield pressure on the Dutch government for the sake of their ecclesiastic ends, but at the same time he did not challenge the right of the state authorities to decide on matters of religious practice, namely obedience to ius circa sacra.

CHAPTER 2

Spinoza’s and Maimonides’ Esoteric Writings Maimonides was the main Jewish philosopher to occupy Spinoza’s thoughts; however, his relationship to him was ambivalent and critical. In the Guide of the Perplexed, Maimonides is interested in reaching a small and select group of philosophically schooled readers. From the outset he believes that philosophy ought to be restricted to “sages” and “men,” since the “multitudes” and the “people” are not only incapable of understanding it but are also suspicious of it. In order to avoi d disturbing the spiritual tranquility of the multitudes, he availed himself of the method of esoteric writing, which would prevent any harm to their beliefs. While Maimonides addressed himself to actual philoso phers—although a small group—Spi noza wrote, especially the Theologico-Political Treatise for “potential” philosophers. His aim was to emancipate men from superstitions and prejudices, and to lead them towards rational thought . He resort ed to the esoteric method, as we shall see, only in instances of inevitable necessity, as a certain camouflaging of his true ideas was instrumental in ensuring the dissemination of his views. Spinoza hoped that the int elligent reader would be able to read between the lines; at the same time, the ordinary reader would derive some benefit as well because of the prevalence of tr aditional religious vocabulary therein. Whereas these had also been Maimonides’ intentions for his esoteric writing, important divergences between the two philosophers remain. Maimonides strove for maximal disguise in order to engage the attention of a minimal audience of competent readers, while Spinoza sought minimal d isguise in order to reach a maximal number of in tellectual and potentially intellectual readers. This essential difference also entails an ethical distinction, namely the extent to which the author ought to take into account his potential readers. To whom ought he provi de priority? In contemporary philosophical parlance, what is preferable—employing a “pu blic language,” “pri vate,” or “semiprivate language?” Maimonides wrote the Guide for the few; Spinoza wrote the TPT for the many. However, both knew that every written text can also reach an audience for whom it was not intended. All of the careful devices of esoteric writing in the Guide—ambiguity, equivocality, and intentional contradictions testify to this. Contrary to this, Spinoza limited his esoteri c devices to a minimum, principally in order to ensure the publication of the

22

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

TPT. Nonetheless, he deemed it nec “Preface”:

essary to state at the end of the

But as there will be many who have neither the leisure, nor, perhaps, the inclination to read through all I have written, I feel bound here, as at the end of my treatise, to declare that I have written not hing, which I do not most willingly submit to the examination and judgment o f my country’s rulers, and that I am ready to retract anything, which they shall d ecide to be repugnant to the laws or prejudicial to the public good. I know that I am a man, and, as a man, liable to error, but against error I have taken scrupulous care, and striven to keep in entire accordance with the laws 1 of my country, with loyalty, and with morality.

He probably assumed that a censor usually reads the introducto ry and concluding pages of a book very carefully but pays less attention to the rest of it; he t herefore repeated this declaration, word by word, at the end of the 2 book. Similarly, he appea ls again in t he “Preface” to the “p hilosophical reader. To the rest of mankind I care not to commend my treatise … 3 therefore the multitude … I ask not to read my book.” But on the very same page he also states that h is “leading propositions t o philosophers are but commonplace.” The readers that he ha s in mind are precisely those common people whom he wi shes to free from su perstitious beliefs. Spinoza thus also disguised his true aims and thou ghts from time to time by esoteric and ambivalent formulations. These different aims also explain the different role that they endo wed to hermeneutics. Only Maimonides delib erately engaged in he rmeneutics proper, which goes alo ng with his esoteric writings. Accord ing to his philosophical conception, the Torah is an esoteric boo k par excellence; therefore, it needs a hermeneutic met hod to discover its hidden metaphysical truths. But since the reasons for th is esoteric writing still abide, this hermeneutics must proceed esoteric ally as wel l. Esotericism entails hermeneutics, but hermeneutics again entails esotericism. On the other hand, Spinoza repudiated figurative and a llegorical hermeneutics and advocated literal interpretation of the biblical text. The Bible must be treated scientifically, just like any other text. The method of interpreting Scripture does not widely differ fr om the method of interpreting nature—in fact it is almost the same. For as the int erpretation of nature consists in the examin ation of the history of nature, and th ere from dedu cing definitions of natural phen omena on ce rtain fixed axioms, so Scriptural

Spinoza, TPT, Chief works, 1951, 11. Ibid., 256. 3 Ibid., 11. 1 2

Spinoza’s and Maimonides’ Esoteric Writings

23

interpretation proceeds by the e xamination of Scripture, and inferring the int ention 4 of its authors as a legitimate conclusion from its fundamental principles.

Therefore, unlike Maimonides, Spino za engaged in textual exegesis and not in textua l hermeneutics, as he ma kes clear in chapter VII in Of the interpretation of Scripture. The clue to his approach in chapter XV is his distinction between two interpretative attitudes—those of the “skeptics” and of the “dogmatic s.” The former are di strustful of reason and call for its subordination to scripture, while th e latter rely on reason and insist on adapting scripture to an ar bitrary hermeneutics consistent with its principles. Their most distinguished proponent is obviously Maimonides. But “both 5 parties are … utterly in the wrong,” because the skeptics deny reas on while the dogmatics distort the text. The former are opposed to rationalist inquiry and the latter violate intell ectual integrity. Since “Sc ripture does not teach philosophy but merely obedience” ( ibid.), it is i n no need of hermeneutics. Moreover, Spinoza adds in his pejorativ e language that scripture “has been adapted to the understanding and establ ished opinions of the multitude” (“ad captum vulgus”). He was indeed one of the first thinkers who unequivocally stated that one must r ead the Bible without any a priori belief or bias. Many of his assertions that seem plausible today were extremely daring in his time and were perceived as heretical. The different approach of Maimonides and Spinoza to the interpretation of the Bible is thus primarily derive d from the distin ction between skeptics and dogmatics. The skeptics according to Spinoza questioned the status of reason and insisted on subjecting it to the sacrosanct authority of the scriptural text. What Spinoza defined as “skepticism,” we would n ow define as “dogmatism,” but this concept he reserved for the op posite view. Regarding the skeptics, Spinoza rhetorically proclaims: I am astonished that anyone should wish to subject reason, the greatest of gifts and a light from on h igh, to the dead letter which may have b een corrupted by hu man 6 malice.

Why is it not considered a “crime to sp eak with contempt of mind, the true handwriting of God’s word,” while to question the written letter i s condemned as “the greatest of crimes”? (ibid.) The position of the skeptics is therefore utterly untenable. According to him, the dogmatics’ chief representative was Maimonides. In line with the dogmatic view, the sacred text ou ght to be adapted to th e dictates of re ason because it is inconceivable that t he divine author could Ibid., 99. Ibid., 190. 6 Ibid., 192. 4 5

24

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

have composed anything incompatible with it. This obviously requires a hermeneutical method, in order to exp licate the pseudo-contradic tions that according to Maimonides, the divine author had intentionally interspersed in the Bible, as, for example, anthropomorphic expressions. For Maimonides, to philosophize was a religious commandment, evidently only for philoso phically schooled Jews. However, because it is liable to lead to ideas t hat might contradict the holy text, it becomes mandatory to interpret the Holy Script ures allegorically in order to prevent 7 such contradiction. In his treatise The Resurrection of the Dead, Maimonides unequivocally states: “We mu st interpret that of which the 8 literal meaning is unacceptable.” Maimonides did not limit allegorical interpretation only to verses of problem atic meaning, but extended it to the whole corpus of the bibl ical text. The Torah comprises ab initio hidden truths, which can be revealed only to a few select initiates; it r epresents an esoteric text par excellence. This conception e xhibits two extremely vulnerable points in Maimonides’ philosophy: (1) If philosophy is a religious commandment, why should it be restricted to the few? (2) What can be done when no allegorical interpretation is capable of brid ging the gap between what is written in the Torah and philosophical comprehension? Spinoza would criticize Maimonides’ inconsistency very sharply, e.g. on t he issue of creation versus primordiality, and ch aracterize his allegorical method of 9 interpretation as “harmful, useless, and absurd.” Spinoza argues that Mai monides’ arbitrary interpretation, grou nded in Aristotelian philosophy, distorts the biblical text because it aims at discovering in the Bible metaphysical truths that ar e not present there at all. It is no more than fantasy that adap ts the text to those concepts that Maimonides wishes to uphold—for exam ple, God’s incorporeality; while rejecting other views such as the primordiality of the world that are contrary to his preconceived beliefs. Maimonide s’ announcement that he accepts the notion of creatio ex nihilo by allegedly reasonable arguments (namely the superiority of the prophets over the ph ilosophers), but that he would have been able to interpret the relevant sc riptural passage metaphorically in li ne with Aristotle’s view (if he had be en convinced of its truth), looks preposterous to Spinoza. This is according to him intellectual dishonesty with regard to the biblical text, by which the philosopher usurps some kind of religious authority in order to perpetuate prejudices and superstitions. Spinoza therefore also repudiates the hermeneutical position of the dogmatics. The skeptics falsify reason, whereas the dogmatics d istort the text. They try to combine two separate matters—reason and faith, philosophy Maimonides, Guide of the Perplexed, 1963, Pt. I, ch. 64; Pt. II, ch. 8. Leo Strauss, Philosophie und Gesetz, 1935, 76. 9 Spinoza, 1951, 118. 7 8

Spinoza’s and Maimonides’ Esoteric Writings

25

and theology. Any attempt to subor dinate one to the other is doomed to failure. Spinoza also comes to ter ms with a third interpretative vi ew that he 10 refutes as well. This is the view of Rabbi Yehuda Alfaquer, who was one of the chief ad versaries of Maimonide s’ philosophy, having w ritten three epistles where he claimed that th e Torah cannot be reconciled with philosophy. At first sight his position seems clo se to that of Spinoza. However, he also recommends separating the Torah from philosophy for the sake of subordinating reason to Scrip ture. He thus wavers between the skeptics and Spinoza. Lik e Spinoza, he stipulates that the Bible ought to be interpreted literally. Only in those in stances where one biblical passage contradicts another, whet her directly or indirectly, it may be “explained 11 metaphorically.” According to Spinoza’s presentation, Alphaquer allows for hermeneutics not in order to adapt the Bible to philosophical reason, but in order to dissolve intra-textual contra dictions and then one of the two irreconcilable passages ma y be metaphorically inte rpreted. But Alphaquer insists that t his metaphorical interpret ation should on no account rely on arguments of reason that are independent of the Bibl e, but only on what the Bible itself postulates as an article-of-faith. For instance, verses that might be understood as hinting at the pluralit y of g ods should be interpreted figuratively not because they contradi ct reason (as Maimonides would have claimed), but becaus e they contradict the biblica l assertion of God’s uniqueness. This also applies to th e anthropomorphisms in the Bible. Spinoza enumerates several salient exam ples of such contradictory bi blical statements where one as sertion “flatly affirms” what “the o ther flatly 12 denies.” According to Alphaquer, the decision of which verse to read literally and which one to interpret figur atively is not a matt er of rational argumentation. Spinoza criticizes him b ecause he renounces, as it were, his capacity of reason for the sake of religious dogmas: In so far as he seeks to interpret Scriptur e by Scripture, I praise him, but I marv el 13 that a man gifted with reason should wish to debase that faculty.

After having refuted these three hermeneutical positions, Spinoza exposes his own method of exegesis: Th e Bible must be interpreted literally. The separation of philosophy from t heology—the chief topic of chapter XV—entails the neutrality of the Bi ble with regard to philosophica l interpretation and recommends interpreta tion of scrip ture through scripture, which is the only effective exegesis. I n order to est ablish the truth-value of Yehuda Alfaquer was the court physician of the Spanish king Fernando III. He died in 1235, about 30 years after Maimonides. 11 Ibid., 192/3. 12 Ibid., 194. 13 Ibid., 191. 10

26

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

the biblical text, one has to avail oneself of the “ light of reason” (lumen naturale), which is the s ole criterion of judgment: “Is a man to assent to 14 anything against his reason?” The process of understanding the bi blical text therefore comprises several stages: first is pr oper linguistic comprehension. Spi noza attributes utmost importance to the exact connotati ons of the Hebrew words. For this purpose he composed at the end of his life the unfinished Hebrew Grammar; one of its aims was to help his Chri stian friends to properly un derstand the Bible. Second is systematic historical scrutiny. One ought to check the authenticity of the text in order to ascert ain the time, place and origin of the books of the Bible; and to judge the trustworthiness of the witnesses of the related events. Contradictory statement s in the Bibl e might be t he result of divergent views of different author s. Neither Maimonides nor Alphaquer would have dared to express such an op inion. They considered the Bible to be either God’s word or th at of divinely inspired persons (i.e., the prophets). Although Spinoza advocated interpretati on of scripture through scripture itself, he accorded importance to co-tex tual and contextual facts concerning the life, tho ughts, and aspirations of the various authors as these are oftentimes of significant relevance to the proper comprehension of the text. His literal interpretation differs from the traditional method of Peshat (literal exegesis) that focuses only some attention on context and does not take into account the possibility that the text might have been altered, corrected, misinterpreted or even falsified in th e course of generations. These were the most important componen ts of Spinoza’s method of biblical interpretation and biblical criticism. Third is conceptual definitions in order to discuss tenets of belief such as r evelation, election or vocation of Israel, kingdom of God, miracles, prophecies and so on. These cannot be corroborated by reason and require a critical investigation. Fourth is disc overing the underlying fundamental conception o f the bi blical text, which Spinoza claimed to be education, obedience an d the fear of God. Finally, accommodating contemporary views to particular instances as described in the Bible. After having established the p recise meaning of the v erse or passage under investigation, one must decide by ju dgment of reason whether it is still acceptable today. That was Spinoza’s cardinal hermeneutical conclusion. Affinities and differences betw een Maimonides’ and Spi noza’s hermeneutics can be illust rated by exa mining their rational explanations of miracles as described in t he Bible. Ma imonides asserts that miracles were integral to God’s forekno wledge in th e act of creation and di d not present any deviation from his preconceived plan. This assertion however see ms preposterous to Spinoza who claims that “miracles” that cannot be rationally explained were no more th an superstitious beliefs or dreams of people in the 14

Ibid., 192.

Spinoza’s and Maimonides’ Esoteric Writings

27

past who did not yet possess the scie ntific knowledge that is n ow at our disposition. His hermeneutical method with regard to miracles thus includes two stages: (1) Textual criticism, in order to explain away the miracle by rational explication, as he did for exam ple in the case of the famous verse 15 “Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon” (Joshua X;12). (2) Philosophical criticism, whereby the very supposi tion of a miracle contradicts the 16 What perplexes comprehension of God’s (o r Nature’s) true essence. Maimonides and his f ollowers—namely that the biblical text might contradict the truth of reason and h ow to refute thi s presumption-does no t bewilder Spinoza. Accord ing to him, the Bible does not express or teach truths at all; the Bible has no cognitive meaning but only a connotative one that is an ed ucational and moral connotation. Since the problem of truth is irrelevant, there is no need for he rmeneutics but only for exegesis. The question that had been of utmost i mportance to Maimonid es and his followers—whether or not the biblical text can be reconciled with “true philosophy,” was of little significance to Spinoza. Let us illustrate the divergent hermeneutical approaches of Mai monides and Spinoza by the former’s vindication of the conc ept of creation and the latter’s refutation of his argument. Maimonides, unlike his philosophical predecessors from Sa’adia onwards, did not present cre ation as a proof of God’s existence. Rather, the biblical concept of creation, the so-called Account of the Beginning, was according to him contrary to the Aristotelian concept of the primordiality of the wo rld. Generally speaking, Aristotle’s philosophy served as a gu ideline to Maimonides’ hermeneutics of the Bible. Whenever a clash b etween the biblical text and the dictates of reason occurred, Maimonides availed himself of an allegorical interpretation. Spinoza sharply criticizes this demeanor in the following statement: He asserted th at each p assage in Scriptures admits of various, nay, contradictory meanings; but that we would never be cert ain of any particular one till we knew t he passage as we interpreted it, co ntained nothing contrary or repu gnant to reason. If the literal meaning clashes with reason, though the passage seems in itself p erfectly clear, it must be interpreted in some metaphorical sense. This doctrine he lays down 17 very plainly in chapter XXV, part II, of his book “Moreh Nebuchim.”

Spinoza, however, not only subjects Maimonides’ allegorical method of hermeneutics to a sev ere criticism but also reproves him when h e tends to abandon it, as for example on the i ssue of creation. His her meneutical method aroused Spinoz a’s indignation at his blatant ph ilosophical inconsistency. Maimonides’ quandary was how to explain and justify, in this Ibid., 33/34. Ibid., 84/85. 17 Ibid., 115. 15 16

28

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

instance, his deviation from Aristo tle’s philosophy, which g uided him everywhere else in his book. Why, then, did he not avail himself of allegorical interpretation with regar ds to the issue of the creation? Maimonides gives the following explanation, quoted in full by Spinoza: Know that our shunning the af firmation of the eternity of the world is not due to a text figuring in the Torah according to which the world has be en produced in time. For the texts indicat ing that th e world has be en produced in time ar e not more numerous than those indicating that the Deity is a body. Nor are the gates of figurative interpretation shut in our faces or impossible of access to us reg arding the subject of the crea tion of the world in time. For we could interpret th em as figurative, as we have done when denying His corporeality. Perhaps this would even be much easier to do: we should be very well able to give a figurative interpretation 18 of those other texts as we have denied that he, may He be exalted, is a body.

Why did M aimonides refrain from relying on his usual method of allegorical interpretation in this instance, although he himself admitted that it would not have been at all difficult to apply it here? Why did he not accept Aristotle’s philosophical thesis on the primordiality of the world? Two causes are responsible for our not doing this or believing it. One of them is as follows. That the Deity is not a body has b een demonstrated; fr om this it follo ws necessarily that everything th at in its external meaning disagrees with t his demonstration must be interpreted figurativ ely, for it is known th at such texts are of necessity fit for figurative interpretation. However, the eternity of the world has not been demonstrated. Consequently in this case the texts ought not to b e rejected and figuratively interpreted in order to make prevail an opinion whose contrary can be made to prevail by means of various sorts of arguments (ibid.).

Spinoza quotes this long passage in full up to t his point. Maimo nides’ second cause was of no interest to him in this context, and neither is it to this inquiry. What matters is the following: God’s incorporeality can be proven by reason. The Scriptures, therefore, cannot contradict it and thus have to be interpreted accordingly. But the eter nity of the world can neither be corroborated nor refuted; i t is, to employ Kantian t erminology, cognitively “transcendent,” beyond our intellectual capacity. Maimonides therefore repudiates the view of philosoph y (i.e. that of Aristotle) that cannot be proven, and instead adopts the view of the prophets, although it also cannot be proven. To the latter, however, th e philosophically unconfirmed truth that the world was created out of nothing was divulged by divine revelation. As he remarked in t he above quotation, it would have been easy for him t o interpret the relevant bi blical verses in li ne with the conce ption of the 18

Maimonides, 1963, 327, quoted by Spinoza, ibid. I have quoted from the English translation of the Guide by Shlomo Pines which is more exact than the translation of this passage in the Dover’s Publications edition of the TPT.

Spinoza’s and Maimonides’ Esoteric Writings

29

eternity of the world, but he refrained from doing so because bet ween these two views (neither of which can be proven), he gives priority to the religiou s view of the Bible on the basis of revelation. Yehuda Alfaquer alread y criticized Maimonides on this inconsiste ncy, even before Spinoza did: “As concerns this issue of eternity, if Aristotle would have given a clear demonstration of it by his laws of logic, he [Maimonides] could have offered 19 a figurative interpretation of the creation story.” What aroused great indignation am ong later Jewish thinkers was Maimonides’ statement that if Aristotle’s notion of t he primordiality of t he world had been philosophically dem onstrable, he could have acco mmodated it to the biblical text t hrough an allegorical interpretation. What was philosophical improbity to Spinoza was blasphemy and heterodox y for Jewish thinkers. It is of course dif ficult to decide if Maimonides’ sophisticated argument was inspired b y his genuine religious belief or if he tried to corroborate the latter by some kind of philosophical legerdemain that justified his abandonment of philosophy on this particular issue. One cannot avoid pondering what was in fact Maim onides’s view on this issue but to Spinoza, his position was utterly unacceptable. If he had been convinced by reason that th e world is eternal, he would not have hesitated to twist and explain away the words of Scripture till he made them appear to teach th is doctrine. He would have felt quite sure that Scripture, though everywhere plainly denying the eternity of the world, really intends to teach it.20 Truly this would be a new for m of ecclesiastical authority, and a new sort of priests or pontiffs, more likely to excite men’s ridicule than heir v eneration … The falsity of such a doctrine is shown in this very ch apter [i.e. TPT, ch. 7] … But if we grant all this license, what can it effect after all? Absolutely nothing.21 Therefore, the method of Maimonides is clearly useless to which we may add that it does away with all th e certainty which the masses acquire by candid reading, or which is gained by any other p ersons in any other way. In co nclusion, then, we 22 dismiss Maimonides’ theory as harmful, useless and absurd.

This passage exhibits Spi noza’s contributions to biblical hermeneutics. Contrary to Maimonides, who tries to evade any conflict between hi s 23 philosophy and traditional religious belief, Spinoza advocates a method of Quoted by J. J. Ross, “Spino za and he interpretation of the Bible in our d ay.” Baruch Spinoza—A collection of papers on his thought, 1979, 118. 20 Spinoza, 1951, 115. 21 Ibid., 116, 117. 22 Ibid., 117/118. 23 It is noteworth y that Maimonides rejected Aristotle’s, his philosophical mento r’s view o n the eternity of the world but described, a page later, Plato’s view of the creatio n of the world out of eternal matter as compatib le with the biblical con ception, although it also 19

30

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

interpretation that is supposedly based on the same scientific principles and 24 criteria as the natural sciences. Retrospectively, Spinoza’s exegetical method reminds us of certain hermeneutical concepts in Claude Lévi-Strauss’ structuralist theory of mythology. Specifically, Spinoza’s recommendation to account fo r biblical verses that address a certain subject under a common heading resembles Lévi-Strauss’ taxonomical method of co mposing paradigmatic tables of 25 “mythèmes.” Mythèmes are the smallest units of a mythological story. Spinoza similarly proposes to set up para digmatic tables of “biblèmes.” This is an anachronistic concept used by contemporary literary scholars (such as Roland Barthes) who employ structura list or po st-structuralist methods. Spinoza believed this to be possible, even mandat ory, because the exeget ought to investigate the meaning of biblical verses but must not be concerned with their truth-value, since the Bible does not postulate metaphysical truths. With regard t o his hermeneutical metho d, he asserts in the TPT that in order to adeq uately comprehend the ideas that one encounters in the Bible, 26 one ought to employ the same strict method as in the natural sciences. It is, however, not always obligatory to explain everything in the Bible by its cause because the exegetical goal is not to establish truths but to elucidate meanings. He anticipated a ba sic distinction in contemporary philosoph y, namely that s cience aims at causal explanation while hermeneuti cs aims at “understanding” (Verstehen). The test of textual interpretation, according to Spinoza, does not con sist of searching for c auses but of critical apprehension. He did not however always remain faithful to his own methodological recommendation to i nterpret the Bible through literal exegesis. Co ntrary to his general exegetical guidelines, he engaged oc casionally in figurative conjectures. Notwithstanding his remark that t he story about Adam, the first man, and the tree of kn owledge were no more th an a simile, he did not did not speak about creation o ut of nothing ( Maimonides, Guide, II, ch. 25, p. 51b, Hebrew). 24 Spinoza, 1951, 99. 25 Viz. Lévi-Strauss’ 4 volumes of Mythologies. 26 Spinoza, 1951, 289. In parts III and IV of the Ethics, Spinoza investigates human emotions, affects and pas sions with the same degree of scientific objectivity as m athematical problems and natural phenomena. His last and unfinished book—Political Treatise—was a scientific inquiry into the mutual relations between men in the political sphere, intended to be some kind of continuation of the Ethics. Since man, as every oth er being in th e universe, is subject to the general laws of n ature, it also follows that these laws apply to political reality. They therefore must not be explicated by the light of values or ends, but by “the light o f reason,” n amely by natural causes. He stresses this point in the “Introduction” to the Political Treatise, especially in sections four and seven, referring explicitly to the Ethics.

Spinoza’s and Maimonides’ Esoteric Writings

31

refrain from deriving some educationa l inferences o n obedience and Godfearing from it. He expressly interpreted it in line with his philosophical 27 system, namely “to seek th e good for its own sake, not from fear of evil.” With sheer speculation, he asse rts that God’s commandment, as it were, complies with “the dictates of the light of nature” ( ibid.). Similarly, he considers king Sol omon, “the wisest of all men,” wiser than any other personality in the Bible, including Moses, who was a great lawgiver. Spinoza therefore describes him as having anticipated in Proverbs—which he believed to have been written by S olomon—some of his own philosophical ideas, such as universal determinis m, salvation by true know ledge, the concept of Amor Dei intellectualis, the superiority of wisdom over law, and the realization of j ustice and goodwill in the framework of political 28 legislation. In these inst ances, Spinoza violated the rules of e xegesis that he had himself laid down; he did not refrain from philosophical hermeneutics, which he rejected in his other writings. When he asserts that the t hought of Solomon (in the wisdom literature ascribed to him—Proverbs, Ecclesiastics) or the apostle Paul (in the New Testam ent) already expressed some of his philosophical conceptions, he deviates from his own method of interpretation. One chief argument of t he TPT had been that the Bible does not teach metaphysical truths, but only obedience and piety; why then did he abandon these exegetical guidelines on several occasions and no netheless engage in hermeneutical allegories of a metaphysical genre? Perhaps he wished to convince his Christian readers that his p hilosophy is not atheistic or dangerous, since both Solomon and Paul had already held similar ideas. This conjecture might b e corroborated by what he wrote to Henryk Oldenburg: I am busy now with composing a Treatise on the Holy Scriptures, conforming to my conception; the following re asons motivate my writing: a. the prejudices of the theologians. I know that these prejudices prevent people mor e than anything else from turning to philosophy… b. the opinion that the vulgar people have of me; th ey do not stop from accusing me of heresy. (Letter 30, probably September 1965). I was on the po int of leaving f or Amsterdam to see to the printing of the book I wrote you about [the Ethics]. While I was occupied with this, a rumor was spread everywhere that a book of mine about God was in the press and that in it I strov e to show that th ere is no God. Many peop le believed this rumor. So c ertain theologians—who had, perhaps, started th e rumor themselves, seized this

27 28

Ibid., 65/66. He elaborates these concepts in chapter II of TPT.

32

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN opportunity to complain about me to the pr ince and th e magistrates … th e 29 theologians were everywhere plotting against me.

He was not always consistent in his method of i nterpreting the text through text, co-text and context alone . By explicating the biblical tex t through “the light of reason,” some philosophical reflections were inevitable and certain metaphysical notions are inadvertently reintroduced. Furthermore, everything in the Bible th at contradicts reason can be no more than superstition ( TPT chapter 3, as well as many other places) a dapted to captum vulgus. On the other hand, in th e Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect, Spinoza asserted that it is sometimes mandatory to employ the language of the simple folk and perhap s the intelligent reader will grasp his true intention: To speak accor ding to the po wer of understanding of ordinary people and do whatever does not interfer e with our attaining our purpose. For we can gain a considerable advantage, if we yield as much to their understanding as we can. In this 30 way, they will give a favorable hearing to the truth.

We encounter several passages in the TPT where Spinoza employs some kind of philosophical hermeneutics, apparently for tactical reasons, but he is aware of doing so and very clearly dist inguishes between what the text says and what he infers from it in his interpretation. These ar e, however, exceptional instances that do not change his usual method of exegesis. It appears prima facie that Spinoza continued the exegetical method of Abraham Ibn Ezra, whose writings he praised several times in the TPT. Ibn Ezra already criticized the hermeneutical tendency to discover phil osophical ideas of Aristotle in the Bible, but his criticism was not the same as Spinoza’s. Spinoza criticized the suppos ed arbitrariness of Maimonides who 31 “ascribed to the prophets many ideas which they never even dreamed of.” Ibn Ezra’s cr iticism was of a “more Je wish” kind; it was directed against those who imitated “khochmei ha’arelim,” (“the sag es of the gentiles”) who referred to t he commandments of th e Torah as outdated. He therefore endeavored to elucidate the meaning of certain words and grammatical rules of the Hebrew language in order to di scover their “simple intent.” Most of these methodical suppositions were later adopted by S pinoza, but t here remains one cardinal dis tinction between the two philosophers. Ibn Ezra applied his exegetics to the narrative parts of the Bible, but n ot to the commandments of the Torah. Regarding the latter, he unq uestioningly accepted the authority of the Talmudic sages, even when their interpretation Letter 68, The collected works of Spinoza, 1985, 401. Treatise on the emendation of the intellect, # 17, Spinoza, 1985, 12. 31 Spinoza, 1951, 190. 29 30

Spinoza’s and Maimonides’ Esoteric Writings

33

clashed with grammatical rules and co mmon sense. From this perspective, Ibn Ezra wa s not exactly a “precursor ” to Spinoza, as maintained by some scholars. Spinoza repudi ated the Talmudic tradition, which Ibn Ezra embraced. What the latter believed to be a divine revelation, Spinoza thought of as a human creation. He also did not distinguish between narrative an d other parts of the Bible, nor between Halakhic and Aggadic parts of the Talmud (which he rarely mentioned). Spinoza considered knowledge of the context to be significant in order to reach an adequate comprehension of the content, but the context does not contribute anything essential to the content itself. To understand for example Euclid’s’ geometry—the paradigm of the philosophical structure of the Ethics—one does not need to know his biography or his way of life. He can easily b e comprehended by anyone in any language; we can follow his intention perfectly, and be certain of hi s true meaning, without h aving a thorough knowledge of the languag e in which he wrote; in f act, a quite rudimentary acquaintance is sufficient. We need make no research es concerning the life, the pursuits, or the habits of the author; nor need we inquire in what language nor wh en he wrote, nor the vicissitudes of the book, nor its various readin gs, nor how, nor by 32 whose advice it has been received.

The same applies to the political and ethical recommendations of the Bible: What we here say of Euclid might equally be said of any book which treats of things by their nature perceptible: thus we conclude that we can easily follow the intention of Scripture in moral questions from the history we possess of it, and we can be s ure of its true meaning (ibid.).

Once again, however, Spinoza is not e ntirely consistent. The sea rch for truth sometimes also requires contextual comprehension. One cannot demand of Joshua the soldier (or the author of the book Joshua) to be “a learned astronomer” and to know the scientific and astronomical truths of the postCopernican age. In such cases Spinoza asserts that what is self- evident can be simply understood, without referring to the context, but what is not selfevident must also be interpreted by its “historical” context. While for Maimonides, hermeneutics was a conditio sine qua non of his philosophical point of view, Spinoza tried to abstain from it as much as possible in accordance wi th his phi losophical stance. Their met hodological common denominator was the esoteric dimension in their writings, although it was derived from different motives. For Maimonides esoteric writing was an inseparable component of his philosophical system—esoterics and hermeneutics were “interlocked vessels,” while for Spinoza it r epresented some kind of a regrettable necessity. It had no inherent link to hermeneutics. 32

Ibid., 113.

34

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

Esoteric writing, whatever its motivation or extent, creates difficulties for the reader. Did the author mean what he wrote in this particular passage, or did she p erhaps merely pay lip se rvice to the prevalent opi nions and beliefs of her contemporaries? Do we have his true views before us, or did he perhaps conceal them? If there was an esoteric dimension in Spinoza’s writings, it was in the p ublished TPT and only to a small deg ree in the unpublished Ethics that circulated among his cl ose and reliable friends. Not all scholars of Spinoza however share this view. Jacob Klatzkin attempted to present the TPT as Spinoza’s exoteric work and the Ethics as his esoteric work, but his argument appears unconvincing. On the one hand, it stemmed from his admiration of the Ethics and his personal repugnance of the TPT from a Jewish perspective. H. A. Wolfson also aime d in his The Philosophy of Spinoza at “unfolding the latent processes of his reasoning” (the full title 33 of the book) from the Ethics, but what he had in mind were not so much the hidden meanings and intentions of Spinoza but rather, disclo sing and elucidating the philosophical influences that had left their impact on Spinoza’s thought. An esoteric dimension exists in b oth books, the TPT as well as the Ethics, but in each case it was of a different kind. In the Ethics, it was an unavoidable result of th e difficult metaphysical content of the b ook, restricting it ab initio to a small group of philosophically competent readers. Unlike Maimonides’ Guide of the perplexed, however, this was no intentional esotericism. In the TPT, on the other hand, the esoteric measures do not limit the book to a select few, but are expressly intended t o enable it to reach the wider public by misleading the censor and preventing him from prohibiting its publication. This was extremely important to Spinoza because the TPT was meant to fulfill an actual political mission: to advocate freedom of thought and expression. Spinoza’s exegetical method therefore consists in explicating the Bible from its text alone. His aforementioned deviations from this interpretative course are exceptions to the rule. As pr eviously mentioned, he does not seek external sources to corro borate his interpretation, although he does not overlook contextual factors. These however fulfill a minor role, as shown by his example of Euclides. This disti nguishes him from Maimonides before him, but also from Kant after him. Maimonides interpreted the Bible with rational metaphysical arguments. Kant di d the same with a rationalist theory of ethics. We encounter th erefore quite a paradoxical situation. Ac cording to Maimonides and Kant, the Bible serves as a handmaid for ulterior ends— cognizance of truth (Maimonides) or es tablishment of morality (Kant)—and thus contributes to the demonstration of their phil osophies, while Spinoza, the pioneer of modern biblical criticism, was the only one of these three great 33

Wolfson, The philosophy of Spinoza, 1961

Spinoza’s and Maimonides’ Esoteric Writings

35

philosophers who tried to save the orig inality and autonomy of t he biblical text for its own sake, not withstanding his questionable assertion regarding the purpose of its teaching. This howe ver produced some irksome problems . To paraphrase the historian Ranke, by inte rpreting the biblical text “as it is,” he inadvertently turned it into a text “that was.” He was no longer restricted by the religious tradition of either Juda ism or Christianity, and was in no need to corroborate any “tradition” wh atsoever. His bibli cal interpretation was no more linked t o metaphysical or theological issues, despite the title of the book. Esoteric writing most often serves, even if unwillingly, heterodox ideas. Orthodox writers are in no need of conc ealing their thoughts. It is, however, noteworthy that esoteric writing in Jewish thought never collided with Halakhah. Even the fie rce adversaries of his philosophy never put Maimonides’ authority as a Halakhist in to question. This state of affairs gradually changed in mod ern times when the esoteric dimension began to concede its place to a more exoter ic one. Then collisions between philosophy, based on reason and Halakhah, based on authority and obedience begin to develop. Spinoz a’s philosophy was undou btedly one of the most significant examples of such collisions. What is e ssential here is that t he intention to express unconventional religious (or political) ideas engenders a 34 special kind of writing. It appeals to i ntelligent readers and enables the message of the author to be reache d by other peopl e as well. Maimonides’ esoteric writing mainly aimed at perso nal communication while Spinoza’s esoteric writings aimed, as has been shown, at public communication. Medieval esoteric writing then reflects a certain dualism. Mai monides strove to transmit two messages—practical ethics to the multitude of believers, and metaphysics to the philos ophically trained elite. He elucidated this twofold aim in the Int roduction to the Guide by the simile of “apples of gold in settings of silver” (Proverbs 25:11). One who lo oks at t he apples from afar sees only the silver, but one who glances at them from close-up discovers their hidden gold, namely their metaphysical truths. It w ould be a mistake to assume however that the s ilver, significant for practical behavior , is valueless. Therefore, both messages are important although they are not equivalent. What is inter esting is th at in his political philosophy Spinoza continued, perhaps inadvertently, Ma imonides’ line of argumentation. On these issues, he differed from both Machiavelli (whom he mentioned in the Political Treatise) and Hobbes. Both Spinoza an d Hobbes di stinguished between their political views and thei r metaphysics. According to Hobbes, philosophy or reason was a tool for ensuring a safe life in so ciety. For Spinoza, as for Maimonides, philosoph y was not a tool but t he chief end— 34

These issues became famous in the wake of Leo Strauss’ Persecution and the Art of Writing (1952) and his “On a forgotten kind of writing” (Strauss, 1959).

36

POLITICS AND HERMENEUTICS IN SPINOZA AND MENDELSSOHN

love of kno wledge, Amor Dei intellectualis. For Hobbes, the task of philosophy consisted in recommending a political regime that will safeguard the interests of the sovereign and the security of his subjects. Once this end is achieved, philosophy becomes superfluous because the subjects cede all their rights to t he sovereign, i ncluding their freedom of thou ght. In contrast, Spinoza aspired to promote a political regime that would provide the optimal conditions for the free pursuit of th ought, knowledge, and reason. Like Maimonides in the parable of the “apples of gold in the settings of silver,” Spinoza allotted much importance to a proper social-political framework that would guarantee the flou rishing of free philosophic al thought. I n a certain way the TPT outlined the orb in which the Ethics would find its attentive audience. Spinoza treated in two separate books the two goals that Maimonides’ hermeneutics combined in one and the same text. In the beginning of the modern era, the philosophical distinction between the two different messages of the text was blurred. The text strove to transmit to the readers only one philosophical message. It no longer addressed itself to two different groups of readers, but only employed a tactic of camouflage for the aim of securing one sole message. This was what Spinoz a did. The philosopher does not app eal to ignora nt and intelli gent readers by different means. He h olds all of t hem, in pr inciple, capable of co mprehending his philosophical ideas. For Maimonides, it would have seemed unethical to teach simple believers philosophical and religious truths beyond their intellectual grasp. For Spinoza, as well as for the thinkers of the Renaissance and the Enlightenment, it would have been unethical for the phi losopher to think one idea and to write another. Thus, what Maimonides believed to be a religious and moral duty, Spinoza and the t hinkers of the E nlightenment regarded as hypocrisy. Spinoza may have also e ncountered such a view i n the wor k of the Jewish medieval philosopher Gersonides whom he mentioned in note 15 of 35 th the TPT. Rabbi Manuel Joel who discovered in the second half of the 19 century the impact of Ha sdai Crescas on Spinoza’s Short Treatise, also 36 underscored certain influences of Ge rsonides’ thought on his philosophy. th Evidently, this 14 century philosopher anticipated later trends found in the philosophy of Spinoza. According to him, it is not only permissible to spread metaphysical ideas in p ublic; it is th e philosopher’s duty to do so. Someone who has acquired knowledge ought not to keep it for himself or for the small elite. He should help othe rs to reach that knowledge as well. It would be unethical not to share one’s intellectual achievements with others as much as 37 possible. The truth of p hilosophy belongs to eve rybody. Furthermore, Spinoza, 1951, 272. In some editions it is note 16. Levy, Spinozas Aufnahme, 1997, 159, 161, 167, 169. 37 Gersonides, Kämpfe Gottes, 1866, 8. 35 36

Spinoza’s and Maimonides’ Esoteric Writings

37

Maimonides’ esoteric hermeneutics is not merely unethical, but it also deprives religion of its tru e value. To distinguish between hidden and overt meanings of the Torah creates a differentiation between “spiritually rich” and “spiritually poor” persons. The spiritually rich profit from the advantages of rationalist philosophy and enjoy a greater share of divine Provi dence while the latter are in need of r eligious articles-of-faith. The exoteric meaning of the Torah thus becomes “religion for the simple folk.” It is difficult to establish whether Maimo nides was aw are of these implicatio ns of his philosophical hermeneutics, but his critics and opponents certainly were. Paradoxically, this exh ibits another unexpected affinity between Maimonides,’ Spinoza’s, and Kant’s c onception of religion. All three of them emphasized, althoug h in different languages, the need for religion t o educate the common people whereas philosophers can do without it. This rather brief comparison be tween Maimonides and Spinoza’s motives for t heir esoteric writing reveals a surprising picture. Maimonides, as stated above, appealed to p hilosophically schooled readers, but his writings comprised two distinct messa ges: a hidden metaphysical one—”the apples of gol d,” and an overt political -social one—”the settings of silver.” He considered potential readers who were philosophically incompetent to understand his work and did not want to spiritually harm them by misleading them to misunderstand its true ideas. The Guide was of a twofold nature, simultaneously comprising of esoteric and exoteric dimensions. Spinoza was preoccupied with metaphysical as well as political issues, but both he and Maimonides reflected one and the same philosophical view that underlies both the Ethics and the TPT. Their dissimilar approach to he rmeneutics entailed a dissimilar attitu de to esotericism. Maimonides was convinced tha t the Torah is an esoteric book par excellence whose hidden truths can only be deciphered with a hermen eutical method. If, however, the divine author of the Torah concealed these truths fro m the multitude, the hermeneut also ought not to divulge them. He therefore continues God’s esoteric writing by explicating it in esoteric language, comprehensible in potentia to the elect few. As a co nsequence the si mple readers are spared theoretical difficulties that could endanger their faith. K nowledgeable readers, though, become more confused and are i n need of a “guide” to lead them o ut of their “perplexity.” Spinoza, who denied the divine origi n of the Torah and the thesis of its esoteric nature was in no need of hermeneutics. His method of interpretation was exegesi s; he empl oyed esoteric writing only for certain tactical reasons. History of ideas in modern times r eflects the fu ndamental change in esoteric writing—from two messages to one—which ultimately led to the dissolution of esotericism in philosophy , restricting it to cautionary measures wherever freedom of thou ght and expression was not y et securely guaranteed. Spinoza’s p hilosophy certainly expresses one of the most striking examples of this historical transformation.

PART II

Philosophical Hermeneutics

CHAPTER 3

Biblical Hermeneutics: J. G. Herder and J. W. von Goethe J. G. Herder and J. W. von Goethe ar e two great thinkers who exerted a th century. Herder, the strong influence on Jewish thou ght in the 19 evangelical pastor, was a multifaceted thinker—philosopher, linguist, poet and scholar of literature. His philosophy of history left a strong impact on several Jewish scholars an d thinkers in the beginnin g of the 19th century, foremost among them were Nachman Krochmal and Rabbi S.R. Hirsch (the 1 founder of Neo-Orthodoxy). While still in Riga (Latvia), the adolescent Herder contemplated composing a project of a “History of Poetical Art,” studying the lyrical poetry of the Bible in co mparison to other poetry. What motiv ated him to undertake such an enterpris e was J.G. Hamann’s assumption that poetry had been the mother tong ue of humankind. Hamann, who lived i n the outskirts of Königsberg was Herder’s first mentor, although they went their separate 2 ways afterwards. Herder’s interest in the Bible, es pecially in its poetical aspects, undoubtedly reflected the trend of romantic literature according to which the national origin of every people is manifested in its ancient poetry , as is the case of the ancient Jewish people. He also attempted in his ear ly biblical studies to accomplish s ome kind of synthesis between the theological assumption that the Bible is divinely inspired and t he romantic assumption that it embodies the “mother-tongue of humankind.” The Bible therefore In Levy’s book Judaism in the Worldview of J. G. Hamann, J. G. Herder and W. v. Gioethe (1994; in Hebrew) , he investigates Herder’s relations hip to biblical studies and to Judaism. See p p. 93–213. The third part of the book d eals with Goeth e’s relation to Judaism. See pp. 214–278. 2 Johann Georg Hamann was one of the strangest philosophers in Germany of the 18th century due to th e opaque style of h is writings which earned him the title ‘Der Mag us des Nordens.’ He was Kant’s friend of as we ll as Mendelssohn’s although h e vehemently attacked their philosophical views. His Golgatha and Scheblimini was the first r esponse to Mendelssohn’s Jerusalem. On Hamann’s polemics with Mendelssohn see: Ze’ev Levy, ‘J. G. Hamann’s concept of Juda ism and controver sy with Mendelssohn’s Jerusalem,’ Yearbook XXII of the Leo Baeck Institute, London 1984, 295–329. See also the first part of Levy’s book, op. cit., 21–92. 1

42

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

manifests a merger between content that is derived from God and form that is 3 emanated from language. “Hebrew poetry” was his favorite phr ase when referring to the Bible. It expresses its divine contents through poetical forms that reflect the sentiment s and thou ghts of the members of the ancient Hebrew nation. This odd s ynthesis of the revelatory content and the human origin of the Bible gives rise to many philosophical difficulties, in particular, the overlapping of the di vine and the s ecular. On the question, e.g., whether God spoke through Moses or Moses hims elf spoke, Herder answers that he only hears Moses and the rest is a matter of belief. Notwithstanding his being an evangelical priest, he devoted little attention in his biblical stu dies to the concept of divine intervention. His appr oach to the Bible was historical and critical although certainly not acceptable by scientific criteria of modern scholarship. Herder, however, rightly a sserted that the bi blical narratives embody the mythology a nd history of the ancient Hebrews. At the same time, in spit e of his assumption ab out the uniqueness of bibl ical poetry, Herder was much more interested in elucidating universal human ideas in the Bible than particular Hebrew ones. Th is was perhaps one of the reasons why he wrote several treatises and devoted much thought to the first chapters of Genesis. In the last bo oks of t he Bible—Ezra, Nehemia, Chronicles— poetry, as it were, dried up. Two chief criteria determined Herder’s conception of the Bible: an aesthetic one with regard to ancient Hebrew poetry, and a historical-philosophical one with regard to the significance of the Jewish (and Christian) religion. Both highlighted according to him the history of the human spirit. These notions are already discernible in one of Herder’s first treatises— 4 Archeology of the Hebrews. Every people of antiquity possessed its national mythological poetry but the most ancient and i nteresting one was that of the Hebrews. The Book of Ge nesis combines, as it were, primordial p oetry with primordial religion. He addressed in th is work the f irst eleven c hapters of Genesis as religious p oems that ought to be interpreted by the same poetical method as an y other literary oeuvre. Th is perspective resembles Spinoza’s, who recommended in the Theologico-Political Treatise that biblical exegesis In contradistinction to Hamann who asserted the divine origin of language, Herder vindicated its human origin. See Herder: Abhandlung über den Ursprung der Sprache, Halle 1788. This essay was a response to the thesis of Sü ssmilch, shared by Hamann. It received the first prize in a competition on this subject, sponsored by the Prussian Academy of Science. 4 Herder employed the concept of ‘archeology’ in its original Greek sens e, i.e. searching for first elements (arché). This meaning of th e word ‘archeology’ was taken up in the 20 th century again by Michel Foucault. 3

Biblical Hermeneutics—Herder and Goethe

43

should proceed by the same methods as employed in the natural sciences. Herder followed a similar methodological approach, although n ot in natural sciences but in literary resear ch. He tr anslated these elev en chapters into German and interpreted them in light of other biblical passages taken from Job, Psalms, etc. Herder, who in his later years became a great admirer of Spinoza, did not know his w ork at that t ime. His attempt to interpret scripture through scripture was therefore his original idea . The Archeology is perhaps useful for understanding Herder’s future intellectual evolution, but retrospectively it has no scientific or p hilosophical value. It is a mixture of strange speculations, despite the fact that some of them have become the subject matter of sci entific biblical criti cism. Herder asserted for exa mple that the author wrote the first eleven chapters of Genesis before the time of Moses since the plural form of ‘Elohim’ in these chapters testifies to polytheistic vestiges. At the end of the 19th century this became the departure-point of the controversial hypothesis of Protesta nt biblical scholars—Wellhausen and others—who distinguished between the `Jehovist’ (or `Jahvist’) and `Elohist’ sources and authors of the Bible. The Archeology paved th e way for another, even more important boo k by Herder—The most ancient Document of Humankind. This was a large book in which Herder tried to achieve a much more ambitious goal: to merge the beginnings of human history as depicted in the Bible with the practical purpose of advocating a new spiritual life in the age of Enlig htenment. This should extempore ensure a better future for humanity. Notwithstanding hi s good intentions, the content as well as the form and method of this work were highly problematic. Despite its length, it only dealt with a single biblical chapter, namely the first chapter of Genesis. Herder prese nts as his ‘revolutionary discovery’ the Biblical story of Creation as a ` hieroglyph,’ a holy code fro m which to d erive human writing and symbolism. Out of this code grew the earlie st sciences and arts—natural science, morality, religion, chronology, astronomy and phil osophy. This ‘hieroglyph’ was shaped in human form, in God’s image, and as a microcosm it embodied the meaning of heaven and earth. These fantastic speculations have no parallel in Herder’s other interpretative and historiosophical writings; they were also incompatible with the rationalist argume ntation in his later bibli cal studies. While in the Archeology he interprets the first chapters of Genesis as an oriental mythological tale that explains the creation of the world and the beginnings of humankind, in The Most Ancient Document of Humankind he 5

5

B. de Spinoza. Theologico-Political Treatise, 1951, 99.

44

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

substitutes his earlier critical exposition with a confused theological interpretation. Here, he also abandons his cardinal thesis on the human origin of language, and asserts that poetry—the mother tongue of humankind—was 6 derived from a supernatural, divine source. According to him, this “document,” namely Genesis 1, “is no t mere poetry but a monument (Denkmal) that served as a foundation for all subsequent ‘monuments’—poems, art and philosophy.” Although this “most ancient document” is a “d ivine document,” it can be interpreted by means of other poetical creative works in the Bible or outside of it. While in the former book he denied like Spinoza whose work he did not yet know, that the Bible teaches metaphysical truths, he now interprets the first chapter of the Bible as a condensed code of all p ossible knowledge. As stated above, he explicitly renounced his view of th e human origin of langu age and only wanted to demonstrate human capacity for langu age, while maintaining the divine origins of language. Herder intended to prove that this was the most ancient ‘document’ of human history. It confirmed the ‘ Urtatsache’ (‘primordial fact’) or 7 ‘Urphänomen’ of humanity. This claim begs the question: How can the `document’ confirm the ‘ Urtatsache’ while at the same ti me being itself the ‘Urtatsache?’ He seemed unaware that this ‘fact’ was no more than his own fantastic speculation. Perhaps Herder was aware after all for he asserted that he did not s et out to prove this `fact’ because it d oes not need proof but rather, that he merely wished to de monstrate its consistency. Despite it s implausibility, Herder’s hypothesis raised several important poi nts. He was right that in order to understand religious conceptions of an ancient people— in this case the People of Israel—one ought to abandon concepts of reflective knowledge that inadvertently infl uence our phil osophical and scientific views. This is indeed a difficult probl em that concern many sociologists, anthropologists and in particular philosophers and he rmeneuts today. H. G. Gadamer, who systematically confronted these problems, commented on the possible humanistic implications to be derived from Herder’s thought on this 8 matter. Herder also noted that in order to understand ancient Egyptian religion for example, one must penetrate into its t ypical ‘symbolic spirit’ According to some Herder scholars he perhaps disguised his original linguistic conception by some theological garb, in order to obtain an ecclesiastic position in Göttingen. 7 The search for ‘primordial phenomena’ was widespread among the thinkers of Romanticism. Goethe claimed to have discovered the “Urpflanze;” “Adamic language” (Hebrew) was believed to have been the ‘Ursprache’ of humankind, etc. 8 H.-G. Gadamer, Wahrheit und Met hode. Grundzüge eine r philosophischen Hermeneutik,1975, 7, 270. 6

Biblical Hermeneutics—Herder and Goethe

45

(‘Symbolgeist’). How far he succeeded in carrying out his own guidelines or whether they led him to any successful results remains very questionable. In the Archeology, Herder claimed that Moses could not have been th e author of this ancient “document” b ecause the oldest peoples of antiquity who had dra wn from it their religions, mythologie s, institutions, arts, and sciences had already known it. Althou gh it belongs t o the ancient poetry of the Hebrews, Herder states that it was composed before Moses. According to Spinoza, Moses could not have written Deuteronomy because it described his death and stated that ‘there arose not a prophet since in Israel like unto Moses’ (Deuteronomy, xxxiv, 10); it must therefore have been written by a 10 later author (probably Ezra ). According to Herder, Genesis could not have been written by Moses but by some earlie r author(s). This book, as several others, remained incomplete perhap s because Herder was incapable of supplying the promised proof. He comp leted it with the sentence: ‘Erwarte, Leser, und gedulde’ (‘Wait, read er, with patience.’) Herder’s contemporaries—Hamann, Kant, and others—mercilessly critiqued the book. Herder tried to compensate for hi s lack of scien tific method by an unrestrained imagination, an impetu s for sensational discov eries, and superficial analogies. Th e problem however was that he virtually “discovered” what he had set out to discover in the first place: 9

1. The story of Creation in Genesis 1 was, according to Herder the most ancient document, preserved in its purity, ab out God’s first revelation to humankind. All other stories about the creation of the world and o f humankind that one encounters in mythologies of peoples and cultures all over the world were derived from this 11 primordial document. 2. The theology and wisdom of Egypt were based on this document thereby pointing to its existence long before it was put i nto writing by the Hebrews and became part of their poetry. This was, so he claimed, his second “discovery.” 3. This ‘hieroglyph’ was transmitted from God to m an directly. But who was the anonymous first recipient? There is no answer. That was still severa l decades before Hegel defined, in his Aesthetics, Egyptian architecture, and first of all the pyramids, as ‘symbolic art’. 10 Spinoza, TPT, op. cit., 121, 131. 11 This improbable hypothesis might remind us n evertheless of C. Lévi-Strauss’ assumptio n that all the multiple myths of h umankind are variations of one or a few fundamental mythical themes. 9

46

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

As Rudolf Haym, one of t he most competent Herder-scholars has aptly shown, this book was first of all inte nded to be a n attack on t he biblical researcher and orientalist, J. D. Michaelis (with whom Mendelssohn too had polemics), on rationalist biblical critic ism, and on rationalism i n general. During this early stage of his work, while still strongly i nfluenced by Hamann, Herder turned against the Enlightenment and engaged in an emotional and fideistic interpretation of God’s revelation. He comprehended the Bible as some kind of divine oracle “for the greatest and most important 12 part of humankind.” A lesser-known book by Herder from this early period in his life is— 13 Holy legends of the foreworld—the abyss of human history, in which he compares chapters 2 through 6 of Genesis to the myth of Prometheus on the one hand, and Rousseau’s theories on the other hand. Th us he tried t o synthesize his biblical interpretations with the philosophical hypothesis of an original “state of nature,” a notion popular among man y of hi s contemporaries. According to him, these five chapters of Genesis confirm this notion. He also treats the Christian notion of the “original sin,” referring to the eating of the forbidden fruit a nd inferring from it that the origin of good is life according to nature, while th e origin of evil is the drive for knowledge. If knowledge is evil, though, why did Herder devote so many efforts to deciphering the remote beginnings of human history? He stated that Moses d id not write but had mere ly edited these chapters. This third work was more orthodox and dogmatic than its two predecessors. In his earlier works, Herder tried to co unterbalance unquestioning relig ious piety with pseudo-scientific discoveries, wher eas in this book ‘scientific’ aspects were almost entirely absent. He only expressed some wishful thinking that the future progress of science will co rroborate this “most ancient philosophy of Moses.” Although these three books have no scientific or phi losophical value, it seems nevertheless noteworthy to highlight that Herder had devoted much thought to the contribution of the ancient Hebrews to general culture. Despite the unscientific character of his discoveries, his as sertion that they expressed the ancient oriental thought of their time and therefore ought not to be judged by modern European standards was right. This i nterest in the Hebrew creative genius accompanied most of Herder’s later philosophical and literary work. He admired the religious- spiritual heritage of biblical Judaism 12 13

Haym, Rudolf, Herder, 2 Bände, 1958, 601–604 J. G. Herder, Heilige Sagen der Vorwelt—ein Abgrund aller Menschengeschichte. The book was written and published in 17 74, only a few months after the earlier ones mentioned above.

Biblical Hermeneutics—Herder and Goethe

47

and therefore vindicated Jewish existe nce in the present. He opposed those tendencies among his con temporaries who recommended Jewish conversion to Christianity, and agains t which Me ndelssohn was forced to struggle. I n spite of all th eir shortcomings, these three books paved the way to Herder’s 14 famous meditations on “Hebrew poe try,” his Philosophy of Histor y and his 15 eloquent humanist message. The Spirit of Hebrew Poetry (two-volume work) was Herder’s most 16 important, albeit, incomplete study of the Bible. It was through its publication that he gained his reputation as a biblical scholar. His historicalpoetical conception of the Bible in this work deeply influenced the Sciences of Judaism (Wissenschaft des Judentums) in the 19th century. His views were also reflected in Nachman Krochmal’s philosophy, though he was more fascinated and influenced by Herder’s philosophy of history th an by his biblical hermeneutics. This work was an attempt to outli ne a history of ancient Hebrew literature and poetry, i. e. of the books of the Bible that were based on the structure of the Hebrew language. Hebrew literature developed according to Herder only after it had emerged from a primordial stage of preliterary cosmological and folkloristic thought. A genuine literary evolution can only begin after language has acquired an alphabetical script. Neither the Egyptians, nor Assyrians, nor other p eoples of antiquity were capable of producing a literary document like that of the Hebrews, which he believed to be the most ancient one. This was an unwarranted assertion that ignored th e Phoenicians and the Egyptians. Woul d he have st ill held on t o it after Champollion had managed to decipher the Egyptian hieroglyphs? Herder claimed that the p oetical-imaginative elements of the Bi ble did not represent fiction but embodied truth, transmitted by symbols and allegories. An adequate understanding of the Bible—the mo st ancient authentic document of humanity—can therefore be achieved mos t perfectly through literary analysis. Poetry activates intuitive faculties that, according to him, are less vulnerable to misinterpretation than d iscursive arguments. In the first volume, Herder criticized the positions of the Enlightenment with regard to the Bible, while in the sec ond volume he appraised various biblical books from a literary-critical stance. Although at t his time he was already a J. G. Herder, Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit, 1877ff., Band 11. J. G. Herder, Briefe zur Beförderung der Humanität, 1971. 16 J. G. Herder, Vom Geist der hebräischen Poesie. Eine Anleitung für die Liebhaber derselben und der ältesten Geschichte des menschlichen Geistes. 1. Teil 1782, 2. Teil, mit einigen Beilagen 1783. Here I ref er to the edition of 18 05. The subtitl e, mentioning again the most ancient history of the hum an spirit, is very typical of Herd er’s frame of mind. The first volume was written in the form of a dialogue while the second one was composed in ordinary discursive fashion. 14 15

48

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

fervent admirer of Spinoza, Herd er criticized the lat ter’s opinion that Ezr a was the author of Deuteronomy and perhaps of all the Pentateuch: I would have liked to know that Ezra who could have revealed out of the mud of the Egyptian Nile the holiness of the first conc epts of creation, or that Jeremiah who 17 could have concealed them there.

Despite his unshakable belief in the historical authenticity of biblical narratives and his various other shortcomings, Herder pursued in t his work a secular and objective line of argumenta tion. The book focused on literary, aesthetic, and historical aspects yet He rder was simp ly unable to put into a systematical framework the richnes s of his ideas. H e endeavored to accomplish several tasks simultaneously: to elucidate the poetical spirit and value of the Bible, to emphasize the rhythm of religious life expressed by those poems, and to pursu e their historical evolution that reflected the most important chapter of human history dir ected by divine providenc e. We can thus discern three salient interconnected dimensions in the Spirit of Hebrew Poetry: a poetical dimension, a histori osophical one, and a theolo gical one (the least important). Hi s original in tention had been to includ e also the Apocrypha and to evaluate the influences of the Bible on the New Testament and on the human spirit “until our times,” but the work comes t o an abrupt end with some reflections on the prophets. The Spirit of Hebrew Poetry was not just addressed to biblical scholars th but to the general intellectual public. It was, however, only in the 19 century that its humanistic interpretation of the Bible’s explicit Jewish value made its true appeal, thus replacing traditional Christian hermeneutics that conceived the Hebrew Bible in a limited way as f oreshadowing the New Testament. As the title of the book sugge sts, Herder did not speak about the “poetry of the Bible” nor of the “Old Testa ment,” but of “Hebrew poetry,” that is, the 18 marvelous poetry of the Hebrew people th at fascinated him with its beauty. This does not mean that his Christian beliefs did not surface from time to time, but they were not characteris tic of the book’ s essence and scheme. Herder’s chief aim was to interpret an cient Hebrew poetry as an in separable organic part of Israel’s national life in antiquity. For instance, he cherished the Song of Songs as a collection of fol k and love so ngs of Solomon’s time 17

18

Sämtliche Werke, Vol. 9, 52/53. Spinoza’s remark on Ezr a as the author of the Pentateuch appears in TPT, op. cit., 130–132. This may brin g into mind Spi noza’s motives, at the end of his life, for co mposing his Hebrew Grammar. He emphasized explicitly that he did not want to deal with the Sacred Tongue but with the Hebrew language. Spinoza, Abrégé du Grammaire Hébraique, 1968, 80, 156. Although the similarity is incidental, it exhibits similar ideational motives.

Biblical Hermeneutics—Herder and Goethe

49

and rejected the prevale nt view of the biblical scholars of his age who 19 already deferred its composition to a later period. Herder also did not share the traditional interpretation of Song of Songs as an allegory of God’s love to Israel. This view, proclaimed for the first time by the rabbis in order to justify its inclusion in Scriptures, was afterwards also acc epted by the Patristic churchmen and later Christian theologians. The latter interpreted it as an allegory of the relationship betw een Jesus and the Church. Against this allegorical view, Herder b elieved Song of Songs to be a compilation of l ove songs inspired by Solomon. He still clung to t he conviction that the books of the Bible were written by t heir nominal authors. He acknowledged only one exception with regard to their authentic ity—King David. Unlike most of his contemporaries, he denied that David was the author of Psalms. According to Herder, David had become a symbol of poetical i nspiration and therefore 20 many poetical creations gathered in the Bible were attributed to him. These remarks on Herde r’s approach to Song of Songs demonstrate clearly his i ntentions. He appreci ated the Bible for its reli gious-ethical content, which he ob viously held i n high esteem, and its aesthetical and poetical values that were the paramount subject matter and aim of his boo k. He referred to the Bible as a literary expression of the historical life of the Hebrew nation. The Bi ble is the national literature of the Jewish people, but at the sa me time it also has universal significance because ac cording to his view, it describes the earliest beginnings of humankind. Herder’s Hebrew Poetry already anticipated his well-known organic historiosophy of growing, flowering, and withering away that he worked out 21 in his most important boo k—the Ideas. As st ated in the introduction to Hebrew Poetry, he planned to treat the emergence of Hebrew poetry from the times of Moses, David, and Sol omon (the era of “growing”) towards its apotheosis in the age of the Prophets, Psalms, and Proverbs (the era of “flowering”), then to the songs of destruction and di spersion (Lamentations, Jeremiah, Ezekiel—the era of descent, of “withering away”), in order to finally exhort the belief in regeneration and revival. The last part of his program is missing due to the fragmenta ry nature of the book. H e devoted much attention to the Hebrew language because the genius manifested by the When J. D. Michaelis translated the Bibl e into German, he de leted Song of Songs as an ordinary love song that has no place in the Holy Scriptures Also Lessing’s broth er Karl characterized it as an anthology of erotic songs. 20 Hebräische Poesie, op. cit., 293. The same a rgument appears in Nachman Krochmal’ s preface to the Guide of the Perplexed of our times, 1961, 5. 21 Ideen, op. cit. The scheme of growing, flowering and withering away left its traces in Jewish Thought too, and in particular in Krochmal’s philosophy of history (see note 18). 19

50

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

poetry of a nation is embodied in the ge nius of its language. In the Hebre w 22 language verbs dominant, which testifies to its activity and vitality. Much of Herder’s biblical hermeneutics was shared by Eichhorn, another famous biblical scholar and translat or whom Herd er knew personally an d 23 with whom he remained in contact. The two thinkers aspired to interpret the Bible in a manner that was opposed t o both the dogmatic view of the Church and the rationalist outlook of Deism. Ei chhorn, like Herder, called attention to the poetic aspects of the Bible. His influence is also dis cernible in Mendelssohn’s Bible tran slation and ex egesis. Both Herder an d Eichhorn endeavored to restore th e original spirit of bibli cal poetry—what later became the guiding principle of Buber’s and Rosenzweig’s Bible translation. Herder mostly engaged in poetical and historical studies of the Bible, and almost never in t heological ones. He believed that the bibl ical narratives were authentic descriptions of the an cient history of the Hebr ew nation, reflecting God’s will and providence. Hebrew poetry became sacred poetry through Moses who was the author and editor of the Torah, not God, as Maimonides and medieval Jewish philos ophers had insisted. According t o them, God granted the Torah to Moses on Mt. Sinai. Herder, contrary to that, assumed that Moses “probably” collected the old legends a nd tales of his people and added t he Torah that was later p assed on through the 24 prophets. The latter thus were “the guardians, the wise of the people.” Did Herder interpret the role of the prophets in the spirit of Plato, as Maimonides had already done? Indeed it seems likely as he explicitly underscored that “in Isaiah we en counter perhaps more ideas of justice than in Plato’s ‘state.’” The prophets were not soothsayers, dreamers, or preacher s but rather “th e successors of Moses who activated and revived his Torah in times of 25 disintegration.” While an evangelical priest, Herder continued the trend inaugurat ed by Spinoza of s ecularizing biblical interpretation. Yet he did not share his predecessor’s skepticism and critique with regard to the truth-value of the biblical events. Spinoza was guided by st rictly scientific criteria, although these cannot all be accepted today. He was suspicious of daring speculations while Herder, the romanticist, was very much attracted by them. Herder wa s Hebráische Poesie, op. cit., p. 21.This is contrary to Spinoza’s view in his Hebrew Grammar where he stressed the importance of nouns. 23 Eichhorn who was a professional biblical scholar was endowed with a mu ch more critical and scientific spirit than Herder, who was carried away by his romanticist sentiments. 24 Ibid., ,Pt. II, 333. 25 Ibid. 22

Biblical Hermeneutics—Herder and Goethe

51

also convinced that all the personalitie s encountered in the Bible from its very beginning were historically auth entic. He merely expressed certain doubts as to the ori ginal names of some of the most ancient persons mentioned in the Bible. Alluding to their fate, he reasoned that their names were symbolic. He therefore did not question the authenticit y of the mythological personalities in the Bible from Adam to Noah but only t he veracity of some of their names. Herder terminated the book rather une xpectedly with a glorification of 26 Jesus. This s eems to be an artificial supplement in order to ap pease his potential Christian critics. In the wake of Hamann’s accusation that he did not devote sufficient attention to the religious message of the Bib le, and of Eichhorn’s critique that he had neglected historical aspects but “only spoke 27 of poetry,” Herder probably deemed it mandatory to rid himself of the suspicion that his exclusive treatment of Hebrew poetry relegated Jesus’ tidings and the Christian Kerygma to the background of his writings. Goethe was one of Herder’s clos e friends, especially during their common years in Weimar, althoug h their later relationship was strained. Whether Goethe was influenced by Herde r’s biblical explorations is difficult to say; yet it is interesting that on several occasions Goethe also undertook exegetical studies of the Bible. He even expressed his pride that he had made certain original discoveries in this fiel d. His speculat ions in this r espect are of no scientific importance but th ey highlight certain interesting 28 hermeneutical aspects. In his essay Israel in the Desert of 1819, he depicts Moses, whose personality always f ascinated him, in a rather pejor ative vein. According to him, without Jethro’s (his father-in-law) advice, he would n ot 29 have been able to accomp lish his miss ion. Goethe describes Mo ses as a rude and violent person w ho was at th e same time irresolute, hesitating t o make decisions. During the battle with the Amalekites, Moses withdrew to a 30 “This proves mountain to pray, leaving the military operations to Joshua. 31 again that he did not match the greatness of his calling.” By rather arbitrary interpretations of certain verses, Goethe insinuates that Moses destroyed his sister Miriam and his brot her Aaron because they had supported J oshua and Kaleb’s proposal to attack Canaan. Li kewise, he in sinuates that in the en d Ibid., 414. Haym, op. cit., II, 208. 28 Johann Wolfg ang von Goeth e, ‘Israel in d er Wüsten’, Goethes Sämtliche Werke— Jubiläums-ausgabe, Bd. V, 1912. 29 Ibid., 254. 30 Ibid., 256. 31 Ibid., 257. 26 27

52

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

Joshua and Kaleb also deposed of him in a similar fashion. Goethe also expresses his surprise that Moses delin eated so many laws that could not have had an y practical applications i n the desert. On the con trary, this “labyrinth” of laws only added to the difficulties of desert life and obstructed 33 Although Spinoza was the progression towards the “promised land.” Goethe’s most beloved philosopher a nd he was well acquainted with the Theologico-Political Treatise (although it was the Ethics which he cherished most), he still took it for granted th at all the laws of the Torah were established either by Moses or by God through Moses, a view that was already refuted by many biblical scholars of his time. What Goethe presents as his own original discovery was the following: a meticulous examination of the textual data of the four later books of the Pentateuch must lead to the conclusion that Israel’s wanderings in the desert could not ha ve lasted forty years but only two or at most four years. He bases this conjecture on a painstaki ng enumeration of all the camping stations of the Children of Israel in the desert that are mentioned in these four books. He claims that many place-names we re artificially added in order to explain the unnecess ary extended stay of Israel in the desert. This leads to the inevitable conclusion that the dese rt, instead o f being a deserted and vacant territory, must hav e been a densely populated region with dwelling places every two or three miles, a vie w that according to Goethe is simply ridiculous. Why then d oes biblical tradition speak about for ty years of wandering in the desert? Goethe repudiates the traditional Jewish argument that the lengthy stay in the desert wa s intended to eliminate the “generation of the desert” (‘ Dor ha-Midbar’) that had not yet liberated itself from its slave mentality. According to him, to judge by the account of the Pentateuch, 34 the second generation was no better than the first. Goethe further adduces a still more speculative explanation in which he claims that the number “forty” carries a symbolic meaning that indicates contemplat ion, expectation, and in 35 ng particular, seclusion. To prove his point he mentions the followi instances: the deluge lasted 40 days, Moses stayed o n top of Mt. Sinai twice for 40 days, Jesus stayed in the wild erness for 40 days, etc. The Bible 32

Ibid. Sigmund Freud proposed in his last book— Der Mann Moses und die monotheistische Religion of 1939 (Moses and Monotheism, 1955)—a similar conjecture about the murder of Moses, without any connection to Herder. 33 Ibid., 248/9. 34 J. W. von Goethe, West-Östlicher Divan. 1952, 386. This edition includes the Paralipomena which are not contained in most editions of the Divan. Under this title Goethe assembled some remarks on several narratives of Genesis, such as the Deluge and Noah’s Arc They also included a draft of Israel in der Wüsten. 35 Israel in der Wüsten, op. cit., 265. 32

Biblical Hermeneutics—Herder and Goethe

53

therefore intends to underscore that the People of Israel stayed in the desert for 40 years in order to sanctify itself. Moreover, the biblical text does not even affirm that the wand ering had indeed lasted 40 years; it o nly speaks 36 about the menace of its lasting 40 year s. This menace, though, al so seemed unconvincing to Goethe who countered it by an argument that resembles modern biblical criticism. The assu mption of an anthropomorp hic God who menaces, gets angry, is wrathful, and intervenes does not measure up to the criteria of a scientific comprehension of the Deity. G oethe, who claimed to have lost his belief in God after the terrible earthquake in Lisbon, secularized biblical history as Spinoza had done a hundred years before him. He tried to elucidate the historical causes for the implausible fact that a trek that could have been completed in 20 days instead lasted 40 years. If this had been the case—which he denied—then the onl y possible reason could have been the 37 hesitation and procrastination of the Children of Israel themselves. Goethe did not mention Spinoza in his biblical studies, yet it seems quite probable that he not only adopted t he same method of literal exegesis but was perhaps also impressed, at leas t indirectly, by certain chronol ogical calculations undertaken by Spinoza. When Spinoza attempted, in the Theologico-Political Treatise, to establish the period of time since the exodus from Egypt to t he building of the Temple by Sol omon, he also underscored the number forty. Moses led the People of Israel for forty years in the desert, Othniel ben Knaz judged the people for forty years, Ehud and Shamgar eighty years (2x40), after Yavi n there was p eace for forty years, in the days of Gideon the p eople were fr ee for forty years, before Samson the 38 people were subjected to the Philistines during forty years, etc. In regards to Samson who receives only twenty years in this chronology, Spinoza added in note 17 that according to the tractat e Shabbat in the Jerusalem Talmud he 39 also judged the People of Israel during forty years. The number forty thus 40 appears in Spinoza’s chronology no less than ten times. Paralipomena, op. cit., 396/7. Ibid., 395/6. 38 TPT, op. cit., 136/7. 39 This note is missing in the Dover edition of the TPT. 40 Captain Ahab (also a biblical name), Hermann Melville’s hero of Moby Dick, told Starbuck that he has been forty years on the sea and no thing will prevent him from catching the white whale. 40 years on the sea—a symbol of 40 years of wandering in the desert; the whale—a symbol of the Promis ed Land. Melville had visited Palestin e in 1857 for 18 days, mostly the surroundings of Jerusalem. He was very much impressed by the Judean desert—‘mere refuse of creation’. He published his impressions 20 years later in his twovolume Clarel—a Poem and Pilgrimage to the Holy Land (1876). See Encyclopedia Judaica, Vol. 15, 1572. 36 37

54

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

In order to solve the paradox of “overpopulation” of the desert, Goethe worked out a table that compared the st ories of the events with the names of 41 the camping-sites of the People of Israel. He considered most of them to be artificial additions. Thus, t he peregrinations could not have lasted more than two years and if one assumes that the Children of Israel stayed in Kadesh42 Barnea for t wo years, then at most f our years. According to Goethe’s calculations, it took the Hebrews fourteen months to wander from Ramses in Egypt to Mt. Sinai, eleven days from Mt. Sinai to Kadesh-Barnea, and from there to Jordan less than a year. Significant events occurred only in the first two years an d in the last year ( according to the Bible, the fo rtieth year). Since the people and i ts leaders, in lin e with the biblical narrative, still showed the same ill t emper in this last year as was shown in the beginning, they could n ot have been of a new generation. By deleting thirty-six allegedly superfluous years, Goethe clai med to have provided a more logical and more convincing picture of the peregrinations of Israel in the d esert than 43 the traditional one. This reading however led Goethe to another surprising and u nexpected conclusion with regard to Moses’ pe rsonality. If the wanderings had lasted only two or four years, Moses must have been a much mo re competent and successful leader than the Moses des cribed in the Bible (or as G oethe had 44 characterized him according to his reading of the Pentateuch). He must have been a great historical personality. Goethe, rather paradoxically, accused the Bible (i.e. its authors or e ditors) of ha ving given a distorted picture of M oses as an in competent leader. His chronolo gical rectification therefore displays on t he one han d Moses’ historical role in its righ t perspective and on the other hand entails an important metaphysical inference with regard to God’s anthropomorphic image. God now seems less cruel and frightening bec ause He did not punish his stiffed-neck people by condemning them to fort y years of p ainful misery in i nhospitable desert. 45 That would have been a disprop ortionate punishment. Hence, the essay ends with some sort of legerdemain or volte-face. I n the beginning Goethe describes Moses in pejorative colors in contrary to his traditional biblical image. In the end he describes him pos itively but at the sa me time accuses the biblical authors of portraying Moses negatively.

Paralipomena, op. cit., 397. Ibid., 401. 43 Israel in der Wüsten, op. cit., 266/7. 44 Ibid., 249/250. 45 Ibid., 254. 41 42

Biblical Hermeneutics—Herder and Goethe

55

While this essay “Israel in the desert” obviously does not pass the test of a scientific and critical examination, it is worthwhile to consider it because i t exhibits Goethe’s lifelong interest in and knowledge of the Bible. He did not refrain from venturing into certain hyp otheses of hi s own that h e tried to bolster up by a quasi-textual analysis of relevant passages. He accepted the story of the exodus from Egypt and of the wandering i n the desert as true historical facts, only repudiating their supposedly lengthy duration as described in the biblical narrative. Goethe was therefore guided by the correct assumption that the role of the scholar c onsists in elaborating a systematic analysis of the text for the purpose of overcoming its inherent contradictions. In his ot her biblical interpretations Goethe disting uished between the Book of Genesis that expresses genuine faith and the other four books of the 46 The o utstanding and Pentateuch that portray the prevalence of disbelief. most admirable hero of the first book of the Pentateuch is Abraham, whom 47 Kierkegaard characterized several years later as the “ Knight of Faith.” On the other ha nd, Moses as well as his people frequently faile d in t heir deficiency of faith. Although Israel in the Desert is his best-known study of the Bible, the young Goethe had di splayed some similar ambitions to propose definite answers to allegedly unr esolved biblical questions. In an essay he wrote in 1 773—“Two important biblical questions which have not been treated up to now that receive here for the first time a substantial 48 answer,” —the first question was: “What was engraved on the Tablets o f 49 the Law?” Goethe answer ed that it was not the Ten Commandments but 50 rather the Pri nciples of Faith, as in Cat echism. Based on Exodus 34:1 and 28, he argues that the wor ds engraved on the first tablets were identical with 51 those Moses engraved on the second tablets. Why, asked Goethe, did the theologians not accept this as se lf-evident? The author of Deuteronomy who lived at the time of the Babylonian exile had to reconstruct the Ten Commandments from oral traditions because the authentic ones had been lost and forgotten. Like Herder, and probabl y under h is influence, Goethe regarded the Bible as a po etic oeuvre par excellence. At the s ame time he be came ever more convinced that meaningful elements constituted its substantial crux. He Explanatory notes to Westöstlicher Divan, Jubiläumsausgabe, op. cit. Vol. 5,, 207/8. S. Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, 1941. 48 Jubiläumsausgabe, op. cit., Vol. 36, 1891, 97. 49 Ibid., 98–107. 50 Ibid., 98. 51 Ibid., 99. 46 47

56

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

described the conceptual transformatio ns of his approach to the Bible in his autobiography Dichtung und Wahrheit. What matters most with regard to everything that is transmitted in writing are the inherent, meaningful, and original elements. These elements are supposedly immune from outside 52 influences. What ought to be of prim e interest to us, according to Goethe, are the mutual influences between the intrinsic essence of the text and our 53 personal feelings. These embody the ultimate meaning that must be reached through an i nterpretative method that spurns all non-essential elements. Since the Bible consists of books that were composed at differe nt times— most scholars already accepted this m odern assumption at his t ime—it is only obvious that the Bible contains matters that ar e still significant for u s along with other matters that are no longer important. Goethe thus put on the agenda of biblical interpretation se veral problems that have preoccupied contemporary hermeneutical inquiries since Schleiermacher. Foremost among them was the problem of the complex relationship between text, author, reader, and interpreter.

52 53

J. W. von Goethe, Dichtung und Wahrheit, Vol. II , 75. Ibid., 76.

CHAPTER 4

Hermeneutics and Demythologization: Martin Buber and Rudolf Bultmann Rudolf Bultmann, the important German theologian of the 20 century, devoted a si gnificant place in his work to the issue of the so-called 1 “hermeneutic circle,” which he adopted from Heidegger’s philo sophy. He addressed this problem, h owever, in the framework of a Christian theology that aimed at applying Heidegger’s he rmeneutics to the Bible, both the Old and the New Testaments. In the center of his thought loomed the question: How to rel ease the Christian Ke rygma—Jesus’ message—from its mythological character th at concealed and blurred it. By emanci pating the Christian Kerygma from its mythological traits, it would again be understood and acceptable for the modern individual . With an e xistential interpretation of the Bible, it would be p ossible to avoid the old and outdated mythological conceptions that obstruct the importa nce of the kerygma for contemporary life. As long as the kerygma is presented in its traditional mythological form, it is unable to reach the soul or the spirit of the modern individual. To Bultmann and ot her Christian theologians who ad opted his argument, the following assertions of traditional Chri stian belief were unacceptable: (1) Absence of contradictions in the Bi ble; (2) Immaculate conception; (3) Bodily resurrection of Jesus; (4) Jesus’ suffering for the sins of mankind; and (5) Jesus’ future return i n bodily form. Since these views ceased to be convincing and acceptable to many modern individuals, a new movement with Bultmann at its head was born —of contemporary theol ogians who inscribed on their banner the slogan of demythologization. Bultmann thus tried to do from the perspective of Christian th eology what Hegel had already accomplished philosophically. Hegel interpreted the Christian faith in the fr amework of his all-encompassing philosophical system in order to adapt it to his specu lative scheme of the self-rev elation of the spirit in history, i.e., to conceive of it as a stage in the self-realization of the idea. In a similar manner, Bultmann attempted to interpret the Christian th

1

“Hermeneutic circle”—the problematics which derives from the issue that a text in its totality must only be understood by its separate parts but that these parts can only be understood by the totality of the text.

58

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

faith and all of the rev elatory components of the Old and the New Testaments in his philosophical-theol ogical system whose fin al objective was to liberate these components of th eir mythological hull. This intention led him to a confrontation with the aforementioned “hermeneutic circle:” the modern interpreter of scripture, whos e task ou ght to consist of delivering their kerygmatic nucleus from its myt hological shell, must already be a believing person in order to understand the kerygma. At the same time, the kerygma represents a conditio qua non without which one cannot advance in the Christian faith; it is i ts unique an d necessary guarantee: “In order t o understand the text it is necessary to be lieve what the text expresses, which 2 itself can only be known through understanding it.” This understanding is o btained by demythologization, namely, by relinquishing the traditional mythological stories in the Bible that are presumed to conceal the significan t message of scripture. While Maimonides’ chief concern was to tr anscend anthropomorphic images in order to reach the truths t hat are hidden in the Bible , Bultmann’s goal was to discard these mythological images in order to reach the pure Christian Kerygma. Therefore, for example, the old cosmological view derived from mythology that heaven is above, the earth in the middle and hell below is now objectionable. This v iew was from its very beginnin g no more than a mythological formulation of God’s tran scendence; thus an abstr act idea was expressed by the image of distance in space. The same rationale goes for hell as a mythological expression of evil or punishment of evil. The concepts of “above” and “below” have long ago lost their cosmological meaning but according to Bultmann, the significant mes sage of scripture does not depend on such outdated concepts; instead, it st resses ideas such as “personal awe of God” and the creation of a “new man.” These ideas maintain their spiritual meaning and are in no need of mythological stories that were integral to them in the past. Demythologization however does not merely mean a new interpretation by discarding mythological elements. That would be no more than throwin g the baby (ke rygma) with the bath wa ter (mythology). Notwithstanding his emphasis on existential moments, Bultmann is not interested in an “Existenzphilosophie;” rather, his con cern is to safeguard the Christian Kerygma for our time. He therefor e distinguishes among the followin g concepts: “myth,” “my thology,” “mythical thought,” and “scientific thought.” Myth is equivalent to oral or writte n traditions of events in which supernatural forces or persons have taken part. The Achilles’ heel o f 2

Joseph Bleicher, Contemporary Hermeneutics, p. 105.

Hermeneutics and Demythologization—Buber and Bultmann

59

mythology though consists of represen ting something divi ne as earthly or human. This misapprehension i s caused by the inevitable anthropomorphisms that accomp any mythological conceptions, but while according to Maimonides they prevent the access to metaphysical truth, according to Bultmann they debar th e way to the kerygma. Bultmann therefore believes it to be his main task as a theologian to propose a critical approach that would “aufheben” mythology through its i nterpretation— Aufhebung in the sense of Hegel’s well-known use of this German word. Bultmann however gives it a certain tw ist. Demythologization is not simply the annulment of the mythological utterances of religion (as pretended in the th 19 century by several important scholars such as David Strauss and Ernes t Renan), but a hermeneutical method that attempts to rediscover the original meaning of these utteranc es (or what the hermeneut believes to have been their original meaning). “Demythologization is a h ermeneutical method of 3 interpretation and exegesis.” Bultmann’s idea was clearly formulated by the Israeli philosopher Mosh e Schwartz: “I nstead of demytholog ization by 4 Aufhebung comes demythologization by explication and interpretation.” It follows then that the in potentia correct understanding of myth that can as such represent someth ing positive because it contains and expresses existential elements is distorted by the mythological worldview. The latter is completely opposed to the scientific picture of the world. In other words, the positive aspect of myth is manifested by its religious-existential meaning, whereas the negative aspect of mythology is embodied in an outdated cosmological meaning. From its very beginning, myth was not i ntended to draw an o bjective picture of the world but reflected the human comprehension of the wo rld in ancien t times. Notwithstanding it s religious character, Bultmann’s assertion resembles to a certain degree the rec ent theory of mytholog y proposed by the French Jewish anthropol ogist Claude Lévi-Strauss, who described myth as a collective unconscious reflection of the fateful passage of man kind in prehistoric times from the stage of nature to the first stage of culture. Lévi-Str auss underscored in this con nection the rational capacity of the human mind. Yet, while L évi-Strauss stressed the positive aspects of myth, Bultmann rejected mythology with t wo main arguments: (1) The “unworldly” is describe d as “worldly”; this r efers to the form of myth . (2) The cosmological worldvi ew of myth has become meaningless; this ref ers to the content of myth but as already stated, the fallacy is not of myth b ut of mythol ogy. These two different arguments against mythology led Bu ltmann to th e aforementioned demand that myth 3 4

Rudolf Bultmann, Jesus Christ and Mythology, 1958. Moshe Schwartz, Language, Myth, Art, 1967 (Hebrew), p. 223.

60

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

ought to be interpreted an d overcome not cosmologically but existentially and anthropologically. The program of demythologization is therefore not so much intended against myth but agains t mythology because “mythological thought” and “scientific thoug ht” represent two un bridgeable contradicting trends. This alleged c ontradiction however is no more than a suppose d contradiction, because fro m their very beginning these two worl dviews did not belong to the same stage of understanding and did not necess arily exclude each other. One might perhaps ask if Bultmann’s statements on the kerygma do not engender some kind o f a new myth that exchanges the ol d one with modern symbolic, moral and intentional content, thus subjecting the old mythology to a new mythological interpretation. In t his light, Raphael Patai was inclined to charact erize Bultmann’s method not as 5 “demythologization” but as “transmythologization.” Another problematic point in Bultmann’s hermeneutics is that he arbitrarily identifies his existential-anthropological interpretation of the mythical elements in the New Test ament with the notion that all of the mythological stories assu me transcendence. The mythology of t he Old an d the New T estaments only intends to r einforce the belief in tran scendence. However, not all of the myths in the Bible belong to the same category. Cosmological myths such as the story of creation and the Garden of Eden in Genesis are not of exclus ively theological significance, whereas myths that treat themes such as the apocalypse or redemption are distinguish ed by their dominant theological character. While my ths of the first kind re present a difficult problem for a religious person today, this must not necessarily be the case for the myths of the second kin d. These can be interpreted in such a way that their theological message, notwithstanding its mythical symbolism, which reveals explicitly very little but conceals much, can be made clear and maintain its meaning for the believer. Demythologization, as a slogan or a formula is a double-edged sword. Bultma nn tried to save Christian religion for the modern believer by obliterating all of its mythological components while offering a new interpretation— by equating d emythologization with “theological hermeneutics.” In order to e valuate Bultmann’s work adequately, one has to take into account the decisive turn that was inaugurated by modern biblical interpretation. Its first traces can alread y be found i n Spinoza’s criticism of the Bible. It manifested very clearly an unprecedented state of affairs, namely that i t is no longe r possible to reach an adequate understanding of Scripture because there are inevitable contradictions between the rationalist 5

Raphael Patai, Myth and Modern man, p. 154.

Hermeneutics and Demythologization—Buber and Bultmann

61

view of modernity and the literal text of the Bible. This new era necessarily entailed different approaches to trad itional hermeneutics. The allegorical interpretation aimed to discover in th e biblical text hidden metaphysical truths whose chief representatives in medieval Jewish thoug ht were among others Maimonides and hi s disciples, were regarded by the modern thinkers as an unsatisfactory, speculative arbitr ariness. Even Christian theology fr om its very beginning availed itself, as Gadamer has very convincingly shown in his philosophical writings, not on ly of the allegorical and anagogical methods but also of historical refl ections, in order to merg e various narratives in the Bible with Chri stian dogmas and articles-of-faith. Obviously, the dogmas of the Church remained the foundation that ought not 6 be shattered. After Spinoza, one coul d hardly i ntegrate biblical narratives about miracles into a rationalist worldview based on the post-Copernican achievements of science. Therefore, from then on, the dominant hermeneutical tendencies were those that exposed the historical context in order to comprehend prop hecy and mir acles in such a way that would be 7 Spinoza was thus one of the first acceptable for a modern person. philosophers to establish biblical resear ch as a critical-historical science. He took care ho wever that his hermeneutics , restricted to the minimum, would not transcend the boundaries of the bibl ical text itself. Thus, he represented the interpretative tendency that the rabbis characterized as Peshat (literal interpretation). One of the inevitable re sults of these tendencies, of which Spinoza was one of the most importa nt precursors, was that modern hermeneutics as elaborated by Ast and S chleiermacher in the first half of the th 19 century, ceased to be helpful for theology. Although Schleiermacher was a professional theologian, he came into conflicts, a s Bultmann after him, 8 with the traditional dogmatic exegesis of Scripture. This was the challenge with which a theologian such as Bultmann had to come to terms. His concep tion of “demythologization” was on th e one hand guided by the same ideas as those of Spinoza, na mely to “cleanse” the Scripture of its superstitious vestiges that both regarded as unsci entific. On the other hand, Bultmann, contrary to Spinoza was interested in rescuing the kerygmatic nucleus of the Christian faith from the biblical texts. This kerygmatic kernel should remain intact despite historical explanations, since Bultmann’s main interest as a Christia n theologian was located in dogmatic H. G. Gadamer, Kleine Schriften, pp. 71–72. Viz. chapter 15 of S pinoza’s Theological-Political Treatise and the first 10 chapters of the book. 8 He adapted, for example, certain pantheistic ideas, which he took over from Spinoza. 6 7

62

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

truths rather than a purely theoretical -exegetical realm. He underscored that his method of demythologization was not intended to adapt the biblical texts to the mentality of a modern person, but to demonstrate to him persuasively the true cont ent of the Christian faith . The myths themselves ar e irrelevant and unessential; there never was any link between myth and kerygma. Gadamer rightly remarked that for Bultmann, it was not the criteri a of modern science that one had to consid er in reflecting upon myths but rather, it was fidei stic considerations that endeavored to ensure the correct 9 understanding of the kerygma. When Bultmann therefore, as Spinoza before him, underscored the imp ortance of p ersonal obedience as tau ght by the Bible, he did not infer it as Spinoza from a historical analysis (whatever its scientific reliability), but from his religious faith. He underscored a manifest 10 relationship between faith and u nderstanding. Understanding s prings up from faith—in the spirit of Anselmus of Canterbury’s famous statement “Credo ut intelligam.” It is not a human achievement, but it is p rovided to the faithful by divine grace. Attention should be given to another aspect of Bultmann’s theory that plays an important role in contemporary hermeneutics, especially in the work of scholars whose hermeneutical tende ncies are inspired by Claude LéviStrauss’ structuralist methodology. Structural anthropology conceives of myth as one of the most i mportant and significant manifestations of human logical thought, as it crystallized duri ng the portentous passage of humanity from the state of nature to the st ate of culture (vide supra). Contrary to this claim, Bultmann’s view of demyth ologization represents a disparaging approach to myth. He relates the a lleged contradiction between myth (or more precisely mytholo gy) and science to two distin ct stages of evolutio n: the mythological view of the world is no more t han a precur sor to the scientific one. This view is no more tha n a sophisticated repetition of the ol d Aristotelian version that had already underscored this epistemological point. Hermann Cohen put a si milar idea fo rward when he identified polytheism and myth as the first, interior stage of belief and knowled ge, while monotheism and religion —especially the religion of Judaism—embody a second, superior stage of k nowledge and belief. Bultmann’s theory was thus based on the differentiation between the language of mythology that distorts true understanding and the language of sc ience. Only the latter is, according to him, cap able of bringing abo ut adequate understanding. He thus distinguishes between primitive menta lity that has its most expedient 9

Gadamer, ibid., p. 76. It is not incide ntal that these two words are the titl e of his most important wor k: Glauben und Verstehen (2 volumes), Tübingen 1952–1965.

10

Hermeneutics and Demythologization—Buber and Bultmann

63

expression in mythology, and modern mentality that is characterized by the replacement of the former mentality with a strict scientific worldview. This distinction also brings to mind the sociological concept of Lucien Lévi-Bruhl (and sharply criticized thereaft er by L évi-Strauss) namely, the concept of “pre-logic mentality.” Lévi-Strauss deni ed the argument that t he mythical thought of the so-called “primitive” or “wild” people was rationally inferior and on a lower level than the thought of the “cultivated” people of the West. The concept that disparages mythology for theological reasons (Cohen in Jewish thought , Bultmann in Chris tian theology) and relegates it to a distant age of outdated primitive thought outraged thinkers and scientists of different schools including Karl Jaspers, the Christian religious-existentialist philosopher, as well as the religious existentialist thought of Franz Rosenzweig and Martin Buber. Other thinkers who share this critical response include secular scholars such as the anthropologist Lévi-Strauss and others, most of whom are inclin ed toward structuralism and poststructuralism. Notwithstanding their different philosophical, religious and scientific views, they all agree that mythical thought is not an inferior kind of thought but another kind of thought and what is mo st important, a kind of perennial thought, characteristic for all times. Contrary to Bultmann’s claim of demyth ologization that was inspired by Christian theological thought, there was also an adverse view of myth among contemporary Jewish thinkers. Its two most prominent representatives in our time are Martin Buber and Franz Rose nzweig. Their conception is based— like Bultmann’s—on the aim towards an “ex istentialist interpretation” but its tendency was diametrically opp osed to that of Bu ltmann. In order to be faithful to Bultmann’s terminol ogy, one might designate it as 11 rent appeared before “remythologization.” In Jewish thought this cur Bultmann published his t heories but it did not arouse much interest in the wider intellectual community. It represented a response to Hermann Cohen’s concept that exhibited astonishing p arallels to the later conception of Bultmann. That was of course no coincidence. Various scholars have already demonstrated that Bultmann’s philos ophy was not onl y inspired by Heidegger—its main source—but also by the Neo-Kantianism o f Marburg, founded and represented by Hermann C ohen. His influence is directly 12 recognizable when Bultmann speaks about “demytho logization.” Bultmann was much impressed by Hans Jonas, who already employed the term 11 12

This term was also employed by Moshe Schwartz, op. cit., p. 220. Viz. also Anth ony C. Thiselton, The Two Horizons—New testament hermeneutics and philosophical description with special reference to Heidegger, Bultmann, Gadamer and Wittgenstein, pp. 3–4.

64

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

“demythologization” in hi s scholarship on the Gn ostics in the years 1928– 1930. Although these wor ks were only published (as a consequence of the Nazi regime) in 1954, Bultmann had known of them b ecause he and Heidegger were Jonas’ two primary te achers in Marburg from 19 24 to 1928, where he wrote his dissertation under Heidegger’s supervision. It is worthy to uncover the traces of these religio-theoretical processes in th the Jewish philosoph y of religion of the 19 century, specifically in the writings of Hirsch and Formstecher, and to a ce rtain degree also in the writings of Steinheim, the precursor of Rosenzweig. These sporadic beginnings reached their clear and ultimate formulations in Her mann Cohen’s philosophy of religion and gave birth to Bu ber’s divergent propositions of “remythologization.” Cohen stressed the necessity to li berate oneself from the “fetters of myth” ( Fesseln des Mythos) that represent only an inferior stage of true r eligious consciousness. According to him, mythos reflected polytheism and pluralism rather than manifesting any “genuine” religion. Judaism wa s characterized according to Cohen by the absence of mythical ingredients and distinguished itself instead by religious ones whose quintessence was embodied in the belief in one unique God— Emunat13 Hayihud. He therefore regarded those mythical elements that had penetrated into ancient Jewish sources (after all, he could not simply ign ore them) as deplorable “alien bodies” ( Fremdkörper) of which one ought t o dispose. Similarly to the Greeks, who had been th e first to give birth to a scientific philosophy that then became the l egacy of humanity in the West , the Jewish people created the religion of reason ( Religion der Vernunft) that was also destined for the whole of humanity. Cohen’s statement howe ver created certain difficulties because Jewish mon otheism as expressed in early biblical literature grew very clearly out of mythical thought. Cohen therefore tried to demonstrate that the authors of th e biblical books had underscored the spiritual character of such concepts as creation, revelation etc., in order to 14 reach a purely theological concept that was free from any myths. From this perspective, Cohen’s con cept of Juda ism could b e seen as one of the forerunners of Bultmann’s call for demythologization. This disparaging view of myth, how ever, aroused Buber’s resentment and unease. He was oppo sed to these views and argued that such a religious dichotomy between myth on the one hand and Jewish belief in one God on the other hand was ungrou nded. There is no essential contradiction between Hermann Coh en, Religion der Vernunft aus den Quellen d es Judentums, ch. 1: “Th e uniqueness of God”. 14 Viz. also Alexander Altmann, “Theology in Twentieth Century German Jewry”, Leo Baeck Institute Yearbook I, 1956, pp. 195–198. 13

Hermeneutics and Demythologization—Buber and Bultmann

65

myth and mo notheism, as they do not exclude each other. Just as there are polytheistic myths, there are monotheistic myths as well. The assertion of an alleged dichotomy between myth and monotheism is absolutely unwarranted. Moreover, there is no essential relatio nship between a mythical worldview and polytheistic beliefs. Buber’s conception, just like Cohen’s but in opposition to him, drew i ts inspiration from Jewish sources and opposed modern Protestant theological notions. At the same time, Buber also opposed traditional Jewish religious views that were characteri stic of the aforementioned Jewish p hilosophers of religion. Several Jewish thinkers before Buber asserted that the st ruggle between myth and religion was already waged in the ancient sources of Judaism themselves. They attempted according to Buber to distinguish bet ween “a naï ve mythological and a positive monotheistic Judaism” inside Judaism. Buber quo tes David Neumark, a historian of Jewish philosophy: The history of the development of the Jewish religion … [is] truly the history of the wars of liberation against th e own and strange venerable and newly compos ed 15 mythology.

This trend of thought resembles to a certain degree Cohen’s view of the Bible, although Neumark ascribed to myth a greater role than did Cohen. Moreover, Neumark did not deny the exis tence of mythical elements in the Bible. Cohen criticized these elements though as did Bultmann afterwards, as being inferior. One can thus distinguish with regard to myth and mythology three main tendencies in modern Jewish philo sophy. First, according to Hermann Cohen, myth was opposed in principl e to the essence of Judaism and to monotheism. If there were still some mythical traces from former polytheism that had penetrated Jewish sources, wh ich was a hist orical fallacy, then one must now eradicate this deplorable lapse. Second, according to David Neumark, myth had play ed a historical role in the development of Jewish monotheistic belief but no more than a primitive kind of religi on that was then replaced by a more adequate re ligious view. Third, according to Buber’s view, we must condemn all of those opinions that disparage myth or consider it to be inferior. He ther efore tried to reformulate Neumark’s assertion in o rder to purge it of its negative undertone with regard to myth and thus give it a more appropriate version (“gerechtere Fassung”):

15

“Die Entwicklungsgeschichte der jüdischen Religion … [ist] in Wahrheit die Geschichte der Befreiungskämpfe gegen die eigene und fre mde, altehrwürdige und neug edichtete Mythologie.” Quoted by Buber, op, cit., p. 81.

66

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS The history of the development of the Jewish religion … [is] truly the history of the wars between the natural structure of a mythical-monotheistic religion of the peop le 16 and the intellectual structure of a rational-monotheistic rabbinic religion

Furthermore, he adds an unequivocal definition of myth: This is moreover its sense, namely that we have to call myth any tale of a sensually 17 real happening that feels and describes it as a divine and absolute happening.

Thus, according to Buber, there ar e two different lines of de marcation that determine the place of myth in the “alte hrwürdigen” writings of Judaism: (1) “Mythical monotheism” of the Bible as against the “rationalist monotheism” of the rabb is; and (2) “Monotheistic myth” of the Bible as against “polytheistic myth” of the other peoples of antiquity. While both I srael and other people of antiquity stress the sync hronic nature of myth as a general spiritual phenomenon, Israel underscores the shift f rom myth to religion. Buber’s most important point howeve r is his positive conception of the mythical elements in Judaism. As already seen in Maimonides, religious belief as such needs a mythological language because ordinary human l anguage is i ncapable of expressing truths about God. This view is also reminiscent of Plato who sometimes exchanged the discursi ve language of philos ophy with mythological descriptions, especially when he did not succeed in arriving at 18 an equivocal philosop hical conclusion. Plato’s mytholog y had a different purpose from that of Maimonides who referred to the mythical stories of the Bible, although on the methodical level one can discern a surprising similarity. According to Buber, a scientific or discursive language is not an appropriate means by which to expre ss authentic religious belief. This elucidates the root of that te ndency characterized above as “remythologization” namely, the idea that mythical language represents at all times a highly important function in promoting authentic religious belief. This view op poses Bultmann’s as well as Cohen’s according to whom the mythological worldview is outdated a nd therefore one must interpret and understand Scripture through the pris m of a modern scientific worldview. What Bultmann called “scientific,” Cohen called “religio-ph ilosophical” 16

Ibid. “Vielmehr ist der Sinn, dass wir Mythos alle Erzählung von einem sinnlich wirklichen Geschehen zu nennen haben, die es als ein göttliches, ein absolutes Geschehen empfindet und darstellt”. Ibid., p. 88. 18 E.g., the explanation of astonish ment as the daughter of the God “Theomas” (“wonderful”), Thaethetus, 155c. 17

Hermeneutics and Demythologization—Buber and Bultmann

67

(“religionsphilosophisch”). In contrast to these views, Buber as serted that 19 myth is “an eternal function of the soul.” It is not only a kind of thought but also an expression, or b etter yet, a testimony (“Bezeugnis”) of a real 20 encounter between God an d man. Buber thus links his conception of myth as it had been characteristic of his earlier, pre-dialogical philosophy, with his later dialogical thoug ht as articulated in I and Thou and that comprises th e relationship between the human “I” and the divin e “Thou” as an integral component. While Bultmann attempted to construct religion objectively, Buber established it o n the premis es of a subjective “life-view” (“Lebensanschauung”) that was inspired, among others, by Dilthey and Simmel. This distinction can be cl early discerned in their different hermeneutical conception of Scriptur e. Buber was not restrained by an y mythological or even anthropomorp hic elements. His God—the “Eternal Thou”—can never become an “Id,” a component of such a religious worldview as Bultmann aspired to c onstruct. In Buber’s conception (o r belief), God—as “Eternal Thou”—remai ns an everlasting partner of the 21 encounter with man. Rosenzweig also elaborated a similar approach to myth. He conceived of myth as something t hat is beyond the history of religions but that reflects a generally accepted image of the world and of life. Myth is one of the three aspects on which the relig io-philosophical conception of his magnum opus, the Star of Redemption, is construed. Although his conception of myth is mainly shaped by classical Greece and therefore is in a certain wa y distinct from that of Buber, he also regards myth as some kind of pr ototype that embodies something timeless and metahistorical, but at the same time as an integral and inseparable part of hum an consciousness. Myth serves as a symbolic expression of general significations, and is not restricted according to Rosenzweig to a lege ndary prehistorical age. On this point, however, Buber and Rosenzweig ev olved different conceptions of myth and its place in Judaism. The polemics between them can be seen in the following context. Especially in his early (pre-dialogical ) philosophy, Buber respected myth as a creation of the originative spirit of the People of Israel. He maintained with regard to myth an approach that remi nds us of Feuerbach’s concept of God . One can discern here without do ubt some traces of Feuerbach’s influence; notwithstanding Feuerbach’s atheism, Buber and Rosenzweig greatly appreciated his work. Feuerbach regard ed God as th e product of the human spirit through which man is alienat ed from himself. Similarly, Buber Buber, op. cit., p. 91. Viz. also Schwartz, op. cit., p. 241. 21 Martin Buber, Werke, Band I, pp. 537–538. 19 20

68

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

conceived of myth as a product of the human spirit although i n his view, no alienation was entailed. Buber thus tried to detect the main so urce of myth (including b iblical myth) in certain emotional-psychological elements of the spirit of the people, coupled with certain elements of remembrance and imagination. Rosenzweig refuted this anthropologica l conception of myth and considered it to be no 22 more than “atheistic theology.” By stressing the role of man or the people as the creato rs of myth, one neglects pace—Rosenzweig’s focal role and meaning of God. It is G od alone by his revelation to man who is the true creator of myth. Rosenzweig was influenced by the philosophy of mythology and revelation of the late Schelling wh ere God figures as a real and living essence that forms the foundation of a uthentic religious belief. I n his 1 914 philosophical-philological treatise that became known under the title “Das älteste Systemprogramm des deutsc hen Idealismus,” one can locate Rosenzweig’s positive ideas reg arding myth. Following Sc helling, he focused in this treatise on “the new mytholog y that serves the new 23 philosophy” and on “the new mythol ogy as the religion of the f uture,” i.e. as the basis o f the philosophy of reve lation. Rosenzweig was not willing t o accept Buber’s reluctance to attribute God a role in his conception of myth. This sharp contrast between their conc eptions of myth in Judaism was lat er mitigated when Buber conceived of God in his dialogical philosophy as the “Eternal Thou” that is, as a real a nd living being with whom a person can enter into a relationship of dialogue and encounter. It was not Buber’s conception of myth that underwent any changes but rather the role that God occupies in his new philosophy. The issue of demythologization led Bultmann to underscore the meaning 24 of the concept of “ Vorverständnis” (“pre-understanding”). Here once again we encounter the problematics of the “hermeneutic circle.” In this connection, Bultmann made another very important distinction that entailed significant influences on the hermeneutic s that followed him. T here is no possibility of understanding without “Voraussetzungslosigkeit,” that is, without certain former requisites. At the same time, it must be established on the basis of “Vorurteilsfreiheit,” i.e. “freedom fro m any prejudices.” It is impossible to ign ore the personal pr eferences of the interpreter; the This was the provocative title of his article “Atheistische Theologie”, Kleinere Schriften, pp. 278–290. 23 Franz Rosenzweig, Zwei-Stromland, p. 152. 24 This concept w as derived from Heidegger’s “Vorgriff des Verstehens”; later it played also an important role in H. G. Gadamer’s philosop hical hrmeneutics; viz. Wahrheit und Methode, pp. 252 ff. 22

Hermeneutics and Demythologization—Buber and Bultmann

69

subjective dimension is an inseparable part of every act of understanding and judgment. These preferences however mu st be very careful to avoid any dogmatic positions such as obligatory articles-of-faith. Notwithstanding his Christian-religious motivation, Bultma nn repudiated the pretensions of the Church to be the sole competent interpr eter of the revelatory cont ents of the Old and the New Testaments. He very clearly states that the preconditions of biblical hermeneutics must not be Christian ones but on the contrary, general philosophical ones akin to any ot her literary text. Because Bultmann established his biblical her meneutics on philosophical suppositions, various Christian theologians such as Karl Barth and Helmut Thielicke accused him of distorting the meaning of the Bibl e. This is reminiscent of simil ar accusations of medieval rabbis agai nst the phil osophy of Maimonides. th Samson Raphael Hirsch, the founder of neo-orthodoxy in the 19 century, asserted that under n o circumstances should anyone explicate or understand Judaism by external disciplines. With rega rd to this issue, Buber, unlike his approach to mythology, shared Bultmann’s opinions. When he addressed the question of the absoluteness of ethical values, he rejected the view that based these values on religious tradition or sanctified them by historical revelation. Wir erfassen das Ethische in seiner Reinheit nur da, wo die menschliche Person sich mit ihrer eigen en Möglichkeit konfrontiert, und innerhalb iher scheidet und entscheidet, ohne nach and erem zu fragen, als was jetzt und hier, in dieser ihr er 25 eigenen Situation das Rechte und was das Unrechte ist.

The absoluteness of valu es results fr om their personal revelation to the human being. In his “Reply to my cr itics” in The Philosophy of Martin Buber, Buber expressed himself in this way: “I neither acknowledge a traditional framework of laws and prescriptions n or offer a system of ethics 26 of my own.” Bultmann’s reflections (on how to understand the Scripture) and Buber’s meditations (on how to re cognize absolute values) thus draw their inspiration from an essentially si milar way of thinking . What divides them is their different conception of myth. According to Bultmann, a text (he h as in mind the Bible) can be comprehended in two distinct modes: (1 ) With the i ntention to understand what is literally told in the text; or (2) With the intention to underscore what the text signifies for contemporary life. In the second case, the tex t does not “We conceive of the ethical in its purity only where the hu man person confronts itself with its own possibility, and separate s and decides inside itself, without asking anything else, what here and now, in its own situation, is the right and what is the wrong”. Gottesfinsternis, Werke, op. cit., p. 575. 26 Schilpp, P.A. and Friedman, M. (eds.), The Philosophy of Martin Buber, p. 717. 25

70

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

merely remain a “text” but turns int o a “ source.” This second mode of comprehension was Bultmann’s main goal whose significance transcends the theological context. The relation of a non-religious Jew to the Bible today can be motivated by similar intentions namely, to arrive at a clear and intelligible understanding of the significance of the biblical text f or life and in order to locate the “roots” of Judaism and better comprehend one’s Jewish and human identity. That was also one of the reasons that undergird Cohen’s attempt to formulate the elements of a Religion of Reason that was destined to fulfill the needs of the modern person. These elements ought to be drawn from the “sources of Judaism.” Hermeneutics is therefore a discipline that seeks to understand historical phenomena through relevant texts. Its task is to provide the necessary objectivity for understanding the actions of individuals in particular societies. This is evidently neither a sufficient characterization of hermeneutics as a discipline of research nor of its vari ous objectives and pr oblems, but t his aspect played a role in the fo reground of Bult mann’s hermeneutical investigations and to a lesser degree, also in Cohen’s and Buber’s hermeneutical writings. The rules that guide biblical interpretations or that should guide them are subordinated t o the same conditions as any other interpretation of literary or scientific texts. Neither Bultmann nor Buber nor Rosenzweig mentioned Spinoza who h ad been the first modern philosoph er to assert this view in the TPT. Still, fr om the religious-existential point of view, the interpretative activity of Sc ripture entails for a believing person a special and unique significance. In light of Bultmann’s essay “Ist Auslegung o hne Voraussetzungen 27 möglich?” the following summarizes his theory of biblical interpretation: 1. Biblical interpretation must be conducted like every other literary interpretation without any prejudices. 2. There is no i nterpretation without presuppositions, especially sin ce the beginning of modern times, a critical-historical method of research is adopted. “There is no ex egesis without 28 presuppositions.” A presupposed q uestion is, however, n o 29 prejudice, but a question.

“Is interpret ation without prerequisites po ssible?”. The titl e hints obviously at Kant’ s famous questions in the beginning of Critique of Pure Reason. 28 R. Bultmann, Glauben und Verstehen III, p. 143. 29 Ibid., p. 146. 27

Hermeneutics and Demythologization—Buber and Bultmann

71

3. From the very beginni ng there is a living relationship between the interpreter of Scripture and what is written in the text. This relationship is embodied in Vorverständnis (“pre-understanding”). 4. This Vorverständnis is temporary because only the interpretation of the text enables us to achieve the comprehension of t he true existential unity of the text , i.e. of Scripture. Only this guarantees its adequate understanding a nd construes the basis of an existential resolution. 5. Since this existential unity is an inseparable co mponent of the process of understanding the Bible, such an understanding can never be final but a lways remains open for continuous interpretations and 30 new understanding. The similarity to Buber’s philosophical presuppositions is surprising, yet all of these suppositions belong to th e primary issues of contemporary hermeneutics that one encounters in the context of the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament, and evidently in ot her scriptures (for which however Bultmann, unlike Buber, did not show any interest). These suppositions hold true for general philosophical and literary texts and their subject matter gives rise to meth odological and theoretical investigations. These texts always address themselves anew and acquire a new relev ance in various contexts. One objective can be historical—to reconstruct the context of a certain historical age that attract ed for ex ample the work of Wilhel m Dilthey, Buber’s most beloved teacher and one of the most important pioneers of contemporary hermeneutics. This always demands a certain preunderstanding (Vorverständnis). Another objective can be psychol ogical and aims at the inner underst anding of a person (the author, t he reader), of a group of individuals within a religion that also demands a certain preunderstanding of psychol ogical phenomena. In this sense Schleiermacher spoke of empathy (Einfühlung). Other objectives may include aesthetics and focus on formal and structural aspects of th e text. Finally, one’s consideration can also be existential and underscore the human predicament 31 as expressed in the texts. For hermeneuts such as Bultmann and Buber who were guided by theological objectives, the existenti al focus of t he text is most compelling. These different objectives of text i nterpretation, especially

30 31

Glauben und Verstehen II, p. 174. Viz. J. Kockelmans, “On myth and its relationship to hermeneutics”, Cultural Hermeneutics I, 1973, p. 74.

72

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

when they concern phil osophical, theological or lite rary texts, represent an integral component of their reading. A further question may now be posed: Does a theological, philosophical or literary text of great significance express a “ Sachwahrheit” (truth of 32 matter of fact) or a “ Sinnwahrhuit” (truth of meaning)? A possible answe r might be the following: The fact that a classic text such as the Bible, which is still capable of arousing our attent ion and continues to hold great significance and interest for us can s erve as sufficient proof that such a text has already passed through a certain pr ocess of demythologization and has therefore now become a carrier of “Sinnwahrheit” and human meaning. Another question (to which Bultmann has not paid any attention in his work) is the following: Does modern reality not give rise to many new myths implying an interpretative activity of a new kind? This question occupied an 33 important place in the work of the French literary critic Roland Barthes. A proper understanding of a text should also take into consideration th e influences that its various interpretations have exerted in the course of time. A text must therefore be regarded in its widest and all-encompassing context. This requires a minimum of “Vorverständnis.” In his research on mythology, Lévi-Strauss underscored the necessity to comprehend every myth by t he totality of its versions, including its interpretations, a method known to us from rabbinic thought. It is therefore an indispensable task of the hermeneut to acknowledge the hist orical dimension of interpretation and to remain aware of it. This is also important in or der to avoid the fallacy of an arbitrary or forced explication of a text that translates the concepts and t houghts of another time into t hose of our time. Alt hough a text of the past can arouse our interest only when it is still re levant for contemporary problems and issues, one must not for get that it was not addressed to us bu t rather, to the author’s contemporaries. It is all right if a res earcher explicates what the text of the past means to her today and why it still seems so important to her, but that does not implies that the author ha d intended to address the res earcher’s viewpoints. Although a t ext or a work of art, after having been created, no longer belongs to the author or to t he artist, but initiates as it were an independent life, does not give the future reader, interpreter or critic the right to ignore the background and context of the created object. On e has to b e careful not to plunge int o the pitfall of exaggerated subjective interpretation, but to take into consideration historical influences. These aspects— “wirkungsgeschichtliches Auslegen,” “Horizontverschmelzung,” etc.—were at the center of Gadamer’s philosophical hermeneutics. 32 33

Emerich Coreth, Grundfragen der Hermeneutik, Ein philosophischer Beitrag, p. 217. Roland Barthes, Mythologies, 1957.

Hermeneutics and Demythologization—Buber and Bultmann

73

The most important consequence that o ne might draw at the end of this investigation into Bultmann’s and B uber’s hermeneutics is that although text-interpretations, especially texts on religious ph enomena, can never be wholly objective, it seems possible and important to reach a certain degree of objectivity. This objectivity is obviousl y quite different from that to which we are accustomed in the natural scie nces, but that does not mean that the hermeneut can treat his su bject matters arbitrarily. Systematic interpretation must be the guideline i n every area of research—in the humanities (Geisteswissenschaften) as well as in t he natural s ciences, as Spinoza had already underscored in the Theological-Political Treatise. The goal must be the maximal objective of understanding, notwithstanding differences and even contradictions of opinions among the researchers.

CHAPTER 5

Hermeneutics and Tradition Hegel’s concept of “objective spirit” r efers to tr adition as a real ity that is independent of the will and decision of the individual. It is an autonomous element that follows its own rules but at the sa me time makes certain demands and even exerts coercion. If for example, a religious Je w fasts on Yom Kippur, this is no personal or spontaneous decision. She fasts because religious tradition prescribes it to her. It remains her free decision whether or not to fast in the same way as her decision to keep a particular religiou s commandment; still, fasting on Yom Kippur is required by tradition. It is tradition that in this case determines her behavior. She accepts what has been prescribed and transmitted to her thr ough tradition. She does not engage in any creative or autonomous activity. The individual becomes a link of an allencompassing objective chain or fra mework. The more conservative and “traditionalist” the society to which a person belongs, the more it endeavors to secure tr ansmitted traditions as fait hfully as possible and avoids any deviation from them. Th oughtful and intentional non-conformism then demands initiative and spontaneity. In or der not to be subjected to old and venerable customs and to realize ne w horizons and creative activity, one needs an audacity of thought. Kant expressed this in his famous plea “Sapere 1 aude!” At the same time, one often hears the counter-argument: The force of individual originality cannot begin to be compared to a rich tradition that had been shaped over centuries. After all, what can a single person or even a single generation accomplish over and against a thousand year old tradition? This rhetorical argument can be understood in a twofold way: 1. Tradition reflects the acquisition of cultural and spiritual values th at represent extraordinary achievements. It preserves th e contributions of intellectual giants and t ransmits to us spiritual treasures that w e would have never been able to create on our own. We enjoy what our ancestors have provi ded for us in order sit down at a “prepared table.” This was what Joseph Caro, the famous Halachist had in 1

Immanuel Kant, “Beantwortung der Frage: Was ist Aufklärung?” (1784). Sämtliche Werke, Band I, 1921, p. 163

76

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS mind when he composed and codified the written manual of Jewish th law in the 16 Century known as Shulhan Arukh. 2. Since we cannot create everything ane w, objectivity dominates over subjectivity and personal i nitiative is almost entirely eliminated by tradition. To employ Hegelian terminology, objective spirit prevails over subjective spirit.

Such views of tradition can lead to positive as well as to negative results. On the one hand, a person becomes a slave to o utdated institutions and ceremonies whose true meaning he no l onger fully understands. On the other hand, tradition as a form of objective spirit stresses the superior ity of the human being over animals, contrary to the pessimistic view of Kohelet (Ecclesiastes) 3:19. Animals adapt themselves to nature and environment by instinctive inclinations while humans depend on experience and knowledge. Cultural traditions replace biologically inherited instincts: “as a cultural 2 being he is, by the same token, necessarily a trad itional being.” At first glance, it appears as if the principle of autonomous creative activity clashes with the fa ct that every h uman individual is born i nto an existi ng cultural tradition that has already accomplished part of our ta sk. This must not be a deplorable loss; on the contrary, it can and should become our gain. A person is thus discharged from t he necessity to repeat w hat his ance stors have already accomplished. He gains time a nd energy to create something new. This was precisely the task of creativ e hermeneutics. “Heredity” is not the 3 same as “inheritance” (“legacy”). The etymological proximity h owever that exists in most European la nguages as well as in Hebrew between these two words also engenders a certain risk of conceptual fallacies. It might although inadvertently enhance th ose tendencies that reinforce the obli gatory and absolute authority of tradition. Still, tradition in the true sense of the word is intended to s afeguard the cultural and i ntellectual achievements of the past and ensure their preservation and con tinuity. From this point of view, hermeneutics indeed plays a very i mportant role. The aforementioned distinction between instincts and cultu ral heritage also entail s another significant implication. Since our relat ion to traditi on is not instinctive but acquired, tradition is linked to education.

2 3

Michael Landmann, Fundamental Anthropology, p. 50. In this sense Ernst Bloch wrote his book Erbschaft dieser Zeit (“Legacy of our time”), 1962. In Hebrew too this distinction is expressed by two different wo rds that stem fr om the same root: Torasha (inheritance) and Morasha (heritage).

Hermeneutics and Tradition

77

With regards to tradition, a major d ilemma in Jewi sh thought t oday is linked to the issue of toler ance versus intolerance. One of its manifestations can be seen in the attempts by ort hodox groups within Judaism (especially in Israel) to enforce upon other Jews values that they do not only con sider to be important but also obligatory. Non-or thodox and secular Jews are concerned with preserving th ose values of the Jewi sh tradition t hat they beli eve to be reasonable and that express continued significance and validity. On the other hand, the orthodox leadership believes th at the values that they recommend are sanctified by divine revelation. They therefore consider themselves to be the only competent and authorized interp reters of the Jewish tr adition. They overlook the fact that traditions grow in a social framework. Tradition provides us with the necessary foundations of life and existence that must always be interpreted in such a way th at they will be relevant for every new situation. From this per spective, tradition is a help mate in the continuity of culture and s ociety. It is not only an additional burden or as t he Israeli philosopher Yeshayahu Leibowitz used to say with regard to Halachah, but the only form and me ans that a Jew can worship God. Yet the “traditionalists” disregard the fact that tradition only gives a partial answer to human existence. The historical reality in which we now live is fundamentally different from the historical reality in which t he Jewish tradition was shaped. A modern view of tradition must therefore include a certain critical dimension. Individuals must adapt to new situations and at the same ti me advance their own cap abilities and i nclinations. That was th Franz Rosenzweig’s view of tradition in the beginning of the 20 century; he recommended that every Jew should observe the traditiona l religious commandments of Judaism in acco rdance with his personal capability. Tradition should never suppress human autonomy and individuality. This point was underscored again by Michael Landmann. Moreover, life again and ag ain poses unf oreseen situations for which no predesignated answer exists. We can thus rely on traditions to alleviate our burden of decision only to a limited extent. Otherwise we must establish what must be done on our own—carried by tradition and within its framework. As we need not be constantly creative, so we cannot live on our traditional heritage. We are receivers 4 and creators, preservers and innovators.

Thus to accept a tradition whatever it may be mean s to interpret, judge and choose values according to certain sta ndards. Buber believed this to be the chief goal of tradition. Logically speaking, the assumption that something is transmitted to us by tra dition does not entail that we must accept it. The 4

Landmann, op. cit., p. 171.

78

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

decisive question then is the crite ria by which we choose an d justify a particular decision regarding tradition. Spinoza defined substance (God) as natura naturans and natura 5 naturata; likewise, one could characterize a person as shaper of tradition as well as shaped by traditi on. We are formed by it yet we also gives it new forms that are conditioned by ev olving conditions and cir cumstances. Although the intellectual capacities of humans in prehistoric times and in antiquity were not inferior to those in modernity, their intellectual horizons 6 were more limited. If a person knows little, he h esitates to adopt new initiatives of his own and is more inclined to accept what his anc estors and predecessors have as it were determined for him. The approach to tradition is dominated by an almost instinctive feeling that what is old and venerable still possesses authority and r equires obedience. Without that, Joseph Caro’s aforementioned Shulhan Arukh would have been useless. We encounter this view already in the Bible and in the Talmud, sometimes with the manifest intention of persuading the community that they are in tellectually and spiritually inferior to former generations. If the former (scholars) were sons of angels , so we are children of men, and if t he 7 former were children of men, we are asses.

The Bible speaks of “the elders of the community” as its “directors” (Leviticus 4:15). In the rabbinic period, the elderly were considered to be the truly wise as numerous references to this view suggest. “The elderly” acquired a twofold connotation: On the one hand, the very old people; on the other hand, the wise of fo rmer generations whose authority is bin ding. The 8 Talmud very clearly asserts “there is no old person that is not wise.” In those periods and societies where such opini ons dominated, every violation of a transmitted rule was considered sacrilege and blasphemous. This view was later condemned by various critics of traditionalism such as Auguste Comte th in the 19 century, as “t he dead han d of the pas t.” One could therefore distinguish between traditional societies that stress the past, modern societies that stress th e present, an d anti-traditional societies that stress the future. According to the Jewish tradition,

Spinoza, The Ethics, Pt. I, prop. 29, Scholium, pp. 51–52. See for example C. Levi-Straus, The Savage Thought. 7 Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Shabath 112b 8 Tractate Kiddushim 32b. 5 6

Hermeneutics and Tradition

79

Moses received the Torah from Sinai and transmitted it to Joshua, and Joshua to the elder, and the elder to the prophets, and the pro phets transmitted it to the members 9 of the great Knesset (synagogue).

All those w ho received the Torah a nd continued to transmit it to later generations introduced certain changes through their interpretative activity. These emendations however wer e intended to safeguard the noti on of the eternal and unchanging essence of th e Torah that Moses had rece ived from God in perfect form. This investigation treats primarily the attitude of a modern person towards religious tradition, namely, thos e authoritative sources or iginated in antiquity. According to r eligious belief, revelation is the chief source of tradition and endows this belief its authoritative and binding character. Those who asserted that h umanism and the Enlightenment merely exchanged one kind of tradition for ano ther ignored th is essential belief. Accordingly, t he representatives of the Enlightenment re placed the religious tradition with the Greek one. This attitude however was mostly characteristic of certain 10 Christian thinkers. The fundamental cha nge as Herder thought consisted in that one now tried to find a new authority that was believed to be revealed by humanism. In contrast to t he view that authority is represented by tradition, the new authority had no restraints to render its judgments accor ding to the dictates of reason. Yet hu man authority is not the same as divine authority. Religious tradition drew its authority fro m a r evelatory event in the distant past written down in S cripture and accepted beyond any doubt. This revelatory event was represented dogm atically. In order to pr event any doubts as to its authenticity, its s pokesmen availed themselves of hermeneutics. Interpretation then became the helpmate of tradition. Interpretation is also lin ked in its traditional form in Judai sm to education. One does not only study the texts in order to understand them, but in order to transmit what one has learned to others and to prevent its loss of meaning. Emmanuel Lévinas underscored in this connection the inseparable relationship between “lilmod” (to learn) and “ lelamed” (to teach), which are of the same etymological root in the Hebrew tradition. He described this idea in a somewh at idealized f orm in or der to adapt it to his own philosoph y whereby the crucial idea is responsibility for the other. True learning consists in that the learne d is comprehended in such a d eep manner that the pupil is forced to trans mit it to another one. The acq uired truth c annot 9

Tractate Avoth 1:1. It is inter esting to note th at in the Middl e Ages the autho rity of Aristotle wa s not les s important than Jewish and Christian philosophy.

10

80

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS remain in the consciousness of a single man but transgresses these borderlines, 11 towards the other.

Still, tradition is another example of the philosophical antinomy of freedom and determinism. Tradition has indeed fixed certain forms of human relations and decisions (e specially in religion) and restrict ed freedom of action. After all, religious tradition as pires to preserve modes of belief and practice. Nevertheless, this ought not prevent us from adopting new and different decisions. Tradition certainly makes this option more di fficult, but this is exactly its purpose. New decisions are often disguised as interpretation of traditional commandments. It th us happens that many interpretations of traditional elements refl ect gradual collective determinations. It seems important however to stre ss the fact th at the coercive element of tradition— what Emile Durkheim has called “contrainte sociale”—regresses with the rise to higher cultural stages. The individual then fee ls less restricted by the chains of tradition, less subordinated to the authority of holy texts, and less restrained to follow her inherent creative capabilities and inclinations. Philosophy, as a fr ee and conscious exercise of human re ason, is therefore antagonistic to what tradition represents. The struggle between tradition in its frozen and binding form, and phil osophy has not yet been overcome, although the gap separating them can and ought to be bridged. Despite the hopes attributed to reason during the last two hundred years, this struggle has 12 not yet come to its end. There is still another diff erence between tradition and philosophy. A philosopher, however original her thought may be, i s never wholly detached from former normative forms of thoug ht and conven tions although she can refute and fight against them. Philosoph y is to a certain degree dependent on certain thought-traditions (even when it revolts against them), while tradition does not depend on philosophy but rather demands obedience. This was Spinoza’s conception of religion. Only when philosophy presents a challenge to tradition because the lat ter no longer agrees with the norms and demands of reason, does tradition sometimes attempt to defend itself through philosophical argumentation. One then encounters philosophers who take it upon themselves to be “gu ides of the p erplexed” in order to lead believing persons out o f their confus ion that resul ted from the contradiction between traditional belief and philosophy . This was Maimonides’ aim that he attempted to accomplish by means of a hermeneutics built on homonymology. The crisis and the conflic t were unavoidable. In l ight of the 11 12

E. Lévinas, “The Pact,” Au-delà du verset, pp. 82–106. The spread of fundamentalism in the last decades is a sad example of this struggle.

Hermeneutics and Tradition

81

properties and mutual relations between tradition and philosophy, the pivotal question can thus be stat ed in the fo llowing way: How does a liberal or secular Jew today underst and his relationship to the spiritual sources of his past that we re anchored i n a very st rict religious tradition? The answer is primarily a matter of interpreting the tradition while avoiding prejudices. A religious person, a fortiori an orthodox Jew, believes the sources of his articles-of-faith to be sanctified and obl igatory. They therefore entail certain forms of religious behavi or and lifestyle that are destined to safeguard their binding authority. In this connection one can discern a certain difference between Judaism and Ch ristianity. Prevalent opinion asserts that tradition ensures religious principles that we re transmitted to the be lievers by competent interpreters. According to Leo Baeck, Christianity proc laims this very clearly: There are no true churches without dogmas. And the tradition that is vouched for by it and which itself vouches for it is therefore a tradition of dogmas. Tradition of right belief, only w hat is a dogma, or, as latent, can become a dogma, is tr ue 13 transmission.

In contrast, a sharp cont roversy had been waged in Judaism from medieval Jewish philosophy until the pr esent on the question of w hether the tradition contains obligatory articles- of-faith. The dominant opinion in Judaism asserted that the t ask of tradition is to safeg uard a religious way of life and anything else was considered unnecessary. Until the age o f Enlightenment (Haskalah) and emancipation and afterw ards with the rise of a national conception of Jewishness, “Jewish tradition” and “rabbinic tradition” were conceived as being synonymous. This has changed with the orthodox rabbinic authority in modern times. One of the p ostulates of the rabbinic tr adition is that the Jewish people should adhere to distinct traditions of daily life that separate them from other cultures and people. However, only ultra-orthodox groups still a ffirm this postulate. Rashi, the great Bible and Talmud interpreter, proclaimed this idea in his time—“ Perushim tiheyu” (“be secluded!”). The same st atement was propagated in the early Middle Ages by Christian theologian s but for a different reason, namely, that the Jewi sh people are a living testimony of the truth of Jesus’ life and d eath. In our contemporary period, t hese distinct 13

“Es gib t keine wahren Kirchen ohne Dogmen. Und die Tr adition, die von ihr verbürgt ist und von der sie selber verbürgt wird, ist darum Tradition der Dogmen. Tradi tion des rechten Glaubens, nur was Dog ma ist, oder, als latent Dogma werden kann, is t wahre Überlieferung”. Leo Baeck, “Hat da s überlieferte Judentum Dogmen?” Aus drei Jahrtausenden, p. 28.

82

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

religious forms of life seem to many, including Jews, rather outdated. This is the reason that liberally minded Jews fr equently expressed their discomfort of such outd ated behavior by an exag gerated, pejorative critique. This ha d been, for exa mple, the main argument of Rabbi Nachman Kroch mal in the th first half of the 19 century, although he carefully formulated it when he wrote his Moreh Nevuchey hazman (Guide of the Perplexed of our Time)—a philosophical interpretation of Jewish history inspired by Herder and Hegel. Critical judgments on the value and validity of certain Jewish trad itional norms thus b ecame a regular component of liberal Jewish philosophy an d scholarship. They reflected the general climate of modern science that relied on theoretical hypotheses and experiment al facts. Modern society and the modern state (except authoritarian and theocratic regimes) proclaim similar rights and d uties for all, whatever their national, ethnic or religious appurtenance. Tradition, i n particular religious traditions, is not always compatible with these two foundations of modern life. One might say that the relation of a modern person to tradition gives birth to a twofold feeling of alienation. One concerns an essentially existentialist conception; the other historical consciousness. Both demonstr ate the inevit able ambivalence that characterizes modern interpretations of tradition. If one explicates tradition in a critical manner, one runs up against the danger of being alienated from the rich treasures and ethical values that have been transmitted from one generation to the next. Th e justified cr itique of ort hodox forms of life that seem outdated and problematic today—e.g. the status of women, the “who is a Jew?” question, etc.—could easily lead to an unjustified disparagement of the ethical components of the tradition. The latter however include much that is still relevant for contemporary Jews and ensure the continued r elationship to their spiritual, social and national legacy. On the one hand, tradition is an im portant chain of past, present and future. On the other hand, when one accepts tradition without cri tique, one runs the danger of alienation from existential and social issues t hat reflect contemporary reality. One then undermines one’s own autonomy as a human being. This last point is especially important with regard to t he Jewish tradition whose normative roots are very different fr om the social, political, cultural views of our contemporary period. The Israeli philosopher Nathan Rotenstreich distinguished between three main notions that are especially relevant for the issues of traditi on in modern 14 Jewish life.

14

Nathan Rotenstreich, “On the concept of tradition in Israel”, Jewish existence in the present (Hebrew), pp. 11–23.

Hermeneutics and Tradition

83

1. Tradition—in Hebrew massoret or massorah—as the textual discipline, the task of which is to ensure an ex act and liter al transmission of the Bible emphasizin g the formal aspect of t he tradition. 2. The totality of the writings and commentaries that make up Jewish teachings. This focuses on their content without any strict boundary between these two areas. Hermeneutics continually mediat es between them. Textual interpretati on fulfills an eminent place in the consolidation of Jewish religious tradition. Co ntrary to other religions, Judaism is founded primarily on the book. The guardians of this tradition considered it to be self-evident that no text, a fortiori no sanctified text, can be understood without interpretation. The only question was which hermeneutic te ndency to adopt —the rabbinic, 15 the philosophical or the mystical. 3. The totality of Jewish relig ious forms of life as they were developed in the course of millennia. This notion is linked t o the two former ones because it draws its inspiration from Scripture while maintaining the priority of the historical dimension. According to Rotenstreich, this third notion exhi bits an exclusive aspect of t he Jewish tradition that one does not encounter in oth er religions. He describes the mutual relationship among these three areas as follows: Tradition in the theoretical sense is t he content of consciousness merged together by many generati ons and the caus al force which constitutes the reality of generations. The area of history conc urs 16 with the area of signification. Whereas Rotenstreich underscored the exclusive properties of Judaism in a critical manner, the unc ritical advocates of the Jewish tradition who hol d themselves to be its on ly authentic spokesmen are convin ced that it represents something much more universal and exhaustive than the traditions of other peo ples and religions and e mphasize this aspect in a categorical fashion. They do not merely regard tradition as the chain that links a contemporary Jew to the spiritual he ritage of his past, b ut as the onl y guarantee of Jewish existence throug hout the gen erations. They consider every critical remark on tradition not only to be an attack on the religious values of Judaism but as an attack on its national and historical essence. This Nathan Rotenstreich, “Jewish tradition in the modern world” (Hebrew), Gesher No. 1/110, 1984, p. 7. 16 Nathan Rotenstreich, Jewish existence in the present, op. cit., p. 22. 15

84

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

view continues to complicate and adve rsely impact discourse on t he essence of tradition in Israel. It is blatantly expressed in the following decl aration of Charles S. Liebmann, former president of Bar-Ilan University: Jewish tradition is already defined and interpreted by the terms of certa in Halachic rules, i.e. by the norms of the Law. The only legitimate participants are those who consider these norms to b e binding. Those who observe the obligatory nature of tradition, even if they interpret them in diverse ways, cannot respect those who do not subordinate themselves to it. Somebody who does not keep the dietary laws or the Shabbat, as they are prescribed by the Halachah (whose traditional rules are here beyond discussion), should not utter any v iew on the debate what the Halachah recommends… There looms a great danger that such persons will find i n the Halachah everything what they look for. Therefore, for better o r worse, only th e orthodox Jews, they alone, are entitled to decide on th ese matters that are also very 17 important for non-orthodox Jews.

Since for the most part modern life is b ased on a no n-traditional way of life, a Jew w hose link to a strict religious tradition has weakened often feels alienated from her heritag e. She has n ot yet succeeded in replacing the old tradition with something new and to employ Heideggerian lang uage, feels “thrown” (geworfen) into a world that seems empty because it lacks all of the common characteristics of tradition. This dilemma is often described in Israel by the metaphor of a “full cart” as against an “empty cart,” the first bein g characteristic of the orthodox Jews and the s econd being allegedly characteristic of secular Jews. Science and technology that determine the life-rhythm of modern ity are completely estranged from traditional activities such as prayers, cer emonies, holidays, etc. In particular , prayer symbolizes such affects and expectations that a rationalist and scientific worldvi ew has discarded. This does not mean that science is hostile to prayer; it is me rely indifferent to it. In t he modern period, the scientific worldview did not need traditional religious forms and belief; in fact, these quite often represented an obstacle to scientific progress. Copernicus (though a Catholic monk), Galileo and Darwin are only a few of the famous examples of the conflic t between new scientific ideas and religious traditions and do gmas. Even so, this conflict is less conspicuous in Judaism than in Christianity, where the (Catholic) Church was thre atened by the shake-up of its auth ority. Rabbi D avid Gans, t he pupil of t he Maharal (the famous Rabbi Loew of Prague) became the assistant of the astronomers Tycho Brahe and Johannes Kepler, and Rabbi Eliyahu Delmedigo, Galileo’s 17

Charles S.Liebmann, “Attitud es to the relat ions between Jews and non-Jews in Jewish history and in Israel today” (Hebrew). Kivvunim, a journal for Judaism and Zionism, No. 25, XI, 1984, pp. 17/18.

Hermeneutics and Tradition

85

pupil was instrumental in publicizing his theories that were prohibited by the Church. He explicates them in his book Sefer Elim, which was printed in Amsterdam by Israel ben Menashe. Still, these examples do not change the fact that the transformatio n away from tradition often entails the unpleasant experience of alienation. th Additionally, various Jewish thin kers of the 1 9 century, religi ous and non-religious alike tended to underscore the significance of many universal 18 values—ethical values in particular—in Jewish scriptures. This gave rise to the paradoxical assumptio n that since th e “eternal” values of Jud aism have become an integral component of western culture it is no more necessary to link them to that particular tradition that had been its first cradle. Values that appeared in the ancient sources of Judaism and that were transmitted by its tradition were now interpreted as universal ethical values and thus estranged 19 from their original source. Therefore, a Jew must now come to te rms with the following dilemma: Ei ther to dist ance oneself fr om the Jewish tradition and link one’s destiny with general cu lture, which has appropriated the main humanistic values of Jud aism as values that everyone sho uld respect, whether they are Je ws or not; or to estrange oneself from general culture although it has absorbed many values of the Jewish sources, in order to remain faithful to the Jewish religion with all of its particularist ic forms of belief and behavior. Neither option seem s acceptable or desirable for a Je w who wishes to uphold her Jewish heritage although she no longer adheres to its traditional forms of life and belief, while still endeavoring to participate in the general life and culture of modern society. Moreover, the strong emotional relati onship to tradition that had always been an extraordinary mark of many generations of Jews can lead today to an alienation from one’s own spiritual and creative autonomy. That is not only limited to the ceremonial aspects of religious behavior. Every extreme traditionalist conception corroborates the argument that all of t he great ideas of humanity were already anchored in the ancient scriptures and embody the highest and most powerful spiritual authority . Each deviation fr om tradition is then denounced as heresy and in or der to avoid thi s risk, hermeneutics is considered to be a preventive mea sure against such potential hereti c 18

19

That was very chara cteristic of Moritz Laz arus, Die Ethik des Judentums, 2 v ols., 1901, 1911. They wer e translated into English by Henriette Szold who later was the first president of Youth Aliyah. Likewise Ludwig Steinheim, Vom Bleibenden und Vergänglichen im Judentum, published by H.J. Schoeps, 1935). Also Hermann Cohen’s Religion of Reason from the Sources of Judaism. Viz. also Nath an Rotenstreich, Tradition and Reality. The Impact of History on modern Jewish Thought, p. 128.

86

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

deviations. The other risk is that hermeneutics itself is entangled i n a net of prejudices that determine a priori the thought and behavior of those involved in its construction. In the Theological-Political Treatise, Spinoza alr eady criticized these undesirable consequences of religious tradition. A hundred years later it became the axiom of th e Enlighteners that to subordi nate oneself to any authority—and this included tradition—signifies negligence of one’s own autonomous reason (see Kant’s declaration above). The latter was rightly considered to be the most sublime property of t he individual. A variety of romantic thinkers however attacked this rationalist conception and aspired to defend again one conspicuous form of authority namely, tradition. th century as the They became known in the first decades of the 19 “traditionalists.” According to them, everything that is sanctified by tradition also maintains its educational authority for contemporary indi viduals. The romanticists tried to disguise thes e authoritarian aspects by describing tradition as a natural historical phenom enon that responds and gi ves rise to the literary and poetic sources of the pe ople. Most of the Jewish thinkers of th the 19 century were torn between these two dia metrically contradictory tendencies. The position of the Enli ghtenment was adopted by the more liberal currents of Judaism, while ro manticism inspired the orthodo x and neo-orthodox thought of Rabbi Isaac Bernays, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch and their followers. One can also disce rn some of it s traces in the liberal philosophy of Ludwig Steinheim, a precursor to Franz Rosenzweig. There is still another opt ion that endeavors to combine a volitiona l participation in the intelle ctual life of the present with a congeni al esteem and without prejudice toward the impor tant role that traditional values have fulfilled in the past, including values that are no longer acceptable today. The dilemma of tradition gi ves rise to two threats of alienation: either from the old and venerable sources embodied by traditi on or from one’s own autonomous thinking and creative esse nce. Does this mean as Gadamer 20 asserted that one encounters tradition almost only in its distorted form? He is certainly right when he assert s that a reactionary conception of tradition 21 can lead to severe distortions. At the same time, he also asserts that tradition embodies elements of freedom and historical consciousness. We can reconcile aspects of tradition and preserve it for the present. There is no inevitable chasm between tradition and r eason. Even in times of revolution

H.G. Gadamer, “The univers ality of the hermeneutic problem”, in Joseph Bleich er, Contemporary Hermeneutics, op. cit., p. 129. 21 H.G. Gadamer, Wahrheit und Methode. Grundzüge einer philosophischen Hermeneutik, op. cit., pp. 261–269 20

Hermeneutics and Tradition

87

one does not discard all spiritual and cultural achievements of the past. Such a response did n ot even occur in the Chinese Cultural Revolution that was from this point of view the most radical revolution in modern times. A proper understanding of the humanities mu st also include an adequate appreciation of tradition. Traditional texts, customs, and beliefs belong to the age in which they were formulated, while we belong to an age that is already very much alienated from that original age. After all, one cannot belong to an age to whic h one does not belong. This is no truism or pleo nasm. The question is t herefore whether hermeneu tics is capable of “restoring” the original world that had been the birthplace of tr adition? Can it keep alive values that stem from a distant age? And if so, how? According to Gadamer, “great productive achievements of scholarship always maintain something of the splendid magic of immediately mirroring the present in the past and the 23 Gadamer has introduced into his hermen eutic past in the present.” philosophy an important concept that can contribute to a c onstructive understanding of traditi on, namely Hotizontverschmelzung (“fusion of 24 horizons”). Without entering here into all of the d iverse connotations and implications of this concept, we will call attention to a few aspects that are particularly relevant to this investigation. Schleiermacher and Dilth ey, the “f athers of modern hermeneutics,” underscored the concept o f Einfühlung (“empathy”), but Gadamer does not consider it especially important because one cannot any more penetrate into a past age where the traditions originally appeared. A proper understanding of tradition must look f or its point of departure in the p resent, but at the same time this understanding must take into consideration the cultural horizons of those who f ormed and giv en birth to the tradition. T his view enlarges and enriches our own intellectual horizons but under no circumstances should one ignore the fact that the earlier horizons are not identical to our horizons. There exists however a cl ose proximity between them that enab les us to perform a “f usion” of t hese two horiz ons. Tradition thus reflects a relation between human beings as they lived and thought in former ti mes, as well as how they live and think today. The problem does n ot simply consist of the identity and non-identit y, or the similarity and dissimilarity of p resent and past value judgments; rather, the problem is in the possibility of combining distinct spiritual, cultural, and i ntellectual horizons that f ormed the framework of those value judgments in the past and in the present. 22

Ibid., pp. 265/266. “The universality of the hermeneutic problem,” in Bleicher, op. cit., p. 133. 24 Wahrheit und Methode, op. cit., p. 289 ff. 22 23

88

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

One should therefore distinguish between historical memo ry and tradition. In the first case, a barrier of temporal distance separates us from the past, a barrier of which w e are fully aware. In the second case, the different characteristics of tradition consist of the past that penetrates into the present. Tradition therefore fulfills an active role in present-day life. I n Judaism however this differentiation is not as sharp as it might appear in this description. Here, the boundary between historical memory and tradition has very often been blurred. Traditional utterances such as “everyone should see himself as if he had departed from Egypt” (recited in the Passover Seder), or “in those days and in this t ime” (“bayamim hahem uvasman hazeh”) sung in Hanukkah testify to this. It would perhap s be more correct to say that the more historical memory refers to an ea rlier or ancient age of Je wish history, the more it is supported by tradition and thus requires interpretation. A helpful concept in this investigation is Gadamer’s concept of Vorurteil (prejudice). Despite its common nega tive connotation, Gadamer tried t o rehabilitate the original meaning of t his German expression. In English, French and Hebrew there are two distin ct words that indicate the meanings that are expressed in German by this one term. In English for example, the word “prejudgment” could express something positive while the word “prejudice” has a clearly negative connotation. In German though there i s only one word—Vorurteil. According to Gadamer however, certain opini ons 25 can be “legitimate prejudices” (“legitime Vorurteile”). They obtained their form in the past but influence mostly inadvertently our ways of th ought (and types of behavior) in the present. As previously s uggested, no one begins from a tabula rasa and ideas that were developed in the past ar e transmitted from one generation to another. As such we still greatly depend on ideas that were constructed in earlier times. “Pr ejudices” of this kind must not be blameworthy at all. Thus tradition ca nnot be separated from h istory. The activity of t ransmission—in Hebrew Massoret (tradition) and Messira (transmitting) stem from the same etymology—affirms the d iscrepancy between different generations: One that transmits and one that receive s. Tradition and hermeneutic s are the lin ks that bridge this abyss. Only at a later stage does it happen that we—the receiving generation—have the right and even the duty to critic ally judge the opinions that were transmitted to us. Then we sh all decide whether our Vorurteile namely our Vor-Urteile (prejudgments) were justif ied and are still significa nt, relevant and valid. Vor-Urteil in this sense points to ideas, opinions and customs of the past that have come i nto our possession through tradition. This now permits us 25

Ibid., p. 261.

Hermeneutics and Tradition

89

retrospectively to pass a critical judgment on texts of the past that had been the basis of the tradition (many of these texts were believed to be sacrosanct). The German prefix “vor” (“before”) brings to our attention that our judgment has not yet been final; it can still undergo critique and change. Traditional views a s reflected in Scr ipture are not restricted to the relationship between their presumed authors, interpreters, and their contemporaries. Their significance would be determined to a large extent by evolving historical circumstances. A rationalist approach to tradition takes into account historical consciousness that is attentive to t he tension between the texts of the past and their meaningfulness in the present. This brings us to 26 another key concept of Gadamer: wirkungsgeschichtliches Bewusstsein. The tension between p ast and pres ent is redu ced when one better comprehends the two distinctly historical horizons, a difference that tradition tries to eliminate. Such a comprehen sion must again be guid ed by the Hegelian concept of Aufhebung. This well-known concept carries a threefold meaning: (1) abolishing the traditional elements that have become outdated; (2) preserving the traditional elements that still demonstrate their vitality and actuality; and (3) elevating tradition to a higher level that corresponds to the spiritual and cultural hor izons of th e present. For the liberally minded modern Jew, “fusion of horizons” signifies an unprejudiced appreciation and judgment of past traditions for present-da y needs. That was the thrust of the th th liberal Jewish currents in the 19 and 20 centuries. Thinkers in this category recommended abolishing (aufheben) the outdated forms of religious service in order to preserve (aufheben) essential contents, primarily the idea of ethical monotheism. So they hoped to elevate (aufheben) the Jewish religious tradition to a higher level in accord ance with modernity and therefore attributed much importance to interpretative methods, i.e. hermeneutics. This th tendency came to a salient expre ssion in the first half of the 19 century in Zacharia Frankel’s slogan Aufbewahrung und Fortschritt (conservation and progress) that later became the platfo rm of the conservative mo vement in American Judaism. Needless to say, this issue i s much more co mplex for a secular Jew who wishes to sustain her intellectual and emotional link to her heritage. Notwithstanding the distinctions and tensions between past and present, it should no t be difficult for a contemporary person to under stand the significance of the traditions that have been shaped in antiquity. This idea expresses the fact that we—as readers, researchers, interpreters, and what is 26

This concept is difficult to tr anslate. It means more or less consciousness of t he historical influences. “Das Prinzip der Wirkungsgeschichte”, ibid., pp. 284–290; “Analyse des wirkungsgeschichtlichen Bewusstseins”, ibid., pp. 324–360.

90

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

most important, as holders of cert ain values—are intell ectually and emotionally capable of appreciating and retaining certain values of the past. In this chapter we focused on religious traditions, but this no less holds true for literary, artistic, and political traditions. It is obvious that we cannot subscribe to all that tradition prescribes to us with regard to belief, forms of life, etc. Yet we are conscious of the bond that con nects us to o ur national and spiritual heritage an d to what tradition signif ies for us to day. Openmindedness to the values of tradition, without accepting them unconditionally enables us to understand tradition w ithout abandoning our intellectual autonomy. The context of the interpretation of tradition is determined to a great degree by the hermeneut who is again dependent on the cultural horizons of his time. This of course does not mean that interpretation is no more than an ar bitrary and subjective position. After all, th e contemporary context up on which the interpreter of religious traditions is dependent is determined by those traditions derived primarily from Scripture. Therefore Gadamer’s concept of Horizontverschmelzung has relevance for our investigation. All of us have some intellectual relationship —through philosophy, history, Bible, Talmud, et c.—to certain traditions, for better or for worse, whether we are aware of them or not. Ob viously not all traditions are of the same kind. Religious traditi ons are usually more conservative and rigorous than literary or artistic traditi ons as recent controversies of “postmodernism” testify. The latter adapt th emselves more easily to changes and reversals. Moreover, great achievements in the fields of art and science are 27 quite often the result of a radical break from tradition. As transmitted from generation to generation, tradition bases its authority, among other things, up on the trustworthiness of presumed 28 eyewitnesses in the distant past. A modern person cannot avoid entertaining 29 certain doubts as to the reliability of such witnesses. This tendency has led to certain attempts to understand or render understandable the contents o f tradition by philological, psychological, historical or philosophical interpretations. Modern historiography however exacerbates what had agitated Schleiermacher and other romantic hermeneutics, namely Missverstehen (misunderstanding). Spinoza already asserted that everythin g that is not self-evident needs the pr ocesses of understanding. This places the Thomas S. Kuhn, The Structure of scientific Revolutions, 1970. This was the controversial argument of Y ehudah Halevi in the Kuzari and Moses Mendelssohn in Jerusalem. 29 When Mendelssohn asserted in his letter to Lavater, that the whole People of I srael at Mt. Sinai were more trustworthy evidence than three women who pretended to have seen Jesus’ resurrection, it is obviously no more than a matter of belief. 27 28

Hermeneutics and Tradition

91

important yet at the same time ambivalent relationship between hermeneutics and tradition in the foreground. It is t herefore not surprising that until the th beginning of the 19 century, before it was esta blished as an independent discipline, hermeneutics was regarded, as philosophy in the middle ages, as a “handmaid of theology” (ancilla theologiae). It follows then that the constructive role of tradition as tran smission is in merging two distinct horizons that would have otherwise r emained separate from each other without interpretative intervention. Tra dition therefore must not necessaril y be something outdated but rather, something that can remain at least partially relevant for the present. This view came to a salient expression in modern hermeneutics that from this perspecti ve attributed an important role to tradition. It is not incidental that Gadamer underscored the dialogical essence of hermeneutics in his considerations of tradition. His reflections on text and interpreter, and a fortiori his terminology, brings to mind Buber’s dialogical philosophy. Transmission is not simply an occurrence that one learns to know and to manage by experience, but it is a language, i.e. speaks as it were like a Thou. A Thou is not an 30 object but relates to one.

This hermeneutic understanding of trad ition as an I- Thou relation granted i t another important dimension. One does not relate to the other, in this instance, tradition, only as an object or a means; one also does not deny that tradition receives its meaning and signi ficance through transmission. On the contrary, a dialogical conception reinforces open-mindedness and willingness to listen to it: “ Zueinandergehören heisst immer zugleich Aufeinander-Hören-können” (“To belong together alwa ys means at once to be 31 able to listen to each other”). By interpreting traditional texts, hermeneutics inaugurates a dialogue and a recipro cal relationship not merely between different historical horizons, but also with earlier cultural and religious traditions. Let us not f orget though that this is a metaphorical manner of speech. A tradition or a te xt can never become a genuine partner of dialogue in a manner in which a human being can. The dial ogue with tr adition, a fortiori written tradition, remains in the last instance no more than a “dialogue” between text and the person who reads and contemplates the text. “Überlieferung ist aber nicht einfach ein Geschehen, dass man durch Erfahrung erkennt und beherrschen lernt, sondern sie ist Sprache, d.h. sie sprich t von sich aus wie ein D u. Ein Du ist nicht Gegenstand, sondern verhält sich zu einem”. Wahrheit und Methode, op. cit., p. 340. 31 Ibid., p. 343. 30

92

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

The decisive question, however, is n ot whether t he relation t o tradition represents a dialogical or a monological relationship, but whether it demands open-mindedness and tolerance to other and deviating views. The dialogical approach can thus overcome the af orementioned abyss between a modern liberal Jews and the Jewish tradition without diminishing both the autonomy and self-respect of the individual and t he values preserved by tra dition. This of course holds true for all traditions. Several philosophers were dismayed by the conservative implications of Gadamer’s hermeneutics. They accus ed him of endeavoring to maintain truths (whatever these may be) by means of tradition. T hat was the accusation, among others, that Jürgen Habermas and other members of the new Frankfurter Schule raised against Gadamer throug h the slogan of “Ideologiekritik.” While Gadamer’s concern was to interpret tradition in 32 order to unde rstand it, Haberm as criticized it in or der to change it. Every link to tradition, even if inspired by progressive and liberal intentions, contains some conservative elements , and inadver tently involves certain subordination to its authority. The advocates of tradition do not merely content themselves in pres erving something of the past for the present; they also want to prevent any challenges to the tradition. Gadamer’s conception of tradition certainly gave rise without or even contrary to his intention, to various attempts of rehabil itating certain ideas on authority and tr adition in their religious context. The Christian theologian Hilberath tried for exampl e to modify Gadamer’s philosophical hermeneutics in order to adap t it to t his 33 task. One must however guard against blurring the different connotations of “authority” as employed by Gadamer, with the concepts of “authority” and “obedience” as put forth by Hilberath. Gadamer had in mind normative and methodological meditations that ou ght to serve as paradigms. His understanding of tradition was not “absol ute” in the original sense of th e word namely, “losgelöst” (“released”); his hermeneutics never suggested that tradition was completely “released” fro m the fundamental paradigms of the past. His chief hermen eutical concepts—“prejudgment,” “preunderstanding,” and “hermeneutic ci rcle”—were derived from certain traditions of thought such as Greek philosophy (especially Plato), German classical idealism, the hermen eutics of Schleiermacher and Dilthey, and 32

33

This brings to mind Marx’s famous 11 th thesis on Feuerbach: “Die Philosophen haben d ie Welt nur verschiden interpretiert; es kommt darauf an sie zu verändern.” Karl Marx, Die Frühschriften, p. 341. B.J. Hilberath, Theologie zwischen Tradition und Kritik. Die philosophische Hermeneutik H.G. Gadamers als Herausforderung des theologischen Selbstverständnisses, p. 38.

Hermeneutics and Tradition

93

above all, th e philosophy of Heidegger. Such “paradigms of tho ught” also represent a f orm of tradition in the m odern sense. One could even detect a certain similarity between Gadame r’s conception and Thomas S. Ku hn’s 34 concept of “paradigm” that “governs normal science.” Gadamer however is interested in the historical influences of the transformations of paradigms. It is meaningful to meditate on conditions, criteria and significations of extant paradigms but only in the framework of a historical perspective, i.e. in the 35 framework of continuing traditions of thought. Hilberath reprimanded Gadamer be cause he did not mention any particular tradition, least of all the Christian tradition. A concrete tradition should be corroborated by a concrete pa radigm that belongs t o a concrete historical situation. In Christianity this paradigm—Hilberath employs the word “Fizpunkt”—is God who reveals himself throug h Jesus, while in Judaism this paradigm consists of God’s revelation on Mt. Sinai where He gave the Tor ah to t he People of Israel. This however leads to a circulus vitiosus. Religious tradition is based on a fundamental paradigm, yet this paradigm can only be corroborated by the belief in the tradition itself. This is no alleged “ hermeneutical circle,” but what is kn own in l ogic as “petitio principii.” With regard to tradition, only that in which one already believes could be helpful, though that would be useless for somebody wh o does not consider tradition as infallible ab initio. When Gadamer speaks of tradition, hi s conservatism is not based on the presumed authoritative status of ideas that were acquired in a distant past and carried on by tradition. Rather, he unders cores their inner substantial values. This is precisely the dilemma of th e modern Jew: Shoul d one respect his tradition as a venerable and sanctified creation, taking a conservative or even pietistic position, or should one respect the tradition on the basis of its spiritual and ethical values that are still valid and r elevant? There may be different opinions on what values to uphold or discard. What is crucial though is t o understand that the constr uctive and positive role of tradition does not ent ail that one must accept all of its forms and contents without question. If one reflects on contem porary Jewish issues throug h the perspective of “fusion of horizons,” then this is liable to expand one’s own horizons. Seeing matters from a limited horizon subjects us to our “prejudices” in the negative sense of the word. This is the ideal point of departure for the modern Jew towards her spiritual tradition. The aforementioned term “inheritance ” is preferable to “tradition.” “Tradition” signifies what has been “transmitted” to us and as such we ar e passive 34 35

Kuhn, op. cit., in particular chapters II to V. K. Wuchterl, Philosophie und Religion, p. 167.

94

PHILOSOPHICAL HERMENEUTICS

receivers. On the other ha nd, “inheritance” signifies that we are “i nheritors” who can interpret our heritage freely a nd are theref ore at liberty to decide what to do with it. This distinction may seem perhaps a bit trivial in English but in Hebrew it is not arbitrary at all. There are numerous examples in the Bible and the Tal mud that testify to this. The Talmud includes everything that had been transmitted from the Bible: customs, laws, historical events and values, so “tradition” (Massoret) became “heritage” (Morashah). If spiritual heritage has been the creative product of human activity in the past, this creative activity does not disapp ear in later times but is perpetuated through the present. Unlike religious tr adition that draws its authority from a belief in divine revelation, a spiritual heritage is not forced upon us; it is not absolute, nor does it asse rt itself as s uch. One ca n therefore deviate from tradition when some of its components no longer appeal to us and more so, when they a ppear unacceptable. This view of tradition is also compatible with human autonomy. From this point of view, heritage or inheritance is not an adversary of tradition but functions within tradition itself. It still remains the case that every trad ition, precisely due to its essential character as tradition, represents a greater or smaller obstacle for the free and autonomous thought of individuals. Freedom of thou ght is after all undesirable to tradition. Contrary to philosophy and science that conceive of a person primarily as a thinking, questioning and researching being, religious tradition presumes to provide us with all of the answers. As long as tradition is however conceived of a s “Vor-Urteil” and not as “Vorurteil,” as long as it is not believed to be coercive but leaves room for new critical reflections and changes, it can serve as an unbiased and constructive source. Autonomy does not mean negation of tradition but free choice of what to ado pt from it. Thus the main question is not whether tradi tion is of co ercive nature, but what aspects and forms of tradition need to be rejected . Choice is an integral characteristic of every free society, including traditional societies. What has been discarded in one age however can be accepted again in later societies, and vice versa. The mystical movement of Hasidism that was bitterly attacked and condemned by Rabbi Eliy ahu, the Gaon of Vilna, has since become on the one hand a symbol of th e orthodox Jewish narrative and on the other hand, praised by Buber as a rebellious underground form of 36 Judaism.

36

Martin Buber, Drei Reden über das Judentum, p. 51.

PART III

Ethics and Contemporary Jewish Thought

CHAPTER 6

Death, Dying, Body, and Soul In this chapter, we will examine the debate on euthanasia and contemporary notions of body and soul. As a result of modern science and technolog y, death and dying in general and euth anasia in particular have prompted extensive discourse in the past few deca des. Numerous existential issues that would have been inconceivable in prior generations have now been altered in the dialogue. The Bible devotes almost no t hought to death or to an individual’s afterlife or to the notion of a soul that is immortal and separable from the human body. Personality and iden tity are related in the Bible, in particular in the Pentate uch, not so much to t he individual as to the continuity of the people as a whole. An xiety in the face of death arises when one has no offspring to continue one’s genealogy. Traditionally, people have been reluctant to contemp late the concept and cert ainty of death. This is reflected in the Hebrew language by th e practice of substituting the word “to die” (“Lamut”) with expressions such as “histalek” (“departed”), “halakh le’olamo” (“went to his world”), et c. The English locution “passed away ” serves a similar function. Heidegger called attention to t he German word “man” that has no parallel in English. The utterance “man stirbt” (“one dies”) implies that death does not happen to me. This evasive approach to death has 1 changed during the past few decades. The Bible is vague in regards to the distinction of body and soul. Biblical thinking considers a person as a single being and does no t explicitly distinguish between body and soul. Moreover, sometimes “soul” served as a synonym for “body.” A “Nazarite” (“Nazir,” a temporary monk) must not 1

There exists a vast literature on the manifold problems of death and dying. Some of the most significant studies were the books of Elis abeth Kuebler-Ross: On Death and Dying, 1969; Death: The Final Stage of Growth, 1975. The various compendiums and books by F. Rosner, D. Bleich and others on Jewish bi oethics (vide infra), all devote special chapters to the problems of eut hanasia. In Israel there have recently appeared several books and man y articles on euthanasia, among others Z. Levy ’s book Reflections on Death in Philosophy and Jewish Thought in 2008, in which the th ird (and longest) chapter deals extensively with the various aspects of euthanasia. There has also appeared a book by Dr. Marion Rabinowitz, a geriatrist, Death, Rilke and myself, 1991. It treats the problems of terminal patients in a very personal and literary way. In America and Europe there is an ever-growing literature on these issues.

98

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

come into contact with a “dead body” (“nefesh meth,” Numbers 6:6). T he spiritual and emotional characteristics that were lat er attributed t o the soul were ascribed in t he Bible to the “h eart,” which is a bodil y organ par excellence. The religious concept of i mmortality that evolved relatively late in Judaism, mainly after the return from the first Babylonian exi le, usually implied that bodily identity is not a necessary concomitant of personal identity. This view is shared by most religions and ought to prima facie lessen the negative judgment of euthanasia and suicide made by religions yet surprisingly it does not. Although i ntegral to Jewish views of organ transplantation, we will not address here the q uestion of whether in Messianic times the resurrection of the dead would inclu de bodily resurrection—as proclaimed by Jewish traditional belief—or only their souls as asserted by Maimonides. At the same time, the conception of personal identity in the afterlife was part of the traditiona l belief in r eward and punishment. This would also imply among other things that a person committing suicide or vol untary euthanasia would be punished f or his deed in the next world. Since it was presumably God who gave us our soul, we do not have the right to mi suse it. Th e contradiction between prematurely renouncing the soul and i ts supposed i mmortality did not bother the sages. This interpretation included a deterrent against intentional immortality earlier than was predestined. Unlike classica l Greek philosophy, which tended to consider the body as the prison of the soul ( soma sema), the Midrash considered it as its host. To honor t he guest therefore makes it obligatory to respect its host. Ancient J ewish sources did not pay much attention to the interface between body and soul, whe reas medieval Jewish philosophy and the Kabbalah devoted s ubstantial thought to this relationship. Among modern Jewish philosophers, Spinoza in the Ethics (Parts 3 and 5) and to a lesser degree, Mendelssohn in his Phaido or the Immortality of the Soul, addressed this thinking (the latter only with regard to the soul) and through an explicitly philosophical, rather than a Jewish context. There is al so another aspect of persona l identity that is relevant t o this inquiry. Personal identity—sameness despite changes—depends primarily on mental identification with retained knowledge such as memories. This is how we identify X in his old age with X the child or the adolescent. This however does not mean that one can simply dis card the criterion of bodily identity. There are many occasions when we identify human beings that are no longer alive (an aspect of the Jewish religious ritual of burial) or people in a state of irreversible coma solely by their bod ies. According to most contemporary philosophers, the bodily criterion of personal identity is even more extensive and reliable—such as fi ngerprinting and DNA testing— than the mental

Death, Dying, Body, and Soul

99

(memory) criterion. The Kabbalistic belief in a Dibbuk (a malicious possessing spirit), which has beco me famous through Ansky’s play by this name or science-fiction novels such as The Body Snatchers obviously cannot serve as counterarguments, nor can t he various ver sions of the Talmudic legend of Asmodeus who usurped Solomon’s throne and adopted his bodily 2 image. To establish the personal identity of an irreversibly comatose patient by bodily criteria does not imply that h e is also a living person by medical criteria. He is clinically dead, which creates complex implications with regard to euthanasia and transplantations. Since modern technology—so-called “medical heroics”—is able to defer actual dying, the expiring person can no longer be considered from the purely Halakhic standpoi nt a “ Gossess” (in extremis); this implies that everything must be done to keep him alive. Halakhah paid much attention to the distinction between dying as a pr ocess that obligates the doctor to continue the treatment an d the very moment the “soul departs” when the practice of medicine and religious belie f may diverge. The terminal patient, “Shehiv mera,” must be treated by all means possible. Concerning the expiring patient—the Gossess—it is less clear. According to Maimonides, One who is in a dying condition is regarded as a living person in all respects [...] He 3 who touches him (thereby causing him to expire) is guilty of shedding blood.

In keeping with Shulkhan Arukh, if there is some exterior force that prevents the soul from leaving the body , one ma y remove it. Jakobovits, the former chief Rabbi of England who devoted much thought to medical ethics, 4 claimed that this is not merely ha lakhically permissible but necessary. In other words, the physician ought to do everything in his power to sustain life but not to prolong the “departure of the soul” at the very moment of death . Yet this is what modern medical technology does: it suspends the “departure of the soul;” the physician’s duty is t herefore to continue the treatment. To withdraw life-sustaining technology would acceler ate death and is therefore forbidden by Halakhah. Yet leaving the technology “on” pr events the 5 departure of the moribund’s soul, which is also for bidden. What then one ought do in order to conform to the Jewish tradition? An age-old question acquired a new meaning as a result of modern medical science and technology: In what bodily state does a human being’s soul depart? To reformulate this theological ques tion in modern secular Gittin 68a-b; Bamidbar Rabba 11:3. Mishneh-Torah: The Book of Judges, “Law of Mourning”, 4:5. 4 Immanuel Jakobovits: Jewish Medical Ethics, 1959, p. 124/ 5. 5 Shulkhan Arukh, Yoreh Deah, p. 139. 2 3

100

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

terms, what is the distinctive feature of “clinical death?” (As stated above, this physical state has far-reaching implications for transplantation of organs, etc.) The biblical and classical metaphor of a soul leaving the body has become meaningless from the scient ific point of view. Everyone no w understands that “Pikuah Nefesh,” “saving the soul,” i.e. life, or the acronym S.O.S—“Save our souls”—and analogous e xpressions cannot be interpreted in their literal sense. In th e past it was accepted that a “soul departed the body” when the heart stopped beating and the person ceased breathing: There seemed to be no difficulty in establishing the precise moment when “the soul departed.” Popular belief even ascribed some physical albeit invisi ble form to the soul. At first sight this looks quite astonishing because the so ul is not a bodily organ, notwithstanding some earlier and pop ular beliefs. A philosopher like Descartes still believed death to be defined and determined by the departure of the so ul and sought to identify its location. He came to the conclusion that it is neither the brai n, the source of the sense organs, nor the heart, the source of th e passions, but the “pineal gland,” “situated in the 6 midst of substance.” Despite the blatant unscientific nature of his assertion (criticized by Spinoza) Descartes was right in looking for the ir reversible cause of death yet mistaken in the anatomical notion of its locus. He was not consistent on this matter because he asserted body and soul as being two distinct substances whose union was made possible by the miraculous intervention of God. He considered this assumpt ion to be a necessary “rationalist” requisite for explicating the assemblage (“rassemblement”) and simultaneousness of the two distinct substances. The soul is no bo dily organ but a concept that refers to a p erson’s conscious and unconscious thoughts and emotions; the person’s personality and humanness a s a bei ng created in the “imag e of God.” This is a manifestation of a human being’s in tellectual and emotional faculties and consciousness that depends on the state of their brain. A person’s distinct personality comes to an end when the brain stops functioning although owing to modern technology, the heart-beat and breath can be artificially stimulated to persist for a considerable amount of time. When Christiaan Barnard succeeded for the first time in transpla nting a heart from a clinically dead body, it aro used greater medical eth ical problems than could have been foreseen prior to such a medical breakthrough. For Halakhah, the decisive distinction between a “terminal” a nd a “moribund” person has now become indefinable. In line with Halakhah dyin g cannot as it were last mo re than 72 7 hours. Also Halakhah views death exactly as the modern medical definition, 6 7

René Descartes: Les Passions de l’Ame, Article 31. Shulkhan Arukh, Yoreh Deah, 339.2.

Death, Dying, Body, and Soul

101

namely as irreversible. If modern technology can keep a dying p erson alive by artificial means for more than 72 hours, he is no t “dying;” so everything possible must be done to prolong his life. Modern science and technology in many instances abolish th e physiological state that Halakhah used to define as “dying.” But this artifici al extension of a terminally ill person’s life does not imply any hope of recovery or improvement. It usually entails “inhuman” conditions for the sick person and his family. Does modern medical science increase inhumane phenomena in such instances? A physician’s duty is to prolong life, not to prolong dying. In light of su ch questions, a redefinition of death an d dying is in order. When exactly does death occur? This question does not merely relate to a biological fact but presents a human phenomenon par excellence. It is indeed a very seriou s matter for ethical judgment. The philosopher Fritz Mauthner wrote in his Dictionary of Philosophy: “Only man dies, animals perish, 8 plants wither.” The psychiatrist Kuebler-Ross founded a special discipline to explore these grave issues—Thanato logy (“the science of death”). Thanatology certainly has contributed to a more rational comprehension of the frightening aspects that are connected with death and dying. In the context of euthanasia, the cardinal question is therefore: what is dying? What does “departure of the soul” mean ? Modern medical sci ence employs the term “clinical death,” which it equates with irreversible coma. An age-old philosophical and theolo gical issue, the dichotomy of bo dy and soul is reformulated in terms of bod y and brain. Yet the essential philosophical question remains the same: What really happens at the moment of death? What is the quintessential element that by vanishing causes a person’s life to cease? What is it that transforms the human organism into a living being and by disappearing, turns it into a dead bod y? This question applies in potentia to every living being and t o animals as well, but in the case of animals it is a matter of biology and physiology. For human beings this question ent ails far-reaching p hilosophical, religious, legal and ethical implica tions. What is a person’s “genuine” essence, his “pre-eminence?” The answer is that i t resides in a person’s conscious, spiritual, and intellectual activ ity that is dependent on the brain. 8

“Nur der Mensch stirbt, das Tier krepiert.[...] Die Pflanze verwelkt.” Fritz Mauthner: Woerterbuch der Philosophie, 1980, Vol. II, p. 471 ( “Tod” ). He adds th e interesting remark that since antiquity people tend to think, in a similar way, that m embers of th e family or of the tribe “di e” while enemies “perish”. (ibid.) Therefore, to speak of the death of an animal or of the “death of the fo rests” would also be no more than a figurative way of speaking. ( Mauthner was a Jew, but co mpletely estranged from Judaism).

102

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

According to this view, we are not co mpelled to reduce mental activities to bodily elements or functions as was as serted by the materialists of the 18th and 19th centuries and is still upheld by some contemporary behaviorists. In the past, death was believed to occur when the heart stopped be ating; a few minutes later, the brain died and after that the other tissues die as well. Now however, the process can be seen in the reverse: the brain dies but the heart is still kept alive. For transplantation fo r example it is i mperative to acquire a viable heart. One might formulate the question in another way: What is the substantial and indispensib le element without which the human being- “the creature that was created in God’s ima ge”—ceases to exist? The answer to this question once again underscores the primacy of the brain. All other bodily organs, the heart included, are not essential in the same manner. They can be replaced in actu or in potentia by transplantation. When however the brain ceases to function—“brain-deat h”—the dying person turns into a clinically dead person. The brain is the crucial organ in this respect; when the brain is dead, a person is dead even if kept “alive” by artificial means, e.g. by a breathing machine. He is in the state that Halakhah has defined as “departure of the soul” or to be more exa ct, after this has already “happened.” Thus from the Jewish relig ious perspective, he ought to be awarded all of the ritual respect and care prescri bed by Halakhah for a deceased person. To employ traditional language, the pivotal question is whether clinical death can be identi fied with the religious concept of “departure of the soul” and the implications that this entails. On the other hand, in such cases, the argument of mercy, which p lays a paramount role with regard to euthan asia, becomes irrelevant. A comatose person does not suffer, only his relatives do. If they recommend euthanasia it would then look prima facie motivated by their selfish reasons. Likewise, the argument of a “dignified death” woul d become questionable. Fu rthermore, comatose or brain-dead “persons” are no longer persons in the pr oper sense of the word and therefore have no moral rights, at least not in t he formal ethical-philosophical sense. There remains however the ethical obligation of respecting a person’s explicit will—when she was still in full power to express her will—not to linger on in s uch morbid circumstances and to act accordingly. From an ethi cal perspective, this is th e same as respecting the wishes of every deceased person, granted they do not clash with the rights or interests of others. There is a clear difference between knowing that someone no longer functions as a pe rson and knowing t hat they still are a person. It also seems that from the religious point of view one ought to respect the (clinically) dead person lest one viol ate the Halakhic commandme nt not to suspend burial (“Halanat-ha-Met”).

Death, Dying, Body, and Soul

103

These considerations render it imperati ve to define when exactly death occurs. It is extremely significant for medical, legal, theological and more than anything else, ethical action. At the same time it also help us get a better understanding of the quid dity of life. The notion o f “clinical death” opens new vistas for ethical and religious judgment. One must now distinguish between biological human life, which ca n be maintained by medical heroics after brain death has taken place and personal human life, which ceases when the brain sto ps functioning. If Jewish and Christian traditions speak of the human being as Imago Dei (“Tzelem Elohim”), after the occurrence of brain death this metaphor becomes meaningless. According to traditional conceptions, a person who ceased to breathe was considered to be dead, while a person in a state of irreversible coma was still considered to be alive. Since the tra ditional empirical observa tions of the “departure of the soul” have become obsolete, on e is in need of other criteria to stipulate when and whether this “event” takes place. By tr aditional legal concepts as f ormulated 9 for example in Black’s famous Law Dictionary, death is defined by cessation of blood circulation, t he arrest of breathi ng and pulse-beat, etc. This notion conforms to the Jewi sh tradition and was perhaps influenced by it. God formed man of the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul. (Genesis 2:7) All in whose nostrils was the breath of lif (Genesis 7:22, referring to the Deluge)

e of all that was in th e dry land, died.

The soul presumably leaves the body at the same place where it entered, 10 namely the nostrils (Yoma 85a). Later Halakhists therefore ruled that death 11 occurs when the heart stops bea ting and there is no more breathing. (The custom of wishing good health to a sneezing person—“To health,” “God bless you,” “Gezunterheit”—is also a relic of the belief that life enters and leaves through the nostrils.) In the past all of these phenomena occurred simultaneously and there was no dif ficulty in de termining the precise moment of death. All this has changed entirely. “Clinical death” does not necessarily exclude breathing and he artbeat, which can be artificially Black’s Law Dictionary, 4th edition, 1968. In Hebrew the words “Neshima” (br eathing) and “Neshama” (soul) belong to the same linguistic root. This is still more striking in its synonym “Nefesh” which is the prevailing term for “soul”; the same root-letters mean “breathed” (“Nashaf”). It is more or less the same with the Greek word “Pneuma” and the Latin “Anima”. 11 The Responsa of Hatam Sofer, a famous orthodo x rabbinic authority in Hungary in the 19th century; Yoreh-Deah, # 358. 9

10

104

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

continued. This creates a problem that was inconceivable in the past: to decide whether we have before us a livi ng person or a dead body. This is no mere medical or scientific question, but an ethic al and religi ous one of utmost import. A committee, established by Harvard University in the beginning of 1968 recommended four explicit criteria of death: (1) Complete absence of response to any stimulus from the outside or from interior needs, together with complete loss of consciousness; (2) Absolute absence of spontaneou s movements or breathing; (3) Absen ce of refl exes; and ( 4) A flat electroencephalogram. There have been a few rare instances however where patients have recovered either partially or completely despite a pr evious flat 12 electroencephalogram over an extended period of time. One therefore ought to distinguish between “brain death” and “irreversible damage to the brain.” Whatever the medical diagnosis, the probl em is substantially an ethical and religious problem, not merely a scien tific one. This led Rabbi David Bleich to a conclusion, which looks very questionable: Halakhic Judaism demands of him (the physician) that he gov ern himself by the norms of Jewish law whether or not these determinations coincide with the mores of contemporary society. Brain death and irreversible coma are not acceptable definitions of d eath insofar as Halakhah is concerned. The sole criterion of de ath 13 accepted by Halakhah is total cessation of both cardiac and respiratory activity.

The medical problems caused by irreve rsible damage to the brai n are more complicated however and liable to entail very difficult distinctions from the ethical perspectives. In a lecture before medical doctors in Haifa in 1989 (published in the jo urnal of the Is raeli Medical Association), Professor Y. Leibowitz distinguished among four alternatives: 1. A person has turned into a “vegetable” and is kept alive artificially. 2. A person has turned into a “vegetable” but breathes spontaneously. In such a case the definition is more difficult. H e also does not possess any consciousness or feelings, and his “life” does not differ in the least from that of the former “vegetable.” However, while in the first case it is possible to terminate the hopeless “life” by passive 14

David Bleich: “Establishing Criteria of Death”, Jewish Bioethics, ed. by F. Rosner & D. Bleich, 1985, p. 278. 13 Ibid., p. 290. 14 This was what happened in the famous tragic case of Kar en Quinlan. Rabbi David Bleich discussed her awful situation in Menachem Marc Kelln er (ed.), Contemporary Jewish Ethics, pp. 296–307. 12

Death, Dying, Body, and Soul

105

euthanasia (“withdrawing the plug”), the second case necessitates active euthanasia (e.g. by drugs or shots or sto pping artificial nutrition). 3. A person wh o is deprived of cons ciousness, feelings, will, etc., b ut still breathes spontaneously and is also capable of some movements. Is his life of more value than in the former alternatives? 4. Finally, a person who has not turned into a “vegetable” but into a “beast,” i.e. his physiological functions are not o r only slig htly impaired but he is submerged in fu ll and irreversible idiocy. (Either the term “beast” or the ter m “idiocy” seem ill chosen; beasts are not idiots.) Such a person represents an even greater burden to his family and to society because he has to be permanently attended to, lest he cause harm to himself or to others. In the last case, no one would suggest euthanasia; it is also very unlikely to suggest it in the former two instances. Yet in non e of these four possibl e cases do we have before us a true “human being;” the last three examples do not differ from the fir st one in this perspective. Halakhah indeed does not make any differentiation among them eith er but considers all of them as living human beings. It does not consider them as “vegetables,” indeed the very expression “human vegetable” is a contradictio in adjecto. The question nevertheless remains: Why would we more easily agree to euthanasia in the first case than in the other three? The answer would be difficult to corroborate by rational arguments, yet it is possible to justify it on the ground that in the first case, no action originates in the patient at all. One conclusion seems to be uncontes ted however: If we replace the traditional definition of death (arrest of heartbeat and blood circulation) wit h the occurrence of brain de ath or more precisely “cerebral death,” then we achieve remarkable ethical and medical advantages. First, if human life were no longer sentient and c ommunicative, it would seem that there is no obligation to protract it. Second, by making use of the deceased person’s organs, other lives could be saved. Fin ally, from th e medical point of view there now exists one un questioned criterion of d eath. The definition of “brain-death” entails or mi ght entail certain conclusions of a practical order, which were not only unknown to ear lier Halakhah but still are to a farreaching degree unacceptable by Halakhic norms. Therefore, the chief moral dilemma concerning the relationship be tween ethics and religion within Judaism, which was put on the agenda in the wake of modern science is as follows: Since Hal akhah does not acc ept “clinical death” as a religiously

106

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

sufficient proof of a per son’s death, it prohibits autopsy and borrowing organs for transplantation from the clin ically deceased person, tho ugh these organs could still be usef ul to and sa ve other people’s lives. This Hal akhic resistance only applies of course to t hose instances where a clinically dead person is kept artificially alive for an indefinite period of time. In cases of imminent death, e.g. as a result of an accident, the position of H alakhah is more flexible and permissive. The pa ramount ethical question is therefore once again: Who deserves priority—the clinically dead person or the person who still has the prospect of living a normal life? Although in many instances Halakhah now displays a more liberal approach to thes e matters, there still arise serious disagreements on the issues of life and death. The same dilemma in regards to death is reflected today by the problematics of euthanasia. First, brain death according to neurological diagnosis means death although this assertion i s no lo nger a simple tautology. This entitles us to use the organs of the dying person (who is really already beyond dying) for transplantation; all the more so, when this had been hi s own personal will. S econd, brain death is identical to irreversible coma but since the person is physiologically (thoug h not clinically) still alive, he i s subject to the norms of medical eth ics. This stultifies the initiative of organ transplantation. Finally, since a physician’s duty is to prolong life, she ought to d o the utmost to continue the bodily life of a person in spite of his being “clinically dead.” Physicians, owing to their profession, are more inclined to figh t death than ot her people th ough this often leads to protracted agony. T hese problems recently att racted the attention of Jewish religio us thinkers especially in America. Most of them were affiliated with no n-orthodox currents but n onetheless promulgated diverse attempts to accommodate Hala khah to ethical exigencies in this field 15 Daniel Goldfarb and Seymour as derived from modern medical science. Siegel for example recommended that it is permissible to take out the organs of a breathing person when the breathing is not spontaneous but produced by 16 artificial means. They subscribe to the definition of “ brain death” to signify death. David Novak also expressed the opinion mentioned above that t o artificially prolong the “life” of a terminally comatose person contradicts the Halakhic prohibition of “Halanat ha-Met,” i.e. the postponement of a dead person’s burial. If the rab bis had kno wn about the future achievements of contemporary medical tech nology, they certainly would have defined death differently. According to strictly orthodox Halakhists, to extract some organs In Israel it is still mostly secular Jews who are concer especially with the question of euthanasia. 16 Conservative Judaism, XXX, 2, winter 1976, p. 24. 15

ned with these problems,

and

Death, Dying, Body, and Soul

107

that still function violates the principle of the sanctity of human l ife, which explicitly forbids sacrificing the life of one person for the sake of another person. They consider a cli nically dead person to be still possessed with life. This also relates to the question that concerned the rabbis: “is your blood redder than his?” Since ho wever most organ donors are usually victims of accidents who have no chance of surviving, the problem of euth anasia is of no direct relevance to them. Therefore, orthodox interpreters of Halakhah are 17 now more flexible in these instances. There are Jewish religiou s thinkers according to whom Halakhah makes it expedient to perform a post-mort em examination in certain case s, especially when saving other lives is involved. Jakobo vits unequivocally 18 asserted that it is not only a permissible but also an obligatory Mitzvah. One cannot ignore however the paradoxical turn-about: Halakhah requires immediate burial of the dead (although this is not always strictly observed), while general law usually demands a seventy-two hours delay in order to avoid what was formerly considered th e possibility of “Scheintod” (apparent 19 death). Now however as David Novak has pointed out, it is exactly the other way round: Medicine regards a person as clinically dead who is not yet dead by Halakhic norms. So it is Halakhah that at present delays the burial of the deceased. It follows from the foregoing deliberations that in light of modern medical technology one must face ethically obligatory decisions on behalf of the terminal patient that can no long er be reconciled with the traditional views of Halakhah. These decisions no t only concern the patient herself but her physician and her family as well. The assumption that these decisions are morally obligatory does not contradict their being made freely. Free choice is a precondition for keeping an obligation. Furthermore, since th e decisions are made freely they enta il responsibility. I, wh o decide to act in a certain 20 way, can and must consciously stand behind my decision. What is of prime In March 2008 the Israeli Knesset passed a la w, recommending transplantation fr om braindead persons. It was supported by the orthodox Sephardic party Shas and by the nationalreligious party, but opposed by the orthodox Ashkenazi parties. This did not imply that the former accepted euthanasia for the sake of a terminal patient. 18 Robert M. Veatch: Death, Dying and the Biological Revolution; Our last quest for responsibility, p. 261. In Israel the authorities refrain from autopsies if that is the wish of the family for r eligious reasons, unless there are serious m edical or criminal issues involved. See also the long historical chapter on “Anatomical Dissection” in Jakobovits’ Jewish Medical Ethics, op. cit., pp. 132–152. 19 Mendelssohn already criticized the obsoleteness of the Halakhah on this matter. 20 In Hebrew the word “responsibility ”—“Ahrayuth”—is derived from the word “ Aharej” which means “behind,” “after.” 17

108

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

importance for this inquiry though is that such responsibility is not limited to what one decides to do but also to what one fails to prevent. Not doing is also doing. As a responsible moral agent one must also take int o account the consequences that an action brin gs about when it is or is not done. One therefore cannot dismiss one’s own personal responsibility by the pretext that the consequences are not of his doi ng but rather i nvolve other agents. In regard to the issue of eut hanasia, whether precipitating or prolonging the “departure of the soul,” this re sponsibility applies to both sides—the physician and the patient. Although euthanasia will remain a controversial issue, ethics requires that the (terminal) patient’s right an d will be respected and protected by law whether others, including his relatives, agree or disagree with his request. If one recognizes the (terminal) patient’s right to d ecide as a free and autonomous person and he prefers death to a hopeless and undignified end to his life, then no one has th e moral right to object to h is freely made decision or to compel the doctor or any one else to act against the patien t’s will. If legal problems arise, these have nothing to do with this ethical conclusion— legal issues are liable to contradict ethics. According to the Jewish tradition, t he value of hum an life must not be measured by utilitarian criteria, i.e. by its prospective or potential usefulness to others or to oneself. Every human life, r egardless of it s quality, is considered to be of i nfinite value and must therefore be preserve d. This is what distinguishes the concept of “human life” from “life.” This distinction was expressed by the concept of “soul,” which was believed to characterize 21 the human being’s pre-eminence. According to Webster’s Dictionary, life is defined as the “quality that distinguish es a vital and functional being from a 22 dead body or purely chemical matt er,” i.e. animate from inanimate matter. This definition is not considered suffi cient by the Jewish religious tradition, which accords infinite val ue to human lif e. This is embodied in t he belief in the immortality of the soul . Many secular individuals no longer uphold this belief yet this does not mean that o ne does not respect the b ody of t he comatose or deceased human being; ra ther, it is not the inanimate body but the person to whom it belonged that is cherished. She remains, to use metaphorical language, embedded in our souls, that is, we lovingly keep her

We do not treat her e the misleading concept of “soul” in Greek philosophy that distinguished between a “vegetative soul” of p lants, a “vital so ul” of animals and a “rational soul” of humans. 22 Webster’s Third New International Dictionary, 1976, p. 1306. 21

Death, Dying, Body, and Soul

109

in our minds. We achieve immortality by procreating our descendants who 23 we hope would remember us and continue our legacy. The possibilities opened up by modern science an d technology now makes it possible to keep a person aliv e beyond natural limits. The principal ethical question however, which moti vates deliberations on euthanasia regards the supreme moral duty to respect a (terminal) person’s free will and his dignity. It is his pri vilege to decide t o die, granted the decision does not interfere with the welfar e of others. These reflections also elucidate the ethical and conscientious problems that arise when the terminal patient is no longer capable of deciding for himself and thus ot hers have to make the decision in h is stead. They too must b e guided b y a single criterion: Th e welfare of the patient and the welfare of those whose life can still be saved (by transplantation). They however sh ould not be led in their d ecisions by narrow or selfish interests or by obsolete views and beliefs with regard to the soul. Is the concept of “sanctity of lif e” at all an absolute value? Can it be reconciled with the free and expresse d will of the patient? According t o Halakhah, religious laws can only be suspended f or the sake of Pikuah Nefesh (preservation of the soul) becau se the commands of the Torah were given “that man shall live by them, n ot die by them.” These religious laws however do not apply to euthanasia. The tentative rules for decision and action proposed here are not always compatible with the traditio nal norms of the Halakhah in its ort hodox version, which had been formulated in an age when these scientific and technological conceptions and inventions did not yet exist. Jewish religious thinkers and rabbis should therefore reconsider these problems anew in order to prevent an inc reasing abyss between religious demands on the one hand and et hical principles on the other. This must not lead to t he hasty conclusion that ethics approves of euthanasia while religion does not or cannot. Euthanasia is one of the most difficult an d controversial questions of modern ethics. There are many distinct aspects of these problems that require separate in vestigations and evaluations; we have focused mainly on the relationship between body and soul. Ethics does not provide an all-encompassing answer to all of the grave issues of euthanasia. As regards to Jewish thought however it is not so much the question of approval or disapproval but the duty to interrogate it in light of modern scientific and technologica l transformations. As in m any other domains of contemporary ethics, one should never be confined to uncompromising traditional views that do not pass the te st of modern rational ethical thought. Yet the distinction between the view that a person’s autonomous decision 23

This issue belo ngs to the new discipline of Genethics. See David Heyd, Genethics, Moral Issues in the Creation of People. Berkeley, University of California Press, 1988.

110

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

ought to serve as the main guideline in these matters and the Jewish religious conception that in matter s of life an d death it is God’s decision and not man’s that counts, cannot be easily reconciled.

CHAPTER 7

Does It Make Sense to Speak about Jewish Ethics? The point of departure of this investiga tion is whether it is sensibl e to speak about Jewish ethics. Neither medieval philosophers s uch as Maimonides nor modern Jewish philosophers such a s Hermann Cohen, Martin Buber, Franz Rosenzweig and even Emmanuel Lévina s would ha ve been perturbed with this question. The expression Jewish Ethics like t he expression Jewish Philosophy is problematic. Although we do not speak about Jewish mathematics, physics, etc., it seems quite normal to speak about Jewish philosophy or ethics. While Jewish sci entists such as Einstein and Freud did not achieve their professional renown as Jews, Jewish philosophers and ethicists characterize their own work as Jewish. When one attempts to define what distinguishes the “Jewishness” of philosophy or ethics, what has previously seemed self-evident now becomes questionable. Philosophy and ethics are disciplines that address p roblems that do not belong to any national or ethnic culture but are rather of a universal nature, similarly to mathematics. The relevant problems in ethics are very different from those that one encounters for exam ple in literature. The latter depends on language in a fundamental way, a fact that rend ers literature an ethnic phenomenon. Language obviously also plays an important role in philosophy 1 and ethics as is demonstrated by analytic and ling uistic philosophy. Here however its role is different as seen in the philosophies of Hegel, Heidegger, Buber, Rosenzweig and Lévinas (to mention only a few well known names). One encounters different currents in modern ethics (Kantian, Hegelian, existential, analytical, intuitional, et c.) but one does not disting uish between ethical currents by national criteria—Fr ench, English or German (except for certain ironic or pejorative allusions). It also seems questionable that one can characterize ethics by reli gious criteria such as Jewish, Christian, Islami c ethics. There is only one ethics: Human ethics. Even if one is addre ssing the current notion of “animal ethics,” in essence one explicates decent human approaches to animals. Ethics th us transcend national o r religious boundaries. Jewish ethics express, perhaps more than other ethical 1

R.M. Hare, The Language of Morals. 1966. Charles Stevenson, Ethics and Language. 1965

112

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

conceptions, the tension between un iversalism and particularism but its essence is ethics without any furthe r predication. Shubert Spero lucidly asserted this: What seems clear to the presen t writer that there is no Jewish morality either in the sense that Judaism can offer so me uniquely definition of right and wrong or in the 2 sense that the essentials of Jewish morality obligate Jews only.

Contemporary ethics exhibits a steady gr owth of interest in meta-ethical questions namely, questions of the me aning and significance of the ethical concepts themselves. Jewish philosophy in general has been quite indifferent to meta-ethical questions. Ancient Jewi sh thinkers wer e not interested in theoretical issues; what mattered most to them was the faithful observance of the commandments and therefore they em phasized the practical issues of the Halakhah. Notwithstanding some attempts in Jewish medieval philosophy to distinguish between ceremonial and r ational (ethical) commandments, these distinctions were quite unsystematic and unsatisfactory. Even from a practical viewpoint, there was no strict distinction between ethics and ritual. Jewish belief focused on the love and awe of God; a t the same time, ethical behavior towards the other was consider ed integral to a proper r elationship between the Jewish person and God. Ethics as human affairs was thus closely linked and even subordin ated to religi ous faith and in this way has also exerted its influence on European thought. If our working hypothesis is that there is some sense in speaking about Jewish ethics, various theoretical a nd methodological questions arise. Can one speak for example of “Je wish Marxism” or “Jewish Existentialism?” 3 There have been important Jewish Marxists such as Borochov and existentialists such as Buber and Ro senzweig. On the one ha nd, ethics, existentialism, and Marxism are thought systems with issues that concern every human being. On the other hand, Borochov applied Marxist theories in order to eluc idate the Jewish questi on. Likewise, Buber and Rosenzweig applied existentialist ideas to their analysis of the Jewish e xperience. However no one created any “Jewish” Marxism or existentialism yet we 4 continue to speak about Jewish philosophy and Jewish ethics.

Shubert Spero, Morality, Halakhah and the Jewish tradition, p. 120. Another question is why so many Marxists were of Jewish origin (Marx himself, Kautsky, Rosa Luxemburg, Trotzky, Lukacz, Marcuse and many others) but were rather indifferent to their Jewishness? 4 Levy addresses these issues extensively in h is book Between Yafeth and Shem—on the relationship between general and Jewish philosophy, 1987. 2 3

Does It Make Sense to Speak about Jewish Ethics?

113

How then can a certain idea be at once philoso phical/universal and essentially Jewish/particular? This pr oblem is perhaps not the same for philosophy as it is for ethics. “Jewish philosophy” creates more conceptual difficulties than “Jewish ethics” beca use philosophy is indifferent to its national or ethnic origins while ethics refers quite often to such sources. Jewish scriptures indeed represent a powerful source of this ki nd. One can th century, “Jewish often hear references to “Jewish values;” in the 19 monotheism” was represented as the p articular contribution of J udaism to Western culture. If one recommends certain Jewish values that stem from the Jewish legacy, one must come to term s with the following problem: If these values possess ethical meaning, then although their historical origin is important, it does not add anything to their essence. One then tre ats ethical ideas and conceptions that were engen dered in the Jewish sources and are 5 later interpreted philosophically. Our principal approach t o Jewish et hics is to investigate valu es and concepts that are expresse d by Jewish thinkers in various periods of Jewish history in order to underscore their esse ntial universal meaning. That will be the criterion for determining if they me rely belong to the general realm of ethics or if they are only meaningful for Jews. In the latter ca se they are not ethical in the true sense o f the word. Every investigation of Jewish ethics thus ought to aim for stressing its ge neral meaning albeit without r emaining indifferent to its national and historical origins. Our discussion of modern ethics co nsists of three principal t rends: descriptive ethics, prescriptive (or normative) ethics, and meta-ethics. The first one describes moral values, usually without a ny further implications. When for example Spinoza defines th e concepts of good and bad in his Ethics (and i t certainly was not incide ntal that he gave this titl e to his magnum opus), he proceeded in the following manner: By good I understand that which we certainly know to be useful to us. By bad I understand that which we certainl 7 attainment of some good.

y know to be

6

an obstacle to o ur

But since all those things of which man is the efficient cause are necessarily good, nothing evil can befall a man except from external causes, namely, in so far as h e is

Compare with the appro ach to tradition, discussed in the chapter on “Tr adition and Hermeneutics.” 6 Baruch Spinoza, Ethics, Part 4, preface, Definition 1. The Ethics and selected letters, op. cit., p. 155. 7 Definition 2, ibid. 5

114

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT a part of the whole of Nature, whose laws human nature is constrained to obey, and 8 to which it must conform in almost an infinite number of ways. The mind’s highest good is the knowledge of God and the mind’s highest virtue is to 9 know God.

Many great philosophers who belonged to this and similar trends of thou ght (Bertrand Russell for example) denied the phil osophical possibility of transcending the descriptive dimension of ethical values. The second normative trend that eval uates moral behavior prescribes values that are desirable or repugnant . This tendency, which in Anglo-Saxon philosophy became famous throug h R.M. Hare, drew its inspiration from 10 Kant’s moral philosophy. The American philosopher John Rawls belongs to this trend as well. Kant’s philosophy also exerted a major influence on the th th 11 Jewish philosophy of the 19 and 20 centuries. This current aspires to establish general ethical norms that ought to guide us in our daily life. The third trend addresse s the analys is of ethical concepts that are recommended by normative ethics but denies the cognitivity of ethical values and concepts whether d escriptive or prescriptive. It investigates their presumed meanings, namely what “good” means and what “evil” means. Are there moral duties? What is the cogn itive status of utterances such as “murder is evil” or “lying is false?” This trend established the primary course th of ethics in the 20 century, especially in Anglo-Saxon philosophy; however, it is the least relevant for an investigation of Jewish ethics. The latter exhibits much proximity to the second aforem entioned current, namely prescriptive ethics. Generally speaking, one might s tate that the first two trends are also the subject matter of religious ethics while the third one groun ds philosophical ethics. In Christian t heology, ethics has b een subordinated to religious belief. This is also true of such an unconve ntional thinker as Søren Kierkegaard, notwithstanding his inc essant struggle between “Christendom” and “Christianity.” Today this has also become very chara cteristic of 12 fundamentalist tendencies in the three monotheistic religions. What then is Ibid., Appendix, p. 197. Ibid., Pt. I V, proposition 28. For Spinoza, “G od” and “Nature” were ident ical (Deus sive natura). 10 R. M. Hare, Freedom and Reason, 1966. 11 Ze’ev Levy, “Immanuel Kant und die moderne jüdische Ethik,” TRUMAH 1992, pp. 79–99. 12 Some controv ersial aspects of the relationshi p between ethics and belief, especially with regard to Kierkegaard’s subordination of ethics to religion, gave birth to critical responses of Jewish religious p hilosophers like Martin Buber, S.H. Bergman and others. Viz. S.H. Bergmann, Dialogical philosophy from S. Kierkegaard to F. Rosenzweig. 1991. 8 9

Does It Make Sense to Speak about Jewish Ethics?

115

the case with Jewish ethics? On th e one hand, Judaism values human behavior more than articles-of-faith; in fact, those articles-of-faith that were formulated by various medieval Je wish philosophers—Maimonides among others—were never accep ted as obligator y. On the other hand, there is a recurrent discussion on whether the ultim ate goal of Judaism is God or the human being. In the last fe w years, the increase in the number of boo ks in Jewish 13 ethics in America demonstrates the growing interest of Jewish scholars and philosophers in contemporary ethical problems. Still, the justification for this category of analysis is questionabl e for methodological and historical reasons: If the subject matter is ethics, it cannot be p articularly Jewish. If it has a special Jewish dimension, it cannot be ethics in the true sense of the word. Can one discover in the Jewish sources concepts that were also characteristic of general thought fr om its Greek beginnings that can contribute to ethical considerations today? In the field of Jewish ethics, many scholars try to elucidate difficult and controversial problems of the present time that are on the agenda of ethicis ts globally. The anxiety that thes e problems arouse concerns them as human beings as well as Jews. They ho pe to solve these problems or at least to be able to better elucidate them by relying on Jewish sources. The salient question in t his context i s whether these Jewish thinkers consider the an cient texts as binding or draw from them certain inspirations in order to come to their own conclusions. This is the controversy between heteronomous and autonomous ethics, which occupies an important place in contemporary inquiry. Contemporary ethical discourse is primarily at odds with the literature of th “Jewish morality” in the 19 century. The liberal Je wish scholars of Western Europe, especially in Germany, regarded it as their task to underscore the message of “ethical monotheism” as the distinguishing cont ribution of Judaism to western civilization and culture. This, however, entailed some 13

Simon Bernfeld (ed.), The Foundations of Jewish Ethics, 1968 (1929). Eugene B. Borowitz, Choosing a sex ethics, a Jewish inquiry, 1969; Exploring Jewish Ethics, 1989. Daniel S. Breslauer, A new Jewish Ethics, 1983; Contemporary Jewish Ethics: A Bibliographical Survey, 1985. Modern Jewish Morality. A Biographical Survey 1986. Marvin Fox (ed.), Modern Jewish Ethic, Theory and Praxis, 1975. Robert Gor dis, Jewish ethics for a lawless world, 1986. Simon Greenberg, The ethical in the Jewish and American heritage, 1977. Menachem M. Kellner (ed.), Contemporary Jewish Ethics, 1987. Jeremy Silver (ed.), Judaism and Ethics, 1970. Shubert Spero, Morality, Halakhah and the Jewish Tradition, 1983. (Full biographical d etails of these books will be giv en in the bibliography at the end of this book). This is of course only a ch oice of books th at have appeared in recent years in the USA. For a more exhaustive list see the two books of D. Breslauer, mentioned above.

116

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

unforeseen and almost paradoxical impli cations. They were less concerned with ethics per se than with the vi ndication of Judaism. When these scholars 14 underscored the “ethics of Judaism,” their main chall enge was to explicate Jewish identity while at the same time justifying their full equality as citizens of Germany, France, England etc., who participate in the general culture and life of their fellow citizens. Prima facie this is the same chall enge that th Mendelssohn encountered already in t he 18 century; his sol ution however was not feasible for them anymore. According to Mendelssohn, the sole distinguishing characteristic of Jews was the observance of the so-called “ceremonial laws.” Ironically, his liberal successors no longer observed the major part of these “laws.” Following him, they aspired to assi milate into the general intellectual and so cial milieu without being fully consumed by it sin ce they considered the abandonment of Judaism as shameful. In order to preserve their emotional ties to the Jewish legacy, they su bstituted Mendelssohn’s concept of “law” with the concepts of “Jewish essence” or “J ewish spirit,” which they adopted from 15 Hegel’s philosophy and identified with the idea of “ethical monotheism.” This became the foundation of the liberal currents in Judaism. They stressed the ethical and social teachings of the Hebrew pr ophets, interpreted the messianic idea as an ethical ideal and underscored the biblical concept of justice. Although they no longer accepted Mendelssohn’s concept of Mosaic Law as the distinguishing feature of Jewish particularism, they were reluctant to accept a national definition of Judaism and preferred to est ablish their concept of Judaism on ethical foundations . These ideas also penetrated into the emerging Zionist ideology, first in t he socialist ideas of Moses Hess and later also in some of Theodor Herzl’s writings. This illustrates the contrast between modern and contemporary Jewish scholars on the subject of ethics. The l atter are mostly interested in ethica l questions from a Jewish perspective per se. This brings us back once more to our main question: Can the concept of “Jewish ethics” be justified philosophically? We can now recapitulate these questions as follows: 1. Jewish ethical concepts are essentially universal. Therefore it is ethically desirable or even obligator y to analyze and underscore the 14 15

This is the title of Moritz Lazarus’ book mentioned above. This was th e goal of Leo Baeck’s influential book The essence of Judaism (Das Wesen des Judentums), 1905, in which ethical issues played an important role. The same holds for Hermann Cohen’s Religion of Reason from the sources of Judaism of 1919, and others.

Does It Make Sense to Speak about Jewish Ethics?

117

universal meaning of all t hose problems that are tre ated as “ Jewish ethics.” 2. Jewish ethics is essentially deontological, namely it address first and foremost duties. This also explains the great influence which Kant exerted on Jewish thinkers. 3. Although the point of departure of such inq uiries is general philosophical ethics, one can nonetheless assume th at certain ethical propositions can be defined as Jewish. 4. Jewish ethics today is absolutely different from earlier proposals in this area and this holds true first of all for the proble ms of bioethics that occupy a growing place in ethical investigations today. Bioethics is a concept that has appeared in the last several decades as a result of the revolutionar y transformations in the medical and biological sciences. It is a synonym of “ Lebensphilosophie” on the one hand and “medical ethics” on the other. Bioethics in the human sphere includes social, religious, moral and medical issues. While medical sci ence examines the research of diseas es, bioethics (or me dical ethics) considers, among others, the problems of sick persons. Today, attention is given to medical dilemmas that in the past no one would have even imagined. Numerous concepts that in the past were self-evident have unde rgone significant changes in meaning. This applies first of all to the concept of “life” its elf. “Life” i s an abstract concept because in reality there are only “living beings.” This is also very characteristic of language that formul ates abstract nouns from adjectives: “illness” from “ill,” sickness” from “sick,” “healthiness” from “healthy,” in the same wa y as “redness ” from “red.” There are si ck persons as there are red things but there is no “redness” as such (except perhaps in astronomy). Many controversies in bioethics aris e from conceptual abstruseness. For example: Are embryos or foeti considered “persons ?” Are sick people in a state of irrev ersible coma still “persons”? These questions occupy a great place in the phil osophical discussions on such i ssues as ab ortion and euthanasia. They require e thical discourse that is not only concerned with terminological specificity but is focused on personal and social responsibility as well. All these problems also occupy a growing place in contemporary Jewish philosophy. We would like to mention briefly the important studies of rabbis and researchers such as Jacobowitz (fo rmer chief Rabbi of Engla nd), David Bleich, Fred Rosner, Levi Meier, Baruch Brody, Norman Lamm (former President of Yeshiva Uni versity), and Yeshayahu Leibowitz. In Israel, most

118

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

of the controversies are confined to the relation between Halakhah and medicine yet with little philosophical reflections. Recently, the problems of euthanasia and surrogate motherhood have also stimulated much public debate in Israel. What underpins these questions is the c oncept of “right”—the right of a person to die in dignity, the right of the woman to her body, etc. This applies also to human beings that cannot d ecide for themselves: foeti, babies, 16 comatose patients, and so-called “ve getables.” The concept of rights emerged in philosophy in the beginning of modernity but is rather foreign t o Judaism, which primarily recognizes duties—duties of a person to himself, to his neighbor, to the ot her, and of course to God. This distinction comes to a clear manifestation in discussions on medical ethics. From the Jewish point of view, it is important to underscore that from the rabbinic period until modernity, medicine has been the leading science that attracted the interest of Jewish schol ars. Numerous medieval doctors were Jews; the most famous among them were Isaac Israeli, Maimonides, 16 Nachmanides, and Delmedigo. This was pri marily due to the fact that for centuries, schools of medicine were the only scho ols that admitted Jews. Therefore medicine represented for Jews not merely a profession but in fact the only opportunity to acquire scientific knowledge. According to the Jewish tradition, life and death are in God’s hand bu t neither the rabbis nor later Jewish thinke rs ever concluded that hu man life is predetermined. On the contrary, becau se the human being was conceived as the crown of creation, they considered the preservation of human life to be the highest good. This was the rationale for the expression “sanctity of life.” I call heaven and earth to r ecord against you, that I h ave set b efore you life and death, a blessing and a curse: Therefore choose life that both you and your seed may live (Deuteronomy XXX: 19).

Maimonides concludes from this statemen t that it is a religious duty to protect human life. Yet if one believes in divine providence, as did Jewish medieval philosophers and as many modern thinkers do, then illness would also be something foreseen by God. God would not let a person become ill if He did not have some reason for it even if tha t reason sur passes our intellectual comprehension (viz. for example the discussions between Job and his friends). If this were true however, would not medical treatment collide 16 16

This is an abominable expression. Eliyahu Delmedigo whose name testifies to his medical profession was a pup il of Galileo, and, as mentioned above, his book Sefer Elim had an indirect influence on Spinoza who owned the book in a Spanish translation.

Does It Make Sense to Speak about Jewish Ethics?

119

with God’s plan and will? Moreover, an ill person who consults a medical doctor would demonstrate a lack of confidence in God. There are indeed such examples in the Bib le: “I sh all put none of these diseases upon you which I have brought on the Egyptians for I am the Lord that heals them” 17 (Exodus 15:26). King Assa was reprimanded because he consulted physicians instead of trusting in Go d (Chronicles II, 21:19). The medieval philosopher and biblical commenta tor Abraham Ibn Ezra proposed a compromise, relying on a nother verse in Exodus (21:19). He ass erted that one may con sult a medical doctor in cas e of an exterior injury that was caused by another man but that an inte rior illness is a testimony of God’s will and therefore only God could heal it. However the Shulhan Arukh, the th does not recognize this distinction. 16 century’s code of Jewish Law Maimonides also did not let theo logical arguments interfere in his unambiguous opinion that a physician is obligated to devote all his efforts to heal the sick person. Furthermore, according to the Jewish tradition, one cannot oblige anyone to become a physician or to learn a profession regardless of its importance for the welfare of society. Yet if one has studied medicine it is his moral and lawful duty t o practice this profession. What would then be the status of physicians who exchanged medicine for other careers—politics, art, etc.? Perhaps in order to prevent this, the Tal mud states: “the best of ph ysicians is menaced by hell” (Tractate Kiddushim 82a). One might explicate the contradictory positions in the Bible and the Talmud in regard to the duties of physicians as follows: Th e permission to heal is a warded to th e physician from God; it is heteronomous. The duty to practice medicine however reflects human ethics; it is autonomous. Fred Rosner, who has devoted much thought to these issues asserts unequiv ocally that study of medicine is a matter of free choice but from the moment that one becomes a physician, it is 18 Maimonides already emphasized this duty with her duty to heal the ill. regard to the physician as well as to the ill person. In light of the Talmudic Tractate Sanhedrin (17b), Maimonides recommended against living in a city 19 where there is no doctor; however, he did not regard this as an explicit duty. One who does not consult a doctor, whether it is because of his or her trust in God who will heal him or simply because of negligence, has not violated any religious commandment. This conc lusion can influence some Jewish Our emphasis. Fred Rosner, Modern Medicine and Jewish Ethics. Hoboken NJ: KTAV Publishing House 1986, p. 10. So what, among others, the Isr aeli Knesset-members who have abandoned their medical profession for a political career? 19 Mishneh Torah, Hilhot Deot 4:23. 17 18

120

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

religious thinkers today in those instan ces when terminally ill persons insist that their lives may not be prolonged by artificial means. Medical science is no longer limited to the task of healing and combating diseases but can now al so intervene in the processes of life and death themselves. The pertinent question he re is: Who is now t he subject (or object) of medical treat ment—the sick person or the illness? This is not a rhetorical question but in fact illust rates the growing depersona lization of modern medicine, particularly as refl ected in hospitals. One might formulate this as follows: Are we permitted to do from the ethical standpoint everything that we are capable to do technologically? Every progress in medicine increases at the same time our moral responsibility and obligates us to reflect on our traditional and mor al convictions. The Achilles’ heel of Jewish religious literature on medical ethi cs (and ethics in general) consists in restricting its positi ons only to such questions that have already been discussed in the Talmud. Furthermor e, the rabbi nic literature over the centuries only seldom referred to new precedents. Rabbi Jacobowitz highlights in this context one more point. In “Jewish medicine” (if we may employ this expression), pr ophylactic matters always fulfilled a greater role than purely therapeutic ones. Prevention of illnesses was considered to be the most important goal, a view base d on the tho ught of Mai monides and 20 why in the past, Jewish Nachmanides. This is also one of the reasons physicians were less o ccupied with an atomic dissection, autopsy, etc. although they contributed much to the comprehension of the pr ophylactic tasks of medicine. Another reason for their lack of engagement with such procedures was the religious prohibition of violating a dead body (‫)נוול המת‬. What is of special import ance for Jewi sh ethics is investigating how to apply Jewish traditional ethical-religious concepts to new and unprecedented circumstances that are t he result of the development of science and technology. One ought to redefine the concept of “good” and elaborate what one might characterize as good in light of what the Jewish philosopher Hans Jonas referred to as “ethics of responsibility.” In two of his last b ooks—Das 21 22 Prinzip Verantwortung and still further in Technik, Medizin und Ethik — Jonas devoted much attention to ethical problems in general and problems of medical ethics in particular. Although he theorized mainly from a general philosophical viewpoint, his Jewish heritage also played an important role in his thinking.

Immanuel Jacobowitz, Jewish medical ethics. New York: Bloch 1959, pp. xxi-xxii. Hans Jonas, Das Prinzip Verantwortung, 1984. Jonas died in 1995. 22 Hans Jonas, Technik, Medizin und Ethik, 1987. 20 21

Does It Make Sense to Speak about Jewish Ethics?

121

Jewish religious tradition underscores duties while modern ethics underscores rights, yet t hese two concepts do not exhaust all the problems that concern the welfare o f the patient. Contrary to the oath of Hi ppocrates that stresses the duties of the physic ian, the “physi cian’s oath” that was ascribed by Maimonides emphasized virt uous behavior that is not to be motivated by profit or fame but by the intention and aim to accomplish the good. The concepts of “good” or the “ good life” necessitate a critical inquiry of their veritable meanings; it is rather questionable whether one can base the guidelines of medical treatment on them alone. What one is obligated to d o to one person is not necessarily the same as one’ obligation to another person. This entails a certain conception of the “good life” that n ot everybody would share and might even lead to a misuse of the concept “the good life” by those who believe themselves to be competent to decide according to their juridical, religious or moral convictions what is or ought to be the essence of “the g ood life.” This is the philosophical d ilemma of bioethical and medical p roblems—with regard to euthanasia, abortion, artificial insemination, sur rogate motherhood, transplantations, animal and 23 human experiments. Perhaps one should alter the well-known saying o f Hillel (and Confucius before him) and substitute “What you do not want to be done to you, do not to others” with “Do to others what is good for them.” This saying thoug h is no less formalistic than Hillel’s dictum or Kant’s categorical imperative. In contemporary philosophy Emmanuel Lévinas frequently in vestigated this problem and althoug h he was mainly occupied with general ethical issues and was less interested in bi oethical questions, his ideas are very relevant. He is known for juxtaposing the concept of “the other” with the concept of r esponsibility, which has played a focal role in H ans Jonas’ 24 work. The formulation “Do to others what is good for them” therefore entails an inquiry i nto whether it is compatible with our eth ical and/or religious conceptions. The main conclusion nevertheless must be that every one—man or woman—has the right to re fuse the presumed “good” if he/she does not find it acceptable . If a person is in full poss ession of his/her mental capabilities, no one else has the right to decide a fortiori against his/her will what is good for him/her. What is best can sometimes pose difficult problems of conscience but in ethics there are never easy resolutions.

On these issues see Levy’s book Bioethics—Philosophical and Jewish Aspects, 2001. For his essays on e uthanasia and abortion see his Hebrew book Reflections on Death in Philosophy and Jewish Thought, 2008. 24 On aspects of Lévinas’ philosophy and ethics see Part IV of this book. 23

122

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

Notwithstanding various verses in the Bible that can be interpreted in different ways, medicine h ad been cons idered as a religious-ethical duty in Jewish thought. No one would have ve ntured the claim that the physician plays God’s role until our time, when modern medical technolog y has made it possible to keep a terminally ill person artificially alive and to postpone his or her death beyond its natural limits. Jewish tradition interpreted the abovementioned verse “I, God, am thy physician” as a challenge for man who wa s created in God’s image to resemble Him as much as possible. The physician was regarded as an instru ment of God but the true healer was God. Most Jewish thinkers until our ti me concluded that the human body also does not belong to us but is God’ s property. From this belief follows the duty to preserve one’s life and body as lon g as possible. When one reads the numerous discourses of “Jewish bioethics” however, one gets the impression that Jewish thinkers are l ess interested in ethics tha n they are in Halakhah. The questions that are discussed include what commandments one is allowed to violate for the sake of a sick person, whether on e is allowed to break a commandment for a genti le, etc. Despite his vehement attacks on idolaters (including Christians), Maimonides believed that br eaking a commandment in order to save a life to be a duty, but later rabbinical decisions, especially th from the 17 century onwards, were le ss clear on this issue. The Talmudic saying “to save a soul abolishes the Sabbath”– states “a soul,” not specifically “a Jewish soul,” but was oft en used for trivial questions, e.g. can a physician use the elevator in the hos pital on the Sabbath, can he keep a beeper on him, write on the patient’s card, etc. Although most religious physicians behave according to their conscience and these questions are perhaps more theoretical than practi cal, they occupy a prominent place in contemporary rabbinical literature. In such literature, one can encounter more 25 precarious questions. For example, is a Cohen (priest), who according to the Halakhah is forbidden to c ome into co ntact with a dead body or to enter a cemetery, permitted to stu dy medicine? This question has been t horoughly discussed in the rabbinic literature for over a hundred years. This is once again not a question of ethics but of Halakhah, yet it can still lead to unethical conclusions. There are orthod ox rabbis such as David Bleich who has profoundly treated medical ethics yet is unequi vocally opposed to the 26 study of medicine by a Cohen. This entails further questions: Can a Cohen enter a hospital where Jewish patients are hospitalized or only a hospital with Today this means every Jew who carries the name “Cohen,” or other v ariations such as “Kahn,” etc. 26 David Bleich, Judaism and Healing: Halakhic Perspectives, 1981, pp. 37–42. As the title of the book demonstrates, its subject-matter is Halakhah. 25

Does It Make Sense to Speak about Jewish Ethics?

123

gentile patients? Can his wife give birt h there?27 Can he travel in an airplane 28 which transports a Jewish dead body ? Instead of adapting the Jewish religious tradition to the guidelines of modern ethics, what matters for these orthodox rabbis is subordinating ethics to Halakhah. Questions of life and death and the essence of the “good life” are at the forefront of many contemporary discussions on euthanasia. Of all bioethical problems, euthanasia is undoubtedl y the most significant and can serve as a paradigm for all the others. This co ntroversial issue has existed since antiquity—in Greek philosophy as well as in Talmudic literature (although in the latter only indirectly). It became more salient with the dev elopment of modern medical science, which has enabled the physician to treat the dying in new way s. The new circumstances require an essential revision of traditional conceptions of death. Under what conditions during the last phase of a terminal ly ill person can one speak of “leaving of the soul” ( ‫“יציאת‬ ”‫ ?)הנפש‬Or in modern parlance, what is clinical death? As shown in the last chapter, these are very important questions for transplantations. Biblical metaphors have lost their meaning today. We no longer speak of “giving up our spirit” or “departure of the soul” when our heart stops beating; rather, we speak about the soul as a synonym of the conscious and unconscious thought-activity of a pe rson. Human personality is “embodied” in one’s consciousness. The “soul” doe s not stop its functioning when the heart stops its activity but when the br ain fails—a moment referred to as “brain-death.” The distinction between a “termin ally ill person” and a “dying” person (”Gosses“) is still the same as st ated in Halakhah but it receives a new meaning. As stated in the last chapter, according to Halakhah dying can last no more than seventy two hours. Like modern medicine, Halakhah conceives of dying as an irre versible process. Yet if modern medical technology can keep a dying person artificially alive for more than seventy two hours—“medical heroics”—the person is no l onger considered to be dying under Halakhic category and everything in one’s power ought to be done in order to prolon g his or her “life” even against his or h er explicit will. Medical technology can thus in certain circumstances repeal the physiological state that in the past was considered as “dying.” One should keep in mind thoug h that such an artificial extensio n of one’s life (or more exactly of one’s dying) do es not provide the patient any chance of recovery or improvement and is usually associated with inhumane conditions—being hooked up to machinery, tubes, etc.—t hat are contrary to hu man dignity. 27 28

Ibid., p. 52.

Ibid., p. 54. Another question in this discussion is whether the very distinction between Jews and non-Jews is ethically objectionable?

124

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

Does modern medicine thus increase inhumane states of affairs? The task of the physician is to prolo ng life, not dying. This indeed involves difficult decisions on behalf of the termin ally sick person that must be made by his family and his physician. Every decision imposes responsibility, i.e. being in full moral accord with one’s conscience. Although one could n ot even surmise these modern pro blems in the Talmud, one can still find several views and legends, mostly in the Aggadah, which can be interpreted retrospectively as so me kind of j ustification for euthanasia. This applies to stories in which the dying person undergoes 29 severe suffering. In such i nstances it was not the rig ht of the ter minally ill patient to d ecide for himself. In contrast, the contemporary ethical controversy addresses the right of a terminally ill person to decide himself as a free and autonomous person, to prefer death to a hopeless and undignified “life.” This right oug ht to be corr oborated by law so that no physician or another person is allowed to coerce the patient to do something against his or her will. One ought to respect the right of a terminally ill patient to die in 30 dignity when that is his or her expressed will. This of course also holds true for the contrary case, that is, when a terminally i ll patient demands to continue treatment because there might be an unforeseeable medical miracle. Such a demand must be respected as well whatever the costs of the treatment 31 may be. As shown in the previous chapter, the traditional dichotomy between body and soul is now repl aced with the dichotomy between body and brain that is part of the body itself. However, the key philosophical questions remain: What is it that vanishes at the moment of death? What is the essential element of human nature wi thout which life is no more life? The apparent answer is that the essence of life can be located in one’s intellectual and conscious activities th at depend on the brain. All other organs can de facto or in potentia be replaced by transplantations, including the heart tha t in the past was believed to be the s ource of life. When the brain cea ses to function, the dying person has become a dead person, even when his or her other organs are kept alive artificially. Ethically, the precise definition of the moment of death is extremely important . What are the physiological criteria See Levy’s book, Reflections on death in philosophy and Jewish Thought (Hebrew). This is, among others, the purpose of the so-called “living will” in which a person prescribes what to do when s/he is already no more capable to announce his/her decision. 31 This has nothing to do with the terrible problem that exists in many “third world” countries where many people and children die of hunger and disease without getting the necessary aid to keep them alive. This is a social and political issue, which evidently entails great ethical implications that must remain beyond the framework of the present inquiry. 29 30

Does It Make Sense to Speak about Jewish Ethics?

125

by which we describe an event that is essentially metaphysical? Traditional empirical indications like cessation of heartbeat, blood-circulation, breathing etc. that were also characteristic of the Jewish tradition no longer suffice. Almost all “Responsa” literature (Rabbinic discussions and commentaries) stresses cessation of he artbeat as the criterion of death. One may declare a human person as dead only when his pulse has stopped and he 32 lies before us like a lif eless stone. In the past the se criteria of d eath were considered simultaneously but this has changed since now there is a possibility of designating a person “clinically dead” yet keeping him “alive” by medical technology. How should one consider a human organism in such a case, as alive or as dea d? This is ag ain not only a medi cal or scientific question but an ethical (and religious) one par excellence. The current definition of brain-death is not accepted by Halakhah. This has far -reaching implications with regard to autopsies and transplantations that can save the life of other persons. In most instances , Jewish physicians, with th e consent of the terminally ill patient’s relatives , act in accordance with their medicalethical conscience. Although Halakhah has become more flexible, especially when it conc erns people who have died by accide nt or violence, the strict Halakhic viewpoint remains. The ultr a-orthodox groups in Judaism (as in Islam) repudiate any co mpromise on these matters. Most Jewish (and some orthodox) philosophers and physicians no longer ignore these problems and try to accommodate Halakhah to m odern ethical conceptions. Orthodox rabbis on the other hand still insist that to conceive of a person as dead when some of his or her organs still func tion, even artificially, violates the “sanctity of life.” This argument prevents saving other persons by transplantations. The “sanctity of life” ho wever is not an absolute principle. 33 Why is killing in war or by the decision of the jury permissible? Why is it permissible to sacrifice th e life of soldiers in order to save the life of other citizens or the interests of the state but it is for bidden to extract organs of clinically dead persons in order to save other people? This would still enable the dying person or his/her family to perform a humane deed even in his/he r hopeless situation. According to Halakhah though, the will of a terminally ill patient to stop his treatment and to let him die is eq ual to suicide, which is strictly forbidden in Jewish law. Th e opposition to euthanasia, precisely as the opposition to suicide, is based on th e assumption in Jewish thought that Responsa of Chatam Sofer (Hun gary, 19th century), a chief rabbinical authority, Yore Deah, paragraph 338. 33 We do not discuss here the issue of death-penalty which in Israel and most western countries is abolished anyway. In Levy’s Reflections on Death, he devotes a special chap ter to the problematics of the death penalty. 32

126

ETHICS AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

euthanasia would interfere with God’ s will. One can discern in certain orthodox groups however greater acceptance of passive euthanasia (letting die) while active euthanasia (accelerating death) is still repudiated. Jewish thought can no lon ger ignore the decisive ch anges—in the areas of bioethics and medicin e—that were engendered as a result of modern science and technology. Matters that in the past were believed to be God’s will are now subject to human decision-making and responsibility. This is— 34 to paraphrase the title of one of E. Lévinas’ books—Difficile Liberté —what makes freedom so difficult . The difference and conflict between traditional Halakhic approaches and recent ethical views is especially evident in the case of euthanasia. Bioethics has enormous dilemmas that stem from circumstances where every alternative is morally difficult. Should a physician always tell a heart patient th e truth and respect his/her autonomy 35 whatever the consequences may be? Are there situations where, contrary to 36 Kant’s opinion, one ought to lie out of human love and compassion? While these are not new dilemmas and certainly not restricted to Judaism, modern Jewish thought, similarly to general philosophy, should not disregard them.

Emmanuel Lévinas, Difficile Liberté, op.cit. See Levy’s Reflections on Death for the chapter on the question whether one may lie or not to a terminal patient. 36 Immanuel Kant, “Über ein vermeinte Recht aus Menschenliebe zu lügen”, Sämtliche Werke, vol. 5, 1922, pp. 715–721. 34 35

PART IV

Lévinas: Politics and Contemporary Jewish Thought

CHAPTER 8

Lévinas on State, Revolution and Utopia Philosophy is distinguished among the disciplines for its quality and natur e that constitutes part of its fundamental concerns. The very etymology of the word—philo-sophia (love of wisdom)—im plies this essential aspect of continued striving for kn owledge. This view of the quiddity of p hilosophy can be foun d in t he work of all great philosophers throughout the ages. A relevant figure in this context is the Jewish philosopher Judah Abrabanel (Leone Ebreo), the son of the we ll known Isaac Abrabanel, whose book Dialoghi d’Amore became one of the bestsellers of the Renaissance. The two protagonists of this book was a young man named Philo and a young woman 1 named Sophia—comprising the term-p hilosophia. Philosophy is the quest for wisdom but since its earliest beginnings in Greece this quest split into two directions: (1) Wisdom in order to understand and (2) Wisdo m in order to promote a good life. Th is is the ag e-old dichotomy between is and ought, which is discussed in mod ern philosophy as the op position between theory and practice. Most philosophers aimed to attain k nowledge in order to come clo ser to truth. Whereas Plato considered the philos opher’s task to apply his knowledge to the service of human ity—the philosopher-king—Aristotle considered it to be theori a, namely the pleasure of knowledge f or its own sake, in cont rast with the dyad of poesis and praxis. The latter was for the most part characteristic of philosophy until the present. Even Bertrand Russell who was personally very much committed to social an d political goals, considered philosophy’s task to ask questions rather than to try to give 2 answers. There were, of course, exceptions. Spinoza, as we have seen, wrote his Theologico-Political Treatise for the explicit purpose of defending freedom of thought, speech and expr ession. He also announced, quite arbitrarily, that until he gave his attention t o political philosophy, 1

Ten editions of the book appeared in the 16th century, until the Vatican put the book on the index of forbidden books. Spinoza possessed a Spanish translation of it. In 1983 a new Hebrew translation with an extensive introduction by Menachem Dorman was published. See also L evy’s article, Dialoghi d’Amore in the Encyclopedia of Love in World Religions, ed. by Yudit Greenberg, Vol. I, pp. 155–157. 2 Bertrand Russell, The problems of philosophy, 1920, pp. 24/25.

130

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

“philosophers have neve r conceived a theory of politics which would be 3 turned to use.” Existentialist philosophers, to whom Lévinas bears much affinity, were obviously more concerned with concrete issues in human life, but as the saying goes, exceptions confirm the rule. Jewish philosophers were guided primarily by practical aims, especially ethical ones, under the influence of the “practical commandments” that were characteristic of the Jewish religious tradition. The Kabbalistic t erm Tikkun Olam—mending the world—left its salient trace on certain contemporary Jewish philosophers, th e first be ing Emil Fackenheim followed by Emmanuel Lévinas. In contradistinction to Hegel who c ontinued the Aristotelian trend of the self-realization of the idea, thinkers like Fichte, Hess and Marx, to mention only a few o utstanding personalities, took the position that it is i ncumbent upon philosophy to include the practical dimension as an integral component of the system. This trend received its clearest expression in Marx’s famou s 11th thesis on Feuerbach, which entailed the idea t hat henceforward theory itself turns into praxis. Knowing reality and cha nging it are inextricably linked. The importance of the 11 th thesis—despite its pejorative view of philosophers—consists in being a symbol of the radical change th at entailed, to quote th e Jewish philosopher Franz Rosen zweig, a “new type of philosophy” and a “new type of philosopher” who became i nvolved— engagés—in the life of society. As Sartre indicates: If a society philosophizes, it means that its mechanism allows for a certain amount of free play, that there i s room for th e individual dream, for each man’s fancy, for questioning and incomprehension. It means, in the last 4 analysis, that there is no perfectly rigorous social order. Are there th en extra-philosophical motives for ph ilosophizing? There have been p hilosophers who restricted their activ ities to focu sing on a critique of earlier philosophers and not necessarily elucidating new problems. G. E. Moore, one of the im portant analytical philosophers at the beginning of the 20th century, made the following banal remark: I do not think that the world or the sciences would ever have suggested to me any philosophical problems. What has suggested philosophical problems to me is things 5 which other philosophers have said about the world or the sciences.

Baruch Spinoza, Political Treatise, I, 1; The Chief Works of Baruch de Spinoza, Vol. 1, op. cit., p. 287 4 J-P. Sartre, Literary and philosophical essays, 1955, p. 142. 5 The Philosophy of G. E. Moore, ed. By P. A, Schilpp, 1952, p. 14. 3

Lévinas on State, Revolution and Utopia

131

The question to which we turn now and which brings us to Lévinas is not what the motives for philosophizing are, but whether there are objective aims that a philos opher must strive for and if so, what are or ough t to be these aims in present-day society? We pr efer to speak of the task of the philosopher and not of philosophy, not only in order to avoid anthropomorphic modes of speaking but also in o rder to emphasize what Rosenzweig called “the new thinking. ” Here one must distinguish again between two distinct possible trends: The explicit aim of a philosopher to use his thoughts to pursue soc ial and politi cal aims—whether one approves of them or not —and the att empt of polit ical activists to avail themselves of a certain philosophical theory in order to further their goals. Sometimes th ese two tendencies overlap as we will demonstrate in the philosophy of Emmanuel Lévinas. Certain leftist and revolutionary thinkers in South America drew much of their inspiration from Lévinas’ philos ophy of “the other” and designated their thought as “philosophy of liberation.” Lévinas was well aware of these trends and referred to them sy mpathetically. One of his Tal mudic lectures 6 even has as its title “Ju daism and Revolution.” It addresses a problem discussed in the Tractate Baba Metziah (83a-b) concerning the wages of salaried workers where he underscores on the o ne hand, thi s problem’s relevance to present-day syndicalism and on t he other hand, its salient humanistic implications. He even men tions the P olish Marxist p hilosopher Adam Schaff and adds: “Hearts open easily to the working class, our purses with much more difficulty , and most difficult of all is to open th e doors of 7 our homes.” The issue itself—who has to pay for the time of the laborer’s way to wor k?—is of l esser relevance here but it reminds us of the “inalienable” rights of the worker and a ccording to Lévinas, antici pates “the 8 future de-proletarization of the proletariat.” This position, which manifests “Jewish humanism” corresponds t o the fundamentals of his p hilosophy in general where he prefers the notions of “responsibility,” “just ice,” and “love.” It is t he “other” w hose rights have to be protected. That i s also the lesson to be drawn from “L’humanisme de l’autre ho mme.” This idea leads him to the following conclusion:

Emmanuel Lévinas, Du sacré au saint, 1977, pp. 11–53. Ibid., p. 17. 8 Ibid., p. 25. 6 7

132

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT One ought to define the revolution according to its content, according to its values, a revolution takes place when one liberates man, namely rescu es him from economic 9 determinism.

In this conne ction Lévinas also inte rprets another Talmudic saying in t he spirit of the young Marx n amely, that the reward for one’s work is not only the salary but the creative activity as such; in a society without ex ploitation work will be transformed from a yoke into a free act that will express human potential and creative cap abilities. Although this view still appears rather utopian, it reflects the humanistic yearnings of those who struggle for social justice. Lévinas adds that this noti on of freedom has to be supplemented by the responsibility of everyone for his or her fellow-beings. Although Lévinas attempts to interp ret several Talmudic notions by general syndical, revolutionary, and humanistic categories, he also stresses a uniquely Jewish idea. An affinity exists between Jewish thoug ht and certain leftist tendencies, in particular the de fense of human dignit y. I t would be incorrect though to identify the destin y of Judaism with the destiny of t he 10 proletariat. The persecution of Jews has b een much more severe than the exploitation of workers because it was not limited to the social real m; rather, it was inspired by the hatr ed of the Jew as the stranger par excellence. As a result, a revolution can also represent a threat to Judaism in that the values of 11 socialism are less subtle t han ancient J ewish values. Lévinas’ ap proach is therefore ambivalent. On the one ha nd, he unders cores certain Talmudic thoughts that correspond to contemporary revolutionary humanism but on the other hand, there is apprehension that those revolutionary trends are liable to blur traditionally humanistic values that characterize Jewish thought. One pivotal idea in Lévinas’ philosoph y—the otherness of the other and my responsibility to the ot her—is strongly linked to the concept of “human rights.” This concept that permeat ed philosophy since the Ren aissance is alien to the r eligious tradition of Judaism, which acknowledges d uties only. Respecting human rights is not derive d from any divine command or from 12 God’s charity; rather, it is a glor ious feat of human consciousness. It is clearly inferred from resp ecting the ot her’s otherness. Similarly, Lévinas employs the concept “ana rchy” (he prefers to writ e with a hyphen as anarchie), which makes the claim that th ere is no primordial element (arché)

Ibid., p. 24 As did Moses Hess in the beginning of Rome and Jerusalem. 11 Ibid. p. 47. 12 Levinas, Outside the Subject, 1993, p. 113. 9

10

Lévinas on State, Revolution and Utopia

133

that prescribes human beh avior. This signifies that there is no beginning to human’s infinite responsibility. To acknowledge the other’s freedom and otherness is a revolutionary act that pronounces the ne w age and ci vilization of the west. S cience and technology enable this respect for human rights althoug h these rights are constantly violated. Science demonst rates that p rogress of theoretical knowledge (savoir) reflects our capacities and freed om and reinforces the 14 idea of human rights. The world and man have cease d to be the playground of arbitrary natural or supra-natu ral forces whose meaning and ends transcend human knowledge. Sadly, in many places around the world, especially in totalitarian countries, people are subjugated to the arbitrary authoritarianism of other people and o ftentimes are also victims of natural disasters. But what Levinas wishes to underscore here is that understanding of scientific processes and the tec hnological achievements derived from it highlights human rights and its place in the world. Lévinas is a lso aware of the dange rs that accompany scientific and technological development. These deve lopments not o nly bring in their wake human freedom and human rights, but they are also liable to produce a new and inhumane deter minism that annihilates the same freedom they 15 y industrialized and totalitarian create. This is characteristic of highl regimes. Lévinas asserts that what is likely to supp ort human rights in fact shamefully eradicates them in these countries. He does not condemn modern technology but rather calls attentio n to the da nger that science and technology would bring about when tur ned against human beings; it is not science and technology t hat create ne gative phenomena but their abuse by humans. This is most salient in the “third” and “fourth” worlds where entire 16 populations suffer from starvation and illness. These ethical, s ocial and political conclusions are ul timately derived from Lévinas’ conception of the other. To respect the other’s otherness has f ar-reaching implications, including among other thi ngs, improving the status of women and children globally. One cannot disregard the important role that Lévinas ’ philosophy plays in the critique of tragic ci rcumstances in contemporary society. Love and responsibility must be turned to the other who is identified as my neighbor as well as to the other who is distant a nd whom Lévinas calls the “third.” The principle of universal responsibilit y entails the assumption that national 13

“Humanisme et anarchie,” Humanisme de l’autre homme, 1972, pp. 71–91. Outside the subject, op. cit., p. 119. 15 Ibid., p. 121. 16 Ibid., p. 119. 13 14

134

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

justice must engender universal justice whose ultimate goal is to establish “one all-encompassing human society. ” Only then will all people be equal and no one will be exploited or oppressed by another. One ought to take care of people li ke of orpha ns and widow s—this is the essenti al idea of humanism. Levinas emplo ys a number of biblical terms in order to express his political ethics—stranger, poor, orphan, and t he widow. They are “th e others” who have no home and no place to re st their heads; th ey are the “homeless” of our society, the refug ees all over the world. They remind us continually of our responsibility toward s them, even if the consequences would be miniscule in comparison with the dimension of the di sasters that befall human populations around the world. Althou gh these noble ideas are more implicit than explicit in Lévinas’ philosophy, their lesson is clear. He writes in one of his Talmudic lessons: “To sanctify the soil is to build on it a 17 just society.” He later continues: “A societ y without human exploitation, a society in which all men are equal, such as th e first found ers of the Kibbutzim wished to create … that is the challenge to moral relativism” (ibid.). Levinas’ scriptural norms of u niversal human justi ce aroused stron g echoes among various thinkers in South America, including Antoni o Sidekum, who drew fro m them inspir ation for “liberation philosophy.” Sidekum was impressed by the fact that Lévinas employed the co ncept of a “permanent revolution,” but he o verlooked the fact that it had nothing in common with Trotsky’s famous concept. “Revolution” in Lévi nas’ sense does not mean violent abolishment of t he present order, because it does not suffice to simply be “against” something; one also has to be “for” something, namely for a total personal revolutio n by which every indivi dual achieves universal responsibility for the other. This revolution must be “permanent” because every revolution that destroys an unjust regime by violent means runs the risk of its own perpetuation of violence. “The revolution does not 18 destroy the state—it is simply in favor of another political regi me.” What 19 one needs, therefore, is an “ethical rev olt.” Lévinas prefers a regime of “an-archy,” that is, the unl imited responsibility of each and every i ndividual for the other. The achievement of such responsibility is what Levinas calls the “permanent revolution,” although it is rather questionabl e if such a society is att ainable. Levinas himself describes it as “messianic peace,” implying that it is not something we can achieve anytime soon. Quatre lectures talmudiques, op. cit., p. 141. That was a remark by Prof. Baruch of which Lévinas quoted approvingly. 18 SaS, op. cit., p. 36 19 “Ideology and Idealism,” The Levinas Reader, p. 130. 17

Lévinas on State, Revolution and Utopia

135

At the end of Autrement qu’être ou au-delà de l’essence, which he considered to be his most important book, Levinas advances the political slogan of “war against war.” Similarly to his remarks on revolutio n, he asserts that it is incumbent upon us i n the west not merely to concentrate on preventing violence but to confront the problem of violence or non-violence. Lack of opposition to soci al evils is likely to lead to moral degeneration but on the other hand, war against violence is apt to institutionalize violence. “La guerre à la guerre ne perpétue-t-elle pas ce qu’elle est appellée à faire disparaître pour consacrer, dans la bonne conscience, la guerre et ses vertus 20 viriles?” A just war also necessitates permanent vigilance in order to protect moral standards. These issues are of great importance to the war against terrorism, especially in Israel after the second Lebanese war and the Hamas rule in the Gaza strip. Lévinas admitted that he did not pretend to s olve these difficult ethical and political issues by means of his philosophy but regarded it as his moral duty t o call attention to them as a p hilosopher. When asked about the leftist thinkers in South America who were influenced by his philosophy, he responded: “I am very happy and e ven very pro ud when I 21 receive such responses in that group.” It is remarkable that several Marxist thinkers appropriated Lévinas’ id eas in constructing their political philosophy. Lévinas himself ref erred to Marx and to Marxism only on very few occasions and even then with regard to the question whether the messi anic age will put an end to social injustice: All the prophets only prophesied the days of th e Messiah … but they remind us of the strange passages where Marx pred icted the socialist society with all its transformations of human so ciety that refu te anticipation on account of th eir very 22 revolutionary essence.

In his talk with Richard Kearney, Lévinas speak s approvingly of the priority of praxis in Marx’s thought: When I spoke in God and Phil osophy about the necessity of overcoming west ern ontology as an “ethical and prop hetic appeal,” I thought indeed on Marx’s critique of western idealism as a project to unders tand the world instead of changing it [Lévinas alludes to Marx’s 11th thesis on Feuerbach—Z. L.]. In Marx’s critique we encounter an ethical consci ence that transverses the ontological identification of truth with ideal understanding and with the demand that theory will be exchanged by “Does war against war not perp etuate that which it is called to abolish, in order to sanctify, in good conscience, war and its virile v irtues?” Autrement qu’être ou au-délà de l’essence, 1988, pp. 271/2. 21 Entre nous. 1991, p. 130. 22 L’au-delà du verset, 1982, p. 218. 20

136

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT a concrete praxis of care for the other. This revelatory and prophetic outcry explains the extraordinary force of attraction of the Marxist utopia on several generations. Stalinism has obviously abominated Marx ism. The revolt of 1968 in Paris was a 23 revolt of sadness.

Generally speaking, Lévinas did not show much interest in either Marx’s thought or in the thought of contemporary Marxists. The only exc eption was Ernst Bloch but in that case it was mainly Bloch’s c onception of death that 24 appealed to him, and which was close to his own ethical views. On several occasions Lévinas charact erized his politi cal and social ideas as “messianic policy.” The messianic age will assu re that the “I” will respond t o a command that is derived from its inne r self and doe s not react out of any outside coercion. In the socialist society, the other will be accorded the status of the “I;” t hen the “I” will be liberated from self-alienation caused by injustice to the other. This would truly be an altruistic society. The chief aim of Lévinas’ political p hilosophy is to secure justice. A state that does not guarant ee just interp ersonal relations has no ri ght to be trusted by it s citizens and loses all legitimacy. The slogan of individual freedom without being vindicated by j ustice looks suspicious to Lévinas. His main criticism concerns the oppression of the “I” as a subject in the state, not merely by bureaucratic flaws but due to t he deplorable fact that state officials do not respond to citizens as subjects but as objects, as the next in line, as a number. Lévinas tries to defend the self against go vernmental hierarchy because the “I” represents the necessary condition in order to assure responsibility for the other. “T here are tears that the functionary 25 (fonctionnaire ) cannot see: the tears o f the other.” He does not deny th e functions that state and government fulfill in social life, but endeavors to underscore the role of the “I” that has no ethical counterpart. Lévinas does not have a theory of ut opia comparable to that of Ernst Bloch or of Buber, but the idea of utopia plays a role in his philosophy nonetheless. Already in the beginning of Totalité et Infini he speaks of a 26 yearning for an invisible place which we shall never reach. More explicitly, he addresses the notion of utopia in one of the essays in Difficile Liberté and in several other places where he employs the term “non-lieu” which is a literal translation of “u-topia.” He does not deny t hat there is a utopian

Quoted in Richard A. Cohen, Face to Face with Levinas, 1985, p. 33. Bloch’s ideas also attrac ted another Jewish thinker in France, André Neher, wh o was then still at the University of Strasbourg. 25 Transcendence et hauteur, Cahiers de L’Herne, 1991. P. 105 26 Totalité et Infini, op. cit., p. 3. 23 24

Lévinas on State, Revolution and Utopia

137

element in his ethical theory; after a ll, there is no m orality without utopian thinking. He also applies this idea to his view on Marxism: The great force of Marxist philosophy, which starts from economic man, consists in its ability to avoid completely any hypocritical preaching. It bases itself on the sincere intent, on the good will of (preve nting) hunger and thirst. The ideal o f struggle and sacrifice which it proposes, the culture to which it invites us, continue 27 these intentions.

Notwithstanding his personal recoil to participate in political struggles and his critical approach to the student s’ revolt of 1968 , he de monstrated much sympathy for the M arxist idea of solidarity with the oppressed and the exploited—the “pursued.” He also underscored similar thoughts in his ethics of “the other” and in his Jewish writings. The Exodus from Egypt expressed the striving for freedom and compassion for t he enslaved and o ppressed on 28 earth (les da mnés de la t erre). Marxism does not only mean struggle fo r 29 power but “proposes to humanity to dema nd what it is my duty to give it.” Marxism, unlike other poli tical theories does not only fight in order to seize power but in order—at least in princip le—to abolish state power. This was its messianic element. What ultimat ely happened to Marxism is another question. “One of the great disappointments in the history of the 20th century was that this movement gave birth to Stalinism” (ibid.). Lévinas identifies Marx’s explicit priority of praxis over theory (in the 11th Theses on Feuerbach ) with his co ncept of giving priority to the other. He distinguishes between two interre lated tendencies in Marxism—ethics, which is manifested by the relation of the “I” to the other and one’s responsibility towards another and morality, which is manifested by a socialpolitical organization that strives for social justice. According to Marxism, justice and politics cannot be separated ye t all these similar ideas cannot blur the essential difference between Lévinas’ philosophical-religious outlook and Marx’s secular materialist outlook. When Lévinas regards the face of the other he sees God, whereas when Mar x envisions the face of the other, he sees poverty, exploitation, and oppressi on. Lévinas of course sees these things too, and th is is pe rhaps the link between these tw o thinkers whose philosophical outlooks are nonetheless diametrically opposed to each other. Utopia then acquires an important pos ition in Lévi nas’ social thoug ht. He endows it with an original interpretation of his own, namely that utopia is De l’existence à l’existant, 1968, p. 69. A l’heure des nations, 1988, p. 91. The last words are taken fro m the French version of th e “International.” 29 Entre nous, op. cit., p. 130. 27 28

138

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

not a subject matter of knowledge but an encounter with the other person for his or her s ake. This concept leaves no ro om for expressions such as “concrete utopia” or “dialectic utopia” as employed by Bloch but in virtually prophetic language stresses the relatio nal encounter between persons. The main difference between Bloch’s and L évinas’ conceptions of utopia is that Bloch conceives of utopia as immanent, signifying the accomplishment of an incomplete existence (“Noch-Nicht-Sein”), whereas Lévinas con ceives of it as transcendent, symbolizing what is beyond bei ng. According to bot h however, it is human duty to complete what is not yet (“pas encore”). Bloch also adopts the view of the young Marx on the naturalization of man and th e humanization of nature, whereas Lévinas stresses the human dimension which will never become nature and which will always preserve something “beyond being.” Levinas speaks of what he designates as a “permanent revolution.” The “proletarian” or th e “pursued” manifests the rupture between humanity and being, and between ethics an d ontology, which it is incumbent upon us to over come. This is the challenge of my responsibility for the other. The revolut ion that according to Bloch will transform utopia into reality does not suffice. What is needed “is something dif ferent from revolution or more revolutionary than revolution,” namely a “permanent 30 Over and against Bloch revolution” in the Lévinasian sense of the term. who underscores the social-political aspect of utopi a, Lévinas highlights its ethical aspect, that is the willingness of the “I” to act for the welfare of the other. Utopia manifests a “search” (recherche) and an ardent “desire” (désir) for a better l ife that ar e engendered by the unrest of the presen t state o f affairs and the dialectics of modern emancipation. Lévinas endows a new meaning to the messianic idea as yearning for a better world; what is most important to him is the obligation to do everything in order to strive for its realization. Everyone has to act as if he were the Me ssiah … Messianism is not the certainty of the coming of the person who arrests the course of history. It is my capability to take upon me the suffering of all. It is the mo ment when I r ecognize this capability and 31 my universal responsibility.

The aforementioned remarks demonstr ate that despite his challenging metaphysical thought, Lévinas was not a thinker who secluded himself in an ivory tower; rather, he was a committed thinker, un homme engagé, although he did not ca re for the existentialist concept “engagement” as he considered it to be too vague. Sartre, the chief advocate of this concept, was very much 30 31

“Le surlendemain de dialectiques,” Cahiers de nuit surveillee, Numero 3, 1984, p. 324. Difficile Liberté, op. cit., p. 130.

Lévinas on State, Revolution and Utopia

139

engaged in public and political affairs, certainly more so than Lévinas. In this regard, Lévinas’ contribution to the application of ethics to human affairs can be evaluated as rather abstract, which of course does not diminish its importance. It is up to us to draw from it the necessary implications. Against those who tried to present the St ate of Israel as the realization of the messianic idea and as an exceptional state, Lévinas a sserted that messianism is manifested by ethics, by the responsibility and obligation t o help the other: The Zionist idea as I see it now free of al l mysticism, of al l immediate and f alse Messianism, represents a po litical idea which is justified ethically. It is justified ethically as long as it forwards a political solution that puts an end to the arbitrary situation of the Jews and all the blood, spilt without punishment during the centuries the world over. It has to be foun ded on conditions that are not abstract, that means 32 not simply in every place where there is a political unity of Jewish majority.

The sovereignty of the ne w state and its military force should not undermine those ethical duties that the Jews were first to pro nounce in the course of human history. Ethical life is life for the o ther, which includes, not 33 only those who are close to me: “Mes proches sont aussi mes prochains.” That suffices for the establishment of the state but does not justify each and every act of the state. Those who are “ mes proches” ar e not my only 34 “proches.” Lévinas renounced what h e called “ju déocentrisme,” which resembles Lévi-Strauss’ and Derrida’s refutation of “ethnocentrisme. There is an ethical limit to th e state whose establishment had nevertheless represented an ethical nece ssity. To discern this limi t one must 35 identify the boundary between ethics and politics. According to Lévinas’ ethics, human beings ought to encounter each other face to face, while in the state they remain alongside each other . Hermann Cohen already had pointed out a similar distinction between “Mitmensch” and “Nebenmensch.” Unlike Cohen who was hostile to Zionism and Rosenzweig who was indifferent to it, Lévinas was a supporter of Zionism although, like Mordecai Kaplan, the founder of Reconstructionism in America, did not consider it to be the only option for the Jewish people. Still, according to him Israel is and must be of greater concern to a Jew in the Diaspora than Italy or Ireland to an American These words are taken from a colloquium of Les Nouveaux Cahiers 71, 1982/3, pps. 1–8; quoted by Alain Finkielkraut in Cahiers de l’Herne, Paris, 1991, p. 566. 33 Ibid., p. 567. 34 Ibid. 35 “Israel: éthique et pol itique,” p. 4, quoted by Finkielkraut. Lévinas also d iscussed the meaning of the State of Israel in his essay “L’état de César et l’état de David,” Archivo di Filosofia, Rome. 32

140

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

Italian or an Ame rican Irishman. At the same ti me, Lévinas revealed a critical stance by particip ating in a col loquium organized by Shlomo Malka and Alain Finkielkraut in 1982. This event was in response to the massacre in Sabra and Shatila in South Lebanon by the Christian Falanga that was not prevented by the Israeli army. In his remarks at this even t, Levinas emphasized the heavy responsibilit y that each one of us bears for everyone else. Lévinas’ positive attitude to Zionism was derived from an ethical concept that pinpoi nts as its suprem e values humanity and t he People of Israel but not the territ ory of Israel. From this perspective, one must distinguish between Lévinas’ view of Zionism that did n ot entail concepts such as redemption or messianism bu t rather expressed the en deavor to overcome the age-old anomaly of pol itical passivity of Jewish life in the Diaspora. One can also discern a certain difference that can be cha racterized as more critical between his relation to Israel in its first years and his relation to it in later years. Lévinas conceived of the establishment of the State of Israel neither as a fulfillment of a divine promise nor as the mere renewal of normal and independent li fe. Instead, he envisioned it as an opportunit y to reverse the tragic irony within Jewish history namely, of the Jewish people who have been the advocates of the idea of justice without having being able to accomplish it for themselves. The S tate of Israel inaugurated for the first time the opportunity for the Jewish people to establish their own state on the 36 principles of justice. Unfortunately, this idea still seems utopian today.

36

Difficile Liberté, op. cit., p. 305.

CHAPTER 9

Lévinas on Secularization Lévinas prefers le dire (“the saying”), which always presupposes the relation to the other to le dit (“the said”), wh ich transforms the other into an object. Likewise, when he speaks about thin king, he does not limit himself to the “thought” but aspires to reach what he characterizes as “transcendence.” This is a cardinal concept of hi s philosophy. It is not restricted to the religious meaning that God and hi s essence are beyond human comprehension but expresses the sense of “beyond myself.” This is the vocation of ethics, which can be conceived and understood on ly through the secularization of the sacred (or more exactly—its sancti fication). The literal meaning of “transcendence” is “beyond” (trans) and “ascend” (scando), namely the change of place and level, conceived in Lévinas’ ethics as the pass age of the “I” to the other, the substitution of myself for the other. Lévinas’ conception of transcendence takes its point of departure as th e metaphysical tradition of western philosophy in order to raise it to a superior level. Since Aristotle, philosophy has been conceived as the aspiration t o overcome ignorance and its goal has b een—the love of wisdom (philosophia). It has no utilitarian aims since it is not destined to solve problems that people encounter in t heir everyday life and relationships. It is certainly no accident that in ancient Gree ce since the days of Thales, astro nomy was considered to be the most resp ectable science because it required understanding of the mov ement of the celestial bodies without worshippin g them (as in pagan religions). Lévinas tries to show that the repudiation of the idolization of the stars—idolatry—inaug urated by philosophy, was the first step towards seculari zation. It is surprising that he—a Jewish religious thinker—did not mention that according to Jewish monotheism, stars were no longer identified with gods and where one finds one of the first negations of star worship. T hese beliefs refu ted by Judaism and o ther monotheistic religions were grounded i n the assump tion that the stars are entities whose distance from human habitat prevents us from bei ng able t o step on them. Lévinas points out that for the ancients, this distance expresses an elevation that prevents walking. The mythological story of Ik arus is germane to this picture. The recent exp editions into outer space and human moonwalk represent a blow to what had been th e adoration of the celestial bodies. It became evident that the celestial bodies consist of ordinary stones on whic h

142

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

one can certainly walk. Modern though t in the west “passed from admiration to philosophy, from idolatry to astronomy, to rationality and to atheism.” 1 Is the monotheistic belief in the tr anscendence of an invisible God immune from earlier pagan beliefs and idolatro us conceptions? When Lévinas speaks about technology as one of the manifestations of secularization, he expressly underscores that it “destroys pagan gods.” 2 Does this mean that only certain gods “d ied?—The gods of astrology and fate (fatum), and local gods such as thos e in Greece and Rome? From this perspective, “secularizing technique inscribes itself among the advancements of the human spirit, but it is not the e nd.”3 The former transc endence has disappeared but the main process of its secularization has been fulfilled in the sphere of ontology that leaves no place for humans and society. This was also Levinas’ main critique of Heide gger’s philosophy. As a result, Levinas searched for an alternative transcendence that he tried to achieve with ethics. Levinas criticizes the rh etoric of denouncing technology as the origin of all-evil. Although techn ology destroys the “gods o f the earth,” the “godsthings” (“dieux du mon de, dieux-choses”) as part of the process of demythologization (“désensorcellement”),4 it is not exempt from certain forms of mytholog y. This is demonstrated by t he ideology that describes technology as the ultimate goal. Technol ogy can certainly be dangerous. It does not only hurt human personal identity by transforming us into a cog of an immense machine (Ch arlie Chaplin demonstrated this idea specta cularly in his 1930’s Modern Times), but it is now liable to c ause horrific accidents and endanger our planet. 5 This argument is particularly prevalent among the enemies of technology and industrial society, most of whom profess reactionary outlooks. They disregard the positive aspects of technology that contribute to human hap piness and in their worl dview, despair obscures hope. Lévinas avails himself of the li nguistic connection between these two words in French—désespoir and espoir, i.e. despair is the absen ce of hope. 6 He describes the possibi lities that technology opens up in helping to ameliorate numerous aspects of human life. Lévinas does not hesitate to laud technology against nostalgic thinki ng that lon gs for pastoral scenes that Lévinas, Outside the Subject, op. cit., p. 189. Ibid., p. 191 3 Ibid. As we have seen, the French word “fin,” like the English “end,” signifies termination as well as goal. 4 Ibid., p. 193. On the subject of demythologi zation see the chapter where we discuss hermeneutics and demythologization in Buber and Bultmann. 5 The disaster of Chernobyl, which happened after Lévinas had written these lines is a striking warning of such dangers. 6 Viz., e.g., Outside the subject, p. 6. 1 2

Lévinas on Secularization

143

increasingly disappear an d for mount ains and natural landscap es not yet soiled by technology. This does not of course collide with or diminish the necessary efforts to protect our environment and prevent its defilement. Ecology should not clash with technology but ought to supplement it; after all, technology reinforces our relationship to our fellow human beings and modern means of communication ha ve made a major contribution i n this regard. Even Socrates preferred the city to fields, flowers, and trees becaus e there man encounters his fellow man. The trees “teach him nothing.” 7 Lévinas hints at this Plato nic dialogue and adds: “L e judaisme est frère du message socratique.” 8 If the aim of technology is to strengthen human coexistence, it is ironi c that Lévinas was so impressed by Ga garin’s achievement, the first human being who traveled alone in space. His admiration was not limit ed to the audacity and acco mplishment of the operation but rather, st ressed the emancipation for one hour from all terrestrial dimensions. He considered this factor to be the primary consequence of this great technolo gical achievement.9 Levinas believed this freedom from earthly attachment to characterize Judaism by severance fro m any such attachments while at the same time maintaining a permanent relation to human beings, to “the other.” In this respect Judaism d iffers from Christianity, especially Catholicism. Lévinas does not refer especially to hermits, monks and nu ns who seclude themselves in monasteries, cut o ff from other hu man beings but calls attention to the fact that Christian ity continues as it were idol-worship, namely the cult of saints, and in particul ar saints th at were associated with certain places (Assisi, Lourdes etc.). Ancient Greece and Rome worshipped local gods; Christianity worships local saints. It exchanged idols of one kind for idols of another kin d, while Judaism demanded the annihilation of idols altogether. He did n ot mention however that such behavior and views also characterize certain Jewi sh mystical groups whose memb ers visit and worship the graves of saints. The alle ged grave of Maimonides in Tiberias, Rabbi Shime’on Bar Yoch ai on Mt. Meron, the grav e of Rabbi Nachman in Braslav, etc. have become centers of annual pilgrimage. The adoration of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, even after his death, is also a manifestation of this trend within Judaism. It seems ther efore quite dubitable whether the generalizations made by Lévinas can be upheld. At the same time, Lévinas’ Plato, Phaedrus, 230b-d. Difficile Liberté, p. 325. 9 Ibid., p. 326. Lévinas r eferred to this matter again in the seventies in the wake of the human being’s first steps of a on the moon. “Ideology and Idealism,” The Lévinas Reader, op. cit., pp. 240–241. 7 8

144

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

main assertion states that like technol ogy, Judaism has contributed its share to the demystification of the univers e and the demythologization of nature, thereby revealing the human being through the nudity (nudité) of his face.10 Modern technology was according to Lévinas one of the causes of increased secularization in our times and constitutes one of its salient expressions.11 To condemn technology as a surrogate of human life has however become a rhetorical commonplace that does not pay attention to the responsibility which ought to be bestowed on our fellow human beings. Without technology we would not be ab le to feed ourselves. According to Heidegger, one contemplat es the world as a complex of tools, wherea s Lévinas argues that the world represents for us a complex of food (in actu or in potentia). In the same way that it would be incorrect to state that we live in order to eat, it is incorrect to say that we eat in order to live. Although food is necessary for our existence, the ultimate end of eating is the food itself. In the same way we smell the flower in order to enjoy its fragrance, or walk for the very pleasure of walking in fresh air and not for the sake of health (although sometimes this can also be a reason), food characterizes our existence in the world.12 Our relation to food, li ke that to other objects , comprises enjoyment (jouissance). This is not hedo nism but essentially the 13 endeavor to liberate us from vulgar materialism. Without proper a nd sufficient food one cannot live and a fortiori enjoy life. The problem of hunger entertaine d Lévinas on multiple occasions. Already in the first chapter of Totalité et Infini he emphasized its importance. Hunger is the terrible doom of many popul ations and, according to Lévinas, it is also a factor in the in crease of secularism in our contemporary world. This is however a questionable asserti on. We witness today the spread of religious fundamentalism, including in those count ries whose p opulations suffer the most from star vation. This trend is char acteristic of certain rich countries as well. In the U.S.A, e.g., where people do not suffer as much from hunger as compared to other coun tries around the world, one can still discern a growing tendency, especi ally among politically conservative circles, to reinstate religion in pu blic life (for ex ample, the struggles to include prayer in school, the active and sometime violent responses against abortion, etc.). In France, the government combats similar demands such as Difficile Liberté, p. 327. This was written still before th e advent of Islamic fundamentalism whose extreme terrorist groups avail themselves of the achievements of modern technology in the domain of war craft. 12 Lévinas, Le Temps et l’Autre, pp. 45–46. 13 Ibid., p. 46. Compare also with the remarks on bread in Totalité et Infini, op. cit., p. 83. 10 11

Lévinas on Secularization

145

the argument that Muslim girls should be free to wear traditional head covers in school. At the same time, in T urkey, despite its Muslim inspired government, the demand that women students wear the traditional head cover in the universities was denied. He nce, when Lévinas emphasized the signification of food and technology as providing a solution to hunger in the context of discussing the problem of secularization, it seems rather problematic. The technolo gical development of agri culture in t he west has indeed increased significantly the cr op and output of food products, but this does not alleviate the abo ve-mentioned starvation in vast areas of the third situation of world.14 Technology itself cannot put an end to the terrible people and children dying from starvation that we see in various countries of Africa, Asia and So uth America. Th ese countries indeed demonstrate Lévinas’ reflections on the horror of hunger as a dreadful reality . This can only be overcome by a socio-political solution that unfortunately is still very utopian and distant. Lévinas states that to reflect on hu nger ought to be the first task of politicians.15 According to him, hunger amplifies the loss of faith because a person who suffers fro m hunger would cert ainly find it more difficult to believe in a beneficent God. Lévinas also juxtaposes technology and secularization in another problematic way. He argues that technology destroys the belief in “the pagan gods and the ir false and cruel trans cendence. In its wake, certain gods— surprising rather than God—have died.”16 This is a strange and rather assertion. Did pagan beliefs disappear in favor of m onotheistic religions as a result of technological dev elopment? Was it the footstep of the astronaut on the moon, a symbolical expression of human’s enormous cap acities in our time that entailed the disappearance of the ancient worship of the moon? Lévinas characterized the astronaut as a demigod” (“demi-dieu”) as a result of whose audacity at le ast fifty percent of former bel iefs were secularized.17 Why did technical development accord ing to his argument bring about the dissolution of pagan religions but d id not challenge monotheistic religions? This seems unconvi ncing. Secularization has spre ad mainly i n western countries where the monotheistic religions were prevalent and to a much lesser degree, in the countries of the third world where pagan religions (and We cannot dwell her e on the h orrible conditions of the so-called “meat-industr y.” On this topic, see Levy, Ethics, Emotions and Animals (in Hebrew). 15 Au-delà du verset, op. cit., p. 14. Joseph under stood this when he was Pharaoh’s minister and fulfilled an important political assignment by providing a reserve of food for the forthcoming years of drought. 16 Lévinas, L”Herne, op. cit., p. 25. 17 Ibid., p. 28, footnote. 14

146

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

Islam) reigned supreme. Moreover, many beliefs that were characteristic of pagan religions were taken over by the monotheistic religions. They attributed to God many of the same act ivities that were formerly ascribed to the pagan gods. Belief as such was not impaired. The behavior of Honi Hame’agel, the miracle worker in th e Second temple period (1st century C.E), was not essentially different from pagan rituals whose aim is to brin g about rainfall. Does Levinas’ dis tinction between pagan gods and the monotheistic God simply express loyalty to his Jewish faith? On the other hand, he was certainly right when he asserted: “Secularizing technique inscribes itself among the advancements of the human spirit, or more exactly, justifies or d efines the very idea of progress and is indispensabl e to this spirit, even if it is not its end.”18 Technology is not the o nly cause of increased secularization; so is hunger. According to Lévinas’ philosop hy, ethics gets its principal meaning from the other or from the vulnerability of the other; hunger is certainly its most salient manifestation. Concerning the implications of secularism, hunger still represents a more powerful factor than technology. “A starving stomach has no ears… Hunger that no mu sic can quench secularizes all this romantic eternity.”19 Lévinas also devoted much attention to t he subject of hunger and starvation in Dieu, la Mort et le Temps. 20 Marx proclaimed that religion is t he opium of t he people, na mely that it alleviates their pain and helps the exploited and o ppressed to bear their su ffering. Many Marxists, including Lévinas misinterpreted the meaning of Marx’s assertion. Marx strove for a society that did not need dru gs (i.e. religion) to overcome suffering, while Lévinas claimed th at religion is defenseless against suffering. “Privation who se distress consists in d espairing of this very privation.”21 Do people n ot look for a refuge from this despair in th e lap of religion? Lévinas however is adaman t that secularization caused by hunger derives from questions about God and t o God but t hese questions are at the same time the inevitable outcome of existence. Lévinas tried to un derscore that hunger—my hunger as well as the hunger of t he other—refutes the belief in any harmonious t otality because nothing is capable of deceiving the hunger of the other man. 22 This condition Ibid., p. 26. Lévinas once ag ain takes advantage of the twofold meaning of th e word “end” (“fin”). 19 Ibid., pp. 26–27. 20 Dieu, la Mort et le Temps, 1993, pp. 195–197. We will come back to this book in the nex t and last chapter with regard to Lévinas’ conception of death. 21 Ibid., p. 196; L’Herne, op. cit., p. 26. 18

22

Ibid., p. 27.

Lévinas on Secularization

147

elicits my awareness of his hunger and my responsibility tow ards him. Moreover, hunger and starvation as they are reflected in the face of the other demonstrate the vanity of the conatus. When television shows us starving children, it ought to bring to our atte ntion our responsibility to them. The reality though, is that while we are shocked by t hese views, most of us remain indifferent to their misery. This reality t estifies to our st upefaction and our lack of true ethical conviction. What Lévinas says about hunger as one of the factors of secularization in our times prima facie reminds us of Goet he’s assertion that he had lost his belief in God in the wake of the terrible earthquake in Lisbon (which Voltaire also mentioned in Candide) i n order to re fute traditional theodicy (especially of Leibniz). However, thi s analogy is not entirely accur ate. Lévinas explained—out o f his own personal commitment—the sources of increased secularization—technology, hunger—yet he did not abandon his belief in God. All these dreadful phe nomena reinforce on the philosophical plane his inc lination to emphasize Go d’s transcendence. He opposes the characteristic view with regard to the development of religion an d philosophy in the west. W hen religion drew its inspiration from the concept of the One i n neo-platonic philosophy, it absorbed at the same time the rationalism of Greek phil osophy. This Hellenistic heritage was transmitted through the history of European philosophy where it led to t he separation of philosophy from religion in order to establish itself as autonomous thought.23 European philosophy reflects the process of emancipation from Plotinus’ idea of the One in order to achieve self-independence from the neo-platonic tradition of immanence where everything emanates from the One. (In Jewish religious thought this tendency is salient in the teachings of the Kabbalah.) However, western philosophy i nadvertently kept the formal n eo-platonic structures of returning t o the One, whether it is Go d or t he Idea. Modern philosophy—from Descartes until Hegel and even H usserl—preserved this framework in various for ms, namely th e return to absolute thought and t he identity of the identical and the non-identical in self-consciousness, which according to Hegel is in no need of the other.24 This also applied to Husserl’s phenomenological reduction that retur ns to the im manence of subjectivity that externalizes itself.25

“De l’un à al’autre. Transcendence et Temps”, ibid., p. 32. Ibid., p. 33. 25 Ibid., p. 36. Lévinas refers to Husserl’s remark in Krisis der europischen Wissenschaften on “Innenbetrachtung der sich selbst im Aussen ussernden Sub jektivit,” ibid., p. 48, footnote. 23 24

148

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

As against this trend, Lévi nas affirms God’s transcendence, his absolute Otherness. In Levinas’ philosophi cal outlook there is no place for an encounter, or more precisely a relati onship with Go d who is the absolute other. The religious crisis of modernity is a consequence of the impossibility of maintaining a relationship with God and ignoring the existence of all those who remain outside this ( presumed) dialogue that expresses God ’s love for humanity. This reminds us of Rosenzweig’s critique found in the third part of Star of Red emption, of the mystics who only pursue their personal redemption.26 Rosenzweig as well as Lévina s, who drifts between religi on and secularism, refute the position t hat “I have saved my own so ul.” What Rosenzweig defines as the religious concept of “rede mption,” namely responding to God’s love of the human being by tr ansmitting this love to others, Lévinas identifies as the concept of “n on-indifférence” and of responsibility to the other. What distinguishes Lévinas’ conception of God as the absolutely transcendent Other—even if one can speak about Him in third person— illéité—from a secular outlook? Is this not some modern version of Deism? If we cannot think about God or conceive of Him, but o nly deduce His existence from the traces t hat He has le ft and that we interpret as His trace s, what kind of God is this? What Lé vinas affirms about God creates the impression that he intends to speak about God in a manner that would appeal to a postmodern reader. Traditional imag es of God as “king of the world” (Melech ha’Olam), “our father, our ki ng” (Avinu Malkenu), etc. that have characterized Jewish religious langua ge for two thousand y ears, have become obsolete and meaningless for many enlightened persons today. Are these metaphors anything more than ritual forms that convey t he attachment of a modern Jew such as Lévinas to his spiritual heritage? His Talmudic lessons are philosophical hermeneutics without theological implications. He himself elucidates these questions in his essay “Une religion d’adultes” and emphasizes the need of “demythization,” “demythologization,” and “demethaporization.”27 On the other han d, what he states about the t races of the divine th at only o ne who wishes to discern them would in f act discern them suits the enlightened religious thinker. One cannot overlook though the fact that Lévinas’ employment of the concept of transcendence is sometimes ambivalent. It does not only characterize God’s being “beyond” (au-delà) but also signifies Lévinas’ no tion of the relationship to the ot her man (l’autre homme), i.e. who is exterior to me but nonetheless shares with me a common denominator. In his words, 26 27

“In tyrranos” (the motto of the 3rd part), Star of Redemption, 1988, p. 295. Difficile Liberté, op. cit., pp. 24–42.

Lévinas on Secularization

149

I do not want to define anything as God because what I know is the human. God I can define by h uman relations but not the o ther way round… When I hav e to say something about God, it always takes its point of depart from human relations… it is through the ter ms of relation to the Oth er that I speak of God. I do not refus e the term religious but I adop t it in order to d esignate the situation where the subject exists in a state of impossibility to hide himself. I do not depart from the existence of 28 a very great or very powerful being.

What does Lévinas’ philosophical-religious view consist of after all? Is he a theist who employs atheistic language or an atheist who employs theistic language? Lévinas’ concept of “a-theism” (he writes it as “an-archie”—with a hyphen) carries a metaphysical rather than a theological connot ation. He does not deny God but repudiates all that can be derived from the traditional concept of revelation. In this regard, he is perhaps closer to Buber than to Rosenzweig, although he certainly would not accept Buber’s view that one can experience a revelation that is addr essed to one personally. In Lévinas’ language, a-theism d enotes nature an d man—all that is not God. This resembles certain affinities with the Kabbalistic concept of tzimtzum, namely God’s self-contraction th at “creates” room for creation. Lévina s mentions this resemblance although it certainly did no t play any ro le in his philosophical worldview, which was o pposed to an y form of mysticism. According to the view of the K abbalah, God is infinite but vacates ontological space for a separate world th at emanates from Him. Such a view could even be consistent with Lévinas’ denial of totality. This leaves room for a multitude of independent (human) beings that would entail for Lévinas the impossibility of evading one’s res ponsibility to the other. If every human being ought to consider himself/hersel f responsible for all others, which is the foundation of Lévinas’ ethics, such a supreme responsibility is beyond ordinary human capabilities and would require a super-human achievement. Can we interpret Lévinas’ claim as a d eification of the human b eing— homo homini Deus—na mely to demand of us what according to religious tradition only God can accomplish? Lévinas does not think so. “The abstract idea of God is an idea th at cannot elu cidate a human situation. In fact, the contrary is true.”29 The word “God” expresses a religiously lucid concept but represents a philosophically vague co ncept. Lévinas remarks that according to the logic of western thought, revelation comprises elements that inevitably transgress the limits of reason. In modern philosophy this i dea was put forward in the late philosophy of F. W. Schelling in the 19th century—“The philosophy of revelation and mythology.” In modern Jewish philosophy, this 28 29

“Transcendence et hauteir,” L’Herne, op. cit., pp. 70–71. Ibid., p. 71.

150

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

trend of thought was elaborated a fe w decades lat er by Ludwig Steinheim and became best known through Franz Rosenzweig’s Star of Redemption. 30 Both Steinheim’s and Rosenzweig’s noti ons of revelation were inspired by Schelling’s later philosophy and like Sc helling, their notion gave preference to belief over reason. In opposition to them and notwithst anding his admiration of Rosenzweig, Lévinas a sserted that if one aspires to include elements of revelation in a philosoph y that is acceptable to reason, these must be derived from philosophy and not from Go d.31 The notio n of God cannot be certain. It is onl y possible to have a discourse on God th at springs from the existential situation of my res ponsibility to the other. A s he states, “My point of depart is absolutely non-theological. That is very important to me. It is not theology that I do but philosophy.”32 Although Lévinas regarded himself as a religious thinker, the ethical conclusions that he deduces from his philosophy are secular par excellence. The modern indivi dual in the west “aspires to try everyth ing, to 33 experience everything.” His highest aspiration—what Lévinas designates in his Talmudic lecture as “the temptati on of temptation”—is the temptation of knowledge and not temptations of pleasures and enjoyments. “Th e temptation of temptation is philosophy which is the contrary to so-called wisdom that knows everyt hing without experiencing it.”34 It appears from this statement that Levinas identifie s the term “ wisdom”(“sagesse”) with what we would designate as “belief” (“croyance”). Moreover, the French word “experience,” identical to its counterpart in English, blurs the distinction that is expressed in Ge rman by two diffe rent words—“Erleben” and “Erfahrung.” Lévinas highlights the importance of both meanings: On the one hand, experience as Erfahrung, the acquisition of knowledge as it was underscored by Kant, and on the other hand and the most important, experience as Erleben or as an existe ntial sensation as it was understood by Martin Buber. To experience means to be aware of one’s commitment and deliberate choice to restrict oneself in o rder to provide more atten tion to the other. Lévinas creatively illustrates these notions of experi ence by interpreting the rabbinic commentary to the Sinaitic revelation. The sages focused on the biblical verse that the people of Israel “stood at the ne ther part of the mount” (Exodus, 19:17) and understood it in the following way: “This teaches us that 30

Die Offenbarung nach dem Lehrbegriff der Synagoge, 1835–1865. “La temptation de la temptation”, Quatre Lectures Talmudiques, op. cit., p.79. 32 L’Herne, op. cit., p. 71. 33 “La temptation de la temptation”, Quatre Lectures Talmudiques, op. cit., p. 71 34 Ibid., p. 74. 31

Lévinas on Secularization

151

the Holy One hung the mountain over them like a pail and said to them, if you accept the Torah, all right, and if not, here will be your burial-place ” (Tractate Shabbat, 88a). According to this interpretation, the Children of Israel were compelled to accept the T orah and did not assent to it by their own free will. Lévinas expresses his astonishment that the Torah was not embraced by free choice, but as the result of an act of violence. 35 If the Torah preceded independent and free thought or represented its precondition, it follows, rather paradoxically, that eith er obedience or non-obedience to the Torah releases us from responsibilit y. Without thought there is no veritable responsibility. Does this not open an irresistible Pandora’s box of temptations to elude responsibility? O ur responsibility to the other, the notion upon which Lévinas constructs his ethics, i s autonomous and not heteronomous. It is not derived from revelation but from our capacity to reason. Although some scholars of Lévinas’ philosop hy claim that his notion of autonomy is also intertwined with heteronomy that requires introspection, this claim seems unconvincing. Lévinas tried as far as possible to circumvent the concept of revelation and spoke inst ead of épiphanie or of dévoilement, which does not designate heteronomous connotations. If Lévinas criticizes the above-mentioned interpretation of compulsory belief—“the mountain hung over them like a pail”—how can this be compatible with his (arbitrary) assertion that Judaism from its very beginning distinguished itself as it were by tole rance, including religious tolerance? This was certainly not the case. It seems that Lévinas obscures two distinct matters. The Jewish leadership pe rsecuted people less on account of heterodox opinions than on account of non-observance of the religious commandments. 36Lévinas’ assertion therefor e expresses rather wishful thinking. In the Bible, idolatry an d defamation of God’s name were punishable by death (thr ough the thi rd generation). Later Jewish leaders showed extreme intolerance to the Karaites as well as to the Jewish “heretic” Chivi ha-Balchi in Persia. Other exampl es of intole rance include vehemen t polemics against Maimonides’ philosophy in the 12th and 13th centuries, the ban on Sp inoza,37 the fierce struggles between the Lithuanian follo wers of Rabbi Eliyahu Ha’Gaon from Vilna and the Hasidim, and today—the Ibid., p. 82. Ibid., p. 84. 37 This is usually demonstrated by the fact that t he Jewish community of Amsterdam wa s willing to make a co mpromise with Spinoza and even o ffered him a stipend of 200 Guilders if he would behave outwardly as a Jew, visit the synagogue etc. Spinoza refused because that would have clashed with his conscience. On the other hand they sent to him two students from a Yeshivah in order to find out his views on angels. 35 36

152

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

religious coercion exercis ed by the religious establishment in the State of Israel and effectuated b y the secu lar institutions—the Knesset and the government. Such responses put a question mark on Lévinas’ affirmations of tolerance as a characteristic current in Judaism.38 We will now turn to Lévi nas’ views on controversies in the Sta te of Israel. Although Lévinas did not settle in Israel, he was a staunch Zionist and as a result of his frequent visits to th e country, wa s quite familiar with its hotly debated issues. He stressed that since the establishment of the State of Israel, he found deep meaning in its religious significance, but was critical of the intolerance of messianic Zionism that proliferated among the nationalreligious and rightist circles since the 1967 “Six D ay War.” He rejected mystical references to the territories an d expressed his anxiety o ver slogans such as “holy soil” that became fa shionable among nationalist groups and that often encouraged extreme chauvinism. In his Talmudic lectures, Levinas declared that “to argue in favor of Israeli soil can be based only on universal justice and n ot on nationa l justice” that is, not on religious clai ms39 as the latter clash with the true el ements of Judaism. There is an ethical limit to the state whose establishment had been ethically necessary. “A human being is holier than the land, even of the holy land, because against a cri me that i s done to a human being, the holy land r eveals itself in all its nudit y of stones and trees.”40 Notwithstanding his criticism of tr aditional religious behavior and his opposition to compulsion and coercion, Lévinas was a religious Jew who hoped that Israel would be a religious state. “The state will be religious or it will not be at all.” 41 While this asserti on seems prima f acie intolerant, Lévinas gives it a secular twist. In many places in his writings he endows the term “re-ligio,” that is “renewed bond” with a special meaning and employ s it as a synonym of ethics. Hence there is no necessary relationship between religion as conceived by Lévinas and the religious parties in Isr ael and their claims. The chief motive that guarantees what he calls the religious quiddity of the State of Israel, is t he principle of justice that is based on the ancient Hebrew Scriptures. As stated in the preceding chapter, Lévinas regarded the establishment of the Jewish State not as a realizatio n of a divine promise from ancient times (as did most religious Jews), nor as the foundation of an Difficile Liberté, op. cit.: “Religion et to lérance” (pp. 241–244 ), “Liberté de p arole” (pp. 287–290), “Etat d’Israel et religion d’Israel” (pp. 302–308), and other places. 39 Levinas, “Terre promise, terre premise,” QLT, op. cit. 40 From a col loquium in Les Nouveaux Cahiers 71, 1982/3, quoted by Alain Fink elkraut in L’Herne, p. 471. 41 “Etat d’Israel et religion d’Israel”, Difficile Liberté, p. 306. 38

Lévinas on Secularization

153

independent and normal national life (as did the secular Jews), although both views at times overlapped. Rather, he underscored that Zionism provided the opportunity to overturn the tragic history of the Jewish people, who despite being the messengers of the idea of justice co uld not real ize it for themselves. Now for the first time Jews could create a state on the principles of social justice. 42 Retrospectively, this l ooks quite naive and to a certain degree utopian. This view however was the religious meaning of the state as Lévinas conceived of it. “The state will be religious” is equivalent to saying that the state will pursue justice. “Jus tice, justice, shall you pursue!” (Deut., 16:20). This also leads Lévinas to anot her distinction between religious an d non-religious Jews that testifies to his ethical view but seems rather arbitrary and doubtful: Finally one can distinguish b etween religious Jews from thos e who ar e not. The opposition is between those who cherish the State for justice and those who cherish 43 justice in order to assure the subsistence of the State.

Many religious people today belong to t hose who consider the state and its expansion to the “Greater Israel” as the supreme goal. Those who emphasize the role of th e state as a tool to assure justice to all of its inhabitants belong for the most part to the secular sector. According to Lévinas, the distinction that has been and is still characteristic of Jews in the Diaspora, namely that rel igious Jews are mainly those who observe the commandments and keep a r eligious way of life and secular Jews are those that do not do so , no longer holds true in the new era of the State o f Israel. Although he does not repudiat e the religious tradition of Judaism, he nevertheless raises th e question whether “the revolt against (religious) ritualism does not pro ceed from an opposition to its magic residues and does not open the access to its (Judaism’s) authentic 44 quiddity?” He mentions in this context the striving for justice as reflected in the life of the Kibbutzim. 45 Lévinas’ distinction be tween religious and no nreligious Jews—he pr efers the ter m “non-religious” to “secu lar”—now divides according to current definitions both the religious sector in Israel and the secular one. The boundary is between those who regard the state as th e highest goal and those who regard the state as an important and necessary Ibid., p. 305. Ibid., pp. 305/6. 44 Ibid. 45 The essay was written in 1951. The Kibbutz movement has since then under gone many transformations and abandoned many elements of social justice that had characterized it in the past, for the current catchword of “ privatization.” 42 43

154

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

instrument in order t o achieve and serve a hig her goal. T he majority of religious Jews in Israel belong to the fi rst trend while the majority of secular Jews belong to the second one. Lévinas was not one of those who sanctified the tools and forgot the end. With the exception of very few occasions, Lévinas refrained from co mmenting on concrete political issues o f the State vital and of Israel.46 Still, what he wrote more than fifty years ago is still relevant to the complex and tragic political situation of Israel today.

46

e.g. the massacre in Sabra and Shatila in Lebanon.

CHAPTER 10

Lévinas on Death and Hope Akin to other existentialist philos ophers, especially his Jewish predecessor Franz Rosenzweig from whom he drew great inspiration, Lévin as devoted much thought to the topic of death. 1 In the beginnin g of his philosophical career it was ontological ideas that in terested him but later ethical ones overshadowed those and dominated his discourse. The concepts of “death” and “time” manifest the continuity of his philosop hical thought but at th e same time also illustrate his gradual progression from ontology to ethics. Time and death are interrelated in hi s thought as in H eidegger’s philosophy, which had been the primary point of departure for his inquiries into the issue of death. There is indeed a striking similarity between the titles of their works: Sein und Zeit versus Le temps et l’autre o r La mort et le temps. Sometimes it is quite difficult to dist inguish between Lévinas’ p osition and Heidegger’s as presented by Lévinas. In the followi ng discussion, we shall refer mainly to the two books—La mort et le temps, and Dieu, la Mort et le Temps, for t he simple reason that in Lévinas’ other and most important books—Totalité et Infini and Autrement qu’être ou au-delà de l’essence—he is much less concerned with the problem of death. 2 Lévinas is rather suspicious of any attempt to define the quiddity of time because it would then follow that tim e is an “essence” (in the Lévinasian sense of the word, derived from the Latin “esse”—“to be”)—something that flows and can be measured. Neither does he accept the Kantian conception of time as a “pure form of intuition.” 3 He prefers Bergson’s concept of “durée,” which manifests a linear and evolving conception of time wher e each and every moment carries with it the past and begets as it wer e the future. No This was characteristic alr eady of his lectures of 1948 that appear ed under the title Le temps et l’autre. In this chapter we shall deal mostly with Lévinas’ thoughts about death as they were worked out in the two following books, based on his university lectures of 1975/76: La mort et le temps, 1992); and Dieu, la Mort et le Temps, 1993. The secon d book includes the first one; therefore most of the quotations will refer to it. The repetitions that were inevitable in a lecture-ser ies were retained in the books wit hout changes, creating sometimes difficulties for the reader. 2 There is only one small section entitled “La volonté et la mort” devoted to the topic of death. See Totalite et Infini. Essai sur L’exteriorite, op. cit., pp. 258–263. 3 Kant: Von der Zeit, Kritik der reinen Vernunft. Samtliche Werke, op. cit., vol. 3, # 4–7. 1

156

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

moment is ultimate since it incessantl y changes th e past. 4 The questio n therefore is: What is the place of deat h in the duration of time ? Lévinas rejects Heidegger’s view that our very being consists in “being fo r death” or even “running towards death.” On th e contrary, human essence is being against death. What characterizes one’s essence is precisely that which is for him or her “not yet” (“pas encore”). At the same time, Lévinas considers death to be something irreversible which everyone must experience for oneself in due time. “I have to die my death.” 5 It will turn out however that this is virtual ly impossible. Death pr esents a challenge to rational thought. How can I know anything about my death? According to Lévinas, there is no logical inference or analogical deduction from the death of others that can be applied to my death because my fear of death prec edes rational comprehension of death. Death is not predictable. 6 We do not conceive of death as an inevitable logical conclusion of some general determinism but try to combat death with all our might. Here again one discerns traces of Heideggerian ideas. The ultimate st ep towards death occurs in spit e of one’s fight against it. Fear of de ath is not so much the fear of not hingness but the fear of something vi olent, brought about as it were by some other. 7 Unlike Albert Camus for whom suicide was according to his book The myth of Sisyphus the principal th eme of philosophy—suicide was of no particular concern to Lévinas’ philosophy. Earlier, he con sidered death not a philosophical issue but rath er an existential fact. 8 However, he made certain modifications to the idea of death in his later thought. In his Le temps et l’autre (written in the 1 940’s) he di d not define de ath as “nothingness” or “pure nothingness” but stressed its mystery and its solitariness fr om which there is no return. In contr ast, in La mort et le temps and in Dieu, la mort et le temps (written in the 1970’s) the ch ief philosophical issue regarding death is the question of being and nothingness.9 What preoccupies Levinas is the following question: When death arrives, does everything turn int o nothingness or does d eath incarnate into the unknown? He had already put this que stion on his philosophical agenda in Dieu, la mort et le temps, op. cit., p. 66. Dieu, la mort et le temps, op. cit., p. 16. 6 A fixed time fo r the execution of a person condemned to death or a diagnosis with regard to a terminal patient do not refute this fact for people in ordinary circumstances of life. 7 Totalité et Infini, op. cit., p. 262. 8 The book was p ublished in 1942 and exerted considerable influence on French existentialist thinkers in the forties. 9 Without relating it to Sartre’s book. Lévinas pa ys less attention to the problem o f dying that preoccupies many ethicists in connection with euthanasia, dying in dignity etc. (vide supra). 4 5

Lévinas on Death and Hope

157

the short section on death in Totalit é et Infini. Is death a passage to nothingness or to another form of exist ence? Is there an alternative to being and nothingness? 10 Lévinas distinguishes between the death of others and one’s own death. “My relation to my own death puts me before a category which does not fit in with either ter m of that alternative.”11 It is not deduced by analogy fr om the death of others but arises from some quasi-instinctive knowledge of death—from the fear of wh at may happen to my being. Death exposes me to absolute violence where I am left alone to combat invisible , unforeseeable, hostile and evil-minded forces. 12 My loneliness vis-à-vis death does not entail however the aba ndonment of the other who is the apriori principle of human mortality. 13 Lévinas distinguishes between tw o views that appear dogmatic to him: The dogmatism of those who believe in the immortality of the sou l and the do gmatism of those who consider the belief in immortality to be “sweet opium.”14 We acquire our knowledge of death by listening to other people and b y general empirical study but not from personal experience. Michel Montaigne, the first modern French philosopher to devote much thought to death asserted that at the time of death man is alone with himself and no one can experience his death in his stead. In contrast, Lévinas asserts that one cannot conceive of one’s death but can experience the death of others. The death of others becomes some kind of substitute for conceiving of one’s own death. One cannot and does not know when death w ill occur and what will happen at that moment. Will it be nothingness or a new beginning? “I do not know.” 15 The linguistic dimension also fulfills an important role in this regard–the conventional metaphorical, poetic, and religious utterances on death; but our main acquaintance with death derives from observing the behavior of dying people who are either aware of their impending death or try to ignore it. It seems however that Lévin as blurs the distinction between death and dying. He also declares, almost paradoxically, that the neg ative aspect of death—

Totalité et Infini, op. cit., p. 258. Ibid., p. 259 12 Ibid., pp. 259/260 13 Dieu, la mort et le temps, op. cit., p. 17; Totalité et Infini, op. cit., p. 258. 14 This is, of cour se, a paraphrase of Marx’s fa mous statement that “religion is the opium of the people,” which was most oft en misinterpreted by others as well as by Lévinas. Marx did not say th at religion is some diabolical pl ot of the ruling class; what he had in mind was that it alleviates, as it were, the unbearable suffering of the proletariat, resulting from the inhuman conditions of exploitation (vide supra). 15 Totalité et Infini, op. cit., p. 261. One can once again note here traces of Heidegger’s thinking. 10 11

158

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

death as nothingness—is manifested by the intent of murder. 16 Murderers want to anni hilate their victims, to turn them into nothingness but n ot to transfer them into “another world.” Lé vinas rejects the conception of death as nothingness. Death is not “anéantissement” b ut posits a necessary question—understanding human view of infinity that is a cardinal concept of Lévinas’ philosophy. Death also puts an end t o what is another essential element of his philosophy, that is the capability to answer and respond. “La mort est le sansréponse” looks prima facie as nothing ness. Lévinas takes advantage of th e French word “décès” whi ch hints at “ voyage,” “sailing away,” in order to support his assumption that the soul of the deceased departs for an unknown destination from which there is no retur n. 17 This interpretation would impl y that death is not the ultimate stage o f being; but this certainly does not diminish the woe of grief-stricken relatives and friends left behind. Notwithstanding Lévinas’ affinity to Heidegger, there is a su bstantial difference in their approach to death. For Heidegger, death is an ontological category par excellence, one of the most pivotal elements of his philosophy. He is in no need of experience in order to conceive of it. For Lévinas, death is not such a certainty but a consequence of experiencing the death of others. It leaves open the question—to say it crudely—what will come to pass because we cannot deduc e that from experience. Death and experience of death are not the same. What marks human death, i.e. human transformation from being alive to becoming dead is , to employ religious language—“the departure of the soul.” From its ve ry beginnings, philosophy engaged in numerous attempts to define the quidd ity of the s oul. Socrates, Aristotle, Descartes, Spinoza, Leibniz, Mende lssohn and many others tackled this question.18 According to Lévinas, the face of a person reveals the soul; this is one of the principal notions of his philosophy. The face marks the proximity of the other; it expr esses first of all his nakedness (nudité), his vul nerability. It reminds one not onl y of God but also of the on going confrontation with death, of mortality, of the other, and of oneself—of every human being. 19 When death occurs, the face loses all expression and becomes a mask. The soul ceases its activity and does not respond any more. “L a mort est Dieu, la mort et le temps, ibid. By the way, can one speak of any “positive” aspect of death? Ibid., p. 18. 18 Viz., among others: Fred Ablondi: “Death according to Descartes: Why the soul leaves the body,” Iyyun, vol. 44, January 1995, pp. 47–53. 19 E. Lévinas: “De l’Un a l’Autre, Transcendence et Temps”, Cahier de L’Herne, op. cit., pp. 40/41. 16 17

Lévinas on Death and Hope

159

immobilisation de la mobilite du visage.” 20 Lévinas describes the state-ofaffairs that b iology and medicine defi ne in their ph ysiological language as “brain death” or “clinical death.” 21 Is somebody who is kept alive artificially and whose organs, except the brain, therefore still function, a living or a dead person? As we have seen, this has obviously far-reaching implications with regard to autopsies, transplantations , etc. The face of such a person has become expressionless; the soul is no longer reflected in it. Lévinas does not give a clear-cut answer because what matters for him is that death is no mere empirical facticity.22 His philosophy teaches us that the face of the other is a reminder of one’s responsibilities towards the other. The face turns towards me. (In Hebrew “face” and “to turn” are derived from t he same etymological root.) The fac e of the other entails the moral impossibility to annihilate him. 23 Why then are killing and murder—th e “negative” aspect of death—such frequent phenomena in our world? Lévinas does not investi gate this social-political aspect because he is mor e interested in what happens when the face is no longer capable of turning towards us . One’s responsibility for the other obviously continues but the expressionless face arouses in us feeling of guil t for having survived.24 The traditional religious concept of immortality asserts that after a person’s death all that remains of him or her is the soul, i.e. a spiritual element beli eved to be immortal. However, the no tion of the immortality of the soul does not i nterest Levinas. According t o him, the immobility of the face—the “soul’s mirror”—implies that what remains after death, a fortiori after brain death, is th e body. “From dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return” (Genesis 3:19). 25 These questions mainly concern the d eath of the other; what about one’s own death? One’s own death is after all the cardinal philosophicalexistentialist issue. The view of my death is reflected by anxiety (angoisse) expressed in Heidegger’s concept of Angst. Pace Spinoza, life is defined by the conatus—the desire to perpetuate one’s existence. Death p uts an end to the conatus, which is what creates our anxiety.

Dieu, la mort et le temps, op. cit., p. 22. Was he aware of this definition? Did he accept it? 22 Ibid., p. 23. 23 “Visage et Ethique”, Totalité et Infini, op. cit., pp. 215–220. 24 Dieu, la mort et le temps, op. cit., pp. 26/27. 25 The bib lical references to de ath do not hint at any spiritua l survival. The belief in the immortality of the soul penetrated Jewish thought only after the Babylonian exile. 20 21

160

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT The conatus with which each thing endeavors to persist in its own being is nothing 26 but the actual essence of the thing itself. 27

The conatus does not involve finite time, but indefinite time.

A free man thinks of death least of all things; his wisdom is a meditation of life, not 28 of death.

Lévinas takes an intermediary position on death located between Spinoza and Heidegger. On the one hand, he c onceives of human existen ce as being against death, an idea that brings him close to Spinoza. Unlike Spinoza, he does not ignore the an xiety of death that sh ows the influence of existentialism in general and Heidegger in particular on his think ing. After all in our century, havi ng witnessed n umerous atrocities, can one still “not think about death?” Anxiety elucidates the difference between my view towards the death of oth ers and towards my own death. My relation to another person’s death is emotional; it c oncerns the death of a fellow being , of a friend. The relation to my own death however do es not spring from any personal experience, not even from any prescience or presentiment. A person cannot be really present at his/her ow n death. Lévinas quotes Epicurus: “If you are here, death is not here; if death is here, you are not here.”29 This is a matter of non-knowledge but it does not imply any lack of relation to death. It is a relatio n to infi nity but since I cannot have any positi ve knowledge about it, the question remains open whet her death is the ultimate end or not. It is a question that belongs to “what is beyond being” (“au delà de l’être”). 30 It follows that death can never be a present moment. Our relation to death is a relation to the future. The now according to Lévinas consists in the fact that I am master of the possible but when death takes place I shall be no more, not because I shall t urn into nothingness but because I shall no longer be capable of seizing the possible. 31 There is also a significant distinction between suffering and de ath in this respect. Although suffering is often the preliminary stage of death, it calls atte ntion to the existence of the suffering person. Only one who exists can suffe r and feel pain. Moreover, one who suffers mental pain is still able to keep one’s dignity. One is still master of the possible. Intolerable physical suffering, although not yet severed fro m Baruch Spinoza: The Ethics, III, prop. 7. Ibid., prop. 8. 28 Ibid., IV, prop. 67. These abo ve quotations ar e from Samuel Shirley’s translation: The Ethics and selected letters, op. cit., pp. 109, 110, 193. 29 Dieu, la mort et le temps, op. cit., p. 28. 30 Ibid., p. 30. 31 Lévinas: Le Temps et l’Autre, op. cit., p. 59. 26 27

Lévinas on Death and Hope

161

existence, transfers the suffering person into a passive state whe re apathy prevails. His possibilities are extremely limited or even nil. When death announces its coming by severe suffering, physical or mental, it causes the subject who had been an active person until then to surrender to passivity. As long as the subject is a knowledgeable being s/he remains active. With death approaching, non-knowledge of the expected grows and at the same time th e possibility of being capable is gra dually extinguished. A moment arrives when we are no more capable of being capabl e (“ne pouv ons plus pouvoir”).32 The subject ceases to be a subject. Whereas Heidegger described death as the possibility of impossi bility, Lévinas inverts this formula and concei ves of deat h as the i mpossibility of possibility. Contrary to Heidegger who regarded death as the ultimate possibility of human existence (Dasei n), Lévinas conceives of it as the absolute limit of a person’ s capability. 33 As shown in the previous chapters with regard to terminal patients, propos als of euthanasia and a person’s right to die in dignity attempt to avoid this dreadful situation. The exact momen t of death is unpredictable except in cas es of certain terminal patients. It can occur at any moment but it can also be deferred. Death therefore presents a menace for me as well as for the othe r and exhibits the inevitable mortality of the other and myself. Yet there still r emains one possibility to overcome death—creating a new life whereby the newborn child represents continuity. In Lévinas’ philosophy, death, like Go d is completely the other whose “existence” consists in its total otherness. 34 Death disrupts the relation to t he ego. The absolute otherness of death th ough is obviously different from the absolute otherness of God as conceive d by Lévinas. God is infinity while death is the ultimate end and at the same time also a mystery, an enigma. His conception of death contradicts the reli gious belief in immortality . Death is an event outside the subject’s control—it turns the subject into a non-subject. Death is not conceived as nothingness because it in dicates the unknown par excellence from whence no one has ever returned. For this reason Lévinas preferred to designate it as a “mystery. ” 35 Fear of de ath characterizes our will to continue an existence with wh ich we are acquainted and eschew an existence about which we know n othing. Contrary to Kant who asserted that “existence” is not a predicate, Lévinas asserts, “The essential attribute of

Ibid., p. 62. See, for example, the above-mentioned section in Totalité et Infini, op. cit., pp. 258–263. 34 Le Temps et l’Autre, op. cit., p. 63. 35 Ibid., pp. 56/57. 32 33

162

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

man consists in his being in a certain mode.” 36 He conceives of this however differently than Heidegger from w hom he b orrowed this term. An unbridgeable chasm sep arates the pres ent from death and the ego from the absolute otherness of the mystery. Lévinas treats the problem of death ma inly in its relation to the pr oblem of time. He mentions the customary image that describes death as being t he end (in the twofold sense of the word) of the duration of the perpetual flux of time. 37 This means consid ering death a s the ultimate destruction of bein g. Levinas however rejects this conception by citing a critique of Heidegger. Heidegger did not exhibit any special interest in the significance of human existence as such because he considered man to be no more than a mode of being. It was ontology tha t determined his treatment of death; the place that he accorded to the death of human beings was subordinate d to it. The problem of being (Sein) reveals itself as human existence (Dasein). Dasein however, being here and now is not co mplete—it lacks something. This something is what man can be and what he can become. Th is lack of something accompanies Dasein all the way until it reaches i ts ultimate solution, i.e., in death. Only in its relation to death Dasein b ecomes a complete totality.38 This is the origin of anxiety (Angst) that is ex tempore anxiety of something, anxiety towards something, an xiety from nothingness and anxiety for myself.39 Thus Lévinas disagrees with Kant’s assertion tha t existence is not a predic ate but at the same time he also dis agrees with Heidegger’s version that human existen ce is merely a mode of being. There is still one more aspect to be called atte ntion to, that is, that the death of a human being is not identical with the destruction of anything else, animate or inanimate, because human death is us ually conceived as décès, a journey without return. Fritz Mauthner, th e well-known ph ilosopher of language, wrote at the beginning of the 20th century: “Humans die, animals perish, plants wither.”40 One encounters similar ideas in Derrida’s Aporias that may have influenced Lévinas: Let us consider, for example, this negative sentence: ‘death has no border.’ Or else, let us consider one of these aff irmations, which all imply so mething completely Dieu, la mort et le temps, op. cit., p. 34. Lévin as bases his argument on the linguistic fact that in French “essence,” “being” and “to be” are expressed by one and the same word— “être.” 37 Ibid., p. 43. As shown above, the French word “fin,” like the English “end,” is equivocal and means “finish” as well as “aim.” 38 Ibid., p. 45. 39 Ibid., p. 46. 40 Fritz Mauthner, Worterbuch der Philosophie, Vol. II, p. 471 36

Lévinas on Death and Hope

163

different: ‘death is a bord er;’ according to an almost universal figure, death is presented as the crossing of a b order, a voyage between the her e and the beyon d, with or without a ferryman, with or wit hout a barge, with or without elevation, toward this or that place beyon d the grav e. Here, now, is an interrogation: ‘C an death be reduced to some line crossing, to a departure, to a separation, to a step, and therefore to a decease?’ And, finally, he re is a proposition that could be called intero-denegative: Is not dea th, like de cease, the crossing of a border, that is, a trespassing on death [un trépas], an overste pping of a transgression (transire, “sic 41 transit”, etc.)? With h is usual linguistic fir eworks, Derrida emphasizes th e similarity between the Eng lish word “trespass” and its French parallel “trépas” which means “ dying.” He asks: What, then is to cross the ultimate border? What is to pass the term of one’s life? Is it possible? Who has ever done it and who can 42 testify to it?

This is as it were a crossing that is no longer a form of crossing, a passage that is no more a passage. Lévinas usually employs the term “passer” with regard to a past that has never be come a present that has always already passed away. This indeed fits the etymological root of the word in French, in English, as well as in Hebrew. In c ontrast, Derrida employs the term “to pass” with regard to the future that on account of its non-knowl edgeability will never become a present. The simi larity between the two arguments is startling. From the impossibility of knowing in the present what a person will go through after death, Lévinas infers some unexpected important optimistic conclusions of presentiment, i.e. the anticipation of a future state that has not yet arrived in the present. This is th e meaning o f utopia t hat Lévinas envisions by drawing inspiration from Ernst Bloch’s reflections on death. Meditation on death lead s him to med itation on li fe or more exactly, to reflection on striving for a better life. Human responsibility for the other—th e crown of Lévinas’ philosophy , also includes responsibilit y for t he other’s death. “I am responsible for the other because he is mortal.” 43 I have to answer for the death of the other.44 Death symbolizes the abandonment of th e other to absolute aloneness, and reminds us o f the biblical commandm ent “Thou shalt not murder.” Not to stay indifferent to the other’s death, not to let her die in solitariness—this is the responsibility incumbent upon me at th e other’s death or more exactly at the moment of her dyi ng, so that I shall not become inadv ertently an accomplice of her death. 45 This is a respo nsibility for something that has not Jacques Derrida, Aporias, p. 6 Ibid., p. 8. 43 Dieu, la mort et le temps, op. cit., p. 54. 44 “De l’Un a l’Autre”, L’Herne, op. cit., p. 91. 45 Ibid., p. 93. 41 42

164

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

occurred through any fault of mine and that is or was out of my control. It also implies an obligation not to leave a person alone when she faces death.46 Under Heidegger’s influence, Lévinas elaborates the idea of responsibility for the other with the a ssumption that their mortality includes my mortality as well. According to Heidegger, one can sacrifice oneself for the other, to face de ath in his/her stead (“für eine n Anderen in den Tod gehen”) but I cannot take upon myself his or her dying (“dem Anderen sein Sterben abnehmen”). 47 The ontology of death concerns me alone. Moreover, according to Heidegger, for Dasein death entails the comprehension that every moment of being brings one closer to death. Dasein is “being fo r death;” death however does not mean that Dasein has reached its end but rather that it is a mode of being-for-the-end. Everything that happens in the course of Dasein is approaching its e nd. The end is unavoidable. “Death is the possibility of the radical impossibility of being there.”48 It is an inevitable consequence of t he structure of D asein. “An immortal person is a contradictio in adjecto.” 49 The totality of human existence is th erefore incarnate in a perso n’s life from birth to death. Each and every moment occurs in time to which only death puts an end. The d uration of h uman life is finite. Dasein is not o nly being for being but also being for death as well. 50 “To be for death” reminds me that there will come a day when I shall not be here an ymore but according to Heidegger, everyone tries to circumvent this second meaning of Dasein, mostly by employing the linguis tic forms of “man” in German or “on” in Fre nch that ha ve no co unterpart in E nglish. “Man stirbt” acknowledges dying but at the same time creates the illusion that this does not refer to me. The use of this linguistic form conceals as it were the fear of death. Lévinas rightly retorts though that the very attempt to evade thinking about death recognizes inadvertently again that death waits for me as well. Death is prima facie co ntrary to w hat preoccupies phenomenolog y because when it occurs t here are no more phenomena; nothing appears anymore. Death thereby embraces a paradox: “Death is the phenomenon of the end and the end of the phenomenon as well.” 51 The phil osophical problem that seems to be a contradiction is the mort ality of life. Death can Ibid., p. 82. M. Heidegger: Sein und Zeit, 1996, # 47; see also Dieu, la mort et le temps, op. cit., p. 50. 48 Dieu, la mort et le temps, op. cit., p. 56. 49 Ibid. 50 103 Ibid., p. 58. It is difficult to render in English what Lévinas formulates as “avoir-à-être and “avoir-à-mourir”. 46 47

51

Ibid., p. 61.

Lévinas on Death and Hope

165

take place at any moment but “when” remains undetermined. This brings to mind Bergson’s concept of “durée” t hat is oppos ed to the concept of nothingness. He conceived of death as a decrease of energy, as e ntropy that cannot be considered as nothingness. Heidegger on the other hand believes it is possible to grasp nothin gness though not by reason but through anxiety. 52 Heidegger’s being for death is simply being—being that always comprises some “not yet.” Lévinas challenges it by stating, “If humanity is not exhausted by serving being, does my responsibility for the other not arise behind the question: what is it to be?” 53 Against Heidegger’s view he posit s Kant’s concept of hope, referring to his three famous questions: “What can I know? What should I do? What may I hope for?” 54 Kant’s epistemology is a rationalist philosophy of finitude, but at the same time it leaves room for an a pri ori rational hope. This notion of hope is not meant to satisfy some kind of wish for immortality as several of Kant’s interpreters tried to infer from the fa mous sentence in the preface to the 2nd edition of Cr itique of Pur e Reason: “I ch musste al so das Wissen aufheben, um zum Glauben Platz zu bekommen.” 55 Both hope and belief are in Kant’ s philosophy rationally motivated. Hope endows a new meaning to finite and infinite time but it does not refute nothingness or t he unknowledgeable in death. Kant did not negate nothingness and death bu t asserted, though as a postulate only, immortality to be the subject of hope. His rational concept of hope bears a completely different connot ation than the customary one that signifies expectation in time. Ther efore Kant’s ethics has no ne ed for any “beyond” (“au delà”) since it is b ased on moral freedom of actio n independent of any divinity. Our mo ral obligations stem from our i nner nature; moral law is deeply entren ched in hum an nature. God is not necessary in order to act morally. Beli ef in God is useful only when, beyond the moral act, one yearns for happiness. 56 Whoever leads a mor al life may hope that in his/her life or “after life” God will bestow on him/her the happiness that s/he deserv es. These ar e no cognitive assertions because on the contrary, hope contr adicts knowledge, notwithstanding its rational character. Let us formulate this in another way: Kant’s tran scendental ideas—God, immortality, freedom (the last one is irrelevant to our present inquiry)—are derived fro m reason althoug h only as postulates, whereas happiness is the subject matter of hope. Ibid., p. 81. Ibid., p. 70. 54 Kritik der reinen Vernunft, op. cit., p. 396; Dieu, la mort et le tempts, op. cit. p. 71. 55 Kritik, op. cit. p. 24. 56 Dieu, la mort et le tempts, op. cit. p. 79. 52 53

166

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

The main point that Lévinas tries to emphasize in this regard is that hope is in no way an expectati on for some thing that must come. Ex pectation belongs to knowledge while rational hope is not anchored in knowledge. It is neither derived from prescience nor is it a desire for survival. Hope is also no mere subjective nostalgia (if it is at all possible to speak of nostalgia in the future tense as Lévinas does). Hope is more than being. It is notewor thy that while Lévinas’ notion of hope is different from common views on hope in contemporary philosophy such as Ernst Bloch’s, it is at the same time inspired by it. In Bloch’s philosophy, hope is the central feature. 57 He identified hope with expectation but not in a passive mode. It is hope for a better life in thi s world, reminding one of modern interpretations of the messianic idea that are criti cal of waiting for the Messiah p assively as it were, with folded hands. Bloch was aw are of the affinity between his view and messianism and in fact menti oned it on various occasions. We shall consider certain similarities between Bloch’s views and Lévinas’ philosophy. The latter replaces the amorphous religi ous concept of redemption that plays an important role in Franz Rosenzwe ig’s Star of Redemption (and that nevertheless exerted an important influence on Lévinas’ thought as he asserts at the beginning of Totalité et Infini) with some kind of “prophetic” or “messianic eschatology”—eschatology of peace 58—that refers explicitly to the miserable existential existence of the “oppressed” and the “persecuted” in present-day society. Both Rosenzweig and Lévinas however secularized their concepts of redemption and eschatology and conceived of them as acts and duties incumbent up on human beings alone. Hop e for a better world i s related to thi s concept of utopia in its original nominal sense namely, that which is not (yet) in any place—u-topia—can and ought to be realized in the future. That is “the princip le of hope” (and the title of Bloch’s monumental magnum opus). The concept of nothi ngness of which Bloch speaks belongs to logic an d not to ontology. It means “not yet.” T his indeed a ppealed to Lévinas very much. Nothingness though in the strict sense of Heidegger’s as well as Lévinas’ philosophy has no place in Bloch’s philosophy. 59 Let us now return to the issue of death, namely the problem of nothingness in its ontolo gical sense. No thingness represents an unexpected challenge, a kind of scandal for western thought. Since Aristotle, philosophy recognized the coming into being, tran sformation and vanishin g of things. Ernst Bloch: Das Prinzip Hoffnung, op. cit., 1959. Totalité et Infini, op. cit., “Préface”, especially p. 9, and later in almost all his philosophical and Jewish writings. 59 Ernst Bloch: “Logikum/Zur Onto logie des Noch-Nicht-Seins”, Tuebinger Einleitung in die Philosophie, 1970, pp. 210–376. 57 58

Lévinas on Death and Hope

167

Herder and Hegel (and in their wake Nachman Krochmal, the most important Jewish philosopher in the f irst half of the 19th century) even formulated this state-of-affairs as an organic paradigm of their histo riosophical view of the growing, flowering and withering away of nations .60 Philosophers always tend to assume that some ele ment survives and merely un dergoes an alteration of form. Death as refl ected by the face of the other is not a transition from one essence to another but a passing away. In E nglish and French, one speaks of the decea sed as “having pa ssed away.” As stated earlier, language expresses spontaneou sly the trend in western thoug ht to avoid direct speech about death. Yet the nothi ngness of death t hat Lévinas addresses has little in common with Aristotle’s or Hegel’s concepts of nothingness. According to them, being derives logically from n othingness but according to Lévinas, being becomes nothingness. “Death is t he end of what makes the thinkable thinkable, and therefore it is unthinkable .”61 Death that brings about fear and anxiety has no place in the logic of being and nothingness. Lévinas is nonetheless attentive to Hege l’s conception of death and ponders the attitude towards the dead in the Phenomenology of Mind. 62 He emphasizes the significance allotted by Hegel to death as a family event and to funerals and burials as ceremonies that signify the survival of the dead in the memory of the living who accompany them on their final path. In analyzing Aristotle’s, Hegel’s, and Heidegger’s conceptions of death, Lévinas concludes that on e ought to a bandon all th ese views of death that conceive of it as a compo nent of ontology, i.e. death as nothingn ess and its ensuing anxiety. In other words, one should discard the reduction of being to being-for death. Instead, o ne ought to adopt a phil osophy that is guided b y social (and/or religious) motivation, a philosoph y in which the world that surrounds us is inextricably linked to our lives. He illustrates this view by referring to Bloch’s philosophy. What lies at the bottom of the revolutionary outlook of this exceptional non-d ogmatic Marxist philosoph er is the resentment of human poverty and misery. What is it that stirred up Bloch and others like him, beginnin g with Marx himself, most of whom came from well-to-do bourgeois families, to become advocates of socialism? The sights of poverty, exploitation a nd alienation in his surro undings as well as the oppression of his fellow-beings, prov oked Bloch to elaborate an ethical outlook that completed the ontological components of his philos ophy. In an imperfect world, ethics and ontology are opposed to each other but when the Marx also speaks about the “withering away” of the state. Dieu, la mort et le temps, op. cit., p. 107. 62 Ibid., pp. 93–103. Hegel dealt with death on several occasions in Phenomenology of Mind. One relevant passage is: G.W.F. Hegel: Phenomenologie des Geistes, 1952, pp. 321/3. 60 61

168

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

world becomes perfect they would be in agreement so that it would be impossible to know which comes first. Undoubtedly, Lévinas searches here for a motive, parallel to his own view of one’s responsibility for the other. According to his interpretation, such congruence between ontology and ethics already exists in the world that is not yet perfect. Being and the world on the one hand and humanity on the other are inseparable. Revolutio nary action and the sear ch for truth become in tertwined. This is in Lévinas’ view the uniquely Marxist con tribution to philosophy. Its focus is h ope whose place of birth is time. Time co mprises nothingness as a component that signifies that which is not yet. Lévinas identifies several characteristics that are relevant to his concept of death: Identity of human death and nothingness (death as a moment of becoming); Identity of philosophy and ontology (being as the privileged place of rati onal thought); Identity of being and world; Identity of Man and Dasein (comprehension of man deriving from the world; comprehension of death as being no more in the world); I dentity of death and my death from which my responsibility for the death of the other is derived; Identity of emoti on by which re lation to death is established, and anxiety brought about by the blow to my desire to be; Identity of original time and being-for-death; time and finit ude; Identity of finitude and human perfection.63 Similar to ot her religious and soci al philosophies, Bloch’s philosophy undermines these identities even when i t keeps up the identification between philosophy and ontology. In Bloch’s version of Marxism, being and the world have meaning and reason only when they ar e subjected to the idea of human liberation, freedom, and happiness. Bloch’s ontology is distinguished by its ethical structure, which fascinated Lévinas who at that time made the decisive step in his philosophy from ontology to ethics. This applies or so he believes to the comprehension of death. In other words, death should not be reduced to pure negation of being. According to Heidegger, “not yet” reflects time and Dasein that onl y death will complete. In contrast, Bloch conceives of death as that which has not yet arrived. Obviously the world is also not yet complete (in the twofold sense of “finished” and “perfect”); in this sense, being can be und erstood as “not yet.” This “not yet” though ma kes it incumbent upon us to strive for and to create what has not yet been achieved. The end (again in th e twofold sense) is uto pia, the realization of which is made possible by th e ongoing hope that is an inseparable part of hu man history. It embodies anticipation, that is, it imagines the world as if it were perfect. What hope imagines 63

Dieu, la mort et le temps, op. cit., p. 113.

Lévinas on Death and Hope

169

however will not come about by necess ity (the so-called “iro n laws” of history so dear to historic ists and to c rude Marxists), a fortiori not come about by itself. Hope ther efore is the source of uto pia as that which has not yet been realized but can be eventually realized. The idea of utopia is a guide to action. The time that utopia envision s is not the time that one thinks of in the context of death as the end. In Bloch’s med itations on ti me utopia replaces death. 64 When Lévinas treats the relationship b etween time and death, he keeps his distance from Heidegger’s asserti on that human existence is being-fordeath and instead employs the same words on which Bloch had grounded his conception of utopia: “not yet.” Bloch speaks about “Noch-Nicht-Sein” as a social reality that can be realized although it does not yet exist, while Lévinas speaks about “pas encore” in order to indicate that death does not yet represent a menace to life. Although ultimately death is imminent, life constitutes a mode of being in spite of death, against death, and never beingfor-death or running-towards-death. Lévinas elucidates that “according t o Bloch it is not death that inaugurates the authentic future but, on the contrary, the authentic future must comprise death.” 65 Bloch interprets the anxiety of death as the f right to die without having been able to accomplish o ne’s task, without having exhausted the potentialitie s of one’s being. An imperfect world gives birth to feelings of our imperfection.66 The sensation of having actualized one’s intrinsic creative potential, of having lived a life worthy of being lived therefore expels the sting of death and the fear of death. Lévinas infers one more conclu sion here th at is an outcome of the focal presupposition of his philosophy–the relation to the other and his/her priority over me. The fear of death is not merely aroused by the fear of my death alone but also by the death of my belo ved. To state it poetically, “love is strong as death” (Song of Songs 8:6). The death of the other, a fortiori the death of my beloved affec ts me more than my deat h. The face o f the other whom I love more than my own be ing impassions me “to death.” “We encounter death through the face of the other.”67 According to Levinas, time has to be comprehended, meditated, and described independently of death but death must be compreh ended as a function of time to which old age leads. It is not the end of time however. To think on the meaning of death is not to render it inoffensive nor to justify it nor to pr omise eternal life, but to try to point out t he sense that it confers Ibid., p. 115. Ibid. 66 Ibid., p. 116 67 Ibid., p. 122; see also above. 64 65

170

LÉVINAS, POLITICS, AND CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT

upon the human adventure that is the essence of being or the beyond of essence.68 Lévinas employs in the original French text the neologism “essance” (instead of “essence”) which he already mentions at the beginning of the book. There he explained in a fo otnote that this form was intended t o designate the verbal form of être that Heidegger expressed by Sein as against Seiendes.69 These two concepts appeared for the first time in Schelling’s later philosophy and then in Rosenzweig’s Star of Redemption. Perhaps Lévinas adopts this intentionally faulty spelling under the influence of Derrida’s famous neologism—différance that aroused numer ous responses among philosophers and literary critics in France at that time. It is however doubtful whether the context needs this pun. In Otherwise than Being or Beyond Essence, which also appeared a year before these lectures, he remarked in a “preliminary note” that the word “ess ence” was meant to fulfill the same function but that he did not dare to write “essance” although it s spelling would have been very appropriate in that context because the suffix “ance ” designates abstract verbal substantives.70 His decision in favor of “essence” as a verbal substantive was probably al so influenced by its kin ship to the Latin word “esse.” Lévinas formulated this distinction between “essence” (or “essance”) as Sein and être as Seiendes in his other book s with th e distinction between être and ètant. Th is also made it possible for him to evade the u se of “ essence” which in general si gnifies “quiddity.” He preferred these last t wo concepts to “exister “ (“exi stence”) and “existant” because they were accord ing to him more pleasant to the ear. 71 In sum , Levinas considers death to be something that does not belong to the world of beings, something t hat is forever transcendental because as nothingness— nothingness of knowledge—it negates the world. It comprises absurdity but precisely on account of this apparent absurdity it enables us to assume responsibility of the ot her, that is, responsibility of one mortal being for another mortal being.72

Ibid., p. 130. Ibid., p. 16. 70 Levinas, Autrement qu’etre ou au-dela de l’essence, 1974, p. ix. 71 Le temps et l’autre, op. cit., p. 24. 72 Dieu, la mort et le temps, op. cit., p. 134. 68 69

Bibliography Ablondi, Fred, 1995. “Death according to Descartes: Why the soul leaves the body,” Iyyun, the Jerusalem philosophical quarterly, vol. 44, January 1995, pp. 47–53. Abrabanel, Yehudah, 19 83. Dialoghi d’Amore (Hebrew, translated by Menachem Dorman). Jerusalem: Bialik Institute. Altmann, Alexander, 19 56. “Theology in Twentieth Century German Jewry,” Leo Baeck Institute Yearbook I, London /Jerusalem/New York: East and West Library. Baeck, Leo, 1905. Das Wesen des Judentums. Berlin. ———, 1958. Aus drei Jahrtausenden. Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Pau l Siebeck). Barthes, Roland, 1957. Mythologies. Paris: Ed. du Seuil. Bergmann, S.H., 1991. Dialogical philosophy from S. Kierkegaard to F. Rosenzweig. Albany N Y: SUNY Press. Bernfeld, Simon (ed.), 19 68. The Foundations of Jewish Ethics. New York: KTAV Publishing House. Bleich, David, 198 1. Judaism and Healing. Halakhic Perspectives. New York: KTAV. Bleicher, Joseph, 1980. Contemporary Hermeneutics. London: Routledge & Kegan. Bloch, Ernst, 1959. Das Prinzip Hoffnung. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. ———, 1962. Erbschaft dieser Zeit, Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. ———, 1970. Tuebinger Einleitung in die Philosophie. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Borowitz, Eugene B., 196 9. Choosing a Sex Ethics, a Jewish inquiry. New York: Schocken Books. ———, 1989. Exploring Jewish Ethics. Detroit: Wayne State University Press. Breslauer, Daniel S., 1983. A new Jewish Ethics. New York/Toronto: The Edwin Mellen Press. ———, 1985. Contemporary Jewish Ethics: A Bibliographical Survey Westport Conn.: Greenwood Press. ———, 1986. Modern Jewish Morality. A Biographical Survey. Westport Conn.: Greenwood Press.

172

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Brinker, Menachem, Dascal, Marcelo, Nesher, Dan (eds.), 1979. Baruch de Spinoza—A collection of papers on his thought (Hebrew). Tel-Aviv: University Publishing Projects and Haifa University. Buber, Martin, 1 920. Drei Reden über das Judentum. Frankfurt a.M.: Ruetten & Loening. ———, 1962. Werke, Band I:”Schriften zur Philosophie. Heidelberg: Lambert-Schneider. Bultmann, Rudolf, 1958. Jesus Christ and Mythology, New York. ———, 1952–1965. Glauben und Verstehen (2 volumes), Tübingen. ———,1964/5. Glauben und Verstehen—Gesammelte Aufsätze III, Tübingen. Camus, Albert, 1942. Le mythe de Sisyphe. Sur l’Absurde. Paris: Gallimard. Cohen, Hermann, 1919. Religion der Vernunft aus den Quellen des Judentums. Leipzig: Gesellschaft zur Förderung des Judentums. Cohen, Richard A., 1985. Face to face with Lévinas. Albany NY: SUNY Press. Coreth, Emerich, 1969. Grundfragen der Hermeneutik, Ein philosophischer Beitrag. Freiburg, Basel, Wien: Herder-Verlag. Derrida, Jacques, 1993. Aporias. Stanford CA: Stanford University Press. Descartes, René, 1949. Les Passions de l’Ame, Oeuvres de Descartes. Paris: Librairie Josef Gibet, pp. 413–512. Encyclopedia Judaica, 1971. Jerusalem: Keter. Fox, Marvin (ed.), 197 5. Modern Jewish Ethic, Theory and Praxis. Columbus: Ohio State University Press. Gadamer, H. G., 196 7. Kleine Schriften. Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebck). ———, 1975. Wahrheit und Methode. Grundzüge einer philosophischen Hermeneutik. Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck) . Gersonides (Levi ben Gershom), Die Kämpfe Gottes. Leipzig, 1866. Goethe, Johann Wolfgan g von, 1912. ‘Israel in der Wüsten’, Goethes Sämtliche Werke—Jubiläums-ausgabe, Bd. 5, Stutgart und Berlin ———, 1891. Band 36. ———, 1952. West-Östlicher Divan. Zürich: Manesse-Verlag. ———, Dichtung und Wahrheit. Leipzig: Tempel-Verlag (no date), Vol. II. Gordis, Robert, 1986. Jewish Ethics for a lawless world. New York: Jewish Theological Seminary. Greenberg, Yudit (ed.), 2008. Encyclopedia of Love in World Religions, 2 volumes. Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO. Greenberg, Simon, 1977. The Ethical in the Jewish and American Heritage. New York: Jewish Theological Seminary.

Bibliography

173

Hand, Sean (ed.), 1989 . The Levinas Reader. Oxford and Cambridge: Basil Blackwell. Hare, R.M., 1966. The Language of Morals. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Haym, Rudolf, 1958. Herder, 2 Bände. Berlin: Aufbau-Verlag. Hegel, G.W.F., 1952. Phänomenologie des Geistes. Hamburg: Felix Meiner. Heidegger, Martin, 1996. Sein und Zeit, Albany NY: SUNY Press Herder, J.G., 1788. Abhandlung über den Ursprung der Sprache, Halle. ———, 1805. Vom Geist der hebräischen Poesie. Eine Anleitung für die Liebhaber derselben und der ältesten Geschichte des menschlichen Geistes. 1. Teil 1782, 2. Teil, mit einigen Beilagen 1783 . Hrsg. durch J. G. Müller, Tübingen: J. B. Cotta. ———, 1877ff. Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit, Sämtlioche Werke, Band 11. Hrsg. von B. Suphan. Berlin. ———, 1971. Briefe zur Beförderung der Humanität. Berlin und Weimar : Aufbau-Verlag. Heyd, David, 199 2. Genethics, Moral Issues in the Creation of People. Berkeley, Los Angeles, Oxford: University of California Press. Hilberath, B.J., 1978 . Theologie zwischen Tradition und Kritik. Die philosophische Hermeneutik H.G. Gadamers als Herausforderung des theologischen Selbstverständnisses. Düsseldorf. Jakobovits, Immanuel, 1959. Jewish Medical Ethics. New York: Bloch. Jonas, Hans, 1984. Das Prinzip Verantwortung. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. ———, 1987 Technik, Medizin und Ethik. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Kant, Immanuel, 1921/22. Sämtliche Werke, 6 volumes, Leipzig: Inselverlag. Kellner, Menachem M. (ed.), 1987. Contemporary Jewish Ethics. New York: Sanhedrin Publishing House. Kierkegaard, Soren, 194 1. Fear and Trembling. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Kockelmans, J., 197 3. “On myth and its relationship to hermeneutics,” Cultural Hermeneutics I. Krochmal, Nachman, 1961. The Guide of the Perplexed for our times (Hebrew). Waltham Mass.: Ararat. Kuebler-Ross, Elisabeth, 1969. On Death and Dying. New York: MacMillan. ———, 1975. Death: The Final Stage of Growth. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Kuhn, Thomas S., 1970. The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Chicago: Chicago University Press.

174

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Landmann, Michael, 1985. Fundamental Anthropology. Foreword by Ze’ev Levy. Washington, D.C.: Center for Adva nced Research in Phenomenology & University Press of America. Lazarus, Moritz, 1901, 1911. Die Ethik des Judentums, 2 vols., Frankfurt a.M.: J. Kaufmann. Lévinas, Emmanuel, 1963 et 1976. Difficile Liberté. Essais sur le Judaisme. Paris: Albin Michel. ———, 1968. Quatre Lectures Talmudiques. Paris: Albin Michel. ———, 1968. De l’existence à l’existant. Paris: Vrin. ———, 1971. Totalité et Infini. Essai sur l’Exteriorité. La Haye: Martinus Nijhoff. ———, 1972. Humanisme de l’autre homme. Montpellier: Fata Morgana. ———, 1974. Autrement qu’être ou au-delà de l’essence. Den Haag: Martinus Nijhoff. ———, 1977. Du sacré au saint. Cinq nouvelles lectures talmudiques. Paris: Ed. De Minuit. ———, 1979. Le Temps et l’Autre. Paris: PUF, Fata Morgana. ———, 1982. Au-delà du verset. Lectures et discours talmudiques. Paris: Ed. de Minuit. ———, 1984. “Le surlendemain de dialectiques,” Cahiers de nuit surveillée, Numéro 3. ———, 1988. Autrement qu’être ou au-délà de l’essence. Paris: Kluwer Academic. ———, 1988. A l’heure des nations. Paris: Ed de Minuit. ———, 1991. Entre nous. Essais sur le penser à l’autre. Paris: Grasset. ———, 1991. “Transcendence et hau teur,” Cahiers de l’Herne—Lévinas. Paris: Editions de l’Herne, Livre de Poche. ———, 1991. “De l’Un a l’Autre, Transcendence et Temps,” ibid. ———, 1992. La mort et le temps. Paris: Le Livre de Poche. ———, 1993. Outside the subject. London: The Athlone Press, ———, 1993. Dieu, la Mort et le Temps. Paris: Bernard Grasset. Lévi-Strauss, Claude, 1966. The Savage Thought. Chicago: Chicago University Press. ———, Mythologies, 4 volumes. Paris: Plon, 1964, 1966, 1968, 1971. Levy, Ze’ev, 1987. Between Yafeth and Shem—On the Relationship Between General and Jewish Philosophy, Bern/New-York: Peter Lang. ———, 1989. Baruch or Benedict. On Some Jewish Aspects of Spinoza’s Philosophy. New York/Bern: Peter Lang.

Bibliography

175

———, 1984 “J. G. Hamann’s Concept of Judaism and controversy with Mendelssohn’s Jerusalem.” London: Yearbook XXII of the Leo Baeck Institute, pp. 295–329. ———, 1992. “Immanuel Kant und die moderne jüdische Ethik,” TRUMAH, Zeitschrift für jüdische Studien, No. 3, Heidelberg, pp. 79–99. ———, 1994. Judaism in the Worldview of J. G. Hamann, J. G. Herder and W. v. Goethe. Jerusalem: Bialik Institute (Hebrew). ———, 2001. Baruch Spinoza—Seine Aufnahme durch die jüdischen Denker in Deutschland. Stuttgart: Verlag W. Kohlhammer. ———, 2001. Bioethics—Philosophical and Jewish Aspects. Cuxhaven & Dartfort: Trude Junghans Verlag. Levy, Ze’ev and Levy, Nadav, 200 2. Ethics, Emotions and Animals—On the Moral Status of Animals. Tel-Aviv: Sifriat Poalim and University of Haifa Press (Hebrew). ———, 2008. Reflections on Death—in Philosophy and in Jewish Thought. Tel-Aviv: Resling (Hebrew). Liebmann, Charles S., 1984. “ Attitudes of the Relations Between Jews and Non-Jews in Jewish History and in Israel Today” (Hebrew). Kivvunim, a journal for Judaism and Zionism, No. 25, XI, 1984. Locke, John, 1963. A letter Concerning Tolerance. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Machiavelli, Nicola, 1531. The Discourses (Discorsi sopra la prima decade de Titi Livio). Maimonides, Moses, The Guide of the Perplexed (Hebrew). Jerusalem, 1960. Maimonides, 1963. The Guide of the Perplexed, 2. vols., translated by S. Pines. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Marx, Karl, 1951. Die Frühschriften, Stuttgart: Alfred Krِner Verlag. Mauthner, Fritz, 1980. Wörterbuch der Philosophie , Vol. II. Zuerich: Diogenes. McShea, Robert, 1968. The Political Philosophy of Spinoza. New York: Columbia University Press. Mendelssohn, Moses, 1983. Jerusalem or On Religious Power and Judaism. Hanover & London: Brandeis University Press. Patai, Raphael, 1972. Myth and Modern Man. New Jersey: Prentice Hall. Plato, Theaetetus (many editions). Rabinowitz, Marian, 199 1. Death, Rilke and myself (Hebrew), Tel-Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad Publishing House. Rosenzweig, Franz, 1926. Zwei-Stromland. Berlin: Philo-Verlag. ———, 1937. Kleinere Schriften,. Berlin: Schocken-Verlag. ———, 1988. Der Stern der Erlösung. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp Verlag.

176

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Rosner, Fred, 1986. Modern Medicine and Jewish Ethics. Hoboken NJ: KTAV Publishing House. Rotenstreich, Nathan, 196 3. Power and its Mould. An Essay in Social and Political Philosophy (Hebrew). Jerusalem: The Bialik Institute ———, “Jewish tradition in the modern world” (Hebrew), Gesher No. 1/110, 1984, p. 7. ———, 1972. Jewish Existence in the Present (Hebrew). Tel-Aviv: Sifriat Poalim. ———, 1972. Tradition and Reality. The Impact of History on modern Jewish Thought. New York: Random House. Russell, Bertrand, 1920. The problems of philosophy. New York/London: H. Holt. Sartre, J. P., 1955. Literary and philosophical essays. New York: Criterion Books. Schilpp, P. A. (ed.), 1952. The Philosophy of G. E. Moore. New York: The Library of Living Philosophers. Schilpp, P.A. and Friedman, M. (eds.), 196 7. The Philosophy of Martin Buber. La Salle, Illinois: The Library of Living Philosophers. Schwartz, Moshe, 1967. Language, Myth, Art (Hebrew). Tel-Aviv: Schocken Publishing House. Silver, Jeremy (ed.), 1970. Judaism and Ethics, New York. Smith, Steven B., 1994: “Spinoza’s democratic turn, Chapter 18 of the Theologico-Political Treatise,” Review of Metaphysics 190, XII, pp. 359–388. Spero, Shubert, 1983. Morality, Halakhah and the Jewish Tradition. Hoboken: KTAV. Spinoza, Baruch, The Chief Works of Benedict de Spinoza, Volume I: Theologico-Political Treatise; Political Treatise. New York: Dover Publications, 1951. ———, 1966. The Correspondence of Spinoza. London: Frank Cass. ———, 1968. Abrégé du Grammaire Hébraique. Paris: Vrin. ———, 1982. The Ethics and Selected Letters. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company. ———, The collected works of Spinoza, ed. and translated by Edwin Curley. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985. ———, Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect, ibid. Steinheim, Ludwig, 1835–1865. Die Offenbarung nach dem Lehrbegriff der Synagoge. ———, 1935. Vom Bleibenden und Vergänglichen im Judentum (published by H.J. Schoeps).

Bibliography

177

Stevenson, Charles, 1965. Ethics and Language. Yale University Press Strauss, Leo, Philosophie und Gesetz. Beiträge zum Verständnis Maimunis und seiner Vorläufer. Berlin: Schocken-Verlag, 1935. ———, Persecution and the art of writing. 1988. Chicago & London: The University of Chicago Press. ———, “On a forgotten ki nd of writing,” What is political philosophy? and other studies. 1959. Glencoe Ill.: The Free Press. ———, 1965. Spinoza’s Critique of Religion. New York: Schocken Books. Thiselton, Anthony C., 1980. The Two Horizons—New Testament Hermeneutics and Philosophical Description with Special Reference to Heidegger, Bultmann, Gadamer and Wittgenstein. Grand Rapids, Michigan. Toy, C. H., 1970. History of Religions. AMS, DE, 103, in Kaplan, Abraham, 1981. The meaning of ritual, Religion and Language, Philosophical Essays. Tel-Aviv: University Publishing Projects. Veatch, Robert M., 1976 . Death, Dying and the Biological Revolution; Our last quest for responsibility. New Hav en & London: Yale University Press. Webster’s Third New International Dictionary, 1976. Wolfson, Harry Austryn, The philosophy of Spinoza. Unfolding the latent processes of his reasoning, 2 volumes., 1961. N ew York: Schocken Books. Wuchterl, K., 1982. Philosophie und Religion. Bern/Stuttgart: Hauptverlag.

Index Aaron 52 Abrabanel, Yehudah 129 Abraham 55 Adam 31 51 Alfaquer, Jehudah 25 26 29 Anselmus of Canterbury 62 Anski, Shlomo 98 Asmodeus 99 Aristotle 24, 27-29, 32, 62, 129, 130, 141, 158, 167 Assa 119 Ast, Friedrich 61 Baeck, Leo 81 Barnard, Christian 100 Barth, Karl 68 Barthes, Roland 30, 72 Bayle, Pierre 9 Bergson, Henri 155, 156 Ben Menashe, Israel 85 Bernays,Yitzchak 86 Black 103 Blackstone, William 18 Bleich, David 104, 117, 122, 123 Bloch, Ernst 136, 138, 163, 166-169 Borochov, Ber 112 Brody, Baruch 118 Buber, Martin 50, 57, 63, 66-71, 73, 91, 94, 111, 112, 136, 149, 151 Bultmann, Rudolf 57-64, 66-73 Camus, Albert 156 Caro, Joseph 75, 78 Champollion, Jean-Francois 47 Chaplin, Charles 142 Chivi ha-Balchi 151 Cohen, Hermann 62-66, 70, 111, 139 Comte. August 78 Confucius, 121

Copernicus, Nicolaus 34, 84 Crescas, Hasdai 37 Darwin, Charles 84 David 49 Delmedigo, Eliyahu 118 Derrida, Jacques 139, 162, 163, 170 Descartes, René 100, 147, 158 Dilthey, Wilhelm 67, 76, 87, 92 Durkheim, Emile 80 Ehud 53 Eichhorn, Johannes Gottfried 50, 51 Einstein, Albert 111 Eliahu the Gaon of Vilna 94, 152 Epicurus 160 Euclid 33, 35 Ezra 45, 48 Fackenheim, Emil 130 Feuerbach, Ludwig 67, 130, 135, 137 Fichte, Johann Gottlieb 130 Finkelkraut, Alain 140 Formstecher, Solomon 64 Frankel, Zacharia 89 Freud, Sygmunt 111 Gadamer, Hans Georg 44, 61, 73, 86-93 Gagarin, Yuri 143 Galilei, Galileo 84 Gans, David 84 Gersonides 37 Gideon 53 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von 41 51-56 147 Goldfarb, Daniel 106 Habermas Jürgen 92 Hamann, Johann Georg 41, 45, 51 Hare, R. M., 113

180 Haym, Rudolf 46 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich 57, 59, 75, 89, 111, 130, 147, 167 Heidegger, Martin 57, 63, 64, 84, 92, 97, 111, 142, 144, 155, 156, 158162, 164, 165,167, 168, 170 Herder, Johann Gottfried 41-51, 56, 79, 167 Herzl, Theodor 116 Hess, Moses 116, 130 Hilberath, B. J. 92, 93 Hillel 121 Hippocrates 121 Hirsch, Samson Raphael 41, 64, 69, 86 Hobbes, Thomas 2-4, 18, 36 Honi Hame’agel 146 Husserl, Edmund 148 Ibn-Ezra, Abraham 32, 33, 119 Ikarus 141 Israeli, Yitzchak 118 Jakobovitz, Immanuel 107, 118, 120 Jaspers, Karl 63 Jesus 14, 49, 51, 53, 57, 81, 99 Jethro 51 Job 7, 18, 19 Joel, Manuel 37 Jonas, Hans 63, 64, 120, 121 Joshua 33, 51, 52, 78 Kaleb 52 Kant, Immanuel 29, 35, 37, 45, 75, 86, 111, 113, 117, 121, 150, 155, 161, 162, 165, 166 Kaplan, Mordehai 139 Kearney, Richard 135 Kierkegaard, Sören Asbye 55, 114 Klatzkin, Ya’akov 34 Krochmal, Nachman 41, 47, 82, 167 Kuebler-Ross, Elisabeth 101 Kuhn, Thomas S. 93 Lamm, Norman, 117 Landmann, Michael 77 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm 147, 158 Leibovitz, Yeshayahu 77, 104, 118 Lévi-Bruehl, Lucien 63

INDEX Lévi-Strauss, Claude 30, 59, 62, 63, 72, 139 Lévinas, Emmanuel 14, 79, 111, 121, 126, 129-170 Liebmann, Charles S. 84 Locke, John 8-10 Machiavelli, Nicolo 6, 36 McShea, Robert 8 Maimonides, Moses 5, 8, 21-30, 32, 3437, 50, 58, 59, 61, 66, 69, 98, 99, 111, 115, 118-120, 122, 143, 151 Malka, Shlomo 140 Marx, Karl 130, 135-138, 146 Mauthner, Fritz 101, 162 Meier, Levi 117 Mendelssohn, Moses 1-13, 18, 19, 46, 47, 50, 60, 98, 116, 158 Michaelis, Johann David 46 Miriam 52 Montaigne, Michel 157 Moore, G. E. 130 Moses 4, 7, 13, 14, 17, 31, 42, 43, 45, 46, 49, 51-55, 78 Nachman of Braslav 143 Nachmanides, Moses 118, 120 Neumark, David 65 Noah 51 Novak, David 106, 107 Oldenburg, Henrikus 31 Othniel ben Knaz 53 Pathai, Raphael 60 Paul 31 Plato 50, 64, 66, 92, 129 Plotinus 147 Prometheus 46 Rabin, Yitzchak 10 Ranke, Leopold v. 35 Rashi 81 Rawls, John, 113 Renan, Ernest 59

Index Rosenzweig, Franz 50, 57, 63, 64, 67, 68, 77, 86, 111, 112, 130, 139, 148, 150, 151, 155, 156, 170 Rosner, Fred 117, 119 Rotenstreich, Nathan 10, 11, 82, 83 Rousseau, Jean Jacques 46 Russell, Bertrand 113, 129 Sa’adya Gaon 27 Sartre, Jean-Paul 130, 138 Samson 53 Schaff, Adam 131 Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Josef 68, 150 Schleiermacher, Friedrich Daniel 56, 61, 72, 87, 90, 92 Schwartz, Moshe 59 Shamgar 53 Shimeon bar Yochai 143 Sidekum, Antonio 134 Siegel, Seymour 106 Simmel, Georg 67 Socrates 143, 158 Solomon 31, 49, 53, 99 Spero, Shubert Spinoza, Baruch 1-19, 21-38, 42-45, 48, 50, 52, 53, 60-62, 70, 74, 78, 80, 86, 90, 98, 100, 113, 129, 152, 158-160 Steinheim, Ludwig 64, 86, 150 Strauss, David 59 Strauss, Leo 3 Thales 141 Thielicke, Helmut 68 Toland, John 9 Voltaire 147 Webster 108 Wellhausen, Julius 43 Wolfson, Harry Austrin 34 Yavin 53

181