My
next two Jewish philosophers are Franz Rosenzweig (1886-1929) and Martin Buber
(1878-1965). They are so closely related that for a while I was thinking of
giving them both a joint entry, but at the end of the day I thought otherwise.
It is true that Buber is better known, but personally I used to be more taken
by the intellectual brilliance and the remarkable personality of Rosenzweig,
probably because I had a chance to read him at length with an undivided
attention, finding him very interesting, and also learning some facts of his
biography, which have intrigued me. Such a distinctive personal edge elevates
Rosenzweig to a subjective level in
my “graces,” which I cannot say about Buber. The particular reason why the two
of them are closely tied is that they were very good friends, and collaborated
on a number of projects, including a new German translation of the Biblia
Hebraica.
Other than that, they were in constant argument
concerning the phenomenon of Zionism. Buber was a dedicated Zionist, for which
reason he was-- and is-- especially honored in the State of Israel. Rosenzweig,
on the contrary, happened to be an anti-Zionist, deeply worried about the future
of the Jewish people, should they pursue the Zionist ambition. This conviction
must be perhaps the main reason of his undeserved semi-oblivion among the Jews,
not even to mention the Gentiles, who are virtually ignorant of him.
The
title of this entry belongs to Rosenzweig’s magnum opus, the one that I
have read with a considerable interest. Franz Rosenzweig published his
principal philosophical work Der Stern der Erlösung in 1921. It begins
with a rejection of the traditional philosophical attitude denying the fear of
death, and maintaining instead that this fear is the beginning of the cognition
of the All. Man should continue to fear death, despite the attitude of the
philosophers who have a predilection for accepting it. (It can also be said, I
may add, that the fear of death is the beginning of all ethics! Fearless people
tend to be amoral, in my estimation. Such an attitude is not very popular, of
course, but I am happy to share it with Rosenzweig.)
Traditional
philosophy is monistic; it is interested in the universal only. But there are
actually three distinct domains, as identified by Kant: God, the world, and
man. A monistic perspective deprives our consideration of this triad of the
necessary analytical flexibility. (This is a promising approach, which
establishes not one or two, but three active forces that also happen to be interactive
forces. The argument about analytical flexibility, or the lack thereof, is
invincible, even if one disagrees with the other parts.)
Everything
is known through experience (and experience of God is through revelation). The
Bible focuses on all three parts of the triad, in their relation to each other:
between God and the world, which is creation,
between God and man, which is revelation,
and between man and the world, which leads to salvation. (The most unusual observation, effectively denying the
quality of salvation to the relationship between man and God. Before we dismiss
it indignantly, however, Rosenzweig’s triad is well worth thinking through
carefully, and even if we persist in our disagreement, our own understanding is
deeply enriched by the encounter with his thinking.)
Biblical
faith produces two valid religions, according to Rosenzweig. They are
Judaism and Christianity. (In a way, this is almost a truism, but Rosenzweig is
clearly trying to establish a meaningful comparison of the two faiths, for
which reason he isolates them from all other religions.) The latter seeks the
way to salvation in the vicissitudes of time and history. Judaism, on the other
hand, is utterly unconcerned with these two. In fact, Jewish life is already a
life eternal, forever renewed by the rhythm of the Jewish liturgical year
cycle.
Rosenzweig’s
Star of Redemption was ignored by mainstream philosophy, and it gained
its reputation as a piece of maverick thinking, which, not surprisingly, I find
most attractive.
The
highlight of his life was his decision at the age of 26 and after a long
struggle with himself to convert to Christianity (his personal experience with
Judaism was virtually non-existent). Having found his solution to the
philosophical problem of man in religious faith, Protestantism was appealing to
him particularly, as allowing an existential faith and a “dialogical”
relationship with God. While preparing himself for Baptism, he attended,
however, as perhaps his last rite as a Jew, the Yom Kippur services in a small
Orthodox shul in Berlin. The event had a profound effect on his psyche,
as, according to his description of it, he now found what he was looking for,
both spiritually and philosophically, not outside his inherited Jewish
identity, but precisely within its confines. And from then on, he would devote
his life and thought to the study, teaching, and the religious practice of
Judaism.
Another
biographical fact about him, which I find still more appealing, in terms of my
personal partialities, is that, having served in the German Army, during World
War I, in 1918, he attended an officers’ training course near Warsaw, as Poland
at the time was under German occupation. There he had a chance to observe the
life of the Poilische Yidden and was summarily overwhelmed by the depth and
richness of their faith. It was that encounter which prompted his thinking
toward what would become his intellectual masterpiece--- Der Stern der
Erlösung.
(I
must remind the reader that the general attitude of German Jews toward the
Poilische Yidden had always been contemptuous and culturally dismissive. It was
therefore almost heroic on the part of Rosenzweig that in his case he was able
so acutely to appreciate the distinctive Jewishness of the Haredim, who
constituted a small fraction of German Jews, but nearly a hundred per cent
among the Polish religious Jews. The
reason why I italicize “religious” is
that a large number of Polish and Russian Jews were agnostics, and as much
dismissive of religion as such, as the emancipated
German Jews used to be dismissive of the Haredim, and not surprisingly still
are. Ironically, choosing the Haredim, who would never care about him anyway,
over the Haskala Jews, who have surely been offended by his dismissal of
non-Orthodox Judaism, Rosenzweig found himself in the unenviable position of a
pariah, which offers the reader another reason for his continuing
semi-oblivion.
In
the last years of his life, suffering from an incurable illness gradually
taking away his life, he became interested in classical and sacred music
(another winner for him in my estimation), leaving an array of delightful
essays on the subject as the last testament in his brilliant and original
legacy.
And
now, Franz Rosenzweig’s beautiful title The Star of Redemption is about
to connect the legacy of them both, Rosenzweig and Buber: the man who died
before his time, and the man who certainly had outlived it. (The Martin Buber
entry will be posted later.)
No comments:
Post a Comment