Judaica Petropolitana

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The Hebrew University SAINT PETERSBURG of Jerusalem STATE UNIVERSITY

Еврейский САНКТ-ПЕТЕРБУРГСКИЙ университет ГОСУДАРСТВЕННЫЙ в Иерусалиме УНИВЕРСИТЕТ

JUDAICA PETROPOLITANA

Scholarly journal Научно-теоретический журнал

№ 7 (2017)

Jerusalem Санкт-Петербург 5777 2017

Академия Исследования Культуры

УДК 30.2+94(3)+811.411(05) ISSN 2307-9053

The International Center for University Department of Jewish Culture Teaching of Jewish Civilization at Saint Petersburg State University The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

Международный центр университетского Кафедра еврейской культуры преподавания еврейской цивилизации Санкт-Петербургского Еврейский университет в Иерусалиме государственного университета

Специальный выпуск: Исследования по еврейской философии и интеллектуальным традициям иудаизма Special issue: Research on Jewish philosophy and intellectual traditions of Judaism Номер подготовлен к изданию и опубликован в рамках проекта: This issue was prepared for publication and printed in the framework of the project:

Российского научного фонда | Russian Science Foundation (проект № 15-18-00062 «Формирование культуры в диаспоре на примере еврейской, армянской и греческой диаспор»; Санкт-Петербургский государственный университет)

При финансовой поддержке: Thanks to the financial support of: Фонда «Генезис» Genesis Philanthropy Group

Российского Еврейского Конгресса Russian Jewish Congress

Научное издание JUDAICA PETROPOLITANA № 7 (2017)

Подписано в печать с готового оригинал-макета 01.07.2017. 1 Формат 60 × 90 /16 . Бум. офсетная. Печать офсетная. Усл. печ. л. 9,5. Тираж 550 экз. Заказ № 701 Издательство «Академия Исследования Культуры», 197343, Россия, Санкт-Петербург, ул. Чапыгина, д. 6, лит. А Тел.: +7 (981) 699–6595; E-mail: [email protected] http://arculture.ru Отпечатано в типографии «Литография» 191119 Санкт-Петербург, ул. Днепропетровская, д. 8 Редакционный совет Г. Ахиезер (Иерусалим/Ариель), Х. Бен-Шаммай (Иерусалим), С. Гольдин (Иерусалим), А. Дикман (Иерусалим), А. Б. Ковельман (Москва), Б. Кьеза (Турин), Х. Ном де Деу (Мадрид), Дж. Р. Расселл (Кембридж, Масс.), А. Рофэ (Иерусалим), Д. Е. Розенсон (Москва/ Иерусалим), С. Рузер (Иерусалим), П. Фентон (Париж), Д. Фишман (Нью-Йорк), Г. Хан (Кембридж), С. Штампфер (Иерусалим). Редакционная коллегия Главные редакторы: С. Асланов (Еврейский университет в Иерусалиме); И. Р. Тантлевский (Санкт-Петербургский государствен ный университет). Редактор: И. Лурье (Еврейский университет в Иерусалиме). Редакторы-составители выпуска: И. С. Дворкин (Еврейский университет в Иерусалиме), А. А. Синицын (Санкт-Петербургский государственный университет). Исполнительные секретари: М. Беркович (Еврейский университет в Иерусалиме); Е. С. Норкина (Санкт-Петербургский государственный университет), В. в. Федченко (Санкт-Петербургский государ с твенный университет), А. А. Синицын (Санкт-Петербургский государственный университет), И. С. Кауфман (Санкт-Петербург- ский государственный университет), Д. С. Курдыбайло (Санкт- Петербургский государственный университет), И. Н. Шпирко (Санкт-Петербургский государственный университет). Технический секретарь: К. В. Рябова (Санкт-Петербургский го- су дарственный университет). Editorial Council G. Akhiezer (Jerusalem/Ariel), H. Ben-Shammai (Jerusalem), B. Chiesa (Turin), A. Dykman (Jerusalem), P. Fenton (Paris), D. Fishman (New York), S. Goldin (Jerusalem), G. Khan (Cambridge), A. B. Kovelman (Moscow), J. Nom de Deu (Madrid), A. Rofe (Jerusalem), D. E. Rozen son (Moscow/Jerusalem), J. R. Russell (Cambridge, MA), S. Ruzer (Jerusalem), S. Stampfer (Jerusalem). Editorial board Editors-in-Chief: C. Aslanov (TheH ebrew University of Jerusalem), I. R. Tantlevskij (St. Petersburg State University). Editor: I. Lurie (The Hebrew University of Jerusalem). Compiling Editors of the Issue: I. S. Dvorkin (The Hebrew University of Jerusalem), A. A. Sinitsyn (St. Petersburg State University). Executive secretaries: M. Berkovich (The Hebrew University of Jerusalem), E. S. Norkina (St. Petersburg State University), A. A. Sinitsyn (St. Peters- burg State University), V. V. Fedchenko (St. Petersburg State University), I. S. Kaufman (St. Petersburg State University), D. S. Kurdybailo (St. Petersburg State University), I. N. Shpirko (St. Petersburg State University). Technical Secretary: K. V. Ryabova (St. Petersburg State University).

Все публикуемые в журнале Judaica Petropolitana статьи проходят экспертную оценку All contributions submitted to Judaica Petropolitana are peer-reviewed Содержание

И. Дворкин (Еврейский университет в Иерусалиме) Вместо Предисловия ...... 5

исследования У. Гершович (Санкт-Петербургский государственный университет) НЮАНСЫ ЭЗОТЕРИЧЕСКОГО ПИСЬМА МАЙМОНИДА В СВЕТЕ ПЕДАГОГИКИ АЛЬ-ФАРАБИ ...... 7 R. E. Allinson (Soka University of America; The Hebrew University of Jerusalem) NACHMAN KROCHMAL AND THE ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN . . . 19 D. J. Cohen (University of Chicago; The Hebrew University of Jerusalem) BETWEEN THE SACRED AND THE PROFANE: JEWISH DIALECTICS IN SOLOVEITCHIK’S WRITINGS AND DIALECTIC THEOLOGY . . . 34 Т. А. Акиндинова (Санкт-Петербургский государственный университет) ЭСТЕТИКА ГЕРМАНА КОГЕНА В КОНТЕКСТЕ ЕВРОПЕЙСКОЙ ЭСТЕТИЧЕСКОЙ МЫСЛИ ХХ ВЕКА ...... 50 I. Dvorkin (The Hebrew University of Jerusalem) A MATHEMATICAL ROAD TO LITURGY . RELIGION AND MATHEMATICS IN FRANZ ROSENZWEIG’S PHILOSOPHY ...... 70 J. M. Delgadillo (Universidad Popular Autónoma del Estado de Puebla, México) MAY JAPHETH DWELL IN THE TENTS OF SHEM: TOWARDS A METHODOLOGY FOR A PHILOSOPHICAL READING OF TALMUD BASED ON LEVINAS’ THOUGHT ...... 81 J. R. Coopey (University of Leicester; University of St Andrews, Durham University) SCHOLEM’S MESSIANISM IN THE UTOPIANISM OF SCRIPTURE . . . 100

ЭССЕ J. R. Russell (Harvard University; The Hebrew University of Jerusalem) THE BIBLE AND REVOLUTION: SOME OBSERVATIONS ON EXODUS, PSALM 37, ESTHER, AND PHILO ...... 109 И. И. Евлампиев (Санкт-Петербургский государственный университет) О ВОЗМОЖНОМ ВЛИЯНИИ ЕВРЕЙСКИХ РЕЛИГИОЗНЫХ ПРЕДСТАВЛЕНИЙ НА ФИЛОСОФИЮ АНРИ БЕРГСОНА . . . . 135 A. A. Sinitsyn (Saint Petersburg State University; The Russian Christian Academy for the Humanities); V. A. Egorov (The Russian Christian Academy for the Humanities) МIKHAIL KALIK — ARTIST AND THINKER (IN MEMORIAM) . . . . 146

4 Исследования еврейской философии и интеллектуальных традиций иудаизма

(Вместо Предисловия)

Седьмой номер журнала «Judaica Petropolitana» подготовлен в основ- ном по итогам конференции «Еврейская мысль в контексте мировой фи- лософии», которая состоялась в Санкт-Петербургском государственном университете 23–25 мая 2017 г. Эта конференция проводилась Кафедрой еврейской культуры СПбГУ и стала уникальным событием, собравшим десятки ученых из Великобритании, Германии, Израиля, Канады, России, Мексики, США, Украины, Франции. Уже сам географический охват сви- детельствует о том, что конференция вызвала международный резонанс и что Санкт-Петербург становится важным центром изучения еврейской философии. Тематика конференции включала в себя несколько блоков, ко- торые повлияли и на содержание настоящего номера. Центральной темой конференции, как это следовало уже из ее названия, стало сопоставление еврейской философии с ее источниками и параллелями в других культу- рах. Тот факт, что время проведения конференции совпало с выходом ака- демического издания «Звезды избавления» Розенцвейга на русском языке сделал актуальной тему философии Когена и Розенцвейга. Формат данного номера «Judaica Petropolitana» и его связь с упомяну- той майской конференцией, прошедшей в Санкт-Петербурге, определили международный состав публикуемых здесь материалов. Из десяти статей, составивших этот номер, семь написаны на английском языке. Теме миро- вых контекстов еврейской философии посвящены первые статьи в разделе «Исследования». В работе У. Гершовича (Израиль) представлена интерпретация особен- ностей герменевтики «Путеводителя растерянных» Маймонида в связи с идеями, высказанными в произведении Аль-Фараби «О взглядах жи- телей добродетельного города». В статье Р. Эллинсона (США) рассмо- трен телеологический аргумент существования Бога, изложенный в книге

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 5 Н. Крохмаля «Путеводитель растерянных нашего времени». Статья Д. Ко- эна (США) посвящена исследованию теологических контекстов мысли рава И. Д. Соловейчика в протестантской диалектической теологии начала ХХ в. В частности, автор сопоставляет анализ отношения сакрального и профанного в учении Э. Брунера и К. Барта с анализом первых глав книги Бытия, предпринятым Соловейчиком. Следующий блок материалов этого номера посвящен изучению твор- чества еврейских мыслителей, которые являлись одновременно крупней- шими представителями мировой философии начала прошлого столетия: Г. Когена и Ф. Розенцвейга. Исследованию эстетической концепции Ко- гена посвящена работа Т. А. Акиндиновой (Россия). Проанализировав ос- новы когеновской эстетики чистого чувства, она сравнила эту концепцию с воззрениями альтернативной фрайбургской школы, рассматривающей эстетику в контексте философии ценностей. Статья И. Дворкина (Из- раиль) посвящена анализу связи математики и литургики в философии Ф. Розенцвейга. Эти, казалось бы, далекие друг от друга области объеди- нены в структуре трех органонов «Звезды избавления». Две завершающие статьи раздела «Исследования» посвящены связям разных эпох еврейской мысли. Й. Медина Дельгадилло (Мексика) рассма- тривает философские основания комментария Э. Левинаса на Вавилон- ский Талмуд. В статье Дж. Р. Купея (Англия) обсуждается шолемовская интерпретация еврейского мессианизма в контексте современной акту- альной философии. Настоящий номер «Judaica Petropolitana» включает в себя раздел «Эссе», который позволяет в свободной форме обсуждать актуальные философские и историко-культурные проблемы. В статье известного ис- следователя ближневосточных культур Дж. Расселла (США) на многих примерах рассматривается концепт «революционности» как существен- ной идеи Библии и авраамических религий. С этих позиций автор описы- вает революционные процессы ХХ в. В эссе российского исследователя истории философии И. И. Евлампиева речь идет о возможности влияния еврейского происхождения А. Бергсона на его философию. Последний очерк, написанный российскими исследователями А. А. Синицыным и В. А. Егоровым, посвящен творчеству известного советского и изра- ильского кинорежиссера М. Н. Калика. И. Дворкин исследования

Ури Гершович Санкт-Петербургский государственный университет, [email protected]

НЮАНСЫ ЭЗОТЕРИЧЕСКОГО ПИСЬМА МАЙМОНИДА В СВЕТЕ ПЕДАГОГИКИ АЛЬ-ФАРАБИ

Резюме: Внимательное прочтение пассажа из «Трактата о жителях добро- детельного города» Аль-Фараби в сопоставлении с указаниями Маймонида относительно причин противоречий, встречающихся в «Путеводителе расте- рянных», позволяют по-новому оценить используемую Маймонидом стратегию эзотерического письма и сделать некоторые выводы относительно его взгляда на особенности образной системы Священного Писания. Ключевые слова: Аль-Фараби, Маймонид, стратегия эзотерического пись- ма, педагогика.

Uri Gershowitz St. Petersburg State University, [email protected]

AN ASPECT OF MAIMONIDEAN ESOTERISM IN THE LIGHT OF FARABI’S PEDAGOGY

Abstract: In this paper we intend to compare a passage from Al-Farabi’s Treatise on the Perfect State with famous words of Maimonides on the reasons of contradictions in his Guide of the Perplexed. This confrontation offers a fresh look on Mai- monidean esoteric strategy and allows to get to some conclusions in regard to his perception of the Scripture’s figurative language peculiarity. Keywords: Al-Farabi, Maimonides, esoteric strategy, pedagogy.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 7 В данной статье мы остановимся на одном пассаже из «Трактата о жи- телях добродетельного города» Аль-Фараби, который созвучен замыслу «Путеводителя растерянных» Маймонида. Внимательное прочтение этого отрывка в сопоставлении с указаниями Маймонида на причины противо- речий, встречающихся в его трактате, позволят сделать некоторые выво- ды относительно авторского взгляда на особенности образной системы Священного Писания и по-новому оценить используемую Маймонидом в этом произведении стратегию эзотерического письма. Способ подачи материала, характеризующийся сокрытием инфор- мации от определенной группы потенциальных реципиентов и неявным указанием на эту информацию для другой группы, принято называть эзотерическим письмом. Как известно, Маймонид использует такой спо- соб в «Путеводителе растерянных». Эзотерическое письмо имеет свою историю как в знакомой Маймониду философской традиции1, так и в тал- мудической2. В рамках схемы «податель информации — информация — получатель информации» эзотерическое письмо может быть вызвано тре- мя причинами: защита подателя информации (в случае, когда информация так или иначе может его скомпрометировать); забота о получателе, если открыто переданная информация способна так или иначе навредить ему; и, наконец, дело может быть в самой информации, которую не удается передать прямым дискурсивным способом. В философской традиции эзо- терического письма мы находим первые две причины3, в талмудической литературе — намек на третью4. У Маймонида присутствует указание на все три причины5, что дает основание предполагать высокую степень

1 По поводу истории эзотерического письма в философской традиции античных авторов и арабских аристотеликов см.: Klien-Braslavy 1996: 15–27. 2 Об эзотеризме в талмудической литературе и ранней еврейской мистике: Халь- берталь 2001 (главы 2–4). 3 Ср.: «… Ты говоришь, что тобой недостаточно воспринято учение о природе пер- вопричины. Я должен тебе ответить иносказательно, дабы, если эта табличка испытает какие-либо превратности на суше и море, тот, кому она попадет в руки, ее бы не по- нял… Остерегайся только, чтобы все это не стало достоянием людей невоспитанных. Мне кажется, для большинства нет почти ничего, что казалось бы смешнее таких вот мыслей…» (Plato. Epist. II. 312d–e, 314a, пер. С. П. Кондратьева по изданию: Платон 2007: 549, 550–551). Авиценна говорит о необходимости скрывать истину: «… Ис- тинное понятие единства Бога спутает религию масс… И не замедлят они отверг- нуть существование подобное этому, начнут спорить и заниматься исследованиями и сравнениями, которые отвлекут их от их обязанностей в государстве. А иногда это может привести их к мнениям, противоположным тому, что является пользой для го- сударства, и противоречащих необходимой истине. Умножатся среди них сомнения и ложные утверждения, и пророку будет крайне сложно совладать с ними» (Авиценна. Книга Исцеления. 442.19–443.21). 4 См.: Мишна. Хагига 2:1. 5 Указание на первую причину: «… Как же изложить это письменно в книге, не сделав ее мишенью для всякого невежды, который возомнит себя ученым и взду- мает метать в нее стрелы своего невежества» (Моше бен Маймон 2000: 16; ср. там же:

8 сложности и многообразия используемых им техник сокрытия и рас крытия. Эзотерическому письму Маймонида посвящено немало исследова- ний6. В задачи данной статьи не входит обзор различных мнений и под- ходов к этой теме7. Хотелось бы лишь подчеркнуть один нюанс стратегии Маймонида, который, как нам кажется, выпал из поля зрения исследо вателей. Во введении к своему трактату Маймонид подчеркивает, что он напи- сан не для широкой публики8, а лишь для тех, кто подобно описанному в Посвящении9 ученику, «сделал предметом своего умозрения философ- ские науки и постиг их смысл»10. Однако к какого рода технике собирается прибегнуть автор трактата — понять не так просто. Он говорит о том, что ему придется затронуть таинственные предметы, к которым относятся некоторые разделы физики и метафизики. Излагая эти темы, Маймонид, как он предупреждает, собирается следовать указаниям мудрецов Талму- да, называвших эти темы Маасе Берешит (определенная часть физики) и Маасе Меркава (метафизика)11, ограничиваясь лишь общими указания- ми и намеками. Так что и ты не требуй от меня чего-либо кроме начала глав; и даже эти начала расположены в настоящем трактате не упорядоченно и по- следовательно, а вразброс, вперемешку с другими предметами из числа тех, что я собираюсь излагать. Ибо моей целью было, чтобы истины

36–37). Указание на вторую причину: «… Ввиду всех вышеперечисленных причин эти предметы оказываются подобающими лишь для совершенно исключительных единичных личностей, но не для массы. Потому и скрывают их от начинающего, не до- зволяя ему заниматься ими, как не позволяют маленькому ребенку есть грубую пищу и поднимать тяжести» (Моше бен Маймон 2000: 183). Указание на третью причину: «… Даже у того, кто пытается учить, не используя аллегорий и загадок, в речах воз- никает такая усложненность и отрывочность, что она равнозначна аллегоричности и загадочности, словно ученые и мудрецы движимы к тому Божественной волей…» (Моше бен Маймон 2000: 23). 6 В первую очередь, это ставшие классическими статьи Лео Штрауса: Strauss 1941: 37–91. См. также ряд монографий и статей израильских исследователей: Klien- Braslavy 1996; Хальберталь 2001 (см. здесь главы 7–8, посвященные эзотеризму у Маймонида); Lorberbaum 2000: 211–237; Lorberbaum 2002: 711–750; Ravitzky 2005: 300–323; Крейсел 2008: 487–507. 7 См. подобного рода обзор, актуальный на конец прошлого века в статье: Ravitzky 1986: 23–69. 8 Моше бен Маймон 2000: 14. 9 Моше бен Маймон 2000: 4–10. 10 Моше бен Маймон 2000: 14. 11 В талмудической литературе Маасе Берешит — толкование начальных стихов Пятикнижия о сотворении мира, а Маасе Меркава — толкование известного видения пророка Иезекииля. Эти понятия Маймонид отождествляет с физикой и метафизикой в более раннем своем произведении — «Комментарии к Мишне» (Хагига 2:1). См.: Моше бен Маймон 2000: 16–18, примеч. 30, 32.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 9 то проглядывали в нем, то вновь скрывались, дабы не противиться Боже- ственному замыслу — [замыслу] Того, Кому противиться невозможно, и Кто сделал истины, особо причастные к постижению Его, сокрытыми от людской толпы, как сказано: «Тайна Господа — для боящихся его» (Пс. 25:14). Знай, что даже среди того, что касается природных вещей, невозможно публично преподавать некоторые начала в их истинном виде, как гласит известное тебе изречение [мудрецов], благословен- на их память: «[не толкуют] о Начале в присутствии двух [слушате- лей]»12. Но если бы кто-либо разъяснил подобные предметы в книге, то он тем самым толковал бы о них перед тысячами людей. Потому даже эти вопросы излагаются в пророческих книгах посредством аллегорий; так же и мудрецы, благословенна их память, говорили о них загадками и аллегориями, следуя примеру Писания. Ибо между этими предметами и Божественной наукой существует тесная связь, так что они тоже отно- сятся к числу тайн Божественной науки13 . Из этого пассажа становится понятно, что о предметах, называемых «тайны Торы» и «Писание», мудрецы Талмуда говорили, используя прит- чи и аллегории. Но собирается ли и сам Маймонид воспользоваться этим методом изложения? Ведь его цель как раз состоит в том, чтобы разъ- яснить «глубоко таинственные аллегории, содержащиеся в пророческих книгах»14, пусть и не до конца и лишь намеком. Вместе с тем, Маймонид добавляет: Знай, что если кто-либо из совершенных пожелает изложить устно или письменно нечто из тайн, понятых им в соответствии со ступенью его совершенства, то он не сможет даже то, что постигнуто им самим, разъяснить вполне отчетливо и упорядоченно — так, как это принято в иных разделах знания, изучение которых широко распространено. Ибо, при обучении другого, случится то же, что происходило, когда он сам изучал это: [изучаемый] предмет будет то появляться, мерцая, то снова исчезать, будто сама природа этого предмета такова — велик он или мал. Поэтому, когда любой мудрец, [познающий] Божество, Господа, и об- ретший истину, намеревается преподать нечто, относящееся к этой от- расли знания, он говорит об этом не иначе как прибегая к аллегориям и загадкам15 . Сложность задачи, которую ставит перед собой Маймонид, в том, что ему нужно не только говорить о тех предметах, о которых иначе как ал- легориями и загадками говорить невозможно, но показать, как об этих предметах говорит Писание (и, возможно, мудрецы Талмуда), то есть раскрыть работу аллегорий и загадок, которые уже были использованы.

12 Мишна. Хагига 2:1. Ср.: Моше бен Маймон 2000: 162–165. 13 Моше бен Маймон 2000: 18–19. См. там же, примеч. 37. 14 Моше бен Маймон 2000: 15 и примеч. 25. 15 Моше бен Маймон 2000: 22.

10 Но сделать это нужно, не прибегая к аллегориям и загадкам, иначе цель разъяснения не будет достигнута. Маймонид прекрасно понимает, что за- мена одних аллегорий другими ничего не даст. Вот, что он пишет об этом: Уже в комментарии к Мишне мы обещали посвятить разъяснению удивительных предметов «Книгу пророчества», а также «Книгу соответ- ствия», где мы намеревались дать истолкование всех затруднительных мест в мидрашах, внешний смысл которых находится в резком проти- воречии с истиной и разладе с умопостигаемым, и которые все явля- ются аллегориями. Однако, когда много лет тому назад мы принялись за эти книги и некоторая часть их была написана, нас не удовлетвори- ли те разъяснения, кои мы начали составлять, следуя такому пути. Ибо увидели мы, что если сохраним аллегоризм и сокрытие того, чему по- добает быть сокрытым, то получится, что мы не изменили исходной ситуации, а словно бы заместили один предмет на другой, относящийся к тому же виду. Если же мы будем объяснять то, что следует объяснить, то это [сочинение] окажется неподходящим для широкой публики, а ведь мы как раз ей и желали разъяснить значение мидрашей и внешний смысл пророчеств16 . Таким образом, задача Маймонида сводится к тому, чтобы показать «работу» аллегорий и загадок, словно бы выявляя направление в сторону означаемого ими, но не называя прямо это означаемое (поскольку зача- стую это невозможно), а лишь намекая на него, полагаясь на то, что его из- бранный читатель имеет какое-то представление о тех предметах, которые могут быть означаемым аллегории. Но, полагаясь на эти представления читателя, Маймонид, не может рассчитывать на полноценное понима- ние, ибо оно зависит от уровня философской подготовки. Значит ли это, что его трактат годится лишь для читателя вполне определенного (мак- симально высокого) уровня или же он рассчитан на всех тех, кто обла- дает, как минимум, некими базовыми познаниями в философии? Если существует некий спектр уровней интеллектуального совершенства по- тенциальных читателей трактата, то оставляет ли Маймонид их один на один с представлениями, соответствующими уровню каждого, или же рассчитывает помочь в повышении этого уровня? И, если рассчитывает помочь, то как? Однозначный ответ на эти вопросы сложно обнаружить в тексте са- мого Маймонида. Он говорит о пользе, которую трактат может принести несведущему в философии человеку и о его значении для того, кто достиг высокого уровня в философских науках: Я же знаю, что всякий человек, даже новичок, совершенно не об- ладающий теоретическими познаниями, извлечет полезное для себя из некоторых глав этого трактата; а тот человек, который достиг совер-

16 Моше бен Маймон 2000: 25–26.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 11 шенства17, верен Закону, но, как я уже упоминал, пребывает в растерян- ности, — он извлечет полезное из всех его глав. Сколь великую радость принесет он ему, сколь приятен он будет для его слуха!18

В дальнейшем мы попробуем обосновать взгляд, согласно которому «растерянные» Маймонида — это читатели, обладающие философскими знаниями на разном уровне19. А пока вернемся к вопросу о том, каким об- разом Маймонид собирается прояснить «работу» пророческих аллегорий. Иногда достаточно просто указать, что перед нами аллегория: В некоторых же случаях тебе будет достаточно понять из моих слов, что такой-то текст является аллегорическим, и тогда без всяких дополнительных разъяснений с моей стороны, коль скоро ты знаешь, что это — аллегория, тебе немедленно станет ясно, аллегорию какого понятия он представляет собой. И мои слова о том, что это была аллего- рия, словно бы устранят преграду между взором и зримым20 .

Ну, а если такого указания недостаточно? Тогда придется каким-то об- разом обозначить означаемое аллегории. И, если это означаемое из тех, что относятся к «тайнам Торы», то его обозначение будет заведомо непол- ным, в определенном смысле неверным. К настоящему смыслу аллегории читатель должен прийти сам, но его нужно как бы подтолкнуть к этому. Роль такого «подталкивания» (если простого указания на то, что перед нами аллегория недостаточно) выполняет противоречие. Если желаешь усвоить целиком то, что заключено в нем, не упустив ничего, сопоставляй его главы друг с другом21 .

Как замечает М. Шнейдер: «Сопоставление глав необходимо, во-пер- вых, для сведения в единое целое намеков, рассеянных в различных главах, а во-вторых, для обнаружения противоречий, указывающих, как сказано ниже, в Предисловии, на наличие эзотерического смысла»22 . И, действительно, последнюю часть вводного раздела Маймонид посвя- щает обсуждению возможных причин противоречий, встречающихся в книгах, указывая, в частности, причины противоречий, с которыми чита- тель столкнется в его трактате. В его списке это пятая и седьмая причины:

17 Согласно М. Шнейдеру, речь идет о совершенстве в том, что касается мораль- ных качеств и благочестия (см.: Моше бен Маймон 2000: 37, примеч. 6). Однако, на наш взгляд, не исключено, что Маймонид имеет в виду как раз определенный уро- вень интеллектуального совершенства, обладая которым, читатель полностью поймет все намеки и указания трактата. 18 Моше бен Маймон 2000: 37. 19 Подобный взгляд обосновывает Авиэзер Равицкий (Ravitzky 2005: 307–313). 20 Моше бен Маймон 2000: 35. 21 Моше бен Маймон 2000: 36. 22 Моше бен Маймон 2000: 36, примеч. 1.

12 Причина пятая. Нужды преподавания и разъяснения, а именно — си- туации, когда некоторое глубокое, трудное для интеллектуального пред- ставления понятие приходится упомянуть или использовать как предпо- сылку для разъяснения другого, легко представимого понятия, которое следует преподавать прежде, чем то, первое (ибо всегда начинают с более легкого). В этом случае учителю должно проявить снисходительность, разъясняя оное первое понятие сообразно обстоятельствам, рассматри- вая его в грубом приближении, не принимаясь за точное исследование его истинной сущности, но предоставив это воображению слушателя, — чтобы сделать понятным то, что он намеревался объяснить в настоящий момент, — и лишь затем произвести строгое исследование сложного понятия и раскрыть его истинную сущность в подобающем месте...23 Причина седьмая. Необходимость при изложении чрезвычайно глу- боких материй скрывать одни их аспекты и открывать другие. Иногда необходимость заставляет вести речь по поводу некоторого высказыва- ния, принимая определенную посылку, а о другой теме необходимость заставляет вести речь, принимая другую посылку, противоречащую первой. И подобает, чтобы место, заключающее в себе противоречие, ни в коей мере не было заметно широкой публике, а бывает, что сочи- нитель находит способ и вовсе скрыть его24 . Обе причины, на первый взгляд, кажутся относящимися к области педагогики, и та, и другая обусловлена нуждами изложения. Но если пятая связана с порядком изложения, то вторая — с глубиной и непредстави- мостью предмета. В первом случае противоречие возникает в силу не- корректного описания или объяснения некоего сложного для восприятия понятия, которое необходимо для объяснения понятия более простого, причем, заметим, что возникает оно, по-видимому, у обучаемого лишь тогда, когда он на определенном этапе обучения подходит к пониманию этого самого более сложного понятия, и возникшее ранее представление оказывается противоречащим истинному. А во втором случае противоре- чие возникает либо при сопоставлении различных аспектов изучаемого предмета, либо при сопоставлении посылок, на основе которых строятся высказывания на различные темы. Седьмая причина вызывает гораздо больше вопросов, ее формули- ровка допускает различные интерпретации. Лео Штраус рассматривает седьмую причину как главный ключ к пониманию эзотерической стра- тегии Маймонида, причем оценивает ее как «политическую» (связанную с управлением социумом, что, впрочем, не отменяет ее педагогического характера, поскольку педагогика может рассматриваться как часть поли- тики)25. С его точки зрения, формулируя седьмую причину, Маймонид

23 Моше бен Маймон 2000: 41. 24 Моше бен Маймон 2000: 42. 25 Strauss 1941.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 13 намекает на намеренные противоречия и несистематичность изложения в трактате. Согласно Штраусу, Маймонид по политическим соображе- ниям пытается скрыть истину от масс, которым эта истина могла бы подорвать веру (забота о получателе информации), и приводит в одном месте трактата подходящее для простого народа мнение, соответствую- щее тому, что говорит религия, а в другом — истинное, соответствующее тому, что доказывают философы (в подобном ключе поступают многие средневековые последователи Маймонида). Задача образованного читателя обнаружить противоречие и опреде- лить, какое мнение является истинным. Этот подход к эзотеризму Май- монида долгое время являлся общепринятым, но на определенном этапе был подвергнут критике26. Интересная интерпретация седьмой причины была предложена израильским исследователем Яиром Лорбербоймом27 . По его мнению, речь идет не о столкновении религиозной и философской позиций, а о неизбежной противоречивости при изложении определенных предметов. Согласно Лорбейбойму, Маймонид скептически относится к возможности доказательного знания в отношении отдельных разделов метафизики, он понимает, что есть темы, не поддающиеся аподиктическо- му изложению, о них можно говорить только с помощью диалектических рассуждений, основанных на вероятностных посылках, а эти посылки могут противоречить друг другу. То есть, дело не в стремлении к сокры- тию истины, а в том, что она недостижима. При таком взгляде эзотеризм как бы вынужден, он связан с типом информации. Правда, Лорбербойм добавляет, что от масс нужно скрыть непереносимую для них неопреде- ленность, характерную для диалектических рассуждений, а это связано уже с заботой о получателе информации, с так называемыми политиче- скими соображениями. Так или иначе, оба подхода предполагают две категории читателей: 1) достаточно просвещенных (= растерянных) и 2) невежественных в науках. Как мы уже замечали выше, не исключено, что «растерянные» могут представлять собой не единый тип, а иметь разный уровень осве- домленности в области философии. На эту мысль наталкивает один пас- саж Аль-Фараби, который, по всей видимости, оказал серьезное влияние на Маймонида28. В «Трактате о жителях добродетельного города» Аль- Фараби описывает те вещи, о которых каждый должен иметь представ- ление. В него входит десять пунктов, включающие устройство космоса (от Первопричины и ее атрибутов до Активного Интеллекта) и устройство социума (от получающего откровение главы до добродетельных и проти- воположных им народах). Далее Аль-Фараби замечает:

26 См., например: Davidson 2005: 387–402. 27 Lorberbaum 2000. 28 См.: Berman 1974: 154–178.

14 Все эти вещи познаются одним из двух следующих способов: либо они запечатлеваются в их душах в том виде, в каком они существуют в действительности, либо же они запечатлеваются в душах по аналогии или подражанию, что получается в тех случаях, когда в этих душах воз- никают такие образы вещей, которые подражают самим вещам29 .

Такими, как они есть, вещи познаются мудрецами «посредством до- казательств и собственной интуиции». Некоторые принимают на веру от мудрецов их представления. Что же касается остальных, то: …остальные познают их посредством подражательных представле- ний, так как их умы от природы или по привычке лишены способности понимать эти вещи так, как они существуют в действительности… Среди тех, кто познает вещи посредством подражательных пред- ставлений, одни познают их с помощью представлений, близких к са- мому объекту, другие — с помощью представлений, несколько далеких от объекта, третьи — с помощью представлений, еще более далеких от объекта, а четвертые — посредством представлений, очень далеких от объекта30 .

Мы видим, что согласно Аль-Фараби существует многоступенчатая система образных систем, с помощью которых та или иная категория жителей идеального полиса познает то, что необходимо знать каждому. Следующий пассаж является критическим: Среди тех, кто познает вещи с помощью подражательных представ- лений, могут встретиться такие, которые обнаружив спорные пункты, останавливаются на них. Таковые бывают нескольких категорий. Те, кто нуждается в руководстве. Когда что-либо, по мнению кого-нибудь из них, оказывается ложным, он возвышается до другого представления, более близкого к истине и не могущего стать предметом для подобного спора. Если он этим удовлетворяется, то он останавливается на этом, но если такое представление ему кажется также ошибочным, он под- нимается еще выше. Если же он удовлетворяется, то останавливается на этом. И всякий раз, как какое-либо представление на данной ступени оказывается, по его мнению, ошибочным, он поднимается на более вы- сокую ступень. Если же все представления кажутся ему ложными, то это значит, что он обладает даром постигать истину…31

Таким образом, именно обнаружение противоречий в системе пред- ставлений может служить стимулом для продвижения обучаемого, а спо- собность подвергать систему представлений критике, находить в ней

29 Аль-Фараби 1972: 339–340. Ср. также: Al-Farabi 1985: 276–283. 30 Аль-Фараби 1972: 340. 31 Там же. Далее Аль-Фараби говорит о тех, кто, находя спорные пункты, не воз- вышается до представлений более высокого уровня, а отвергает весь комплекс пред- ставлений.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 15 противоречия и есть способность постигать истину. Какова же роль ру- ководителя в процессе перехода ученика от одной системы представлений к другой, более высокого уровня? Ведь ту или иную систему представ- лений он получает именно от учителя. Не должен ли тот помочь уче- нику выявить противоречия в ней, подтолкнуть его к их обнаружению? Не в том ли и состоит его роль, что, формируя образную систему того или иного уровня, он одновременно должен подспудно зародить в учени- ке подозрение в ее неполноценности, противоречивости? На наш взгляд, именно такого рода педагогика и является следствием описываемого Аль- Фараби процесса постижения. И есть все основания полагать, что Май- монид в этом следует Аль-Фараби. Наш тезис состоит в том, что в стратегию Маймонида входит не только «снятие» растерянности, но и ее провоцирование32. Обнаружение несоот- ветствия, связанного с приблизительным объяснением сложного понятия (пятая причина) как и обнаружение противоречия между различными ас- пектами сложной и глубокой темы или используемыми посылками (седь- мая причина) может привести к растерянности, но ее следует расценивать как позитивный шаг в процессе продвижения к истине. Заронить сомне- ние, подтолкнуть к обнаружению противоречия в системе имеющихся представлений — одна из задач учителя, наставника, того, кто указывает направление (а ведь название трактата имеет и такое значение33). Осо- бый смысл в этой связи приобретают слова мыслителя XIII века Йосефа ха-Леви Абулафии: «Если наш учитель назвал свой трактат Наставник растерянных, . . то мы, грешные в слепоте нашей, вынуждены назвать его Растерянность наставников»34. Не исключено, что в этом заключа- лась одна из задач «Путеводителя». Можно предположить, что, согласно Маймониду, Писание и книги пророков, а затем и высказывания мудрецов Талмуда содержат набор раз- личных образных систем, сформулированных в форме аллегорий и притч и подходящих для людей, находящихся на разном уровне и предположи- тельно способных перейти от одной системы представлений к системе более высокого уровня. Но для того, чтобы это произошло, нужен учитель,

32 С. Клейн-Бреслави также указывает на связь эзотерического письма Маймонида с концепцией идеального полиса и «педагогического мифа» Аль-Фараби (см.: Klien- Braslavy 2006: 140–143). Однако, в отличие от нас, С. Клейн-Бреслави говорит лишь о «снятии» растерянности, но не о провоцировании. Представляется, что главное от- личие предлагаемого нами подхода коренится в представлении о том, что просвещен- ная аудитория, на которую рассчитывал Маймонид, не гомогенна, различие уровней предполагает не только снятие растерянности, но и провоцирование растерянности. 33 Арабское dalālа означает «указание» (от dalla — «указывать»). Поэтому на ив- рите в названии трактата появляется moreh («учитель», букв. «указывающий») — Море невухим. Заметим, что на иврите слово torah происходит от того же корня, что и moreh, и, в принципе, означает «указание». 34 Эти слова приведены в сборнике: Kobak 1878: 12. См.: Ravitzky 2005: 319.

16 руководитель, тот, кто указывает путь (= путеводитель). Вполне вероятно, что, по мнению Маймонида, эту роль и играли учителя, носители Устной Торы. Другими словами, Устная Тора в качестве живой традиции и была тем дополнением Письменной, которая помогала переходить от одной об- разной системы к другой. Учителя определяли, какая образная система подходит их ученикам и кого из учеников следует «подтолкнуть» к об- наружению противоречий, что приведет его к постижению «тайн Торы» на более высоком уровне. Во времена Маймонида Устная Тора сама пре- вратилась в текст, то есть в набор различных образных систем, объясне- ние которых означает не что иное, как добавление еще одной образной системы35. Стало быть, необходимо именно то, что подталкивает к обна- ружению противоречий. В отсутствие живой традиции Маймонид берется создать такого рода механизм в письменном тексте — это текст, который, помимо прочего, наталкивает на противоречия, создает растерянность, необходимую для следующего шага, указывает на иную образную систему более высокого уровня. Этот текст, якобы снимая растерянность, в то же время ухитряется заронить новое сомнение, как бы вновь создавая расте- рянность. Таков путь к истине, согласно Аль-Фараби. Можно ли достиг- нуть истины, согласно Маймониду, отдельный вопрос, который выходит за рамки данной статьи36. Но есть основания полагать, что путь, которым ведет «Путеводитель» — это путь растерянных.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Аль-Фараби 1972: Аль-Фараби. Трактат о жителях добродетельного города // Аль-Фараби. Философские трактаты. Алма-Ата: Наука, 1972. С. 193–377 (Al-Farabi, Filosofskie traktaty, Alma-Ata: Nauka, 193–377). Моше бен Маймон 2000: Моше бен Маймон. Путеводитель растерянных / Пер. и коммент. М. А. Шнейдера. М.: Мосты культуры; Иерусалим: Маха- наим, 2000 (Moshe ben Majmon, Putevoditel’ rasterjannykh, perevod i kommentarii M. A. Shnejdera, Moskva; Ierusalim). Платон 2007: Платон. Письма // Платон. Сочинения в 4-х т. / Под общ. ред. А. Ф. Лосева, В. Ф. Асмуса. СПб.: Изд-во С.-Петерб. ун-та; «Изд-во Олега Абышко», 2007. Т. 3. Ч. 2. С. 545–610 (Platon, Sochinenija v 4 tomakh, pod red. A. F. Loseva, V. F. Asmusa, Sankt-Petersburg, 3, 2, 545–610). Al-Farabi (1985) Al-Farabi on the Perfect State, A revised text with introduction, trans. and comment. by R. Walzer, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Berman, L. V. (1974) Maimonides the Disciple of al-Farabi, Israel Oriental Studies 4, 154–178. Davidson, H. (2005) Moses Maimonides: The Man and His Works, Oxford.

35 Как мы видели выше, Маймонид отказывается от этого пути. 36 См. по этому поводу, например: Pines 1979: 83–109.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 17 Klien-Braslavy, S. (1996) King Solomon and Philosophical Esoterism in the Thought of Maimonides, Jerusalem: Magnes (repr.: 2008) (Hebrew). Klien-Braslavy, S. (2006) Maimonides’ Esoteric and Exoteric Biblical Interpreta- tions in the Guide of Perplexed, Study and Knowledge in Jewish Thought, H. Kreisel (ed.), Beer Sheva: Ben-Gurion University of the Negev Press, 137–164. Kobak, I. (Hrsg.) (1878) Ginse Nistaroth. Handschriftliche Editionen aus der jüdishen Literatur, 4, Bamberg. Lorberbaum, Y. (2000) “The Seventh Cause” — On Contradictions in the Guide of the Perplexed, Tarbiz 69, 2, 211–237 (Hebrew). Lorberbaum, Y. (2002) On Contradictions, Rationality, Dialectics and Esotericism in Maimonides Guide of the Perplexed, Metaphysics, 55, 711–750. Moses Maimonides (1963) The Guide of the Perplexed, trans. by S. Pines, Chicago. Pines, S. (1979) The Limitations of Human Knowledge According to Al-Farabi, ibn Bajja and Maimonides, Studies in Medieval Jewish History and Literature, 1, I. Twersky (ed.), Cambridge, 83–109. Ravitzky, А. (1986) The Secrets of the Guide of the Perplexed: Between the Thir- teenth and Twentieth Centuries, Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought, 5, 23–69 (Hebrew). Ravitzky, А. (2005) Maimonides — Еsotericism and Educational Philosophy, The Cambridge Companion to Maimonides, K. Seeskin (ed.), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 300–323 (= Daat 2004, 53, 43–62 [Hebrew]). Strauss, L. (1941) The Literary Character of the Guide of the Perplexed, S. Baron (ed.), Essays on Maimonides, New York, 37–91. Robert Elliott Allinson Soka University of America; The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, [email protected]

NACHMAN KROCHMAL AND THE ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN

Abstract: For the nineteenth century Jewish Galician philosopher, Nachman Krochmal (1785–1840), the argument from design is the most powerful argument in Jewish literature. This paper is separated into seven parts, each one of which aims to give the reader a better understanding of the argument from design. In each part, the argument is compared and contrasted with other arguments for and against the existence of G-d from classical Western philosophers to contemporary Western philosophers. Historical and contemporary objections to the argument from design are analyzed including arguments from Kant, Leibniz, Spinoza and Bertrand Russell. The thesis of this paper is that the argument from design, though not a proof of the existence of G-d, remains the most powerful argument for the existence of G-d. In addition, in contrast to other arguments for the existence of G-d, such as the ontological arguments, it is the metaphysical argument for the existence of G-d closest to the nature of G-d of worship of the Jewish religion. Keywords: Argument from Design; Spinoza; Deism; Kant; internal final causes; Darwinian evolution; Aristotle; Spinoza; Leibniz; Kant; Bertrand Russell; the Hebrew Bible; Krochmal; ontological argument; causal ontological argument.

Роберт Эллиот Эллинсон Университет Сока в США; Еврейский университет в Иерусалиме, [email protected]

НАХМАН КРОХМАЛЬ И АРГУМЕНТ ОТ ДИЗАЙНА

Резюме: Для галицкого еврейского философа XIX века Нахмана Крохмаля (1785–1840) телеологический аргумент существования Бога является самым весомым доводом, имеющимся в еврейской литературе. Данная статья разде- лена на семь частей, каждая из которых направлена на то, чтобы дать читателю лучшее понимание телеологического аргумента. В каждой части аргумент срав- нивается и противопоставляется другим аргументам за и против существования Бога имеющимся у классических и современных западных философов. Проана- лизированы исторические и современные возражения против телеологического аргумента, включая доводы Канта, Лейбница, Спинозы и Бертрана Рассела. Основной тезис статьи состоит в том, что телеологический аргумент, хотя и не является доказательством существования Бога, остается самым мощным

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 19 доводом. Кроме того, в отличие от других аргументов о существовании Бога, таких как онтологический, этот метафизический аргумент наиболее близок к пониманию природы Бога в еврейской религии. Ключевые слова: телеологический аргумент существования Бога (аргумент от дизайна), Спиноза; деизм; Кант; внутренняя целевая причина; дарвиновская эволюция; Аристотель; Спиноза; Лейбниц; Кант; Бертран Рассел; Еврейская Библия; Крохмаль; онтологический аргумент; онтологический причинный ар- гумент.

In his well thought out book on the Jewish Galician philosopher Nachmal Krochmal, Jay Harris points out that Krochmal held that the argument from design is, “… according to Krochmal, a cardinal principle of Jewish faith” and that “of all the arguments in favor of the existence of God, the fact that the ordered world would be inconceivable without him may be the most powerful in Jewish literature”1. Given the atheistic world view that dominates today’s intellectual climate, in which the argument from design is lightly tossed aside, it behooves us to closely examine the argument from design. I would like to divide this article into seven parts. Firstly, we shall contrast the argument from design with its most powerful theistic opposite, the great philosophy of Spinoza. Secondly, we shall examine Krochmal’s replies to Kant’s objections to the argument from design. Thirdly, we shall contrast the argument from design with its most powerful atheistic opposite, the argument that chance, not design, serves as the most likely explanation of the universe. Fourthly, we shall examine the classic atheistic objections to the argument from design put forth by Bertrand Russell. Fifthly, we shall examine the recent objections to the argument from design put forth by Rebecca Goldstein. Sixthly, we shall examine the relationship between Goldstein and Spinoza. Seventhly, we shall examine the ethical argument for the existence of a designer, the argument from care.

1 . Krochmal and Spinoza

Krochmal cites Spinoza’s objection to the notion that G-d serves any teleological purpose, such as a caretaker of the universe, because, according to Spi- noza, G-d would then be subservient to that end2. This argument that Krochmal attributes to Spinoza reminds one of Aristotle’s argument that the Unmoved Mover could not think of the universe, despite Averroes ingenious objection, because that would be to think of an inferior object and would then mar G-d’s perfection. In the Appendix to Book I of his Ethics, Spinoza’s posthumously published magnum opus, Spinoza writes:

1 Harris 1993: 45. 2 Harris 1993: 47–48.

20 All the prejudices I here undertake to expose depend on this one: that men commonly suppose that all natural things act, as men do, on account of an end; indeed, they maintain as certain that God himself directs all things to some certain end, for they say that God has made all things for man, and man that he might worship God 3 . I answer that, although G-d may have an end in mind, it does not follow that G-d exists for the sake of that end. Hence, teleology does not necessarily detract from G-d’s perfection. Further, while G-d may be the Divine Architect, it does not follow that S/He designs the universe for any exterior purpose. The argument from design does not depend upon any purpose outside of itself. The creation of the universe could be, as the aesthetic theory of Walter Pater, a creation for its own sake. This may not answer Aristotle’s argument that such an action may detract from G-d’s perfection. This, however, depends upon how one defines perfection. One could argue that care for others is a mode of perfection which is more perfect than thinking about thinking, the activity that preoccupied Aristotle’s Unmoved Mover. Krochmal’s argument from design proceeds in two ways. The first way is an argument from ethics. He cites the Hebrew Bible for evidence that G-d would not create the world and then not act as caretaker of it4. This is not the usual argument from design which argues from the elaborate and comprehensive order of things to the existence of a designer. Let us, for the present moment, concentrate on the more traditional nature of the argument from design. At the end of this essay, we shall return to the caretaker argument. Krochmal does not simply argue from the existence of the extraordinary order of the universe and the harmony of the co-existence of all of its parts. His argument from design is what can be referred to as the teleological relationship between the parts of an organism and its end. This is my terminology and not Krochmal’s, but I think that it helps to clarify his arguments and illustrate their distinctive nature. In his words, “The teleological principle … is internal, because the various parts of the body are not explicable, either in terms of their existence or their function, without the notion of the structure as a whole serving as the telos for which these parts came into existence”5. An easy example, (not one that Kro- chmal provides), is the existence of a hand which would make no sense except as part of an organism that it serves as a feeder, protector and so on and so forth. Krochmal reasons from the existence of internal teleology that “… a thinking, willing G-d must be responsible for the creation of complex organisms”6 . Otherwise, (and this reasoning is my own), how or why should such complex

3 Spinoza 1985. 4 I do not examine the relationship of Krochmal’s thinking to the Jewish philosopher Abraham Ibn Ezra (1089–1164) or to Hegel (1770–1831) because it would take us too far afield from the main argument of this present article. 5 Harris 1993: 51. 6 Harris 1993: 51.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 21 organisms come into being? The only other option is chance, an option which will be examined in detail in Part III. Such options as genes or memes who are choosing to construct host organisms for their own survival are both too fantastic to consider and also suffer from the same problem, to wit, why or how do these genes succeed in creating internally teleological organisms? Is it also from chance or do they become the designers of the universe? In the latter case, this is still a variation of the argument from design — although it is one which does not contain much ethical or spiritual value. Even Spinoza, in his thirty-second letter to Oldenberg, appears to present arguments that support the argument from design (he does not use the word “design” but rather refers to an agreement of the part with the whole and with all other parts) though he professes to be ignorant on how or why such a harmony exists in the first place: When you ask me my opinion on the questions raised concerning our knowledge of the means, whereby each part of nature agrees with its whole, and the manner in which it is associated with the remaining parts, ... as to the means whereby the parts are really associated, and each part agrees with its whole … I am in ignorance7 . It seems that Spinoza does consider that there is an agreement that exists among the parts of nature, though he does not attribute this to a design. Most importantly, as to how this agreement comes about, he professes ignorance and thus relieves himself from the need to argue for or against the presence of design. The problem with this approach is that it leaves the question of the order of nature unexplained. Spinoza, however, has an astute answer to this question: “… I will premise that I do not attribute to nature either beauty or deformity, order or confusion. Only in relation to our imagination can things be called beautiful or deformed, ordered or confused”8. On the one hand, Spinoza appears to recognize a harmony of parts with a whole that exists in nature; on the other, he premises that this is simply the result of our imagination. Spinoza does not explain why we are prone to see order in the universe. Is this a universal hallucination? Later in the same letter, Spinoza states: “… each body… must be considered as a part of the whole universe, as agreeing with the whole, and associated with the remaining parts”9 . If this is an instance of our imagination ordering the universe, then the question is, why does he say that our imagination must work in this fashion? Is this a prelude to Kant’s later argument found in the Transcendental Deduction of the Categories in his firstCritique ? There is but a short step from Spinoza’s concept of the imagination im- posing order on the universe to Kant’s reduction of order to a means by which

7 Spinoza 1891: 290. 8 Spinoza 1891: 290. 9 Spinoza 1891: 292.

22 our judgment reflects upon the universe and so it is to Krochmal’s treatment of Kant that our attention must now turn. Kant also does not explain why we must order the universe in the way that we do. He presents complex arguments to demonstrate that we must think the way we do in order to possess coherent experience, but he never presents any arguments to demonstrate why we must possess coherent experience. Spinoza, on the other hand, does not shy from metaphysical arguments. However, we may well wonder why Spinoza continues to do metaphysics in light of his declaration that our concepts about the universe are only our imaginations and do not describe reality itself. We may also wonder whether Spinoza’s restriction of conceptualizations of the universe to the work of the imagination does not constitute an anticipation of Kant’s famed restriction of knowledge to appearances and a denial that our knowledge can penetrate to things as they exist in themselves. It seems that it also prefigures Darwin’s and later Dawkin’s arguments that there is an illusion of design, but why the appearance of a design is an illusion is a question to which we shall return later. Why there is even an illusion of design is a question that needs to be addressed.

2. Krochmal and Kant Kant does not object to the idea of internal final causes and a system of purposes, but he does not see how this justifies the inference from internal causality to G-d. We may refer to Kant’s position as a half-way house. If we start with Kant’s position, the case for the argument from design possesses a stronger foundation than the position of starting with a universe of elements that are grouped together purely by chance (which is an incoherent notion as we shall see below). If we already possess a system of internal teleological causes, we can ask the question, how or why do these internal, teleological causes interact with each other? From the argument of ecological balance, it appears that internal, teleological causes relate to each other in both internal and external dependencies. The next set of questions is how or why does this elaborate system of internal and external dependencies come into being and continue without gov- ernance or supervision? That this degree of a complexity of unity and order is due to natural selection does not answer the question as to why there is natural selection in the first place. Even the hypothesis of natural selection that operates with such amazing regularity and co-operative harmony makes more sense if one assumes a regulator and supervisor than if such regularity and co-operative harmony is assumed to come into being and maintain itself by chance. Again, the argument from chance will be examined in Part III. For the present, it may be said that while Kant may assert that we cannot justify the move from internal causality to G-d, if we do not make such a move, we are left with a system

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 23 without any basis or ground of its systematic nature. We have a system that possesses no reason for its being there as a system. The justification that Kant asserts to be lacking is the very existence of a systematic relationship among internal, teleological organisms. That such a system exists and continues to exist without an organizer is the very basis for the argument for design. Kant is satisfied that he has established the possibility of internal final causes and this enables him to conclude that nature consists of an overall system of final causes. One of Kant’s examples is that of a tree, which produces leaves, which in turn maintain it, “for repeated defoliation would kill it…”10 However, Kant does not think that the system of internal final causes proves the existence of a designer. For Kant, all that the existence of a system of internal cause proves is that nature is made up of a system of internal causes. (There are external causes as well, but the existence of external causes does not affect the argument). For the present author, the question then becomes, how does a system of internal causes design itself? The importance of stressing the existence of internal causes is that it is very difficult if not impossible to utilize the explanation of natural selection to account for internal teleology. We can offer a humorous example to illustrate this point. In contrast to the argument that giraffes grew long necks in order to reach the leaves on the tops of tall trees, Darwinian evolution would argue that it was natural selection that enabled long necked giraffes to survive because they could reach the tops of trees. The question remains, why does a giraffe exist at all in the first place? Natural selection cannot account for the first giraffe. One could argue that a giraffe is a result of the evolution of genes that formed this particular survival entity in all of its elegant, colorful, improbable and delightfully comic form. This kind of argument is similar to the argument that given sufficient time, a number of chimpanzees hammering on the keys of computers given to them would eventually write the works of Shakespeare. Kant appears to argue that internal causes are produced by the parts of the organisms themselves: Its parts must in their collective unity reciprocally produce one another alike as to form and combination, and thus by their own causality produce a whole… In such a natural product as this every part is thought as owing its presence to the agency of all the remaining parts and also as existing for the sake of the others and the whole…11 If every part owes its existence to all of the other parts, how can any part exist by itself in the first place? Indeed, it is difficult if not impossible to comprehend that it is via the causality of the parts that the whole comes into being. From Kant’s reasoning, one would infer that nature, as a whole, would come into being from the collective unity of its parts. Kant, however, does not

10 Kant 2007: 374. 11 Kant 2007 (emphasis in original).

24 conclude this. It must be remembered that Kant does affirm a system of purposes and that, according to the above reasoning, each organism is either responsible for its separate existence or the entire system of nature is brought about by the collective unity of its parts. If in the above quotation, Kant intends to restrict the meaning of the word “part” to a singular part of a single organism (the leaf of a tree, for example), then the collective unity of all the parts of nature must be the result of chance. One could argue natural selection for each part, but this does not account for the existence of natural selection in the first place. If, on the other hand, by the word “part”, Kant intends that all the parts of nature collectively bring about the whole, then this would imply a metaphysics of a teleological design on the part of parts which would appear to be at least as fantastic as the concept of an intelligent designer of the whole. Kant avoids these consequences by stating that: … no one would ascribe design to a lifeless material… we do not convert nature into an intelligent being, for that would be absurd, but neither do we think of placing another being, one that is intelligent, above nature as its architect, for that would be presumptuous12 .

For Kant, the concept of teleology is only meant to serve as a reflective concept and is not to be taken to possess an ontological status, that is, in his words, a constitutive principle of nature. Kant makes it clear that his concept of teleology cannot be construed as an argument for the existence of G-d. It is meant to apply to how we judge nature, nothing more. How and why it can possess an epistemological application without ontological status is left as a puzzle for readers of Kant. For Krochmal, one can take Kant one step further. The existence of a system of internal purposes is best explained by a designer, G-d. The argument from the existence of a system of internal purposes is stronger than the argument from an assembly of mechanisms. Once one has established that there are internal purposes in nature, it is less likely to be preposter- ous that there is a purposeful designer. Kant’s arguments that nature is a system of purposes creates the opportunity for Krochmal’s argument from design. One may say that Judaism can benefit from the arguments of Kant in the same fashion as both Judaism and Christi- anity benefited from the arguments of Aristotle, but only more so. In the case of Aquinas and Maimonides utilizing Aristotelian arguments for the existence of G-d, (in Maimonides’ words), they were successful in proving that G-d is, not what G-d is. For Aristotle, as said above, G-d had no interest in this world and hence his proofs do not lead to a G-d with whom one can worship, petition and co-create. Kant opens the door to a purposeful G-d. Although, of course, he denies that this is an idea that possesses reality and is only a regulative idea, his arguments

12 Kant 2007: 383.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 25 from a nature composed of final ends provides a logical base for a purposeful G-d. This is why, in my opinion, Krochmal focuses on Kant’s arguments for a teleological view of nature. My argument is as follows: If nature is made up of mechanical causes, it is entirely possible that Deism, an 18th century version of Aristotelianism, is correct. As Jefferson thought, G-d is only necessary as a starter of the cosmos. He then can leave the scene, making it entirely unnecessary for Him to die, as Nietzsche (or Zarathustra) proclaimed. If, on the other hand, nature is made up of a kingdom of ends — to borrow a Kantian phrase — then the bridge to a purposeful G-d has been provided. For, if the parts of nature (excluding external causes) are teleologically driven, then why should the whole of nature be made of a different cloth?13 If each part of nature, for example a tree, is a purposeful organism, then why should all the parts of nature together lack a purpose? One accounts for each organism as a purposeful entity, making it unlikely that that entity lacks a design. Each entity, thus, is an illustration and an embodiment of a designed entity. A design cannot be the result of any one part or the summation of all parts because the whole, that is the end goal, must pre-exist in order for the part to exist in the first place. An arm, for example, cannot pre-exist for a body. The body, as an end goal, must pre-exist as a design in order to make it necessary to create an arm to feed and protect it. The body does not exist for the sake of the arm. The arm exists for the sake of the body. The idea of the body must precede the idea of the arm . Nature is a unity since all of its parts work together under a cooperative principle which we call ecology. The whole exists as a sustaining principle for every part. If the whole exists as a unity, then the idea of the whole must pre-exist the idea of the parts. If each of the parts possesses a design, and the parts together function as a whole, then the whole itself must also possess a design. The value of incorporating Kantian teleology is that if the whole itself has a design, then this illustrates that the whole itself requires a designer. The argument for a Deity then turns on the concept of the designer. As we shall discuss below, if a designer fashions a design, then the designer possesses a responsibility for caring for that design. The introduction of the idea of purposes in nature leads the way to a purposeful G-d who then, unlike the G-d of Aristotle, can be implored to care for His design. In this sense, Kant’s epistemology can be utilized as a metaphysics, which allows for the G-d of religion. This is Kroch- mal’s contribution. For Kant, to turn a regulative principle, our way of judging nature, into a constitutive principle, a teleology into a theology, is presumptuous (his word). For Kant, the belief in G-d is to be left untarnished by rational proof, to the realm

13 Harris writes that “Having established the possibility of internal final causes, Kant feels justified in affirming a ‘system of purposes’ … in which we do not need to be able to prove an internal causality for each part of the system to be able to nevertheless affirm the final causality that inheres within it” (Harris 1993: 49).

26 of Faith. It is not clear that we need this bifurcation into the realms of Faith and Reason for this creates an unnecessary division that provides grounds for conflict and disharmony. Faith and Reason can be partners on a journey, each contributing something distinctive to the creation of a theology without denigrating one or the other.

3 .T he Idea of Chance For Dawkins, the idea of chance is all that is needed for the existence of the universe in the first place. After the chance event that precipitated the universe, Darwinian evolution, based upon natural selection, is sufficient to explain the subsequent development. The idea of chance is not needed. It is only required for the explanation of the beginning. We have disposed of the idea that evolution can account for the ecological harmony of the parts of the universe and the synchronicity of the whole that enables the parts to function. Evolution can suffice to explain the survival of certain species. That is about all. Now it is time to dispose of Dawkins’ parallel notion, that chance can explain the origin of the universe. Such a notion is a confusion of epistemological and ontological orders. The universe cannot come into being as a result of chance. Chance is not a cause because chance is an epistemological concept, not an ontological concept. Chance is not an explanation. Chance is the absence of an explanation. The idea of chance or the representation of the concept of chance under the guise of statistical probability is an epistemological not an ontological concept. There must first exist some kind of regular pattern before one can compare it to an irregular pattern or the lack of a pattern. Chance is not a primary concept. Chance is a parasitic concept, parasitic upon ontological occurrence. To say that the universe comes to be or exists by chance is not an argument, but only reveals a lack of understanding the meaning of the concept of chance. Chance on its own does not account for anything. Chance can only come into being as a concept to explain a deviation from what already exists. There cannot be chance events prior to there being events. Chance simply represents a deviation from a regular pre-existent pattern; it is not an ontological reality. Chance is offered as an explanation whenever one encounters events that deviate from a regular pattern. Chance is a derivative concept. It cannot exist by itself. It depends upon the existence of a chain of events from which it represents a deviation. It is not a primary or an explanatory concept. The concept of a “singular beginning chance event” is a verbal phrase made of a string of four successive words that possess no coherent meaning. Chance is not a cause; it is a concept. It is a concept that stands for the fact that one does not know the cause of an event. It is a concept that represents that we do not know the cause

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 27 of something. In our contemporary usage of the concept of chance, chance is a concept that both reveals and conceals our ignorance. For Aristotle, chance occurrences are defined by the intersection of two caused events. Chance by itself does not determine anything. It is a reflection, for Aristotle, of how two self-determining events can possess an unintended consequence. What is a singular self-caused event for Aristotle is what he calls the spontaneous. The spontaneous, for Aristotle, is a wider category than chance. What happens of itself is not caused by chance or randomness, because chance or randomness are not causes; they are derivative epistemological concepts.

4 . Krochmal and Bertrand Russell In his influential work “Why I am not a Christian?”, Bertrand Russell raises the apparently obvious key counter-argument to all arguments for the existence of G-d. This argument, simply put, is that if one argues that the existence of the world makes no sense without appeal to a creator, the problem is not solved by saying that it was created by G-d. The reason this apparent solution is untenable, according to Lord Russell, is that it only pushes the question one step further back to, who created G-d? Since this cannot be answered, or would lead us into an infinite regress, to argue that the existence of the universe is explained by referring to the existence of G-d, is no help at all. So ends the final coup de grace of Russell, with the argument to which any atheist worthy of the name ‘atheist’ appeals, “Who then created G-d?” The question, “Who created G-d?” is a different question from the question, “Does the existence of a design require a designer?” These questions are not on the same level. One question possesses a clear and definite content; the other does not. The existence of a design makes us think that it is more plausible (not that it necessitates us) to consider that there is a designer than not. This is not a proof of the existence of a designer. It is an argument from plausibility. The most famous illustration of the argument is Paley’s anecdote of finding a watch on the heath. We draw the inference from the existence of a watch that there is a watch maker. It is not a necessary inference. It is logically possible that the watch materialized itself. However, we do not consider that this is plausible. It is logically possible but empirically absurd. Hence, we think it is far more likely that there is a watch maker. The argument from design is not any different than this. It is an argument from likelihood, not logical necessity. The argument from design is not faulted by the objection, “Who then made G-d?” any more than the argument from the existence of the watch to a watch maker is invalidated by the question, “Who made the watch maker?” This is a separate question and deserves a separate answer. The questions of “Who made G-d?” and “Who made the watch maker?” need separate treatments. If, for example, an archeologist finds potsherds on a dig, the archeologist may infer that there were humans living on that site at some point in the past. The question

28 of who made these human beings is a separate question altogether and does not invalidate the first inference. In addition, the question “Who made G-d?” assumes that G-d is an existence that needs to be created. If G-d is uncreated and eternal, then the question is wrong-headed. The world, we think, can be argued to have a beginning. This is because scientific evidence can be cited for the likelihood of the lifetime of car- bon atoms, stars, etc. It is plausible for us to consider that the world had a beginning in time. We have the content of a subject matter to examine. In the case of G-d, we have no content of a subject matter to examine. We have no basis for considering that G-d had a beginning. We have two and each of which refers to a different subject matter. In one case, we have content to examine (that of the universe); in the other case, we have no content to examine (that of G-d). The two different questions cannot be conflated. They exist on different levels. It makes sense to ask, “Who created the universe?” It does not make sense to ask, “Who created G-d?” That both questions can be asked in grammatical English does not mean that both questions make sense. That the question of design can be provided with the plausible answer of a Divine Designer, is not negated by the fact that the question of who created G-d cannot be answered at all. The question of who created G-d is not a real question because there are no grounds for inferring that G-d is an existence that possesses a lifetime whereas all parts of the universe can be analyzed on scientific grounds as possessing a lifetime. The scientist Richard Dawkins has argued against the argument from design that Darwin’s theory of evolution and the survival of the fittest explains the way in which the world and all the creatures within it have evolved. I answer that, though the survival of individual entities might be explained by the notion of the survival of the fittest, this notion cannot explain the overall order of the universe. The survival of individual entities does not require the extraordinary unity of the universe. Since the overall unity of the universe does exist, the overall unity of the universe does not come into being as a result of the survival of the fittest. Darwinian theory, then, might account for the continued existence of certain species, but it cannot and does not explain the existence of the harmony of ecological units that make up the totality.

5 . Krochmal and Rebecca Goldstein A recent writer Rebecca Goldstein has taken on the Argument from Design to show its inadequacies. It is the third of thirty-six arguments for the existence of G-d that she proposes to debunk in her book, Thirty-Six Arguments for the Existence of G-d. For the flaw that she sees in this argument she draws upon no less an authority than Charles Darwin who, according to her, had already shown that “… the process of replication could give rise to the illusion of design without the foresight of an actual designer. Replications make copies of themselves, which make copies of themselves … After many generations,

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 29 the dominant replicators will appear to have been designed for effective replication…”14 This argument begs the question. The “answer”, “replication”, is a question, not an answer. Why is there replication in the first place? This question is no different from the question, why is there existence in the first place? Replication is simply an observation that existing entities tend to re- produce themselves. It entirely leaves behind the question, why. Replication, in effect, is another variation on the theme of chance. Replication does not draw upon the explanation of natural selection. Why do organisms replicate themselves? If it is in order to survive, does this mean that there is an instinct to survive on the cellular level? Why does this “instinct” exist in the first place? Natural selection could possibly explain why certain cells survive, but why is survival a phenomenon in the first place? It could well be argued that replication is another word for reproduction and reproduction of a species is a means by which the species can survive. This, too, reflects design. The species must be designed to survive and replication is its means. One can, of course, always assert that the drive for survival is a product of chance, but, as we shall see below, this is a misuse of the concept of chance. To answer that there is an illusion of design is not an answer to why there is such an illusion. The question, “Is it plausible that such an exquisitely functioning universe can exist without a designer”, now becomes this: “How can such an illusion of an exquisitely functioning universe exist without a designer?” Even copies of designer products, such as exquisite leather hand bags, have been known, upon personal inspection, to deceive their designers, such as Louis Vuitton, into thinking that they were products of the original manufacturers. But, the copies also had manufacturers. Indeed, the reason that Louis Vuitton could not tell them apart was that they were made in the same factory in China. Goldstein also invokes what she calls the Fallacy of Arguing from Igno- rance. Because we do not know how this universe came into being, we then have recourse to G-d. Personally, I do not know any argument from Design that is based upon arguing from ignorance. Arguments from Design are based upon the inconceivability of such lawful cooperating patterns co-existing for millennia simply occurring from chance. The argument from chance as an argument for the origin of the universe is the best example of an argument from ignorance. If we do not know a cause, we can attribute the cause to chance. Chance becomes the conceptual waste basket for all inexplicable phenomena.

6 . Goldstein and Spinoza

Because, for Krochmal, G-d is infinite, it is important to take note of Rebec- ca Goldstein’s argument that human beings can know infinity without requiring

14 Goldstein 2010: 351–352.

30 recourse to G-d. Her argument, number 29 on her list, is that “Recursive rules allow a finite system … to reason about an infinity of objects”15. This is an assertion, not an argument. How can recursive rules allow the finite to reason about the infinite? This is what needs to be proven, not asserted. Her reasoning basically is that we can always add another number to whatever number we have. This is a rule for generating a potential infinite; this is not the same as comprehending an actual infinite. She also equates reasoning about with knowledge of. She states that “We have knowledge of the infinite …” and later conflates this with the ability to add a number to whatever number we consider to be the greatest number to knowledge of the infinite. That we can do something which entails the capacity to increase the greatest finite indefinitely is not the same as possessing knowledge of the infinite. Being able to follow a rule is not the same as comprehending an infinite sum. She concludes that “Recursive rules allow a finite system to reason about an infinity of objects”. She states that this ability refutes her third premise: “We could not have derived this knowledge of the infinite from the finite”. The capacity for reasoning and calculation is not equivalent to knowledge. She has not explained how the finite can know the infinite. She has only shown that the finite can reason about the indefinitely finite. This fallacious argument of hers is important to notice because the very problem of how can the finite know the infinite is the heart of Spinoza’s argument for the existence of G-d. For Spinoza, only the infinite can know the infinite. Hence, if we know the infinite, it must be that G-d has planted the idea of infinity within us. Earlier we took note of the fact that Spinoza rejected the argument from design because he reasoned that it would detract from G-d’s perfection to posit an end outside of itself. On the other hand, Spinoza does think he has given an adequate argument for the existence of G-d with his argument that it explains how the finite can know the infinite. This argument is called the causal ontological argument. Spinoza also utilizes the pure ontological argument. At the beginning of his Ethics, he argues that G-d’s essence is his existence. One wonders whether Spinoza was inspired by the self-definition of G-d, “I am who am”, with which G-d answers Moses when Moses inquires what is G-d. G-d is saying, as Spinoza says, that His essence is to exist, or more precisely, to have to exist. G-d is defining himself as eternal existence. He cannot not exist. “I am who am”, translates into my essence (what I am) is identical to my existence (that I am). Ironically, while still to this day excommunicated from Judaism, Spinoza’s famed definition of G-d is identical to and perhaps drawn from this Biblical source. This formulation is closer to Anselm’s second argument and Goldstein’s rendition of the ontological argument is the weaker first version (Proslogium II). Gold-

15 Goldstein 2010: 386.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 31 stein thinks this argument is absurd because it would imply for her, that unicorns would have to exist16. But it does not hold for unicorns because unicorns do not have to exist. For Spinoza (and the Anselm of Proslogium III), G-d cannot not exist. His existence is necessary. This is not the case with unicorns. Kant’s refutation of the ontological argument (also of Proslogium II) is that even though it is better that I have 100 Thalers in my pocket than an imaginary 100 Thalers, this does not mean that I must have 100 Thalers in my pocket. There is no necessity that Kant have 100 Thalers in his pocket any more than it is necessary that a unicorn exist. Kant’s “refutation” that existence is not a predicate is not true in the case of G-d. Existence is G-d’s essence, both for the Hebrew Bible and Spinoza. Because G-d’s existence is necessary, Spinoza thinks that the argument from Design cannot be made. Earlier we have shown, that we can argue from design because there is no reason to consider that G-d exists for the sake of the design. As we have seen above, there is also evidence that Spinoza himself, despite his argument against the argument for design, also presents arguments that can be employed on behalf of the argument from design in his 32nd letter to Oldenberg (though he does not so employ them to this effect). There is no incompatibility between G-d’s necessary existence and the argument from design.

7 .T he Argument from Care The argument from care is an aspect of the Argument from Design. Kro- chmal thinks highly of this argument, though he does not label it as such. The point of the argument is that a designer would care for the design that He has created. The origin of this argument is in rabbinic literature. The story is told that when someone sees a burning palace, he inquires if the palace has an owner. The point behind this, from the point of view of the present author, is that an owner would not let his castle burn17. If there is a G-d, He has an ethical obligation to care for the world. The design, e. g., a palace, implies a complex and elegant construction. The designer would not create such a construction without caring for it. That it is in flames is an indicator that if there is a designer, that that designer is obliged to care for that which He has designed. Although this argument on its own cannot stand as an argument for the existence of a Deity — indeed it presumes it — it stands as an argument for G-d as a continuous caring G-d. It is man crying out. If You have created this world, You have an obligation to care for it! It is an ethical argument for G-d as one who should care for Her/His designed. This is an argument against the 18th Century theory of Deism that G-d simply started things off and then retreated from the scene. For Krochmal,

16 Goldstein 2010: 350. To be fair, Goldstein makes this argument about unicorns. 17 Genesis Rabbah 39:1. Rabbi Sacks, in contrast, argues that the point of the story is that it is man’s duty to extinguish the flames. Both explanations are correct.

32 G-d would not abandon His creation. In her 36 arguments for the existence of G-d (which Goldstein collects in order to “refute” them one by one), Gold- stein does not include this side of the Argument from Design, the argument from caring for one’s creation. The Argument from Design explains to some extent the incredibly intricate, inordinately complex, harmonic existence of the universe. Thus, there is a designer. The further aspect of the argument from design is the argument from care. Would a designer simply neglect this magnificent edifice without caring for it? Would he leave it to decay, deteriorate and ultimately self-destruct? Of course, this is possible. But, like the Argument from Design versus chance and natural selection, it seems that the opposite is more plausible. The Argu- ment from Care is not a proof. It enables one to move from a metaphysical argument for the existence of G-d to a religious one. It is another illustration of Abraham’s negotiations with G-d over the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah. While Abraham lost that battle, he managed to change the ethical consciousness of G-d. Man can implore G-d to take better care of the world. This is the mea ning of man’s co-creating the world with G-d.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Goldstein, R. (2010) 36 Arguments for the Existence of God: A Work of Fiction, New York: Random House, Inc. Harris, J. (1993) Nachman Krochmal: Guiding the Perplexed of the Modern Age (Modern Jewish Masters), New York: NYU Press. Kant, I. (2007) Critique of Judgement, trans. J. Creed Meredith, ed. N. Walker, New York: Oxford University Press. Spinoza, B. de (1985), Appendix of The Collected Works of Spinoza, Volume I, trans. E. Curley, Princeton: Princeton University Press. David J. Cohen University of Chicago; The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, [email protected]

BETWEEN THE SACRED AND THE PROFANE: JEWISH DIALECTICS IN SOLOVEITCHIK’S WRITINGS AND DIALECTIC THEOLOGY

Abstract: This paper examines the relations between the prominent thinkers of the Dialectic Theology movement from the 1920’s, namely Emil Brunner and Karl Barth and their influence on Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik. This paper proposes a reading of Soloveitchik’s writings in light of the Dialectic Theology movement and seeks to draw a philosophical distinction between the use of dialectics in Judaism, characterizing it as Dialectic Ethics, and the Christian-Protestant use of dialectics, namely, dialectic theology. The aim of this paper is first, to point to the shared philosophical and theological concepts both Christian and Jewish thinkers are using. And second, to reach an insight about the boundaries between the two traditions, to what degree could Judaism use the full scope of Dialectic Theology? Through examining the language and core ideas employed by the Dialectic Theology movement, this paper discusses the limits and boundaries between Jewish and Christian philosophical and theological concepts. The phenomenality of Jewish philosophy can be best understood when examining it through the lenses of one who like Soloveitchik is well versed in both philosophy and rabbinic teachings. This paper seeks to explore the possibility of a unique Jewish philosophical system through the notion of dialectics. Keywords: (Rav) Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Dialectic Theology, Neo-orthodoxy, Jewish Philosophy, Dialectic Ethics, Majesty and Humility, Dialectics, Reconcilia- tion, German-Jewish thought, Wissenschaft des Judentums .

Дэвид Коэн Чикагский университет; Еврейский университет в Иерусалиме, [email protected]

МЕЖДУ САКРАЛЬНЫМ И ПРОФАННЫМ: ЕВРЕЙСКАЯ ДИАЛЕКТИКА В СОЧИНЕНИЯХ СОЛОВЕЙЧИКА И ДИАЛЕКТИЧЕСКАЯ ТЕОЛОГИЯ

Резюме: В данной статье рассматриваются отношения между видными представителями движения диалектической теологии 1920-х годов, а именно Эмилем Бруннером и Карлом Бартом и их влиянием на рава Иосефа Дова-Бера Соловейчика. В статье предлагается прочитать сочинения Соловейчика в свете

34 движения диалектической теологии и попытаться провести философское раз- личие между использованием диалектики в иудаизме, характеризующим ее как диалектическую этику и христианско-протестантским использованием диа- лектики, а именно диалектической теологией. Цель этой статьи — во-первых, указать на общие философские и богословские концепции, которые используют как христианские, так и еврейские мыслители, и, во-вторых, понять суть границ между двумя традициями, и задаться вопросом, в какой степени иудаизм может использовать весь спектр диалектической теологии. Изучая язык и основные идеи диалектической теологии, автор статьи обсуждает пределы и границы между еврейскими и христианскими философскими и теологическими кон- цепциями. Специфику еврейской философии лучше всего можно понять, если рассматривать ее через призму взглядов определенного мыслителя, который подобно раву Соловейчику хорошо разбирается как в философии, так и в рав- винских учениях. Посредством диалектики автор статьи попытается исследо- вать возможность уникальной еврейской философской системы. Ключевые слова: рав Иосеф Дов-Бер Соловейчик, диалектическая теология, нео-ортодоксия, еврейская философия, диалектическая этика, величие и сми- рение, диалектика, примирение, немецко-еврейская мысль, Wissenschaft des Judentums .

1 . Introduction The founding of Wissenschaft des Judentums1 stimulated various Jewish responses to the contemporary philosophical thought of the time. Jews were forced to think and reevaluate their tradition in view of their newly gained and constantly shifting social status. Philosophical thought external to the Jew- ish tradition asserted many things that Jews could now respond to philosophically. These responses vary from one another in the way they are obliged by tradition and philosophical capacity. For example, some responses discussed the role of Jewish revelation or the status of Halacha, the Jewish law, in the face of modernity and social integration or as direct responses to certain continental thinkers such as Kant and Hegel2. Other responses worked from within the tradition and aimed to resolve historical and Jewish textual issues3 .

1 The science of Judaism. 2 Greenberg 2011: 19–24. 3 A good source for understanding the scope of Jewish responses could be seen in examining one of the major Jewish academic journals of the 19–20th century Germany “Monatss- chrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums” which was first published in Dresden (1851) by Zecharias Frankel, a Talmudic philologist and a reformed Rabi, its last issue was in Berlin in 1939. It mediated between two central movements in the German-Jewish world, the reform movement, represented by Abraham Geiger and the neo-orthodoxy of Samson Raphael Hirsch. This journal published many articles that all relate to Jewish studies, that is Jews thinking and writing about issues that concern Jewish life, history, society, philosophy and theology from a broad range of religious observance and intellectual interest, prominent figures in the study of Judaism such as Martin Buber and Alexander I. Altmann publish there. The main theme is that Jews finally thought and wrote about themselves.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 35 One interesting example of a response to western philosophy is Jo- seph B. Soloveitchik. His writings are a mixture of philosophy and Jewish thought, and presents an interesting case in which western philosophy is inte- grated into Judaism in a way that it might be difficult to disentangle the two, which is often not the case with earlier Jewish responses4. Greenberg cate- gorizes Soloveitchik as working from within the Jewish tradition and fully bound to Halacha and Jewish traditional thought, on the one hand, as well as a philosophical dialectic thinker, on the other. His writings influenced the contemporary discourse in modern Jewish theology and religious ethics, especially within modern Jewish neo-orthodoxy of the twentieth century5. His dialectic methodology highlights crucial issues in the relations of philosophy and theology. And yet, a closer reading of some of his writings reveals an interesting relation and resemblance to key notions in Protestant theology. This is true especially in regard to the dialectic theology of Karl Barth and Emil Brunner, which is the topic of this paper. The primacy of dialectics in the dialectic theology movement and the resemblance to certain aspects in Soloveitchik’s thought raises some questions regarding the role and place of dialectics in Judaism and the boundaries between philosophy and Judaism, especially for someone who works explicitly from within the Jewish tradition. This paper presents a close reading of some of Soloveitchik’s writings with special attention to similar themes in Barth and Brunner6. It focuses on the different stages of Soloveitchik’s dialectical thought in an attempt to understand what is Jewish in the use of dialectics, why does Soloveitchik use dialectics, and what are the limits of this method for Soloveitchik and perhaps for Jew- ish studies, as well. I reach the conclusion that Soloveitchik uses dialectics

4 Earlier responses often referred explicitly to a philosophical issue that has implications on Judaism (but it is not always the case for example Nahum Krochmal discusses Jewish dialectics might be a possible response to Hegel, but it is not explicit. However, it is clear he discusses philosophy) in those cases it is clear to distinguish between the Jewish premises of such a thinker and his philosophical premises. In Soloveitchik’s case it is not always clear what is “Jewish” in his writings and what is philosophy. This raises questions as to the role of philosophical inquires in Soloveitchik’s writings, especially if we are to accept his categorization as working from within the tradition, is philosophy and Jewish thought interchange? What are the relations between philosophy and (Jewish) theology? I cannot claim to answer those questions in this paper, but I attempt to set some of the boundaries for such a discussion. See also: Shatz 2009. 5 Greenberg 2011: 482–484. 6 Although the dialectical theology is presented in many writings of the scholars of this movement, in this paper I chose to focus mostly on Barth’s “Church Dogmatics” (Barth 1936–1988) and Brunner’s “The divine imperative” and “Dogmatics” (Brunner 1947; 1979). I will not present Soloveitchik’s intellectual development and the changes in the use of dialectics throughout his writings. It is beyond the scope of this paper because this topic calls for a separate discussion. This paper focuses on the possible implications and limits of using dialectics on Judaism.

36 primarily in the ethical context, as it aims to describe matters that are part of human-religious experience, but his thought has a theological dimension that does not involve dialectics, as it does not discuss human experiences. That is to say that for Soloveitchik, humans cannot partake in things that are beyond the mode of dialectical tension. Furthermore, though a more detailed analysis is required in order to provide a more thorough account of Soloveitchik’s particular mode of dialectics, it is enough to determine the main difference between him and the dialectic theology movement. That is, while the latter sought to resolve the conflict of faith in modernity with the third stage of dialectics, reconciliation, Judaism, according to Soloveitchik, cannot do this. Dialectics, according to Soloveitchik, are limited to the first two stages and reconciliation is an ontological impossibility in Judaism. Judaism uses dialectics primarily to describe the mode of human existence and his conflicted nature, without the final stage. There is no reconciliation according to Judaism. Thus, we could draw a distinction between dialectic theology and Soloveitchik’s use of dialectics — dialectic ethics.

2. Dialectic Theology: Goals and Definitions

The dialectic theology movement of the 1920’s, led by Brunner and Barth, protested against the view that Christianity is identified as part of the ethical and social domain. The movement identified a tension between faith and modernity and saw the believing man as living in a dialectic relation to the world because of his faith. The movement described the dialectic relation in ethical, theological and social-phenomenological terms. Scholars of this movement vary in the ways they describe the dialectic tension but in general, they all sought to defend faith from the forces of modernity. To achieve this, it is crucial for them to place faith outside of society. They did so by creating a dichotomy between faith, as a private domain, and the liberal public culture7 . The outline of dialectic theology regarding creation in both Barth and in Brunner describes the natural man as concerned mostly with aesthetics and knowledge8. This man stands in contrast to his creation in God’s image, and receiving responsibility, and then attaining dignity9. He is redeemed only

7 Robinson 1968: 9–25. 8 The differences between Barth and Brunner, which are relevant to this paper, are illustrated below. 9 This paper focuses on the doctrine of creation because it sets the grounds for a discussion about human nature, its dialectical-conflicted nature. However, it is possible to discuss other aspects of human life in relation to dialectic theology in Soloveitchik’s work (such as relations of Halakhah and ethics). This is true especially with regard to Brunner, who emphasized work and duty as the peak of Christian ethics. I argue that, in Soloveitchik’s case, Halakhah is mainly an ethical category, which poses an answer to the conflicted man, not to resolve it, but rather to assist in living through it. For Brunner there are also major

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 37 through creating a covenantal community, which has faith. Faith, in turn, is received through the transforming force of revelation in which man acknowledges his created-in-God’s-image status. God’s image is responsible for social order, and thus the covenant’s people stand in a dialectical relation with the natural people. Redemption is the final stage of this dialectical move that is enabled through one’s acknowledgment of his divine image and thus being able to create a true covenantal community. Thus, the dialectical tension between faith and modernity is resolved. As illustrated below, Soloveitchik shares many views with this movement, but does not enable the final stage of the dialectical mode of existence, reconciliation. Brunner focuses his thought on showing how revelation is greater than any personal experience of the homo religiosus. He presents the natural man as one who, while seeking meaning in the despair of an unredeemed existence10, changes his perspective into accepting revelation where only God grants order and meaning to the world. Barth, on the other hand, framed his thought in opposition to the forces of society. He presents the gap between God and man as so great that only revelation can provide religious knowledge. For him, the natural man is in need of a redemptive act of faith based on humility and submission11 . Brunner’s social philosophy describes a social world setting where man must live in a dialectical relation to the world by attaining dignity (i. e. by living, creating and ruling the world) and religious humility, which balances one’s existence12. The basic mode of existence of an individual is loneliness. In order to go beyond loneliness, and being able to express their inner state, one must be married. Through marriage as a social and religious act the individual constitutes a relation to the world, which is reconciliation with a covenantal society. Barth discusses one’s commitment to the covenantal community as means to attaining revelation and holds similar views to Brunner’s on marriage and loneliness. Barth rejects Brunner’s view on society. He argues that the distance between God and man is so great that only revelation and the way of faith can help individuals escape from their despair and vanity. The artic- theological implications (Brunner1947: 191, 320–329. There he discusses the relation to God and its implications on Christian humanism, individuality and relation with others). 10 This view was common in the religious-existential thought of the time. 11 Robinson 1968: 14–25. I found that other scholars could have influenced Soloveichik. Reinhold Niebuhr sought to change the secular-liberal society, and make it acknowledge humility and revelation due to humanity’s limits. Given his prominence in US’s religiosity and advocacy for the dialectic theology movement, it is possible that he had some influence on Soloveichik. Barth drew the distinction between majestic man and the covenantal from Dietrich Bonhoeffer (Barth 1936–1988: 194–195). Soloveichik’s doctoral dissertation’s topic was Hermann Cohen work, and he was familiar with the works of Cohen’s student, Barth and at times cites him. 12 Soloveichik might call this ‘self defeat’ a term he often uses in regard to the inability of man to achieve full victory, and hence reconciliation. The only possible resolution avail- able to man is to acknowledge his limits and contract his ambitions.

38 ulation of many of these ideas influenced Soloveitchik’s dialectical thought. The intention here is to present some of Barth’s and Brunner’ ideas as developed by Soloveitchik in the latter’s “The Lonely Man of Faith”, in an attempt to understand Soloveitchik’s use of dialectics and its implications for Judaism.

3. Soloveitchik as a Dialectic Theologian? In “The Lonely Man of Faith” Soloveitchik analyses the first two chapters of Genesis to empathize the conflicted nature of humanity. He aims in part to describe human-religious experience in modernity. He identifies two human types: the first Adam, the “majestic man”, who employs his creative faculties in order to master his environment, and the second Adam, the “covenantal man”, who surrenders himself in submission to his lord. Soloveitchik describes how the man of faith integrates both forces. In the first chapter of Genesis, the first Adam is created together with Eve and they are given the mandate to subdue nature, and transform the world into a domain for their power and sovereignty. The first Adam is a majestic man who approaches the world and relationships, even with the divine, in functional and pragmatic terms. The first Adam, created in the image of God, fulfills this seemingly “secular” mandate by conquer- ing the universe and employing knowledge, technology, and cultural institutions. The human community described in Genesis I is utilitarian, where man and woman join together, like the male and female of other animals, to further the telos of their species13 . In the second chapter of Genesis, the second Adam represents the lonely man of faith, bringing a redemptive interpretation to the meaning of existence. The second Adam does not subdue the garden, but rather tills it and preserves it. This type of human being is introduced by the words, “It is not good for man to be alone”, and through his sacrifice he gains companionship and relief of his existential loneliness — this covenantal community requires the participation of the Divine14 . While Soloveitchik draws much of his conceptions from Jewish sources, the dialectic theology scholars, concerned with faith in the face of modernity, inspired his framework of thought. It seems that Soloveitchik’s basic view that God alone, through one’s relation to him, grants meaning to a confused world15, and the different creative capabilities of humanity16, comes from Brunner, and the tension between modern society and the covenantal commu nity to Barth:

13 Soloveitchik 1992: 12–20. 14 Soloveitchik 1992: 21–24. 15 The same idea is expressed in Brunner’s “The Divine Imperative” (Brunner 1947: 486–488). 16 The idea of human creativity is similarly expressed in Brunner’s “Dogmatics” Vol. 3 (1979: 56–57).

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 39 …community of interests, forged by the indomitable desire for success and triumph and ... the “I” and the “thou” who collaborate in order to further their interests. A newcomer, upon joining the community, ceases to be the anonymous “he” and turns into a knowable, communicative “thou”. The second is a community of commitments born in distress and defeat and comprises three participants: “I, thou, and He”, the He in whom all being is rooted and in whom everything finds its rehabilitation and, consequently, redemption17 . Above Soloveitchik describes the advantage of the community of faith, who, unlike the first Adam, receive order and meaning through their relation to God. Brunner presents a similar view: through a relation to God one is granted with order and meaning. The opposite is no more than an interested relationship with God, and using one’s God given abilities to his own ends hoping to achieve autonomy of reason without god: But it is the creator who has given us reason…it is not the absolute, but the relation with the absolute…man has been created by God in a way that he is never complete in himself, he is only complete through his relation to God… when man refuses to respond through faith, the relative self-end and autonomy of the reason… man desires to be as God18 . Barth, in section § 41 of “Church Dogmatics”19, presents a detailed analysis of the two accounts of the creation of man in Genesis I–II20. Barth’s analysis discusses the differences between two Adams in a way that resembles Soloveitchik’s. However, Barth takes the discussion to possible implications on man’s relation to God, while focusing on the different names of God mentioned in the biblical source in each account. Brunner has the complementary discussion regarding the different creative forces man has21 . Soloveitchik appears to draw from Barth the general outline of a dual account of human creation, and from Brunner the implications for human existence and typology. This analysis is oriented towards an understanding of the nature of humanity. The main difference is the creation of man out of the dust versus creating man in God’s image. Soloveitchik and Barth both note the distinction between the triumphed and majestic man and the covenantal man22. Although early rabbinic sources are aware of the two accounts of creation, the focus in the Talmud is mostly on the relation between man and women and not the im-

17 Soloveitchik 1992: 43. 18 Brunner 1947: 486. 19 Barth 1936–1988: § 41 creation and covenant, 233–239. 20 A more detailed analysis regarding the two creations of man from Barth, Brunner and Soloveitchik is due, but it is beyond the scope of this paper. 21 Brunner 1979: 30, 56–57. In this paper I quote several passages from these sources, but the creative force of humanity as deriving from God and its implications is a main theme in “The Christian Doctrine of Creation and Redemption”. 22 Barth 1936–1988: § 41 creation and covenant, 237.

40 plications for human nature23. This speaks to the relation between Soloveit- chik and Barth on this matter. While rabbinic sources discuss the implications of the two accounts of creation on the relations between man and woman, Soloveitchik, like Barth, understands these accounts to say something about human nature and how man acts in the world. According to them, these accounts discuss two conflicted forces that man must deal with and the role faith and acknowledging God plays in it. These issues will be further elaborated below. The notion of “God’s image” (Imago dei in Brunner)24 has a significant meaning in the dialectic theology movement and in Soloveitchik’s work, which has a similar implication of “God’s image”: … to be “man”, to be himself…to discover his identity which is bound up with his humanity… “For thou made him a little lower than angels and has crowned him with glory and honor”25. Man is an honorable being26 .

That is, the self-acceptation of man’s creative abilities derives from God, who enables one to attain dignity. And as Brunner notes: The free self, capable of self-determination, belongs to the original con- stitution of man as created by God…God wills my freedom…because he wills to glorify Himself…and give Himself to His creatures…man has only limited freedom because he is responsible, but he has freedom only so can he be responsible. Thus…man’s nature… “made in the image of God”…27

Similarly, Soloveitchik and Brunner have a similar view of dignity derived from the image of God: The capability of man to know is one aspect of… “being made in the image of God” which constitutes the nature of man… gives him the consciousness of possessing particular dignity and special destiny. For this reason alone science could be in the service of God… “replenish the earth and subdue it”… God gave this permission… man’s responsibility… He gave the capacity to make use of it28 .

23 Tractate Berachot, 61 a, and tractate ketubot 8 a. 24 Although Brunner uses Latin for “image of God” Imago dei, implying certain notions of Christian theology, he discusses the different uses of the biblical terms and the implica- . (דמות) ”and “demut (אלהים צלם) ”tions to each account of creation, namely “tzelem elohim 25 In my opinion, this translation of the psalmist verse fails to show the significance of man’s limitation in comparison to God. The Hebrew verse shows better resemblance to Brunner’s view. Psalms 8, 6), man is limited and a little lower) ’תעטרהו והדר וכבוד מאלהים מעט ותחסרהו‘ than God, this language is very apparent in Brunner. 26 Soloveitchik 1992: 14. 27 Brunner 1979: 56–57. 28 Brunner 1979: 30.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 41 Soloveitchik’s view of God’s image implies man’s creative force, which is a manifestation of God, as well as the mandate to use knowledge. The same notions appear in Brunner’s work as illustrated above29. According to Solove- itchik and Brunner, the man created in God’s image has the creative power derived directly from God, which the right use of it grants dignity: Only the man who... discovers therapeutic techniques and saves lives is blessed with dignity... Adam the first is trying to carry out the mandate entrusted to him by his Maker who, at dawn of the sixth mysterious day of creation, addressed Himself to man and summoned him to “fill the earth and subdue it”... Thus, in sum, we have obtained the following triple equation: humanity = dignity = responsibility = majesty30 . While the notion of dignity and its implications on human nature come from Brunner, the tension between the salvation of the majestic man, and the helplessness of the natural man, comes from Barth31. According to Soloveitchik, the natural community is founded on individual‘s helplessness; this is similar to Brunner’s notion, in which individuals need to live in a community in order to succeed. Brunner uses Robinson Crusoe as a negative example for life, arguing that humanity must live in a community of faith, alongside non-believers, to form ethical and true social values: … the relation between the individual and the community is not a philosophical, but a theological problem… “individual” and the “community” — appear to be… two kinds of sin… in the Christian faith, the individual is so defined that he cannot be imagined apart from the community, and the community that it cannot be imagined without the individual… I do not mean the… reflection that Robinson Crusoe… is an abstraction which would not occur in real life… what I do mean is this: that the individual as such [i. e. Robinson Crusoe] does not and cannot exist at all… the very conception of the individual implies and includes that of the community32 . A similar notion of the wholeness of the individual appears in Soloveit- chik’s work. While Brunner goes further to imply that the notion of the individual includes the community, Soloveitchik’s individual is completed in his own terms and his full fulfillment is in the community:

29 Brunner 1979: 30, 56–57. 30 Soloveitchik 1992: 17–20. 31 Barth 1936–1988: § 60 The Pride and Fall of Man, 376, 465–467. There, Barth discusses the balance needed between personal humility and the ability to achieve salvation. Essentially, one must be aware of himself (as God is), and respect that — only then he would be worthy of salvation. In other words, a conflicted aspect of existence is in God as well as in man. The helpless natural man is majestic because he lives according to the Lutheranian decree to be in need for salvation, thus maintaining the natural order in which humanity needs God to be saved. Brunner and Soloveitchik both need a community to succeed (or in Protestant terms, to achieve salvation). 32 Brunner 1947: 294–295.

42 To the thinkers of the Age of Reason man posed no problem. He was for them an understandable, simple affair... They saw man in his glory but failed to see him in his tragic plight. They considered the individual ontologically perfect and existentially adequate. They admitted only that he was functionally handicapped even though he could, like Robinson Crusoe, surmount this difficulty, too. If the individual is ontologically complete, even perfect, then the experience of loneliness must be alien to him, since loneliness is nothing but the act of questioning one’s own ontological legitimacy, worth and reasonableness33 .

This similarity provides additional support for Brunner’s social anthropology’s influence on Soloveitchik’s work34. If so, it appears that the dialectical theology movement, especially as put forward by Brunner and Barth, influenced much of Soloveitchik’s views35. Barth and Soloveitchik’s opening postulates are similar. Humanity without God lives in a constant struggle in a conflicted dialectical relation to the self and the world. Barth’s solution is to place God outside one’s ontological existence and find reconciliation in faith through marriage. Similarly, Brunner reconciles individuality and community with faith into marriage. To Soloveitchik, Halachic actions do not resolve the dialectic nature of the religious experience. Moreover, he argues that even in a religious community one still cannot lose his dialectic consciousness36. Barth and Brunner take the dialectical nature of humanity to the next level, namely Christian theol- ogy37; Soloveitchik has his reservations for further uses of dialectics in Judaism. In Judaism dialectics do not ascend to the third stage, reconciliation. Solove- itchik employs dialectics when the topic is human experience and the ethical implications of it. When he discusses themes that relate directly to God, he uses connotations of harmony, contrary to dialectics38. This is because it goes beyond

33 Soloveitchik 1992: 30–31. 34 This social anthropology is contrary to the modern concept of Brunner’s time, that the individual can meet his own needs. 35 There are more passages that require a more thorough comparison with Soloveitchik’s writings and Protestant theology. This paper presents some examples of the key terms of dialectic theology. However, for Soloveitchik the comparison ends at the description of human nature, and is meant to show that the use of dialectics is primarily for emphasizing the human condition and mode of existence in the world. 36 Soloveitchik 1992: 56. 37 Brunner understands that this human feature implies the Christian doctrine of the First Sin. This derives from one’s overlooking his responsibility in acknowledging his human limits on the one hand, and his freedom on the other. Brunner seems to place the capability of sin with the first Adam, the natural man, while the second Adam acknow ledges his limited God-given freedom (Brunner 1979: 91–93). 38 By “harmonized” I mean that, while dialectic issues are described in a conflicted manner, here there is no other option. There is an ultimate ability to describe reality in uni- fied terms. This is often the case when Soloveitchik discusses topics that relate to God, such as prayer.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 43 the roiling ontological existence of humanity. Hence Soloveitchik’s distinction between Halacha, which is meant to assist man to deal with his conflicted-dialectic nature, and divine related topics which are not discussed in dialectic terms39 .

4 . Reconciliation and the limitations of Jewish dialectics

As seen above, Jewish dialectics are limited to human experience; however, its uses, role, and limits in Judaism have not been clearly articulated. Turning to Soloveitchik’s “Majesty and Humility”40 sheds some light on this matter. On the limitation of dialectics Soloveitchik notes: Judaic dialectic, unlike the Hegelian, is irreconcilable and hence intermi- nable. Judaism accepted a dialectic move, consisting only of thesis and antithesis. The third Hegelian stage, that of reconciliation, is missing. The conflict is final, almost absolute. Only God knows how to reconcile; we do not. Com- plete reconciliation is an eschatological vision. To Hegel, man and his history were just abstract ideas; in the world of abstractions synthesis is conceivable. To Judaism, man has always been and still is a living reality, or may I say, a tragic living reality. In the world of realities, the harmony of opposites is an impossibility41 .

While Soloveitchik accepts dialectics when they describe human religious experience, he argues that there is no third stage to Jewish dialectics. Here he strongly differs from the scholars of the dialectic theology movement, who go beyond human experience and ethical implications towards theological assertions. Man, according to Soloveitchik, is bound to his limitations, and cannot reconcile his conflicted nature to find true harmony, which Soloveitchik employs to divine issues. Reconciliation is not applicable to Judaism: Man, confused, kneels in prayer, petitioning God, who has burdened him with this dialectic, to guide him and to enlighten him. The Halacha is concerned with this dilemma and tries to help man in such critical moments. The Halacha, of course, did not discover the synthesis, since the latter does not exist. It did, however, find a way to enable man to respond to both calls42 .

39 I do not use the term ‘theology’ because that could take different meanings in Solove- itchik’s writings. However, it is often the case, but not always, that when Soloveitchik discusses a topic that relates to God or man’s relation to God, such as prayer or his Halachic response to suffering, the dialectic tension disappears. Note that the dialectic tension does not however resolve it self, but is simply not there. I would not present an example of such an analysis because it is not the topic if this paper, a more detailed typology of Soloveitchik’s dialectics is required for this. This paper seeks to drew the limits of Jewish dialectics, not to describe its full scope. 40 Soloveitchik 1978: 25–37. 41 Soloveitchik 1978: 25. 42 Soloveitchik 1978: 26.

44 The ability to reconcile is beyond Halacha, the ethical commands man is obliged by God to perform. While man must deal with the day-to-day dilem- mas through and with Halacha, the experience cannot go beyond the conflicted dialectic mode embedded in existence. Halacha poses a solution to immediate problems, and while it might be of a divine origin, it is for humanity43. To be able to achieve full victory, and implicitly the ability to reconcile is to become like God, because reconciliation, as victory, means to partake in creation: Underlying the ethic of victory is the mystical doctrine that creation is incomplete. God purposely left one aspect of creation unfinished in order to involve man in a creative gesture and to give him the opportunity to become both co-creator and king. The individual who is not engaged in the creative gesture can never be king; only a creator may lay claim to kingship and sovereignty. The creative gesture aims at the control and domination of a hostile environment. Under victory we understand, not only the subjection of nature to the needs of man, but also the establishment of a true and just society, and an equitable economic order44 .

From the outline of the limitations of Halacha and the meaning of reconciliation, Soloveitchik turns to a description of what it means to be truly bound to Halacha, and why one is not able to reconcile. To Soloveitchik, reconciliation is the ultimate victory. The need for victory frustrates humanity because man will never achieve true victory due to his finite nature. The notion of tzimtzum, the doctrine of God’s contraction has a significant meaning in Soloveitchik’s dialectics because it establishes the foundations of Imitatio dei, which is a crucial concept to understanding the limits of Jewish dialectics. Man’s ultimate goal is to acknowledge his defeat, and seek to imitate God’s contraction in bringing the finite world into existence by practicing self-defeat: Let me ask the following question: Is this Lurianic doctrine of tzimtzum just a Kabbalistic mystery, without any moral relevance for us; or is it the very foundation of our morality? If God withdrew, and creation is a result of His withdrawal, then, guided by the principle of Imitatio Dei, we are called upon to do the same. Jewish ethics, then, requires man, in certain situations, to with- draw. Man must not always be victor. From time to time triumph should turn into defeat. Man, in Judaism, was created for both victory and for defeat — he is both king and saint. He must know how to fight for victory and also how to suffer defeat. Modern man is frustrated and perplexed because he cannot take defeat. He is simply incapable of retreating humbly. Modern man boasts quite often that he has never lost a war. He forgets that defeat is built into

43 In this sense, it is possible to understand the Midrash about the Oven of Akhnai, and Rabbi Eliezer’s response: “it (the Torah) is not in the sky” in another way: Halacha, as a God given construct is for man and situated in the human day-to-day dealings in the world. It cannot go beyond the human world, because if it were it would no longer be Halacha. 44 Soloveitchik 1978: 34.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 45 the very structure of victory, that there is, in fact, no total victory; man is finite, so is his victory. Whatever is finite is imperfect; so is man’s triumph45 .

The notion of tzimzum calls for self-defeat; it forces humanity to acknowledge its limitations. It is the guiding principle of Imitatio dei that prevents Ju- daism from ascending to the third stage of dialectics. Reconciliation is beyond impossibility, it is immoral, and as such it would miss the point of Halacha. As seen above, Soloveitchik’s understanding of Halacha is as follows: it is a tool that assists man in his day-to-day conflicts and crises in the world, as such it is the foundations of Jewish ethics, because it is part of the ontological existence. If one goes beyond his conflicted-human nature, he attempts to go beyond his ontological existence and hence loses the need in Halacha, and hence, revealed morality. In the final footnote of ‘Majesty and Humility,’ Soloveitchik mentions that Abraham found victory in defeat — his son Isaac was returned to him, and Mo- ses did not, despite the fact that he followed the same formula of obedience to God and self-defeat46. Soloveitchik concludes that God’s ways are not intelligible to men. Yet, if the goal of self-defeat is Imitatio dei, we can understand at least one thing: one aspect of God that man should, or rather must, follow is self-defeat as deriving from tzimzum. That is to say, there are ways of God that are intelligible to humanity. Abraham’s victory is not a reward for his good will or obedience to God because God needed Isaac. Nor did God, for reasons which will remain unintelligible to humanity, need Moses to enter the Prom- ised Land47 . Soloveitchik’s mentioning of Moses sheds light on another notion — dig- ,which is related to yet another aspect of reconciliation ,(דובכ) nity, or Kavod or being like God. Moses asks of God “Now show me your glory” and God responds to him “you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live”48 . Moses requests to see God’s dignity and is refused, because this aspect is not accessible to humanity, the penalty for such an act is death. However, is we understand Soloveitchik correctly, “death” is not merely a penalty inflicted by God, it is a change in one’s ontological status. Following Soloveitchik, I argue that if Moses was able to reconcile he would become like God. One finds dignity not only in acknowledging his abilities and using them in the world, but also

45 Soloveitchik 1978: 35–36. 46 Soloveitchik 1978: 37, note 21. 47 The ethical way to live according to Soloveitchik’s formula is self-defeat and Halachic obedience. In this example, Moses did exactly what God required from him, but, unlike Abra- ham, he was not rewarded. To Soloveitchik, the goal of Judaism is not victory; it is the ethical-obedience and submission to God’s will. The only way one can fulfill the Imitatio dei ideal is by retreating. Self-defeat is what God teaches man through his own contraction. which ,”״ כבודך את נא הראיני Exodus 33:18–20. The Hebrew text uses the term Kavod 48 Soloveitchik refers to when articulating the notion of dignity in his ‘The Lonely Man of Faith.

46 in knowing one’s limits and practicing self-defeat. According to the principle of Imitatio dei, Moses can follow only what is known and accessible to him. Therefore, if Moses had seen God’s dignity49, according to Imitatio dei and the aforementioned primacy of human dignity, Moses would die as man because he no longer has his dignity, but God’s50. Hence, man must retain his own form of dignity, along with the recognition in his limitations and self-defeat, as the foundation of Jewish religious experience51 .

5 . Analysis and Conclusions

So what is Jewish about dialectics and what is the dialectical nature of Ju- daism? As long as we deal with the first two stages, thesis and antithesis, dialectics describe the religious experience of humanity in the face of modernity, and the role of Halacha. But, when we reach the final third stage, there is nothing Jewish in the full scale of a dialectic move — the third stage is beyond mere hubris to attempt achieving, it is simply impossible. Moreover, to reconcile is to become like God, but this aspect is just not accessible to humanity, and hence it is beyond humanity. If Soloveitchik does not accept the final stage of dialectics, why does he use the first two stages presented in comparison to Barth and Brunner? I argue that the first two stages, which describe the condition of humanity, provide an understanding for the role of Halacha. The final reconciliatory stage simply goes against the logic and system of Halacha. It misses the point of Judaism, the eternally conflicted human existential nature and the asymptotic ideal concept of Imitatio dei. Reconciliation is problematic from a phenomenological and behavioral perspective because while one falsely attempts to reconcile, he presumably ceases to act as a human, but like God. This requires a different objective of acting in the world as well as acquiring knowledge, Moreover, for Soloveitchik, the third stage is not possible from an ontological perspective. The analysis of Moses’ encounter with God and asking to know God’s

49 By “seeing” I mean understanding and acknowledging this form of dignity. Because as seen above, attaining dignity is through acknowledging and acting in accordance to the origins of this form of living. Understanding and acting according to God’s dignity might have the transforming force according to Soloveitchik if we accept this interpretation to the dangers of victory and reconciliation. 50 This is because man’s dignity is based on the accessible to humanity aspect in the doctrine of tzimtzum, which calls for self-defeat. 51 This argument illustrates another gap between the Protestant theologians and Solove- itchik. If according to Soloveitchik, reconciliation is to become like God, then it in his view, it might imply the Christian doctrine of incarnation. That is to say, the ability to reconcile is not possible in Judaism because Judaism is part of the ontological existence and manifest- ed through Halacha. In order to reconcile, one must go beyond the boundaries of ontology, which is impossible in Judaism. This is where Soloveitchik and the dialectic theologians separate, in transgressing between man and God.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 47 dignity, in Soloveitchik-ian terms, demonstrates that reconciliation is not accessible to humanity, who cannot achieve final victory. Self-defeat is not only a moral act, or merely obeying God, but also a metaphysical realization that humanity cannot go beyond it. As such, reconciliation is an ontological impossibility. However, understanding the limitation of dialectics in Judaism enables us to draw a distinction between two types of dialectics. The scholars of the dialectical theology movement are able to use dialectics to its full scale, with particular applications to Christian theology, which reconciles human experience in the world. Soloveitchik, on the other hand, accepts dialectics as long as they describe the human religious experience. This leads him to the understanding of the role of dialectics in Halacha and ethics. I argue that there is a difference between “dialectic theology”, which includes the final stage of dialectics, as in Brunner and Barth, and “dialectical ethics”, as what Soloveitchik finds dialectical in Judaism. After examining the general aspects of Jewish dialectics in Soloveitchik’s thought, there is still place to conduct further research oriented to perform a typology of Soloveitchik’s thought according to the role which dialectics assumes52. In addition, the role of dialectics can illustrate the tangent points between Christianity and Judaism, as well as the unique essence of each tradition. Such an understanding can open new paths towards a better relation between philosophy and Jewish theology. More research is needed to achieve a better understanding of the full scope of dialectics in Judaism, its role in Halacha, and its relation to ethics. For by discussing the possible parameters of their engagement, both are honed and reified if only partially and the vibrancy of Jew- ish studies can be well affirmed as a partner alongside other lenses into and out of dialectics.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Barth, K. (1936–1988) Church Dogmatics, G. W. Bromiley, T. F. Torrance et al. (eds), New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. Brunner, E. (1947) The Divine Imperative: Study in Christian Ethics, trans. and ed. by O. Wyon, Philadelphia: The Westminster Press. Brunner, E. (1979) Dogmatics, 3: The Christian Doctrine of Creation and Redemp- tion, trans. and ed. by O. Wyon, Philadelphia: The Westminster Press. Greenberg, G. (2011) Modern Jewish Thinkers: From Mendelssohn to Rosenz- weig, Brighton, Mass.: Academic Studies Press.

52 Such a typology should organize Soloveitchik’s dialectics towards an understanding of what goes under the term “dialectic” in his thought and what or why he uses a more harmonized language in other cases.

48 Robinson, J. M. (ed.) (1968) The Beginnings of Dialectic Theology, 1, Richmond (Virginia): John Knox Press. Shatz, D. (2009) Religion or halakha: the philosophy of Rabbi Joseph B. Solove- itchik. Jewish thought in dialogue: essays on thinkers, theologies, and moral theories, Brighton: Academic Studies Press. Soloveitchik, J. B. (1978) Majesty and Humility, Tradition: A Journal of Orthodox Jewish Thought, 17. 2, 25–37. Soloveitchik, J. B. (1992) The Lonely Man of Faith, New York: Doubleday. Татьяна Анатольевна Акиндинова Санкт-Петербургский государственный университет, [email protected]

ЭСТЕТИКА ГЕРМАНА КОГЕНА В КОНТЕКСТЕ ЕВРОПЕЙСКОЙ ЭСТЕТИЧЕСКОЙ МЫСЛИ ХХ ВЕКА

Резюме: В статье рассматривается концепция эстетического чувства основа- теля Марбургской школы неокантианства Германа Когена в контексте основных тенденций в интерпретации человеческой чувственности немецкой эстетикой XIX века. Проведенный анализ показал ограниченность как чисто психологи- ческой трактовки эстетики «вчувствования», так и эстетики формализма, сво- дившей понятие чувственности к формам чувственного восприятия — слуха, зрения. Дальнейшее осмысление проблемы имеет в перспективе достижение нового уровня в соотнесении противоположных подходов. Трактовка эстетиче- ской ценности в рамках фрайбургской философии ценностей Б. Христиансеном завершается выводом, что она не представляет собой качественно-своеобраз- ной формы сознания. Данный вывод оказался закономерным в рамках фрай- бургской философии ценностей, расколовшей субъект на его сущность — волю («стремление», «влечение») и проявление (представление в познании эмпири- ческого мира) и отрицавшей поэтому возможность какой-либо иной формы активности субъекта. Отрицание Homo Aestheticus как субъекта творчества свидетельствовало, что концепция, основанная на иерархической структуре способностей субъекта, а не на системе равноправных форм его деятельности, не дает основания для убедительной разработки аксиологической проблемати- ки. В статье показано, что творческое переосмысление Когеном Канта отвечало на теоретический запрос конца XIX – начала XX века к изучению эмоциональ- ного мира человека и впервые сделало исследование чувства как особой формы деятельности сознания необходимой частью системы философии. «Эстетика чистого чувства» замыкает у Когена в системное целое «Логику чистого позна- ния» и «Этику чистой воли». Ключевые слова: человек, субъект, сознание, деятельность, мышление, воля, чувство.

50 Tatiana Anatol’evna Akindinova St. Petersburg State University, [email protected]

THE AESTHETICS OF HERMANN COHEN IN THE CONTEXT OF THE EUROPEAN AESTHETIC THOUGHT OF THE 20TH CENTURY

Abstract: The author considers the conception of aesthetic feeling of the founder of Neo-Kantian Marburg philosophical school prof. Hermann Cohen. The creative re-thinking by Cohen of Kant’s ideas responded to the late 19th – early 20th century demands for theoretical elucidation of emotional world of a person. The article reviews the main trends in the interpretation of human sensuality by German aesthetics of the 19th century. The carried out analysis has showed the limitations not only of a purely psychological treatment by esthetics of “empathy” but also by aesthetics of formalism, which reduces the concept of sensuality to the forms of sensory perception — hearing, sight. Further understanding of the problem gives in the long term a prospect to achieve a new level of opposite approaches correlation. The article discusses the interpretation of the aesthetic values of B. Christiansen. The philosopher comes to the conclusion that it is not a quality peculiar form of consciousness. This conclusion is quite natural in the framework of Freiburg philosophy of values that split the subject of his essence — the will (desire, desire) and manifestation (knowledge of the empirical world) and therefore denied the possibility of any other form of activity of the subject. Denial Homo Aestheticus as the subject of creativity testified that concept, based on a hierarchical structure abilities, and not on a system of equitable forms of its activity, does not provide grounds for compelling the development of axiological perspective. The creative re-thinking by Cohen of Kant’s ideas responded to the late 19th – early 20th century demands for theoretical elucidation of emotional world of a person. Thus the study of feelings as a special form of consciousness became for the first time the necessary part of the system of philosophy. “The Aesthetics of Pure Feeling” by Cohen closes a systemic whole, which includes “The Logic of Pure Knowledge” and “The Ethics of Pure Will”. Keywords: human, subject, consciousness, activity, thought, will, feeling.

Проблема определения способностей человека, отличающих его от всего животного мира, получала неоспоримое признание, как извест- но, в античности в качестве разума (теоретического мышления). Однако философии потребовалось еще два тысячелетия, чтобы признать, что ра- зум, направленный на осмысление волевых побуждений человека и до- стижение свободы, приобретает новое качество — практического разума (И. Кант), создающего законы морали в независимости от законов приро- ды. Кантовские «Критики» чистого и практического разума положили убе-

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 51 дительное основание для признания двух качественно различных способ- ностей человека: теоретического мышления и доброй (разумной!) воли, которая становится предметом многообразных этических интерпретаций1 . Следует подчеркнуть в то же время, что кантовская система философии завершилась как целое только после включения третьей части — «Крити- ки способности суждения», по существу поставив вопрос еще об одной автономной, собственно человеческой (трансцендентальной), способно- сти человека. И этот вопрос не получил у Канта однозначного разрешения: «Однако способность суждения (столь особая) вовсе не самостоятель- ная познавательная способность, что она в отличие от рассудка не дает понятий, а в отличие от разума не дает идей»2, — напоминает Кант. «… Вкус есть в сущности способность суждения о чувственном вопло- щении нравственных идей (посредством некоторой аналогии рефлексии об обоих)»3. Эстетика не имеет особого объекта исследования наряду с природой и свободой, поскольку «понятие о способности существа дей- ствовать целесообразно из самого себя без цели и намерения… как особой первоначальной силе (каковой являются рассудок и разум — Т. А.) есть со- вершенно вымышленное и пустое, то есть без малейшей гарантии, что ей может соответствовать какой-нибудь объект»4. Следовательно, эстетиче- ское исследование, согласно Канту, должно быть отнесено «не в систему наук чистого разума, а лишь в критику всех a priori определимых спо- собностей души, поскольку они вместе составляют в душе систему…»5 Иначе говоря, Кант рассматривает исследование эстетического суждения как необходимое звено в системе своих философских «Критик», но ис- ключает его из системы доктринальной философии, которую он планиро- вал составить лишь из метафизики природы и метафизики нравов, отрицая равноценность способности суждения теоретическому и практическому разуму. Кантовское обоснование эстетики в системе философского знания подводило тем не менее к новой постановке двух взаимосвязанных про- блем — специфики способности эстетического субъекта и специфики эстетической предметности. Впервые эстетический субъект в двух его вариантах — суждения о прекрасном и возвышенном (эстетического восприятия) и гения (художе- ственного творчества) — рассматривается наряду с субъектами познания и морали как особая способность, имеющая собственные принципы. Сре- ди них основополагающим является чувство, отделяемое Кантом и от чув- ственности как элемента познания, и от физиологического удовольствия

1 См.: Акиндинова, Бердюгина 1984. 2 Кант 1966: 107. 3 Кант 1966: 379. 4 Кант 1966: 94. 5 Кант 1966: 149.

52 как ощущения «повышения жизнедеятельности в теле», и от психологи- ческого состояния «общей способности души». Важно при этом, что чув- ство Кант называет основанием эстетического суждения и о прекрасном, и о возвышенном. Но последнее философ не считал «чисто эстетиче- ским», поскольку чувство здесь предстает в связи с «задатками морали» как «некоторое духовное чувство». Если учесть, что для Канта принципы практического разума не связаны с какими-либо формами чувственно- сти, нравственный закон имеет волевую природу, и если область морали оказывается включающей чувство, то оно может быть принесено в нее только извне — из эстетической сферы. Именно здесь оно является осно- вополагающим трансцендентальным принципом как «sensus cоmmunis», именно оно отнесено только к эстетической рефлексии. Таким образом, Кант впервые подошел в трактовке чувства как определяющего принципа эстетической способности суждения, однако, не имеющего собственного предметного содержания и потому исключаемого для философской анали- тики. Кантовское обоснование значимости чувства в творчестве эстетиче- ского субъекта сделало его тем не менее предметом самого пристального внимания уже в науке XIX в. — в гедонике Фехнера, «эстетике вчувство- вания» Фолькельта и Липпса, формалистической эстетике Циммермана, Гильдебрандта, Шкловского и Якобсона. Полученные материалы полага- ли также и дальнейшее философское осмысление, которое поставил своей задачей Г. Коген в свете аналитики кантовской системы философии в це- лом. Предметом философской критики, как и у Канта, у Когена является система трансцендентальных способностей субъекта, фундаментальное исследование которых образовало цикл изучения кантовской системы фи- лософии: «Кантовская теория опыта», «Обоснование Кантом этики», «Об- основание Кантом эстетики». Результаты педантичнейшего исследования в третьей книге привели, однако, Когена к кардинальному расхождению с названными выводами Канта: эстетическое чувство является не только принципом — симптомом, эмоциональным фоном эстетического акта, но самим существом художественного творчества, требующего форми- рования и отдельной способности субъекта — чувства как такового, от- личного от мышления и воли. Обоснованию этого вывода и посвящена третья часть философской системы Когена — двухтомная «Эстетика чи- стого чувства», основанная, в отличие от кантовской эстетики, на изуче- нии богатейшей истории мирового искусства и замыкающая в системную целостность «Логику чистого познания» и «Этику чистой воли». Прежде всего следует отметить, что в традиции кантовской филосо- фии трансцендентальные способности субъекта анализируются как фор- мы качественно своеобразной активности сознания, и Коген указывает на непоследовательность Канта в тpактовке эстетической способности субъекта: если теоpетический и пpактический pазум рассматриваются как твоpческая деятельность, то эстетическая способность суждения —

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 53 только рефлексия о некотором познавательно-нpавственном содержа- нии (эстетической идее), потому и суждение вкуса, и твоpчество гения пpедполагают пpодуктивность лишь гносеологического и этического, но не эстетического субъекта. Коген же видит специфику («чистоту») чувства как твоpчества в том, что оно синтезиpует в себе содеpжание познания и нpавственности, создавая пpедметное содеpжание искусства, выходящее за пределы и науки, и морали6 . Чтобы обосновать, что собственным предметом эстетики является чувство как особая трансцендентальная способность субъекта, Коген должен был обосновать собственную точку зрения в полемике с интер- претациями чувства, существовавшими в немецкой эстетике ХIХ в. В пер- вую очередь необходимо было уяснить отношение эстетического чувства к удовольствию. Ведь и Кант не отрицал присутствие психофизиологического удо- вольствия в эстетическом созерцании, рассматривая его в качестве пред- посылки — «общей способности души» — для эстетического чувства как априорного принципа суждения вкуса. И именно в удовольствии виде- ли специфически-эстетический признак все психологически-ориентиро- ванные исследователи от И. Гербарта и Фехнера до Т. Липпса и К. Грооса. Признавая связь эстетического чувства с удовольствием, Коген тем не ме- нее дает детальную критику его редукции к удовольствию. 1. Деятельность сознания во всех направлениях, в том числе как по- знание и добрая воля, сопровождается удовольствием и неудовольствием. «Для эстетического сознания они могли бы быть учтены поэтому только в качестве универсальных факторов сознания»7 . 2. Философия должна различать сознание (Bewusstsein) — содержа- тельную форму активности субъекта, в которой содержание сознания представляет природный и культурный мир, и сознательность (Bewusst heit), которая еще не имеет никакого содержания, а обозначает только факт наличия сознания. 3. Специфика же деятельности сознания — «чистота» требует произ- ведения содержания. «И эстетическое чувство есть произведение эстети- ческого содержания. ... Поэтому удовольствие и неудовольствие не могут быть приравнены к чистому чувству» как бессодержательное к содержа- тельному8. Поэтому эстетическое сознание возникает только у человека, так как «эстетическое чувство означает новое культурное содержание»9 . Тем самым Коген впервые дал убедительную критику редукции эстети- ческого чувства, объясняющую, например, почему даже такой широко мыслящий ученый, как Гегель мог прийти к неправомерному отрицанию

6 Подробнее об этом см.: Akindinova 2010; Акиндинова 2013: 5–13. 7 Cohen 1912: 117. 8 Cohen 1912: 122. 9 Cohen 1912: 123.

54 значения чувства («смутнейшей и абстрактнейшей области духа») в эсте- тическом акте. Теперь Коген мог уточнить и отношение философии и психоло- гии в эстетическом исследовании. «Ошибка, которую должна сделать психология, поскольку она не может руководствоваться систематической методикой, состоит в том, что она берет исходным пунктом для разви- тия сознания ощущение»10, которое, являясь результатом взаимодействия субъекта со средой — корреляцией внутреннего и внешнего, — рассма- тривается, однако, уже только как внешнее. Вследствие этого, чувство как внутреннее состояние субъекта неизбежно оказывается приложением к извне данному ощущению, и их связь может получить лишь механиче- ское истолкование — в виде сложения независимых факторов: содержание внешнего мира плюс бессодержательное отношение к нему в чувстве субъ- екта; или, по терминологии Когена, «сознание» плюс «сознательность». Ошибочность такой трактовки Коген обнаруживает в психологической (И. Гербарт)11 и формалистической (А. Гильдебрандт, Р. Циммерман) кон- цепциях12, видевших в чувстве («эстетическом удовольствии») «прибав- ку» психики к эстетическому ощущению и представлению. Односторон- ним считает Коген и противоположное решение вопроса, предложенное М. Мендельсоном и развитое впоследствии в теорию «вчувствования» (Т. Липпс)13, согласно которому, на первично данное чувство накладыва- ется ощущение и представление, заполняется предметным содержанием. Ограниченность теории «вчувствования», — справедливо отмечает Ко- ген, — состоит в том, что она предполагает данным вне эстетического акта и само чувство, и предмет: «одушевление мертвого материала уже го- товым человеческим духом и душой»14, тогда как в эстетическом созна- нии — творчестве качественно-своеобразного содержания — «ни предмет для чувства не существует заранее, так, чтобы он мог быть вчувствован, ни мы сами не даны уже до чувства, так, чтобы можно было чувство в нас лишь перенести, или из нас вчувствовать в предмет»15. Поэтому, по Коге- ну, «понятие вчувствования остается шатким при всех бесчисленных по- вторениях, которые возникают при попытке его определения. Они должны неудаться, потому что содержат неправильную постановку вопроса. ... Чувствование само есть проблема, а не вчувствование, возникновение чувства»16 как содержательной творческой деятельности сознания. Поэто- му Коген заключает, что эта «проблема принадлежит в первой инстанции

10 Cohen 1912: 127. 11 Herbart 1964. 12 Гильдебранд 1914; Zimmermann 1865. 13 Липпс 1909. 14 Cohen 1912: 186. 15 Cohen 1912: 185. 16 Cohen 1912: 185.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 55 вовсе не психологии, а что проблема чувства раскрывается систематиче- ской эстетикой и затем передается психологии»17 . Раскрыть происхождение эстетического сознания означает, по Коге- ну, показать возникновение его содержания, а значит, сначала установить некоторую «праформу сознания» как «праформу содержания», которая является необходимым также основанием возникновения двух других ви- дов содержания сознания — «природы и нравственного Я». Учитывая психологические концепции, Коген называет эту праформу сознания «чувствованием» — это «собственное движение в нервной системе». Поскольку чувствование лежит в истоках сознания, служит его предпосылкой, постольку оно является неотъемлемой частью всего последующего становления сознания как «отзвук» — «придаток» к содер- жанию сознания на всех ступенях его развития. В силу этой изначальной отнесенности чувствования к становлению содержания сознания, Коген обозначает его как «относительное чувство», которое не есть еще, соб- ственно, чувство, т. к. не имеет никакой самостоятельности и не является содержанием самим по себе. Это относительное чувство может быть так- же составной частью в эстетическом чувстве, — отмечает Коген право- мерность психологического исследования, — но она не может быть опре- деляющей, и психологическая эстетика заблуждается, когда принимает этот придаток («иллюзию содержания») за само содержание. Содержание сознания в собственном смысле слова возникает, только начиная с ощуще- ния, ибо впервые только «ощущение, соответственно своему логическому значению, содержит в себе указание на действительность; поэтому в нем начинается произведение собственного содержания»18 . Выступая предварительной ступенью к возникновению ощущения, относительные чувства становятся уже неотъемлемыми от ощущения, они — «чувства ощущения». Но поскольку они сопровождают любые ощущения, Коген не считает их элементами содержательного эстетическо- го чувства. Они сохраняются и действует и в зрелом эстетическом чувстве, ибо никакое эстетическое сознание не может отрешиться ни от ощуще- ния, ни, следовательно, от чувств ощущений, но эстетическое содержание не может быть основано на них. Этот вывод позволял Когену объяснить и возможность, и ограниченность подхода к определению эстетического представления — зрительного или слухового — на основе чувства, как это пытались сделать А. Гильдебрандт и Р. Циммерман. Да и само ощущение, логическое значение которого состоит всего в «указании на действительность», представляет собой лишь абстрак- цию содержания. Содержание в собственном значении возникает только из двух ощущений, когда они вступают в отношение друг к другу при по-

17 Cohen 1912: 146. 18 Cohen 1912: 155.

56 средстве чувства ощущения, когда образуется связь между ощущением и ощущением, равным образом, как между ощущениями того же самого рода (скажем, зрительными), так и другого рода (скажем, зрительным и слуховым). Там, где ощущения выступают одновременно и обособ- ленными, и объединенными, т. е. в виде множества, впервые, по Когену, возникает мышление. «Множество есть мышление. Мышление означает произвeдение содержания… В этом объективирующем значении состоит преимущественно значение мышления. Мышление производит объект»19 . С этим завершается формирование познающего сознания, но оно через посредство ощущений уходит своими корнями в чувствование и поэто- му не исчерпывается содержанием познания, а всегда одновременно включает в себя «чувство мышления равным образом, как и понятие мышления»20 . Коген показал, таким образом, что относительные чувства ощуще- ния, мышления, представления еще не составляют собственных элементов эстетического чувства как творчества собственного содержания. Присут- ствие относительных чувств в эстетическом возможно, но лишь в той мере, в какой в нем принимает участие познание. Затем Коген переходит к анализу становления нравственного созна- ния, качественное отличие которого от научного сознания философ вслед за Кантом видит в его волевой основе. Нравственная «воля нуждается, правда, в мышлении и познании, но она использует их для собственного своеобразия»21. Решение нравственной воли «не только план и намере- ние, — справедливо отмечает Коген, — оно должно в качестве импульса привести поступок в действие. Импульсивность, жизненная энергия, творческий напор, сила действия должны влиться в поступок. Эта сила вливания есть чистая воля»22, которая «производит содержание нравствен- ности»23, поэтому было бы ошибочно сводить ее к бессодержательному желанию, аффекту. Роль аффекта как рода чувства следует определить, по Когену, в качестве фактора, преобразующего деятельность сознания из познающего в нравственное. Добрая воля — это творчество законов морали как формы культуры24 . Такое понимание формирования нравственного сознания позволя- ло Когену различить побуждение (склонность) как чувственное начало в нравственности и эстетическое чувство (отождествленные Шиллером). Одновременно эта трактовка объясняла возможность присутствия в эсте- тическом сознании нравственных побуждений: они необходимо вошли 19 Cohen 1912: 155. 20 Cohen 1912: 363. 21 Cohen 1912: 164. 22 Cohen 1912: 194. 23 Cohen 1912: 196. 24 См.: Белов 2008: 74–81.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 57 в него вместе с нравственной волей как предпосылкой для возникновения эстетического чувства. Различие между влечением (склонностью) и чистым чувством Ко- ген демонстрирует на примере анализа фрейдистской эстетики: «Имеют обыкновение рассматривать половое влечение как прачувство и допуска- ют, таким образом, что в нем коренится художественное чувство как чув- ство. Здесь заложено, несомненно, и верное отношение. Без направлен- ности на половую любовь искусство было бы необъяснимо ни как поэзия, ни как живопись»25, — признает Коген правомерность фрейдистского под- хода к проблеме. Однако, по Когену, половое влечение способно войти в эстетическое сознание лишь тогда, когда оно в виде относительного чувства воли становится элементом нравственного сознания и «в каче- стве такового делается нравственным предварительным условием худо- жественного чувства. Благодаря этому изменяется основное отношение искусства к половому влечению»26 — не прямая связь, а при посредстве нравственной воли. «Поэтому, — обоснованно заключает Коген, — ме- тодически устраняется, что половое влечение могло быть само по себе художественным побуждением»27 . Эстетическим в систематическом значении чувство становится, по Ко- гену, лишь тогда, когда оно формируется в новый род чувства, который не является более относительным, — в чистое чувство, творческая ак- тивность которого использует в качестве своих предпосылок познание и нравственность, и производит новое содержание и поэтому выступает как новый род сознания. Чем оправдывается название этой систематической новизны как чув- ства? — спрашивает Коген. «Ближайший ответ: потому что новый род со- знания в своих двух родах условий должен учитывать также относительные чувства как свой материал; потому что все… чувства ощущения, чувства мышления, чувства воли, в которых уже резонируют, с одной стороны, позна- ние, с другой стороны, воля, образуют предварительное содержание нового сознания. Отнесенность к ним, следовательно, имманентна новому роду»28 . Но чистым — самостоятельной деятельностью сознания — чувство стано- вится лишь когда оно будет производящим самое себя чувством. «Уже в чи- сто теоретическом аспекте должно стать всегда очевидным, что художествен- ное творчество есть творчество чувства, — заключает философ, — также целиком и восприятие как сотворчество — эстетическое переживание»29 . Раскрыв «изначальную» связь эстетического чувства как особой формы активности сознания с содержанием познания и нравственности

25 Cohen 1912: 168. 26 Cohen 1912: 168. 27 Cohen 1912: 171. 28 Cohen 1912: 182. 29 Cohen 1912: 185.

58 при посредстве «относительных» чувств мышления и воли, Коген должен был уточнить их содержание, чтобы показать, какое именно новое содер- жание производится эстетическим сознанием. «В познании-сознании “Я” в качестве “Я” полностью отступает. Здесь... деятельность сознания направлена на производство объекта»30 . Чистое мышление направлено на произведение и обоснование объекта . Другое направление сознания, которое есть «не только мышление; в нем действует аффект» и которое «производит содержание нравственности» — это чистая нравственная воля. Казалось бы, здесь безошибочно целевой пункт образует «Я». Однако индивидуум чистой воли имеет своей целью создать «Я» как нравственный субъект лишь в качестве представителя человеческой общности. «Коль скоро волеющее “Я” чувствует себя только как индивидуум, оно еще не созрело для “Я” чистой воли»31 . Лишь эстетическое чувство, сплавляя в себе познание и нравствен- ность, представляет нравственное «Я» (в его всеобщем содержании) в кон- кретном контексте познаваемой действительности, включая знания о соб- ственном теле. Поэтому только эстетическое сознание направляется на самость человека в ее целостности и делает своей задачей создание индивидуальности в единстве души и тела: «Здесь осуществляется впер- вые производство самости не как самосознания, но как самочувствия»32 . При этом Коген подчеркивает социокультурный характер этой «новой, эстетической, самости», существующей наряду с познающим и нравствен- ным «Я»: «Человек ничего не страшится сильнее, чем одиночества с самим собой, он ищет средства для целей сообщения, потому что он ищет общ- ности»33. Его самочувствие, поскольку оно не физиологическое и не пси- хическое бессодержательное «чувствование», а интерсубъективное со- держание сознания, формируется поэтому как со-чувствие. Иначе субъект эстетического чувства имеет своим содержанием индивидуальность дру- гого субъекта. Значит, его «самочувствие есть любовь, но не самолюбовь, а любовь самости человека, которая становится природой человека… только и исключительно через искусство»34, синтезирующее познание и нравственность в чувстве. Поэтому «первообразом», «пра-моделью» ис- кусства, по Когену, необходимо является образ человека в единстве души и тела. При его посредстве формируется и объективируется в произведе- нии искусства любовь к человеческой природе в ее целостности, любовь, которая не дана заранее готовой, так, что нуждается лишь в том, чтобы перелить ее в художественное произведение; но она производится впер- вые, она развертывается только в процессе созидания образа. «Любовь

30 Cohen 1912: 194. 31 Cohen 1912: 197. 32 Cohen 1912: 199. 33 Cohen 1912: 175. 34 Cohen 1912: 209.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 59 к человеку… как самочувствие человечества в человеке»35, — заключает философ, — существо художественного творчества. Тем самым Коген приходит к пониманию возникновения феномена гу- манизма как следствия исторического становления и утверждения искус- ства как особой формы культуры. Именно потому, что любовь к человеку в его целостности является «движущей силой» и творчеством эстетиче- ского чувства, человек остается «фокусом искусства», даже если предме- том изображения берется природа или мир вещей. Теперь Коген мог показать, как преобразуются познание и нрав- ственность при сплавлении в новое содержание — любовь к человеку в его индивидуальности. В той мере, в какой искусство изображает при- родный мир и человека как часть природы, по Когену, конечно, «худож- ником должны учитываться научные методы, и мы видели, в какой глу- бине и широте выполняется это условие величайшими мастерами во всех искусствах, как в плане анатомии, так и в плане оптики и акустики»36 . Но природа как объект художественного произведения — «человече- ски центрированная природа» — объективирует в себе самость чистого чувства, т. е. она должна быть создана любовью, а не просто познанием. «Как Бах был побужден своим контрапунктическим гением к улучшению органа, так Леонардо и Микеланджело... пришли к... более глубокому вла- дению человеческим и животным телами, благодаря их чистому чувству и благодаря оригинальности их любви к природе человека… Применение изменяет смысл и направление этих методов; изменяет, благодаря этому, сами методы»37, — полемизирует Коген с концепциями, сводящими ис- кусство к познанию: и с натурализмом, в изображении которого человек предстает как бездуховная плоть, и с теориями Ганслика и Гильдебрандта, отождествляющими искусство с формами чувственного познания. «Это преобразование методов в их применении есть техника. Каждое искусство имеет свою художественную технику. Она основывается на теоретическом методе, но не совпадает с ним. Дезориентирующая ошибка скрывается в словах, что музыка является арифметикой духа, не сознающего своего счета. … Основа музыки не есть математика, а с самого начала — мате- матика, измененная эстетическим духом музыки. Архитектура не есть применение и разработка геометрии и перспективы, но их использова- ние для формирования образа, благодаря чему становится одновремен- но и их изменением»38. Коренным заблуждением называет также Коген утверждение, что единственной задачей художественного изображения является создание зрительно воспринимаемых форм предметного мира — «видимость». Если в изобразительном искусстве формируется видимый

35 Cohen 1912: 236. 36 Cohen 1912: 218. 37 Cohen 1912: 219. 38 Cohen 1912: 219–220.

60 образ мира, — отвечает Коген Гильдебрандту, то это происходит постоль- ку, поскольку зрение принадлежит мышлению как предварительному условию чистого чувства. Если этот образ отличается от чувственных форм познания, то причину различия как раз и объясняет трансформация методов познания природы в художественную технику. Коген точно фор- мулирует, что в искусстве «проблема видимости есть скорее проблема чувствуемости, не только рецептивной, но и также не менее и творче- ской. Неверно, что художник должен только видеть. Это не тривиальный оборот речи, что он должен также чувствовать, что он должен, созидая, чувствовать и, чувствуя, созидать. Иначе превратилось бы в словесный оборот чистое чувство»39. Поэтому техника есть необходимая составляю- щая в произведении эстетического чувства — любви к человеку, созидаю- щей искусство. Нравственное сознание также претерпевает изменение, входя в ху- дожественный синтез. «Художник должен в своей работе весь алфавит нравственных вопросов и коллизий проработать, обозреть, проникнуть и осветить, человеческое сердце должно быть для него открытой книгой также в истории народов»40. Чтобы быть эстетической, любовь к челове- ку, согласно Когену, необходимо включает в себя нравственный мотив, и тем не менее, чувство любви в искусстве не «этично, а эстетично». Важ- но отметить, что это утверждение Коген разграничивает с имморалистской концепцией, требовавшей полностью исключить в искусстве нравствен- ные оценки. «Истинный критерий самостоятельности искусства лежит не в том, что переоцениваются моральные ценности, как говорит мода дня..., — отвечает Коген имморалистам, — моральные ценности всегда являются только праценностью» в произведении искусства41, но они не мо- гут быть исключены из него, будучи предпосылкой эстетического чувства. Эта праценность есть достоинство человека — «существо всей нравствен- ности», отпечаток которого несет на себе всякое истинное произведение искусства, и любовь к природе человека получает, следовательно, свою глубочайшую основу в уважении к достоинству человека во всех людях. Однако, входя в эстетическое сознание, нравственность представляет собой уже не просто принцип, определяемый мышлением, и не аффект, побуждающий к осуществлению нравственного решения. В искусстве она превращается в чувство — любовь к человеку, распространяющую- ся и на его духовный мир, и на его телесную природу: в искусстве чи- стая воля предстает как человечность. «Гуманизм есть самостоятельный критерий» нравственности в искусстве; «человеколюбие — нравствен- ность художника»42, — заключает Коген. Этот вывод позволил философу,

39 Cohen 1912: 225. 40 Cohen 1912: 223–224. 41 Cohen 1912: 225. 42 Cohen 1912: 224.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 61 с одной стороны, представить нравственность необходимым условием художественного творчества, а с другой стороны, раскрыть ошибочность эстетики, видевшей в искусстве средство нравственного воспитания. Искусство не может вести к нравственности, т. к. оно должно исходить из нравственности, — переформулирует Коген заключительный тезис кан- товской эстетики, что «истинной пропедевтикой к утверждению вкуса служит развитие нравственных идей»43. По Когену, нравственные чувства эстетичны по своему происхождению, ибо их возникновение в качестве вариаций человеколюбия опосредовано формированием эстетического чувства — любви к человеку в единстве его духовно-телесной природы. Нравственные чувства, справедливо считает Коген, обогащают нравствен- ное сознание, но лишь потому, что оно уже сложилось как чистая воля. Парадоксально, на первый взгляд, для традиции религиозной мысли, восходящей к Пятикнижию Моисея, к которой принадлежал и Коген, фи- лософ называет первой из основных разновидностей любви не любовь человека к Богу, а любовь человека к человеку44. Следует подчеркнуть сначала, что утверждение Когена все же отнюдь не противоречит духу Священной Книги, поскольку в отношении к Богу речь идет там о без- условной самоотдаче Единственному, почтительном уважении, послуша- нии и т. п. В то же время образы любви в целостности духовно-телесной природы этого чувства содержит Песнь песней царя Соломона, которая в традиции монотеизма стала началом любовной лирики, всей поэзии в культурах и иудаизма, и христианства, и ислама. Эстетичный по своему содержанию, образ любви человека к человеку оказывается прообразом чувства, дополнившего и обогатившего веру человека в Бога. Обоснован- ный философской систематикой вывод Когена о том, что не религия яви- лась питательной почвой для искусства, а «религия насквозь пропитана искусством»45 имеет, несомненно, также историческое основание. В этом смысле, позиция Когена последовательна и в заключительном труде марбургского мыслителя — «Религии разума», которую он, подобно Канту, не включал в систему трансцендентальной философии, поскольку не считал религию самостоятельным (чистым) родом сознания, наряду с мышлением, волей и чувством. Поскольку религиозные чувства также эстетичны по своему изначальному происхождению, величайшая миссия искусства заключается в формировании чувства любви к человеку, Богу, миру. Эстетическое чувство формируется искусством на протяжении всей истории человеческого рода как «самочувствие человечества в человеке». Искусство — исток формирования третьей особой способности челове- ка — чувства, несводимого к содержанию мышления и воли, но равноцен- ного им в создании целостного духовного мира человека.

43 Cohen 1912: 224. 44 Cohen 1959. 45 Сohen 1912: 170.

62 Эстетика Когена, творчески продолжая кантовскую аналитику способ- ностей субъекта, открывала тем самым новую страницу в исследовании культуры, реального взаимодействия ее различных форм, лежащего в ос- нове европейской цивилизации. Однако оценить этот вывод по его мощ- ному теоретическому потенциалу в ХХ веке смогли, пожалуй, только самые глубокие философские направления, к которым прежде всего от- носятся феноменология и экзистенциализм. И хотя «Эстетика чистого чувства» оказала широкое влияние на евpопейскую эстетику, продолжа- ясь в эстетических концепциях П. Наторпа, Э. Кассирера, в философии искусства Хосе Ортеги-и-Гассета, в советской России в домашних семи- нарах Б. А. Фохта, М. И. Кагана и Л. В. Пумпянского46, мы коснемся сей- час только влияния Когена на эстетику таких самобытных мыслителей как Н. Гартман, К. Ясперс, М. М. Бахтин. Принимая фундаментальные постулаты эстетики марбургского нео- кантианства, Гартман, однако, в своей «Эстетике» (1945) поставил задачу выйти за пределы трансцендентального идеализма и вести эстетическое исследование с позиции «новой онтологии» — феноменологии. Вместе с Когеном Гартман утверждает, что эстетическая ценность не может быть изолирована от ценностей познания и морали, хотя «только дети чита- ют рассказы, воспринимая их как изображение реального». Без «прав- ды жизни» искусство лишается достоверности, и эстетическая ценность не возникает. Однако искусство в качестве человековедения остается в пределах всеобщности понятий и как раз становится неправдоподоб- ным. Как ни парадоксально на первый взгляд, «знаток человека» близок к слепоте в отношении человеческой индивидуальности, которая откры- та, вслед за Когеном повторяет Гартман, не мысли, а «только любящему и проникновенному взгляду»: «Поэзия, как и искусство вообще… учит не отвергать и судить, а ценить и находить достоинства, относиться ко все- му с любовью»47 . Постижение индивидуальности человека как «открытие достойных любви ценностей» составляет собственную задачу искусства. Созидае- мые художественным творчеством эстетические ценности оказываются поэтому и связанными с познанием, и автономными от познавательной ценности. Для Гартмана автономия эстетических ценностей распространяет- ся также и на искусство, и на природу, она включает в себя автономию как от «духовных» ценностей истины и добра, так и от «жизненных» цен- ностей (здоровья, блага, удовольствия). Собственной областью проявления эстетического отношения является индивидуальное бытие, ускользающее от описания в абстрактно-научных или абстрактно-моральных категориях.

46 См.: Фохт 2003. 47 Гартман 1958: 424.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 63 Но это индивидуальное бытие в то же время не противоречит законам сущего, определяемого наукой, и не преступает законов должного, форму- лируемого моралью, поэтому в целом сфера его пребывания — «царство возможного». Эстетические ценности покоятся на свободе особого рода: индивидуальное здесь есть бытие возможного без бытия необходимого. Именно оно представляет «особый пункт реальной связи самой действи- тельности», позволяющий художнику творчески видеть то, чего еще нет. Таким образом, Гартман переосмыслил эстетическую концепцию марбургского неокантианства в ключе выявления бытийных оснований эстетического феномена: содержание эстетического «чистого» чувства как фундаментальной формы активности сознания субъекта (Г. Коген) со- ответствует особому «слою» или модусу самого бытия — возможному. Оно находится в системной взаимосвязи с другими важнейшими модусами бы- тия: сущим как предметным содержанием научного «чистого» мышления и должным как интенции нравственной «чистой» воли. Эстетика поэто- му становится завершающим звеном в системе философии, связуя этику и гносеологию на основе новой трактовки онтологической проблематики. В экзистенциальной онтологии К. Ясперса центральной темой иссле- дования становится коммуникация. Согласно Ясперсу, природа человека не изменилась на протяжении истории, историчность человека поэтому состоит в приращении его духовного содержания, а исторические типы культур различаются прежде всего по характеру коммуникации. Первый уровень коммуникации представляет существование человека как тела; второй уровень осуществляется через «предметное сознание», по истинности своей общее для всего человечества. Третий уровень — «Коммуникация в сфере духа, — говорит Ясперс, — есть создание из об- щественной субстанции идеи целого... Это коммуникация отдельного члена с организмом. Он отличается от всех, но составляет с ними одно в объемлющем их порядке»48. Отдельный человек видит тут смысл сво- его существования как часть социального целого и определяется им. Три названных типа коммуникации складываются полностью в «великих куль- турах древности». Однако эти три уровня не достигли самой глубинной основы личности — экзистенции, которая ускользает при изучении че- ловека как части предметного мира, поскольку ее особенностью является невозможность объективации — свобода. Вслед за Кантом Ясперс кате- горически утверждает: «Или человек как предмет исследования, или че- ловек как свобода»49. Хотя экзистенция не может быть опредмечена, это не означает разрыва коммуникации. Экзистенция может сообщаться с эк- зистенцией: они существуют друг для друга как особая трансцендентная реальность, неисчерпаемая, непостижимая. Именно трансцендентное

48 Jaspers 1935: 54. 49 Jaspers 1962: 50.

64 придает смысл экзистенции, который открывается человеку только в «по- граничной ситуации», когда он вырывается из круга обыденных забот и привязанностей и осознает свою жизнь как «бытие к смерти». Только тогда возникает возможность экзистенциального общения. Этого типа коммуникации не знал человек древних культур, он возникает в «осевое время» (VIII–II вв. до н. э.). Ясперс считает, что с этого одухотворенного человека возникла подлинная история. Миф уступил место трагедии: осо- знанию существования на грани природного мира с трансцендентным. Стремлением преодолеть трагизм бытия проникнуты три сферы новой культуры, возникающие в относительной самостоятельности: искусство, философия, религия. Совершенно в кантианской традиции Ясперс трактует роль искусства в культуре. «Мы видим вещи такими, какими нас учит их видеть искус- ство, — пишет он. — Мы воспринимаем пространство через те формы, какие придает ему архитектор, мы переживаем ландшафт так, как он ор- ганизован религиозной архитектурой... Мы воспринимаем природу и че- ловека так, как нам раскрывает их сущность, пластика, рисунок, живо- пись»50. Вместе с Кантом Ясперс разделяет искусство на два основные вида: первый из них вызывает при восприятии эстетическое удовольствие от гармоничной игры душевных сил, красота мира в нем представлена как символ нравственности. Этот тип искусства, относимый Кантом к пре- красному, согласно Ясперсу, не проникает в глубины личности. Второй вид — возвышенное искусство, — по Канту, напоминающему челове- ку о его сверхприродном предназначении как субъекта свободы, Ясперс называет «метафизической шифрописью». Только последнее достигает экзистенциального слоя личности и прорывается к миру трансцендентно- му, который не может быть определен в категориях рассудка или разума и есть объект веры. Только это возвышенное искусство способно раскрыть трагедию человеческого бытия. «”Великим искусством”, мы называем ме- тафизическое, которое через себя раскрывает само бытие, делает его види- мым... Поэтому лишенная философского начала искусность — этот способ изображения, не имеющий связи с трансцендентным, украшательство...»51 Великое искусство трагедии возникает, по Ясперсу, впервые как раз в осе- вое время в классике античной Греции. Здесь историческое движение происходит «не только во внешних событиях, но и в глубине самого че- ловеческого бытия». За пределами этого пространства «трагическое зна- ние — открытое, незнающее знание» либо еще не родилось из религии (с ее символами веры), либо уже превращается в эстетический феномен, вызывающий у зрителей «паралич экзистенциальной активности»52 .

50 Jaspers 1958: 917. 51 Jaspers 1958: 917. 52 См.: Гайденко 1997.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 65 С забвением экзистенциальной коммуникации человек становится единицей массы, управляемой и заменяемой, поэтому возможности выхо- да из современного кризиса культуры Ясперс связывает с вопросом о том, в какой степени действенными окажутся «коренящиеся в сфере индиви- дуально-интимного» импульсы, способные в конечном счете привести к возрождению бытия человека из недр массового существования. «Ис- торический индивидуум недоступен взгляду, направляемому интересами познания, а открывает себя только любящему взору, — повторяет Ясперс основополагающие тезисы эстетики Когена и Н. Гартмана. — В бесконеч- ности любимого открывается мир, историчность бытия»53. Именно этой способностью отличается, по Ясперсу, великое метафизическое искусство от его «неподлинных» форм. М. М. Бахтин, рассматривая вслед за Когеном литературный образ как интенцию «познавательно-этической установки» автора, анализиру- ет связь в описании внутреннего мира героя и его внешности, и в ходе этого анализа он выходит на проблему целостного осмысления челове- ком своего духовно-телесного бытия в мире. «Не подлежит сомнению, что моя наружность не входит в конкретный действительный кругозор моего видения, за исключением тех редких случаев, когда я… созер- цаю свое отражение в воде или в зеркале»54. Поэтому зрительный образ воспринимается первоначально вне связи с внутренним переживанием человеком самого себя, а при усилии установления соответствия, «нас поражает в нашем внешнем образе какая-то своеобразная пустота… и несколько жуткая одинокость его. Чем это объясняется? Тем, что у нас нет к нему соответствующего эмоционально-волевого подхода, который мог бы оживить его и ценностно включить во внешнее единство живо- писно-пластического мира. Все мои эмоционально-волевые реакции, ценностно воспринимающие и устрояющие внешнюю выраженность другого человека: … любовь, нежность, жалость … и т. п., направленные вперед меня в мир — непосредственно к себе самому, как я себя изнутри переживаю, неприменимы…»55 Собственно «эстетическая объективация нуждается в могучей точке опоры вне себя,… изнутри которой я мог бы себя видеть как другого»56. Если в зеркале «мы видим отражение своей наружности, но не себя в своей наружности», мы не можем видеть своего истинного лика, но лишь свою личину. Здесь коренится, утверждает Бах- тин, «эстетическая неправда» обыденного видения. «Другое дело портрет наш, сделанный авторитетным для нас художником»57. «В этом смысле можно говорить об абсолютной эстетической нужде человека в другом,

53 Ясперс 1991: 250. 54 Бахтин 1979: 26–27. 55 Бахтин 1979: 33. 56 Бахтин 1979: 29. 57 Бахтин 1979: 30.

66 в видящей, помнящей, собирающей и объединяющей активности друго- го, которая одна может создать его внешне законченную личность; этой личности не будет, если другой ее не создаст: … она впервые рождает внешнего человека в новом плане бытия»58. Воплощен эстетически-цен- ностно один человек может быть только для другого, только в этом слу- чае происходит переживание красоты человеческого тела, — развивает Бахтин идеи Когена о том, что собственным содержанием эстетического сознания является индивидуальность другого человека в единстве его ду- ховно-телесной природы, что эстетическое чувство есть творчество люб- ви. «Я испытываю абсолютную нужду в любви, которую только другой со своего единственного места вне меня может осуществить внутрен- не…»59 Эта «формирующая человека любовь извне» и осуществляется художником. Именно его «любящий взор» создает необходимый «избы- ток видения», открывающий человеку себя в целостности духа и тела. Определение Когеном существа искусства как творчества любви к инди- видуальности другого стало краеугольным камнем в разработке Бахтиным концепции диалогической природы сознания, социокультурным истоком которого было искусство. Важно при этом, что диалогический характер сознания рассматривается как основание взаимодействия всех культурных форм и становления сложнейшего политического, экономического, воен- ного аппарата европейской цивилизации, которое сегодня требует заново теоретического осмысления. Кропотливый анализ роли искусства в культуре, обстоятельнейшее обоснование чувства как особой предметно-содержательной деятельно- сти сознания, дополняющее мышление и волю и реализуемое в процессе художественного творчества, вероятно, позволяет сделать вывод, что эсте- тике Когена выпадает роль, аналогичная той, что сыграла эстетика Канта в философии XIX–XX вв., в поиске новой действительно перспективной парадигмы современной цивилизации.

БИБЛИОГРАФИЯ

Акиндинова, Бердюгина 1984: Акиндинова Т. А ., Бердюгина Л. А. Новые грани старых иллюзий. Проблемы мировоззрения и культуры в немецкой эсте- тической и художественной мысли ХIХ–ХХ вв. Л.: ЛГУ, 1984. Акиндинова 2013: Акиндинова Т. А. Аналитика чувства как творчества в эстетике Германа Когена // Studia culturae. СПбГУ. 2013. № 17. C. 5–13. Бахтин 1979: Бахтин М. М. Автор и герой в эстетической деятельности // Эстетика словесного творчества. М., 1979. Белов 2008: Белов В. Н. Философия культуры Германа Когена // Кантовский сборник. Калининград, 2008. № 1. С. 74–81.

58 Бахтин 1979: 34. 59 Бахтин 1979: 37.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 67 Гайденко 1997: Гайденко П. П. Прорыв к трансцендентному. М., 1997. Гартман 1958: Гартман Н. Эстетика. М., 1958. Гильдебранд 1914: Гильдебранд А. Проблема формы в изобразительном искусстве. М., 1914. Кант 1966: Кант И. Критика способности суждения. Собр. соч. в 6 тт. Т. 5. М., 1966. Липпс 1909: Липпс Т. Эстетика // Философия в систематическом изложении. СПб., 1909. Фохт 2003: Фохт Б. А. Избранное (из философского наследия). М., 2003. Ясперс 1991: Ясперс К. Смысл и назначение истории. М., 1991. Akindinova 2010: Akindinova T. Die systematische Ästhetik von Cohen und ihre Ausstiege zu der Philosophie des 20. Jahrhunderts // Divinatio. Studia Culturologica series is sponsored by Stiftung Bulgarische Hochschulförderung (Frankfurt-Sofia) Maison des Sciences de l’Homme (Paris) and CEE Truht Bulgaria. Sofia, 2010. Cohen 1912: Cohen H. Aesthetik des reinen Gefühls. Bd. 1. 2. Berlin, 1912. Herbart 1964: Herbart J. F. Allgemeine praktische Philosophie // Herbart J. F. Sämtliche Werke / Hrsg. von K. Kehrbach, O. Flügel. Bd. 2. Aalen, 1964. S. 329–458. Jaspers 1935: Jaspers K. Vernunft und Existenz. Groningen, 1935. Jaspers 1958: Jaspers K. Von der Wahrheit. 2. Aufl. München, 1958. Jaspers 1962: Jaspers K. Der philosophische Glaube. München, 1962. Zimmermann 1865: Zimmermann R. Allgemeine Ästhetik als Formwissenschaft. Wien, 1865.

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Akindinova, T. A., Berdjugina, L. A. (1984) Novye grani starykh illjuzij. Problemy mirovozzrenia i kultury v nemetskoj esteticheskoj i khudozhestvennoj mysli ХIХ–ХХ vv., Leningrad: LGU. Akindinova, T. (2010) Die systematische Ästhetik von Cohen und ihre Ausstiege zu der Philosophie des 20. Jahrhunderts, Divinatio. Studia Culturologica series is sponsored by Stiftung Bulgarische Hochschulförderung (Frankfurt-Sofia) Maison des Sciences de l’Homme (Paris) and CEE Truht Bulgaria, Sofia. Akindinova, T. A. (2013) Analitika chuvstva kak tvorchesva v estetike Germana Cogena, Studia culturae, SPbGU, 17, 5–13. Bakhtin, M. M. (1979) Avtor i geroj v esteticheskoj dejatel’nosti, Estetika sloves- nogo tvorchestva, Moscow. Belov, V. N. (2008) Filosofia kultury Germana Kogena, Kantovskij sbornik, 1, Kaliningrad. Cohen, H. (1912) Aesthetik des reinen Gefühls, 1. 2, Berlin. Focht, B. A. (2003) Izbrannoe (iz filosofskogo nasledija), Moscow. Gajdenko, P. P. (1997) Proryv k transtsendentnomu, Moscow. Gartman, N. (1958) Estetika, Moscow.

68 Gildebrandt, А. (1914) Problema formy v izobrasitel’nom iskusstve, Moscow. Herbart, J. F. (1964) Allgemeine praktische Philosophie, in: Herbart J. F. Sämt- liche Werke, K. Kehrbach, O. Flügel (Hrsg.), 2. Aalen, 329–458. Jaspers, K. (1935) Vernunft und Existenz, Groningen. Jaspers, K. (1958) Von der Wahrheit, 2. Aufl., München. Jaspers, K. (1962) Der philosophische Glaube, München. Jaspers, K. (1991) Smysl i naznachenie istorii, Moscow. Kant, I (1966) Кritika sposobnosti suzhdenija, Sobranie sochinenij v 6 tomakh, Moscow. Lipps, T. (1909) Estetika, Filosofija v sistematicheskom izlozhenii, St. Petersburg. Zimmermann, R. (1865) Allgemeine Ästhetik als Formwissenschaft, Wien. Ilya Dvorkin The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, [email protected]

A MATHEMATICAL ROAD TO LITURGY. RELIGION AND MATHEMATICS IN FRANZ ROSENZWEIG’S PHILOSOPHY1

Abstract: The role and significance of mathematics were disputed through the first twenty years of the 20 century. In this dispute, Franz Rosenzweig occupies an original position, which is still easy to integrate into the context of his age. Even though Rosenzweig did not participate in the Davos dispute between Heidegger and Kassirer, his opinion is clearly formed in his works, particularly in the Star of Re- demption. Together with Cassirer, Rosenzweig recognizes the significance of mathematics and its role as the organon of thought. However, Rosenzweig postulates that any symbolism, including mathematical symbols is only valid on the plane of the elements, in the reality of the past time, which has already been captured by thought. Therefore, Rosenzweig agrees with Heidegger in that the sphere of the mathematics has its limitations. However, for Rosenzweig, the greatest achievement of Cohen’s logics is the direction of thought towards the present and the future. As it turns out, mathematics is only the starting point of the path, and waits to be supplemented by grammar and liturgy. Keywords: mathematics, grammar, liturgy, disputation in Davos, temporality, element, path, configuration (Gestalt), source, differential, correlation, source logic, logical organon, categories, functors, H. Cohen, Cassirer, Heidegger, Rosenzweig, Kant, Leibniz.

Дворкин Илья Еврейский университет в Иерусалиме, [email protected]

МАТЕМАТИЧЕСКИЙ ПУТЬ К ЛИТУРГИИ. РЕЛИГИЯ И МАТЕМАТИКА В ФИЛОСОФИИ ФРАНЦА РОЗЕНЦВЕЙГА

Резюме: В споре о математике, характерном для первой трети ХХ-го века, позиция Франца Розенцвейга оказывается и оригинальной, и хорошо вписы- вающейся в контекст эпохи. Хотя Розенцвейг не участвовал в давосском дис-

1 This article follows the presentation made on 27.9.2016 in Warsaw during the conference “Epistemologia doświadczenia religijnego”. Статья подготовлена на основе доклада, прочитанного 27.9.2016 на конференции “Epistemologia doświadczenia religijnego” в Варшаве.

70 путе между Хайдеггером и Кассирером, его точка зрения ясно сформулирована в его работах, особенно в «Звезде избавления». Подобно Кассиреру, он признает значимость математики и рассматривает ее в качестве органона мышления. Од- нако, согласно Розенцвейгу, математический символизм, как и вообще всякий символизм, работает только в мире элементов, уже в постигнутой реальности прошедшего времени. Тем самым, как и у Хайдеггера, сфера математическо- го оказывается у него ограниченной. Однако Розенцвейг считает величайшим достижением логики Когена обращенность мышления в настоящее и будущее. Здесь математика оказывается только начальной точкой пути и должна быть дополнена грамматикой и литургикой. Ключевые слова: математика, грамматика, литургика, давосский диспут, темпоральность, элемент, траектория, гештальт, исток, дифференциал, корреля- ция, логика истока, логический органон, категории, функторы, Коген, Кассирер, Хайдеггер, Розенцвейг, Кант, Лейбниц.

1 . Statement of the problem Karl Löwith2, an outstanding thinker of the 20th century, and Peter E. Gor- don3, a modern researcher, popularized the paradoxical notion that there is an inner proximity between the ideas of Martin Heidegger and Franz Rosenzweig. On several occasions, including Davos, Heidegger did reproach the Neo-Kan- tians for their tendency to mathematize philosophy4. As for Rosenzweig, he has a high opinion of mathematics and considers it the organon of intelligence. Heidegger’s attacks on natural history powered by mathematics and on the Ear- ly Modern science are well known. In doing this, Heidegger was following a long-rooted anti-mathematical trend in philosophy. We only have to read the 13th book of the Metaphysics in order to find that Heidegger’s criticism was not just recently invented. This consideration makes an interesting background for Rosenzweig’s position in the argument. Not only does Rosenzweig accept Cohen’s praise of mathematics, he regards Cohen as the thinker who has helped philosophy out of the dead-end where it was heading from Parmenides to Hegel, thereby devaluating the whole of Heidegger’s philosophical legacy. Furthermore, Rosenzweig does not stop with Cohen. He develops his own philosophical system where mathematics is much more than a starting point. For Rosenzweig, it becomes the general basis of thinking! Yet, while Rosenzweig insists on the significance of mathematics, he also limits its sphere to his first organon. Rosenzweig’s 2nd and 3rd organons are connected to grammar and liturgy. The relation between grammar and math-

2 See Löwith 1942: 53–77. 3 See Gordon 2003. 4 See Discussion Between Ernst Cassirer and Martin Heidegger, in: Langiulli 1971. For Heidegger’s relation to Neo-Kantianism see Дворкин 2013: 155–173.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 71 ematics are understandable, since mathematics is often presented as a special language. But where is the connection between mathematics and prayer? However, Rosenzweig’s conception is a deep thought that will bear its fruits. Moreover, it has a grounding in the history of the question. For ancient civilizations, mathematics was not only a practical engineer- ing tool. It was also related to the mythical and the sacral. This connection has always looked awkward to European scientists, who believed that mathematical thinking should be characterized as abstract and rational. There even exists a trend to downplay the ancient Eastern mathematics, stating that the real mathematical science was born in Greece5. But the Greeks are problematic as well. The development of their mathematics was led by the most, mystical of the Greek philosophers — the Pythagoreans and the Platonists. The Pythagoreans, who have admittedly created the ancient Greek mathematics, saw an immediate connection between prayer and numerical structure. The Kabbalah also connects mathematics to mysticism. In this context, Rosenz- weig’s argument does not seem paradoxical as it did at first glance. Before we turn to the analyze Rosenzweig’s thoughts on mathematics, we should mention his important predecessor, to whom Rosenzweig and Cohen make immediate allusions in their works. This is a person who has contributed much to the mathematization of science during the Early Modern period. It is Nicholas of Cusa who has made infinity the central notion of his theology and of mathematics.

2. The disputation in Davos and the question of relation between mathematics and philosophy

To consider the position of mathematics, we will address the disputation that took place during the philosophical congress in Davos in March, 1929. There, Heidegger opposed the Neo-Kantian position as a whole. To quote Heidegger, Kant... did not wish to provide a theory of natural science, but to show the problematic of metaphysics, more specifically of ontology. At that, Cohen’s disciple E. Cassirer remarks: The positioning of the mathematical sciences of nature is for me only a paradigm, not the whole of the problem. To explain the position of Kant and the Neo-Kantians in the relation to mathematics, Cassirer says: Kant’s major problem is how freedom is possible. For Kant, on the other hand, this was exactly the problem. Granted this finitude, how can there be necessary and universal truths? Now are synthetic judgments a priori possible?

5 See, among others, van der Waerden 1954.

72 That is the problem which Kant exemplifies with mathematics. Finite cognition involves itself with truth, but this relationship again works into a “merely”… Heidegger has said that Kant has given no demonstration of the possibility of mathematics. But this problem is posed in the Prolegomena. Once more, then, this pure theoretical question, how does a finite being come to a determination of objects which as such are not limited by finitude, must first of all be clarified. In Cassirer’s reading of Kant and Cohen, mathematics is not a self-sufficient problem. It is used as a metaphor to express the relation between the finite and the infinite, which is effected in the Kantian’s ethics. Cassirer admits that human being is finite, but the same being becomes transcendent when it is seen in relation to another person. Here Heidegger intervenes: For Kant human reason is completely dependent upon itself and cannot escape from itself into an eternal and absolute nor into the world of things. This “In-between” is the essence of practical reason. One goes astray in the interpretation of the Kantian ethics if one does not see the inner function of the Law for Dasein... Ontology is an index of finitude. God does not have it. … [Important is] the fact that Dasein is “something-which-is” which is open to other “things-which-are” and to itself. Heidegger gives a radically ontological reading of Kantian ethics as an expression of a finite being. The transcendent is effected inside this finite being as an aspect of its openness. Thus, Heidegger does not realize the move from finite to infinite that happens in Cohen’s ethics, and the mathematical metaphor only produces a “metaphysical illusion”. Cassirer argues against this point of view, as he introduces the conception of the symbolic form to unite the finite and the infinite. Using Kant’s theory of productive imagination, Cassirer states that mathematics is a realization of his symbolic form, where the finite and infinite are connected. As Cassirer explains, other such forms are mythology and language. If we now turn to Rosenzweig’s view of the question, it is evident that his position differs from that of Heidegger as well as Cassirer. At that, it is important to remember that Rosenzweig formulates his view before any of the other two authors. As for his teacher, for Rosenzweig the mathematical is a way of relating the finite to the infinite, and here he is close to Cassirer. How- ever, Rosenzweig postulates that mathematics approaches this relation from the side of the finite. It is only valid on the plane of the elements. However, mathematics is also the starting point for understanding the temporal character of being, which finds it true expression only on the plane of the paths. Here Rosenzweig departs radically from Cassirer. Mathematics, symbolism and mythology only exist in the world of the ontological, or, more precisely, in the already completed pre-world of the elements; while language is effected with the present time and the processual character of the paths. Here Rosenzweig approaches Heidegger. But still, there is a significant difference: for Rosenz-

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 73 weig, the temporal character of being is expressed differently in the present and in the completed past. The presented is realized in the paths of the creation, the revelation and the redemption. It is absolutely transcendent. The present is oriented towards the future, but this stance is something more than anticipation — it is seen first of all as will and responsibility. The past, the preset and the future interact closely, but an ontological meeting between them may only happen in the past. Rosenzweig’s ontological unity between the times resembles Heidegger’s conception of horizon. As Heidegger says: the fact that time itself has the character of horizon, so that I have always conjointly in an anticipatory remembering stance, the horizon of present, futu- rity, and pastness, and, consequently, there is given a transcendental-ontological time determination within which alone something such as the permanence of substance is constituted. Heidegger has detected by himself or borrowed from the Neo-Kantians the fundamental character of the present, but he reduces the relation between different times to the ontological limits of the substance. For Rosenzweig, it is only the projection of the present into the past. Following Cohen, Rosenz- weig defines present as an act or a deed directed into the future. The present is always absolutely new, transcending the ontological prospect of the past, which is only its source. But for the present, the connection to the source is cru- cially important.

3 . Cohen’s conception of mathematics

In a way, Cohen continues Kant’s relying on mathematical argument. For Kant, mathematics was the most illustrative example of the synthetic a priori judgements he has been trying to detect. Still, Cohen invests mathematics with new features that Kant did not. In the first place, it is related to the central problem of philosophy after Kant — that of the thing in itself. If the transcendental form is the real expression of the mathematical, then its relation to the thing in itself shall also be expressed mathematically. Here, Co- hen makes uses of the notion of correlation that he borrows from mathematics. First, the idea is viewed as an expression of the correlation between the object and the subject or between the phenomenon and the thing in itself. Further- more, this correlation may be expressed in mathematical terms. Cohen here, as Maimonides did some time before, uses the notion of the differential developed by Leibniz to create a solution for a purely Kantian problem. The differential is the limit of a zero-approaching sequence. Therefore, it is the purest expression of the correlation between the thing proper and its phenomenon. Thus, mathematics achieves what ontological philosophy cannot: it speaks of things without disclosing their particularities.

74 Rosenzweig describes Cohen’s theory in his Star of Redemption: The differential... is, on the one hand, the quantity that is dissolved in that which is without quantity, and then, on the other hand, it has, as “infinitesi- mal” and by that right, all the properties of the finite quantity, with only one exception: precisely this property of the quantity. It is in this way that it draws its strength that founds the reality6 . Cohen’s theory of the differential is further developed in his remarkable logic of the source, which becomes the cornerstone of Rosenzweig’s philo sophy. In this logic, Cohen reconsiders the very notion of the first principles. This is the central notion of the ontological philosophy and the basic construction of Aristotle’s metaphysics. Remarkably, the concept of the principle (ἀρχή) originates with the Ionic school, who also proposed the notion of limit (πέρας). Together with the Pythagoreans, this school is regarded as a precursor of mathematical thinking in Ancient Greece. Receiving the notion of the principle from them, Aristotle deprives it of its temporal character. The principle is universal; it becomes the universe. In this way, the principle was considered by the ontological philosophy which Rosenzweig defined as ontology from Ionia to Jena, that is, to Hegel and Schelling. Although the great dialectic philosophy of the nineteenth century described the worlds dynamic, this dynamic related only to the world as a completed whole and not to a specific event that was still going on. With the notion of the differential Cohen steered dialectics from analysis of the whole, the all, to the analysis of a single event. The Neo-Kantian Jacob Gordon defined this change as a movement from He- gel’s dialectic of the system to Cohen’s dialectic of the source7. Rosenzweig highly appreciated it, referring to Cohen’s logic of the source as a “scientific achievement”8 .

4 . Rosenzweig’s conception of mathematics For Cohen and Rosenzweig it was evident that the differential correlational logic of the source allow to do what Kant never achieved: it presented the world not as a static system of qualities that Aristotle described, but as a dynamic mathematical system, bringing the revolution that Galileo and Copernicus had started to its conclusion. This movement was based on Cohen’s understanding of the present time as different from the complete and closed past. It gave Cohen the key to comprehend the nature of history, religion and the process of interpersonal relations.

6 Extracts from The Star of Redemption are given hereinafter as translated by Barba- ra E. Galli, see Rosenzweig 2005: 28. See also: Rosenzweig 1996. 7 See Gordon 1927. 8 See Rosenzweig 2005: 28.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 75 Rosenzweig follows this way, often alluding to his mentor. Yet, Rosenzweig unfolds his own theory, significantly different from Cohen’s thinking. In fact, he emphasizes that his development of the logic of the source is “contrary to what the teacher thought”9 . Formulating the difference between the two theories, the Israeli researcher I. Gilad points out that Rosenzweig does not employ the notion of correlation. Instead, Rosenzweig develops his own detailed theory of paths (Bahnen) and configuration (Gestalt). What is the difference between Rosenzweig’s paths and Cohen’s correlation?10 The answer is simple, and given plainly by Rosenz- weig himself. Correlation does not allow us to transcend the limits of the object under consideration. It means we are trapped inside the world that Rosenzweig called the element. This reality offers a possibility of dynamic movement, but there is no actual dynamics, since the world of the elements is always already defined ontologically, that is, seized by our thought. Thus, for Rosenzweig, the sphere of the mathematics is naturally limited to the elements. Although the differential mathematics, unlike the classical one, touches upon the processual character of the world, it still describes a completed world perceived by thought. The real dynamics appears with interaction between the elements, a move out into the transcendental reality. Here, the paths is formed. Thus, Rosenzweig sides with Heidegger’s idea, not yet voiced at the time, concerning the limitation of the physical and the mathematical knowledge. But, unlike Heidegger, Rosenzweig does not become an enemy to the sciences. Instead, he tries to define their limits. According to Rosenzweig, mathematics should be supplemented. He therefore develops three organons: mathematics, grammar and liturgy.

5 .T he organons of Rosenzweig In the second book of the Star of Redemption, in the chapter “Creation. The limits of mathematics”, Rosenzweig states that with the movement from element to paths mathematics ceases to apply. It may only use symbols to describe the pre-world: The symbolic language of mathematics that we used above to explain the becoming of elements fails here. Already the reversals cannot be represented in the framework of equations, because the meaning of the inversions only becomes clear through the radiation outward of that which previously had been fused together... yet, what emerges above all from the completed elementary figures are not the pure forms of the Yes and No that sprang from the nothing and alone are represented through symbols...11

9 Rosenzweig 2005: 28. גלעד. י‘. עיון השוואתי בהבנת מושג ההתגלות בהגותם של הרמן כהן :See Rosenzweig 2005 10 . ומרטין בובר 11 See Rosenzweig 2005: 135.

76 Instead of mathematics, Rosenzweig presents another organon: grammar. The central difference here is that grammar has access to the present time. It gives the man possibility to speak at the current moment. According to Rosenzweig, this ability to speak now forms the paths of man’s relation to God and the world. From the level of the elements, the path is seen as haphazard, spontaneous connections. Therefore, the events that happen on the level of the paths seem impossible, new, wonderful when perceived from elements. God has much work to do here! However, every time it turns out that there was nothing impossible. And yet, every time it appears that there is no wonder, since in the completed world of the elements all that has happened is natural and lawful. Thus, language, for Rosenzweig, is not a sign system, a symbolic form or something resembling mathematics; it is the core of the movement from mathematics to liturgy. To give an example, let us consider how the meanings of words change with the movement from the logical and the mathematical to the grammar and the language proper. In the first part of the Star Rosenzweig examines the three original words that have basic, essential meanings in the world of mathematics and logic. They are “Yes”, “No” and “And”. In the second part of the book, these words become genealogical sentences. “Yes” becomes “Good”, “No” unfolds into the root words of the dialogue, “I” and You”, while “And” forms a genealogical sentence designating conjunction. Thus, the movement from mathematics to grammar is for Rosenzweig the movement from es- tranged completed reality to the living Dasein or the event of the present tense. “The word of man is a symbol: at every moment it is newly created in the mouth of the one who speaks”12 . However, the event of the present, as Rosenzweig understands it, does not terminate; it is directed into the future. Therefore, the organon of grammar develops as the organon of liturgy...

6 .T he logic OF THE CONFIGURATION . Liturgy

While the organon of mathematics relating the finite and the infinite applies to the level of elements, and the organon of grammar works on the level of paths, the third organon acts on the level of the configuration. The term configuration (Gestalt), borrowed from Goethe, becomes an important notion within the Star. Each level is characterized by relations of a specific kind, so that the logical and mathematical relations appearing on the level of the elements is essentially significant for the subsequent levels as well. However, this relation is static, the time here has already completed itself and so is identical

12 See Rosenzweig 2005: 121.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 77 to space. The grammatical organon of the second level describes interpersonal processes. Here, time is of essence, but this present time lasts only a moment before relapsing into the past. Only at the level of the future time becomes stable. Therefore, the essence of the third organon is the relation of times. Rosenzweig examines two configurations expressed in the Christianity and Judaism. The configuration of Christianity unfolds in time and so has a historical nature. The configuration of Judaism is stable and only moves within itself. A good illustration of this difference is Rosenzweig’s description of the Jew- ish and the Christian prayer. As an example of the Christian prayer, Rosenzweig gives the prayer of Goethe, who always asked God to let his actions complete in the best way possible13: Give, oh labor of my hands, the great happiness that I can finish it(Goethe, Hoffnung) . The corresponding example of a Judaic prayer is the prayer of “Moses the man of God”: And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us (Psalm 90:17) According to Rosenzweig, both prayers have the most important property: the time of the praying man coincides with the time of God. The Bible calls this time “the favorable time” and “the time of blessing”. For Rosenzweig, this is the time when the configuration is realized. However, Goethe prays as an individual. Therefore, Rosenzweig states, the process of his prayer unfolds in history or in the life of a person. But realization always calls for new realization. The prayer of Moses presupposes the actions of a community, and it is in this actions that this prayer is realized. This description makes it evident that for Rosenzweig past, present and future do not form a sequence. The future is the time when the configuration is realized, but the configuration comprises the past and the present. Liturgy, the organon of the future, is therefore supported by the two preceding organons: grammar and mathematics. Here naturally comes the question: what is the configuration from the mathematical point of view? The notion of the element has been used in mathematics ever since the Ionic philosophers. It makes clear the substantial nature of the first organon. The An- cient Greek mathematics imagined its object as a specific ideal reality. In contrast to that, the modern mathematics is relation. Instead of things, it mostly deals with functions and processes. This is especially true when we consider mathematical analysis and the theory of sets. With this background, Rosenz- weig’s idea of configuration acquires a remarkable mathematical meaning. On the level of the configuration, all quantities and relations are not defined, but together they become something stable.

13 See Rosenzweig 2005: 293.

78 I presume to give here an interpretation drawing on the theory of categories: АС = АВ → ВС. А, В, and С here are not sets, but categories, their structure defined by their interrelation. АС, АВ, and ВС are functors, while the arrow indicates the natural transformation of categories14. These mathematical terms corre- spond to Rosenzweig’s are elements, paths and the configuration. The elements will become sets on their own, but as part of the configuration they form a new non-trivial structure. As far as we can see, Rosenzweig’s new thinking has the potential to make mathematics once again the perfect queen of sciences.

7 . Mathematics AND RELIGION . The twentieth century

The twentieth century thinkers saw an opposition between religion and the sciences, which could be easily used to prove that religion is useless or even lying. Such notions still exist. However, in the beginning of the twentieth century voices were heard arguing that the secular worldview is also devoid of sense and value. The Russian philosophers, P. A. Florensky and A. F. Losev among them, championed the connection between mathematics and religion. It is not surprising that their opinions are close to Rosenzweig’s views. These ideas are still relevant in our time, when the relation between religion and science has acquired a definitive value.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Дворкин, И. С. (2013) Сущий и существующий. Преодоление метафизики у Когена, Хайдеггера и Левинаса // Judaica Petropolitana. Научно-теоретиче- ский журнал. 2013. Вып. 1. С. 155–173 (Dvorkin, I. Suschij i suschestvujuschij. Preodolenie metafiziki u Kogena, Khaideggera i Levinasa [The Being and the Existing. Overcoming of Metaphysics in Cohen, Heidegger and Levinas], Judaica Petropoli tana, 1, 155–173). Goldblatt, R. (1979) Topoi: The Categorial Analysis of Logic, Studies in Logic and the Foundations of Mathematics, 98, Amsterdam; New York; Oxford. Gordon, J. (1927) Der Ichbegriff bei Hegel, bei Cohen und in der Südwestdeutschen Schule hinsichtlich der Kategorienlehre untersucht, Berlin. Gordon, P. E. (2003) Rosenzweig and Heidegger: Between Judaism and German Philosophy, Berkeley. Langiulli, N. (ed.) (1971) The Existential Tradition: Selected Writings, New York.

14 See Goldblatt 1979.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 79 Löwith, K. (1942) M. Heidegger and F. Rosenzweig or Temporality and Eternity, Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 3. 1, 53–77. Rosenzweig, F. (1996) Der Stern der Erlösung, Frankfurt am Main. Rosenzweig, F. (2005) Star of Redemption, trans. by B. E. Galli. Madison, WI: The University of Wisconsin Press. van der Waerden, B. L. (1954) Science Awakening I: Egyptian, Babylonian and Greek Mathematics, trans. by A. Dresden, Groningen. Jorge Medina Delgadillo Universidad Popular Autónoma del Estado de Puebla, México, [email protected]

MAY JAPHETH DWELL IN THE TENTS OF SHEM: TOWARDS A METHODOLOGY FOR A PHILOSOPHICAL READING OF TALMUD BASED ON LEVINAS’ THOUGHT

Abstract: Emmanuel Levinas wrote over twenty Talmudic readings. Throughout those readings, Levinas raised new ideas and attractive forms to access the Talmudic wisdom; this methodology becomes a philosophical way through which one can approach the Jewish wisdom; which contains teachings on the meaning of life, the very humanity of human being, criticisms of political violence, the relationship between justice and forgiveness or our responsibility and responsiveness to the other. This work attempt to systematize the main features of this Levinasian methodology meant to read the Talmud and analyze whether this model constitutes a creative and useful interaction between Jewish thought and philosophy. What are the possibilities for contemporary philosophy when it dialogues with the Talmudic wisdom? Levinas shows us the advantages for actual philosophy of the attentive reading of Tal- mud, full of dialogue in tension, full of concepts set to examples. Levinas teaches us we can start from the internal in order to reach the universal. We will not address the specific content of Levinas’ over twenty Talmudic readings which may be more in line with the ethical proposal of the Lithuanian philosopher, but rather I’ll try to show how fidelity to the rabbinic tradition is compatible with intuitions and developments of Phenomenology, Hermeneutics and Ethics, as of our author analyzed. Keywords: Talmud, Ethics, Levinas, Methodology, Greek—Hebrew, Talmudic reading.

Хорхе Медина Дельгадилло Автономный народный университет штата Пуэбла, Мексика [email protected]

«ДА ОБИТАЕТ ЯФЕТ В ШАТРАХ ШЕМА»: К МЕТОДОЛОГИИ ФИЛОСОФСКОГО ЧТЕНИЯ ТАЛМУДА В СООТВЕТСТВИИ С ИДЕЯМИ ЛЕВИНАСА

Резюме: Эммануэль Левинас написал более двадцати талмудических ис- толкований. В этих работах Левинас нашел новые идеи и пути понимания талмудической мудрости; эта методология становится философским спосо-

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 81 бом приближения к еврейской мудрости, содержащей учения о смысле жизни, о сущности бытия человека, о критике политического насилия, о взаимосвязи между справедливостью и прощением, о нашей ответственности и отзывчи- вости к другому. Данная работа пытается систематизировать основные черты этой мето- дологии Левинаса, предназначенной для чтения Талмуда, а также проанали- зировать, является ли эта модель творческим и полезным взаимодействием между еврейской мыслью и философией. Каковы возможности современной философии, когда она находится в диалоге с талмудической мудростью? Ле- винас показывает нам значение для современной философии внимательного прочтения Талмуда, полного напряженного диалога, полного понятий, уста- новленных на примерах. Левинас учит нас, что мы можем начать с внутреннего, чтобы достичь всеобщего. Мы не будем рассматривать конкретное содержание более двадцати левинасовских талмудических интерпретаций, которые в значительной степени согласуются с этическими концепциями литовского философа, но попытаемся показать на примере анализа текстов Левинаса, насколько верность раввинской традиции может быть совместима с интуицией и разработкой феноменологии, герменевтики и этики. Ключевые слова: Талмуд, этика, Левинас, методология, греческий—иврит, талмудическое чтение.

1. Introduction — the purpose of the present work

Knowing full well that dividing the texts of Emmanuel Levinas under philosophical and, strictly speaking, Jewish or confessional texts is a common classification, and that carrying out possible translations or transferences from that point forward, the question whether search classification is validating itself or applicable to Levinas is legitimate. On the one hand, this classification stems from the unproven fact that what is confessional is no philosophical matter or that it does not raise or contain philosophical questions and therefore, cannot be the source and the first formulation of philosophy. Is it possible to sever our modes of access to what is real so that we may distinguish clearly between philosophy and religion or philosophy and ordinary thought? To think thus is to think as “all philosophies did not derive from non-philosophic sources” (SS 122), which is senseless. On the other hand, the classification itself seems to gratuitously separate intelligibility from transcendence; common sense and faith; stripping of logos all belief, something that would shock a good Talmudist as well as a good phenomenologist1 .

1 It is interesting to note the proximity Levinas observed between the Talmud as a unit of faith and intelligence (the scholastic philosophy fides quaerens intellectum, intellectus quaerens fidem will grow on the echoes of this institution) and the husserlian “doxic the-

82 Thus, we can find very interesting works of authors such as Burroughs2 or Meiskin3, who explored the influence of Levinas’s philosophy on their own Jewish writings, or Handelman’s4, for whom all of Levinas’ fundamentals would appear in her Jewish writings. However, if we observe carefully the “theological turn” of the French phenomenology, it is not apparent that the borders between philosophy and theology exist as it has usually been believed, or that the gap between them is exceedingly large5. In addition, Levinas himself was not afraid to bring philosophy and religion closer; “Philosophy, for me, derives from religion. It is called into being by a religion adrift, and probably religion is always adrift” (SS 182). Therefore, I do not wish to begin from an unwar- ranted and impervious dichotomy between philosophical thought (the Greek), and prophetic inspiration (the Hebrew) to later investigate their possible influences. Instead, in the present work I want to explore what Levinas himself said about the Talmud, and reconstruct from his five books destined to Talmudic readings6, a methodology of philosophical access to the Talmudic texts. It is true that the contents of the more than twenty Talmudic lessons that Levinas expressed at the Colloquia of Jewish Intellectuals of the French Language are a more interesting subject of analysis since they contain a wealth in intuitions, argumentative display, and an ethics proposal but it exceeds by far the lim- sis” (Ideas, § 244) that any position (affective, practical, etc.) would distrust an implicit or explicit logical factor, while to Levinas himself, all logical predication would be established in a non-representative intentionality and in a predicative pre-rationality. Cf. Levinas 1977a: 3. 2 Cf. Burroughs 2012: 124–136. 3 Meiskin 1998: 90–106. 4 Cf. Handelman 1991. 5 Cf. Janicaud er al. 2000; Rahner 1968; Purcell 2014. 6 Quatre lectures talmudiques, Les Editions de Minuit, Paris 1968 — Nine Talmudic Readings, A. Aronowicz (trans.), Indiana University Press; Bloomington-Indianapolis 1990 (QLT); Du Sacré au saint. Cinq nouvelles lectures talmudiques, Les Editions de Minuit, Paris 1977b — Nine Talmudic Readings, A. Aronowicz (trans.), Indiana University Press; Bloomington-Indianapolis 1990 (SS); L’au-delà du verset, Les Editions de Minuit, Par- is 1982 — G. D. Mole (trans.), Indiana University Press, Bloomington-Indianapolis 1994 (ADV); À l’heure des nations, Les Editions de Minuit, Paris 1988 — M. B. Smith (trans.), Indiana University Press, Bloomington-Indianapolis 1994 (AHN); Nouvelles lectures talmudiques, Les Editions de Minuit, Paris 1996 — R. A. Cohen (trans.), Duquesne University Press, Pittsburgh 1999 (NLT). In addition to these texts, there are two additional Talmudic readings in the corpus: a so- called “Messianic texts” in Difficile Liberté. Essais sur le the judaïsme, Le livre de poche, Paris 1984 — S. Hand (trans.), The Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore 1990 (DL) and a chapter entitled “Quelques vues talmudiques sur le rêve” in the book The Psychanalyse est-elle une histoire juive? Le Seuil, Paris 1981, 114–128 (QVTR). Throughout this work, all references will be cited with the page numbering of the English language editions, except QVTR, where the numbering will make reference to the French edition and the translation into English is mine.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 83 its of a paper. Our reconstruction will attempt to analyze form over content, methodology over proposal, structure over content, referring always straight back to his texts. This path has already been opened by Catherine Chalier7, Ira Stone8, Elisabeth Goldwyn9 and Shmuel Wygoda10, whom I cannot but admire. In particular, my gratitude to Professor Georges Hansel, from whom many of us have learned to read The Talmud in the Levinasian way11 . Therefore, we will not refer to classical works from which those of Neus- ner12 or Stemberger13 stand out to explain what the Talmud is, which were its formative stages or its decisive influence on the ordinary and ritual life of a believer. We will ask ourselves rather what the Talmud is for Levinas, what the philosopher saw in its permanent source of meaning and significance, what potentialities he taught us to discover in its reading; furthermore, we ask ourselves — and this is our base hypothesis — whether the methodology of reading the Talmud blowing on burning coals to turn them into flames (Abot 2, 10 — NLT 48) is also, by extension, the strictly speaking philosophical access to any text and, therefore, the doctors of the Talmud are wise (hakhamim, φιλόσοφοι — QLT 7) not only by the moral, legal and metaphysical issues addressed (philosophy), but also because of their rational access to the real and with purposes of universality (philosophizing).

2. What — Approach to the Talmud according Levinas

The Talmud is the transcription of the oral tradition (Oral Torah) of Is- rael, which governs the daily life of the Jews. The daily life of a Jew includes, incidentally, the study and exegesis of the Written Torah (QLT 3). This is fundamental. Judaism as a religion of the Book contains an oral revelation which helps to find the meaning of the letters, unraveling thus the multiplicity of meanings hidden in the folds of the Scripture. Therefore, the Talmud is not a mere compilation of comments, but a way to discover the deeper meanings of the text and which, in turn, is significant (SS 104), because it goes to the biblical stories and images, and with complete freedom and creativity, gives them their deepest sense, that is, their real sense (QLT 55).

7 Chalier 2002: 100–118; Chalier 1991. In this volume appeared also two interesting analyzes on Levinas and the Talmud by Annette Aronowicz, “les commentaires talmudiques de Levinas” and Gilles Bernheim “A propos des lectures talmudiques”. 8 Stone 1998. 9 Goldwyn 2015. 10 Wygoda 2001; Wygoda 2002: 149–183. 11 In various colloquia of the North American Levinas Society, I have witnessed the usual Talmudic reading by professor Hansel, full of erudition, sympathy, and generosity. 12 Neusner 1983; Neusner 1984; Neusner 1994; Neusner 2002. 13 Stemberger 2011; Strack 1996.

84 The Talmud is a continuous digging in Scripture, since the rabbinic wisdom “seeking the unsaid hidden within the said” (AHN 94), revives and re- news the terms of Scripture, and thus maintains the word “alive”. The difficulty of this digging “does not lie in the absence of treasures but in the inadequacy of the tools at my disposal for the dig” (QLT 72). This incessant exegesis, up to the point of hyperbole exegesis of the exegesis shows us two things: a) the text is alive and it is the source of life for those who read it and; b) that it needs to be brought to life through careful, intelligent, shared and free reading, that is to say, through a midrashic reading, to avoid Scripture from acquiring the immobility of the historic document (DL 68). The Talmud teaches us that Torah is life that vivifies when is vivified, it is the breath of the living God not incarnate but inscribed (AHN 59). On this we will return later. The Talmud is composed of two sections: the Mishna (repetition) and the Gemara (study). The first collects the rabbinical discussions of the Tan- naim, “holders of the Revelation referred to as Oral Law and which, according to Israel’s faith, has been transmitted from masters to disciples ever since the epiphany at Sinai. The Oral Law would be independent of Scriptures, although it refers itself to them and directs their interpretation” (SS 182). This first stratum of the Talmud was put in writing close to the second century C. E. by Rabbi Yehuda Hanasi (Rabainu HaKadosh, our Holy Master). In turn, the Mish- nah was the subject of further discussions among Talmudist doctors known as Amoraim, which in part reflected the teachings of the Tannaim which were not collected in the Mishnah and, therefore, had fallen outside (baraitot) and, in part, questioned the text with new events in the life of the people. The Mish- nah was, then, enriched by both the confrontation with the baraitot, as well as with new discussions of the Amoraim; this new dialectical stratum was set toward the end of the 5th century through the efforts of Rav Ashi and Ravina, and received the name of the Gemara. The Torah certainly contains beforehand all truth, but it is necessary to unravel its meaning; this penetration is possible through the reading of the Mishnah, and behold, this interpretation also must be interpreted in search of new teachings. The Gemara is the hermeneutics of the hermeneutics: exponentiation of the spirit in search of meaning. This is how revelation “is forever continued” (ADV x). This suggests that the written Torah does not reach its full meaning other than through the amplification the Talmud, which the same dynamic works within it, performs of it: the Mishnah does not reach its full meaning until the Gemara raises new questions about it (SS 142) and enlightens explains it (ADV 91). This way, “The Mishna is the tradition of the Oral Law adding in the Sinai to the Written Torah. But it is also the unwritten with all its possibles; it is the beyond the verse awakening the verse. “The Mishnah is already exegesis stirring within the written and posing the future “problematic” of the Gemara” (AHN 66). Mishna and Gemara constitute the Talmud trea- tises through which the Jews read the Old Testament and differ, therefore,

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 85 from the rest of the readers of the Bible. The Talmud defines the Jew as a Jew (QVTR 115). In what refers to written versions of the Talmud, there are two14: The Pal- estinian or Jerusalem, and the Babylonian. It is important to note that one of the most famous editions of the Babylonian Talmud (Talmud Bavli) was the one written in 1886 in Vilnius, Lithuania, homeland of Levinas, and remember that intellectual renaissance of Judaism flourished in Lithuania (18th century), at the time of the debate — and more than a debate — between the hassidish and the mitnagdim; led by the famous Gaon15, Rabbi Elijah ben Shlomo16, and at the head of those, the famous Baal Schem Tov17. The fact Levinas is a Talmudist is not, then, random. The Talmud asks what the Scriptures mean and tell us for the present life: This is crucial!18 Therefore, on the one hand the Talmud seeks what intelligence is registered in them, that is to say, what wisdom is contained and, on the other hand, what regulations can be drawn from them. These two purposes have given rise to the classification of accounts within the Talmud in Aggadah and Halakha. Levinas did his Talmudic readings on Haggadic texts he believed the Halakha required a special intellectual muscularity (QLT 32), which, since they were apologues or adages, were more similar to what in the West could be called philosophy and allowed interpretations on different levels (QLT 4), because the decoding of a complex verse is often carried out by an apologue, but the apologue itself becomes a deciphering that requires further deciphering (AHN 84). However, Levinas himself rejected an exclusive division between

14 Cf. Cohen 1980; Steinsaltz 2000; Girón Blanc 2005; Jacobs 1984; Mielziner 1894, specially the fourth part: “Outlines of Talmudical ethics”. 15 This title was used after the 7th century to designate the Head of the Babylonian Tal- mudic Academies, and literally means “wise”. These academies gave way to the yeshivot; institutes of study of the Torah and the Talmud, the first of which was founded by the disciple of the Vilna Gaon: Rabbi Chaim Volozhin, who Levinas admired. 16 Further on him may be found in: Etkes 2002; Hundert 2004. 17 In his essay, Herszel Klépfisz, introduces the figure of Rabbi Israel, known as the Baal Schem Tov which literally means master of the good Name, as a spiritual guide of amazing simplicity, who healed and performed miracles and whose teachings arose from the heart and not of the arid study of the Torah. He did not preach in the synagogues, but in the shops and stands (cf. Klépfisz 1967: 5–25). 18 Levinas viewed the approach to the Talmud from the mere History or Philology with much suspicion; this perspective would reduce and turn impure the impatient hands that handle the texts: the teaching would hide from those readers (AHN 24). The reading of the Talmud searches within the problems and truths (QLT 9) inaccessible to the puri- tanism of historicism, or to the exegesis of structuralism (QLT 6), but which are the vital problems of every man: “what matters to us is to ask questions of these texts — to which Jewish wisdom is tied as if to the soil — in terms of our problems as modern men” (SS 92). Levinas is not afraid to affirm: “The Talmud, according to the great masters of this science, can be understood only from the basis of life itself. This holds not only for the very teaching it brings, which assumes life experience (that is, a great deal of imagination), but also for the understanding and perception of the signs themselves” (QLT 8).

86 Halakha — way of behaving — and Aggadah philosophical, religious or moral significance of the behavior (SS 194). Moreover, there is a mutual dependence between both, since all sense tends to regulate and all law requires a sense19, to such a degree that “the ambiguity Halakha-Aggadah [is] inherent in every Halakha and in every Aggadah” (SS 195). And yet, the Talmud is not the next chapter in the Scriptures, relating the historical vicissitudes of the people of the Covenant. “The Bible furnishes the symbols but the Talmud does not ‘fulfil’ the Bible in the sense that the New Testament claims to complete and also continue the Old” (QLT 7). The Talmud does not prolong the Scriptures, but digs in them; and goes to their significations and updates them assessing the problems involved in them (QLT 54). If we may, the Talmud is the obstinacy of reason to make sense of the ambiguities and uncertainties of the Bible, and even the very search for these ambiguities in where it seems the Bible asserts and provides evidence that lends itself to a clear reading (NLT 73; DL 65). “The meanings taught by the Talmudic texts […] are suggested by signs whose material form is borrowed from the Scrip- tures” (QLT 6), as the biblical signs themselves: their verses containing objects, people, images, rites or situations would function as perfect signs (QLT 8), bursting with meaning, whose continued scrutiny always reveals new aspects of the same signification.

3. With Whom — The Talmud as community intelligence The Talmud requires a community of spirits: masters debating one another; disciples learning and questioning their masters; masters confronting their disciples; disciples squabbling one another to argue the best interpretation. The texts seem to only reveal themselves to an ‘us’: the community of study, to the yeshiva (QVTR 116). Levinas reminds us the verse of Jeremiah 50:36: “A sword upon who traffic in lies, that they may lose their head”, and read by the midrash, replacing “liar” for “solitary thinker”, and the “lose your head” from its literal to its metaphorical sense, says: Beware of those who think in solitary, they shall become fools! (ADV 49). As we know, Levinas himself learned the Talmud from a master so extraordinary as enigmatic: Mr. Chouchani20. And not only did Levinas learn from him, but also Elie Wiesel or Herni Nerson21. As we will later examine, Chouchani showed Levinas a different and non-traditional method to read The Talmud. For now, we will note that Levinas referred to him as “a presti-

19 As the parable of Yitzhak the blacksmith, in Baba Kama 60b, which Levinas synthe- sizes thusly: “I will give you a Halakha which is an Aggadah, an Aggadah which is a Hal- akha” (SS 195). 20 Cf. Poirié 2006: 152–159. 21 Malka 1994.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 87 gious master” (QLT 8) and “an excellent master” (SS 103). The master-student relationship is a fundamental institution, considerably difficult to describe in our current West, and implied a bond of many years and so strong, that in the event of exile of the master, his entire school would accompany him: this relationship is viewed by Levinas as a social structure as firm as marriage (ADV 43). This relationship begins at the moment of sharing, from spirit to spirit, an element of knowledge (NLT 47), but solidifies both by the limit (tradition) imposed by the master on the student’s autonomous interpretation (ADV 97), as enriching the thought of the master by the questions posed by his students (ADV 50). Access to the Talmud — which is the living Torah (AHN 75) — can only be accomplished through the living commentary, because that is its origin and essence. Levinas knows that “When the voice of the exegetist no longer sounds […] the texts return to their immobility, becoming once again enigmatic, strange, sometimes even ridiculously archaic” (QLT 13–14). Although the Talmud was fixed and eventually put in writing, in principle its teachings required — and still require — the community, which through dialog compre- hends, updates and carries it on. Levinas himself confesses how, when a text gave him difficulties, he consulted with his friends on it Dr. Nerson, Theo Dreyfus, Ms. Atlan, etc. “For the Talmud requires discourse and companionship. Woe to the self-taught!” (QLT 24); and so we have that the openness and challenge of living speech (SS 91) in community, conditions which gave birth to the Talmud, are the same conditions required for its understanding. Those who read the rabbinical debates in the Talmud may come to three mistaken — or at least, hurried — impressions: a) there are intense and even violent debates; b) there is generally not only one conclusion or consensus on an issue by way of orthodox position; c) an excessive use of proper names. Let’s see in what sense — to Levinas — these three characteristics of the debates between masters and disciples are not vices, but virtues. a) Levinas promises us that “one can rediscover its initial thrust” because “in itself, this Talmudic text is intellectual struggle and courageous opening unto even the most irritating questions”, this is why we should not be fooled by appearances of Byzantine discussion, “in fact, these discussions conceal an extreme attention to the Real” (QLT 4–5). What is at stake, in order to interpret the Scripture, is the sense of the To- rah, the sense of the entire universe, our behavior and our life, why objections, refutations, attacks, defense… “wars of the Torah” (NLT 98)22 where the doctors of the Talmud seem to fight each other with verses as blows (QLT 21). In addition, nobody is able to reduce or monopolize the countless meaningful

22 They schools of Hillel and Shammai are well known, and their constant discrepan- cies let us see how complementary are sometimes apparently opposing points of view. That is why the Talmud says (Erubin 13b) that a voice from heaven approved both visions by stating: “one and the other are words of the living God”.

88 possibilities of a verse, and this is the main argument for the community to be a sine qua non of the sense. b) The failure to arrive at an unambiguous dogmatic position within the pages of the Talmud derives from its very essence. If the verse, as we have said, contains countless possibilities, and each approach gradually uncovers them, even in the light of approximations to the approximations, then the Talmudic debates may not come to a conclusion the way an Aristotelian syllogism does. Nor is it a Hegelian dialectic where each thesis is gradually assumed in the pursuit of a more perfect one. The rabbis who discuss see possibilities, even at different levels; this is why their claims and denials are not, strictly speaking, contradictions. To give an example (SS 136–160), asking whether witchcraft should be punishable by stoning, or by sword, or even be allowed and not pun- ished, may be due to the association of this reality to bestiality or demonology or even for cultic purposes, which is arguable in all cases. This is not casuistry; rather, it is the comprehension of the various meanings of what is real. c) Given names appear across all of the Talmud, as the sense and intelligence of the text is a matter of men, not of celestial forces or angelic inspirations. The Talmud does not allow for supernatural signs as endorsement of the comprehension of the text (AHN 17). The Talmud “has an incessant concern for attributing every saying to its historical author. Hence the constant evocation of personal names of the rabbinical scholars who have spoken or who, in such and such a circumstance, behaved in such and such way (ADV 87). In summary, let us say that, as Rabbi Yirmeya did in a Talmudic passage23, the Torah was given at Sinai, after that no attention is paid to any celestial voice; the interpretation must follow what the majority says, and is a matter of particular men — proper names, who are responsible for their words.

4. What for — The purpose of the Talmud and Talmudic readings in Levinas Levinas resorts to the Talmud to interrogate and interpret the text to extract his ethical sense from it. At the end, what began as the search for meaning will be light and norm for life: Aggadah transformed into Halakha. Both purposes: a) the inquiry-interpretation of the text, and b) the extraction of the ethical sense are, in my view, the synthesis of the four general covenants of the Torah: to learn it (lilmod) and to teach it (lelamed) — with regard to the first, to observe it (lishmor) and to do it (laasot) with regard to the second (ADV 76). Let us take a closer look at what Levinas himself tells us on these two purposes of the Talmud and the Talmudic readings.

23 The interesting case proposed by the Talmud (Baba Metzia 59b), where Eliezer argues miracles again and again to say that the heaven is in agreement with his interpretation is correct; however, the majority of the rabbis did not agree with his interpretation and they prevailed.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 89 The Talmud is permanent asking about the Torah. Asking which is question on its multiple senses. It is spirit — or activity of the spirit — that “awakens new possibilities of suggestion in the letter” (QLT 8), that is to say, the spirit sheds light on the symbols and this light revives the symbolic power of the same symbols. The Talmud is a spirit wrestling with the letter of the Torah (QLT 24), that interrogates it, penetrates it… that grinds it and is violent to it, although, paradoxical as it may seem, the Talmud extracts — in the end — from the letter, the spirit (QLT 77). Levinas is not afraid to explain it in these terms: “The Oral Torah speaks in “spirit and truth’, even when it seems to do violence to the verses and letters of the Written Torah” (SS 92–93), and when he comments on the passage where Raba was engrossed in the study of the Torah and at the same time rubbed his feet with so much force that blood flowed from them (Shabbat 88b): “to rub in such a way that blood spurts out is perhaps the way one must ‘rub’ the text to arrive at the life it conceals […] this violence done to words to tear from them the secret that time and conventions have covered over with their sedimentations, a process begun as soon as these words appear in the open air of history. One must, by rubbing, remove this layer which corrodes them” (QLT 46–47). It is not correct, therefore, to say that we must “decode” the Talmud, as if it were a cryptogram that hides its meaning (QLT 32) and that Levinas — or any other thinker — will show us how to use the Rosetta Stone on any of its pages. The Talmud is not obscure24. More precisely would be to understand interrogation to the text as if to a person. Levinas teaches us that our first encounter with the text is to acknowledge it as “master”25 and not as a framework of myths or a history book. After all, the Talmud is not but the testimony that the true thought is not a reflection of the soul with itself (νόησις νοήσεως), but an authentic discussion between thinkers (ADV 49). To read the Talmud is to enter in the intersubjective dynamics of people of flesh and blood, with an intelligence called upon to unravel the ultimate meaning of life. To read the Talmud is, tacitly, to recognize oneself as disciple; to interpret it is to live among masters and to continue teaching. This inquisitive activity of the Mishnah on the Torah, as we have discussed, is performed by the Gemara on the Mishnah, and must be performed, in turn,

24 “If the Talmudic saying is so strange, it is not because it would take pleasure in stating in a complicated way what can be expressed in a simple way. On the contrary, it is because it leaves a multiplicity of meanings to its saying, because it calls for several readings of it. Our role, precisely, consist in looking for them” (ADV 37). 25 It is a constant in all of his Talmudic readings that Levinas make an initial act of humility, acknowledging that the text exceeds his capabilities, and feels he does not match up to the experts and teachers of the Talmud. Two texts are eloquent in this regard: “Our greatest concern, despite all that might appear new in the mode of reading we have adopted, is to separate the spiritual and intellectual greatness of the Talmud from the awkwardnesses of our interpretation (QLT 9) and “I always feel inferior to my text” as if it were a legacy of Moses, who was slow of speech and slow of tongue, not through personal defect, but because “it is the objective style of a thought which fails to embrace the forms of rhetoric” (SS 181).

90 by the scholar of the Talmud as a whole. Levinas will take the words of Aba- ye as his own; words that invite the interpretation of the verses (Makot 23a) and will make of its judgment a leitmotiv: “The verses cry out: “Interpret me!” (NLT 69; DL 89). Not doing that is to leave the text mute or weak26, is to take away its essence as Book: inspiration. On the contrary, when we decide to deal with it, the text is the one that seems to overflow us: its multiple meanings engendered by the terms and examples “have multiple understandings which arise not from ambiguity, but from the inexhaustible wealth of the innumerable dimensions of the concrete” (NLT 56). The infinite contracted (tsimtsum)27 in the finite is the ultimate root of the Talmudic — and Biblical — Herme- neutics for Levinas: “all that a text suggests does not enter the text, is suitable neither for the letters of the text nor for tradition” (ADV 61). The un-said does not fit in the said although resonates in it (NLT 118) and, therefore, as Edwards states28, our readings of it always remain tentative and fragmentary. Certainly our reading should be based on respect for data, examples and conventions that the text contains (QLT 5) knowing in full that in those textual elements a sense beyond the symbol hides. By way of a beautiful phrase, Levinas defines the purpose of the interpretation: “let’s restore the sense of what is said by the texture of the text” (NLT 68), as if this texture is present in the initial reading as what is said and awaits to express its saying until our interpretation. However, hermeneutics does not quiet the questions of intelligence, but multiplies them. The exegesis reveals a polysemy and multiplicity of dimensions the text encloses which, at first glance, did not seem evident (ADV 15). And so a dynamic that cannot be stopped is generated: to ask so as to interpret, to interpret to further inquiry; to interpret knowing that the interpretation will engender new questions that will ask, in turn, to be interpreted. Wonder of the Talmud! But what seems a mere exercise in speculation or an arduous game of lan- guage29, soon shows its other face: by interpreting the text, we interpret life;

26 Of particular interest is the analogy between intellect-text and life-food, establishing a symbiosis where the text requires of the intellect to be alive without losing meaning, and the intellect requires the text to feed and continue to live: “The life of a Talmudist is nothing but the permanent renewal of the letter through the intelligence […] Reason eats ideas. The rational premises motivating a verdict are good wheat. The intellect is a life” (QLT 79). 27 As noted by Scholem, the tsimtsum is a condition of the Creation: God could not have created without a retreat unto him so as to create what is different from him, which involves a continuous and repeated act of self-restraint, a constant contraction of being so that what has been created is not within it. To apply the ideal of the tsimtsum both to Revelation as to Redemption, thus completing the triad of Rosenzweig, can help us to understand the Torah as primal contraction of sense which the Talmud unravels, and the Redemption as the retreat from the sameness and its conatus essendi in pursuit of otherness, as noted by Levinas. Scholem 2000: 71–74. 28 Cf. Edwards 2008: 37. 29 Borowitz 2006.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 91 our life. The provocations that the text suggests, and the challenges it invites to, reaches in those who study the level of life, — that in which knowing is indis- tinguishable from practice — the level where science and conscience concur, “where reality and justice no longer belong to two distinct orders” (ADV 47). It is now that learning (lilmod) and teaching (lelamed) are strengthened and fulfill in the observance (lishmor) and in Ethical duties (laasot) . The worries held in the Talmud are the same each of us have (SS 104), so it is a near text. This way, what to us seemed infinite, for its multiple senses open to the exegesis, is at once proximate; two characters of the otherness Levinas will analyze in many of his works. Now then, the otherness of the text is altered and alterative alterity: altered because it is us — with our questions and interpretations — who unceasingly make the text anew; but it is also alterative, because it retains its power to educate and elevate us beyond the “care- for-self”, characteristic of the wildlife, and bring us closer to the “care-for-the- other”, characteristic of the authentic human life (AHN 1). The Torah holds universal justice as its teaching (QLT 66). Levinas con- sistently shows his rejection to consider the Talmud as a religious text which would extract from the Torah the foundation of a piety, because to him, the “religious experience, at least for the Talmud, can only be primarily a moral experience” (QLT 15). Levinas constantly endeavored to remain in that moral plane30. And it is indeed that, the access to what may signify, in the end, God and how his intimate life is, would turn, to Levinas — who is of alike mind to Maimonides on this matter, discourse into an alien theosophy31 for Judaism. Rather, we must approach a text, certainly religious, but to extract “from this theological language meanings addressing themselves to reason” (QLT 14) for Judaism is a religion to which “what is said of God signifies through human praxis”, a God who appears to the human consciousness “clothed in values” (QLT 14), whose revelation are moral commandments that refer to human life, with its limits and its drama (DL 64). The remission is guarantee that the sober thought of the Talmud is an inspired one, and that if we sharpen our ears to lis- ten to its finer notes, it will construct in its rigorous logic the premises of a true humanity (AHN 3).

30 “Neither in the thought of the organizers nor in actual fact was this study of a Talmudic text to take on the character of a religious exercise, such as a meditation or a sermon within a liturgy. This would in any case have been contrary to the real essence of the Talmud, which the intellectual has the right to seek out” (QLT 3). 31 “God expresses a notion religiously of utmost clarity but philosophically most obscure. This notion could become clearer for philosophers on the basis of the human ethical situations the Talmudic texts describe. The reverse procedure would no doubt be more edifying and more pious but it would no longer be philosophical at all. Theosophy is the very negation of philosophy” (QLT 32).

92 5. How to — Some methodological keys to read the Talmud according to Levinas

Is it possible to affirm that the new and non-traditional32 way Levinas reads the Talmud (SS 91) is a reply to the methodology with which Mr. Chouchani taught his disciples (DL 83)? It is almost impossible to answer what is the specific contribution of Levinas in the strictly methodological; indeed, the application of this method to various Talmudic passages made them resonate with the core themes of his philosophy: the proximity as a modality of the separate, criticisms of the conatus essendi, the notion of commandment, the hyperbolic responsibility, the permanent challenge to political power, the maximalist notion of justice, the erotic, sociability, and a long etcetera. For now, without going into an investigation similar to the “Socratic question in the Platonic dialogs” with regard to Chouchani and Levinas, let’s look at some keys Levinas provides in his writings to read and delve into the Talmud: 1. A first important point is that, except in rare occasions33, Levinas himself translated Talmudic pages he discusses, which opened new possibilities, since the mere exercise of translation of the Hebrew-Aramaic to the French was a first effort to fix the meaning of the Semitic terms, that are usually polyse- mous, but noted that polysemy and tried to explore it during his reading. He confessed he had approached the Talmud belatedly, although as a child he did learn the ‘square letters’ (QLT 9). Surely, when translating, Levinas reminisced on the days of his childhood in learning the Law34 . 2. A second element and perhaps, it is time for us to pause, a midrashic reading of the biblical verses. Midrash means “explanation”, and is one of the exegetical methods of the Torah. Also the term is applied to the compilation of such

32 Levinas notes that although, to some, “the obscurity of my method and its results” may cause disappointment (QLT 55) and not all come to accept his way of commenting the Talmud (SS 140–141), because not necessarily please the absolute Talmudists (SS 166), he certainly turns meanings into themes that the traditional method not always did, be it because it took them as evidence, be it because it paid no heed to the dialectic that crossed the whole dispute (SS 92). 33 In “The nations and the presence of Israel” (À l’heure des Nations) and when quoting complementary passages to his reading, Levinas used the French translation by Israel Sal- zer, Chief Rabbi of Marseille. Also Levinas comes to rely on the translation of the Hebrew Bible by the French Rabbinate, although on occasions he suggests his own translation of the terms. 34 In a very suggestive text for its biographical burden, where Levinas identifies as Jewish and philosopher, and wants access the Talmud from both perspectives, it is said that “the exposition of a Talmudic text by someone who has not spent his life studying rabbinic literature in the traditional way is a very daring enterprise, even if the person attempting it has been familiar since childhood with the square letters, and even if he has derived much from these texts for his own intellectual life. The traditional knowledge of Talmudic texts, in all their scope, by itself would not satisfy a Western thinker, but this knowledge is none the less the necessary condition of Jewish thought” (DL 59–60).

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 93 explanations that the rabbinical doctors came to pronounce. In concern to method, the midrash would fall under the derash, one of the four senses of a verse35 (Peshat — literal sense, remez — allusive sense, derash — symbolic sense, sod — mystical sense) (DL 66–67). The derash has four basic “principles”36: 1) In the Scripture there is no before or after. Without denying the chronology of events within the Bible, it is accepted as a matter of principle that any text can come to the aid of another that requires a new interpretation; 2) the Writ- ing explains itself. The support and interpretation of a biblical text must as a last resort be another biblical text, and not something foreign to the Bible; 3) the Writing is a unit where ‘everything’ is contained, but a certain audacity is necessary to unravel its meaning; 4) in Scripture nothing is superfluous, so that the apparent repetitions or contradictions are overcome in a dynamic manner by the imperative of finding an explanation that is also enlightening. The passages in the Talmud Levinas discusses and his own commentary con- tinuously follow these rules37 . The midrash provides Levinas with ample creativity in the interpretation (AHN 105), teaches him, for example, to isolate and read only a few words of the verse and thus obtain yet another reading (NLT 94), to use etymolo- gies that are unconvincing as mere pretexts (QLT 59), to translate with freedom (DL 60), to intersperse terms of different verses (QLT 19), to be guided by the physical form of the letters (ADV 47), to brood over the text “front and back” until he fully comprehended it (QLT 59) or even simulate various terms thanks only to the consonants and so acquire new meanings (NLT 125). The midrash is a concrete way to express at the same time freedom of the spir- it38 and subjection to the letter, and show they are not irreconcilable. The midrash has, in a few words… “the power to force the secret of transcendence” (NLT 67). An author who showed Levinas at different times of the virtualities of the midrash was the Polish Rabbi Shmuel Eliezer Edels — or Adels — (16th century), better known by the acronym Maharsha (Morenu Harav Shmuel Adels — Our guide Rabbi Samuel Adels). Levinas describes him as a great help (SS 132) and went on to quote him a dozen times and always in order to understand the logic of bold midrashic comparisons. A word of warning to the reader: in order to avoid the arbitrary hermeneutics that might betray the text — since there are those who think that the Jewish hermeneutics is arbitrary and far- fetched (QVTR 114), Levinas proposes a culinary limit: “Many readings are possible as long as they are not in poor taste” (QLT 82).

35 Goodhart 2014: 5–16. 36 Cf. Girón Blanc 2005: 33–34. 37 Cf. Levinas 1987: 7–11. 38 “A marvelous master, Mr. Chouchani […] has shown us what the real method is capable of. He has made a dogmatic approach based purely on faith or even a theological approach to the Talmud altogether impossible for us. Our attempt must attest to this search for freedom, it would like to invite other seekers” (QLT 8).

94 3. In addition to the general principles of the derash, there are some exegetical “rules” (middot)39 (Hillel was the first to put them in writing) and that they, regardless of the wording we may consult, coincide in these seven points: 1) “Lightness and heaviness” (kal Vahomer): it is a type of a fortiori argument: “if that is so, the greater the reason this will be” Although it is a rule of common sense, this allows a critical mobility at the time of hermeneutics. Levinas came to use it many times. 2) “Equivalent ordination” (g’zerah Shavah): Is an argument by analogy, where the meaning of a word in a specific context can be applied to that same word but in a different context. 3) “Construction of a father (rule) from a single text” (binyan ab mikathub echad) or 4) “Construction of a father from two texts” (binyan ab mishene kethubim): both agree on what could be called a “paradigmatic verse” or prototype. It is to explore the possible meanings of an expression and apply the same interpretation to all parts of the Scripture (this is why a rule is constructed for the time that expression appears). It is a commonly used rule in the readings of Levinas and that even our thinker warns the reader40. 5) “Moving from the general to the particular or from the particular to the general” (kelal uferat): similar to the synecdoche by which we refer to the whole naming only one of its parts, or vice versa. 6) “The similar in another place” (kayotze bo mimekom akhar): the clearance of two passages in contradiction thanks to a third party, analogue not only to specific words but to global approaches or contexts that surround the words. 7) “The term is illustrated by the context” (dabar hilmad me’anino): Refers to the fact that the term is illustrated by the full context and not only by a specific passage. This would imply that the teaching of each verse, as the part, requires of the entire Torah, as a whole, to be carried out (ADV 48) or that the practice of the Talmud requires making the whole of the Tractates vibrate in the text studied (ADV 15). In the following numerals we will find the Levinasian accents of some middot . 4. Levinas often advises us to seek unity of the whole, the coherence of the text (ADV 15), although the alleged effort is arduous given the apparent differences between texts (especially between the Mishna and the Gemara that, on not a few occasions, seem to speak of very different topics). Looking for the unit is as “discover the most interesting ideas and perhaps even the central ideas guiding” in the Talmud (NLT 50). This search for unity is not achieved by passing over the text; it is necessary to read and reread, building and sewing back together the fragments of the text (QLT 36); for achieving the unity of all, each of the parts acquires a new tonality which, separately, did not provide. If you will allow me the mathematical analogy, the senses of a verse would

39 Cf. Girón Blanc 2005: 34–35. 40 “The possibilities of signifying tied to a concrete object freed from its history — the resource of a method of thought we have called paradigmatic — are innumerable” (QLT 8). “I have already had occasion here to speak of another process which consists in respecting these possibilities and which I have called the paradigmatic method” (QLT 21). “This paradigmatic conceptualism is a theoretical procedure for comprehending the Real” (NLT 56).

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 95 be the factorial result of the possible connections of this verse with others, forming always new significant units. This exponentiation of meanings applies to both the Torah and rabbinical sayings; for example, Levinas says that “It is in the manner of the Talmudic text — which can be considered as a process of compilation- to quote, in evoking the adage of a rabbinical scholar, his other sayings, which may seem to bear no relation to the subject under discussion. But it must always be asked whether there is not, between these apparently dispa- rate sayings, a profound link which revives the discussion, opens it up to new perspectives, throws new light on to it or discovers its true object” (ADV 95). 5. Levinas urges us to pay attention to the examples, to the concrete. He berates the intellectualism of the West has detached prematurely from the concrete (NLT 56) and does not explore and exhaust the multiplicity of meanings and significations that coexist in the materiality of the example (QLT 60). Con- sider “fire”; to define it abruptly as “destruction”, and always handle it thusly, would imply a tremendous reduction of the polysemy of the text where it is mentioned, for the fire heats the hearth, purifies the metals, prepares the food, dispels the night… never lose sight of this enrichment of the symbolic for the concrete! (QLT 7). Let us remember that the images in which thought is expressed in the Talmud, can only release their meaning if they are addressed in their con- creteness, not in their abstraction, and perhaps that is a closer link between Tal- mud and phenomenology, because “the sages of the Talmud are discussing neither an egg nor an ox but are arguing about fundamental ideas without appearing to do so […] To retrace one’s steps from these questions of ritual — which are quite important for the continuity of Judaism — to philosophical problems long forgotten by contemporary Talmudists would indeed demand a great effort today” (QLT 4). 6. If it is true that all text without a context is a pre-text, the more so if we speak of the Talmud. The context was to Chouchani, nothing more and nothing less than the spirit of the verse: “This master taught that, beyond this or that verse, closely or remotely supporting what a Talmudic scholar is saying, it is by its spirit, that is, its context, that the verse conveys the proper tonality to the idea it is supposed to establish” (SS 103). In this way, when a Bible verse is given as proof, what is invited is the search for the context of the quote (SS 166) and thus, raises the level of debate or expands the scope of the texts. The possibles multiply to the extent that the context endows the term with meaning. Even the contextual reading can join another of the middot, for example, “the similar in another place”, and so we may understand that the referral is a referral-contextual one, hence Levinas affirms: “when the Talmudist, commenting on a biblical text, refers to another biblical text — even if the reference is arbitrary- one must read carefully the context of the quoted passage. […] At issue here is the association of one biblical ‘landscape’ with another, in order to extract, through this pairing, the secret scent of the first” (QLT 55). 7. The Talmud is teaching, and requires some sort of universality to make it instantiable, so that, it may respond to the uniqueness of every soul (ADV 49).

96 The master may teach a student, or all of his disciples, or even a crowd. Thanks to the “rule of universalization or internalization” (QLT 5), the barrier of time and space is crossed, and the text is significant because of the conceivable meanings it suggests. What makes a text universal is not the level of abstraction, but the inspiration, and hence the possibilities are what determine the projection of significant material. As Levinas pertinently points out, “the essence of great text is not to arise outside history but to have a meaning beyond the situation which has evoked them” (SS 108). Levinas was constantly trying to update the text, to make it speak beyond the rabbinic anecdote and Jewish theology; he wants the text to acquire its status of universal Teaching (in Hebrew, Talmud), able to speak to men of all ages and cultures.

6. By way of conclusion — Talmud, philosophy and responsibility The most important translation Levinas taught us through his work was not from the Hebrew to the French, but from the Hebrew to the “Greek”, that is to say, the language of reason, of thought, of philosophy. According to a beautiful passage of the Megillah treatise, when the Torah was translated into Greek by seventy elders, the translation itself reveals “discordances in the text that will one day be explored by philosophy and that, through the midrash, were already fecund in another dimension of meaning” (AHN 52). In Genesis (9, 27) appears a sort of prophecy about this confluence: “May God enlarge Japheth, and let him dwell in the tents of Shem”. Japheth, the descendant of Noah who populated Europe, the ancestor of all Greeks, would one day be invited to dwell in the tents of Shem — the father of the Middle East, the ancestor of all Jews. Is it not perhaps the work of Levinas a way to fulfill in his own person, as both Jewish and philosopher, this promise? Or are we his readers those who are welcome to these tents of Shem after heeding his readings, which are the same invitation? Do we, philosophers, still have time to seek shelter in the tents of the Talmud and there find rest, food and life? The Talmudic readings are an effort to translate to the Greek the wisdom of the Talmud, even though “the Talmud is not philosophy, its tractates are an eminent source of those experiences from which philosophies derive their nourishment” (QLT 4). To translate the Talmud to the Greek would not only make it speak the language of the philosophers, but also make it “accessible to the cultured human beings” (QLT 9), but make it speak to all men of all earth. A psalm sings: “A day in thy courts is better than a thousand!” (Ps 84:10) and a daring midrash interprets it thus: “10) Better to Me one day spent by you in study of Torah than a thousand sacrifices that your son Solomon will (some day) offer before Me, on the altar” (ADV 51). Levinas is syntonic to this exegesis, because he always felt that the study of the Law was raised to the level of the supreme liturgy (AHN 68), that this peculiar Teaching is a hearing of God

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 97 which refers us to our neighbor, that does not shirk his duty through ritualism, which is ethics: “that the relationship with the Divine crosses the relationship with men and coincides with social justice, is therefore what epitomizes the entire spirit of the Jewish Bible. Moses and the prophets preoccupied themselves not with the immortality of the soul but with the poor, the widow, the orphan and the stranger” (DL 19–20). Levinas sees that God cannot override the responsibility of man to another man; this responsibility is the divine design: the place to meet with Him. “Place” or “space” it’s said in Hebrew Makom; with this enigmatic — or cabbalistic — word Levinas finishes his book Four Talmudic Readings, perhaps because at the end of a Talmudic reading we are always referred to the “there” of the Face of the Other that requests of us. The Talmud is teaching of responsibility.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Borowitz, E. B. (2006) The Talmud’s Theological Language-Game . A Philosoph- ical Discourse Analysis, Albany: State University of New York Press. Burroughs, J. (2012) Emmanuel Levinas’ methodological approach to the Jewish sacred texts, The Heythrop Journal, 53. 1, 124–136. Chalier, C. (1991) L’âme de la vie. Levinas, lecteur R. Haïm of Volozin, Emmanuel Levinas. C. Chalier, M. Abensour (éd.), Paris: Éditions de l’Herne. Chalier, C. (2002) Levinas and the Talmud, The Cambridge Companion to Levi- nas, S. Critchley, R. Bernasconi (eds), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cohen, A. (1980) Le Talmud, Paris: Payot. Edwards, L. L. (2008) Extreme attention to the Real: Levinas and religious hermeneutics. Shofar, 26. 4. Etkes, I. (2002) Gaon of Vilna: The Man and His Image, Ewing, NJ: University of California Press. Girón Blanc, L. F. (2005) El Talmud, Madrid: Ediciones del Orto. Goodhart, S. (2014) War, Law, Responsibility, and Justice: Reading Levinas Reading Talmud Torah Reading in ‘damages Due to Fire’, Journal of Communication & Religion, 37. 3, 5–16. Goldwyn, E. (2015) Reading between the Lines. Form and Content in Levinas’s Talmudic Readings, Pittsburgh: Duquesne University Press. Handelman, S. A. (1991) Fragments of Redemption: Jewish Thought and Literary Theory in Benjamin, Scholem, and Levinas, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Hundert, G. D. (2004) Jews in Poland-Lithuania in the Eighteenth Century: A Genealogy of Modernity, Ewing, NJ: University of California Press. Jacobs, L. (1984) The Talmudic argument, New York: Cambridge University Press. Janicaud, D. et al. (2000) Phenomenology and the Theological Turn: The French Debate, New York: Fordham University Press. Klépfisz, H. (1967) Baal Schem Tov, Buenos Aires: Congreso Judío Mundial.

98 Levinas, E. (1968) Quatre lectures talmudiques. Paris: Les Editions de Minuit. Levinas, E. (1977a) La Pensée et predication, Analecta Husserliana 6 . Levinas, E. (1977b) Du Sacré au saint. Cinq nouvelles lectures talmudiques . Paris: Les Editions de Minuit. Levinas, E. (1981) Quelques vues talmudiques sur le rêve. The Psychanalyse est-elle une histoire juive? A. Rassial (éd.), Paris: Le Seuil. Levinas, E. (1982) L’au-delà du verset. Paris: Les Editions de Minuit. Levinas, E. (1984) Difficile Liberté. Essais sur le the judaïsme. Paris: Le livre de poche. Levinas, E. (1987) De l’écrit à l’oral (préface) in D. Banon, La lecture infinie. Les voies de l’interprétation midrachique, Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 7–11. Levinas, E. (1988) À l’heure des nations. Paris: Les Editions de Minuit. Levinas, E. (1996) Nouvelles lectures talmudiques. Paris: Les Editions de Minuit. Malka, S. (1994) Monsieur Chouchani: L’énigme d’un maître du XXe siècle, Paris: J.-C. Lattès. Meiskin, J. E. (1998) Critique, tradition, and the religious imagination: an essay on Levinas’ Talmudic readings, Judaism, 4, 90–106. Mielziner, M. (1894) Introduction to the Talmud, Cincinnati; Chicago: The Amer- ican Hebrew Publishing House. Neusner, J. (1983) Midrash in Context: Exegesis in Formative Judaism, Phila- delphia: Fortress Press. Neusner, J. (1984) Invitation to the Talmud, San Francisco: Harper & Row. Neusner, J. (1994) Introduction to Rabbinic Literature, New York: Doubleday. Neusner, J. (2002) How the Talmud works, Leiden: Brill. Poirié, F. (2006) Emmanuel Levinas. Essai et entretiens, Paris: Babel. Purcell, M. (2014) Mystery, Levinas confrontado, J. Medina, Ju. Urabayen (ed.), México: Porrúa. Rahner, K. (1968) Theological Investigations VI, London: Daron, Longman and Todd. Scholem, G. (2000) Conceptos básicos del judaísmo, Madrid: Trotta. Steinsaltz, A. (2000) Introducción al Talmud, Barcelona: Riopiedras. Stemberger, G. (2011) El judaísmo clásico, Madrid: Trotta. Stone, I. (1998) Reading Levinas/Reading Talmud. An Introduction. Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society. Strack, H. L., Stemberger, G. (1996) Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash, Philadelphia: Fortress Press. Wygoda, S. (2001) A phenomenological outlook at the Talmud: Levinas as reader of the Talmud, at: http://ghansel.free.fr/wygoda.html Wygoda, S. (2002) Le maître et son disciple: Chouchani et Levinas, Cahiers d’Études Levinassiennes, 1, 149–183. Jack Robert Coopey University of Leicester; University of St Andrews; Durham University, [email protected]

SCHOLEM’S MESSIANISM IN THE UTOPIANISM OF SCRIPTURE

Abstract: Spinoza in his Theologico-Political Treatise in an terse fragment posits that there is no difference either metaphysically nor ontologically between Scripture and Nature, they are in fact one, and a similar exercise of study through reason can hermeneutically reveal a system of truths about the world. Therefore, the world is a book, and the book is a world in itself. In the Jewish tradition contra to the Greek or other Abrahamic tradition of Philosophy, contradiction, hermeneticism and aporia is prized as a gift of writing which the wisdom of the writing will be performed by the reader and their experience of the world will change as a result. Whereas the Greek tradition prizes the logical argumentation through conciseness against the bulwark of Sophism, these two traditions have rightly so, become intertwined, and a dialogue has opened up in the History of Philosophy in several thinkers of the broadly Western tradition. We can witness within Walter Benjamin and Jacques Derrida a consideration of the impossibility of realizing the universal, ideal and abstract, but yet attempting to realize these notions in the real, concrete and historical situations of various periods in history. Benjamin’s messianism has become something of a fashion to write about, writers including Badiou, Agamben and J.-L. Nancy all consider his thought from the Paris Arcades which attempt to constellate a utopian future through a study of the concrete past through universal, abstract ideals of the commodity, into a utopian future as a result. Derrida’s analysis of the “democracy to come” as a messianic future to hope for but never to realize binds the Talmud into his thought by understanding the unique, concrete historical situation and yet attempting to realize this abstract ideal of a democratization for all that is to come in time for philosophy, ethics, politics and the world. Keywords: Benjamin, Derrida, Messianism, Time, Scripture, Democracy, World.

Джек Роберт Купей Университет Лестера; Сент-Эндрюсский университет; Даремский университет, [email protected]

МЕССИАНИЗМ ШОЛЕМА В УТОПИЗМЕ СВЯЩЕННОГО ПИСАНИЯ

Резюме: Спиноза в главе VII Богословско-Политического трактата утвер- ждал, что между Писанием и Природой не существует различия ни в мета- физическом, ни в онтологическом смыслах: исследование Писания подобно

100 исследованию Природы, поэтому, исследуя мышление, можно герменевтически выявить систему истин, касающихся нашего мира. Следовательно, наш мир — это книга, а эта книга — мир сам по себе. В еврейской традиции, в противовес греческой или какой-либо иной авраамической философской традиции, про- тивопоставление, герменевтика и апория расцениваются как некий дар писа- ния, читатель же обретает мудрость, которая и изменяет его опыт в понимании мира. Тогда как в греческой традиции для логической аргументации характерна лаконичность в противовес твердыне софизма; эти две традиции вполне есте- ственным образом переплелись, и в истории философии возник диалог между некоторыми мыслителями, опирающимися на западную традицию. Мы можем отметить у Вальтера Беньямина и у Жака Деррида соображение о невозмож- ности осознания универсального, идеального и абстрактного, но можем попы- таться осознать эти понятия в реальных, конкретных и исторических ситуациях в разные исторические периоды. Сейчас стало модным писать о мессианстве Беньямина, и многие писатели, включая А. Бадью, Дж. Агамбена и Ж.-Л. Нан- си, считают его идею строительства утопического будущего с помощью изуче- ния конкретного прошлого посредством универсальных, абстрактных идеалов, характерных для утопий, что в результате и приведет к утопическому будуще- му. Проведенный Деррида анализ «демократии будущего» как мессианского будущего, на которое мы надеемся, но которое никогда не настанет, увязывает Талмуд с его мировоззрением через осмысление уникальной, конкретной ис- торической ситуации, но также делается попытка осознать этот абстрактный идеал демократизации для всего, что со временем произойдет в философии, этике, политике и мире. Ключевые слова: Беньямин, Деррида, мессиаство, время, Священное Пи- сание, мир.

What is metaphysics? A white mythology which assembles and re-flects Western culture: the whiteman takes his own mythology (that is, Indo-European mythology), his logos-that is, the mythos of his idiom, for the universal form of that which it is still his inescapable desire to call Reason1 .

The object and activity of metaphysics has abandoned, thrown into doubt, deconstructed and at times, supposedly destroyed, but what remains are fragments of its ruins upon which many Jewish thinkers have sought to build from the ship wreckage of modernity. Jewish thought within the context of world philosophy has flourished and been denigrated, and within recent years witnessed a revival under the banner of contemporary Continental Philosophy. This paper will draw upon the work of Walter Benjamin and his interlocu- tor Scholem in light of recent fanaticism about his thought concerning time and things to come in the work of Giorgio Agamben in order to examine the origins leading up to the messianism of Jewish modernity and perhaps reveal

1 Derrida 1974: 5–74.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 101 another path of thinking through modernity not within Jewish mysticism but its relation to Christian mysticism in the Medieval period. This paper shall be divided into two sections with an interpolating interlude on Saint Paul which will only provide a short note to navigating the messianism of Jewish thought and possible other forms of political theology which lay between messianism on one hand, and nihilism on the other. My thesis will be that whilst the re- discovery of Jewish thought concerning mysticism and messianism serves as a possibility and potentiality to rethink modernity it contorts itself into a form of redundant redemption which firstly deflates the profundity of Jewish political theology, but also in its origins in the Sabbatian Heresy, thus permits a differing kind of political theology which may serve as a new foundation for an ontology of modernity. I shall then suggest that a return to the work of Hans Blumenberg and his studies on Christian mystics of the Medieval period and their views of the world as God’s will to manifest himself and the need for self-deification as a means of becoming God, thereby becoming closer to God is a different route for world philosophy in modernity. The structure of this essay will firstly outline the core proponents of Sabbatian theology which will shed new light on the Jewish thought of redemption in Benjamin and Scholem. The second section of this essay will take account of the contemporary usage of Jewish thinkers by continental philosophers and suggest a third interpretation pointing towards Christian mysticism as a means of negotiating the full propensity of Jewish thought in modernity. The third and final section of this essay will read the work of Hans Blumenberg and his analysis of Tertullian, Cusan and Nolan in his The Legitimacy of the Modern Age (1985). The first section of this essay will analyse the origins of Jewish modernity through the newly published text Sabbatian Heresy, Writings on Mysticism, Messianism, and the origins of Jewish Modernity (2017) which will introduce the fundamental categories of Benjamin’s and Scholem’s understanding of a Jewish modernity. To begin, whereas Agamben, Badiou, and others interpret Saint Paul in various ways which attempt to portray a universalism, a messianism and nihilism in turn, it is here with which we would like to investigate Sabbatian theology and portray a differing path which puts itself between reductive messianism and deflationary universalism. Again, this paper does not serve itself as an in-depth investigation of these fields of thought in relation to Jewish thought in the context of world philosophy, but only a short note towards re-understanding the messianism of Scholem in its origins and pro- posing a difference to the orthodox understanding. To begin, the categorization of Jewish modernity by thinkers like Benjamin and Scholem find their roots in Sabbatian theology with such phrases as redemption and salvation. However, we should not understand these terms only in relation to historical events, but also as a form of radical politicality which not only disrupts normative political structures, but proposes a simultaneously spiritual and intellectual significance not merely relegated to the importance of the coming of new historical

102 events which echo, redeem and falsify past events. If political theology is just the remains of a denigrated religion in the form of politicized entities, then we should not deflate the religious connotations and their original significances in order to make sense fully of the politicized nature of their now, present irreligious forms. Catastrophe, exile, and divine abandonment became the necessary conditions out of which the urgent promise of personal and collective redemption could be anticipated. And in these radical orientations, the reestablishment of connections with the divine required a breaking and reordering of normative structures. The spiritual and intellectual impact and legacy of Sabba- tian thought courses between apocalyptic, messianic, and redemptive signi fication2 .

Thus, the anticipated redemption can be seen as not only a radical re-conception of Jewish modernity, but that there is an inherent politicization behind questioning the normative structures of institutional theology which did not pose a redemptive future but a stagnant present. These two elements are very significant in light of Benjamin and Scholem whose thought alongside other forms of political theology has captivated contemporary world philosophy particularly in Western philosophy. More specifically, Gershom Scholem posits a further distinction within redemption in Sabbatian theology, such that there is an “inner and [….] out reality of redemption”3 in which its contradiction needed to be resolved. Such that, the redemption itself being an “unmediated reality” or overwhelming experience as a certain, pre-ordained entity must be reconciled “with the empirical reality of historical events”4. This assertion constructs the foundations for the modern Jewish interpretation of modernity in Benjamin and Scholem, such that although empirical reality might not cor- respond to scripture or the theory of what it supposed to happen, it will in time and we should bear witness and act towards the empirical reality of the world in an immediate, immanent anticipatory politics of the day of redemption which seems ethereal and dream-like but may and will actualize at any given moment. Additionally, given the radicality of this redemptive Sabbatian theology to de- stabilize normative structures, such that these structures were no longer secured as earthly permanences, but mere symptoms of a correctable empirical reality when the messiah comes and redemption is made possible and actualized, Sabbatai’s apostasy was also another radical political theological move. In essence, Sabbatai’s radical reconception of the redemptive moment of the coming of the messiah as opposed to Saint Paul’s assertion of the event of the messiah and what happens after coupled with his plasticity in converting to Islam served as a bolstering move in Jewish thought leading to modernity. Pawel Maciejko

2 Maciejko 2017: 9. 3 Maciejko 2017: XVII. 4 Maciejko 2017: XVII.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 103 surmises the latter apotasy through circumstance of death by Sabbatai as a form of radical secularized modernity in that it had ideological content of true Jewish faith and that later converts following Sabbatai claimed that his example proved the messianic moment entirely. First, the conversion was interpreted as a descent of the powers of righteousness embodied in the messiah into the world of evil and impurity (kelippot, husks, in the terminology of Kabbalah). The purpose of this descent was further expounded as an endeavor to bring about the total destruction of the kelippot or, conversely, as an attempt to save the sparks of holiness trapped among them5 .

The conversion of Sabbatai was conceived as apostasy however it possessed ideological implications in that in a way, it cleansed the faith and saved the holy parts through the act of the messiah. The commandment prohibiting apostasy was in a sense, overturned and made from its negativity into a positivity, such that “true faith cannot be a faith which men publicly profess”6 some radical, Polish Sabbatians claimed according to Scholem. However, this in fact leads to another problematic issue within Jewish thought of the period, of “the impossibility of reconciling one’s true religious identity with one’s social role”7 . This key issue when examining Benjamin and Scholem and the characteristics of Jewish modernity in fact reveal this symptom of the Sabbatian heresy, such that for Scholem it in fact permits a certain kind of religious nihilism, not purely secularized but merely waiting for the messiah free of any sociality and orthodox practices. The Sabbatianism describes in this way was a means of understanding the “dialectic of Jewish history” by Scholem, in that it was an “antithesis” to “annihilate the petrified forms of religion, while at the same time sowing seeds for future developments”8. Within this characterization of the Sabbatian heresy which would later taint Jewish modernity Scholem claims it was “distinctly Jewish in character” in that it assaulted normative religious authorities and shook the very definition of Judaism at its heart of its apostasy, a sort of pure faith through inner revolution and redemption as a result. Scholem continues in arguing that Sabbatianism was a form of “grandiose though abortive attempt to revolutionize Judaism from within”9. In this form of analysis, Sabbatai can be read as a Jewish version of Saint Paul and what contemporary Continental philosophy has interpreted Paul’s apparent universalism and nihilism of Christianity in declaring the equality of Christianity in that there are no Jews nor Greeks but only Christians, albeit a more radical form and potential for negotiating the problems of modernity.

5 Maciejko 2017: XVII. 6 Maciejko 2017: XVII. 7 Maciejko 2017: XVII. 8 Maciejko 2017: XVIII. 9 Maciejko 2017: XVIII.

104 The notion of religious nihilism did not imply simply a rejection of values or mores associated with normative religion. Rather, as Scholem put it: “By this concept I do not mean nihilism with regard to religion but rather a nihilism that appears in the name of religious assertions and follows from religious tenets. It adopts religious discourse but it completely denies the authority, which this discourse claims to possess. It does not attempt to replace the old structures with new ones, but tries only to destroy them”10 . In this way the messianism of both Benjamin and Scholem represented a form of redemptive hope for the future only in and through a permanence of religious nihilism. They both recognised the significance of the religious structures and sought to dismantle them not in order to replace them with secularized institutions of modernity but to be left with a hopeful, albeit restless future of ni- hilistic possibilities and potentialities. This radical act of political destruction and religious apostasy is most poignantly surmised by one of Scholem’s most famous statements. It is “Mitsvah ha-Ba’ah be-Avera (literally: a commandment that is fulfilled by the breaking of another commandment). The phrase, especially after its mistranslation into English as Redemption through Sin, came to be regarded as the catchword of Sabbatianism”11. Now that we have surmised the key aspects of Sabbatianism and its roots in the thought of Scholem and his friend Benjamin, it becomes clear that a differing view of messianism comes about, and as a result of the recent interest in Saint Paul and Jewish thought concerning modernity, that this form of messianism changes its meaning and takes on a different form. In the next part of this essay, in order to further explicate the differing form of messianism that Jewish thought from Sabbatai onwards possesses, we shall examine the other form of messianism of Saint Paul to compare with the Jewish form as a form of interlude. Then after this section examining the misinterpretation of Saint Paul, we shall then conclude on Hans Blumenberg on his work concerning Cusan and Nolan in re-conceiv- ing a new possibility of political theology for modernity. L. L. Wellborn in his Paul’s Summons to Messianic Life (2015) summarizes the misinterpretation and sudden, misguided appraisal of Paul. The philosophers who, in a moment of danger, seek to link their present to the apostle’s past have glimpsed in Paul’s messianic faith a spark of hope. For anyone familiar with this literature and its antecedents, it will already be clear that the hermeneutic which governs the new philosophical readings of Paul is that which Walter Benjamin gave to historical materialists in “On the Concept of History” and in some notes in his unfinished Arcades Project . In contrast to the method of historicism, which seeks, by forgetting the subsequent course of history, to lay hold of the eternal meaning of a work, and in contrast to the popular, liberal assumption that a work is susceptible

10 Maciejko 2017: XVIII. 11 Maciejko 2017: XVIII.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 105 of a variety of legitimate interpretations, depending upon the interpreter’s perspective, Benjamin proposed that a work — a text such as Romans — contains a temporal index that connects it to a specific epoch, and that it comes forth to full legibility only for a person who is singled out by history at a moment of danger, a perilous moment like the one in which the work was composed12 . Therefore, just as Sabbatai and Scholem’s interpretation of his heresy and apostasy are hermeneutically linked, the recent discovery of Paul by Con- tinental Philosophy is similarly structured. However should we adhere to Ben- jamin’s claim that texts such as Romans have an “immediate messianic intensity of the heart?” Wellborn evidently disagrees and decides to place “greater emphasis” on “Paul’s own kairos”13. Wellborn summarizes his counter-argument as follows: I shall argue below that the defect in current philosophical interpretations of Paul is a consequence, in large measure, of the philosopher’s commitment to the project of knowledge, a commitment that Paul did not share, and that, in fact, he vigorously opposed (1 Cor. 1:18–25). In particular, Paul did not believe that the kairos depended upon the self-presence of consciousness. Nor the center of our concern14 . In essence, what this means for the contemporary fascination with messianism, Benjamin, Scholem and Saint Paul is that in fact, “the political ethics” which Paul demands is totally other than the orthodox interpretation of messianism. Wellborn points out the difference in Paul’s messianic-like “awakening”: “Paul was waiting for the so-called Second Coming of Jesus. As we shall see, Paul nowhere mentions the parousia in Romans (or in any of his later epis- tles). Instead, Paul summons believers to an “awakening” by grasping the full implications of a messianic event that had already occurred”15. In this way, the messianism that contemporary Continental philosophers have attempted to portray on behalf of Paul have been misguided hermeneutically and temporally. Thus, the messianic event is not awaiting an event that has not happened, the event has already happened and he is awaiting the Second Coming of Jesus as a form of awakening, the resurrection and parousia, for those who “joined his messianic assemblies the vanguard of the sons and daughters of God, who would awaken and take responsibility for the redemption of the world (Rom. 8:19)”16. Having now performed an interlude demonstrating the misinterpretation of the messianism in both the Jewish thought of Sabbatai and Scholem, and the misinterpretation of Saint Paul, we can now conclude on Hans Blumen- berg’s The Legitimacy of the Modern Age (1985) in order to demonstrate a new

12 Wellborn 2015: XIII–XIV. 13 Wellborn 2015: XIV. 14 Wellborn 2015: XIV. 15 Wellborn 2015: XIV. 16 Wellborn 2015: XIV.

106 path for political theology to theorize a difference to messianism and a new way of understanding the problem of modernity. Tertullian holds the heretics responsible for the reception of ancient philosophy within Christianity; the pluralism that they produced forced people to make use of the preexisting means of intellectual argument. A homogeneous religion would not have needed to interest itself in philosophy. Tertullian sees the difference between Gnosticism and his faith as reduced to differing interpretations of the biblical command “Seek and ye shall find” Gnosticism perennializes this relation of conditioning. To the restlessness of seeking it holds open one chance of finding after another, whereas Tertullian localizes the end of seeking and the totality of having found in the single act of accepting faith. “In a single and definitive system of doctrine, there cannot be an endless search. One must seek. until one finds, and believe when one has found, and then there is nothing more to be done but to hold fast to what one has grasped in faith, since after all one also believes that one should not believe, and consequently should not seek., anything else, since one has found and faithfully accepted what was taught by him who commands us to seek nothing but what he teaches”17 . One element of our investigation is how theological figures within Jewish thought through acts of apostasy have demarcated the boundaries of their own religion and the outside which helps support their dogma externally. The problem of apostasy and gnosticism within Christianity in Tertullian’s time was seen with far more harsh consequence, however in the doctrine of seeking and finding the truth of the doctrine itself, there presents a differing form of messianism that can challenge Saint Paul. Additionally, Nolan discusses the moment of the Incarnation of the son of God as a means of self-deification to provide the messianic moment for its believers, in which the world is seen as “God’s self-exhaustion” in that he created the world to merely demonstrate his beauty to us. And in this sense, we should not perhaps side with messianism of a form of nihilism as a means by which to orient ourselves towards modernity, but to recognise the universe and the world as the corpse of God, and ourselves as parts of his body. For the Cusan, the moment of the Incarnation of the son of God, which he believed to be accomplished in historical individuality, was at the same time the culminating point of metaphysical speculation, with its all-dominating effort to “overtake” the transcendence of the Divinity by means of the com- municating transcendence of man and to draw the universe, in its representation by man, by an individual man, into the reflection process of the Divinity. Precisely this basic figure of the Christian self-conception God’s entry into the singularity of man in the universe-becomes the fundamental scandal, the offense that could not be suppressed by any threat, to which Giordano Bruno of Nola testified on February 17, 1600 at the stake in the Roman Cam-

17 Blumenberg 1985: 300.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 107 po di Fiore by averting his face from the crucifix that was held before him, a kind of testimony that had been regarded, in the early part of the epoch that now and not let with this event came to an end, as the highest martyrdom for the truth18 .

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Blumenberg, H. (1985) The Legitimacy of the Modern Age, trans. by R. M. Wal- lace, Massachusetts: MIT Press. Derrida, J. (1974) White Mythology: Metaphor in the Text of Philosophy, New Literary History, Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press, 6. 1, 5–74. Maciejko, P. (ed.) (2017) Sabbatian Heresey, Writings on Mysticism, Messia nism, and the origins of Jewish Modernity, Massachusetts: Brandeis University Press Waltham. Wellborn, L. L. (2015) Paul’s Summons to Messianic Life, Political Theology and the Coming Awakening, New York: Columbia University Press.

18 Blumenberg 1985. ЭССЕ

James R. Russell Harvard University; The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, [email protected] THE BIBLE AND REVOLUTION: SOME OBSERVATIONS ON EXODUS, PSALM 37, ESTHER, AND PHILO (К столетию Великой Октябрьской Социалистической Революции)

Abstract: Human ideas and events develop and unfold in the context of inherited culture and tradition. The idea of revolution in the modern world, even in atheist ideology, partakes of necessity of religious beliefs and imagery, where the natural order is miraculously and apocalytically overturned and the poor and downtrodden are vindicated. The foundational text is Exodus; Psalm 37 with its overt reference to the poor inheriting the earth develops the theme; and Esther translates it into a romanticized narrative of political history. It is proposed that Philo encodes Esther into his In Flaccum . Keywords: Revolution, Lenin, apocalypse, Exodus, Psalm 37, Jesus Christ, Es- ther, Philo of Alexandria, In Flaccum, dreams.

Джеймс Расселл Гарвардский университет; Еврейский университет в Иерусалиме, [email protected] БИБЛИЯ И РЕВОЛЮЦИЯ: НЕСКОЛЬКО ЗАМЕЧАНИЙ ОБ ИСХОДЕ, ПСАЛМЕ 37, ЕСФИРЕ И ФИЛОНЕ АЛЕКСАНДРИЙСКОМ

Резюме: Идеи и события в истории человечества развиваются и разверты- ваются в контексте религиозной идеологии и иконологии: естественный и об- щественный порядок божественным чудом перевернуты, униженные и угнетен-

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 109 ные сего мира приобретают богатство и власть. Основной текст: книга Исхода; Иисус Христос применял и Псалом 37, где подчеркивается спасение бедноты. Книга Есфирь переводит тему в сферу романтизированной политики; автор статьи полагает, что Филон Александрийский в своем сочинении In Flaccum пользуется ключевыми темами и структурами Книги Есфирь, скрытых от рим- лян и обращенных к еврейскому читателю, знающему библейский текст. Ключевые слова: революция, Ленин, апокалипсис, Книга Исхода, Псалом 37, Иисус Христос, Книга Есфирь, Филон Александрийский, In Flaccum, сны.

Товарищи! Рабоче-крестьянская революция, о необходимо- сти которой все время говорили большевики, совер- шилась! В. И. Ленин (из к/ф «Ленин в Октябре», 1937) You say you want a revolution, well, you know, we all want to change the world. John Lennon (The Beatles, White Album, 1968)

1 . Recent revolutions and Biblical echoes “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth” (μακάριοι οἱ πραεῖς, ὅτι αὐτοὶ κληρονομήσουσιν τὴν γῆν) declared Jesus Christ in His Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:5)1. But the messianic Parousia still has not yet ar- rived; and the revolutionary prophecy of redemption attending that supernatural event can seem farther than ever from fulfillment. “Philosophers have hitherto only interpreted the world in various ways; the point is to change it”, fumed a later Jewish prophet, Karl Marx, in his Theses on Feuerbach, 11. So suffering mankind, understandably impatient, has taken the business of revolutionary transformation into its own hands in the interim — and, given human nature, with predictably mixed results. In the lapidary words of Victor Stepanovich Chernomyrdin, delivered in the wake of the latest watershed events of Russian history, Хотели как лучше, а получилось как всегда (“We hoped for the best, but got the usual”).

1 “Blessed” is the standard English and has conveyed the spirit of the sermon for many generations. It is still inaccurate, however; for Greek makarios translates Hebrew ašrei, “happy”. In a separate work in progress, the preliminary findings of which were presented as a plenary lecture at the conference on diaspora organized by the department of Jewish studies of St. Petersburg State University in September 2017, one proposes that a central prayer of the synagogue liturgy that bearing the latter name — it consists of Ps. 145, preceded by several verses from other Psalms beginning with the word Ašrei — developed as a response to the Beatitudes, whose original text might have been in a gospel in Hebrew or Aramaic used by Jewish Christians.

110 Hope, as the Russian saying goes, is the last to die. Many of the fond hopes that attended the previous watershed — the second, Bolshevik revolution of the year 1917 in the Russian Empire — wilted in the care of a bureaucratic establishment inherited from the ancien régime. Its sanguinary criminality, trag- ically, reached its nadir on the twentieth anniversary of Soviet rule: that year, 1937, saw the great terror, the Stalinist show trials, the decimation of the Red Army, and the liquidation of the old Bolsheviks. Yet revolution is a youthful passion and humans are nostalgic creatures, even if a sardonic voice whispers within that anyone under thirty who is not a communist has no heart, but any- body over thirty who is one has no head. There is no denying how bitterly ironic the words of the actor Boris Shchukin playing Vladimir Ilyich that close the film “Lenin in October”, re- leased in that dark year of 1937, must sound. Why is it, then, that the viewer, conscious of all he knows, and understanding all that he feels, can still be moved by that exulting proclamation — the first epigraph to this essay — just at the moment the curtain comes down and the word Конец, “The End”, appears on the screen: “Comrades! The revolution of the workers and peasants, about the necessity of which the Bolsheviks have been speaking all the time, has been accomplished!” Part of the reason Lenin’s cinematic valediction can resonate so strongly is that it has overt Scriptural overtones: the declaration of that “most human of men” (самый человечный человек) at the end of the movie echoes literally the last words as He died on the Cross of Jesus Christ, believed by much of the human race to be both the most human and the most divine of men. According to John 19:30: ὅτε οὖν ἔλαβε τὸ ὄξος ὁ Ἰησοῦς, εἶπε, τετέλεσται. καὶ κλίνας τὴν κεφαλήν, παρέδωκε τὸ πνεῦμα (“When Jesus took the vinegar, then, He said, ‘It is accomplished!’ And, lowering His head, He gave up the spirit”)2 . The Old Church Slavonic for Greek tetelestai, “it is accomplished”, is soversh- ishasia; modern Russian sovershilos’ — the very word that concludes “Lenin in October”! Most Russians alive in 1937 were born and raised in the traditions of the Orthodox faith; and despite the terrible suppression of religion a decade earlier and the subsequent convulsions of collectivization of the land, theirs was no subconscious memory. The lexical Christian-Communist correspondence, then, is exact: both the Soviet slogan “Ленин жил, Ленин жив, Ленин будет жить” (“Lenin lived, Lenin is alive, Lenin shall live”) and the popular song “Ленин всегда с тобой” (“Lenin is with you always”) echo the Christian belief in the Resurrection, as well. Death, or the end of a world-epoch, must happen for the resurrection to be possible: this is the chain of teleological thinking, and both the historical determinism of Marx and the dramatic title of Edmund Wilson’s famous history of European revolutionary thought To The Finland Station display a crypto-religious, apocalyptic teleology. The sociological

2 The film adaptation of the novel of the modern Greek writer Nikos Kazantzakis, The Last Temptation of Christ, closes with these words as the crucified Savior gives up His spirit on the Cross, and the movie ends with an ensuing joyful thunder of bells.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 111 historical method of Giambattista Vico begins to gather steam and turn its wheels, and Lenin alights at the final stop3. It seems that even with down-to- earth, avowedly atheistic revolutions we still cannot do without apocalypticism and teleology, cannot get away from postponed Parousiai: Communism, one was always assured, is on the horizon (which, as one wry Soviet anecdote used to add, is defined as an imaginary line that vanishes as you approach it). The paradigm of religion is as inescapable today in modern revolutionary ideology as it was over two millennia ago in the Servile rebellion of Spartacus, which took Dionysus, the dying and rising god, as its patron. None of this is news, but such a recollection of recent, lived events and familiar slogans and turns of phrase is still useful to a discussion of the concept of revolution, when one returns to parse the details. There has always been a recognizably eschatological, religious fervor, and a passion for martyrolo- gy, in revolutionary upheavals; and the arts of Communism, from phrases and iconic banners to the usages of the more recent medium of cinematography, are much indebted to their Christian precursors, to the Hebrew Bible, and at least to some degree, to the notable pagan exemplar already mentioned — Spartacus4. The intervening gulf of time between the turbulent first century CE and the convulsions of the twentieth was not, to be sure, a void over which such inspirations leapt. It was replete with movements of social protest, with primitive and inchoate rebellions. The last days of the Sasanian dynasty in Iran saw the proto-communist Mazdakites (who served as a precedent rooted in pre-Islamic tradition for Iranian secular revolutionaries in the 20th century)5;

3 “Fly forward, our locomotive: in the commune is our destination. We have no other path — we hold a rifle in our hands!” runs the famous early Komsomol song Паровоз . 4 On the Soviet Armenian case see Russell 2012a: in the little Transcaucasian republic the enthusiasts of the new dispensation drew freely on both Christian and earlier Zoroastrian symbolism in the creation of a canon for the future. The anatomy and genealogy of these transformations can embarrass ideologues, who aver that they are rationalists overthrowing superstition (or vice versa). An illustrative incident is perhaps worth recording here for pos- terity. Some years ago this writer was invited to offer a paper on Russian revolutionary posters at a conference on the art of the Islamic Revolution that was to be held at Harvard, and had secured partial funding from the office of the university’s Provost. One was suddenly disinvited by the organizing committee, when after consultation amongst themselves, they determined that the paper I had been asked to write — and had not yet even been written — might con- ceivably give offense to the Iranian régime by implying that its propaganda could be compared to art made by atheists. The conference went ahead without one’s sage contribution; and the Provost’s office did not respond to several formal complaints, both before and after it. So much for the freedom, diversity, and so on that the American “liberal” academic and media establishments self-righteously preach to others, while practicing the opposite themselves. To return briefly to cinematography, the American movie epic “Spartacus” ends with our hero dying on, yes, a cross. But there will be a kind of resurrection — his wife holds up to him their baby son. In the Soviet Union, Spartak was, of course, a soccer (football) team! 5 Several Classical Armenian writers termed Zoroastrian heresy, presumably Mazda- kism, anbari barerarut‘iwn, “bad beneficence”, lit. “not-good good-doing”, the implication being that the reformers who promoted economic and social fairness and equality were mo-

112 and soon after, the Paulician and Tondrakite movements washed over Armenia, leaving their traces in the Bogomil and Albigensian “heresies” of the medieval west. Bandit-rebellions of the Robin Hood type, studied notably by the great Marxist scholar Eric Hobsbawm, have been so frequent and widespread, from the British Isles to the movement of Köroghlu (Turkish, “Son of the Blind Man”) in 16th–17th-century Anatolia, that it is accurate to study them both as general social phenomena arising independently in diverse cultures and dis- playing functional parallels, and as lines of tradition that are transmitted as heterodox and dissident teachings, altering details in time and space. Their literary-epic expression becomes then a topos of folklore and romantic balladry, with a filiation in some cases of transmitted literary models — but only in some limited cases can one insist confidently upon a linked historical chronology of influences from one movement to the other6 .

2. The prototypical Biblical revolution Revolution is, literally, the overturning of something: making what was below stand on top, vertically and in society and economics; and, laterally or temporally, reversing the normal and expected course of events. The Hebrew root for overturning, h-p-k, which will be central to our discussion, serves as the base of the modern Hebrew word for revolution, mahapekha7; many other modern languages either borrow the Latin term directly or form calques upon its prefix and verbal root8. The idea of God’s overturning powerful and seemingly unchangeable human institutions, and reversing the inevitable course of human events, is absolutely central to Judaism. When it happens it is the stuff of mir- acle, the irruption of the wonder of the divine into the mundane. And when it does not happen, one prays for it to9. We shall examine presently how it suf- tivated by heterodox beliefs that negated their efforts, or placed them in the service of evil ends. The phrase is used in connection with the serpent-man who in Iranian mythology, with its strong ideological foundation of kingship, is presented as the paragon of misrule, Aždahak. 6 On the Paulicians, see Russell 1995–1996; on Köroghlu see Russell 2017. 7 Less dramatically, the root produces also the name for the signature cappuccino of the Israeli café, hafukh (lit. “upside-down [coffee]”) — a calque on European usage. In both Biblical and modern Hebrew, v. t. hafakh with the preposition le- on its object means to turn or change into something, as from black to white in the laws on leprosy in Leviticus. 8 Thus Russian revoliutsiia but, for instance, Armenian yeła-p‘oxut‘iwn. The popular Ar- abic thawra (as in the slogan ending ḥatt’ al-mawt[i], “till death”, which may attract the šahīd “martyr” but is scarcely the point of a revolution) really means an uprising (cf. modern Greek epanastasē); the late Edward Said predictably accused philologists who dared to mention the association of this term in Classical Arabic with the behavior of rowdy or randy camels as “orientalist” conspirators in the service of imperialism, colonialism, and so on. Modern Persian enghelāb (and other “Islamicate” tongues, e. g., Hindustani, with the pleasant Lati- nate transcription inquilab) employs a seventh form of the verbal root q-l-b, “change, alter”. 9 Wanting better and winding up with “as ever” is the best case for such political and other disappointments of life. The worst is the truly impenetrable fog of human evil, such as

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 113 fuses alike the earliest foundational text of Israelite national and sacral history, the Biblical Book of Exodus in the Pentateuch, and one of the most recent texts of the canon of the Hebrew Bible, the Oriental romance we know as the Book of Esther. It is expressed often in various contexts, to various ends, and always with the assertion of Divine sanction. And it will be seen in conclusion how the Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria, a contemporary of Jesus, encoded the revolutionary plot of the Book of Esther into a chronicle of Roman oppression. Christ himself, a Jew who never called Himself anything else, derived his ideas directly from His own tradition, specifically, in the case we are briefly to consider, from a Psalm. He kept company with at least one adherent of the “Fourth Philosophy”, that of the revolutionary Sicarii (“dagger men”, after their preferred method of assassinating collaborators with the Romans) or Zealots (Hebrew Qana’im). The Apostle Paul, who almost singlehandedly invented a de-Judaized gentile Christianity, a development that Jesus perhaps neither imagined nor intended, and which many of His earliest followers bitterly opposed and rejected, was still to echo this core idea. He does so with a somber, thrilling eloquence that must touch the very soul of any believer in the one God, whatever else one may think of Paul’s strategic abandonment of the Torah and the Commandments of normative Judaism in the propagation of his message: “For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called: but God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are: That no flesh should glory in His presence” (1 Cor. 1:26–29)10. It is a statement of Di- vine revolution, of the enfranchisement of the downtrodden, of the involution of mundane hierarchical values. The motto “Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God” would seem to combine active human initiative with an appeal to Biblical tradition and the hope of Divine assistance. During another revolution, Benjamin Franklin proposed those words for the Great Seal of the brand new American republic only a month after the Declaration of Independence: it was to surround an engraving, telling- the Holocaust and genocide. At that point monotheists must take cover behind the mystery of theodicy. But those Zoroastrians who still believe in the original dualism of their tradition have a better answer, even if it is not necessarily true: they can produce an all good but not all powerful Ahura Mazda, locked in battle with the inferior but wholly independent archdemon Ahriman, who assures His steadfast worshippers, to paraphrase William S. Burroughs, “I’ll do what I can, but I’m hustling, too”. 10 This writer, whose early Jewish education precluded the reading of Christian scriptures, was first exposed to these verses of the New Testament through Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle In Time. Like some other books meant for children, and books of science fiction, it is much better than much of the fiction written bysoi disant sophisticates for adults.

114 ly, of Israel crossing the Red Sea; and of the pursuing Egyptians, drowning11 . The difference, of course, is that the Americans took up arms against the British colonial authorities and defeated them. The only instance of Israelite violence in the events of the Exodus itself is Moses’ smiting the Egyptian taskmaster. God does all the heavy lifting, as it were. Let us consider this revolutionary prototype, Exodus, following the use of the Hebrew root hpk through it as a sort of trace element. The overthrow of the Egyptians might be said to commence when God turns Moses’ rod into (nhpk) a snake, defeating the machinations of the court magicians (Ex. 7:15)12 . Since Egypt is the land of sorcery par excellence, this defeat is of great symbolic importance, and not mere legerdemain. Immediately thereafter, God orders Mo- ses to inform Pharaoh of the first of the ten plagues, in which the waters will be turned (wnhpkw) to blood (Ex. 7:17). The king releases the Hebrew slaves, but has a change of heart (wyhpk, Ex. 14:5) and sends his army after them, to his ultimate doom. Further reversals follow in swift succession: the oppressor who would kill the Israelite first-born loses his own; the thieves of the Jews’ labor are themselves utterly despoiled; the sea becomes dry land; the slaves become free men; and the army pursuing unarmed women and children is destroyed, with Pharaoh alone left to tell the tale13. To the prophetic Messenger of the Qur’an, Exodus is, indeed, the tale of all tales — the chapter in which it is summarized is entitled al-Qisas. Though “The Story” is actually that of a particular people, it is regarded not so much as the foundational saga of one nation as an exem- plary event that teaches a universal and perennial message to all monotheists: Pharaoh was a worker of corruption (mufsid) in the earth; his victims were

11 The new country received instead the preposterously cryptic image reflecting the Ma- sonic iconography popular with many of the founding fathers that now adorns its currency: a pyramid representing the Pythagorean tetraktys with a blazing, all-seeing Eye in a triangle floating above it, and a quotation from Virgil, the sycophantic epic poet of the Roman empire. 12 Jews and Christians felt the need to give names to the Pharaonic magicians, and came up with a rhyming pair, Jannes and Jambres. The latter then came to be associated with legends about another demonized duo, Harut and Marut (originally the Zoroastrian yazatas, “divinities”, Haurvatat and Ameretat), and their garden became an antitype of Eden. An early modern Armenian poem decrying the latest vice of Ottoman society accuses them of having cultivated there a noxious weed from hell, tobacco (actually a product of the New World, of course): see Russell 2009; Russell 2013; Russell 2014–2015. 13 Jewish pietistic tradition makes the Egyptian tyrant the sole survivor of the rout of the Egyptian army in the Red Sea and the later king of the Assyrians, to whose court at Nineveh the Prophet Jonah is sent. Pharaoh’s earlier humbling thus explains his strange alacrity in hearing out the warning of the reluctant Hebrew prophet and ordering immediate and general repentance. But another way of understanding this very short book of the Bible is to see Jonah as a late text whose sardonic irony is perhaps Hellenistic and certainly deliberate: though Rabbinic tradition discovers many ingenious justifications for his behavior, Jonah, the only Jew in the story, is also the only character who is angry, ill-intentioned, and disobedient to God: see Bickerman 1967. One is reminded of Jesus’ admonition — probably not original even then but perennially good advice — to notice the plank in one’s own eye before pointing out the splinter in another’s.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 115 the oppressed (mustadaf); and God made them the inheritors (wārith; the root is the same as Hebrew y-r-š, a crucial term to be considered presently in the discussion of Ps. 37, which we have already noted from the Sermon on the Mount). God makes of His great deed an example — to the Egyptian tyrant, and, looking ahead to the Esther story (or from the vantage point of the revelation of Islam in the seventh century CE, looking back), to Haman (the villain of the story) as well (Sura 28:3-6). It is unsurprising that such theological terms as “workers of corruption in the earth” and “the oppressed” were to become watchwords of modern Iranian Islamic revolutionary rhetoric14 .

3 . Revolution prophesied: Jesus and Psalm 37

In the Gospel narrative, the flight of the Holy Family with the infant Christ to Egypt and their return to the Land of Israel recapitulates the events of Gen- esis and particularly of Exodus: one is clearly intended to telescope Egyptian oppression into the narrative of Christ’s infancy, whether the parallel persecution be the supposed Herodian massacre of the innocents or, more likely in historical terms, the Roman census that was the first step in the tighten- ing of direct imperial rule over the restive population of Judea.15 After this symbolic Exodus, and His correspondingly symbolic sojourn and temptation in the desert — these recapitulations of Biblical typology and fulfillments of prophecy are at the heart of the canonical biography of Jesus — comes His teaching itself. We may focus here just on Psalm 37 (according to the numer- ation of the Hebrew Bible) as one source for the declaration in the Beatitudes cited at the beginning of this essay. The Psalm is abecedarian —an alphabetic acrostic — with the first word of every second verse beginning with a letter of the Hebrew alphabet. The verse that would have begun with the letter ‘ayin is absent — not unusual in such Psalms — but the letter is present in three of the six words of the samekh-verse that would have preceded it. One might suggest that the author might have been following a deliberate plan, and by pointing out the missing letter repeatedly beforehand wanted one to anticipate

14 One prominent Persian theoretician of revolutionary Islam, Ali Shariati, even suggested that the Quranic address, Yā eyyuhā ’l-insāna, “O ye people,” is an appeal to the masses as understood in Marxian terms. 15 Herod was by ancestry an Idumaean, a convert to Judaism; and he had to tread a dan- gerous path, accommodating and entertaining the Romans on the one hand and satisfying the restive Jewish population, most of whom detested them, on the other. But there was a “Herodian” religious party, Herod was apparently kind to the sectarians at Qumran, and he enlarged the Second Temple to its magnificent and final splendor. The demonization of Herod may reflect nascent Christian anti-Semitism. The Roman census in Judaea might have been the actual political turning point of Jesus’ lifetime, as the first act of imposition of direct imperial rule; and taxation (without even the ghost of representation) was a factor in the uprising of 66 CE. See: Brandon 1967: 49, 66.

116 the ‘ayin-verse and then to notice the line by its very absence16: swr m-r‘ w-‘śh ṭwb w-škn l-‘wlm, “Turn from evil and do good17, and dwell for ever” (Ps. 37:27, “do good” echoing the third verse18). A more subtle reversal may

16 It is important to understand that the order and length of the 22-letter Phoenician and Hebrew alphabet is arbitrary and not phonetically based, and did not change at all over the centuries. An exception is Arabic, which follows a scribal order of shapes but still preserves the ancillary abjad (i. e., A, B, C, D) list that follows the Phoenician order. Some alphabets adapted from it in antiquity added letters at the end but still preserved the basic order. The number and placement of the letters would seem to have possessed from the start, or achieved soon, a sacral status. (See the interesting and thought provoking study of Bund- gård 1965). A native reader of Hebrew would therefore be likely to notice and remark upon an absent letter in an abecedarian text, and it would affect his reception of the text in what computer geeks and mathematicians would call a non-trivial way. So the ‘ayin-line is thus what I christen an example of the ghost verse, something that one sees out of the corner of one’s eye as it were, and imagines to be there, a verse that exerts an influence on the poem around it, and can be written about and commented on, but still does not exist. Yesterday upon the stair/I met a man who wasn’t there/He wasn’t there again today/Oh, how I wish he’d go away wrote William Hughes Mearns (1875–1965) in his poem “Antigonish” (1899). The absent line 1000 of Vladimir Nabokov’s “Pale Fire”, described by Kinbote (Botkin?) as a poem of 999 rhymed couplets (?!), must be the same as line 1, for intricate and compelling reasons of rhyme and theme alike, but it is not there. There is no “actually” in Pale Fire: that is what infuses the experience of reading the novel with wonder. In the case of the Psalms, the locus classicus is the missing nun-verse in the Masoretic text of Psalm 145. Tractate Berakhot of the Babylonian Talmud declares it deliberately to have been omitted, lest one think of a gloomy pronouncement of the prophet Amos beginning with the letter: nāflāh, “Fallen is the maiden of Israel; and she shall not rise.” But the Psalm scroll of Qumran and the LXX — and the Christian Psalter, subsequently — have a wholly innocuous nun- verse beginning with ne’eman “faithful”. But Swmk YQWQ l-kl h-nplym w-zwqp l-kl h-kpw- pym, “The Lord upholds all the falling and straightens up all those who are bent over”, reads the samekh-verse that would have followed nun. The fallen are raised, as though to reassure readers distressed by the (nonexistent) nun-line. The parallel second half of the samekh-verse seems to allude even more cryptically to the ghost line, for in square-character Hebrew nun is the “bent” (kafuf) letter, symbolic of the Messiah, the man bent beneath his heavy burden of trouble and sorrow. But at the end of days in the Messianic era he will be straightened, crowned king, even as the scribal final nun. There is no such distinction between initial-me- dial and final letters in Paleo-Hebrew script, however; so this further allusion, mystically and eschatologically replete with meaning, is also a temporal and historical illusion, a ghost of a ghost. For the Psalm that gives the entire Psalter its Hebrew title, Tehillim (Ps. 145 alone begins with the word tehillah), is probably too early to have been composed when square-character script was current in Israel. For pietistic and exegetical purposes, though, these phantasms are still useful; cf. the play of ostensible misprints, “fountain” and “mountain”, again, of Nabokov’s poem. 17 Sur me-ra‘ ve-‘aseh tov is also a part of the Psalmodic niggun (a short song based on one or several Scriptural passages) “Who is the man who desires life (Mi ha-ish he-chofets chayyim)” popular in Hasidic Judaism. 18 The Midrashic discussion of the admonition to do good in the Psalm introduces, to explain David’s plight, the parable of a man who is not paid. The king — his employer — then hires another laborer and rewards him richly. How much more, the first man muses, will the king give me in the end, since I have served him longer. The implication is that one’s faith demands patience. See: Braude 1959: 1, 423–424. It may be that just recompense never

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 117 foreshadow this literal turning point. The third verse, which verse 27 echoes strongly, reads: bṭḥ b-H w-‘śh ṭwb škn ’rṣ w-r‘h ’mwnh, “Trust in the Lord and do good, dwell upon the earth and cultivate faith” (the word rǝ‘ēh, “cultivate, shepherd, cherish”, here differs scribally from ra‘ ,“evil”, in 37:27 by only one letter). Verse 14 reads: ḥrb ptḥw rš‘ym wdrkw qštm l-hpyl ‘ny w-’bywn l-ṭbwḥ yšry drk, “The wicked have sharpened the sword and strung their bow, to cause the destitute and the poor to fall; to slaughter those who are upright on the way.” The letters of bǝṭaḥ “trust!” of 37:27 seem here to be transposed to (lǝ-)ṭbōaḥ, “(to) slaughter”. But this transposition is a sign of the unlikely reversal of fortune, and in a direction the wicked are least expecting; for verse 15 assures us that their sword shall be turned upon their own hearts, and their bows shall be shattered. The image of sword drawn and bow bent will instantly remind the pious reader of the vivid word-pictures of Psalm 7, the song of reversals par excellence in the Psalter, where the unrepentant man has sharpened his sword and bent his bow — but he will fall into the pit he dug, and his mischief will return upon his own head. Psalm 37 repeatedly admonishes one not to fret (Heb. tḥr, used thrice, in lines 1, 7, 8), and not to envy evil men (rš‘ym) for their apparent success. Indeed, the words “evil man” and “evil” (r‘) are so frequent that one editor has subtitled the Psalm “The Problem of Evil”19. The attendant issue is envy of the wicked, who should not prosper but still do; Philo, whose In Flaccum we shall consider presently, constantly cites envy, Gk. phthonos, as the great temptation and pitfall that bedeviled his own life and that turns men generally to vice. But this situation will be overturned, the author protests five times, his assurance spread evenly through the text — the good, variously characterized, will inherit the earth: arrives for an individual in his lifetime: Kirkpatrick 1902: 187–188, who rightly considers the issues the Psalm addresses much the same as those in Job, suggests that the ancients, who were more family-minded than humans of the latter day, would have taken solace in the firm belief that compensation was sure to come to their progeny and descendants, if not to themselves. This idea of recompense delayed by a generation seems to be adumbrated in Psalm 37:25: “I was a youth; I also grew old, and I never saw a righteous man abandoned, or his progeny begging bread”. Because of the reference to food, the verse is chanted also towards the end of the Hebrew blessing after meals. There is a Zoroastrian parallel to the first part of the verse (but without the key reference to progeny) that this writer noted in a Pahlavi didactic poem (Russell 1987, repr. in Russell 2004). One thinks here also of Jesus’ deliber- atively provocative parable with the conclusion, The last shall be first. The issue of reward and payment is a vital one in the religious literature of antiquity, as it is today. Antigonus of Soho in Mishnah Pirqei Avot (The Ethics of the Fathers) enjoins the pious not to labor for God as one might for a human master, expecting a peras — which, the Renaissance scholar Casaubon first saw, to be followed by Bickerman latterly, is not payment by right but a bonus the owner/employer is not required to bestow. That is, expect nothing. The Sad- ducees and followers of Boethus deduced that there is no heavenly reward: later Rabbinic Judaism, with its canonical belief in heavenly reward, was to brand them minim, heretics. 19 See Cohen 1945: 111.

118 37:9 ky mr‘ym ykrtwn w-qwy H hmh yyršw ’rṣ “For the doers of evil will be cut off and those who hope in the Lord will inherit the earth”. 37:11 w-‘nwym yyršw ’rṣ w-ht‘ngw ‘l rb šlwm “And the meek shall inherit the earth and take pleasure in great peace”. 37:22 ky mbrkyw yyršw ’rṣ w-mqllyw ykrtw “For those who bless Him shall inherit the earth and those who curse Him shall be cut off”. 37:29 ṣdyqym yyršw ’rṣ w-yšknw l-‘d ‘lyh “The righteous shall inherit the earth and shall dwell for ever upon it”. 37:34 qwh ’l H w-šmr drkw w-yrwmmk l-ršt ’rṣ b-hkrt rš‘ym tr’h “Hope in the Lord and preserve His way and He will raise you up to inherit the earth and you will see the cutting off of the wicked”.

The author of the Psalm takes pains to indicate, through the imagery of bor- rowing, lending, and repaying, that this inheritance is neither an otherworldly promise nor a metaphoric figure, but a concrete and down to earth matter of land and cash. The evil man borrows but does not repay (šlm), in contrast to the righteous man, who lends, gives generously, and enjoys peace (šlwm): a nice verbal figure20. The righteous and the pious (ṣdyq, ḥsyd) moreover, are constantly associated with the poor and the needy (‘ny, ’bywn — cf. the Ebion- ites, whose name means “the Poor”!). The eldest son of the family is in the way of the world the heir; but God overturns the ways of the world. The younger Jacob, not the elder Esau, receives the inheritance from Isaac; and to God it is Jacob, with his new name, who becomes the first-born:bny bkwry Yśr’l, “Is- rael is My first-born!” One recalls that God did not just free the Israelites from Egyptian bondage. He slew their first-born and ordered them to despoil their oppressors: our ancestors departed with all the former masters’ gold and sil- ver, making Israel not only free men, but rich ones (the precious spoils went to the casting of the implements of the Tabernacle), and first-born heirs as well, one and all. So inheritance is not defined here automatically by pedigree, as in civil law. It is a matter of Divine election, as stated in Psalm 2 and echoed at Christ’s Baptism21. “He who sits in the heavens will laugh — the Lord will mock them.

20 In a written communication of 6 May 2017 Prof. David Sperling of Hebrew Union College, who meticulously read the draft of this article and offered several important correc- tions, notes that I. L. Seeligmann has argued convincingly that Ps. 37:21 does not describe an attribute of the wicked man but his fate: in the days to come he will be unable to pay back a loan, while the righteous will be rich enough that they will be in a position to afford to be generous. The generosity of Prof. Sperling, my friend and colleague, over many years is but one facet of his righteousness: it is a pleasure here to thank this good man and Torah sage. 21 Those who focused on the words from Heaven at the Baptism and reckoned them as the starting point of his Divine career, but refused to accept His virgin birth or divinity, considering these a blasphemy against monotheism, were later to be anathematized as adherents of a heresy, Adoptionism. This was a legitimate early Christian point of view in its time, though, and it became the Christology, also, of normative Islam. Medieval Jewish scholars,

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 119 Then he will speak to them in His anger, and terrify them in His wrath: And it is I who have anointed My king on Zion, My holy mountain. I will speak of the ordinance that God commanded me: ‘You are My son. I have begotten you this day. Ask of Me and I will give the nations as your inheritance (nḥlh); the very ends of the earth, as your possession (’ḥwzh)’”22 .

4 .A prelude to revolutionary romances: the dream of ill omen Jesus offers the prophecy of a just future; but what if one has a premoni- tion of evil instead? The Jews of the Talmudic era, like other peoples at other times, believed that dreams are prophetic. So there is an extensive discussion of them, including instructions on how to avert such a dire future in Trac- tate Berakhot 55a–b of the Babylonian Talmud. R. Huna ben Ami transmits these: he received them from R. Pedat, who got them in turn from R. Yoḥanan: hrw’h ḥlwm w-npšw ‘gwmh ylk w-yptrnw b-pny šlšh “One who sees a dream and is anguished in himself, let him go and have it interpreted before three (men)”. They should assure him that all will be well, and then w-l-ymrw iii hpwkwt w-iii pdwywt w-šlš šlwmwt. Šlš hpwkwt hpkt mspdy l-mḥwl ly, ptḥt šqy yt’zrny śmḥh ’z tśmḥ btwlh bmḥwl w-bḥwrym w-zqnym yḥdyw w-hpkty ’blm l-śśwn... w-l’ ’bh H ’lhyk l-šmw‘ ’l bl‘m w-yhpwk... “And they should recite three [verses of] ‘overturning’ [hāfūkhōt], three of ‘redemption’ [pedūyōt], and three of ‘peace’ [šelōmōt]. The three ‘overturnings’ are: ‘You turned my lament into dancing and girded me with joy’ [Ps. 30:12]; ‘Then shall the maiden delight in the dance, and youths and old men together — I will turn their mourning into rejoicing’ [Jer. 31:13]; “And the Lord your God refused to lis- ten Balaam — instead, the Lord turned the curse into a blessing for you, for the Lord your God loves you” [Deut. 23:6]. We are to discuss the Book of Esther presently: it evokes the remembered life and customs of the Achae- menid royal court, not very distant or different from the Parthian and Sasanian world of the Babylonian Talmud — the Bavli. One of the fixtures of the pre-Is- lamic court, and of stories told about it, was the topos of a monarch waking from a nightmare and summoning his advisers to interpret it23. At the begin- including David Qimhi, were aware of Christian claims concerning Psalm 2 and refuted them: see Sperling 2011 with refs. 22 The typical parallel figure, with the somewhat assonant naḥālāh and aḥūzāh, may be rhetorical and nothing more. But it might also be read so as to embrace both monetary and real property. 23 For the use of the topos of dire dream vision, wakeful king, and seer in Armenian and Iranian epic narrative, see Russell 2012b. One Armenian word for a dream, eraz, derives from Iranian rāz, cf. the loan word rz’ in the Aramaic of Daniel in connection with yet more royal dreams: see Russell 1992. In the language of the Jewish texts of mystical ascent to the Divine palaces (Hekhalot), Heb. raz becomes a general term for the praxis in general of the presumably dream-like Himmelsreise .

120 ning of the sixth chapter of Esther — that is, at its exact center — when the prospects for the Jews are bleakest, the sleep of king Ahasuerus is disturbed (by a bad dream, explain Jewish exegetes, from which he wakes — the issue is not insomnia) and he has the spr zkrwnwt, the “book of memorials” (i. e., the royal annals)24 read to him. This is how he learns of Mordechai’s report of the plot of two courtiers to assassinate the king, and from this moment the fortunes of Israel begin to turn for the better.

5 . Revolution as Oriental romance: the Book of Esther

The holiday of Purim has its origins in the Persian Empire — pre-Islamic Iran — and is based on events described in the Biblical Book of Esther that if they did occur would historically have to have transpired in the fifth century BCE or thereabouts, during the reign of the Achaemenid dynasty founded by Cyrus the Great. The book, probably composed in the Hellenistic period, describes the plot of Haman, the ambitious and hate-filled prime minister of an easily swayed and foolish king, Ahasuerus, to murder all the Jews of the vast Empire because of his malice towards a single man, Mordechai — who, as it happens, has saved the king from the plot of two assassins. Mordechai is also the guardian of an orphaned cousin, Esther, a beautiful woman whom Ahasuer- us has chosen as the queen of Persia. At first, the king does not know of Esther’s background; and he does not know of Mordechai’s good deed, either. He also approves without question the genocidal decree Haman puts in front of him although it does not even name the nation to be destroyed. He goes so far as to lend the royal signet ring — the instrument of his autocracy — to Haman. It is a cloud, a fog, of ignorance and vagueness. Once the dread decree is published, Mordechai urges Esther to come out to the king and reveal to him she belongs to the very people Haman wishes to massacre. She protests that she risks death to come before Ahasuerus without being summoned. But perhaps, Mordechai reasons, it is for the sake of this moment that she has attained her position at court. She fasts, and reveals herself to the king, who, fortunately, loves her and will do anything she asks. But wait, there’s more! Ahasuerus, who has not been sleeping well lately — as we have seen above — has the royal annals read to him and learns from them of Mor- dechai and his good deed. Truth is emerging from the fog — people and things are beginning to be called by their proper names. And as this happens, the course of events reverses. Instead of Haman, Mordechai is honored: he is fitted out in royal robes and rides through Shushan on the king’s horse, with Haman walking before him to proclaim why he is be-

24 Heb. zīkārōn, it might be noted, translates precisely the appropriate Middle Iranian term for some of these texts, ayādgār, “memorial”.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 121 ing rewarded. Finally he is seated on the king’s throne. Instead of Mordechai being executed by impalement on a stake fifty cubits high, Haman is, along with all his ten sons. Instead of Jews being the victims, they take up arms, go out, and kill thousands of their enemies in a preemptive attack. Anti-Sem- ites cower in fear, and many gentiles convert to Judaism. The feast of Purim is established to commemorate the miraculous turn of events; and Mordechai becomes viceregent. Feasting is a notable aspect of both the text and the occasion on which it is read: the Book of Esther’s ten chapters mention ten feasts, one of which lasts fully half a year; and on Purim night, after reading Megillat Esther from a special handwritten scroll, often in an ornate case — no other holiday merits such an object — and drowning out Haman’s name with noise — again, unlike any other Scriptural public reading — Jews are bidden to drink and make merry till they cannot tell the exclamations “Blessed is Mordechai” and “Cursed be Haman” apart from each other. But Purim is strange in its excesses of sanctioned behavior, and has clear parallels in other early spring festivals like Mardi Gras. Most every holiday has its special food; for Mardi Gras celebrants in Louisiana it is gumbo, and for Ashkenazic Jews, on Purim it is homentashen, a three-cornered pastry stuffed with jam or poppy seed that is meant to look like the ear of a jackass — the shape may have its origins in antiquity, for the ancient Persians once ripped the ears off Gaumata, an il- legitimate pretender to the throne, and there is a Greek mythological topos as well about donkey’s ears25 . If Ahasuerus has a historical counterpart it is most likely the early fifth-century king Xerxes, whose name, Xšayarša, means in Old Persian “Ruling like a man”, and who in his famous “Daiva” inscription at Persepolis boasts of having suppressed other religions and establishing Zoroastrian rites in their place. One can compare in spirit Haman the Agagite, son of Hammedatha. The father’s name is pure Persian for “having the same law” (*hama-dāta-); and Haman’s name, if it is also Persian (it could have been from Elamite, a local language, but still can have sounded Persian enough to Jews that they interpreted it so), would mean “of the same mind/opinion” (*ham-manah-) and thus the names of father and son underscore the point26. And the point is that everybody in the 127 sa- trapies of Persia has the same law, except the Jews. Why does Haman hate Jews? If there is any historical basis for the story, the reason would probably be that Israel as the Chosen People sets itself apart from all other nations: pagan anti-Semites called the Jews misanthropes for this. But the exegetes explain that his ancestors were the Amalekites, that ancient and peculiarly ruthless enemy whom God Himself swears in the Book

25 The Armenian Mardi Gras food is herisa: for an account of the riotous celebrations, in which traditional social and sacerdotal roles are mocked and overturned, see: Russell 2003. 26 See Russell 1990. Similarly, in the Book of Tobit, which is also steeped in ancient Iranian lore, both the name of the hero and his son Tobias mean “God is good”: see Russell 2001.

122 of Exodus to wipe out utterly27. But the proximal cause is that Mordechai twice refuses to bow to Haman. The Hebrew text does not explain why; but the Greek version does. If it had been merely a gesture of respect that would have mollified the king’s minister, that is one thing, but the kind of bow Haman demanded would have been tantamount to idolatry. This episode may reflect a real concern of Jews in ancient Iran: it was customary fully to prostrate oneself before the king (or other high official), and when Alexander the Great conquered Iran and took a fancy to local ways, even his Macedonian generals, idolaters to a man, balked at the proskynesis — full prostration — that he now demanded of them. Would such obeisance be halakhically idolatrous? And it has been suggested that there were images of false gods embroidered on Ha- man’s clothes: one thinks of the figural roundels of Sasanian silk brocade — so by bowing to him one would be bowing to them. Haman’s name is symbolic; so is that of his wicked wife, Zereš. It derives from the Iranian name of a demon Zairičā, meaning “jaundice”, and forms a rhyming pair with another imp of hell, Tairičā, meaning “harm”. The two of them, a kind of infernal recipe for a bad harvest, are the opponents of the two archangels, Haurvatāṭ (“Health”) and Amǝrǝtāṭ (“Immortality”) (Middle Per- sian Xurdād and Amurdād), who are the guardians of fertility — of waters and plants. Tairičā appears in Esther as Tereš — one of the pair of would-be assassins of Ahasuerus whose plot Mordechai discovers. The other is Bigthan, which may be from Bagadāna, “God-given”. So Esther and Mordechai represent the forces of goodness and life, a kind of Khordad-Amurdad rhyming pair; their opponents, Teresh and Zeresh, the powers of evil and death. The term Purim itself means “lots”, and there is an old Zoroastrian game, preserved by Armenian girls, of casting lots (vičak) in the springtime (on Ascension Eve) to see who will fall in love and be married. They throw a flower into water under the stars . The flower is called horot-morot, a form of the names Khordad and Amurdad just mentioned. And as for the star, we have Esther, whose name probably means that. Did the author of the Book of Esther know the ancient key words encoded into his story, that make it into an allegory of cosmic war as well as a game of love and marriage? There can be little doubt of his knowledge of Per-

27 In some Jewish tradition, the Armenians are said to be the descendants of Amalek (and there is a legend that the people of Amasia, a Pontic city that once had a large Armenian population, were Amalekites); and the Yiddish name for them, Timkhe, is a Cockney rhyming slang-style reduction of the Biblical injunction against Amalek, Yemakh timkhe, “May he be utterly blotted out!” Anti-Semitism exists in Armenian life and culture: the two Diaspora peoples, so similar in their energy and aspirations — and, later, in their misfortunes — evidently could be bitter rivals at times. But happily there is also friendship and mutual respect: the Jew Franz Werfel’s novel The Forty Days of Musa Dagh, about the Armenian genocide, inspired resistance during the Holocaust; and the Armenian-American anti-fascist writer Avedis Derounian (a.k.a. John Roy Carlson), whom this writer had the pleasure and honor to know, combatted anti-Semitism and saw in the nascent State of Israel the model for a future Armenia.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 123 sian: he uses the correct Persian term, aḥašdarpana, which is also, incidentally, the longest word in the Hebrew language, for a governor (English uses the same Persian word, via Greek, as “satrap”). When Mordechai becomes mišneh, “second”, to Ahasuerus on the throne, at the end of the book, the author is render- ing into Hebrew a historical Persian rank, *bitya-xšaya-, “second-ruling” (cf . Greek pitiaxēs; Armenian l-w bdeašx). And numerous other details of the story and setting are authentically Iranian. The use of gentile names and the intimate knowledge of Iranian language and ways suggest that the writer of Esther was not merely attuned to the dangers and insecurities of life in diaspora, but be- longed to a well established and deeply rooted, viable diaspora community. There seems to be a kind of very specific, supernatural event taking place, then, beneath the fog of vagueness, of identities concealed and people not named, in the Book of Esther. And where names are given in lists, they are suspiciously symmetrical. Seven noble families served the Persian throne, and these “sages” are named in the book in order as: Carshena, Shethar, Ad- matha, Tarshish, Meres, Marsena, and Memucan. The king’s eunuchs are also seven in number, also listed, and the name of the first eunuch rhymes with that of the last of the sages; the names of the last three eunuchs, with those of the first three of the sages: Mehuman, Bizzetha, Harbona, Bigtha, Abagtha, Zethar, and Careas. (Note that some pairs in these lists rhyme, in inverse order; cf. the diptych structure of the book itself.) Lists mattered to the ancient reader, as mnemonic tools and demonstrations of erudition (the classic example is the list of ships in the Iliad of Homer), and he was alive to this aspect of the story in a way a modern reader might not be. The Book of Esther provides the names of all ten of Haman’s sons, all of them authentically Persian. There are ten feasts and ten chapters, and the key reversal occurs right at the mid- point of the book. Everything is as symmetrical — and reversed! — as the two covers of a book, the two wings of a butterfly, the two panels of a diptych. Clearly, the author wants the reader of this romance to figure out puzzles, to pay attention when something is named, and also to notice the contrast between naming and not naming, between precision and vagueness — between truth and deception. Deception rules the first half of Esther; in the second half everything is overturned, inverted, made to run backward, and truth wins the day. So the parallel between the two name lists is in inverted order; and ironic reversal is the great thematic strategy of the story. Haman plans to kill all the Jews, but in the end by counter-edict the Jews slay all the anti-Semites. Haman hopes to be honored by the king; but it is Mordechai instead who receives honor, while Haman is humiliated. Mordechai is to be impaled; but instead Haman and his whole family suffer this gruesome form of execution. The reversal is as complete in its way as in Exodus. There, the very laws of nature are inverted; here, the seemingly inevitable course of history is reversed. Chiasmus is one of the more important stylistic features of Biblical composition, and the author of Esther uses it to the hilt.

124 The triumph of Mordechai — his reward for having unmasked Bigthan and Teresh, the would-be killers of the king — is worth mention, for it is por- trayed in the Purim scene, one of the frescoes of the third-century synagogue at Dura-Europos. All four walls of this unique structure teem with portrayals of Biblical figures and episodes, painted by an artist whose “frontal” style, studied famously by the great Russian scholar and archaeologist Mikhail Iva- novich Rostovtsev, indicates he might have been an Iranian Jew, or at the very least a local from Syria with the strong cultural ties to Parthia characteristic of the place and time (one recalls that Edessa, the “blessed city” of early Syriac Christians, bore also the moniker “daughter of the Parthians”). We can imagine that if this were the case, the story of Esther, with its Iranian locus and flavor, would have had special resonance for him and his audience, who would have been attuned to the fine details of his portrayal of the scenes and characters. Events are shown in sequential order: Haman, attired as a slave to increase his abasement, leads Mordechai, who sits astride the white royal steed. Then Mordechai is enthroned — there are animals on each step of the platform of the throne in the painting. That is a kind of iconographic shorthand intended either to recall, or, overtly, to represent the Persian throne as that of Solo- mon, who, according to tradition, knew the languages of the animals. But the stories that accreted around the complex figure of Solomon suggest that he was weak in some respects, too. One recalls the legend that Solomon, who according to apocryphal legend had enlisted the help of the demon Ašmedai (English Asmodeus; this is the Zoroastrian demon of wrath, Aēšma daēva, xašm in New Persian) in the construction of the Temple, foolishly lent his signet ring to the demon; and Ahasuerus gives his own signet ring to Haman! This would seem to suggest that even the greatest monarch, Solomon, could be thoughtlessly impulsive; and Ahasuerus is far from the wisest of kings. Sol- omon loved women immoderately; and so does Ahasuerus. He marries Esther because of the disrespectful behavior of his previous queen, Vashti (whose name, I have argued, may be related to an Iranian word for lust). The image of Solomon’s throne may suggest to the attentive observer that Ahasuerus/ Xerxes, for all his greatness and power, is a man with flawed and impulsive judgment, ruled by his passions. As the Biblical scholar Prof. Jon Levenson has observed in his witty and learned study of the Book of Esther, Ahasuerus is a king “who never says no”. Given these strange data and data (Persian law, if the gentle reader will forgive the etymological pun), this mixture of comedy and high seriousness, of the profane and the profound, of important, even perennial themes lightly treated, what is one to conclude about the Book of Esther? Perhaps one way to approach the question is to address the question of the literary genre to which it may be assigned. Although it is a part of canonical Scripture and draws on Biblical precedents and parallels (there are a number to the story of Joseph, for instance), it is also the basis for an early spring holiday, a carnivalesque

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 125 celebration with analogues elsewhere in the Near East and beyond. It is likely to have been the work of an Iranian Jewish author addressing the anxieties (and evoking the life ways) of a deeply rooted Diaspora community. The book has very little to say of the Land of Israel, save that Mordechai’s forebears had been exiled from Jerusalem — but it does not intimate or hope for a return there. All this is clear. But what kind of a book is it? The Bible presents many different styles of narrative. Pious believers accept the Bible as a single, normative, Divine scripture. It is the history of God’s interaction and successive covenants with Israel. But it is still extremely diverse in genre: it has songs, carefully and tautly crafted stories, homilies. The Psalms are a compilation of prayerful poems, some connected with the Temple, others with private devo- tions and personal emotions. Ecclesiastes and Proverbs are wisdom-literature. The Song of Songs is an allegorical love poem with an antecedent in ancient Egyptian literature. And so on. Esther, without doubt, belongs to the category called the Oriental romance. It is a genre that is most abundantly attested in the Greek of the Hellenistic age, and thereafter in both Greek and Latin: one of the longest and finest works of this type is the Transformations of Lucius of Apuleius of Madaura, a North African writer in Latin of the second century CE. The ancient romance typically has an exotic and sumptuous setting: often Persia, but also India or Ethiopia, or Phoenicia. The plot partakes abundantly of love triangles, situations of peril, and ironic reversals. The characters are generally a virtuous couple pitted against villains who are wicked, stupid, lustful, and base, in varying proportions. There is very often a religious subtext: Apuleius’ narrative concludes with the praises of the cult of Isis, and the story of Rhodanes and Sinonis in the Babyloniaka of Iamblichus is covertly Mithraic28. The end of the romance ties all the threads neatly together: virtue is always rewarded, lovers and sundered families are happily reunited, and the heroes, vindicated and delivered from peril, triumph over their enemies. The latter receive their just deserts, often in ways a modern reader might find gratuitously vindictive, even sadistic. Tragic heroes are larger than life; in romances the heroes are not, and the villains are sometimes comical and pathetic. By all these criteria, Esther is just such a romance. The romance, by comparison with some other kinds of writing, has proven to be a durable genre over the centuries, partly because it is more accessible and immediately entertaining to the average reader than more sophisticated forms; partly too, because even though it is overtly escapist, a relief from the everyday grind, it can elevate and enchant the reader and deliver a powerful message through its sumptuous magic. A good example of such a survival, from more recent times, is the opera of Mozart Die Zauberflöte, with its lovers Pamino and Tamina (and of course, as in Esther, they rhyme), the pathetic, evil eunuch of a monk, the sinister Queen of the Night, and the high-priest

28 See Russell 2001–2002; Russell 2002–2003.

126 Sarastro, who is none other than Zoroaster, the Prophet of ancient Iran, albeit here with abundant Masonic images and themes, and some modish Egyptian trappings added on. And this seems one key to Esther: the book addresses an important issue of common — and communal — anxiety as well as the perennial problem of the contest between good and evil, and solves the problems with a denoue- ment that, for all its sumptuous Oriental fantasy, still delivers a sober, religious message that underscores the virtues of love, commitment, and faith. And through the book runs, like a trace element, also the key root h-p-k we noted above. Prof. Levenson cites a sage pupil, Brooks Schramm, who at a sem- inar in 1986 at the University of Chicago declared that one word in Esther 9:1 sums up the entire book29: on 13 Adar the enemies of the Jews were to get them in their power wnhpk hw’ — vǝ-nahafokh hū “and it was overturned”, i. e., the opposite happened, and the Jews got their enemies in their own power instead. And in verse 22 of the same chapter, the holiday of Purim is ordained for 14 and 15 Adar, since a time of grief and mourning nhpk, nehpakh “was turned” into festivity and joy. Although these overturnings (or, to use the Latin, revolutions) suggest a Divine agent, rather than the mere operation of chance, the Hebrew text of Esther does not mention the name of God any- where; and though Esther fasts, no prayer she might have uttered is recorded. The translator of the Greek version, in the Septuagint, hastens anxiously to fill in both lacunae, but the theological silence of the original may suggest — and this is literally an argumentum ex silentio — that the events of the narrative are so mundane, so much a part of the conditions of the exile, that the artful reversals and the verb hpk must suffice to suggest that the Almighty is still active in the world and a helper to His people Israel. In Exodus, God works with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; here in Esther, though the revolution takes place, the Lord is working, as it were, behind the scenes. Hence perhaps the crucial turning point and deus ex machina is made Ahasuerus’ disturbed sleep, or mantic dream, triggering the reading of the royal annals, rather than a fully wakeful, daytime event.

6 . The In Flaccum of Philo: Esther as cryptogram As we have seen, revolutionary ideas tend, paradoxically, to be rooted strongly in earlier prototypes of all kinds, from the theoretical to the artistic. The urge to break away into the new never fully achieves the escape velocity to overcome the gravitational pull of the past. So it should be even less surprising that a work of antiquity presented by a Platonist, Hellenophone Jewish philosopher as a historical narrative might have been patterned very closely upon the Book of Esther, though the author had good reasons to ensure that

29 Levenson 1997: 8.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 127 only a Jewish reader would discern the underlying armature and its message. This is the In Flaccum of Philo Judaeus of Alexandria. Philo was a leader of this diaspora community, which was large and well established but in many respects without political power or civil rights. Although Philo wrote in Greek, it is unlikely gentiles read his books: he had an exclusively Jewish audience in his own time30 . The text, which differs strikingly in its dramatically narrative style from Philo’s other works of philosophical exegesis of the Bible, deals with events of 38–40 CE that may be summarized thus in brief: the Roman emperor Ti- berius appoints Flaccus prefect of Egypt, and at first he performs his duties properly; but upon the accession to power of Gaius Caligula, Flaccus finds his own position precarious. Two corrupt men, Isidorus and Lampo, persuade him to deflect from himself the adverse attention of the new emperor by using the Jews as scapegoats. In the meantime Herod Agrippa, scion of the royal house of Judaea, stops in Alexandria (the ancient equivalent of an airline hub) on his way home to the Land of Israel from Rome. Though he tries hard to avoid ostentation, even notice, the locals still behold his splendid bodyguard and retinue. They are consumed by phthonos, “envy”, a moral failing on which Philo focuses (he regarded it as a serious shortcoming in his own character). They are outraged, too, that the Jews should dare to claim a king of their own. The spiteful Alexandrian Greeks and Egyptian natives conceive a stratagem of provocation, what we would call nowadays a “set up”: they install statues of the emperor in the synagogues of the city knowing the Jews will regard them as idols and remove them. The second Commandment forbids idolatry — as the Seleucids had learnt nearly two centuries before, at the time of the Mac- cabees, and as we have seen in Esther. God alone is to receive proskynēsis31 . This religious obduracy would guarantee a furious reaction from the mer- curial and choleric Caligula, who already finds it offensive that Jews offered sacrifices for him but not to him. In this dedication exclusively to one God, the Jews differed from the other religio-national communities of the Roman Empire in the same way they had differed from the other peoples of Ahasuer- us’ domains32; and ancient proto-anti-Semites further claimed that Jews were misanthropic in their refusal to share meals and intermarry with their pagan neighbors. In short, the Jews were different from everybody else — an echo of Haman’s claim. A grisly pogrom ensues33; and it seems certain Caligula

30 See Birnbaum 2001. 31 Goodenough 1938: 27. 32 As Gibbon drily observed, to Roman pagans all gods were equally true; to philosophers, equally false; and to politicians, equally useful. 33 Van der Horst 2003 notes how Philo takes pains to detail how prominent leaders of the Jewish community were flogged with scourges, a punishment much more demeaning than being beaten with the flat of a sword, as citizens were. He points out also (p. 214) the frequent use in the text of the term hybris — out of all proportion to its appearance else-

128 will introduce harsher measures still — for although the Jewish community had written a decree proclaiming their loyalty to the new emperor, Flaccus deliberately neglected to send it, “so that we alone of all people under the sun would be considered enemies” (Flacc. 101–102). But the reversal, the h-p-k moment, comes just when Jewish fortunes look bleakest: Agrippa takes the document and has it delivered to its Roman addressee. This happens precisely at the mid-point of the narrative, and signals the dramatic reversal of the fortunes of the Jews for the better (and of Flaccus’ fortunes, for the worse). Philo calls the reversal “revolutionary” (neōteron, Flacc. 120) — one of the very rare instances in which the eirenic, conservative philosopher uses the term in a positive sense. He does so evidently because he considers the revolution a Divine act34. Several scholars have noticed the general affinity of In Flaccum to Esther35, but the points of comparison in both large structure and minute detail — the chiasmic reversal, for instance — are so striking that it seems all but certain the Philo intentionally patterned his work upon the Biblical book in order to deliver the Jewish reader this coded message36: Caligula, like Ahasuerus, is a vile and ignoble buffoon; Flaccus is like Haman; Isidorus and Lampo play the roles of the petty villains Bigthan and Teresh; Mordecai will not bow to Haman and the Jews will not countenance a statue of Gaius in the synagogue; and God will intervene subtly in history to give protection (epikouria) to His people. In its overall structure, its thematic and narrative armature, In Flaccum is symmetrical, a near perfect diptych37 . Prof. Peter Brown wrote eloquently in his Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity of the utility of paideia: a shared background in Greek culture and learning and common values such as self-restraint and respect for freedom of speech and civility enabled the educated but powerless commoner to speak where in the Philonic corpus. What the Jews experience, then, is a state peculiarly dreaded in antiquity (and not at all pleasant today, either): public humiliation, expressed in Greek by the passive verb hybrizomai — “to be hubris-ed against”, as it were. On this theme as a cat- alyst to the “bandit” epic see Russell 2017, and recall the humiliation of Haman in the Purim scene of the frescoes of the synagogue at Dura. 34 See van der Horst 2003: 200. 35 Notably Goodenough 1938: 7–10. 36 van der Horst 2003: 16, quotes approvingly the astute judgment of the Philonic scholar Dr. Ellen Birnbaum: the book would have been addressed to the Jews as a consolation in adversity, and as a warning to the gentiles against harming them. 37 In Flacc. 36–40, the enemy Alexandrians take a hapless pauper named Karabas from the street, dress him up as a king of the Jews, surround him with a mock retinue, and call him jeeringly in Aramaic Mārān — “our Lord”. This is first of all a message to the Jews and their Agrippa. As a literary strategy it may be a reworking of the theme of the enthrone- ment of Mordechai as well. One hears perhaps an echo of the “lord of misrule” of vernal customs analogous to the Purim festival; or, more chillingly, the echo of the mock enthrone- ment, but a few years before of another Rex Iudaeorum, a certain Nazarene. One notes that Philo apparently wrote a book, now lost, on the persecution of the Jews by Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor who condemned that King to death.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 129 effectively to the ruler. But speaking truth to power safely is possible only when the powerful respect paideia, or when the rule of law constrains them. That was not the case with Gaius Caligula. So when one wishes in such conditions to give an audience a piece of one’s mind the choice is either a highly visible martyrdom (perennially an effective if costly tool), following the advice of the old Armenian proverb to tell the truth only if you’ve got one foot in the stirrup (or, mutatis mutandis, Joseph Brodsky’s Eleventh Command- ment, “Scatter!”), or cryptography — encoding the message somehow. Leo Strauss in Persecution and the Art of Writing argues that Maimonides did this in the Guide to the Perplexed, a philosophical book that, Strauss believed, had to get past religious censorship. And even encoding a message to those who will understand it — Maimonides on divinity to fellow philosophers, Philo on Caligula to fellow Jews — only works if there are no informers in the house. In 1933 the Soviet Armenian poet Charents published his Girk‘ chanaparhi, “The Book of the Journey”. The first printing was confiscated and burnt because the censors discerned a satirizing reference to Stalin as the buffoon Pierrot. Charents told a friend with glee that they had missed the subversive message spelled out by every second letter of the initial word of each line of the poem Patgam, “Message”, in the book. It was: “Armenian nation, your only salvation is in your united strength.” The friend informed on the poet, and the matter went from departmental level to the dean’s office, as it were — from Erevan to Moscow. Charents was arrested in the summer of 1937 and died in prison in November of that year. Совершилось . It seems Philo encoded his message with fair assurance he would not be turned in. But in his text the Jews offer a prayer of thanksgiving for their sudden and unexpected deliverance that begins with a curious, almost legal dis- claimer (Flacc. 121): “O Lord, we are not delighted at the punishment of our enemy, for we have learned from our holy laws that we should sympathize with out fellow humans. But it is right to give thanks to you for having taken pity and compassion on us and for having relieved our constant and incessant oppression”. Various scholars have considered this abjuration of Schadenfreude disingenuous. The ancients regarded hubris as a tragic flaw, to be sure, but the humiliation and ridicule of a defeated enemy was well within the accept- able terms of their politics and morals: the riotous, vengeful, joyous customs of the Purim holiday itself reflect these. Jewish tradition also stresses, though, that the Israelites were forbidden to rejoice over the drowning of Pharaoh’s host in the Red Sea; and to this day at the Passover Seder Jews spill ten drops of wine for the ten plagues, plus three more drops at three acronyms of them, to subtract from the celebrants’ joy — in compassionate memory of the suffering and death of God’s creatures. On the one hand, the incipit of the prayer may be defensive, lest gentile readers think the Jews overweening in their pride. On the other, though, it may be an encoded message to the Jewish reader who knows the traditions of Passover, as if to say: all others indeed rejoice

130 in the spectacle of a defeated, downtrodden enemy, but we and our Laws are, precisely, different from (and better than!) all those other, barbarous nations38 . Or Philo might have been hedging his bets. It is interesting to observe one way that Philo has brought up to date, as it were, a crucial detail of the Book of Esther. At the beginning of the sixth chapter of the latter, we recall, the sleepless king Ahasuerus has the spr zkrwnwt, the book of memorials, read to him. The book is the instrument of the reversal of the Jews’ fate. That may be fitting for a people who, uniquely among ancient peoples, reposed their loyalty and identity in a single normative written canon of scripture believed to be the only true revelation of the only God. But ancient Iran was a culture that revered the oral tradition, not the written word; and Persian documents such as Ahasuerus’ royal annals existed in at most a few copies. Even the Zoroastrian sacred scripture, the Avesta, was transmitted mainly be word of mouth: the Pahlavi texts assert that there were but a few written copies, so rare that they were kept in provincial treasuries39. So the Persian book is more sacral than political. Philo, by contrast, lived in a far more liter- ate world whose affairs were dependent upon written documents — officials were accordingly adept at manipulating them. Instead of an archive to be read to a sleepless king, in a scene drawn from the stock of epic and myth, we have a time-sensitive letter, the Alexandrian Jewish pledge of allegiance to Caligula, that Flaccus cunningly neglects to forward to its addressee. As if to direct our attention even more closely to such bureaucratic malfeasance of the written word, Philo uses an epithet of the villain Lampo kalamosphaktēs “one who murders by means of the pen” (Flacc. 132) that, van der Horst points out, is a hapax in Greek — a word found here and nowhere else.

7 . Conclusions One can only imagine how Philo’s faith might have been shaken, had he been able to see the kalamosphakteis, the desk-murderers (Schreibtischtäter) of two millennia in the future, had he come to know how his hapax was to become a commonplace. Philo argued that for Jews, Jerusalem is the metropolis,

38 Balaam’s prophecy that Israel will dwell alone is double-edged indeed. But as to taking pleasure in another’s misery, the American Jewish folk definition of a Jewish holiday treads a middle path, at once celebratory and gently humane: “They tried to kill us. We won. Let’s eat!” As for Schadenfreude, one cannot help noting the language and culture that has supplied the word, along with Blitzkrieg, Vergeltungswaffen, Endlösung, Beamtersprache, and other terms the world could well have done without. Many are specific to what Victor Klemperer famously studied as the Lingua Tertii Imperii — George Orwell, shortly after the Second World War, conceived “Newspeak” in 1984 to warn humanity that no one is safe from the danger of the totalitarian perversion of language. I concur here with C. S. Lewis, Qui Verbum Dei contempserunt, eis auferetur etiam verbum hominis . 39 See Bailey 1971, chapters Patvand (“transmission of the tradition”) and Dēn dipīrīh (“writing down of the Religion”).

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 131 the mother-city, but the foreign lands where diaspora communities reside are their patria, their father-land. He did not live to see the destruction of the Tem- ple of Jerusalem, either — not two millennia, but a few short decades after the Alexandrian pogrom. It signaled the beginning of a precarious, powerless, imperilled diaspora, one with no mother-city left at all. “We had good reason to think that our hopes were not lost”, he writes of his fellow Alexandrian Jews, perhaps with reference to Ezekiel 37, ybšw ‘ṣmwtynw w-’bdh tqwtnw, “Our bones are dry and our hope is lost” The Zionist movement, determined to end the condition of diaspora once and for all, was to adopt as its hymn, years before the Holocaust, a song called “The Hope”, with its poignant verse ‘wd l’ ’bdh tqwtnw (‘Od lo avda tikvatenu), — “Our hope is not yet lost”. In the aftermath of the extermination of the Jews of Europe, David Ben Gurion and his comrades would not and could not wait for Divine intervention: “Our future depends, not on what the gentiles think, but on what the Jews do”, he declared, much as Lenin had left off an essay half written, preferring to make a revolution rather than write about one. But paradigms of Biblical redemption quickly accreted still around the modern, secular State of Israel, with Hatikvah as its national anthem, and Jewish worshippers around the world began to bless it as r’šyt ṣmyḥt g’wltnw, “the beginning of the flowering of our redemption”40. As we have seen, in ideology and intertextuality, in passion and hope, in the homeland and in diaspora, religion and revolution are, and have always been, inseparable. For the Jewish, Christian, and Islamic faiths — the Abrahamic world civilization — the Hebrew Bible is at the living heart of them all, from Moses and Je- sus to Lenin and Marx, and beyond. And “we all want to change the world”.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

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40 Hasidim, even those extremely supportive of Israel, refuse to pronounce this blessing, because for all the importance of human agency redemption must still come from a supernatural source: the Messiah. Many Jews in the Diaspora who do pronounce the blessing, and who dutifully recite “Next year in Jerusalem” at their Seder tables, seem to reflect in their choice of domicile another sort of faith, that of Philo: Jerusalem is the mother, but the land of dispersion is the father, and God will protect His people everywhere.

132 Bundgård J. A. (1965) Why did the Art of Writing Spread to the West? Reflections on the Alphabet of Marsiliana, Analecta Romana Instituti Danici 3, 11–72. Cohen, A. (1945) The Psalms, London: Soncino. Erwin R. Goodenough, E. R. (1938) The Politics of Philo Judaeus: Practice and Theory, New Haven: Yale University Press. Kirkpatrick, A. F. (ed.) (1902) The Psalms, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Levenson, J. D. (1997) Esther: A Commentary, The Old Testament Library, Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press. Russell, J. R. (1987) An Irano-Judaic Correspondence, Journal of the K. R. Cama Oriental Institute 54, Bombay (Mumbai), 81–84. Russell, J. R. (1990) Zoroastrian Elements in the Book of Esther, in S. Shaked, A. Netzer (eds), Irano-Judaica II, Jerusalem: Makhon Ben-Zvi, 33–40. Russell, J. R. (1992) Sleep and Dreaming in Armenian, in J. A. C. Greppin (ed.), Proceedings of the Fourth International Conference on Armenian Linguistics, Delmar, NY: Caravan Books, 147–169. Russell, J. R. (1995–1996) The Last of the Paulicians, Hask hayagitakan taregirk, 7–8, Antelias, Lebanon, 33–47. Russell, J. R. (2001) God is Good: Tobit and Iran, Iran and the Caucasus 5, Tehran, 1–6. Russell, J. R. (2001–2002) The Epic of the Pearl,” Revue des Etudes Arméni- ennes 28, 29–100. Russell, J. R. (2002–2003) Epic in the Armeno-Iranian Marchlands: The Metamor- phoses of a Genre, Journal of Armenian Studies 7. 1, Belmont, MA, Fall-Winter, 3–17. Russell, J. R. (2003) The Praise of Porridge, Le Muséon 116. 1–2, 137–179. Russell, J. R. (2004) Armenian and Iranian Studies, Armenian Heritage Press and Harvard Armenian Texts and Studies 9, Cambridge, MA. Russell, J. R. (2009) The Demon Weed, Bulletin of the Asia Institute 19, 131–134. Russell, J. R. (2012a) The Book of the Way (Girk‘ chanaparhi) of Yeghishe Charents: An Illuminated Apocalyptic Gospel for Soviet Armenia, Armenian Studies Program Occasional Paper Series, University of California, Berkeley, S. Astourian, (general ed.). Russell, J. R. (2012b) Magic Mountains, Milky Seas, Dragon Slayers, and Other Zoroastrian Archetypes, Bulletin of the Asia Institute, N. S. 22, 57–80. Russell, J. R. (2013) Hārūt and Mārūt: The Armenian Zoroastrian Demonic Twins in the Qur’ān Who Invented Fiction,” С. Tохтасьев, P. Лурье (ред.), Commentationes Iranicae: Сборник статей к 90-летию В. А. Лившица, СПб.: Институт восточных рукописей РАН; Нестор-История, 469–480. Russell, J. R. (2014–2015) An Armenian Spirit of Time and Place: the Švot, Revue des Etudes Arméniennes 36, 13–59. Russell, J. R. (2017) From Parthia to Robin Hood: The Armenian Version of the Epic of the Blind Man’s Son (Köroghlu), in L. Di Tommaso, M. Henze,

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 133 W. Adler (eds), The Embroidered Bible: Studies in Biblical Apocrypha and Pseude- pigrapha in Honour of M. E. Stone Studia in Veteris Testamenti Pseudepigrapha, Leiden: E. J. Brill. Sperling, S. D. (2011) A Study of Psalm 2, Ugarit Forschungen 43, 435–445. van der Horst, P. W. (2003) Philo’s Flaccus: The First Pogrom, Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature. Игорь Иванович Евлампиев Санкт-Петербургский государственный университет, [email protected] О ВОЗМОЖНОМ ВЛИЯНИИ ЕВРЕЙСКИХ РЕЛИГИОЗНЫХ ПРЕДСТАВЛЕНИЙ НА ФИЛОСОФИЮ АНРИ БЕРГСОНА1

Резюме: Происхождение Анри Бергсона (по отцу) из польских хасидов по- зволяет предположить влияние воспринятого в детстве религиозного мировоз- зрения на его зрелое творчество. Идея единства мира и человека с Абсолютом в метафизике Бергсона напоминает концепцию Эйн-соф в каббале. Материаль- ный мир Бергсон описывает как результат трансформации абсолютного бытия (Бога), обладающего качествами слитности, непрерывности и развития, к со- стоянию, в котором бытие становится ограниченным, статичным и разделен- ным, причем указанная трансформация определена появлением формы пустого пространства. Это представление очень похоже на каббалистическую концеп- цию цимцум, согласно которой Бог (Эйн-соф) «удаляет» Себя из определенной сферы, в которой появляется пустое пространство как место существования материального мира. Поздняя этика Бергсона, изложенная в книге «Два источ- ника морали и религии» в двух центральных пунктах подобна этике хасидиз- ма: Бергсон утверждает, что единство с Богом наиболее адекватно выражается в целостной эмоции, а не в разуме или интуиции; он признает особое влияние на историю человечества пророков-мистиков, наиболее полно соединившихся с Богом и ставших орудием Его действия в мире. Ключевые слова: Анри Бергсон, хасидизм, каббала, концепция цимцум, мистицизм, пантеизм.

Igor I. Evlampiev St. Petersburg State University, [email protected]

ON THE POSSIBLE IMPACT OF JEWISH RELIGIOUS IDEAS ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF HENRI BERGSON

Abstract: The origin of Henri Bergson (from his father) from Polish Hasidim gives the possibility to suggest the influence of the religious worldview perceived in childhood on his mature creativity. The idea of the unity of the world and man

1 Исследование выполнено за счет гранта Российского научного фонда (проект № 17-18-01168, Санкт-Петербургский государственный университет). The research was carried out thanks to funding of Russian Science Foundation (project No. 17-18-01168, St. Petersburg State University).

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 135 with the Absolute in the metaphysics of Bergson resembles the concept of Ein Sof in Kabbalah. Bergson describes the material world as the result of the transformation of absolute being (God), possessing the qualities of continuity, merging and evolution, to a state in which being becomes limited, static and divided, and this transformation is determined by the appearance of a form of empty space. This representation is very similar to the kabbalistic concept of Tzimtzum, according to which God (Ein Sof) “removes” Himself from a certain sphere, in which empty space appears as the place of existence of the material world. The late ethics of Bergson, set forth in the book Two Sources of Morality and Religion, in two central points is similar to the ethic of Hasidism: Bergson affirms that unity with God is most adequately expressed in a holistic emotion, and not in reason or intuition; he recognizes the special importance in the history of mankind of mystic prophets, most fully united with God and become the instrument of His action in the world. Keywords: Henri Bergson, Hasidism, Kabbalah, Tzimtzum concept, mysticism, pantheism.

Анри Бергсон родился в 1859 г. в Париже в еврейской семье; его отец Михаэль Бергсон происходил из польских евреев-хасидов, мать, урожден- ная Кэтрин Левинсон, родилась в семье врача и долгое время жила в Дон- кастере (Англия). В 1868 г. Анри начал обучение в одной из известнейших школ Парижа — в Лицее Кондорсе; в 1870 г. семья Бергсонов переехала в Лондон, и Анри остался в Париже один, с родными он виделся только на каникулах. В 1878 г. Бергсон закончил Лицей Кондорсе и поступил на отделение гуманитарных наук Высшего педагогического института в Париже. Биографические данные не дают оснований предположить, что Берг- сон испытал сколько-нибудь явное влияние иудейской религиозности; к моменту завершения своего образования в Высшем педагогическом институте он был увлечен проблемами научного познания, по своему ми- ровоззрению был близок к позитивизму и достаточно равнодушен к рели- гиозным вопросам. Это равнодушие совершенно очевидно в его первом известном труде «Опыт о непосредственных данных сознания» (1887). Однако начиная с работы «Материя и память. Очерк взаимосвязи тела и духа» (1896) религиозное измерение философии Бергсона становится все заметнее, а последний большой труд «Два источника морали и рели- гии» (1932) он целиком посвящает изложению своего понимания религии и ее роли в истории человечества. По своим истокам философия Бергсона стала непосредственным раз- витием новейших тенденций европейской неклассической философии, наиболее ярко представленных в наследии А. Шопенгауэра и Ф. Ницше; при этом никто из исследователей не задается вопросом о возможных связях мысли Бергсона с традициями иудейской религиозности и еврей- ской религиозной философии. Но внимательный анализ указывает на то,

136 что такие связи все-таки имеются: как мы попытается показать, общая метафизическая схема философии Бергсона в некоторых своих слагаемых близка к представлениям о творении мира в каббалистической традиции, а поздняя этика Бергсона очень напоминает религиозную этику хасидизма. Несмотря на свой очевидный «неклассический» характер филосо- фия Бергсона имеет глубокие основания в классической европейской философии, является поздним оригинальным вариантом мистического пантеизма, той традиции, которая восходит к древнему гностическому христианству и проходит ярким пунктиром через всю новую историю — от Николая Кузанского и Дж. Бруно до Фихте, Шеллинга и Шопенгауэра2 . Главной чертой мистического пантеизма является полагание всеприсут- ствия Божества, признание того, что все существующее существует в Боге и благодаря Богу. Близость философии Бергсона к пантеизму не вызывает никаких сомнений: он не только утверждал непосредственное единство всего сущего с Богом («абсолютным», в его терминологии), но вполне допускал возможность познания Бога: «Мы пребываем, мы движемся, мы живем в абсолютном. Наше знание об абсолютном, конечно, и тогда не полно, но оно не является внешним или относительным. Благодаря совместному и последовательному развитию науки и философии мы по- стигаем само бытие в его глубинах»3. В работе «Введение в метафизику» (1903) Бергсон пытается наметить контуры новой, неклассической мета- физики, которая будет способна описать Абсолют, понимаемый совершен- но иначе, чем в классической метафизике, — как длящийся, обладающий внутренней динамикой становления, как живой. «Если существует сред- ство владеть реальностью абсолютно, вместо того чтобы познавать ее от- носительно, помещаться в нее, вместо того чтобы усваивать точки зрения на нее, иметь о ней интуицию, вместо того чтобы делать ее анализ, словом, схватывать ее помимо всякого выражения, перевода или символического представления, то это и будет метафизика. Таким образом, метафизика есть наука, имеющая притязание обходиться без символов»4. Основанием для познания Абсолюта является непосредственная бытийная связь чело- века с ним, с помощью особой интуиции человек может непосредственно схватить свое тождество с Абсолютом — как живым и длящимся: «Абсо- лютное открывается совсем вблизи нас и, в известной мере, внутри нас. Сущность его психологическая, а не математическая или логическая. Оно живет с нами. Как и мы, оно длится, хотя известными своими сторонами оно бесконечно более сконцентрировано и более сосредоточено на самом себе, чем мы»5. Именно на основе указанной интуиции новая метафизика должна развить свои понятия, которые совершенно непохожи на поня-

2 Подробнее об этом см.: Евлампиев 2017. 3 Бергсон 1998: 205. 4 Бергсон 1999: 1176. 5 Бергсон 1998: 287–288.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 137 тия классической метафизики: «Конечно, понятия для нее необходимы, ибо все другие науки работают обыкновенно над понятиями, а метафи- зика не может обойтись без других наук. Но самой собой в собственном смысле слова она является только тогда, когда она переходит за понятие или, по крайней мере, когда она освобождается от понятий неподатливых, вполне законченных, чтобы создавать понятия иные, совершенно не по- хожие на те, какими мы обычно пользуемся, — я хочу сказать, создавать представления гибкие, подвижные, почти текучие, всегда готовые принять ускользающие формы интуиции»6 . Такое пантеистическое понимание отношений Бога, Абсолюта, с ми- ром и человеком вполне соотносимо с концепцией Эйн-соф в каббалисти- ческой философии; она выражает полноту Бога, который пронизывает все, не оставляя никакого «места» для существования чего-либо, что не есть Бог. Эта концепция порождает вопрос о том, как возможно существование тварного, земного, материального мира, который в своем несовершенстве не тождествен Богу — ведь в своей абсолютности Бог не может допустить никакого независимого от него существования. Ответ на этот вопрос дает концепция цимцум, которую можно считать одним из наиболее своеоб- разных идейных слагаемых каббалы, она не встречается в других рели- гиозных учениях7, в отличие, например, от исходной концепции Эйн-соф, которая не в меньшей степени характерна для христианского гностицизма (возможно, именно оттуда она и была заимствована творцами каббали- стического учения). К концепции цимцум предполагается, что в особом акте Бог «сжимает» себя в самом себе, «входит» в самого себя, чтобы оставить «вне» себя некое «пустое пространство», в котором оказывает- ся возможным возникновение и существование мира, не совпадающего с Богом, — существование того, что не есть Эйн-соф8 . Концепция цимцум иногда понималась символически, не как описание реального процесса в Боге, а как выражение ограниченности человеческо- го разума, не способного постичь Бога и акт Творения. Однако при соотне- сении с философией Бергсона мы должны иметь в виду те интерпретации, которые понимают акт цимцум буквально, как реальный процесс, при- водящий к изменению божественного существования. В этом контексте особенно важна интерпретация, содержащаяся в сочинении Хаима Ви- таля (1542–1620) (ученика Ицхака Лурии) «Эц Хаим» («Древо жизни»), ставшая в дальнейшем особенно популярной, в том числе в хасидизме. Согласно этой интерпретации, Бог, существуя исходно в абсолютной полноте Эйн-соф, затем в одной точке сосредоточивается и удаляет себя за пределы этой точки и ее окружения, в результате, возникает место, где

6 Бергсон 1999: 1183. 7 См.: Бурмистров 2009: 4. 8 Бурмистров 2009: 5–8.

138 Бог отсутствует, в этой сфере остается нечто подобное «пустому про- странству». Вот как это выражено в сочинении Виталя: «Эйн-соф сосредо- точил (цимцем) Себя в центральной точке, в самом центре света Своего... Он сосредоточил свет этот и удалил его во все стороны от центральной точки, и тогда от этой вот центральной точки осталось пустое простран- ство, пустота, полный вакуум. Удаление это (цимцум) было равномерным вокруг этой центральной, пустой точки, так что пустое место это было кругом, совершенно равным во все стороны, ... потому что и сам Эйн-соф сжал себя в форме круга равномерно во все стороны... И вот после этого сжатия... осталось пустое место и совершенно пустое пространство прямо в середине света Эйн-соф; уже было место, в котором могли существовать вещи эманированные (hа-нээцалим), сотворенные (hа-нивраим), образо- ванные (hа-йецарим) и сделанные (ве-наасим)»9 . Получается, что материальный мир, в котором мы существуем, появ- ляется как следствие акта «умаления» божественного бытия, «разложе- ния» его полноты, и самым первым и прямым результатом этого процесса является возникновение пустого пространства, как места для существова- ния материальных вещей. Изложенная таким образом концепция цимцум буквально совпадает с центральным элементом метафизики Бергсона, представленной в книге «Материя и память». Самой известной идеей Бергсона является противопоставление двух форм бытия: бытия внутреннего, которое человек находит в глубине своей личности и которое есть бытие полное и абсолютное, обладающее не- разрывной слитностью и динамическим становлением (длительностью), и бытия внешнего, обладающего формой пространства, которая означает разделенность и противопоставленность элементов бытия, их относи- тельность, конечность и неполноту. В книге «Опыт о непосредственных данных сознания» Бергсон резко противопоставляет эти два измерения нашего существования и два измерения бытия как такового, но не объяс- няет с достаточной ясностью, как они связаны между собой и как проис- ходит трансформация полного, внутреннего бытия в бытие внешнее — пространственное и ограниченное. Единственное содержащееся здесь описание соотношения этих двух форм бытия ставит акцент на процессе социального общения людей, которое должно быть однозначным и поэто- му предполагает разложение полноты и целостности внутреннего содер- жания человеческой личности на ограниченные и статичные элементы. «Рассматриваемые сами по себе, — утверждает Бергсон, — глубинные состояния сознания <элементы внутреннего бытия> не имеют ничего общего с количеством; они являются чистым качеством. Они настоль- ко сливаются между собой, что нельзя сказать, составляют ли они одно или многие состояния. Их нельзя даже исследовать с этой точки зрения,

9 Бурмистров 2009: 8 (пер. К. Ю. Бурмистрова).

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 139 тотчас не искажая их. Длительность, порождаемая ими, есть длитель- ность, моменты которой не образуют числовой множественности; оха- рактеризовать эти моменты, сказав, что они охватывают друг друга, — значит уже их различить. <...> Но чем полнее осуществляются условия социальной жизни, тем сильнее становится поток, выносящий изнутри наружу наши переживания, которые тем самым мало-помалу превраща- ются в вещи; они отделяются не только друг от друга, но и от нас самих. Мы воспринимаем тогда их исключительно в однородной среде, где от- ливаем их в застывшие образы, и сквозь призму слова, придающего им привычную окраску. Так образуется второе “я”, покрывающее первое “я”, существование которого слагается из раздельных моментов, а состояния отрываются друг от друга и без труда выражаются в словах»10 . В книге «Материя и память» вопрос о том, каким образом из связного и длящегося (т. е. абсолютного) бытия возникает пространственный мате- риальный мир, становится одним из наиболее важных. Как и в предыду- щей книге эта трансформация абсолютного бытия в бытие пространствен- ное, относительное связывается с деятельностью человека, но теперь самым главным в этом процессе оказывается чувственное восприятие. Именно оно есть тот акт, в котором осуществляется «умаление» полноты абсолютного (духовного) бытия до материального бытия, подчиненного пространству. Вот как Бергсон описывает этот процесс в своей книге: «В более общем виде можно сказать, что в той непрерывности становле- ния, которая есть сама реальность, настоящий момент конституируется посредством почти мгновенного среза, который наше восприятие делает в протекающей массе, и это срез, собственно, и есть то, что мы называ- ем материальным миром. Наше тело занимает в нем центральное ме- сто, именно тело мы непосредственно воспринимаем как протекающее, и в его актуальном состоянии сосредоточена актуальность нашего настоя- щего. Материя как нечто протяженное в пространстве должна, по наше- му мнению, определяться как непрерывно начинающееся заново настоя- щее, наше же настоящее, напротив, и есть сама материальность нашего существования, т. е. совокупность ощущений и движений — и ничего сверх этого»11 . Такое понимание соотношения абсолютного бытия и материального мира может показаться близким к субъективному идеализму — ведь мате- риальный мир, «мир представления», в терминологии И. Канта, оказыва- ется результатом нашего субъективного восприятия абсолютной реально- сти. Однако философия Бергсона ничего общего не имеет с традиционным субъективным идеализмом, ведь Бергсон утверждает, что указанный акт «редукции» абсолютного бытия к пространственному бытию материаль-

10 Бергсон 1992a: 109. 11 Бергсон 1992b: 247.

140 ного мира протекает в самом абсолютном бытии, т. е. его источником является именно это бытие (как и в концепции цимцум). Тот факт, что этот акт осуществляется в форме человеческого восприятия, вовсе не дела- ет его субъективным, ведь в философии Бергсона сам человек и его со- знание — это объективные «слагаемые» абсолютного бытия. Человек является выражением динамической «силы» бытия, которая, действуя в абсолютном бытии, преобразует его самого в форму материального, пространственного мира. В этом смысле главные характеристики нашего мира, пространство и время, в той их математизированной форме, которую использует наука — это не столько объективные реальности, сколько «ору- дия» трансформации абсолютного бытия в форму материального мира: «... однородное пространство и однородное время — это и не свойства вещей, ни существенные условия нашей способности их познавать: они выражают, в абстрактной форме, двойную операцию уплотнения и деле- ния, которой мы подвергаем подвижную непрерывность реального, чтобы обеспечить себе в ней точки опоры, наметить центры действия, наконец, ввести в нее настоящие изменения; это — схемы нашего действия на ма- терию»12 . Акцент именно на человеке, на его восприятии и деятельности, как на факторах, которые осуществляют «редукцию» абсолютного бытия в форму материального мира в философии Бергсона, вовсе не означает, что его взгляды расходятся с каббалистическим учением, ведь в XVIII– XIX вв., в хасидизме, это учение было трансформировано в таком же смысле — в смысле особого акцента на интимное единство Бога и че- ловека и на понимание человека как «орудия» божественного действия в мире. Наоборот, в этом можно видеть еще очевидный пункт близости взглядов Бергсона к религиозной концепции хасидизма. Однако еще бо- лее очевидные параллели с хасидскими представлениями демонстрирует этика Бергсона, изложенная в книге «Два источника морали и религии». Двумя главными характерными чертами хасидизма являются: осо- бое внимание к эмоциональному переживанию единства человека с Бо- гом и признание особой роли праведников, цадиков, которые, находясь в единстве с Богом, выступают мистическими посредниками между Ним и остальными верующими, обеспечивают им покровительство Бога. Очень похожие черты составляют особенность этики Бергсона. Как мы видели выше, стремясь выработать проект новой метафизики, способной выразить интуитивное постижение становящегося, длящегося Абсолюта, Бергсон настаивал на необходимости отказаться от традици- онных понятий рационального познания и разработать новые — гибкие и подвижные — понятия, способные быть в согласии с интуицией. В сво- ей последней большой книге он идет еще дальше и признает главной фор-

12 Бергсон 1992b: 293.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 141 мой постижения Абсолюта не разум и рациональное познание, а эмоцию, понятую как целостное настроение, как мироощущение, требующее после своего принятия иного, чем раньше, поведения и образа жизни. Эмоция такого рода, конечно, ничего общего не имеет с обычным психо- логическим типом эмоции как чистого аффекта. Отображая целостность и всеохватность Абсолюта, такая эмоция сама целостна и всеохватна, она пронизывает всю жизнь личности и изменяет ее всю целиком. «Красота теории для меня малосущественна, — пишет Бергсон, — я всегда смогу сказать, что не принимаю ее и, даже если я ее принимаю, буду стремиться сохранять свободу вести себя по-своему. Но если присутствует эмоцио- нальная атмосфера, если я вдохнул ее, если эмоция пронизывает меня, то, возбужденный ею, я буду действовать сообразно с ней. Не по прину- ждению или по необходимости, а благодаря склонности, которой я не хо- тел бы противиться»13. Эмоции такого типа приобретают характер абсо- лютного истока всего ценного, значимого в человеческой жизни, даже самого рационального познания: «Существуют эмоции, порождающие мысль; и изобретение, хотя оно и принадлежит к явлениям интеллектуаль- ного порядка, может иметь своей субстанцией сферу чувств. Дело в том, что следует договориться относительно значения слов “эмоция”, “чув- ство”, “чувственность”. Эмоция — это аффективное потрясение души, но одно дело — возбуждение поверхности, другое — возмущение глубин. В первом случае результат рассеивается, во втором он остается нераздель- ным. В одном — это колебание частей без сдвига целого; в другом — це- лое продвигается вперед»14 . Однако способность переживать эмоцию, которая может двигать впе- ред «целое», т. е. и отдельного человека, и все человечество, является делом немногих избранных. Если человек сумел прийти в такое соеди- нение с Богом, он становятся проводником непрерывного динамического воздействия Бога на мир, его душа буквально становится инструментом Бога: «Она удаляет из своей сущности все, что недостаточно чисто, проч- но и гибко, чтобы Бог ее использовал. Она уже чувствовала присутствие Бога, она уже видела его в символических видениях, она уже даже со- единялась с ним в экстазе; но все это было кратковременным, потому что было лишь созерцанием: деятельность возвращала душу к самой себе и отвращала ее таким образом от Бога. Теперь сам Бог действует через нее и в ней: единение является полным и, следовательно, окончатель- ным»15. Целью великих пророков-мистиков, осуществляющих действие Бога, Бергсон видит в том, «чтобы радикально преобразовать человече- ство, начав с собственного примера. Цель может быть достигнута только

13 Бергсон 1994: 49. 14 Бергсон 1994: 44–45. 15 Бергсон 1994: 249–250.

142 в том случае, если в конце существует то, что теоретически должно было существовать вначале: божественное человечество»16 . Согласно Бергсону, в истории наиболее полное выражение это устрем- ление получило в деятельности христианских мистиков и святых, именно они были теми, кто реально определял развитие человечества, его дви- жение ко все большей свободе и полноте отношений с бытием. В этом контексте Бергсон прямо ставит вопрос о роли еврейских пророков и, при- знавая их огромное значение в истории, все-таки ставит их ниже христи- анских пророков-мистиков: «... мы не решаемся отнести еврейских про- роков к мистикам древности: Яхве был слишком строгим судьей, между Израилем и его Богом не было достаточно близости для того, чтобы иуда- изм был мистицизмом в том виде, как мы его определяем. И тем не менее ни одно течение мысли или чувства не способствовало в такой степени, как еврейский профетизм, созданию мистицизма, который мы называем полным, того, который был присущ христианским мистикам. Причина этого в том, что, если другие течения и вели некоторые души к созер- цательному мистицизму и тем самым заслужили того, чтобы считаться мистическими, они завершались чистым созерцанием. Чтобы преодолеть расстояние, разделявшее мысль и действие, необходим был порыв, ко- торого недоставало. Мы находим этот порыв у пророков: они страстно стремились к справедливости, они требовали ее именем Бога Израиля; и христианство, которое явилось продолжением иудаизма, в значитель- ной мере обязано еврейским пророкам тем, что обладает мистицизмом действующим, способным идти на завоевание мира»17 . Как мы видим, Бергсон, говоря о «еврейских пророках», имеет здесь в виду ортодоксальный иудаизм, его главным недостатком он полагает отсутствие непосредственного единства человека и Бога. В его понима- нии подлинный мистицизм как высшая форма религиозного сознания означает полное слияние человека с Богом, о чем он писал еще в работах «Материя и память» и «Творческая эволюция». Однако если обратиться к поздним формам иудейской религиозности — каббале и хасидизму — можно уверенно сказать, что они вполне соответствуют бергсоновскому пониманию подлинного мистицизма и, значит, могут рассматриваться как часть системы плодотворных религиозных учений, ведущих челове- чество к совершенству. Отмеченные совпадения отдельных элементов метафизической и эти- ческой системы Бергсона с некоторыми характерными представлениями каббалы и хасидизма можно было бы признать случайными, обуслов- ленными общей атмосферой философских исканий рубежа XIX–ХХ вв., для которой было характерно обращение к самым разным религиозным

16 Бергсон 1994: 258. 17 Бергсон 1994: 259.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 143 источникам. Но, учитывая происхождение Бергсона из польских хасидов, более естественным представляется гипотеза о том, что в ранней юности он все-таки испытал воздействие религиозных представлений, харак- терных для его среды, и это сказалось в его творчестве. Подкрепить это предположение можно на основе одной из очень характерных идей самого Бергсона. Важнейшим слагаемым его представлений о человеке является признание абсолютного значения памяти для существования личности: память сохраняет все, что было в жизни человека, и все пережитое им продолжает действовать на него, даже если он забыл многое из пережи- того и не замечает его действия. Бергсон, как и каждый из нас, мог не помнить ясно тех важных впечат- лений и эмоций, которые получил в раннем детстве, но они продолжали жить в нем и в зрелом возрасте проявились, повлияв на складывание самых оригинальных идей его философии. Можно предположить, что это стало одним из факторов, сделавших его выдающимся мыслителем, ведь пер- востепенное значение философии Бергсона для европейской философии ХХ в. заключается в том, что в ней органично соединились представления, почерпнутые (явно или неявно) из самых разных научных, философских и религиозных источников — в том числе, возможно, и из оригинальных учений еврейской религиозности.

БИБЛИОГРАФИЯ

Бергсон 1992а: Бергсон А. Опыт о непосредственных данных сознания // Бергсон А. Собр. соч. В 4 т. М.: Московский клуб, 1992. Т. 1. С. 50–155. Бергсон 1992b: Бергсон А. Материя и память // Бергсон А. Собр. соч. В 4 т. М.: Московский клуб, 1992. Т. 1. С. 160–316. Бергсон 1994: Бергсон А. Два источника морали и религии. М.: Канон, 1994. Бергсон 1998: Бергсон А. Творческая эволюция. М.: Канон-пресс, 1998. Бергсон 1999: Бергсон А. Введение в метафизику // Бергсон А. Творческая эволюция. Материя и память. Минск: Харвест, 1999. С. 1172–1222. Бурмистров 2009: Бурмистров К. Ю. «Он сжал Себя в Самом Себе»: каб- балистическое учение о «самоудалении» Бога (цимцум) и его интерпретации в европейской культуре // История философии. 2009. № 14. С. 3–44. Евлампиев 2017: Евлампиев И. И. Евангелие Истины и рождение христи- анской философии // История философии. 2017. № 1. С. 15–26.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Bergson, A. (1992a) Opyt o neposredstvennykh dannykh soznaniia [Experience about direct data of consciousness], in: Bergson, A. Sobraniye sochinenii v 4 tomakh, Moscow: Moskovskii klub, 1, 50–155.

144 Bergson, A. (1992b) Materiia i pamiat’ [Matter and memory], in: Berg- son, A. Sobraniye sochinenii v 4 tomakh, Moscow: Moskovskii klub, 1, 160–316. Bergson, A. (1994) Dva istochnika morali i religii [Two sources of morality and religion], Moscow: Kanon. Bergson, A. (1998) Tvorcheskaia evoliutsiia [Creative evolution], Moscow: Kanon-press. Bergson, A. (1999) Vvedenie v metafiziku [Introduction to metaphysics], in: Bergson, A. Tvorcheskaia evoliutsiia. Materiia i pamiat’, Minsk: Kharvest, 1172–1222. Burmistrov, K. Iu. (2009) “On szhal Sebia v Samom Sebe”: kabbalisticheskoe uchenie o “samoudalenii” Boga (tsimtsum) i ego interpretatsii v evropeiskoi kul’ture [“He squeezed Himself in Himsel”: the Kabbalistic doctrine of the “self-elimination” of God (Tzimtzum) and its interpretations in European culture], Istoriia filosofii, 14, 3–44. Evlampiev, I. I. (2017) Evangelie Istiny i rozhdenie khristianskoi filosofii [The Gospel of Truth and the Birth of Christian Philosophy], Istoriia filosofii, 1, 15–26. Aleksandr A. Sinitsyn Saint Petersburg State University; The Russian Christian Academy for the Humanities [email protected]

Vladimir A. Egorov The Russian Christian Academy for the Humanities, [email protected]

МIKHAIL KALIK — ARTIST AND THINKER (IN MEMORIAM)

Abstract: This essay is dedicated to the memory of the Soviet-Israeli film director Mikhail Kalik (27.01.1927–31.03.2017). Keywords: Mikhail Kalik, artist, thinker, the Soviet cinematograph, the “Sixtiers”, poetic and philosophic language of cinema.

Александр Александрович Синицын Санкт-Петербургский государственный университет; Русская христианская гуманитарная академия, [email protected]

Владимир Александрович Егоров Русская христианская гуманитарная академия, [email protected]

МИХАИЛ КАЛИК — ХУДОЖНИК И МЫСЛИТЕЛЬ (IN MEMORIAM)

Резюме: Этот очерк посвящается памяти советско-израильского киноре- жиссера Михаила Наумовича Калика (27.01.1927–31.03.2017). Ключевые слова: Михаил Калик, художник, мыслитель, советский кинема- тограф, «шестидесятники», поэтический и философский язык кино.

146 Film director Mikhail Kalik

Last spring Mikhail Naumovich Kalik — artist, thinker, film director, icon of the Soviet cinematograph — died. Another legend, a Master who contributed to auteur cinematography with art films distinctly marked by his personality, is gone. M. N. Kalik born on 27th January 1927 in the north of the Soviet Union, in Arkhangelsk, died in Jerusalem, Israel, on 31st March 2017: two points — the beginning and the end of his life journey. His life was long, complex, interesting, tricky, creative, colourful, motley — variegated. His life journey consists of two parts. The first part relates to the Soviet Union, where he was born, received his educated and got married, where he served terms in the forced-la- bour camps, composed, made films; where his parents were buried and his children were born. The second half of his life was spent in Israel, where his grandchildren were born, where he found his second, long-wished-for, home and could rest in peace.

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 147 In the Soviet Union, during the eleven creative years from 1958 to 1969, M. N. Kalik made seven films, three of which may well be called cine- matographic masterpieces. His early works are well-wrought films in the style of the Soviet fictional films of the 1950s-1960s. The first picture, “The Cossack Leader Kodr” (“Ataman Kodr”) (1958, together with B. Rytsarev and O. Ulits- kaya), is a ballad telling about the 19th century Moldavian rebels who stood up against the tyranny of their hateful lords. The second, “Youth of Our Fathers” (1958, together with B. Rytsarev) was an adaptation of Aleksandr A. Fadeev’s novel “The Rout”; this graduation work at the State Institute of Cinematog- raphy tells about the Red partisans in the Far East, about “ordinary folks” in the Civil war, who struggled for the young Republic of Soviets. In 1959, there came “A Lullaby”, a poignant film about the Great Patriotic War, telling about the life of a girl who lost her parents, the years spent in an orphanage and then in a family of a miser; about her father, who, 17 years later, set out to find her, searching far and wide — in towns and villages, and the Soviet Union’s youth construction sites. These films by M. N. Kalik have a streak of humanistic, emotional spirit of struggle and search, which is in concordance with the general line of the Soviet art. Soviet boys and girls grew up under the influence of his “Ataman” and “Youth”. For the authors of this essay about this film director, it also means our fathers’ youth. In 1960, already at the age of Christ, as an accomplished artist, a man with hard experience behind him, M. N. Kalik reconsiders his attitude to film-

Man Follows the Sun (1961), still from the film

148 Good-bye, Boys! (1964), still from the film art. It must have been due to the legacy of the Thaw in the USSR. In the 60s, Mikhail Kalik produces works of a different nature, which determine a new vision of the world and man. The first work was “Man Follows the Sun” re- leased in 1961. Then came “Good-bye, Boys!” (1964) and “To Love” (1968). They were in the spirit of the Sixtiers (the definition referring to the subculture of the Soviet intelligentsia emerging during the Thaw). They became the prin- cipal, iconic works in the film director’s heritage and represented a trend, one may say, a “new wave”, in the Soviet film art. Owing to these three films, we can speak of the Kalik cinematography. In his pictures of the “Sixtiers”, M. N. Kalik is apolitical, but that does not mean that his voice is not resonant there and that his political stance is not declared. The artist’s new world-view comes through a child’s vision: the film “Man Follows the Sun” shows a bright and vivid world, multi-coloured and multi-faceted in its manifestations and ways of experiencing it. The true and genuine essence of this world is this day with its joys and sorrows, births and funerals, encounters and partings, aspirations and the unspoken that can be prompted by the ‘brush-strokes’ skillfully put in various episodes of the “Man”. These minute and graphic details of the dimensionality of the world reveal the power of the poetic film language of M. N. Kalik. The film “Good-bye, Boys!” (adapted from B. Balter’s story) — the Russian version of “Three Friends” — tells about several days from the lives of three

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 149 friends, members of Komsomol. They lived in a southern coastal town, went to school, fell in love, walked along the streets and the seafront; the Komsomol Organization sends them to a military college, and the boys leave the town and everything that is familiar to serve their country. The finale of the “Boys” resembles Fellini’s “The Bullocks” (1953), where one of the characters also takes a train to leave his town. But Kalik made this farewell to youth sound even more vibrant. In Fellini’s film a young man from the neighbourhood, a virtual stranger, comes to see the hero off at the train station. In Kalik’s film it is the elderly mother of one of them, who hurries after the receding carriage; and the last scene shows Volodya’s girlfriend, Inka, who runs flat out along the beach, screaming in anguish, “Good-bye, Boys!” And the tragic and heart-piercing music of Mikael Tariverdiev… This is so very Russian, Kalik-like. Because the audience know what will become of young heroes. The film “To Love” made by M. N. Kalik at the age of acme is a documentary drama, a set of novellas coupled by a sociological survey and interviews (a Russian Orthodox priest, Alexander Men’s monologues as a “stasimon” in drama). Resorting to the genre of documentary drama, M. N. Kalik had managed to double time, to combine the incompatible, to double the lives of his characters by making them both fictional and documentary, by transporting them in another ontological dimension and elevating them to “the heroes of our time”. And now, half a century later, “To Love” remains a controversial work, hence, topical, vibrant and prominent. M. N. Kalik is amazingly lyrical in his works, and Nature, which is an inalienable part of the plot, is an important element of his poetic style — from his first “Kodr” to his last “The Wind”. Here we find the play of the Sun (his works are abundant in sunshine; and in the “Man”, the Sun is one of the main heroes; and the rain, and the blizzard (in the second, the Leningrad, novella “To Love”, the blizzard is even personified — a dancing young girl wearing a white short dress), the sea (Yevpatoria’s views in “To Love” from the beginning up to the end of the film), the river, the forest, hay, pastoral sights, the simplicity of a Romanian village, and so on and so forth. The engagement of Nature in its various ways enhances the poignancy of his works — Nature cannot be judged, morally appreciated; Nature always brings something of importance into the understanding of time, heroes and special instances in their lives, which everyone is bound to live through to transgress his borders. These disruptions in the narration do not become something secondary; everything works for the integrity of the film making it an art per se, when the whole is more than the sum of its parts. In his films, M. N. Kalik managed to translate the motifs of anguish — Rus- sian? Soviet? Jewish? Universal? — for the absent, the would-be. It is not something concealed, which should be found between the lines, but it is a feeling of being lost, of something uncompleted, unsaid, which is both sweet and sad. Hence, the wanderings of his heroes, the travels (or the dream of this) to near

150 To Love (1968), stills from the film and faraway places, where we are not, but of which we know that they exist, and they appeal to us. On a vast scale, M. N. Kalik creates short stories, each of which can become complete, have its destination and be a separate short unit of measure. These minor plots, when added up, make up a big story, which distinguishes a high art from a simply sound one where a long story is the history of a whole generation or an époque, and as often as not, of these things together, as it happens in “the Man” and “the Boys” and “To Love”. There was another film — “A Price” staged after A. Miller’s play. The mo- tif of reminiscences, likewise in other works by M. N. Kalik, plays an important role (Victor Franz recalling the scenes of childhood when looking at pictures of himself and his brother with their young parents). As well as in “The Boys”, “I remember…” — the caption at the beginning of the film, and Levinson’s memories in the “Youth”, and the author’s references to the past war in “The Lullaby”, and the last film “And the Wind Returneth…” is made up of memories of things long past — magnificent, tragic, heroic, various. “A Price” was produced in Leningrad in 1969 and it completes the Soviet period of the film director’s biography. In November 1971 the Kaliks left the USSR. The film director’s moving to the historical home of his ancestors was deliberate; his nomadic inner person had snatched him from the Soviet world. In Is-

Judaica Petropolitana № 7 (2017) 151 rael, M. N. Kalik was engaged in teaching at cinematograph- ic schools. He had made only one film there and regarded it as his “swan song” (that is what he himself thought of the film “Three and One” (1974)). Then followed silence a decade and a half long, until the Iron Curtain was re- moved and he got a chance to return to the Soviet Union. Mikhail Kalik with a camera, the USSR On 16th June 1989, M. N. Ka- lik came to Moscow, where he met his friends, visited the graves of his father and mother, where he could complete his director’s cut of his Sixtiers films, which had had a troubled rollout. His memories of the past, Soviet, life took shape in a new film “And the Wind Returneth…”, which was made in Russia during the last Soviet years, after 20 years of separation from his home-country. Surely, “The Wind…” is largely typical of the perestroika. It is a vision of the past sub specie of the Soviet-Jewish returnee after many years of new trials and tribulations. Considering the troubled lot that befell him and his works in the USSR, this was a not a no-offence-taken situation. But M. N. Ka- lik managed to speak about the past with good humour, in a very touching way, nostalgically. This autobiographic picture is not only about the life of the film director in the USSR, but also about his second life in Israel, where he did fail to produce anything comparable to “The Boys” and “To Love”. The wind does return — it is not fatuitous that the title of the film reflects this. Every big artist exists and creates outside time and state borders. M. N. Ka- lik is referred to as a Soviet-Israeli film director. This is not only a territorial marker defining one’s belonging to a state but also adherence to an ideology, rather, to the form of coexistence with various elements constituting this definition. M. N. Kalik is an artist, a Russian in language and culture, a Soviet in his education, a Zionist in his inner world-view and self-determination. In 2014, M. N. Kalik was interviewed by Irina Mak from the magazine “Lechaim” and there he voiced a powerful humanistic idea characterizing him as a man and an artist, to the effect that one should forgive people, for all men are unhappy and are haunted by the thought of death all their lives. In fact, all Mikhail Kalik’s pictures are about that, only this idea is translated into a different, poetic and philosophic language. The artist has said everything with his life and art.