Tertium Datur (Apeliotes. Studien zur Kulturgeschichte und Theologie) 9783631808740, 9783631819739, 9783631819746, 9783631819753, 3631808747

Table of contents :
Cover
Copyright information
Dedication
Contents
Introduction
Three Spheres. Three Epochs. Three Ways
Antiquity
Middle Ages
Modernity
Reduction
Three Ways
The First Way: Hegel
Two Attitudes of Thought
Hegel’s Attitude of Thought
The Three Spheres in Hegel’s Philosophy
The Divine
The Natural-Worldly
The Human
Hegel and Rosenzweig
The Second Way: Nietzsche
Nietzsche’s Irrationalism for Rosenzweig
Against Values and Hierarchies
Nietzsche and Hegel
The Three Spheres in Nietzsche’s Philosophy
The Divine
The Natural-Worldly
The Human
Nietzsche and Rosenzweig
The Third Way: Rosenzweig
Rosenzweig Versus Idealism I: Elements
Beyond the Human65
Beyond the Natural-Worldly
Beyond the Divine
Rosenzweig Versus Idealism II: Nothingness and Irrationality
Nothingness
Irrationality
Rosenzweig Versus Irrationalism
Trendelenburg
Kierkegaard
Nietzsche
Truth as Relation
Ex Negativo
Ex Positivo
Theory and Praxis
The Three Spheres in Rosenzweig’s ‘New Thinking’
The Divine
The Natural-Worldly
The Human
Between and Beyond Hegel and Nietzsche
The Three Paths in Rosenzweig’s ‘New Thinking’
Explicit References and Implicit Analogies
‘Quod sit’ and ‘Quid sit’ in Der Stern der Erlösung
Between God and World: The Path of Creation
The Creator: Divine Power
The Creature: Worldly Existence
Rosenzweig Versus Hegel: Creation Versus Production
Rosenzweig Versus Nietzsche: Creation Versus Eternal Return
A Keyword for Creation: ‘Relational Otherness’
Between God and Human Being: The Path of Revelation
The Revealer: Divine Love
The Recipient of Revelation: Human Humility
Revelation as Cornerstone of Reality
Rosenzweig Versus Hegel: Revelation Versus Dialectical Logic
Rosenzweig Versus Nietzsche: Revelation Versus Disconnection
A Keyword for Revelation: ‘Event’
Between Human Being and World: The Path of Redemption
The Agent of Redemption: Human Neighbor-Love
The Context of Redemption: Worldly Life
Redemption: Communality and Eternity
Rosenzweig Versus Hegel: Redemptive Praxis Versus Self-Reflection and Theory
Rosenzweig Versus Nietzsche: Redemptive Praxis Versus Gift-Giving Virtue
A Keyword for Redemption: ‘Oriented Praxis’
Beyond Philosophy: The ‘New Thinking’ as Jewish
Creation: Relational Otherness – Bereshit 1
Revelation: Event – Shir ha-Shirim
Redemption: Oriented Praxis – Psalm 115 and Tiqqun
Final Remarks
A Third Way between Idealism and Irrationalism
A Third Way between Philosophy and Jewish Thought
‘Otherness’ in Philosophy and in Jewish Thought
‘Event’ in Philosophy and in Jewish Thought
‘Praxis’ in Philosophy and in Jewish Thought
Conclusion
Bibliography

Citation preview

TERTIUM DATUR

APELIOTES STUDIEN ZUR KULTURGESCHICHTE UN D THEOLOGIE Herausgegeben von Rainer Kampling

BAND 15

Beniamino Fortis

TERTIUM DATUR A Reading of Rosenzweig’s ‘New Thinking’

Bibliographic Information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data is available in the internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. Sponsored by the Department of History and Cultural Studies of the Free University of Berlin.

Printed by CPI books GmbH, Leck

ISSN 1862-801X ISBN 978-3-631-80874-0 (Print) E-ISBN 978-3-631-81973-9 (E-Book) E-ISBN 978-3-631-81974-6 (EPUB) E-ISBN 978-3-631-81975-3 (MOBI) DOI 10.3726/b16852 © Peter Lang GmbH Internationaler Verlag der Wissenschaften Berlin 2019 All rights reserved. Peter Lang – Berlin · Bern · Bruxelles · New York · Oxford · Warszawa · Wien All parts of this publication are protected by copyright. Any utilisation outside the strict limits of the copyright law, without the permission of the publisher, is forbidden and liable to prosecution. This applies in particular to reproductions, translations, microfilming, and storage and processing in electronic retrieval systems. This publication has been peer reviewed. www.peterlang.com

I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to professor Rainer Kampling for his support during the making of this book.

Contents Introduction .........................................................................................................  11 Three Spheres. Three Epochs. Three Ways ..............................................  17 Antiquity  ...............................................................................................................  18 Middle Ages .........................................................................................................  19 Modernity  .............................................................................................................  20 Reduction  .............................................................................................................  22 Three Ways ...........................................................................................................  25

The First Way: Hegel .........................................................................................  29 Two Attitudes of Thought ..................................................................................  30 Hegel’s Attitude of Thought ................................................................................  33 The Three Spheres in Hegel’s Philosophy .........................................................  35 The Divine .......................................................................................................  36 The Natural-Worldly ......................................................................................  38 The Human ......................................................................................................  39 Hegel and Rosenzweig ........................................................................................  41

The Second Way: Nietzsche ...........................................................................  47 Nietzsche’s Irrationalism for Rosenzweig .........................................................  49 Against Values and Hierarchies .........................................................................  50 Nietzsche and Hegel ............................................................................................  54 The Three Spheres in Nietzsche’s Philosophy ..................................................  57 The Divine .......................................................................................................  58 The Natural-Worldly ......................................................................................  60 The Human ......................................................................................................  61

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Nietzsche and Rosenzweig .................................................................................  62

The Third Way: Rosenzweig ..........................................................................  69 Rosenzweig Versus Idealism I: Elements .........................................................  70 Beyond the Human ........................................................................................  71 Beyond the Natural-Worldly .........................................................................  74 Beyond the Divine ..........................................................................................  75 Rosenzweig Versus Idealism II: Nothingness and Irrationality ....................  77 Nothingness  .....................................................................................................  78 Irrationality  ......................................................................................................  81 Rosenzweig Versus Irrationalism ......................................................................  83 Trendelenburg  .................................................................................................  84 Kierkegaard  .....................................................................................................  87 Nietzsche  ..........................................................................................................  90 Truth as Relation .................................................................................................  92 Ex Negativo .....................................................................................................  93 Ex Positivo .......................................................................................................  95 Theory and Praxis ..............................................................................................  100

The Three Spheres in Rosenzweig’s ‘New Thinking’ .........................  103 The Divine ..........................................................................................................  104 The Natural-Worldly .........................................................................................  110 The Human .........................................................................................................  117 Between and Beyond Hegel and Nietzsche ....................................................  135

The Three Paths in Rosenzweig’s ‘New Thinking’ ..............................  139 Explicit References and Implicit Analogies ...................................................  141 ‘Quod sit’ and ‘Quid sit’ in Der Stern der Erlösung .......................................  149 Between God and World: The Path of Creation ............................................  154 The Creator: Divine Power ..........................................................................  155

Contents



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The Creature: Worldly Existence ................................................................  158 Rosenzweig Versus Hegel: Creation Versus Production .........................  161 Rosenzweig Versus Nietzsche: Creation Versus Eternal Return ............  165 A Keyword for Creation: ‘Relational Otherness’ ......................................  168

Between God and Human Being: The Path of Revelation ...........................  170 The Revealer: Divine Love ...........................................................................  171 The Recipient of Revelation: Human Humility ........................................  174 Revelation as Cornerstone of Reality .........................................................  177 Rosenzweig Versus Hegel: Revelation Versus Dialectical Logic .............  178 Rosenzweig Versus Nietzsche: Revelation Versus Disconnection .........  182 A Keyword for Revelation: ‘Event’ ..............................................................  184 Between Human Being and World: The Path of Redemption .....................  186 The Agent of Redemption: Human Neighbor-Love .................................  188 The Context of Redemption: Worldly Life ................................................  191 Redemption: Communality and Eternity ..................................................  194 Rosenzweig Versus Hegel: Redemptive Praxis Versus Self-Reflection and Theory ................................................................  196 Rosenzweig Versus Nietzsche: Redemptive Praxis Versus Gift-Giving Virtue ..............................................................................  201 A Keyword for Redemption: ‘Oriented Praxis’ .........................................  203

Beyond Philosophy: The ‘New Thinking’ as Jewish ..........................  207 Creation: Relational Otherness – Bereshit 1 ..................................................  212 Revelation: Event – Shir ha-Shirim .................................................................  215 Redemption: Oriented Praxis – Psalm 115 and Tiqqun ...............................  217

Final Remarks ....................................................................................................  221 A Third Way between Idealism and Irrationalism ........................................  221 A Third Way between Philosophy and Jewish Thought ...............................  227 ‘Otherness’ in Philosophy and in Jewish Thought ....................................  228 ‘Event’ in Philosophy and in Jewish Thought ...........................................  230

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‘Praxis’ in Philosophy and in Jewish Thought ...........................................  232

Conclusion  .........................................................................................................  236

Bibliography .......................................................................................................  239

Introduction In his essay Das neue Denken (1925), Franz Rosenzweig warns against the “danger of understanding the new thinking in the sense, or rather the nonsense, of ‘irrational’ tendencies such as, for example, the ‘philosophy of life.’ Everyone clever enough to have steered clear of the jaws of the idealistic Charybdis seems nowadays to be drawn into the dark whirlpool of this Scylla” (GS 3: 156). The quote puts in a nutshell what this book sets itself to investigate thoroughly, that is, the meaning and positioning of Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ in the context of contemporary philosophy. More precisely, it will be shown how the Homeric metaphor of a double danger provides the guidelines Rosenzweig seems to stick to throughout the entire development of his thought—which, at every level, takes shape as an alternative between two opposite philosophical positions that have to be equally avoided: idealism and irrationalism. Both terms are actually conceived in a broader meaning than the one related to their actual historical manifestations. For Rosenzweig, idealism is not so much a particular period in the history of philosophy, as a basic attitude of thought lying at the roots of philosophy as such. Likewise, irrationalism is not only a philosophical movement, historically set in the 19th and early 20th centuries, but also—and more importantly—a general tendency opposite to idealism. In short, whereas idealism aims at reducing reality to reason, pursuing the goal of a perfect agreement between them, from the point of view of irrationalism, reality is by no means exhausted in the picture rationality can provide of it; rather, reality also consists of dimensions that are ‘irrational,’ in the sense that they place themselves beyond—or even against—the structures of reason. However, despite Rosenzweig—and this book too, after all—adopting a mostly theoretical approach to idealism and irrationalism, it would not be correct to say that their historical scope is given no consideration at all. By ‘idealism’ Rosenzweig means, of course, a theoretical thinking strategy, but he also mentions the expression “from Ionia to Jena” (GS 2: 13), when referring to it. That means that idealistic thought is also situated in a historical context, with its origin in Parmenides’ philosophy (i.e. Ionia) and its conclusion in the Hegelian system (i.e. Jena). Rosenzweig refers to irrationalism with the term ‘point of view-philosophy,’ thus emphasizing its anti-absolutist character on a theoretical level. Yet at the same time, he does not fail to provide historical coordinates either, as he locates irrationalism’s origin in Kierkegaard’s anti-Hegelianism and follows its evolution up to Nietzscheanism.

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Introduction

Idealism—or ‘from Ionia to Jena’-philosophy, or the Parmenides-Hegel segment—is a philosophical conception, whose theoretical cornerstones can be found in such notions as absolute truth, reduction to unity, and totality. In this book, it will be called ‘first way.’ Irrationalism, as an antagonistic position to idealism, is characterized by the opposite way of thinking. It implies the dissolution of truth, asserts a plurality of perspectives, and proclaims the untenability of the notion of ‘totality.’ The term ‘second way’ will be used in this book for indicating irrationalism—or ‘point of view’-philosophy, or the Kierkegaard-Nietzsche segment. Based on this scheme, then, it is possible to argue that Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ charts a third way in this context, as its most distinctive features emerge from a rejection of the first way of idealism, as much as they mark a distance from the second way of irrationalism. Following Rosenzweig’s analysis, philosophical thought has come to an impasse, represented by two, equally unsatisfactory, alternatives: either idealism or irrationalism; either the Parmenides-Hegel segment or the KierkegaardNietzsche one—either Charybdis or Scylla. But if it is philosophy as such that leads to this crossroads—as it seems to be the case in Rosenzweig’s view— the possibility of a third way between and beyond idealism and irrationalism depends on thought being able to pass beyond a purely philosophical forma mentis, making it interact with extra- or even anti-philosophical elements. This kind of interaction is exactly what characterizes Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking,’ as it manages to integrate contents of thought and ways of thinking coming from a non-philosophical tradition like the Jewish one into a terrain that used to be exclusively philosophical. Whereas it is sufficiently clear what ‘Jewish contents of thought’1 may refer to, the question arises as to what could possibly be meant by ‘Jewish way of thinking.’ Fortunately, Rosenzweig himself attempts to answer this question in some lecture drafts written between 1920 and 1921. In Grundriss des jüdischen Wissens (1921), for example, Jewish knowledge is said to be “immediate (unmittelbar)” (GS 3: 579). This term is taken to mean a form of knowledge that, other than philosophy, does not rely on conceptual mediation for its own development. The difference between the Jewish-immediate approach and the philosophical-mediated 1 The expression ‘Jewish contents of thought’ refers here to notions, concepts, and categories that belong to the Jewish tradition. Here are some examples, in no particular order, of ‘Jewish contents’ that play a relevant role in Rosenzweig’s thought: (1) the three notions of creation, revelation, and redemption; (2) the biblical texts illustrating them, that is respectively, Bereshit 1, Shir ha-Shirim, and Psalm 115; (3) the cabbalistic ideas of Zimzum and Tiqqun.

Introduction

13

one is also mirrored in a polarity between praxis and theory, where the Jewish attitude is placed on the side of concrete praxis against abstract theory. It is in this context, then, that Rosenzweig sees his goal in “leading knowledge back to a knowledge of life […] and making” (ibid.). A second text, Anleitung zum jüdischen Denken (1921), is also based on two pairs of oppositions: concrete life is opposed to abstract thought and common sense is presented as an antagonist of philosophy. In this view, only common sense (der gesunde Menschenverstand), as a wealth of common knowledge and experience, can be in contact with real life, while philosophy, developing in the abstract realm of thought, is irremediably detached from concrete reality: “we rave (irrereden) each time we rise to the heights of thought” (597)—says Rosenzweig. However, “life does not feel good, as long as thought turns its back on it” (ibid.), so that Rosenzweig’s goal does not consist in simply marking a gap between opposite dimensions; rather, he aims at bridging it, making thought more concrete and thus achieving a “reconciliation between life and thought” (598). It is at this juncture, then, that Jewish thought comes in. As the immediate, praxis-based way of thinking that it is in Rosenzweig’s view, Jewish thought positions itself in the double-pole framework here at issue, by opposing philosophy and siding with common sense at the same time. Talking about Jewish thinkers, for example, Rosenzweig says that a struggle takes place in them, in which a Jewish way of thinking tries to overpower the philosophical one— more often than not unsuccessfully (see ibid.). On the other hand, by having a common enemy in the abstractive character of philosophy, common sense and Jewish thought are not only seen as in agreement with each other, but, going a step further, Rosenzweig reaches the point where the two notions are even considered to be the same, to be synonyms (see ibid. as well as Fabris 1993: 356 and Baccarini 1993: 374–375).2 Another distinguishing trait of the Jewish way of thinking is its capability to connect the notion of life with those of eternity and truth. In Der jüdische Mensch (1920), Rosenzweig describes Jewish existence in terms of “polarity” (GS 3: 561) 2 That Rosenzweig sees Jewish thought (jüdisches Denken) and common sense (gesunder Menschenverstand) as synonyms can be confirmed also by what he writes in a letter to Eugen Rosenstock-Huessy (February 13, 1921). Talking about his lecture, in whose title the expression ‘Jewish thought’ is mentioned (i.e. Anleitung zum jüdischen Denken), Rosenzweig says: “Originally, I wanted to name it ‘Introduction to the use of common sense.’ If I didn’t, it is only for contingent reasons” (GB: 732). The indifference Rosenzweig seems to show towards the two titles can be a clue to his tendency to merge Jewish thought and common sense into the same notion.

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Introduction

between antithetical features,3 in particular between a life in time and a contact with eternity.4 The Jewish people live in time, like every other people, but, differently from any other people, they also partake of eternity, as they have been “with God” (bei Gott) since forever. This “direct connection with God is the very core of being Jewish” (ist ja wirklich zentraljüdisch) (574)—says Rosenzweig— and if one now considers that “God is truth” (GS 2: 423), the “proximity to God” (Gottesnähe) (GS 3: 574) that plays such a central role in Jewish life turns out to be also a proximity to truth, which plays an equally central role in Jewish thought.5 According to Rosenzweig, then, two main features stand out as defining the typically Jewish way of thinking:  (1) close relation to concrete life and (2) constant reference to the notion of truth. Together, they make Jewish thought settle into a middle position between two extremes. The first feature, establishing concreteness and experience as a foundation for thought, finds itself at odds with the abstractness of idealism—that is at odds with what has been called the first way. The second feature, on the other hand, prevents this anti-idealistic slant from going too far and turning into a form of irrationalism—that is prevents it from following the second way. Preserving the notion of truth as a reference point allows thought to keep its distance from any tendency to give up that notion altogether, thus constituting a permanent check against any possible irrational-relativistic drift. Now, the point is that when Rosenzweig describes his ‘new thinking,’ he mentions the same features he also recognizes in Jewish thought. Although not framing the discussion explicitly in terms of a contrast between philosophy and Jewish thought, in his essay from 1925, Rosenzweig criticizes philosophical 3 Rosenzweig mentions: blind faith and subversive doubt; conservatism and revolution; even capitalism and Bolshevism. 4 This contact with eternity, which according to Rosenzweig is a distinguishing trait of the Jewish people, is acquired by renouncing any connection with those transient elements other peoples usually rely on: “[…] everything other peoples’ existence was rooted in has been taken away from us [Jews] long ago; land, language, custom, and law—the sphere of our living has been deprived of them, and from being simply alive, they have been elevated to being holy. However, we are still living and live eternally. Our life is no longer interwoven with anything external, we have taken root in ourselves, without roots in the earth, eternal wanderers therefore, yet deeply rooted in ourselves, in our own body and blood. And it is this rooting in ourselves, and in ourselves alone, that guarantees our eternity” (GS 2: 338–339). 5 Incidentally, this results in a correspondence and “reconciliation” (Versöhnung) (see GS 3: 598) between life and thought—also typical of the Jewish way of thinking.

Introduction

15

strategies that lead to an excess of abstraction and emphasizes at the same time the concrete nature of the ‘new thinking.’ Moreover, it is in that same crucial essay that the Rosenzweigian conception of truth as ‘verification’ (Bewährung) finds its most mature expression—thus testifying to truth still playing a central role in Rosenzweig’s view. Irrespective of the particular shape the notion of truth takes in the ‘new thinking,’6 the very fact that it still takes a shape, that is that it is not completely discarded, is enough to distinguish the ‘new thinking’ from any form of irrationalism. To put it briefly, concreteness and truth can be taken as the keywords defining Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking.’ Its concreteness opposes the first way of idealism, while its consideration for the notion of truth represents a stand against the second way of irrationalism. This double distancing from both forms of philosophy is exactly what at the same time brings the ‘new thinking’ closer to what Rosenzweig considers to be Jewish thought. The third way that the ‘new thinking’ comes to represent can thus be seen as an oriented one: it leads away from philosophy—from both of its branches—and toward Jewish thought. This book adopts the idea of a thus conceived third way as a key to the interpretation of Rosenzweig’s position, which basically aims at going beyond the limitations of philosophy—idealism or irrationalism—and getting closer to an extra-philosophical tradition, such as the Jewish one.7 In conclusion, this book will show that a third-way-model can find application at every level of Rosenzweig’s structured picture of reality. At its first level, Rosenzweig’s account of the basic elements, the Urphänomene of God, world, and human being, emerges as a combination of the idealist conception and an irrational view—a combination, though, that is irreducible to each of its components, and thus constitutes a third way between them. At the second

6 Rosenzweig’s particular conception of truth will be dealt with in a dedicated chapter. 7 In Rosenzweig’s case, the extra-philosophical tradition at issue is obviously the Jewish one, but beyond Rosenzweig, from a more general perspective, other nonphilosophical forms of knowledge could equally serve the goal of making thought cross philosophy’s boundaries. A significant attempt in this direction can be found, for example, in Schopenhauer’s view, who tries to overcome philosophical reasoning, combining it with the non-philosophical ways of thinking of Hinduism and Buddhism. In a letter to Rudolph Hallo (February 4, 1923) Rosenzweig writes: “In short, my view is the same of many others: European culture threatens to collapse and the only way to save it is through the help of extra-European forces. […]. Judaism is one of them” (GS 1.2: 889). Judaism is then only one of many possible extra-European forces, not the only one.

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Introduction

level of reality, each of the three paths of creation, revelation and redemption turns out to be based on one central concept—‘relational otherness,’ ‘event,’ and ‘oriented praxis,’ respectively—which marks a radical break with both idealism and irrationalism, while revealing its derivation from Jewish sources at the same time. That means, once again, that Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ is not only a third way between two philosophical stances, but it also takes shape as an approach to Jewish thought.

Three Spheres. Three Epochs. Three Ways One of philosophy’s most distinctive traits can be found in its tendency to go beyond the level of empirical determinateness and reach that of a general principle able to account for the origin and existence of all things. In this view, the philosophical attitude par excellence takes shape as a ‘call to unity and universality,’ whose aim is to lead all elements of reality back to a unique foundation, to convert them from scattered elements into different aspects of the same totality, and to enable the constitution of a form of knowledge about it. It is a path that leads out of a disordered multiplicity to a well-organized, and thus knowable, universal unity.8 The whole history of philosophy can be seen as an ongoing succession of ways of answering that call, as each epoch is characterized by the specific principle it assumes as a foundation and by the theoretical structures developed on that basis to conceptually arrange reality. The path leading from multiplicity to totality, however, is not a direct one, but runs through some intermediate stages. Reality is at first divided into three main spheres, corresponding to the three main kinds of phenomena:  the divine, the human, and the natural-worldly. As each sphere can only provide but a partial collection, the last step towards final totality consists in their systematization into a hierarchical relationship. Each epoch of the history of philosophy—antiquity, the Middle Ages, and modernity—can be defined by the specific sphere it places at the top of that hierarchy. More precisely, ancient Greek philosophy is characterized by the primacy it gives to the natural-worldly dimension of reality; medieval philosophy has its focus on the divine dimension; while modern philosophy hinges on the notion of subject and the distinctly human dimension it is rooted in. The ‘call to unity and universality’ philosophy is based on as well as the associated series of correspondences between spheres of reality and philosophical epochs are also salient points in Rosenzweig’s conception. He writes:  “[There are] three epochs of European philosophy—cosmological antiquity, the theological Middle Ages, and our anthropological modern era. In particular, the favorite idea of modernity [is] the ‘grounding’ of world and God experience in the ‘I’ that has that experience” (GS 3: 143).9 Given three spheres of reality and considering 8 In this context the expression ‘universal unity’ and the word ‘totality’ can be considered synonyms. 9 The same conception also emerges in a letter sent to Eugen Rosenstock-Huessy on January 4, 1919, in which Rosenzweig writes: “[…] philosophy has always had

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Three Spheres. Three Epochs. Three Ways

the philosophical process of leading each time two of them back to the third one, philosophy develops for Rosenzweig by realizing every possible combinatory relationship between them. That is to say, it develops through the succession of three triads: (1) antiquity-nature (world)-cosmology; (2) Middle Ages-Godtheology; (3) modernity-human being-anthropology.

Antiquity In its attempt to explain and systematize reality, ancient Greek philosophy takes the ‘ordered world’ or ‘cosmos’ (kosmos, κόσμος) as a key concept. This bears witness to early thinkers’ efforts to give an account of the All (to holon, τὸ ὄλον), and to their ability to do that by relying solely on the sphere of the natural-worldly, without exceeding it, and with no need to resort to the divine or to the human spheres for an exhaustive view. In fact, kosmos is already in itself the most comprehensive concept for philosophically approaching reality and, despite having its roots in the natural-worldly, it also includes and thoroughly accounts for the other two spheres. These, however, are put into a subordinate position, because, as particular aspects included in the kosmos, they are necessarily relegated to a lower grade of universality: close to ‘the ultimate universality,’ but not enough to be universal themselves. A fragment by Heraclitus can clarify this point: “The cosmos, the same for all, not god or man-made, but it always was, is, and will be, an ever-living fire, being kindled in measures and being extinguished in measures” (DK 22: B30). This very dense passage points out all the distinguishing features of the Greek notion of kosmos, which is: (1) universal and all-embracing (“the same for all”); (2) independent of the divine as well as of the human (“not god or man-made”); (3) eternal, as it continues through past, present, and future (“it always was, is and will be”); (4) structured and ordered, as it complies with a principle of regularity (“in measures”). For the ancient Greek forma mentis, then, kosmos means basically an eternal order, which, being eternal, shows a divine character (to

a dominating concept (einen herrschenden Begriff), the Greeks [had] the being, the Scholastics God, modernity the reason, and today the life” (GB: 212). Not only the three main philosophical epochs are mentioned in this quote, but a fourth period is also considered, which represents the time Rosenzweig himself is living in. This is, more precisely, the time of post-Hegelian philosophy, characterized by the notion of ‘life’ as its basic principle.

Middle Ages

19

theion, τὸ θείον); while, as an order, provides humankind with a rational law (logos, λόγος) to align itself to.10 To sum up, the notion of kosmos can be considered the highest expression of a way of thinking that prioritizes the sphere of the natural-worldly. As the prime sphere, it includes the other two spheres, that is, it overcomes the divine and the human and incorporates them as its component features, while also displaying divine traits in itself and serving as a norm for human rationality.

Middle Ages The Middle Ages represent a turning point in the history of Western philosophy, as the relations of power between different spheres change radically in this epoch. The concern to merge revealed doctrine and secular knowledge, typical of medieval philosophy, leads it to give preeminence to the sphere of the divine. Consequently, the other two spheres, that is the natural-worldly and the human, must be subordinate to the divine. Not that philosophers in antiquity neglected the divine—indeed, it was extensively treated in texts by Plato, Aristotle, or the Stoics—but what comes to the fore in the Middle Ages is an utterly new way of conceiving it. While Greek philosophers saw the divine as a feature intrinsic to the ordered world, the medieval ones switch the focus from an impersonal notion of God, as the ancient one was, to the idea of a personal God, who is wholly other than the world and, as such, transcends it. It is precisely the notion of transcendence, then, that marks the difference between the ancient and the medieval conceptions. As long as the divine is thought to be inside the kosmos, it is subordinate to the natural as one of its dimensions, but once it is thought of in terms of a transcendent being—as it is in the Middle Ages, following revelation—the divine exceeds the natural and detaches itself from it. In this view, the natural—together with all related concepts that fall within its sphere of influence, such as ‘cosmos’ or ‘world’—is regarded as God’s creation and, therefore, as fully dependent upon its creator to come into being and existence. Likewise, the sphere of the human—as well as the several notions that, in various capacities, prevail in it, like ‘soul,’ ‘self,’ or ‘reason’—turns out to be subordinate to God too, as human beings are seen as creatures of God, made in his image and likeness, and as receivers of his revelation. 10 Another fragment by Heraclitus reads: “Listening not to me but to the logos, it is wise to acknowledge that all things are one” (DK 22: B50). Truth is not a subjective dimension, in this view (“not to me…”); rather, it is universal and non-anthropocentric (“… but to the logos”).

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Three Spheres. Three Epochs. Three Ways

This radical change in perspective, from a kosmos-centered way of thinking to a God-centered one, also affects the traditional system of knowledge and the range of disciplines it entails. In the Middle Ages, it is a widely held view that philosophy was able to deal with the divine just as long as it was considered part of the world, but it proves itself inadequate when faced with the radical otherness of a transcendent God. A brand new discipline is thus called for that can succeed where philosophy fails. This discipline is theology:  the newborn field of study that meets the new requirements, having God as its research focus, and surpassing philosophy by grasping the meaning of transcendence. Deprived now of one of its traditional subject matters, philosophy sees its scope reduced to the natural and the human alone, and maintains its importance only to the extent that it contributes to theological reflections.11 To recap, then: in the Middle Ages, world and humankind—as parts of creation—are ranked at a lower level than God—as creator. Following the same logic, the disciplines that assume them as subjects of inquiry are also involved in a hierarchical relationship, where philosophy—which is now an investigation into the natural-worldly and the human only—loses its traditional primacy to theology—which has set itself the higher task of studying God.

Modernity Philosophical modernity is universally considered to be molded by the so-called ‘subjectivist paradigm,’ that is a model of reasoning based on a primacy given to the sentient and thinking activity of the human ‘I.’ This corresponds to the third phase of the process reconstructed thus far:  after the ancient kosmos (sphere of the natural) and the medieval God (sphere of the divine), it is now the subject (sphere of the human) that acts as a foundation for the whole of reality. Despite the many changes it has gone through in the period of time from Descartes to Hegel—that is, the two thinkers, who ideally open and close philosophical modernity—the notion of subject has always maintained some permanent traits: its self-sufficiency, its character of having a ‘privileged point of view’ on reality and of being the ‘mandatory commencement’ of any inquiry into the spheres of the natural-worldly or the divine. This new precedence of the subject is the very core of Descartes’ philosophy, which is conventionally thought to mark the beginning of the modern way of 11 This new relationship between philosophy and theology is perfectly summarized by the famous phrase philosophia ancilla theologiae (philosophy [is] the handmaiden of theology).

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philosophizing. For Descartes, thinking (in Latin, cogito) is the first principle everything else is based upon. Rooted in the sphere of the human as the essential activity of the subject, the cogito provides the fundamentum inconcussum (solid foundation) to start from for giving an account of reality. But if the sphere of the human, through the notion of cogito, constitutes such a foundation, then the other two spheres are consequently put into a secondary position: any knowledge of God, as imperfect it may be, has its roots in the human subject; and the sphere of the natural-worldly, which Descartes calls res extensa, is a dimension whose knowledge must be gained, once again, by starting from the certainty of the subject, from the res cogitans. As for God, his ‘subordination’ to the human sphere is not to be regarded as a strong ontological one—God is still the creator of world and humankind, even for Descartes. This means that it is not God himself, but rather his role that is dramatically diminished in Descartes’ view of reality, as the divine turns out to play but a marginal part in it. A thinker like Blaise Pascal, for instance, with his radical anti-Cartesian approach, gets the point of this diminution, when he writes: “I cannot forgive Descartes: in his whole philosophy he would like to do without God; but he could not help allowing him a flick of the fingers to set the world in motion; after that he had no more use for God” (Pascal 1670: n. 194/77). What Pascal describes is the core of Descartes’ thinking strategy, which consists in reducing God’s role to the bare minimum and thus letting the human subject predominate. The ontological argument—which Descartes borrows from Anselm of Canterbury12—can also be considered part of the same strategy, thus confirming 12 The ontological argument is here presented as a way of grasping divine existence through human reason, and therefore, more generally, as a typical expression of the subjectivist mood of modern philosophy. This interpretation could seem somewhat questionable in light of the fact that the argument’s first version dates back to the Middle Ages, more precisely to Anselm’s theology. If the argument has its roots in a medieval environment—one might argue—it obviously cannot represent a distinguishing trait of modernity. However, there is a fundamental difference between Anselm’s original formulation of the argument and Descartes’ reformulation of it. Without going into too much detail, which would exceed the scope of this work, it suffices to say that, while Descartes aims at proving God’s existence, Anselm proceeds ex negativo, highlighting the unavoidable contradiction anyone catches himself in whenever trying to deny God’s existence. The difference is highly relevant: trying to prove God ex positivo, by means of human reason alone, as Descartes does, is perfectly in line with the modern exaltation of the sphere of the human. Disproving any attempt to negate God, as Anselm does, complies, on the contrary, with his most famous motto, which affirms the primacy

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the general subjectivism of modernity. Providing reasons why God must exist, the argument is basically a way of conceiving God—or his existence, at least—by means of subjective thought. In other words, the subject is the starting point, the foundation, while God is merely an object of reasoning. But a God that can be proven, that lets himself be proven, loses for this very reason his transcendence and becomes a God ‘on a human scale’, so to speak. As an object of thought, God becomes something ‘of the competence of ’ the subject and it is probably at this juncture that, as Rosenzweig says, the sphere of the divine comes to be grounded in the sphere of the human, in the ‘I’ that thinks of God. Similar dynamics also characterize the relationship between the human and the natural-worldly, that is between the res cogitans and the res extensa, in Descartes’ terminology. In his effort to connect these radically heterogeneous dimensions, Descartes takes the sphere of the human as the theoretical foundation; but from there, he never gets into a position from where he can account for the natural-worldly as an independent sphere. Basically, an external reality cannot be reached, as the internal one cannot be exited, and the existence of an objective world outside of the subject is something about which Cartesian doubt cannot be definitively removed. Any knowledge of the world that is acquired by taking the human subject as a starting point cannot account for the independence of outside reality. All it can show is rather reality as it is for a subject—that is, the sphere of the natural-worldly as subordinate to that of the human.

Reduction Modernity, then, is the epoch that affirms the primacy of the human—just as antiquity affirmed that of the natural-worldly, and the Middle Ages that of the divine. However, despite the different sphere each epoch privileged, a common strategy can be detected working in the backgrounds of all the cases considered: (1) reality is at first divided into three spheres; (2) one of them is elected as the main sphere in each epoch, that is as the fundamental principle the whole of reality hinges on; (3) finally, the other two spheres are consequently put into a secondary position and their meaning is made dependent on the main sphere. In antiquity, the divine and the human are dependent on the natural-worldly, as they are included in it. In the Middle Ages, the natural-worldly and the human of faith over reason, that is of the sphere of the divine over that of the human: neque enim quæro intelligere ut credam sed credo ut intelligam (I do not try to understand in order to believe; rather, I believe in order to understand) (see Anselm of Canterbury, Proslogion, I).

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are dependent on the divine, as they are created by God. In modernity, the divine and the natural-worldly are dependent on the human subject that thinks of them. The idea that philosophy’s scope is divided into three main branches has a long tradition. As a de facto feature, a three-branch structure is already observable in the very origins of philosophical thought, but it was probably explicitly thematized for the first time only in Christian Wolff ’s Philosophia rationalis, sive Logica (1728), where he writes: “The beings we know are God, human soul and bodies or material things” (§  55). “Therefore, three parts of philosophy develop: one dealing with God, another one with the human soul and the third one with bodies or material things” (§ 56). In more recent times, one of the most in-depth analyses of these themes and dynamics has been carried out by Franz Rosenzweig, who, on the one hand, espouses the tripartite model, but, on the other hand, reveals also the theoretical presuppositions and, in particular, the process of ‘reduction’ which that model has always been based upon. By ‘reduction’ a process is meant that consists in conceptually ‘leading a thing back’ (Zurückführung) to another. Rosenzweig considers it the very basis of philosophical thinking, which constantly aims at reducing every element of reality to the primary principle adopted in each epoch. What this way of thinking illegitimately presupposes, however, is a radical difference between the superficial level of what a thing simply appears to be and the deeper, allegedly more authentic level of what that same thing actually is—as if every element of reality were for some reason not allowed to be just what it is, but were rather forced to be actually something else. In this view, the authentic being of a thing is always supposed to consist in something different from its immediate being, that is, in something the thing has to be reduced to through a displacing movement of thought, in order for its truth to be obtained. Rosenzweig says: “The world, by no means, may be world; God by no means God; human being by no means human being; but all these must ‘actually’ be something quite different. […]. The possibilities of ‘reducing’ some given one to its given other are tirelessly realized through the permutations, which, broadly speaking, characterize the three epochs of European philosophy […]. This philosophy considers reduction overall as something so self-evident that if it troubles itself to burn a heretic, it prosecuted him only because [he is guilty] of a forbidden kind of reduction […]. That someone may be not interested at all in [performing reductions], well, this is not even taken into account” (GS 3: 143). In philosophy, there is nothing more natural than reduction. It is obvious, taken for granted—to the point that the distinguishing factor among different epochs lies only in the particular form reduction takes on in each of them.

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In any case, however widespread and prominent Zurückführung may be in the history of philosophy, it is only a symptom—so to speak—and not a cause, as there is another factor which reduction is derived from. This factor has to be found at a deeper level and it concerns the very nature of philosophy as a method of inquiry. For Rosenzweig, philosophical reasoning has always been characterized by a systematic search for the essence of things. He writes:  “All philosophy has always asked about ‘essence’ (Wesen). It is precisely this question that distinguishes philosophy from the non-philosophical knowledge of the common sense (gesunder Menschenverstand)” (ibid.).13 The philosophical way of thinking has always progressed by methodically applying a Was-ist-Frage (‘whatis-question’) to each aspect of reality. The crucial point here is that any answer to such a question cannot help implying a reduction. The essence of things philosophy has always looked for can be found only by asking ‘what is this?’ about everything, that is by posing the Socratic question ti esti (τί ἐστι). Such a question calls for answers formulated as ‘this is…,’ or—what is worse—‘everything is…,’ but these are sentences that already contain the germ of a ‘leading back’ process, as their very formulation cannot but bring about a reduction. Rosenzweig says: “In this what-is-question, applied to everything, lies the entire error of the answer. An is-sentence must, if it is worth the bother of saying it, say something new after the ‘is,’ something that was not there before” (ibid.). For example, in the sentence ‘x is nature,’ the ‘x’ appearing before the copula ‘is’ is reduced to what comes after the ‘is,’ that is to ‘nature.’ This means that it does not matter if ‘x’ appears to be different from nature: its real being, its essence, resides in nature.14 At this point, however, it may be asked why Rosenzweig criticizes this conception. What is wrong with reduction? Well, at a first rough glance, a reduction is by definition ‘something less,’ when compared to the original condition. But, more precisely, the problem with philosophy’s quest for the essence of things, with the Was-ist-Fragen employed to reach it, and with the Zurückführung enacted in the service of this aim, is that their combination—which for Rosenzweig characterizes the typically philosophical way of thinking—ends up creating a gap between what philosophy means to do and what it actually does. In other words,

13 Once again, a feature of Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ emerges in this quote: the opposition between philosophy and common sense. This conflict then turns into a threeterm relationship, when Jewish thought comes in, thereby showing a close affinity with common sense as well as an anti-philosophical slant. 14 This is what Rosenzweig calls the “altering power of the little word ‘is’ ” (GS 3: 144).

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philosophy has always been supposed to account for reality, providing a veritable, faithful depiction of it, but the best it can achieve through the reductionbased way of thinking it has always pursued is merely an abstraction of reality. This gap between the goal of an authentic account of reality and the result of a mere abstraction emerges clearly in the following passage: “We know in the most exact way, with the intuitive knowledge of experience, what God, what man, what the world ‘is’ […]. And we certainly do not know this in the insidious, altering way through which thought usually knows (mit dem hintertückischen, ‘verändernden’ Wissen des Denkens)” (GS 3: 145). Rosenzweig summarizes the whole problem in a single contrast: that between the intuitive, veritable knowledge of experience and the underhanded, misleading knowledge of (philosophical) thinking. Developing this view, it can be argued that the distorted description of reality philosophy provides is the consequence of the main dynamics governing it from its very beginning, that is, dynamics that aim at overcoming divisions in reality, by way of hierarchization and reduction. These notions, finally, hint at the fact that the philosophical method consists in approaching the three spheres reality can be divided into—the divine, the human, and the natural-worldly—by arranging them into a conceptual hierarchy and subjecting them to a reduction process. As a result, a picture of reality emerges which is always viewed through the lens of abstract thought and is thus irreparably detached from real experience. By adopting hierarchization and reduction as its primary strategies, philosophy may be able to give an account for what can be called ‘thought reality,’ but the concretely experienced reality—the ‘real reality,’ so to speak—will always remain out of its reach.

Three Ways The thinking strategies philosophy has adopted in the course of its whole history are all the more evident in what represents, in Rosenzweig’s view, the peak of that history, that is, Hegel’s philosophy. Hegel develops a systematic conception with the declared aim of reconciling those divisions and splits that philosophical modernity has produced in the way reality is viewed. In so doing, however, he enacts the typical philosophical procedures of hierarchization and reduction, which make his theory a hierarchy-based and all-embracing system. On the other hand, a thinker like Nietzsche embodies a radically anti-systematic and, in this sense, anti-Hegelian15 approach. Nietzscheanism is a philosophical 15 Reading Nietzsche as the ‘Anti-Hegel’ is not unusual, but the thinkers that, more than any other, emphasize the Hegel-Nietzsche opposition are probably Karl Löwith and

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position16 that aims at destroying any rigid meaning structure (Sinnstruktur) obtained through reduction and at subverting traditional hierarchies, by “philosophizing with a hammer.”17 The Hegelian system represents the most advanced attempt to attain a universal point of view on reality as a whole. Its internal progress depends on a mechanism called Aufhebung, which implies both an overcoming and a preservation of each systematic stage in the one that follows. This means, of course, that the final level of the system, the so-called ‘absolute spirit,’ places itself beyond all previous divisions, but also that each of them keeps subsisting in it as a stage that has been overcome. Everything is then always present in the absolute spirit, thus earning it the rank of totality. At the same time, a hierarchical order is required among the elements included in the absolute, so that the early categories of the system—that is those affected by a higher grade of dividedness—come to be considered as ‘ontologically poorer’ than the more advanced ones—which, on the contrary, are closer to the apex of an ultimate unity. If Hegel is concerned with the task of mending divisions, availing himself of hierarchization and reduction to reach his goal, Nietzsche, on the contrary, focuses on rigid values and hierarchies. Actually, Nietzsche’s philosophy is more than just a sharp critique of hierarchical structures, as it not only rejects hierarchies between the spheres reality is traditionally divided into, but also reshapes and, in some cases, even dissolves the spheres themselves. This attitude can be easily discerned by considering some Nietzschean quotes. That the world “became a fable” (see KGA 6.3), for example, is a statement intended to delegitimize the sphere of the natural-worldly. “The last man” and its transition to the Übermensch (see KGA 6.1) are the concepts through which Nietzsche means to Gilles Deleuze. The former sees Hegel and Nietzsche as the beginning and the end of a decisive period in German philosophy: they “are the two extremes, between which the authentic history of German spirit in the 19th century develops” (Löwith 1941: 7). Deleuze emphasizes a radical contrast between Nietzsche’s thought and Hegelian dialectic: “Nietzsche’s ‘yes’ is opposed to the dialectical ‘no;’ affirmation to dialectical negation; difference to dialectical contradiction; joy, enjoyment to dialectical labor; lightness, dance, to dialectical responsibilities” (Deleuze 1962: 10). 16 Despite rejecting hierarchization and reduction, Nietzscheanism is still a philosophical position, but the kind of philosophy it represents is not the old one any more— that is not the ‘from Ionia to Jena’-philosophy. Rather, Nietzsche’s thought is the most advanced position of what Rosenzweig calls new philosophy— that is the ‘point of view’-philosophy, which develops from Kierkegaard to Nietzsche. 1 7 The subtitle of Nietzsche’s work Götzen-Dämmerung (KGA 6.3) is wie man mit dem Hammer philosophiert.

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revolutionize the sphere of the human. The sentence “God is dead” (see KGA 5.2 and 6.1), finally, addresses the dissolution of the sphere of the divine. True to philosophy’s claim for universality, Hegel sees divisions in reality as typical of a still immature level of knowledge which therefore has to be overcome. More precisely, divisions have to be abolished and conserved at the same time (aufgehoben), by making thought reach a highly advanced, absolute level of knowledge that, by means of hierarchization and reduction, is able to offer an undivided, unitary picture of reality. Division is the main problem for Hegel, while reductions and hierarchies are the solutions. Nietzsche, as expected from the ‘Anti-Hegel,’ maintains exactly the contrary. His reflections are driven by a strong commitment to unmasking18 precisely those mechanisms that are at work under the surface of philosophical thinking. It is arguable, however, that Nietzsche’s critique goes too far, as its destructive approach not only addresses reduction processes and hierarchical thought, but also extends to other notions like ‘truth,’ ‘reason,’ or ‘knowledge,’ which, from a Rosenzweigian point of view, should be radically rethought, but not rejected. Rosenzweig, then, positions himself between Hegel and Nietzsche, by developing his ‘new thinking’ in a direction that constitutes a third way between the Hegelian and the Nietzschean approaches. The key concept for Rosenzweig is the notion of ‘relation.’ More precisely, he sees reality as a complex of relational fluxes between the divine, the natural-worldly, and the human. On the one hand, such a view allows divisions to be overcome, because relations act as connecting factors between the spheres. On the other hand, the kind of connection thus enabled is completely alien to such strategies as hierarchization and reduction. Every relation, in other words, preserves a fundamental equality between the elements it connects, avoiding at the same time any possible process of reduction. Relations connect, without establishing hierarchies and without leading elements back to one another. A relational approach, however, would not be able to rectify what Rosenzweig regards as the ‘congenital defects’ of philosophy, if it were to continue to stick to the same forma mentis that has caused them. It is therefore necessary to integrate philosophical reasoning with an utterly different way of thinking, which is able

18 It is this attitude that makes Nietzsche one of the three so-called ‘masters of suspicion,’ together with Marx and Freud. According to Paul Ricœur, who is the first to mention this expression, in his work De l’interprétation. Essai sur Freud (1965: 40 ff.), the ‘hermeneutics of suspicion’ consists in demystifying implicit attitudes and illusions of thought.

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to avoid the impasses philosophy has become entangled in while at the same time opening new perspectives on how reality in general can be conceived of. For Rosenzweig, this extra-philosophical—maybe even anti-philosophical—way of thinking is the Jewish one.

The First Way: Hegel The very core and highest accomplishment of Hegel’s thought is a conception of reality as a unity of essence and existence. This conception corresponds to a perfect identity between rationality and reality, as summarized in the well-known sentence: “what is rational is real; and what is real is rational” (W 7: 24). This chiastic structure, which describes in a nutshell the deeper meaning of Hegel’s idealism, stresses a double bind between the terms it involves: on the one hand, it says that reality is not left at the mercy of irregular and inconclusive dynamics, but rather develops according to a logical-rational pattern. On the other hand, it emerges from the sentence that reason is not an abstract realm without any contact with real concreteness; rather, it is the very structure underlying and governing the development of reality—because this is exactly what reality is for Hegel: a development. This view sets itself at odds with an ancient form of metaphysical essentialism that dates back to Plato. For Plato, a radical contrast can be found between essence, as ideal truth, and existence, as empirical reality of things, whereby the former acts as a foundation for the latter. Obviously, it is necessary for a foundation to be different from what it founds—and, actually, not only different, but also superior to it, for the same reason why an independent being is higher-ranking than a dependent one. Against Plato’s essentialism, however, Hegel shows how existence is a necessary outcome of essence, while essence lives and manifests itself in existence. For Hegel, the ideal dimension can find its full accomplishment only by developing into the empirical one and, conversely, this can be restored to its rights—against the discredit19 Plato allows it to fall into—only through a logical connection to the ideal. The ontological gap between existence and essence represents only one of the many forms the same basic dichotomy can assume. The real and the rational, the finite and the infinite, or being and thought are some of the different notions Hegel refers to when dealing with a central topic—probably the central topic—of his philosophy: ontological divisions and their subsequent abolishment. Hegel’s critique of the Platonic gap between existence and essence is thus only a particular aspect of a more general issue that also involves—and ever increasingly so—modern philosophy. It is the theoretical approach that characterizes philosophy from Descartes on—the subjectivist paradigm—which constitutes Hegel’s 19 It is well known that Plato considers the physical world a mere copy of the ideal one.

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The First Way: Hegel

main polemical target, precisely because it is typical of this approach that it tends to divide reality into irreconcilable dimensions. Ontological division has always affected philosophy, but in modernity it becomes acute. Conceiving of subjectivity as prime principle leads modern philosophy to depict reality in terms of a split: everything concerning the subject is in opposition to anything that has a non-subjective character. Thought, as something subjective, opposes being, as something objective. Hegel says:  “The concrete form of thought which we have here to consider […] really appears as subjective […], so that this has an antithesis in existence […]; and the interest is then altogether found in grasping the reconciliation of this opposition […] This highest severance is the opposition between thought and being, the comprehending of whose unity from this time forward constitutes the interest of all philosophies” (W 20: 63–64). However, none of the different philosophical views developed in the modern age is able to understand thought and being in their unity; none of them succeeds in conceiving of reality as a whole.

Two Attitudes of Thought In order to contextualize Hegel’s theories in the conceptual framework of this book, a preliminary terminological clarification is required. With regard to the modern conceptions he challenges, Hegel uses such terms as ‘subject’ or ‘thought,’20 which are seen here as corresponding to the above-mentioned expression ‘sphere of the human,’ or to the adjective, used as a noun, ‘the human.’ The other two spheres—that is that of the divine and that of the natural-worldly—are summarized—in this context, at least—under the single notion of ‘being,’ and cover everything that is considered ‘other than thought or subject.’ Hegel’s reconstruction of the modern understanding of reality is then not much different from what would emerge from a two-value logic system: if the whole of reality is still

20 It must be pointed out that ‘subject’ and ‘thought’ are used as synonyms only in relation to other modern philosophers, and thus in a critical perspective. A division-based view of reality, in which the domain of ‘thought’ is separated from the field of ‘being,’ just as subjectivity is divided from anything non-subjective, is precisely what Hegel intends to overcome. One of the key points of his argumentation consists in reshaping the notions here at issue. In the Hegelian version of idealism, ‘thought’ and ‘subject’ are not synonyms anymore, as ‘thought’ is equated to ‘being,’ while ‘subject’ represents only one dimension of the ‘thought-being-unity’—to wit, only its reflective dimension.

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divided into thought and being, what does not fall within the dimension of thought, falls necessarily within that of being, and vice versa.21 In the Enzyklopädie Hegel depicts modernity as characterized by two philosophical stances, or in other words, two different ways of dealing with the thought-being relationship.22 Descartes, Spinoza, and Leibniz share the first attitude of thought to objectivity (W 8: §§ 26–36, 93–106), which upholds a perfect conformity between internal subjective thought and external objective being, and finds in reflection the keystone for this correspondence: “The first of these attitudes of thought […] entertains an unquestioning belief that reflection is the means of ascertaining the truth, and of bringing the objects before the mind as they really are.” (93). Merely the very use of the term ‘belief ’ speaks volumes of the naivety Hegel ascribes to this conception. Thought is seen as perfectly transparent and able to reflect objects without distortion, but the existence of those objects outside of thought turns out to be something which has been surreptitiously presupposed and not rationally founded. To define this conception Hegel uses the adjective ‘abstract’ in a pejorative sense. In his terminology, ‘abstract’ means ‘isolated from a context,’ and, more precisely, ‘sundered from the systematic whole.’ Now, considering that for Hegel the whole is the only possible and proper form of truth, anything abstracted from it is also separated from truth—which explains the pejorative meaning. On this basis, the first attitude can be rightly criticized as ‘abstract,’ because, conceiving the objects of thought as external to the thought itself—in other words: disconnected from the ‘thought-being-unity’—it proves to still have ontological separation at its very core. In this view, the objects of thought are not embedded in a systematic context that produces them by way of deduction;23 rather, they are simply given to the thought; they are found in a pre-existing ‘outside,’ toward which subjective grasping cannot but come at a later moment.24

21 In a simple formula:  ‘sphere of the human’=‘subject’=‘thought;’ ‘sphere of the natural’+‘sphere of the divine’=‘being.’ 22 Actually, Hegel recognizes also a third attitude of thought to objectivity (W 8: §§ 61–78, 148–168): that of Jacobi’s philosophy. However, as it represents only a marginal position in modern philosophy, it will not be considered in the following analysis. 23 The Hegelian system, as a unity of thought and being, is completely based on this kind of production: the essence of being is to be found for Hegel in the thought that ‘produces’ it through a logical movement that includes deduction as one of its phases. 24 This lateness is all the more clear in the German word for ‘reflection,’ ‘Nach-denken,’ which literally means: ‘after-thought,’ that is a thought that develops afterward.

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The First Way: Hegel

The kind of unity this first attitude is able to provide through the exercise of reflection is thus only an illusory one, as it rests on the unfounded and unproven belief that being is independent from thought and that thought can faithfully reflect being. Such a unity is for Hegel only ‘abstract,’ because it is unable to properly deal with the separation it originates from. That is, it is unable to abolish and conserve (aufheben) original ontological separation in the course of a thinking process. In this case, unity does not develop gradually from separation as the result of a dialectical movement of thought, but turns out to be something merely posited, something lacking the solid foundation of a logical dialectical progress. What emerges, finally, is not a unity between being and thought that is arrived at through reasoning, but only a correspondence between being and thought that is only postulated as the basis of reflection. However fallacious the kind of unity achieved through the first attitude may be, the very possibility of a unity between being and thought has never been doubted by any thinker embracing this first theoretical approach. On the contrary, the second attitude of thought to objectivity (§§ 37–60, 106–147) denies any chance of unification, by asserting a radical division between being and thought. Hegel recognizes the British empiricists and Kant as the main exponents of this position. “Instead of searching for truth in thought itself, empiricism goes to fetch it from experience […]. In empiricism the great principle is valid that what is true must be in reality and give itself to perception” (107–108); moreover “[c]‌ritical philosophy [i.e. Kant’s philosophy] shares with empiricism the assumption that experience is the unique foundation for knowledge; which, however, it does not consider authentic truth, but only knowledge of phenomena” (112). Truth, as Hegel would conceive it, is unreachable in this view, and the only form of knowledge the human subject can thus aspire to is a merely phenomenal one. An unbridgeable gap, even a gulf,25 divides the phenomenal world from the real being consisting of impenetrable things-in-themselves. This means that the form of unity this second attitude is able to provide may occur between perception and phenomenon, at the most, but definitely not between thought and being. In addition, the difference between these two kinds of unity corresponds to that which Hegel establishes between the notions of ‘certainty’ and ‘truth.’ According

25 The word ‘gulf,’ when used in connection with Kant’s philosophy, recurs several times throughout the Enzyklopädie. For example: “Kant had only a sight of half the truth. He explained the finite nature of the categories to mean that they were subjective only, valid only for our thought, from which the thing-in-itself was divided by an impassable gulf” (146–147, my emphasis).

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to Hegel, the developments of empiricism and critical philosophy lead to the abandonment of the notion of truth, downgrading it to the rank of bare certainty. But this implies also that truth, from being conceived of as something subjective and objective, comes to be seen as something subjective only.26 To sum up, then: the first attitude tries, and fails, to unify being and thought; the second one does not even try, maintaining a profound separation between them. Hegel’s philosophy contrasts both of them, by rejecting the basic, common conception they are founded on: to wit, the definition of thought as something subjective. Identifying thought with subject, and, more precisely, with the particular subject, the modern thinkers cannot avoid opening a split in reality they are then unable to close. Distinguishing between the notions of ‘thought’ and ‘subject’ is the crucial point of the argumentation through which Hegel succeeds in conceiving that unity which modern philosophers before him were looking for in vain.

Hegel’s Attitude of Thought The first step toward this achievement consists in denying ontological independence to anything external to thought:  this is the well-known critique of the thing-in-itself. Here is not the place to go into the complex details of this critique, but, broadly speaking:  a thing cannot really be ‘in-itself ’ as it is always ‘thought’ as ‘in-itself.’ And, being ‘thought,’ it obviously cannot be extraneous to thought; rather, it must be included in its domain. In other words: the deep essence of what was only supposed to be other than thought turns out to be, once again, nothing else but thought. Hegel writes: “a thing-in-itself, something alien and external to thought—[…] it is easy to see that such an abstract entity as the thing-in-itself is itself only the product of thought” (W 5: 60); and, in another passage: “a pure thing-in-itself [i.e. purely independent from thought] is an untrue determination” (386). The second step, resulting from the first one, is the marking of a conceptual difference between ‘subject’ and ‘thought.’ A  certain lack of clarity surrounds these two notions in Hegel’s philosophy—and things seem to become all the more complicated, when the third notion of ‘spirit’ is also considered. That Hegel himself is not always consistent in the usage of these terms, certainly adds ambiguity to an already complex situation. In short, it can be said that the meaning 26 For Hegel, truth is the whole, the absolute, the last stage of the system, at which subjective and objective dimensions of reality reach their identity. Certainty, what is subjective only cannot but be less than truth.

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of ‘thought’ is broader than that of ‘subject,’ as thought certainly shows a subjective side, but it also shows an objective dimension. As to the meaning of ‘spirit,’ Hegel considers it one of the developmental levels of thought, in fact, its highest developmental level. In any case, in order to shed light on these terms, some key passages from the most important Hegelian works can be of help. In the Phänomenologie des Geistes Hegel says: “In my view […] everything depends on grasping and expressing the ultimate truth not [only] as substance but as subject as well” (W  3:  22–23). In this quote, the stress must be laid on “as well:” the subject is no substitute for the substance; rather, it complements a substance-based conception that by itself can provide but a partial account of truth. This, in fact, used to be conceived only in terms of object,27 that is as something lending itself to be perceived, understood, known. Against this unilateral view, the main acquisition of Hegel’s idealism consists precisely in introducing a dynamic principle into the field of truth: the principle of subjectivity. It is exactly this subjective character that, though not rejecting the notion of substance, redefines truth in terms of a process or, better, a self-movement (Selbstbewegung). Later in the same paragraph, Hegel adds further elements to his view, when he asserts that “the truth is the whole” (24). It is then clear that, if truth shows two sides—as subject and as substance, that is object—the whole, which equates truth, must show a double character too, that is, a subjective and an objective one. Moreover, in the Enzyklopedie Hegel says that “truth […] is only possible as a universe or totality of thought” (W 8: 59, my emphasis), and thus the equivalence ‘truth  =  whole, or universe, or totality’ reveals here an additional feature: its character of thought. On this basis, it is now possible to draw the following conclusions: thought, which constitutes truth and—what is actually the same—the whole, is both subjective and objective. More precisely, it is thinking activity—on its subjective side—but it is also clear understandability—on its objective one. Hegel writes: “true objectivity of thought means that the thoughts, far from being merely ours [i.e. merely subjective], must at the same time be the real essence of the things, and of whatever is an object to us” (116). This means that a conception of being as ‘non-subjective reality placed in front of a subject’—like,

27 In Latin, obiectum   (‘thrown against’), from obiectus, perfect passive participle of obiciō  (‘I throw against’), composed by ob-  (‘against’) and  iaciō  (‘I throw’). The etymology reveals how truth, thought of as object only, shows an intrinsic passivity: it is something waiting to be discovered, and not something developing itself—as it should in Hegel’s view.

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for example, the Cartesian res extensa—is now proven to be untenable. On the contrary, thought can be recognized in being as its very essence, as that underlying, indwelling rationality, on whose basis subjective and objective sides of reality come into agreement with each other. Subject and object are thus seen as two dimensions of the same macro-dimension of thought, in which the processes occurring among subjective determinations are governed by the same rationality that also controls the developments of objective determinations. If nothing can be external to thought, then everything is necessarily internal to it, and thought comes thus to coincide with the whole itself. This is the Hegelian way of overcoming divisions:  thought, conceived by modern philosophers as subjective only and thus opposed to being, is redefined and extended to encompass also an objective side, along with the subjective one. This implies that being—that is the existing things, or whatever can be considered an object—can no longer be opposed to, but rather must be included in the sphere of thought. The result is a delineation of thought as a single, comprehensive, common dimension, which, as such, places itself beyond any presumed division. Finally, the specific term Hegel uses for the most mature and fully accomplished form of thought is ‘spirit’ (Geist).28

The Three Spheres in Hegel’s Philosophy With Hegel, philosophy’s typical strategy reaches its ultimate form. As stated previously, philosophy has always assumed one of the three spheres reality can be divided into as the primary principle of everything. The other two spheres are then led back to the first one by way of reduction. Hegel takes this strategy to the extreme. His philosophical conception can be seen as consisting in an absolutization of one of the three spheres, carried out to the point that the other two are not only led back to it, but even absorbed into it, included in it as different stages of

28 In his Vorlesungen über die Geschichte der Philosophie, Hegel says: “The Greek world developed thought as far as the idea; the Christian-Germanic world conceived thought in terms of spirit” (W 18: 123–124). The two ‘worlds’ are actually different perspectives which the same element, that is thought, can be observed from. For Hegel, thought is—and has always been—the main topic of philosophy, while idea and spirit represent two different levels of its development. Idea is a first level, at which thought is still seen as a static object. Spirit is the most mature level, at which thought comes to be considered the dynamic principle of reality as a whole. However, the spirit is no substitute for the idea. Rather, it overcomes the idea, abolishing but also conserving it—as Aufhebung-dynamics require.

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its development. More precisely, Hegel elevates the sphere of the human from its starting condition as particular consciousness to the level of that hypertrophic, macro-consciousness that the absolute spirit is. As to the divine and the naturalworldly, they are, respectively, identified with and incorporated into the absolute.

The Divine “Philosophy shares its objects with religion. In both the object is truth, in that supreme sense in which God and God only is the truth. In addition, both [philosophy and religion] deal with the field of the finite, i.e. with the nature and the human spirit, with their relationship to each other and to God, in which their truth resides” (W 8: 41).29 This passage presents in a nutshell some of the cornerstones of Hegel’s idealism, such as the equivalence of the truth with God and the fact that nature and human spirit have their30 truths in it. Moreover, the designation of the natural and the human as ‘finite fields’ implies, by contrast, the infinity of truth as God—from which follows that the finite is true only if considered in its relation to the infinite. What comes here to the fore, then, is one of the defining traits of idealism: the sublation of the finite in the infinite. As Hegel says: “The finite disappears in the infinite and what is, is only the infinite” (W 5: 150). The assertion that God is the infinite truth, and that everything finite must relate to it to find its own legitimacy in partaking of the absolute, might give the impression that Hegel’s view is not much different from the medieval one, in which world and humankind are considered dependent on God. In fact, this is really just an impression, because, on closer inspection, the medieval and Hegelian views could not be more different. In the Middle Ages, God, as creator of world and humankind, is seen as a transcendent being, separated from his creation. On the contrary, Hegel thinks of God in terms of absolute spirit, which is the ultimate stage of an immanent process that has the finite as its essential component. For Hegel, it is not the unbridgeable gap of reciprocal transcendence

29 Compare the similar statement in the Vorlesungen über die Philosophie der Religion: “The object of religion as well as of philosophy is eternal truth in its objectivity, God and nothing but God, and the explication of God. […]. Philosophy, therefore, only unfolds itself when it unfolds religion, and in unfolding itself, it unfolds religion” (W 16: 28). 30 The possessive adjective ‘their’ is used to mark a difference between natural and human truths, which are finite and particular, and divine truth, which is infinite. Once again: that the natural and the human find their truths in their relationship to the truth means that finite truths are legitimate only if included in the infinite one as parts of it.

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to separate God from world and humankind—the infinite from the finite—but the bridgeable distance that divides and connects at the same time the different stages of the same process. Hegel writes in the Enzyklopädie: “the content of Christian religion consists in recognizing God as spirit” (W  10:  29–30). The reference to Christianity introduces an important aspect of the equivalence between God and absolute spirit, highlighting how both relate to the finite in the same way. One of the main traits of the spirit is that it must particularize itself, make itself finite, and turn back to itself, to finally know itself as spirit. For Hegel, God follows an analogous pattern. In particular, the Christian notion of ‘incarnation’ (die Menschenwerdung Gottes) is interpreted as a movement akin to the spiritual one, that is as the movement of God othering himself in the realm of the finite, while still remaining in himself infinite. A parallel can thus be drawn: the spirit must go through the finite to come to know itself as infinite and absolute. Likewise, God must incarnate himself, to attain in this way his full realization. At this juncture, Hegel’s conception of God as infinite truth the spheres of finitude have to rely on may need some refining. Of course, the finite must relate to the infinity of God, but the word ‘relationship’31 may be too vague in this context, as it could also describe other non-Hegelian views. The question is then: what kind of relationship is here at issue? A proper answer should be based on the characterization of God in terms of spirit. As absolute spirit, God is a process, and more precisely, the result of a process founded on the mechanism of Aufhebung. In the spirit, the finite is not only overcome, but also conserved in the infinite, as a necessary moment in the course of its progress. Similarly, nature and humankind relate to God in the same way as developmental stages relate to the development itself. In other words: the spheres of the natural-worldly and of the human are incorporated in that of the divine. It is with good reason, then, that many scholars have regarded Hegel as primarily a theologian.32 It must be emphasized, however, that his theology marks a radical break with traditional theology of the medieval period. Understanding God in terms of spirit, Hegel must reject any view of divinity based on transcendence and sustain, on the contrary, a conception that sees God as inseparable 3 1 In the original quote, Hegel uses Beziehung. 32 “Conceiving of God as spirit […] is tantamount to secularizing the medieval conception of the Christian God. Hegel is still a ‘theologian,’ then, but theologian of a secularized God” (Cortella 2002: 245). Other important works that emphasize the theological character of Hegel’s philosophy are: Theunissen (1970), Jaeschke (1986), Peperzak (1987), and Mancuso (1996).

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from world and humankind—just as the infinite, absolute spirit cannot be detached from the finite stages of its advancement.

The Natural-Worldly To understand the role of nature—the sphere of the natural-worldly, in the terminology of this book—in the Hegelian system, some preliminary remarks are necessary. In the Wissenschaft der Logik, Hegel offers a definition of (his) idealism: “The claim that the finite is an idealization defines idealism. The idealism of philosophy consists in nothing else than in the recognition that the finite is not a true being ([k]‌ein wahrhaft Seiendes)” (W 5: 172).33 Two points delineating Hegel’s conception can be inferred from this passage:  (1) if finite things have no veritable being in themselves, they obviously depend on something else for their existence; (2) what finite things depend on cannot be finite itself, otherwise it would be dependent as well. This independent entity, then, must be infinite, or better: it must be the infinite, that is the absolute, that is the truth, that is God.34 What emerges here is a complementary aspect of the same relationship previously considered from God’s perspective, because saying that the fields of the finite (the natural-worldly and the human) have their truth in the infinite (God or the divine) implies that the finite does not have truth in itself. Let us now turn our attention to the particular field of nature. In the Enzyklopädie, Hegel writes: “The Philosophy of Nature [is] the science of Idea in its otherness. […]. In Nature nothing else would have to be discerned, except

33 The passage continues as follows: “Every philosophy is essentially idealism or, at least, has idealism as its basic principle. The question is only, to which extent such a principle is developed” (W 5: 172). Hegel’s assertion is thus in agreement with Rosenzweig’s conception of an idealistic vein characterizing philosophy in general. The evaluations they make of it are opposite, though: while Hegel praises this view, Rosenzweig criticizes it. 34 A series of equivalences can be tracked down throughout Hegel’s corpus. (1) From the passage quoted above emerges that God is the truth. (2) In the Phänomenologie des Geistes, Hegel says clearly that “only the absolute is true, or truth is the absolute” (W 3: 70, my emphasis). (3) As to the link between the notions of infinity and absoluteness, it is not a perfect correspondence, because absoluteness is infinite, but infinity is not necessarily absolute. More precisely, absoluteness is infinity that has gone through—that is has abolished and conserved—the dimension of finitude. Before this transition, infinity can be given, but not absoluteness. Combining the three points, then: God is truth, which is the absolute, which is the infinite after its contact with the finite.

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the Idea itself; but the Idea in the form of its externalization (Entäußerung)” (W 8: 64). By ‘idea’ Hegel means the infinite as logical structure of reality. This means that, despite being already infinite, the idea is still not absolute,35 as it has not yet externalized itself in the finite.36 This transition is in fact necessary for the idea to become fully-fledged spirit, as it has to “come back to itself out of that otherness” (ibid.), to come to “enjoy itself as absolute spirit” (394). Only an externalization into nature, then, represents that condition of otherness, from which the idea can come back to itself and thus acquire its true being as absolute spirit. Falling into finitude, in other words, is necessary to rise again to absoluteness. The relationship between nature and idea can thus be seen as a particular expression of the more general relationship between the finite and the infinite. More precisely: the idea is the infinite entity, which, by developing itself, becomes spirit and constitutes reality; while nature, as a finite sphere, is a phase of this development. For Hegel, nature is not separated from the idea as something subordinate or inessential; rather, it is a necessary step of its evolution into spirit. To make the point clear, finally, a theoretical parallel can be established between three levels of Hegel’s conception:  (1) the infinite must go through the finite and come back, in order to become absolute. (2) God must incarnate himself into a human being, to fully develop his divine essence. (3) The idea (infinite) must externalize itself into nature (finite) and come back into itself, to finally become spirit (absolute as unity of infinite and finite).

The Human The sphere of the human in Hegel’s philosophy can be analyzed by considering the role the empirical ‘I’ plays in the systematic progress of spirit. The Phänomenologie des Geistes is entirely dedicated to the development of the particular subject into the absolute spirit, retracing the many steps of what can be seen as an ascent of particularity to universality and absoluteness.37 In 3 5 Once again, the difference between infinity and absoluteness becomes noticeable. 36 It is particularly meaningful that Hegel describes this still immature stage as corresponding to “the representation of God in his eternal essence before the creation of nature and finite spirit” (W 6: 44). This description provides a further argument—if need still be—in support of the parallel between God and spirit: the idea is immature spirit, just as God is still undeveloped before his contact with the spheres of the finite. 37 With regard to the different interpretations of the Phänomenologie des Geistes, Maria F. Bykova (2009) distinguishes two opposite approaches: a ‘top down’ and a ‘bottom up’ approach. Both represent incomplete, one-sided views, as the former tends to focus on the universal, neglecting the particular, while the latter exaggerates the particular

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this elevation, the two extremes of the process share a fundamental trait, namely self-consciousness: the capability of consciousness—be it particular or absolute— to know itself. Since the establishment of the subjectivist paradigm, self-consciousness has always been seen as the essence of the particular subject, but for Hegel it is also the very foundation of absoluteness.38 In his view, the reason why the absolute is as it is, is because it does not depend on anything to come to be, except its own self-knowledge.39 Ontological and cognitive moments thus come to coincide in the absolute, as this posits itself (ontological moment) by thinking of itself (cognitive moment). Self-consciousness characterizes both the single individual and the absolute spirit. In this regard, Hegel uses the same noun, Individuum (individual), for both notions, distinguishing them only through the adjectives besondere (particular) and allgemein (universal). The aim of the Phänomenologie is “to lead the [particular] individual, from its uncultivated condition, to knowledge, and to consider the universal individual, i.e. the self-conscious spirit, in its development” (W 3: 31). While the universal individual is explicitly said to be self-conscious, that is completely developed spirit, “the particular individual is incomplete spirit” (32). But the point here is that both the particular and the universal are individuals, because in both the essential feature of individuality, that is self-consciousness, stands out. However different they may be, the particular and the universal share at least this: that each of them is capable of self-knowledge. Hegel’s movement of thought seems to consist in projecting the dynamics of self-consciousness from the level of a particular individual onto that of the absolute—with the result of a universal individual, or absolute spirit, whose to the detriment of the universal. The right approach—Bykova argues—must consider both dimensions at the same time, focusing on what they share as a common trait. This is self-consciousness, which, acting as a sort of fil rouge throughout the whole work, characterizes the particular and the universal; the single human being as well as the absolute spirit. 38 Modern philosophers, to their credit, introduced the notion of self-consciousness, but, to their detriment, they conceived it as limited to the particular subject. 3 9 The essential feature of the absolute is its capability to refer to itself. The spirit is absolute precisely because it is self-conscious. Without self-consciousness—without the activity of knowing itself—the spirit would be reduced to a mere substance—as in Spinoza’s philosophy. The difference between spirit and substance is that the latter is fundamentally static and passive, and therefore unable to provide itself with true absoluteness. The substance owes its presumed absoluteness to “the influence of another power” (W 6: 235), but that which must resort to something external to be absolute, obviously, is not really absolute.

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essence consists in knowing itself. In the final pages of the Phänomenologie, Hegel writes:  “The goal […] is absolute knowledge or spirit knowing itself as spirit” (591). But going beyond the letter of the text, Hegel’s path can be seen as a process of ‘absolutization,’ and this notion can be used to describe the relation between the sphere of the human and that of the divine. The former, as particular individual, is the starting point, from which the latter, as universal individual or absolute spirit, can be achieved. In other words, the sphere of the divine is obtained by abolishing particularity in the sphere of the human, elevating it to the absolute, while at the same time maintaining its self-consciousness unaltered in the transition. By way of conclusion, Hegel’s conception of the three spheres can be summarized as follows: the main notion of his account of reality is the absolute spirit, which, as essentially self-conscious, can be seen as an absolutization of the sphere of the human. The absolute spirit, moreover, includes the sphere of the natural as one of its developmental phases, whereas the sphere of the divine, expressed in the figure of God, comes to coincide with the spirit itself. Although not every Hegel scholar would agree with this interpretation,40 Rosenzweig certainly does. Indeed, in Der Stern der Erlösung, he suggests a similar reading, when he writes that “God as Spirit is none other than the subject of cognition, the ‘I.’ […] God and man have evaporated into the limit concept of a subject of knowledge; the world and man, for their part, have evaporated into the limit concept of simple object of this subject” (GS 2: 160).

Hegel and Rosenzweig Hegel’s thought—especially at its highest point, the absolute spirit—can be considered a grand design to close the rifts modern philosophers have opened between different dimensions of reality. In pursuing its goal, however, the Hegelian system can be criticized from a Rosenzweigian point of view, by raising three issues: (1) Hegel overcomes divisions between the human, the natural, and the divine, but, like every other previous philosophical position, he does it by reducing each sphere to the one assumed as fundamental principle. This results in the loss of their mutual autonomy. (2)  Like every unitary picture of reality obtained through a process of reduction, Hegel’s conception is deeply affected by a hierarchical structure. (3) Some divisions, which in a Hegelian view may

40 Different interpretations of Hegel’s philosophy are discussed, for example, in Wartenberg 1993: 117–126.

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seem to be overcome for good, actually even re-emerge, from a Rosenzweigian perspective, in different forms. (1) In Rosenzweig’s perspective, the Hegelian system represents the extreme radicalization of the already criticized process of reduction. Indeed, Hegel’s systematic approach does not restrict itself to just leading things back to a unique principle, but it goes so far as to absolutize that principle, absorbing and assimilating everything into it. The absolute, self-knowing spirit is basically an absolutized sphere of the human; the sphere of the natural-worldly is a part of it; while the sphere of the divine is equated to it. The result is not a triad of spheres that, however hierarchically connected, still maintain their autonomy, but rather a unique expanded sphere incorporating the other two ones. A comparison with other epochs can be useful to see the extent of Hegel’s radicalization of the Zurückführung. In the Middle Ages, for example, the reduction process was conducted in such a way that the spheres of the natural and the human were reduced to that of the divine. However, this does not mean that world and humankind were thought to be the same thing as God, but only that they found in him their reason of being. A second example: Descartes takes up the ontological argument again to prove God’s existence through the idea of a perfect being conceivable in the cogito. In this instance, it is surely possible to speak of a reduction, in the sense that God is made accessible (i.e. reduced) to the human mind. However, this reduction is performed in such a way that the divine is not included in the human, but rather that the two spheres are always kept distinct from each other. On the contrary, Hegel’s struggle against divisions leads him to think of any distinction as internal to his system, and thus characterized by a ‘second-class’ ontological status, compared to the system itself, which, as the uni-totality—that is, as the unique entity encompassing the totality of everything that is—is entitled to a ‘first-class’ status. Divisions pertain to an inferior form of thought, which, placed at the lower levels of the system, must evolve into a superior form, based on unity, at the highest level of the system. This means that divisions are only illusory, as their ultimate truth is actually unity. In such a unity-based system, then, the three spheres relate to one another in an utterly different way than they do in other philosophical views: they are not simply connected to one another, rather they are different developmental stages of an identical, self-developing uni-totality. In the final analysis, the way Hegel deals with the problem of division consists in sublating every opposition within the single, absolute dimension of the spirit.

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This definitely solves the problem, but—as Habermas says—it does it “too well” (1985: 55), that is: divisions are certainly overcome—which may be good—but the price to pay is that, once ‘swallowed up’ within the absolute, each sphere loses fundamental aspects of its essence, not to mention its autonomy. In Rosenzweig’s view, this is bad because the philosophical conception deriving from such a loss turns out to be incapable of properly accounting for reality. To be more precise, important dimensions of each sphere must be given up for the sole purpose of bringing these within the absolute spirit. The result is a picture of reality that is certainly unitary, well-organized, and rational, but precisely for this reason does not correspond to what reality actually is.41 (2) That the Hegelian system is a well-organized uni-totality translates into the fact that it is hierarchically organized. As a matter of fact, a hierarchical approach can be noticed in different aspects of the system: in the way its parts relate to one another, for example, but also in the relationship between these parts and the whole. Hierarchy among the parts is a direct consequence of dialectical logic: the law governing the system in the course of its development. According to this law, each category bears an internal contradiction that makes it develop into its opposite. This turns out to be self-contradictory too, and as such, leads consequently back to the first category again. Far from resulting in a closed loop, however, this reciprocal reference introduces a new category that unites the previous two, by preserving and abolishing (aufheben) their contradiction. The point is that the third category, thanks to its capability of coping with contradiction, proves to have a higher rank than the two preceding ones. Furthermore, for the dialectical movement to continue, it is necessary that the third category of a certain level acts at the same time as the first category of the following level. What emerges, finally, is an ascending, hierarchical succession of logical steps culminating in the highest-ranking, final category of the absolute spirit. Including each and every other category, the absolute spirit is not only entitled to the highest rank in the system, but, in its final step, it also comes to be the system itself. Here, a second form of hierarchy can be pointed out which assigns primacy to the systematic whole over the sum of its parts, as well as over each of them when considered singularly. In other words, the Hegelian conception ranks the multiplicity of categories as being subordinate to the uni-totality. As Rosenzweig writes: “One-dimensionality is the form of uni-totality of knowledge

41 This topic will be discussed in more depth in the section dedicated to Rosenzweig.

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that includes all things in it without remainder. The being, which always appears in its multiplicity, is totally subsumed in that unity as absolute; if a content should occupy a particularly eminent position, […], such a position can be only one, in this system: that of the principle that, as method, brings the system into unity with itself ” (GS 2: 116). A third hierarchical conception that can be imputed to Hegel concerns what for Rosenzweig is a subordination of becoming to the fundamentally static character of the system. Of course, from a Hegelian perspective, it can be objected that the whole system is nothing else than a continuous passing from one category to another, in such a way that the importance of becoming is emphasized, instead of being diminished. But Rosenzweig would reply that the kind of movement developing inside the system is only an apparent one. The development of the system is always led by logical-dialectical necessity, which in Rosenzweig’s view inevitably turns becoming into stasis. For example, when Rosenzweig writes that “an All would not die” (4), he means that the most radical form of becoming, that is death, is precluded to the All, and that any other form accessible to it is necessarily a minor one.42 The problem of hierarchy, that Rosenzweig recognizes affecting philosophy in general, appears all the more intensified in Hegel’s philosophy. In fact, the hierarchical relationships it establishes do not involve only the three spheres of the human, the natural and the divine; rather, hierarchies are multiplied and reaffirmed in the Hegelian system at every level of its dialectical development, as they can be found between each category and every other one. In addition, multiplicity and becoming—that for Rosenzweig are essential traits of reality—are relegated to a subordinate position in the system, while uni-totality and static being are at the top of its conceptual hierarchy. (3) Hegel relates the notion of division to that of abstractness. His understanding of the second term, however, is quite different from the meaning it has in common usage, because something is ‘abstract,’ in Hegel’s view, if it is taken as isolated from the context that provides it with a meaning. In idealism, the context the meaning of everything comes from is the absolute

42 This is one of the aspects where Rosenzweig’s debt to Kierkegaard is more evident. Forced to develop along a logically determined path, authentic becoming gives in to the stasis of being. As Kierkegaard says—and Rosenzweig agrees with him: “in logic no movement can come about, for logic is, and everything logical simply is” (Kierkegaard 1844: 112). And later on, in the same work: “[…] a becoming by necessity is simply a state of being” (119–120).

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spirit as uni-totality, and anything considered separated from it deserves for this very reason to be called ‘abstract.’ On the other hand, the uni-totality itself corresponds to the highest grade of ‘concreteness,’ that is, the condition in which every element is finally acknowledged as part of a whole, interrelated with any other part. Given now this way of conceiving the abstract and the concrete, the idealistic process of overcoming divisions for the sake of wholeness can be reformulated in terms of removing abstractness to reach the concreteness of the absolute spirit. Rosenzweig overturns the Hegelian meaning of the pair ‘abstract/concrete,’ understanding the two terms in a way that is closer to their common meanings. ‘Abstract’ means for him ‘general,’ ‘existing only as an idea,’ and ‘without contact with reality,’ while ‘concrete,’ as the antonym of ‘abstract,’ means ‘actual,’ ‘based on facts,’ ‘connected to reality.’ Assuming the terms in the Rosenzweigian meaning, then, one must conclude that the absolute spirit is not concrete—as it is in Hegel’s view. On the contrary, it is a purely intelligible dimension, which, as such, can be rightly defined as ‘abstract:’ a realm of pure thought irremediably detached from real life. Thus conceived, the absolute spirit is unable to properly account for concrete reality, whose essential vitality always exceeds any attempt to grasp it through rational structures and dynamics of thought. A sharp separation between life and thought emerges, then, in Rosenzweig’s critique of Hegel. One of the clearest passages addressing this point reads: “The All as a one and universal All can only be sustained by a thought that possesses an active and spontaneous force; but in attributing vitality to thought in this way, it must, like it or not, be denied to life—vitality denied to life!” (50). According to Rosenzweig, then, Hegel’s philosophy fails43 in its project of seeking to understand life through a movement of pure thought, as it sacrifices the former for the sake of the latter. Hegelianism ends up creating a polarity that closely follows the opposition between abstractness and concreteness (in the Rosenzweigian understanding of the two terms): thought represents the abstract pole, while life represents the concrete one. Hegel was convinced that he had overcome divisions in the absolute, but for Rosenzweig they come up again in the new form of a gap between thought and life. By way of conclusion, there are good reasons for holding that Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ develops as a critical reaction to Hegel’s philosophy. But however tenable this position may be, such a reading tells just a part of the story. In fact, 43 Once again, a more in-depth inquiry into the reasons of this failure will explain, in the section dedicated to Rosenzweig, what has only been briefly mentioned here.

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the theoretical delineation of Rosenzweig’s own position results from a double movement: on the one hand, of course, it distances itself from Hegel’s idealism, but on the other hand it also pays careful attention not to assume an opposite, irrational slant. Both extremes are to be avoided, for the irrational ‘Scylla’ is not less dangerous than the idealistic ‘Charybdis’ (see the quote in the Introduction  at p. 11.).

The Second Way: Nietzsche “Marx’s and Kierkegaard’s attack separates exactly what Hegel has united; both reverse his conciliation of reason and reality [, thus causing] the dissolution of Hegel’s system (Auflösung von Hegels System). […]. This radical critique of the current state of affairs (radikale Kritik des Bestehenden) is philosophically based on the examination of Hegel’s conception of ‘reality’ as a ‘unity of essence and existence.’ Basically, the entire controversy addresses a single sentence from the Preface to the Philosophy of Right: ‘what is rational is real; and what is real is rational’ ” (Löwith 1941:  155). This citation by Karl Löwith describes a decisive turning point in the history of Western philosophy. The Hegelian system embodies the attempt to reassemble all separations previous positions have produced; but against Hegel, Marx and Kierkegaard usher in a period of philosophy in which those divisions are reaffirmed with even more strength. Essence and existence, rationality and reality, thought and being find their ultimate unity in the Hegelian notion of absolute spirit. But if Hegel’s thought ends in a complete reconciliation (Versöhnung) between opposite dimensions, the epoch that follows starts by calling into question such an accomplishment, reasserting the dichotomies that Hegel believed to have overcome. Thus Marx, for example, focuses on the gap between theory and praxis,44 while Feuerbach emphasizes the difference between material reality and ideal thought.45 In this context, particular attention should be paid to Kierkegaard, as he is one of the main reference points for Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking.’ A profound irreducibility between individual existence and universal essence is the basis of Kierkegaard’s reflections. And in such a basis Rosenzweig finds the “Archimedean point” (GS 2: 7), from which the systematic idea of uni-totality can be overturned.

44 In his well-known eleventh thesis on Feuerbach, Marx declares that “the philosophers have only interpreted the world in various ways; the point, however, is to change it” (Marx 1845: 21). Interpretation and change represent the theoretical and practical sides of philosophy. Whatever development may take place in the realm of theory, it does not necessarily imply a corresponding development in the field of praxis. 45 As is well-known, Hegel maintains that the material dimension of reality has its ultimate truth in thought. Against this view, Feuerbach says: “Taken in its reality or regarded as real, the real is the object of the senses—the sensuous. Truth, reality, and sensuousness are one and the same thing. Only a sensuous being is a true and real being” (Feuerbach 1843: 298).

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The Second Way: Nietzsche

What Löwith says about Marx and Kierkegaard, however, turns out to be all the more valid for Nietzsche, who pushes their anti-Hegelian slant to its extreme consequences, arguing for the most radical break between the dimensions that Hegel tried to unify. Not only Nietzsche does reject the idealistic identity of rationality and reality by criticizing its logical foundation;46 he also remolds both the notions in such a way that any connection between them becomes definitively untenable. On the one hand, such typical Nietzschean ideas as the “meaninglessness of the whole (Sinnlosigkeit des Ganzen)” (KGA 8.3: 4. 1888, 13–2), “the chaos of the All (das Chaos des Alls)” (KGA 5.2: 426. 1881, 11–225), and especially the doctrine of ‘eternal return’ testify to his conception of reality as a dimension impervious to any form of rationality. On the other hand, rationality itself is degraded to a mere product of human needs. In a posthumous fragment, for example, Nietzsche writes: “The trust in reason and its categories, in dialectic, and hence the valuing of logic, proves only that through experience these have been shown useful, and not that they are true” (KGA 8.2: 16. 1887, 9–38). Rationality is not the objective rule it claims to be, but rather just a human strategy to cope with the threats of an irrational reality: it is not true, but just useful.47 Nothing in reality implies that it should conform to rationality; the actual foundation of this idea lies in an inborn human need for certainty. This translates into the human will to live in an ordered world and thus into the establishment of an order which can assure security and safety against the unpredictability of irrationality. In this view, rationality turns out to be nothing more than the way through which such an order is finally provided, and Nietzscheanism represents the clear realization of this (thus far unknown) process. It is through Nietzsche’s reflections that “philosophers […] became aware of the sureness, of the subjective certainty that derives from handling the categories of reason” (KGA 6.3: 71). Recalling now the Homeric metaphor with which Rosenzweig characterizes his ‘new thinking,’ a three-term relationship comes to the fore:  the idealistic Charybdis is opposed to the irrational Skylla, while Rosenzweig’s own thought takes shape as a theory that is equally different from both. If Hegel epitomizes perfectly the idealist pole, Nietzsche, as the embodiment of the most radical form 46 “One chooses dialectic only when one has no other means” (KGA 6.3: 64). Though referring explicitly to dialectic, it is clear that Nietzsche’s criticism can be extended to rationality in general. 47 A passage from Götzen-Dämmerung points in the same direction, presenting a rational attitude as a choice: “rationality betrays a desperate situation; there was danger, there was but one choice: either to perish or—to be absurdly rational” (66, my emphasis).

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of anti-idealism, can rightly represent the opposite pole—if Hegel symbolizes the triumph of rationality, Nietzsche, striking at the very core of Hegel’s conception, exemplifies an affirmation of irrationality.

Nietzsche’s Irrationalism for Rosenzweig Nietzsche’s philosophy has been understood in many different ways, but the most relevant interpretation for this work is obviously that proposed by Rosenzweig. ‘Interpretation,’ however, is probably too broad a word in this case, as Rosenzweig does not dedicate any specific study to Nietzsche and Nietzscheanism is dealt with only very briefly in Der Stern der Erlösung. Despite the paucity of explicit references, some general remarks about Rosenzweig’s understanding of Nietzsche’s thought can nonetheless be made. In the first part of the book, Rosenzweig recognizes an anti-Hegelian line connecting such thinkers as Kierkegaard, Schopenhauer and, of course, Nietzsche. The common thread running through their philosophies is the accentuation of an irrational dimension, summarized in the notion of ‘individuality.’ In this context, ‘irrational’ means ‘not completely reducible to reason,’ and this is exactly how Rosenzweig sees every particular individual: as “an indigestible fact outside” (GS 2: 12) the rationality-based totality, a “point outside of that knowable All” (7), because it is typical for concrete individuality to always exceed the concept one may have of it. The individual, in other words, cannot be forced into conceptual schemes and integrated into any totality of thought. Far from being expression of the absolute—like in Hegel’s view—the ‘single individual’ is precisely what makes all absolutistic projects fail. Kierkegaard is the first thinker to enforce the rights of the single individual against the absolute. But this means also that his thought is based precisely on the dimension that, with its irreducibility to reason, marks the failure of the highly rational Hegelian system. However all-embracing such a system may claim to be, there will always be something it cannot account for, something that does not bend itself to the structures and dynamics of rationality. And this irreducible ‘something’ is the concrete single individual, or, as Rosenzweig writes, “it is Søren Kierkegaard’s own consciousness, or the consciousness designated by some other first and last name, […] for even if everything in it could be translated into the universal—there would remain the fact of having a first and last name, the most personal thing in the strictest and narrowest sense of the word” (7–8). What starts with Kierkegaard’s reflections, moreover, finds its most advanced expression in Nietzscheanism. With Nietzsche, personalization in philosophy— the development of the so-called ‘point of view-philosophy’—reaches its peak.

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The Second Way: Nietzsche

For he is no longer a ‘philosopher’ in the traditional sense, that is someone who erases himself in favor of an abstract concept; rather, he is a ‘man who philosophizes,’ that is to say, someone whose individuality is always at the center of and evolves together with his philosophical reasoning; someone “who, in the metamorphoses of his figures of thought, changes himself ” (10). Unlike traditional philosophy, this new kind of philosophy is not based on abstract reasoning beyond individuality, but rather it is a matter of how an individual being reacts to reality. Individuality is now the core of philosophy—and Nietzscheanism is for Rosenzweig the highest realization of the new philosophical style.48 By way of conclusion, the irrational character of what Rosenzweig calls ‘point of view-philosophy’ and the leading position Nietzscheanism holds in it renders it very plausible that Rosenzweig actually has Nietzsche in mind when considering the irrational pole in an idealism-irrationalism opposition.

Against Values and Hierarchies Rosenzweig’s criticism of reduction and hierarchization processes in philosophy finds a counterpart in Nietzsche’s denunciation of the notion of ‘value.’ However, some relevant differences between their views need to be pointed out. For Rosenzweig, the sphere acting as basic principle everything else should be led back to is assumed, in each philosophical epoch, from a triad of spheres, whose existence, however, is never called into question. For Nietzsche, on the other hand, the dimension that ascribes all value to itself does not simply come from what reality has to offer in terms of pre-existing dimensions. Rather, it is purposely produced through a process of projection. “We have projected our conditions of preservation (Erhaltungs-Bedingungen) onto the predicates of being” (KGA 8.2: 17. 1887, 9–38), says Nietzsche. This means that we deliberately produce a new dimension as a complex of what we project onto it. In Nietzsche’s view, philosophical thinking has always acted by projecting onto an ideal dimension of reality all features that are usually perceived as comforting and suitable for ensuring human life and preservation:  “Philosophizing has never been about ‘truth,’ but always about something else—let’s say about health, future, growth, power, life” (KGA 5.2: 17). The ideal dimension thus created is 48 It is important to point out that Rosenzweig’s evaluation of Nietzsche is not always as positive as it would seem from what has been said thus far. In fact, Rosenzweig’s position on Nietzsche’s philosophy is ambivalent: “Nietzsche’s first appearance in The Star is positive, his second appearance is both positive and negative, and his third appearance is negative” (Cohen 1990: 347).

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then elevated above all others, as it concentrates in itself all the worth and value that, at the same time, other dimensions are deprived of. These end up losing their significance, at some point even dwindling into insignificance. This displacement of value from one dimension to another—which closely recalls the reduction of one sphere to another in Rosenzweig’s analysis—is for Nietzsche a form of “hyperbolic49 naivety” (KGA 8.2: 291. 1887: 11–91) that has its origin in the birth of rationalism with Socrates and in particular Plato. For Nietzsche, the paradigm of ‘hyperbolic naivety’ is Plato’s theory of ideas and the radical separation it establishes between ideal and perceptible world. Such a separation is not a neutral one, as it does not result in two equal-ranking parts, but rather leads to their arrangement into a hierarchy. Truth and value can be ascribed only to the ideal world, whereas the perceptible one is downgraded to the level of mere illusion: it may partake, to some extent, of ideal truth, but it is not true itself. Since the world we have concretely experience of is characterized by continuous changing, Plato concludes that no stable knowledge can be derived from it. Only the realm of ideas—the hyperuranion (ὑπερουράνιον) (Phaed. 247 b–c), in Plato’s terms—is beyond physical change. Therefore it is also provided with that eternal perfection which makes it the repository of the truthvalue which the empirical world, as illusion, is deprived of. In Plato’s theory, the hyperuranion is situated at the highest level of reality; the empirical world is ranked at the lowest level; while human beings occupy a sort of in-between position. As a compound of body and soul, the human being belongs to nature, because of her physical features, but she also stands in relation to the ideal world through the spiritual character of her soul. The Platonic hierarchy, moreover, is not only installed between ideal and empirical world, but also prevails within the field of ideality itself, which is organized into three ranked categories: the ideas of empirical things (‘man,’ ‘horse,’ ‘apple,’ etc.), mathematical ideas (‘triangle,’ ‘number five,’ ‘sum,’ etc.), and the so-called ‘value-ideas’ (‘truth,’ ‘justice,’ ‘beauty,’ ‘goodness’). ‘Value-ideas’ are at the top of the hierarchy; and of these, ‘goodness’ is the most important. A hierarchical way of thinking permeates all levels of the Platonic view of reality. But it affects also other conceptions, such as Christianity, for instance.

49 It is not by chance that the word ‘hyperbolic’ is used here. It is a clear reference to the Greek verb hyperballein (ὑπέρβάλλειν), which means ‘to throw over or beyond,’ from hyper (ὑπέρ), ‘above’ and ballo (βάλλω), ‘I throw’. The adjective ‘hyperbolic’ refers, in general, to a displacing movement. In this particular case, such movement applies to and takes place within the philosophical value system.

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That a single value-idea (‘goodness’) is considered at the summit of reality provides fertile ground for the Christian monotheistic doctrine to be grafted onto Platonism, as the Platonic ‘good in itself,’ one and transcendent, can be easily identified with the unique God of revelation. Nietzsche writes: “the worst, most protracted and dangerous mistake so far has been […] Plato’s invention of pure spirit and the good in itself ” (KGA 6.2: 4). Platonism is not only a ‘mistake,’ then, but it is also ‘protracted,’ that is it left a legacy of error that developed far beyond its theoretical boundaries. And this is why Nietzsche extends his criticism to other conceptions similar to Plato’s: to Christianity, defined as “Platonism for the masses” (ibid.), but also to hierarchical thought in general.50 Nietzsche sees Plato’s theory of ideas and every other doctrine modeled on it as philosophical strategies. They are produced and implemented by human will to find in an ideal ‘beyond’ the kind of absolute truth that is alien to the empirical world. For example, that pure spirit is defined as ‘invention,’ in the citation above, speaks volumes of the artificial character it has for Nietzsche: the ideal world is not real; it is just a (convenient) creation. It does not correspond to a neutral and objective description of reality—as it claims—but is rather a projection of human (all too human) inclinations, attitudes, and interests. Hierarchical thought thus turns out to be part of a human plan to escape the most unbearable aspects of reality—such as becoming, uncertainty, death, etc.—by producing a fictive image of reality that shows the opposite features—that is eternity, certainty, immortality, etc. These topics play a central role in Nietzsche’s Zur Genealogie der Moral, where he writes:  “[…] the ascetic ideal:  this hatred of what is human, even more of animality, even more of material things—[…] this longing for the beyond away from all appearance, change, becoming, death, desire, even longing itself—all this means, let’s have the courage to understand this, a will to nothingness, an aversion to life, a revolt against the most fundamental preconditions of life— but it is and remains a will!” (430). What Nietzsche describes is precisely the above-mentioned displacement of value, that is an overestimation of the ideal dimension, which can satisfy the human need for safety, and a concomitant 50 From this point of view, Platonism and Christianity are similar, of course, but not identical. One of the main differences between them consists, for example, in the notion of ‘creation.’ While Christianity conceives it as a movement from nothingness to being (creatio ex nihilo), there is no such thing as ‘creation’ in Plato’s terminology. In his cosmology, expounded in the dialog Timaeus, the origin of the universe depends on the activity of a demiurge that gives form to pre-existing matter by imitating eternal models.

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underestimation—even a hatred—of the empirical dimension in which this need is frustrated. But it is always a human will that is at work in this process, acting to create the ideal world and to nullify the empirical one. In other works, this ‘will to nothingness’ is explicitly called ‘nihilism.’ For the sake of clarity, however, it must be pointed out that Nietzsche means at least three different things by the term ‘nihilism’:  (1) a hierarchical-transcendent way of thinking (e.g. Platonism and Christianity) that produces an ideal world, while reducing the empirical one to nothing; (2) the unmasking of this way of thinking, by revealing its underlying dynamics; and (3) the result of this unmasking, that is, a final condition that lacks stable foundations and that therefore also implies the impossibility of making sense of reality.51 The three forms or phases of nihilism are metaphorically expounded in Also sprach Zarathustra, in the section Von den drei Verwandlungen: “Of three metamorphoses of the spirit52 do I tell you: how the spirit becomes a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child” (KGA 6.1: 25). The camel embodies a blind acceptance of the status quo and hierarchical structures. In this first phase, the spirit takes upon itself the burdens of an ideal dimension, of metaphysical truths, and consequently accepts the devaluation of the empirical world that such a view implies—just as a camel takes its load. The lion symbolizes a violent reaction against values and hierarchies. It corresponds to the phase in which ideal-metaphysical values are recognized to be nothing more than comforting illusions to hide the unbearable uncertainty of reality. But once revealed for what they really are, values cannot be maintained anymore and the spirit, just like a lion, destroys them. The third figure, the child, represents for Nietzsche the right attitude toward reality. Once freed from oppressive values and hierarchies, reality appears as a sort of ‘virgin land,’ that is a dimension to be explored with the same innocence and lightness of a child. Especially this third phase can represent a terrible and unbearable thought for those still in need of stability; those who still have to resort to hierarchical structures and take comfort from the false sense of security these provide. This sort of humankind is not yet able to relate to reality with a child-like attitude, but on the other hand, the few who are strong enough to embrace meaninglessness53 51 “This is the most extreme form of nihilism: nothingness (the senseless) eternally!” (KGA 8.1: 217. 1886, 5, 71–6). 52 Needless to say, the ‘spirit’ Nietzsche talks about here has nothing to do with Hegel’s understanding of the term. 53 The difference between those who need stability and those who can do without it lies in their different levels of independence. “It is the business of the very few to be independent; it is a privilege of the strong” (KGA 6.2: 43).

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are in a position to see nihilism in a positive light, as an exaltation of lightness, freedom, and power that ushers in a new way of experiencing reality, a way that Nietzsche calls ‘innocence of becoming’ (Unschuld des Werdens).54 This is the very goal of Nietzscheanism, its pars construens, so to speak: the acceptance of the ‘innocence of becoming,’ a ‘yes to life’ (KGA 8.2: 62. 1887, 9–107), and the realization that meaninglessness, chaos, the absence of absolute truths, are not to be feared, but can introduce a higher level of freedom and fullness of life. In conclusion, even if hierarchy may assume different configurations—for example, a three-sphere model, as in Rosenzweig’s analysis, or the PlatonicChristian two-dimension structure, as criticized by Nietzsche—it is always based on the same process that generally consists in subtracting value from a sector of reality and in adding it to another sector. This process is the central issue in Nietzscheanism and guides its critical slant. Rosenzweig and Nietzsche thus seem to share a similar approach to the problem. Rosenzweig does not criticize a particular form of reduction, but condemns the reduction process in general. Similarly, Nietzsche’s criticism is not leveled so much against a hierarchical conception in particular, as against the deep mechanism lying at the roots of every hierarchical view—against hierarchical thinking in general, then, irrespective of the specific form it develops into.

Nietzsche and Hegel As previously argued, hierarchy plays a central role in Hegel’s idealism (see point 2 in the section ‘Hegel and Rosenzweig’). It is in light of this centrality, then, that Nietzsche’s criticism of values and hierarchies also assumes an anti-Hegelian character. By harshly criticizing hierarchical views in general, Nietzsche cannot but criticize also what is at the cutting edge of hierarchical thinking, that is, the ranked structure that shapes the Hegelian system. Hegel’s goal has always consisted in unifying being and thought, by incorporating the former into the latter. In so doing, the original dichotomy between them is converted into another kind of division, which now, on account of its developing entirely within the unique dimension of thought, has a weaker status: it does not separate two different dimensions anymore, but only two different parts of the same dimension. What used to fall under the name of ‘thought’ as something purely subjective, is now acknowledged as having a wider scope,

54 “Only the innocence of becoming gives us the highest courage and the highest freedom” (KGA 7.1: 351. 1883, 8–19).

Nietzsche and Hegel

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covering also non-subjective aspects. As for being, it used to be considered extraneous and opposite to thought, but in the Hegelian system it is redefined and included into thought as its non-subjective, objective side. But such inclusion is possible only if being is ‘logicized,’ that is, only if it is brought under the jurisdiction of logic and thus made akin to thought. Once developed to its highest level, the dimension of thought shows two sides in Hegel’s view: a dynamic-subjective and a static-objective one. With a metaphor based on sight, the former can be defined in terms of seeing thought, while the latter can be called seen thought. ‘Seeing thought, thought that sees’ is fundamentally active and means basically reasoning activity, while ‘seen thought, thought that is seen’ has a passive character, indicating the transparency of what can be rationally grasped. It is dialectical logic that acts as a connecting factor between the two sides, for it partakes of both natures. Dialectical logic is the rule governing thinking activity, and thus molds the subjective side of thought. But at the same time, it is also the structure providing being, that is the objective side of thought, with its rational foundation. This convergence of both sides through the linkage of logic is what holds the Hegelian system together. Nietzsche’s reflections have the effect of separating again the dimensions that Hegel tried to unify. Throwing the validity of logic into question, Nietzsche strikes directly at the foundations of the Hegelian system. He breaks the link between subjective and objective sides of thought, so that both of them, without the connection of logic, become free to develop independently of each other and beyond the bonds of rationality. The two main conceptions of Nietzscheanism can be taken as representing this new development. On the one hand, Nietzsche’s notion of ‘will to power’ testifies to a transfiguration of subjectivity beyond the constraints of rational boundaries. On the other hand, the doctrine of ‘eternal return’ provides a picture of reality that cannot follow a linear progress anymore and is resistant to any sort of rational organization. For Nietzsche, logic does not represent a “truth criterion, but an imperative concerning what should count as true […]. In fact, [it] applies only to fictitious entities that we have produced” (KGA 8.2: 53–55. 1887, 9–97). Thus conceived, logic is deprived of its supposed objective value and turns out to be nothing more than a human creation. As such, it cannot lead to any truth, but can only confirm what we already wanted to be true—it is just a construct, then, fictitious like the entities it applies to. A  schematic reconstruction of the birth of logic strengthens this view: “On the origin of logic. Original chaos of representations. Representations that are compatible with one another resist; the others go down. Production—selection and consolidation of what has been selected” (KGA 7.1: 687. 1883, 24–5). Logic applies only to representations that are selected among

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those that lend themselves to be arranged in an ordered structure. This means that the selection criterion is not truth, but, again, just human convenience. Philosophy has always conceived of truth as something immune to arbitrariness, but Nietzsche turns the situation around, by making truth depend on human will. Truth, in his view, should be more correctly called ‘will to truth,’ as the ‘selection and consolidation’ mentioned above are always actions that are performed by a will. In other words, it is the human need for and desire of certainty that produces truth through “a making firm, a making true-and-durable” (KGA 8.2: 48. 1887, 9–91). Nietzsche adds: “Truth is not something out there that might be found or discovered—but something that must be produced and that gives its name to a process” (49). Of course, Hegel too defines truth in terms of a process, but there is nothing arbitrary in his conception of a ‘self-developing spirit,’ while the process Nietzsche talks about is a “processus in infinitum” (ibid.), by nature open and unfinished, led by will rather than by logic. Will—be it ‘will to power’ or ‘will to truth’55—is the new face of subjectivity, that is the form subjectivity turns out to have, once it ceases to be seen as subjected to rationality and, on the contrary, reveals itself as rationality’s real source. The other main notion of Nietzscheanism, the ‘eternal return,’ is the new face of objectivity, or rather: it is the dissolution of any form of objectivity. “In every now being begins; around every here rotates the sphere of the there. The center is everywhere”—says Zarathustra (KGA 6.1:  269). But the ubiquity of the center means actually the absence of a center, of a central reference point. And without it, it is impossible to gather all elements around a single principle that is able to give a meaning to reality. Affirming the ‘eternal return,’ then, is tantamount to affirming the ‘equivalence of everything.’ This implies a conception of reality as something devoid of any rational basis; something involved in an endless movement without direction or aim and, ultimately, without an objective sense. In contrast to dialectical logic that arranges reality into a hierarchical order, Nietzsche presents a picture of reality as a flowing, chaotic dimension without any logical structure. To the Hegelian conception of a rational and self-conscious spirit, Nietzsche responds with that of an irrational will. Hegel’s view of reality and truth, as a linear progress resulting in the absolute, meets with radical opposition in the doctrine of eternal return and its circular dynamics. If

55 The difference between ‘will to power’ and ‘will to truth’ is just a matter of degree. More precisely, ‘will to truth’ is the still immature form ‘will to power’ assumes, as long as the notion of ‘truth’ is considered tenable.

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everything returns in an infinite loop, any stable reference point becomes untenable—and thus the very possibility of a rigid configuration for reality is altogether undermined.

The Three Spheres in Nietzsche’s Philosophy In order to analyze Nietzsche’s conceptions of the divine, the natural-worldly, and the human, it is important to keep in mind that Nietzsche is not a systematic thinker and, therefore, his understanding of the three spheres, more often than not, is not methodically expounded. Nonetheless, some central notions, derived from famous aphorisms, can provide succinct insights into this topic. More precisely, the sphere of the human finds its most meaningful expression in the notion of Übermensch, as declared in Also sprach Zarathustra. The natural-worldly is dealt with in Götzen-Dämmerung under the title of Wie die ‘wahre Welt’ endlich zur Fabel wurde. Finally, Nietzsche’s view on the sphere of the divine can be effectively summarized in the well-known notion of ‘God’s death’ which is developed in Die fröhliche Wissenschaft as well as in Also sprach Zarathustra. Nietzsche’s reflections are not presented in a clear and detailed exposition. Rather, they are entangled with one another in such a way that it is impossible to deal with a single notion without treating the others at the same time. Each concept offers a particular perspective on the entanglement it is involved in, and more precisely, it represents a particular point of view on the various combinations the main conceptions of Nietzscheanism may give rise to. The ways ‘eternal return’ and ‘will to power’ relate to each other, for example, emerge each time in a different light, depending on the divine, natural-worldly, or human angle they are observed from. Further complicating the picture is then the notion of ‘nihilism.’ It can be meant in different senses and each of them can be seen as corresponding to different outlooks on reality, different levels of awareness, but also to different spheres. A careful consideration of nihilism, in its different manifestations and in its relationships to other key notions, can thus provide orientation in the intricate web of Nietzschean concepts. As previously mentioned, nihilism develops for Nietzsche in three phases (see the section Against Values and Hierarchies): (1) passive nihilism is its first form. Unaware of itself, this kind of nihilism corresponds to the camel in Zarathustra’s metaphor; that is to a passive acceptance of hierarchical burdens; (2) active-reactive nihilism is the destructive phase, epitomized by the figure of the lion. It consists in getting rid of all the old, false values; (3) active-ecstatic nihilism is the last, most mature phase, in which a new attitude toward existence comes to the fore—an attitude that upholds the acceptance of

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life with the same lightness and innocence of a child, that is the third and last metamorphosis. The concepts delineating Nietzsche’s understanding of the three spheres are all expressions of the last two phases. God’s death and the demise of the idea of a ‘true world’ show the same destructive slant that characterizes nihilism in its active-reactive stage:  they clearly represent a rejection of such values as ‘transcendence’ (God) and ‘truth’ (the true world). This step, moreover, paves the way for the following one: the active-ecstatic phase that summarizes the remaining notions. Active-ecstatic nihilism stands for a higher dimension of being, whose defining feature is, above all, a lack of reference points, as implied in the notion of eternal return. The will to power, as a vital impulse, serves as the unique criterion to orient oneself in the new dimension. And here is where the notion of Übermensch becomes particularly relevant: it hints at the emergence of a superior human being, who embraces the eternal return as a form of freedom and is thus able to embody the will to power.

The Divine The sphere of the divine is for Nietzsche the paradigm of hierarchy and hierarchical thinking in general. No wonder, then, that his attitude toward it is a highly critical one. The anti-hierarchical character of Nietzsche’s thought leads him to see in the notion of God, and in everything it represents, the main polemical target for his plan of a ‘transvaluation of all values.’ God’s death is not to be taken in a strictly theological way. Rather, Nietzsche conceives of it as an emblematic figure, as the ultimate development of a more general process: the rejection of values and hierarchies that acts as a leitmotif for the whole of his philosophy. God’s death, then, represents and summarizes many other deaths, such as: the death of an absolute truth, the death of the notion of rational totality, of logic, the death of moral values, or of values in general. Actually, the sentence ‘God is dead’ does not mean that he has simply ‘passed away’—as if the idea of God had spontaneously fallen into disuse and had ceased to exert any influence on human existence. Quite the contrary, this death is more precisely a murder. The ‘madman’ in Die fröhliche Wissenschaft is extremely clear on this point, when he says: “God is dead! God stays dead! […]. We have killed him—you and I. We are all his killers” (KGA 5.2: 159). God’s death is a human act. It is the extreme consequence of the realization that values presumed to be founding are not founding at all, but rather founded. They are not absolute and incontrovertible, as they claim to be. They are just human creations for the sake of human convenience. And once all values reveal

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their fictive character, it makes perfect sense that the highest among them, that is God as their paradigm, is degraded, rejected, and, in Nietzsche’s words, ‘killed.’ At the same time, God’s death implies also a loss of orientation56 in reality: “Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? […] Are we not incessantly falling? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there still any up or down? Are we not straying as through an infinite nothing?” (ibid.)—asks the ‘madman.’ But this feeling of disorientation in a godless world can be kind of a testing ground for humankind: it marks the difference between those who are still in need of orientation and those who greet its loss as a new freedom. Humankind has always perceived the precarious mutability of the world as a threat:  uncontrollable and unpredictable, worldly becoming is a dimension human beings have always felt to be at the mercy of. In this context, God’s existence has always acted as an immutable value, placed beyond becoming and governing it from above. God embodies stability beyond and against instability. God is the stable reference point humankind has always related to, to make becoming bearable. But the comfort the idea of God can provide is, for Nietzsche, the only reason why such an idea has been developed. This means that God is not causa sui—as a long philosophical tradition maintains—but rather a creation of human will. God—and the whole system of values he is at the top of—is just a production of the will to power; its attempt to find a remedy against the uncertainty and contingency of existence. It is easy to recognize the eternal return in the constantly changing dimension humankind is scared of. However, the fact that it is still perceived as threatening indicates a low level of human maturity. At this level, the ‘will to power’ is still a ‘will to truth’ and is still intent on concealing the (putative) threat of worldly becoming under the comforting (but false) safety of eternal values—such as God. At a more mature level, Nietzsche’s characterization of the divine as a human creation ties in with the awareness that such a creation is not even useful, as the danger it aims to avoid turns out not to be a danger at all. Precariousness and uncertainty can and should be seen in a positive light, as inexhaustible sources of ever new possibilities. When this occurs, ‘will to truth’ can develop into the more mature ‘will to power,’ welcoming the old threat as a new dimension of freedom and serving as the guiding principle with which to explore it.

56 Precisely ‘orientation’ is a key notion for comparing Nietzsche’s and Rosenzweig’s views. See, in particular, the part dedicated to the meaning of revelation in Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’: Between God and Human Being. The Path of Revelation.

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The Natural-Worldly Nietzsche’s thinking on the sphere of the natural-worldly follows the rise and fall of the idea of ‘true world,’ reconstructing its history in a six-phase process.57 It is worth quoting the entire passage: “1. The true world—attainable for the sage, the pious, the virtuous man; he lives in it, he is it. (The oldest form of the idea, relatively sensible, simple, and persuasive. A circumlocution for the sentence, ‘I, Plato, am the truth’). 2. The true world—unattainable for now, but promised for the sage, the pious, the virtuous man (‘for the sinner who repents.’) (Progress of the idea:  it becomes more subtle, insidious, incomprehensible—it becomes female, it becomes Christian.) 3. The true world—unattainable, indemonstrable, unpromisable; but the very thought of it—a consolation, an obligation, an imperative. (At bottom, the old sun, but seen through mist and skepticism. The idea has become elusive, pale, Nordic, Königsbergian). 4. The true world—unattainable? At any rate, unattained. And being unattained, also unknown. Consequently, not consoling, redeeming, or obligating:  how could something unknown obligate us? (Gray morning. The first yawn of reason. The cockcrow of positivism). 5. The ‘true’ world—an idea which is no longer good for anything, not even obligating—an idea which has become useless and superfluous—consequently, a refuted idea:  let us abolish it! (Bright day; breakfast; return of bon sens and cheerfulness; Plato’s embarrassed blush pandemonium of all free spirits). 6. The true world—we have abolished. What world has remained? The apparent one perhaps? But no! With the true world we have also abolished the apparent one. (Noon; moment of the briefest shadow; end of the longest error; high point of humanity; INCIPIT ZARATHUSTRA)” (KGA 6.3: 74–75).

(1) The ‘true world’ is at first thought of as fully reachable through the exercise of rationality:  the wise man can gain access to it by means of reasoning. (2) Christianity modifies this view by delaying the reaching of the ‘true world.’ This is conceived in terms of ‘after life,’ as a promised dimension placed beyond the empirical, non-true world. (3) Kantian philosophy represents the following

57 The division in six phases recalls—and mocks—the biblical creation of the world in six days.

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step. In Kantianism, the ‘true world’ is neither accessible nor promised, but only thinkable as one of the three notions human reason assumes as regulative ideals. (4)  Positivism goes a step further, by denying also the thinkableness of a presumed ‘true world,’ which turns out to be unknowable, unknown, and thus incapable of providing humankind with any sort of consolation. The last two points describe two different aspects of Nietzsche’s own philosophy. Point (5)  corresponds to the awareness that the idea of a ‘true world’ is a useless one and to the consequent decision to discard it for good. This may seem to be the final step of the whole process, but in fact another phase follows, point (6). Since the very concept of a ‘true world’ has to be abolished, that of an ‘apparent world’ becomes untenable too. Along with the notion of ‘true world,’ that of ‘apparent world’ must fall too, because if two concepts are defined by way of contrast with each other, rejecting one of them implies also the rejection of the other. If the ‘apparent world’ has its whole meaning in being ‘hierarchically inferior to the true one’—that is if its definition depends on and follows from that of the true one—it obviously vanishes, once the ‘true world’ is revealed to be nothing more than a ‘fable.’ Not only is the ‘true world’ a construct, but so is also the ‘apparent’ one as its conceptual opposite. Once the true and the apparent world, as well as the hierarchical difference between them, collapse by revealing their fictive nature, a conception of reality as pure becoming emerges from their ashes. Without the burden of such concepts as ‘true’ or ‘apparent,’ the world that remains is the full expression of what Nietzsche calls ‘innocence of becoming’ and ‘eternal return:’ a dimension of freedom that, as such, fosters the free exercise of the ‘will to power.’ The cited text How the true world finally became a fable ends with the words ‘INCIPIT ZARATHUSTRA.’ This means that the changing fortunes of the idea of ‘true world’ are seen as a preparation for the last, most mature phase of Nietzsche’s thought, which is embodied in the figure of Zarathustra and his declaration of a higher form of humankind.

The Human “And Zarathustra spoke to the people: ‘I bring you the Overman (Übermensch). Humankind is something to be surpassed’ ” (KGA 6.1:  8). The main notion for Nietzsche’s account of the sphere of the human is the Overman. Its distinguishing trait can be found in a fundamental ‘freedom of spirit,’ which consists in “delight and power of self-determination, a freedom of the will, in which the spirit takes leave of all faith and every wish for certainty, practiced as it is in maintaining itself on light ropes and possibilities and dancing even beside

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abysses. Such a spirit would be the free spirit par excellence.” (KGA 5.2: 265). Obviously, reaching such a level of freedom is no easy task. It must be assiduously gained through the (sometimes painful) rejection of firmly held beliefs and values. And it is also necessary to leave behind for good the need for certainty those beliefs and values were created to satisfy. It is in this context that the notion of eternal return meets that of Übermensch, the former serving as a sort of litmus test for the latter. More precisely, the difference between mere Mensch and authentic Übermensch consists in their different ways of relating to and coping with the “most abyssal thought (abgründlichster Gedanke)” (KGA 6.1: 267) of eternal return. On the one hand, the Mensch is unable to come to terms with the idea of a recurrence of all things, viewing it only with a disquieting sense of uncertainty and remaining blind to its positive implications. On the other hand, the Übermensch is defined precisely by its capability to accept and even enjoy such an eternal cycle, regarding the lack of reference points it implies as a form of liberation, and relying on the will to power as his only guide to experience the many possibilities the new freedom has to offer. The path of Nietzsche’s thought starts with harsh criticism of the three traditional spheres, goes on to reveal their inconsistency and ends by prefiguring an utterly different approach to reality. ‘Eternal return’ and ‘will to power’ stand out as basic principles of this new perspective, while the Übermensch represents a connection between them, as he can endure the ‘eternal return’ by embodying the ‘will to power.’ More precisely, the sphere of the divine vanishes, as its highest expression, God, dies. In the sphere of the natural-worldly, the traditional distinction between ‘true’ and ‘apparent’ collapses and the old concept of a ‘true world,’ logically organized and thus rationally comprehendible, is replaced with the irrational, yet also liberating, disorientation of the eternal return. Finally, in the sphere of the human a process of elevation should take place that allows the mere Mensch to be overcome and replaced by the highest form of Übermensch. To sum up, then: God is out of the picture; the world is free from the hierarchy imposed by rationality; and humankind must give over the floor to the Overman, as the beneficiary of the newly obtained freedom.

Nietzsche and Rosenzweig A distinction between pars destruens and pars construens may be useful for comparing Nietzsche’s and Rosenzweig’s positions: Rosenzweig partially agrees with the pars destruens of Nietzscheanism, but he totally disagrees with its

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pars construens. (1)  Rosenzweig agrees with Nietzsche in criticizing rationalsystematic58 ties that force reality into a hierarchical structure. (2) However, it is in the pars construens of their views that Nietzsche and Rosenzweig differ most from each other. While Rosenzweig sees idealism as a one-sided view, which accounts only for the rational side of reality and thus needs expanding to include also its irrational side, reality is for Nietzsche a field of irrational forces only, for which rationality is utterly irrelevant. (3) Nietzsche thinks of reality as an irrational dimension, in which the difference between ‘true’ and ‘false’ is not relevant anymore. For Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’, however, the notion of truth, though profoundly redefined, remains of central importance. (1) Both Nietzsche and Rosenzweig develop their conceptions in opposition to the idealist, systematic way of thinking. For them, the idealist system is a rational structure claiming to account for reality by hierarchically organizing it. They also think that such an approach necessarily fails to achieve its goal, as it must constantly leave something out of consideration. The system, in other words, cannot be as all-embracing as it claims to be, because its rational nature makes it structurally unable to deal with anything having a different character. Systematic thought always falls short of accounting for the irrational59 part of reality which ill accords with the rigidity of logical categories. Focusing then on irrational aspects of reality, Nietzsche and Rosenzweig bring dimensions to the fore which are essentially unsystematic and whose mere presence—the simple fact that they are—is enough to throw idealistic thought into crisis. ‘Eternal return’ and ‘will to power,’ for instance, indicate respectively a conception of reality that exceeds any attempt to grasp it in a purely rational way; and

58 It is worth noting that it is not ‘the systematic’ as such that Rosenzweig rejects. For example, he clearly says his book Der Stern der Erlösung is “just a philosophical system (bloß ein System der Philosophie)” (GS 3: 140). However, Rosenzweig’s assertion needs to be read together with Wiehl’s explanatory note, who says: “[…] a system, of course, but it is conceived of in an utterly different way from the idealistic one” (Wiehl 1998: 171). Moreover, the systematic character of Rosenzweig’s thought is the focus of Benjamin Pollock’s work, who—like Wiehl—acknowledges that “Rosenzweig approaches philosophy’s traditional task of system in a radically original manner” (Pollock 2009: 1). On the same topic see also Bontas 2011. 59 It is worth emphasizing once again (see the section Nietzsche’s Irrationalism for Rosenzweig) that ‘irrational’ should not be understood to mean ‘incomprehensible’ or ‘absurd,’ but simply ‘beyond reason.’

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an ontological60 principle that places itself beyond rationality. About these topics, Nietzsche writes: “The total character of the world […] is for all eternity chaos […]. Judged from the vantage point of our reason, the unsuccessful attempts are by far the rule” (KGA 5.2: 146). It is human reason that, trying and failing to bring order to the chaos, classifies anything that eludes rationality under the label of ‘unsuccessful attempt.’ Such a negative meaning, however, is based on the unfounded presupposition that reality should have a rational structure. Yet, once again, this presupposition has no other origin than in a human need for certainty, the human inability to accept an irrational reality. It is the Overman’s task to change that negative evaluation and restore reality’s irrational character to its rights. Criticism of the idealistic system is also at the core of Rosenzweig’s thought. He argues that in order for the system to contain the three spheres as its integrated parts, they have to be reduced previously to their rational aspects only; and in the course of this reduction, the irrational aspects, which are incompatible with the system itself, are left out. Rosenzweig’s line of reasoning consists, then, in showing that reality also includes other, hitherto neglected, dimensions; that these have an irrational character; and that a philosophical account of the three spheres which is restricted to their rational dimensions only tells but a part of the whole story—that is only the rational part. But God, world, and human being are actually much more than their rational side: they also show irrational traits that, by their very nature, do not let themselves be systematized, and thus frustrate any attempt to lock reality up in an ordered, hierarchical structure.61 This is finally the main affinity between Nietzsche and Rosenzweig:  both develop a movement of thought that, going beyond rationality, reveals the inadequacy of a purely rational approach and comes to put the very basis of idealistic, systematic thinking into question. (2) About God, world, and human being, Rosenzweig writes: “we are holding the pieces in our hands. We have really shattered the All. [Its] unity is broken apart for us. […]. These are the elements of our world” (GS 2: 91). The three spheres are not seen as parts of an idealistic system anymore, they are free from the hold of the systematic All. Now, this non-systematic approach implies not only that their irrational dimension is finally acknowledged, but also that the interactions between them develop beyond logical-rational 6 0 “The innermost essence of being [is] will to power” (KGA 8.3: 52. 1888, 14–80). 61 For a more detailed analysis of Rosenzweig’s understanding of the three spheres, see the following chapter, in particular the section Rosenzweig vs. Idealism I. Elements.

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patterns. ‘Creation,’ ‘revelation,’ and ‘redemption’ are the three relationships the three spheres are involved in, according to Rosenzweig. The point here is that each relationship has its distinctive trait in that it always exceeds any account rationality could ever render of it, because, besides rational aspects, irrational ones essentially contribute just as much to its delineation. The three spheres must be seen as only rational, if they are conceived as building an idealistic system, but they are actually both rational and irrational for Rosenzweig, who thinks of them as radically non-systematizable. In this view, the relationships among the spheres are also very different from those taking place in a systematic environment. Other than their idealistic counterparts— which are exclusively rational and connect all sectors of reality through a single dialectical line—creation, revelation and redemption connect God, world and human being in ways that form a far more complex picture of reality. These connections result in a web of relationships that, though maintaining rational features, also develop irrational dynamics—such as “a living movement (eine lebendige Bewegung) [or] a circular flow (ein Stromkreis)” (ibid.), which cannot be contained within a rigid logical structure. This is not the case for Nietzsche. For him there is no balance between rational and irrational factors, but only a clear predominance of the latter. Rationality is just a product of irrational forces and, as such, must be disregarded as something derivative and not original. Nietzsche substitutes the traditional threesphere model with one composed of two spheres only—thus reducing also the number of relationships between them from three to one. Three spheres give rise to three possible relationships, but only one relationship can take place between two spheres. That ‘God is dead’—as Nietzsche claims—precludes the possibility to keep counting the sphere of the divine as part of reality, so that the sphere of the natural-worldly, governed by the ‘eternal return,’ and that of the human, represented by the Overman as incarnation of the ‘will to power,’ are the only spheres left that can still relate to each other. ‘Eternal return’ and ‘will to power’ can be seen, respectively, as an affirmation of chaos and a principle of pure freedom. The way they interact takes shape as a process through which the meaning of reality is endlessly created, destroyed, and recreated—in an act that may never be considered definitive. On the contrary, any production of meaning is always subject to be called into question and modified, as it has its model in artistic creativity,62 rather than in scientific rigor. 62 The first part of Heidegger’s study on Nietzsche is titled Der Wille zur Macht als Kunst (1936–1946: 1–224). See also Vattimo’s La volontà di potenza come arte (1978).

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From this it follows that the human approach to reality—that is the relationship between the sphere of the human and that of the natural-worldly—comes to resemble the free unfurling of creative play occurring beyond the necessary development of a rational-logical process. Human beings do not turn to reality to discover a pre-existing meaning in it; rather, they mold reality with their will, creating its meaning each time anew. To sum up:  for Rosenzweig, reality is a complex of three elements—God, world, and human being. These relate to each other in three relationships—creation, revelation, and redemption—which develop in both rational and irrational ways. On the other hand, Nietzsche’s view of reality consists of two dimensions only: the ‘eternal return,’ on the natural-worldly side, and the Overman on the human side. The kind of relation these give rise to reveals the irrational character of an open process: a never-ending, ever-renewing attribution of meaning to reality. Rosenzweig aims at amending the one-sided view offered by a systematic approach by also considering irrational dimensions in his account of reality. Against the same polemical target, however, Nietzsche takes a different approach. He conceives of reality as a purely irrational dimension, in which rationality is rejected altogether. (3) This fundamental difference is mirrored also in the ways Nietzsche and Rosenzweig conceive of truth. The Hegelian system represents the final step of a process that, running through the whole history of philosophy, ends with a full overlap between the notions of uni-totality and truth. Given this equivalence, criticizing the former—as both Nietzsche and Rosenzweig do—also implies a critique of the latter. But, whereas it could be said that Rosenzweig destroys to reconstruct, Nietzsche seems to destroy in order to enjoy the aftermath of destruction. To put it clearly: what Rosenzweig aims at is a reform of truth; Nietzsche, on the other hand, proclaims its definitive dissolution. Idealism, as traditional philosophy’s culmination, has always seen truth as ‘absolute,’ ‘incontrovertible,’ and achievable through rational reasoning. Once idealism collapses and its founding notion of a rationality-based uni-totality is called into question, truth also changes radically: without the solid foundation of a rational principle, it turns from ‘absolute’ and ‘incontrovertible’ into ‘relative’ and ‘revisable.’ One may argue, however, this new form of truth cannot be rightly considered truth anymore: without absoluteness and incontrovertibility it is doubtful that there is anything left to call ‘truth.’ And this is exactly what Nietzsche thinks. From the crisis of idealism, he concludes that truth in general, as a rational achievement, is impossible. Richard Cohen, for example, makes this

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point clear, as he writes: “Since Nietzsche no longer accepts objective63 truth he gives up the notion of truth altogether” (1990: 356). To describe Rosenzweig’s position, the same sentence could be assumed, but reformulated as follows: ‘Since Rosenzweig no longer accepts objective truth he rethinks the notion of truth—and, with it, also the notions of reality, totality, unity, and objectivity.’ Nietzsche’s criticism leads him to put irrationality above rationality and to reject truth as an arbitrary product of will. This rejection, however, is based on the presupposition that truth cannot but be objective, so that the impossibility for truth to be objective implies the impossibility for truth to be. From the same premises, Rosenzweig comes nonetheless to different conclusions. For him, another form of truth, beyond the traditional form, is possible. His aim is not to replace rationality with irrationality, but to integrate them into a wider understanding of reality and truth which encompasses both rational and irrational features. On the one hand, the very fact that truth is still object of philosophical consideration for Rosenzweig marks a radical difference with Nietzsche’s position. On the other hand, the kind of truth Rosenzweig thinks of can be seen as the complex of the three relationships connecting the three spheres of reality, so that notions like ‘relation’ and ‘connection’ supplant ‘dialectical progress’ in defining truth. As a complex, Rosenzweigian truth maintains a certain kinship with the concept of uni-totality; but as a complex of relationships, the kind of uni-totality it involves is completely different from the idealistic one. Rosenzweig delineates a new form of totality that is “the true All, the All that does not split into pieces” (GS 2: 428). And unity is also to be understood in a non-idealistic sense: it is “becoming unity,” that is a unity that “exists only in becoming” (456), only in the ongoing interaction of its parts. Thus conceived, truth is a combination of rational aspects and other characteristics that escape the grasp of rationality.64 And it is precisely this coexistence of rational and irrational factors that defines Rosenzweig’s position as a third way between idealism (Hegel) and irrationalism (Nietzsche). As Richard Cohen says: “while Rosenzweig applauds Nietzsche for escaping the empty abstractions of Hegelian philosophy, […], he criticizes Nietzsche for escaping Hegelianism in the wrong way [i.e. in the direction of pure irrationality].”(1990: 348) From

63 In this context, ‘objective’ does not indicate the antonym of ‘subjective,’ as it is not this contrast at issue here. ‘Objective,’ in this citation, is just a synonym for ‘rigid,’ ‘absolute,’ and ‘incontrovertible.’ 64 Each of these aspects will be carefully analyzed in the following parts of this work.

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Rosenzweig’s perspective, then, idealism is surely open to severe criticism, but the same can be said also of its theoretical alter ego: irrationalism, which rejects rationality for the sake of irrationality. The only viable way, finally, is a third way between them—the very way Rosenzweig tries to go with his ‘new thinking.’

The Third Way: Rosenzweig Hegel’s thought brings modernity to an end by definitively solving the problem of division that engaged modern philosophers from Descartes on. However, the way Hegel achieves this goal consists in adopting and carrying to excess that tendency to reduction that has characterized philosophical reasoning from its very beginning. In Hegel’s view, reality is no longer divided, and its elements are even more than just led back to a unique, common principle; they are absorbed within the dimension of spirit, which, in its absoluteness, exhausts the whole of reality—or rather exhausts reality as a whole. In addition, the ‘all’ that Hegel determines in terms of ‘absolute spirit’ constitutes a hierarchized totality, in which every determination is ontologically superior to those preceding it, but also ontologically inferior to those following. Nietzsche is probably the thinker who more than any other has contributed to tearing down hierarchies in philosophy. However, in his attempt to free philosophy from the oppression of hierarchical thought, he comes to see the very notion of truth as a form—actually, the highest form—of that oppression. Nietzsche’s understanding of reality as characterized by the irrational, cyclical pattern of the ‘eternal return,’ combined with his conception of the ‘will to power’ as the creative principle that imbues such a fluid reality with an ever revisable and renewable meaning, leads, of course, to the definitive dissolution of hierarchies, but therefore also to the definitive dissolution of truth as a product of hierarchies. The very fact that there still must be a truth, in Nietzsche’s view, is fraught with hierarchical implications, as truth is always seen as a construct aimed at covering and controlling reality. Hegel manages to mend division but in doing so he performs what could be called an over-reduction. Nietzsche abolishes hierarchies but he throws the baby out with the bathwater, so to speak, because, along with hierarchies, he also abolishes the notion of truth. In this theoretical context, Rosenzweig elaborates his ‘new thinking’ as an alternative to both, as he takes something from each of them, while at the same time trying to avoid making the same mistakes he recognizes in Hegel’s and Nietzsche’s positions. Rosenzweig’s conception can thus be summarized in four points: ( 1) It aims to overcome divisions, as in Hegel. (2) But in contrast to Hegel’s position, it seeks to do this without enacting a reduction process. (3) As in Nietzsche, it also opposes hierarchical thought.

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(4) But unlike Nietzscheanism, it endeavors to persevere with the notion of truth. The only concept that can satisfy all four points is ‘relation.’ ‘Relation’ is indubitably the core notion of Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking,’ to the extent that his picture of reality as well as his redefinition of truth (see the section Truth as Relation) can be rightly said to be ‘relational’ conceptions. In Rosenzweig’s view, everything is in relationship with something else. Each of the three basic elements that the first level of reality is made of—the philosophical notions of God, world, and human being—is basically a relationship between a positive, substantial dimension and a negative, evental (i.e. having the character of an event) tendency. Moreover, the three fluxes that compose the second level of reality—that is the theological categories of creation, revelation, and redemption—are defined as relationships between the elements—which, as it has just been pointed out, are relations themselves. That makes it fair to say that the fluxes are relationships of relationships. As to the four points mentioned above, the notion of ‘relation’ can satisfy all conditions posed. A relation is (1) able to overcome divisions by establishing a connection between the elements it involves. In so doing, however, (2)  it does not force them into a reduction process, but rather lets them interact with one another. With regard to hierarchy, it must be pointed out that it presupposes reduction, because, in philosophy, hierarchical primacy is given to the element every other one is reduced to. But if no reduction is performed, as in the case of a relational conception, then the necessary condition for hierarchy is not fulfilled and (3) hierarchy itself cannot develop. However, if hierarchy vanishes, it does not necessarily imply that truth also does, as in Nietzsche’s irrationalism. In fact, it is possible (4) to rethink truth beyond hierarchical schemes, recognizing relational dynamics at its very core. Points (1) and (2) express Rosenzweig’s opposition to idealism. Points (3) and (4) define Rosenzweig’s stance towards irrationalism.

Rosenzweig Versus Idealism I: Elements Both Hegel and Rosenzweig see divisions as something to be overcome. But whereas Hegel overcomes divisions by carrying to extreme consequences the same reduction process that philosophy has always performed, Rosenzweig opposes divisions through the notion of relation. In its antagonism to philosophical tradition from Parmenides to Hegel, the path of Rosenzweig’s thinking leads from destroying the false, reduction-based totality, to building what he considers

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“the true All” (GS 2: 428), that is a totality that gradually and constantly takes shape through the various relations of its parts. However, in the transition from a ‘false’ to a ‘true’ totality, an intermediate phase of division is inevitable. This is the phase in which the reduction-based totality has already been dismantled, but the relation-based one has not yet been built. Such a stage corresponds to the conclusion of the first part of Der Stern der Erlösung. In what can be defined as a ‘destroy-to-rebuild’ approach, the first part of Rosenzweig’s book describes the theoretical path that leads from the idealist uni-totality to a triad of separated elements which are, however, already inclined to enter into relations with one another. In short:  it is the pars destruens of Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking.’ Arguments against the false totality of idealism could come from many different angles, because any element, once considered in its irreducibility, would be able to put the very concept of an all-embracing totality into question. Basically, each of the three spheres could serve as such an element and thus be taken as a starting point for criticizing the totality. Nonetheless, Rosenzweig follows Søren Kierkegaard on this point and chooses to start from the sphere of the human, more precisely, from the notion of ‘single individual’ as irreducible to a theoretical uni-totality.

Beyond the Human65 The particular notion Kierkegaard bases his criticism on is ‘the single individual’—to which he attributes a highly anti-systematic meaning:  “With this category, ‘the single individual,’ I once took polemical aim at the System, when

65 In the introduction Über die Möglichkeit das All zu erkennen (On the Possibility of Knowing the All) (GS 2: 3–24), Rosenzweig starts his inquiry by addressing the human being, he goes on to examine the world, and concludes by dealing with God. In every other section of Der Stern der Erlösung, however, Rosenzweig follows the reverse order: God is always discussed first, followed by world and human being. This difference may be due to the fact that it is the notion of ‘single individual’ that, emerging from the sphere of the human, makes the uni-totality collapse. In other words, the emergence of human individuality is the first step in what Rosenzweig presents as an anti-totalitarian process, at the end of which the very notions of ‘totality’ or ‘All’ become untenable. That means that the sphere of the human is the first to detach from the idealistic system, thus opening the way for the other two spheres to do the same. After the All has been completely shattered (zerschlagen) and the three spheres—elements or Urphänomene—have acquired autonomy from the system, they become indifferent to and interchangeable with one another, so that the specific sequence they are considered turns out to be irrelevant (see 91–92).

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everything was System here and System there. Now, no one mentions the System anymore” (Kierkegaard 1847b: 163). But, taking polemical aim at the system is tantamount to criticizing idealism in general, since it is essentially systematic. A system is a logical-rational structure resting on the postulate that everything can be accounted for through the exercise of reason. Kierkegaard aims at disproving this assumption by emphasizing a category that, like the individual, is always something other, something more than whatever system rationality may state about it. Obviously, it takes no more than a single element eluding the totality to deprive it of its status as ‘all-embracing.’ One of the ways rationality works is by predicating attributes to a subject.66 Through this operation, the subject is included in or is said to be part of the general class represented by the predicate term. For example, in the sentence ‘Socrates is mortal,’ the particular subject ‘Socrates’ is said to be part of the general class of ‘mortal beings.’ A purely rational view sees in this mechanism the way for every possible subject—even an individual—to be thoroughly described by an adequately long sequence of predicates. But, against this view, Kierkegaard thinks of the single individual as an entity that is constitutively irreducible to rationality. With reference to what has been said above, individual irreducibility means that no matter how many general terms may be put together in a predication process, there will never be enough of them to properly render the complexity of a single human being. Rosenzweig’s appropriation of Kierkegaard’s criticism represents the first step towards dismantling the notion of totality and thus the systematic way of thinking in general. Conceived in terms of ‘single individual,’ the human being— the sphere of the human—always escapes the grasp of rationality and constitutively extends beyond any rational structure. A system, in other words, may be able to explain everything, except for the single individual, which will always show at least an irrational side, incompatible with a well-organized net of logical relations. The point is, then, that the single human being frustrates any systematic aspiration for exhaustiveness: “The human being, in the simple uniqueness of his own being […] strode out of the world that knew itself as thinkable, strode out of the All of philosophy” (GS 2: 10). As a result, “the All can no longer claim to be all” (12).

66 The word ‘subject’ is not considered here in its philosophical meaning of ‘conscious being.’ It is rather meant in its grammatical acceptation of ‘who or what a sentence is about.’

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Systematic thought and its rational-conceptual approach can render but a partial account of what a human being actually is. Ethics has always been the system branch assigned to the sphere of the human; and being an expression of systematic thought, ethics cannot but approach its own subject matter in a systematic way, that is, with a purely rational attitude. Ethical reflection may provide in-depth analysis of human action, but this is always conceived of as embedded within a rationality-based totality. That means that action is always considered only in its conceptualizable aspects, in its goals or effects, for example, but not in its motivating principle. What the system is not able to consider is probably the most essential aspect of any action, that is, the motion of freedom lying at its roots, the free choice behind it: a dimension that never lets itself be caught in a net of rational, logical relationships. Moreover, “every ethics ended up developing a doctrine of community as a sector of being” (11). Communal living is seen here as a part of the totality, and ethics is supposed to deal with that part, by availing itself of a well-defined concept of action. But when it comes to explaining freedom, ethics cannot but fail. Free human will, precisely because it is free, cannot be determined by rational rules and be contained in a general concept. Rather, it is always the decision of a single individual, in a particular place and in a particular time. The rationality of systematic ethics, with its abstract concepts and general rules, is powerless in the face of authentic freedom. In order to do what ethics cannot, and thus give human freedom the consideration it deserves, a movement beyond the boundaries of ethics is needed. A movement, that is, which leads to the new discipline Rosenzweig calls ‘meta-ethics.’ The notion of single individual and the development of ethics into metaethics make the sphere of the human the field in which the rational structure of the system starts to deteriorate. But this first step is not without consequences for the other fields, as the breach it entails allows of analogous dynamics also in the spheres of the natural-worldly and in that of the divine. Let us briefly anticipate the following discussions: in the sphere of the natural-worldly, the identity philosophy has always claimed between being and thought is definitively disproved, so that a new account of the world becomes necessary. And in the sphere of the divine, Rosenzweig’s consideration of God’s freedom aims at amending the one-sided view of systematic thought, which has always focused on God’s nature only. In this field too, then, a new, more complete understanding of God has to be developed.

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Beyond the Natural-Worldly In the sphere of the natural-worldly, Rosenzweig’s movement beyond a systematic approach starts by considering the fallacy in the idealist conception that being and thought are identical. Against the identity of being and thought, Rosenzweig highlights a fundamentally heterogeneous nature between the two dimensions. First of all, he defines thought as “the unity of its own internal multiplicity” (14), which means that two opposite aspects are seen as coexisting in the same dimension, to wit, unity and multiplicity. As to its multiplicity, thought reveals an internal ramification (Verzweigung), by virtue of which it is able to relate to the “equally ramified being” (ibid.). At the same time, thinking activity is always also a relation of thought to itself. And this self-relation is strictly connected to the other main feature of thought, that is to its essential unity. Thought’s self-relation is a well-known conception, introduced by modern philosophy in dealing with the subject-object relationship. By thinking of an object, subjective thought relates to something other than itself, something external, but in so doing, it cannot help relating to itself too. A double movement can be observed here: the subject thinks of an object while simultaneously thinking of itself as thinking that object. In Rosenzweig’s view, the first aspect of the movement is based on the capability of thought to be applied to being through ramification and multiplicity, while the second aspect represents thought’s constant reference to its own essential and unitary core. Thought, in other words, shows always both unity and multiplicity, but it is through its multiplicity alone that it can apply to being. Being, on the other hand, is only multiplicity, and that is what makes it penetrable by thought. In order to establish an identity between being and thought, idealism not only applies the multiplicity of thought to the multiplicity of being—which is perfectly legitimate—it also projects thought’s unity onto the field of being—and this, far from being legitimate, is exactly the fallacy Rosenzweig aims at bringing to light. Unity in thought is determined by a movement of self-reference, but nothing similar can develop in the field of being, so that its presumed unity, on the basis of which it is identified with thought, turns out to come from an invalid operation. Thought, unitary and manifold, is applied to being, which is only manifold. Through this application, a unitary character is illegitimately transferred from the former to the latter and, on this basis, the two dimensions are declared to be identical. But obviously, once this fallacy has been recognized, the identity anchored in it also turns out to be untenable. In disproving the equivalence ‘thought = being,’ Rosenzweig develops a view in which the realm of being is larger than that of thought. That is to say that

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thought can account but for a part of being, while another part is constitutively out of its reach. More precisely, thought can describe the rational, that is rationalizable, part of being, but in order to approach the other part, that is the irrational one, a movement beyond rational thought becomes necessary, that is, a movement beyond logic, toward what Rosenzweig calls ‘meta-logic.’

Beyond the Divine The sphere of the divine, and the understanding of God it entails, must undergo the same reshaping process as the spheres of the human and that of the naturalworldly. That is to say, the narrowness of a purely systematic account of the divine needs to be shown, in order for a new conception to take shape beyond the traditional, reductive one. “Philosophy always disputed God’s independent existence (Eigenexistenz)” (19)—says Rosenzweig—and the history of philosophy reveals various attempts to derive God’s existence from the sphere of the natural-worldly or from that of the human. In particular, the so-called cosmological argument aims to provide evidence for the claim that God exists by starting from facts and laws of the physical world. Although the ontological argument pursues the same aim, it takes human rationality instead as a starting point. A common strategy is at work in both cases, though: God is always seen as the conclusion of a rational argument—be it cosmological or ontological—and his existence is proven by starting from something other than God himself. This means that, however different the two arguments may be, they are based on the same assumption that God can be proven, that is that rationality can thoroughly account for God. The locus classicus for the cosmological argument is Aristotle’s Metaphysics.67 The Aristotelian notion of ‘unmoved mover’ represents an attempt to deduce God’s existence from the cause-effect relationships taking place in the world, thereby conceiving God in terms of ‘primary cause.’ For Aristotle, the world’s main feature is movement or becoming:  an ongoing process through which everything comes to be, constantly changes, and sooner or later passes away. Aristotle understands movement as a chain of causes and effects, so that anything in motion has been necessarily moved by something else. However, this series of reciprocal influences must have an origin and “there must be something which moves without being moved, being an eternal substance” (Metaphysics: 1072a,

67 However, traces of a cosmological argument in embryo can also be found in Plato’s philosophy, for example in Laws: X, 894–896.

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24–25). Such an eternal substance cannot be but God, whose existence is then inferred from the logical necessity of an origin for movement. If the Aristotelian ‘unmoved mover’ represents a conception of God that is derived from the sphere of the natural-worldly, medieval and modern philosophers tried to achieve the same goal by starting from the sphere of the human. More precisely, the ontological argument they developed can be considered the fruit of their efforts to prove God’s existence through the sole use of human reason. Id quo maius cogitari nequit is the formula adopted to define God: ‘that than which a greater cannot be conceived.’ (see Anselm of Canterbury, Proslogion, II). And, given the identity of being and thought which a large part of philosophy has always supported, ‘the greatest’ in thought must be ‘the greatest’ in being too. By this phrase a perfect being is meant, which, precisely because it is perfect, cannot lack anything, not even existence. Ergo: God, as ‘the greatest,’ as perfect, must exist. From Rosenzweig’s perspective, both attempts to grasp God’s existence through reason lead to a form of knowledge that is not ‘independent,’ because what is known about God rests always on one of the other two spheres. In other words, if God is the conclusion of an argument, its premises are to be found in the world or in human reason. However, the meaning of this lack of independence needs clarifying. This is not to be understood in the sense that God is just the necessary outcome of natural laws—as a misunderstanding of the cosmological argument might suggest—or that God is just a product of human reason—as one could erroneously infer from the ontological argument. In fact, both arguments have never intended to challenge God’s independence. They refer to the knowledge one may have of God, not to God himself. They provide a form of knowledge that may be about God, but certainly does not come from God.68 Another problem Rosenzweig pinpoints in ‘the unmoved mover’ and ‘the most perfect being’ is that they address only the essence of God, that is they give—or try to give—a definition of what God is—or is supposed to be. But God, like the single human being, is not reducible to his rationally conceivable essence. Pure rationality cannot properly describe the single individual, and all the more so does it fail in describing God. It does not matter if rational reasoning

68 On the contrary, the kind of knowledge Rosenzweig has in mind and sets in opposition to what he criticizes here is derived from the concept of revelation. Revelation, for Rosenzweig, provides a form of knowledge that is certainly about God, but at the same time, it also comes from God. On this topic, see the section called Between God and Human Being. The Path of Revelation.

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starts from the sphere of the natural-worldly to come to a conception of God as ‘unmoved mover,’ or if it starts from the sphere of the human to elaborate the concept of a ‘perfect being.’ Both ways are basically movements of thought and, as such, they are constrained by the typical limits of thought. They may be able to account for something that lets itself be described in general terms, like divine nature, but they definitely cannot understand the particularity of an act of divine freedom. To recap, Rosenzweig’s argumentative strategy follows the same pattern for each of the three domains of reality. It consists in showing that an idealist, purely rational approach is insufficient to provide veritable pictures of human being, world, and God, since each of these is much more than what pure rationality will ever see in them. In fact, each element has a double-edged character. Only one of the two dimensions it is made up of lends itself to rational consideration, whereas the other dimension does not allow itself to “be put into a bottle” (GS 2: 69), so to speak. It does not allow itself to be rationally grasped; it constitutively exceeds and resists all attempts to contain it in a rational structure, so that in this sense, it can be rightly called ‘irrational.’ What finally emerges is a sharp contrast between the one-dimensional, rational-only view of idealism and the multi-dimensional, rational and irrational conception developed by Rosenzweig.

Rosenzweig Versus Idealism II: Nothingness and Irrationality For Rosenzweig, philosophy in general, and idealism in particular, has always focused exclusively on the rational side of reality, neglecting on principle the other, irrational side. Philosophy’s aim has always been to depict reality in a way that makes it accessible to reason—even if such depiction is not always faithful to reality itself. The strategy employed to this end is composed of two substrategies: the abolition of the notion of nothingness and the elimination of every trace of irrationality. At a first approximation, anything rationality cannot deal with falls within the concepts of ‘nothingness’ or ‘irrationality,’ which precisely because of their incompatibility with rationality must be abolished. Removing these concepts means removing everything that may hinder philosophy’s plan of locking reality up in a rational system. From this point of view, Rosenzweig’s thought can be seen as a rehabilitation of nothingness and irrationality.

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Nothingness Regarding the concept of nothingness, some terminological clarification is required, as the term ‘Nichts’ has at least three different meanings in Rosenzweig’s conception.69 In the first acceptation of the term, ‘Nichts’ means ‘death.’ Or, more precisely: one of the ways to conceive of death. It is the approach of systematic philosophy, based upon the notion of uni-totality. In Rosenzweig’s view, philosophy’s aim is to oppose the inborn human fear of death. In order to get rid of this fear, death must be rendered harmless, equated with nothingness, and eventually abolished altogether. However, not every kind of nothingness is abolishable and, for complete abolishment, some requisites must be satisfied, to wit:  unity and universality. The kind of nothingness death must be equated with is “the one and universal night of nothing” (GS 2: 4), because only one and universal nothingness can be seen as “pure emptiness, complete absence of determination and content” (W 5: 83). And it is only as void, emptiness, absence that the nothingness of death can be eradicated for good. The second meaning Rosenzweig ascribes to the word ‘Nichts’ is also ‘death,’ but this time it is meant in an utterly different sense than the previous one: “In the dark background of the world there rise up […] a thousand deaths; instead of the one nothing that would really be nothing, a thousand nothings rise up, which are something just because they are many” (GS  2:  5). In this case, death and nothingness are considered in light of multiplicity and determination, instead of unity and universality. It is worth noting that, in this context, multiplicity implies determination, because without it—without internal distinction and reciprocal delimitation70 among its elements—multiplicity would turn into a unique, indistinct, undetermined entity. A different kind of nothingness emerges then, which, being determined—that is a bearer of determination—cannot be considered ‘pure emptiness’ and, therefore, cannot be abolished. The third form of nothingness does not refer to death, but is the particular presupposition of each sphere—human, world, God. Considered outside the uni-totality, each sphere “can only be reduced back to itself. Each is itself essence. Each is itself substance” (GS 3: 144).71 That each sphere is a substance means that 69 For a fine analysis of the different forms of nothingness, see Bertolino (2000) and (2005). Compare also Fortis (2010a). 70 Broadly speaking, ‘determination’ can be defined as the drawing of a conceptual boundary around a portion of reality. 71 In expounding this conception, Rosenzweig refers to, and explicitly mentions, Spinoza, whose definition of substance is ‘cause of itself ’ (causa sui): “By substance I mean that

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they do not need a systematic mechanism for their concepts to be formed; that they do not presuppose a systematic totality to be embedded in. There is nothing they are derived from and therefore—turning the sentence around—they are derived from nothing. But—and here is the crucial point—the kind of nothingness that can act as an origin for each of the three spheres must necessarily bear and be capable of determination. More precisely, the particular nothingness behind each sphere is potential determination, while the specific sphere it gives origin to is actual determination. To sum up, Rosenzweig takes into account three different kinds of nothingness:  (1) the one and universal nothingness of death in general; (2)  the multiple and particular nothingness of each and every individual death; and (3) the particular nothingness the particular something of each sphere originates from. Only the first kind can be abolished, because its general, abstract character implies a lack of determination, and, without determination, nothing can prevent its elimination. The second and the third kinds of nothingness, however, are determined. And their determination is an insurmountable obstacle to any attempt to abolish them: precisely because they are determined, they are something and, being something, they cannot be banished or ignored. For Rosenzweig, the only kind of nothingness that can be found in reality is a particular one (meanings 2 and 3), while a universal nothingness (meaning 1) is just a product of thought, an abstraction performed for the sole purpose of making it eliminable. From this point of view, then, philosophy’s path is clearly an abstracting one. It starts from the determined nothingness or death that can be found in reality and turns it into a universal concept in order to obtain its eliminability and, eventually, its elimination. In a word, it is a movement from the concrete-particular to the abstract-universal. Rosenzweig, on the other hand, follows the same path backwards. By criticizing universal nothingness, he converts it back to its original form as particular and determined, so that his rehabilitation of nothingness can be also seen as a rehabilitation of concreteness, against the abstracting tendency of philosophy. The third kind of nothingness is potentiality for its particular something to arise. In this context, the mathematical notion of ‘differential’ acts as a model for the process through which a particular something emerges from its particular nothingness: “The differential combines in itself the properties of the nothing

which is in itself and is conceived through itself; that is, that the concept of which does not require the concept of another thing from which it has to be formed” (Spinoza 1677: def. 3).

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and of the something” (GS 2: 23), says Rosenzweig. By ‘differential’ an ‘infinitesimal quantity’ is meant. As such, it is extremely close to being nothing, because it tends toward zero, but nonetheless it is a quantity, and therefore different from zero. In addition, the concept of ‘differential’ can be considered in both a dynamic and a static way. Dynamically conceived, it can be seen as a sort of ‘effort’ to oppose the tendency that would make it reach zero. It is on the verge of falling into a condition of lack of quantity, but it manages to be the bare minimum to avoid this: it is the bare minimum needed to negate nothingness. At the same time, the differential can be seen also as something static. In this view, it is a positive quantity that, however small, is nonetheless always greater than zero. As a static being, the differential is not against nothingness by means of a direct act of negation, that is by means of actively tearing itself away from nothingness. Rather, it is juxtaposed to nothingness, an alternative to nothingness, in such a way that, however negligible its quantity may be, its ‘being something’ will always display a radical difference from ‘being nothing.’ This second mode consists in an indirect display of the most extreme difference between the ‘somethingness’ of the differential and the nothingness of nothing. To distinguish it from ‘the negation of nothing’ of the first mode, Rosenzweig coins the expression “affirmation of the not-nothing” (26). The three spheres reality is composed of—the divine, the human, and the natural-worldly—are now thought of as three particular ‘somethings,’ each emerging from its own particular nothing, in a similar manner as illustrated in the case of the differential. This emergence develops along two different paths, corresponding to the two opposite aspects of the differential. “Two ways lead from nothingness to something […], the way of affirmation and that of negation. […]. These two ways are as precisely different from each other […] as Yes and No” (ibid.). Broadly speaking, the ‘way of no’ represents the above-mentioned negation of nothingness—a punctual act that, as such, has dynamic and evental character and lacks any ontological solidity. The ‘way of yes,’ on the other hand, represents the affirmation of the not-nothing, which posits a solid ground, lays a context, and is thus characterized by ontological substantiality. As one may easily imagine, metaphorical language is useful—and maybe even necessary—for rendering the meanings of such abstract notions. And Rosenzweig himself makes great use of metaphors in expounding his view. The particular something emerging from the ‘way of no’ is said to be “taken away (entronnen) from” (ibid.) its nothingness, it has “broken out of the prison of the nothingness” (ibid.) and is “nothing other than the event of this liberation” (ibid.). On the contrary, the ‘way of yes’ results in something lying ‘around’ the nothingness: it is the “plenitude of all that is ‘not-nothing’ ” (ibid.). It is something ‘bordering

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on’ and ‘adjacent to’ the nothingness, without being nothing itself. It is a sort of ‘neighbor72 of the nothingness.’ The ‘no’ is intangible like an action or an event. The ‘yes’ is stable and solid like a substratum.73

Irrationality For Rosenzweig, the double nature, positive and negative, of each sphere is mirrored in the double approach, rational and irrational, to be assumed toward them. The positive part in each sphere can be thoroughly analyzed through rational thinking. As the static being that it is, it lends itself well to rationality’s typical means, such as universal laws, definitions, general categories, logical connections, etc. The negative part, on the contrary, in its character as a tendency, dynamic and intangible, does not provide a sufficiently stable ground for rationality to grasp it fully. It always places itself beyond the account rational thought may try to give of it. So, along with ‘positive and negative’ and ‘static and dynamic,’ another pair of conceptual opposites can contribute to describing the two aspects at issue here: ‘rational and irrational’—that is within the boundaries of reason and beyond those boundaries. It is in relation to the latter conceptual pair that the second sub-strategy— the above-mentioned ‘abolition of irrationality’—comes in. It consists in philosophical thought giving consideration only to the rational part of each sphere, excluding on principle the irrational one. Philosophy, and especially idealism, has always assigned a specific field of study to each sphere. In Rosenzweig’s terminology, they are:  ethics, dealing with human being; logic, as science of the world; and physics, focusing on God.74 Rosenzweig argues, however, that these branches of philosophical knowledge have always given but a partial account of their specific subject matters, only ever focusing on their rational part. 7 2 Rosenzweig explicitly uses the term Anwohner (neighbor). 73 Taking infinitesimal calculus as a paradigm for Rosenzweig’s conception, there have been attempts to interpret the inner relationships in God, world, and human being, in terms of ‘asymptotic movements’ (see, for example, Samuelson 1988 and 1994). In this view, each sphere consists in the relationship between a negative tendency, produced by the ‘way of no,’ and a positive substratum, derived from the ‘way of yes.’ The former is dynamic and has a direction, while the latter is static and constitutes the unreachable goal toward which the negative way, asymptotically, tends. 74 In order to dispel any possible misunderstanding, it must be pointed out that Rosenzweig does not use the word ‘physis’ for the sphere of the natural-worldly, but for that of the divine. In this context, then, ‘physis’ does not translate as ‘nature,’ but as ‘God’s nature.’

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In consideration of and against such a one-sided view, Rosenzweig pleads for a boundary-crossing process that leads each sphere, so to speak, beyond itself, towards its own meta-dimension. Ethics, which considers only the rationally comprehensible side of human being, must evolve into meta-ethics to encompass also the hitherto neglected irrational aspects of human will. Logic, which has always seen the world as a stable rational structure (logos, λόγος), must develop into meta-logic to come to terms with the whole world. Meta-logic, in fact, corresponds to a more comprehensive view that is also able to include the dynamic-irrational side of reality. This is precisely that part of being which, once its presumed identity with thought is disproven, cannot be dealt with in a purely rational way anymore, and therefore requires an approach beyond rationality and logic. Finally, physics is for Rosenzweig the discipline addressing the essence of God. Physics also, then, must enlarge its scope and become metaphysics, in order to consider the dynamic dimension of God’s freedom, along with the static dimension of God’s essence, or nature (physis). Idealism has always tried to abolish, or at least to ignore, the irrational aspects of reality, as they would have been incompatible with its purely rational approach. Instead, it has always focused on that dimension of reality that lends itself to being treated in a rational way. However, making reality conceivable, and thus containable within a rational structure, requires a preliminary reshaping process, which abolishes in the three main spheres of reality any aspect resistant to rational thinking. In dealing with “the pure thinking of idealism” (434), for example, Rosenzweig compares it to a “leveling machine (Gleichmachwerkzeug)” (ibid.). The comparison is particularly meaningful, as it suggests that idealism’s strategy consists, metaphorically speaking, in ‘rounding off the irrational corners of reality’, reducing it to its rational aspects only, and thus preparing it to be susceptible to systematic treatment. If idealism sacrifices irrationality for the sake of rationality, Rosenzweig’s thought aims at overturning this trend and thereby rehabilitating the irrational aspects of reality. From this point of view, the ‘new thinking’ can be interpreted as an attempt to amend idealism’s one-sidedness by also considering what it has always excluded. What emerges, then, is a picture of reality that, compared to the idealist one, is more complete, since it encompasses, of course, rational aspects, but also irrational ones.

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Rosenzweig Versus Irrationalism Rosenzweig’s relationship to irrationalism is primarily founded in his understanding of Nietzsche and is best considered in light of their different approaches to conceiving the notion of truth. To present their different positions outright:  Nietzsche recognizes a profound incompatibility between truth, as an absolute dimension, and becoming, as the main feature of reality. On this basis, he eventually comes to the extreme conclusion that the former must be discarded for the sake of the latter. Despite sharing the same polemical target with Nietzscheanism, Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ takes a different direction. It is still based on a notion of truth, but this is radically rethought in such a way that it is made compatible with becoming, including it as one of its most distinguishing traits. In short: Nietzsche pleads for the dissolution of truth so that becoming may come to the fore. Rosenzweig, on the other hand, argues for a reform of truth that enables it to incorporate becoming. The kind of truth Nietzsche wants to abolish and Rosenzweig intends to reform is traditional philosophical truth, whose distinguishing features have always been absoluteness, objectivity, and incontrovertibility. Such characteristics are common to every conception of truth throughout the history of philosophy “from Plato on”—for Nietzsche (KGA 8.3: 84. 1888, 14–116)—or “from Ionia to Jena” (GS 2: 13)—in Rosenzweig’s terms. However, there is no doubt that idealism, especially in its Hegelian version, represents the most mature expression of this way of conceiving truth. This means that Hegelianism and the idea of truth it maintains can rightly be seen as the epitome of everything Nietzsche and Rosenzweig argue against. At this juncture, one might object that Hegel, far from neglecting becoming, makes it the very core of his dialectical system. But it will be shown that dialectical becoming is not considered authentic becoming from the point of view of irrationalism. Hegelianism has been criticized from many different angles:  from a ‘naturalistic-empiricist’ point of view (e.g. Feuerbach 1843), from a ‘dialecticalpractical-political’ perspective (e.g. Marx 1845), and, last but not least, from an ‘irrationalist-existentialist’ outlook (e.g. Schopenhauer 1818–1819, 18593 and Kierkegaard 1844a, 1844b, 1846, 1847b). All these positions have the same aim: to disprove Hegel’s famous equivalences between the rational and the real, between thought and being, or between rationally developed truth and concrete reality (see Löwith 1941). Each critique differs from the others in the specific manner it tries to achieve its goal. Taking an irrationalist stance, in particular, consists in proving Hegel’s equivalences wrong by showing that there are

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aspects, dimensions, or elements that belong to reality but, nonetheless, cannot be grasped rationally—and, in this sense, they are irrational. In this work, Nietzsche is assumed as the thinker representing the pole of irrationalism, but his ideas have been actually prepared by other thinkers before him. Were an ideal line to be drawn representing what could be called ‘irrationalist anti-Hegelianism,’ Nietzsche’s philosophy would probably be the final step along that line, while the first step would be Kierkegaard’s thought. Yet it must be acknowledged that Kierkegaard’s arguments against Hegelianism are deeply influenced by the work of another important author:  Adolf Trendelenburg. It would be wrong to consider Trendelenburg part and parcel of the ‘irrationalist line,’ but it is safe to say that he exerts a considerable influence on the initiator of that line. As Kierkegaard himself says: “It is unbelievable what I have profited from Trendelenburg. Now I have the apparatus for what I have been thinking of for years” (1847a). The ‘irrationalist line’ is then prepared by Trendelenburg, started by Kierkegaard, and accomplished by Nietzsche, who takes it to the definitive abolition of the notion of truth. Against this outcome, Rosenzweig refuses to give up the notion of truth altogether; yet, while being against Hegelianism at the same time, the kind of truth he maintains is also completely different from idealist truth.

Trendelenburg Trendelenburg’s critique of Hegel can be schematized in two conceptual points: (1) the distinction, Aristotelian in origin, between contradiction (Widerspruch, logische Negation) and contraposition (Gegensatz, reale Opposition); and (2) the acknowledgment of intuition (Anschauung) as essential to the dialectical process. The foundation of Hegelianism is the equivalence of being and thought, granted by their common dialectical structure: “the dialectical method affirms a self-movement of pure thought, which, at the same time, claims to be a selfproduction of being” (Trendelenburg 1840:  36). Being and thought develop according to the same mechanism, based on the same basic principle of negation: “the concept that, like an inborn drive, makes the dialectical process advance from one step to the next […] is negation” (43). And here is where the problem at point (1) comes in. “What is the essence of dialectical negation? It may have a double nature:  either it is conceived as purely logical, so that it just negates what the first concept affirms, without putting anything new in its place; or it is thought of as real and the affirmative concept is negated by a new affirmative

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concept […]. In the first case, we speak of logical negation; in the second case, of real opposition” (43–44). The difference is particularly relevant, as logical negation—or contradiction— is immanent to the concept it applies to, whereas real opposition—or contraposition—is transcendent to that concept. The adjective ‘immanent,’ in this case, indicates that, given a certain concept, its contradiction does not need anything else than the concept itself in order to be performed. As a purely logical operation, contradiction always falls within the ambit of what it contradicts; or, in other words, it is immanent to what it contradicts. On the other hand, a contraposition consists in introducing a new concept, which by no means can be simply derived from the first one. The new concept is thus said to transcend the first one, as no logical operation alone can bridge the gap between them. The only way to perform a contraposition, and thus reach the new point it leads to, is by stepping outside the conceptual boundaries of the starting position. An example may illustrate this. The contradictory concept of the concept ‘white,’ is ‘not white.’ This can always be obtained by way of immanent negation, that is by performing a logical operation that does not resort to anything else than the concept ‘white.’ Starting from ‘white,’ its contradictory concept ‘not white’ does not need anything but ‘white’ itself as the basis to which the purely logical operator of negation (¬) can be applied. Coming now to contraposition, the opposite concept of ‘white’ is ‘black,’ and cannot be obtained without crossing the conceptual boundaries of ‘white.’ Whereas ‘white’ implies ‘not white’—or, in other words, ‘not white’ is immanent to ‘white’—there is nothing in the conceptual scope of ‘white’ that through logical operations only could possibly lead to conceive ‘black’—which means: ‘black’ transcends ‘white.’ Trendelenburg asks: “Is it possible to reach a real opposition in a purely logical way?” (45) And he answers: “To the extent that an opposition posits something new, intuition (Anschauung) is always involved” (ibid.). It may seem as if Trendelenburg does not really answer the question, but in fact the notion of intuition is here the key to Trendelenburg’s stance on Hegel. First of all, it must be observed that Trendelenburg sees intuition as something partly empirical. As such, it cannot qualify as a purely logical faculty, as logic and pure thought are ideal rather than empirical. Now, if something alien to ideal thought—something like intuition, then—takes part in the process of opposition, this obviously does not develop in a purely logical way, and the answer to the question above must be negative. Moreover, the notion of intuition introduces point (2) of Trendelenburg’s argumentation. The method of pure logic is not viable for developing opposition, because the involvement of intuition places the whole process outside the boundaries

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of pure logical thinking. Trendelenburg sees this unavoidable recourse to intuition as something Hegel would consider even derogatory:  “[Hegel] despises (verschmäht) intuition as empirical” (75).75 The situation can thus be summarized as follows:  contradiction is a purely logical operation, but, since it is completely immanent, it does not allow for authentic movement and progress— with reference to the above-mentioned example, contradiction is a simple change in perspective76 from ‘white’ to ‘not white.’ As to contraposition, a kind of progress certainly takes place in it—for example, it can lead from ‘white’ to ‘black’—but not in a purely logical way, as such a transition must always rely on intuition, which, being empirical, exceeds the realm of pure thought. Hegel understands his dialectical method as based on a purely logical mechanism while at the same time also conceiving of it as a dynamic process. The problem is that it cannot be both. A purely logical approach can make a concept (or category, or finite determination) pass over into its contradictory concept, but certainly not into its opposite concept. However, it is precisely this latter kind of operation which is required to facilitate the continuation of the dialectic. Here, then, is the fallacy Trendelenburg points out in Hegel’s dialectical method. It is a fallacy he puts in terms of a dilemma: “concerning the dialectic of pure thinking, an inevitable dilemma emerges. Either negation is […] a purely logical one (A and non-A)—but then it cannot produce […] anything determined […]. Or it is a real opposition—but then it cannot be reached in a logical way and dialectic is not a dialectic of pure thought” (56). 75 It is important to point out that a conception of intuition as ‘empirically compromised’ is something characterizing Trendelenburg’s view, but not Hegel’s. For example, instead of interpreting ‘pure thought’ and ‘intuition’ through the conceptual pair ‘ideal/empirical,’ Hegel would rather address their relationship through the pair ‘mediate/immediate.’ In other words, Hegel would probably criticize Trendelenburg’s account of intuition for its immediacy, but not for its empirical nature. In addition, it is worth laying stress on how the previous sentence is formulated. It reads: Trendelenburg’s account of intuition, not intuition in general. In fact, Hegel and Trendelenburg have two different conceptions of intuition. Whereas Trendelenburg sees it as in contrast with pure thought, Hegel says: “pure intuition is exactly the same as pure thought” (W 8: 150)—meaning that intuition, far from opposing pure thought, is one of the forms it may take on. 76 The expression ‘change in perspective’ is used here to indicate the lack of authentic motion and progress in the logical operation of contradiction. If ‘not white’ is something immanent to ‘white,’ something always already implied in ‘white,’ the emergence of ‘not white’ from ‘white’ cannot be defined as a real ‘movement,’ but corresponds, at most, to assuming a different point of view on the same element.

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Trendelenburg shows how the dialectical process must surreptitiously resort to intuition to bring movement into logic, to trigger the development of a concept into another. But once intuition is involved—and thus the empirical dimension it belongs to—the presumed ‘purely rational’ character of the whole process is already lost. As a result of Trendelenburg’s arguments, a radical incompatibility between pure thought and movement emerges. This incompatibility is precisely what Søren Kierkegaard acquires from Trendelenburg’s reflections, developing it further in his own way. For both Trendelenburg and Kierkegaard, authentic movement cannot be initiated as long as the boundaries of pure thought are not crossed. In order to account for movement, then, pure thought must give up its purity and ‘contaminate’ itself with something outside the scope of pure logic.

Kierkegaard What pure thought must contaminate itself with in order to come to terms with movement and becoming can be meant in different ways. It may be something partly empirical, as intuition is for Trendelenburg. But it can also be something irrational like human freedom in Kierkegaard’s view. In other words: the purity of rational thought can be challenged from an empirical point of view, but also from an irrational perspective. Kierkegaard follows Trendelenburg in pointing out an irreconcilable difference between logic, rationality, and pure thought on the one hand, and movement, becoming, and change on the other hand. In Begrebet Angest (The Concept of Dread), Kierkegaard writes:  “In logic every movement (if for an instant one would use this term) is immanent, which in a deeper sense means that it is no movement at all. That can be easily appreciated by considering that the very concept of movement is a transcendence which can find no place in logic” (Kierkegaard 1844b: 112). For Kierkegaard, every movement implies the reciprocal transcendence of its moments. And if one considers that logic can develop only immanent connections, the obvious conclusion to be drawn from these premises is, then, that logic and movement are incompatible. Going deeper into the matter, one may ask what it means for movement to be based on transcendence. Through the mediation of Trendelenburg, Kierkegaard’s understanding of movement draws on Aristotle’s reflections. The Aristotelian term for ‘movement’ is kinesis (κίνησις), described as a transition from ‘potentiality’ (dynamis, δύναμις) to ‘actuality’ (energeia, ἐνέργεια or entelecheia, ἐντελέχε ια). Potentiality—as possibility, capability—prepares the emergence of actuality, while this, in turn, is the fulfillment of potentiality. The point is that a transition from potentiality to actuality never occurs by necessity. Every step in a movement

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can be seen as a form of actuality, prepared by the previous step, which thus serves as a form of potentiality. However, an unbridgeable gap separates the two steps, that is potentiality from actuality. And that gap is precisely what determines their mutual transcendence. Of course, potentiality anticipates the emergence of actuality, but it does not mean that the latter is completely included in and thus reducible to the former. On the contrary, each form of actuality must have at least something new—‘etwas Neues’ is an expression also Trendelenburg uses, incidentally—compared to its own potentiality: a certain element of novelty that makes it irreducible to its prelude. The constitutive transcendence of movement, then, consists precisely in such novelty and irreducibility. For an authentic movement to take place from a condition A to another condition B, it is necessary that B places itself beyond the limits of A—that B transcends A.  Though a connection from A  to B must be possible, in B there must nonetheless be something that was not already contained and anticipated in A. B, in other words, must bear some sort of novelty, compared to A. It is important to note that Kierkegaard’s reference to Aristotle does not consist in merely reformulating Aristotelian arguments, but rather embedding them in a different context. Whereas Aristotle is concerned with defining movement in general, in all the different forms it may assume in the cosmos, Kierkegaard focuses chiefly on existential movements, that is movements that involve the existence of ‘the single individual.’ In this particular existential context, the novelty that characterizes movement in general specifies itself in terms of human freedom.77 Freedom is essentially unpredictable and, as such, a bearer of novelty. That a movement from a condition A to a condition B occurs through an act of freedom means that, though many aspects of B are already present, and thus anticipated, in A, not every aspect of B is. And there is always something by virtue of which B can still be said to transcend A.78 77 Aristotle too does not fail to acknowledge the ‘non-necessary’ character of movement, but he does not come to conceive this ‘non-necessity’ in terms of existential freedom. In some cases—he says—the transition from potentiality to actuality does not occur by necessity, but takes place through ‘yearning’ (órexis, ὄρεξις) or ‘intention’ (prohairesis, προαίρεσις) (see Aristotle, Metaphysics: IX, 1048a 11). ‘Yearning’ and ‘intention’ may hint at something that is close in meaning to the notion of freedom, but is not yet fullyfledged freedom. 78 One of the most illuminating descriptions of the transcendence of freedom can be found in the work of an Italian Kierkegaard scholar, Luigi Pareyson. He says that what rests on an act of freedom “does not continue a series, it is not in continuity with anything […]. No preparation can anticipate it. It has no connection with what comes before

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The dichotomy Trendelenburg expresses in terms of pure thought and movement develops, in Kierkegaard’s view, into a wider range of notions:  ‘system,’ ‘abstract thinking,’ and ‘eternity’ in contrast with ‘movement,’ ‘existence,’ and ‘freedom.’ These emerge clearly from some passages of Afsluttende uvidenskabelig Efterskrift (Concluding Unscientific Postscript), for example: “[…] pantheistic systems are often […] attacked for abrogating freedom […]. This might be put just as peremptorily by saying that every such system fantastically dissipates the concept of existence. But it is not only of pantheistic systems we should say this; more to the point would be to show that every system must be pantheistic just because of its finality. Existing must be annulled in the eternal before the system can bring itself to a close” (Kierkegaard 1846a: 104). And also: “[p]‌recisely because abstract thinking is sub specie aeterni, it disregards the concrete, the temporal, the becoming of existence” (1846b: 9). Two points emerge from the first citation. First of all, the expression ‘pantheistic system’ is pleonastic:  every system is essentially pantheistic because it is in the very essence of ‘the systematic’ to aim for the totality. Moreover, this all-embracing nature of the system implies the abolition of freedom, or—what is actually the same for Kierkegaard—of existence. This is the second point: abrogating freedom is tantamount to dissipating the concept of existence, because freedom is so essential for existence that, without the former, the latter is impossible. The second citation is perfectly consistent with the first one, as it points out the eternal character of pure thought and, consequently, its detachment from concreteness. But considering that concreteness is the dimension of temporality, becoming, and, in a word, of existence, it is legitimate to conclude, once again, that thought and existence are incompatible. Abstract thinking builds up a system in the dimension of eternity, where every logical connection is established once and for all. A  system thus conceived has two main properties: all-embracing-ness and predictability. In other words: it covers every aspect of reality and provides a binding rule that makes every movement predictable. The point is that, in Kierkegaard’s view, ‘predictable movement’ is a contradictio in adjecto. Predictability is obviously incompatible with the unpredictability and novelty of freedom, but a movement deprived of freedom is not a movement at all. If every step of a systematic movement is always already predetermined by a rule imposed from above; if the last step is always already known, as it can be logically inferred from the first one, then

it. It is a leap. […]. It does not tolerate the concept of causation, because it is not the effect of a cause: it is absolutely undeducible: absolute surprise” (Pareyson 1995: 30).

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this presumed movement comes actually to resemble its contrary, that is a state of being. Two opposite sets of notions can be finally delineated here. Such notions as ‘movement,’ ‘unpredictability,’ ‘novelty,’ ‘freedom,’ and ‘existence’ clash with ‘logic,’ ‘predictability,’ ‘system,’ ‘necessity,’ and ‘abstract thought.’ The most radical incompatibility between thought and existence—the rational and the real, in Hegel’s words—is thus affirmed. Kierkegaard summarizes his view in this lapidary sentence: “The right thing to do is to say that there is something that cannot be thought, namely, existing” (316).

Nietzsche Kierkegaard speaks of a dichotomy between thought and existence. Nietzsche radicalizes this same contrast by expressing it through the notions of ‘truth’ and ‘reality.’ For Nietzsche, philosophy has always conceived truth as the result of a rational attempt to describe what and how reality really is. This does not mean that the truth of reality is actually reached in every rational process, as philosophy has always been aware of the risk of faulty reasoning. However, at least the possibility of a convergence between truth and reality has always been a stable presupposition for philosophical reflections. Now, this possibility is exactly what Nietzsche calls into question. The problem is that truth and reality are for him so radically different from each other that the former is by nature incapable of adequately expressing the latter. More precisely, Nietzsche sees any attempt at accounting for reality by means of rational truth as doomed to failure: it would result in a distorted account that misrepresents reality rather than revealing it. The radical difference between truth and reality—which hinders a full adherence of the former to the latter—can be expressed through such antonymous adjectives as: ‘hard’ and ‘soft,’ or ‘rigid’ and ‘fluid.’ To declare Nietzsche’s position outright: in his mind, truth is rigid, whereas reality is fluid. “What then is truth? [A]‌sum of human relations which […], after long usage, seem to a people to be fixed, canonical, and binding. Truths are illusions which we have forgotten are illusions” (KGA 3.2: 374–375). Rather than reflecting reality genuinely, truth is built up upon it, and subsequently stiffened in the course of time. But the reality behind truth—that is that reality truth is supposed to render—is revealed to have a fluid character. Nietzsche criticizes the artificial nature of truth, which, however rigid and stable it may seem, rests always “upon an unstable foundation, and, as it were, on running water” (376)—that is, upon the fluidity of reality.

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The pair rigidity-fluidity is then crucial for understanding Nietzsche’s view on the relationship between truth and reality. In short: truth, as something rigid, is incapable of properly rendering reality, which is by nature fluid. This inadequacy is certainly due to their different characters, but it also has deeper roots in the Nietzschean conception of the ‘will to power.’ A recurring path can be observed here: the ‘will to power,’ in its still immature form as a ‘claim to dominion,’ aims to control what is fluid—in this case, reality—by means of something rigid—in this particular case, the production of truth. The reason is clear: a fluid reality is seen as something changeable, unpredictable, incontrollable and, therefore, dangerous and threatening. On the other hand, truth, as an invariable structure to be applied to reality, represents the way through which the ‘will to power’ tries to keep fluidity under control. The gap between truth and reality thus takes on a double meaning: there is a radical difference between them, but there is also a hierarchical imposition of truth over reality. In light of the concept of hierarchy, truth comes to be seen as something oppressive, and reality as something that needs freeing from that oppression. Philosophical thought is thus at a crossroads for Nietzsche:  either it keeps supporting a rigid, oppressive truth, unable to account for reality, or it starts addressing the fluidity of reality, free from the coercion of truth. And Nietzsche, obviously, stands for the second option:  he gives up the notion of truth to let reality be free. Richard Cohen, dealing with the same topics, effectively summarizes this alternative: “To accept objective [read ‘rigid’] truth, [for Nietzsche,] is to be a slave. [On the contrary,] to give up the notion of truth altogether is be free” (Cohen 1990: 356). It is here where the main difference between Nietzsche and Rosenzweig can be recognized. For Nietzsche, the fluidity of reality is incompatible with the rigidity of truth—and therefore he ends up rejecting the latter in favor of the former. However, faced with the same incompatibility, Rosenzweig rejects only the rigidity of truth, not truth itself. He saves the notion of truth by radically modifying its features and making it more suitable to account for reality. The connection between truth and rigidity is not indissoluble for Rosenzweig, who is thus able to consider them separately, that is, to conceive of a non-rigid truth. On the other hand, what one can read between the lines of Nietzsche’s thought is a conception of truth that is necessarily characterized by rigidity. Truth cannot be but rigid, in Nietzsche’s view, so that rejecting a rigid truth is basically the same as rejecting truth altogether. The point is that the presumed connection between truth and rigidity is just a hidden presupposition Nietzsche assumes without proof or argument. In this way, he turns out to be still too true to the spirit of that same philosophical

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tradition he intends to criticize. As Richard Cohen points out: “Nietzsche […] is still too respectful of the philosophical tradition. He says, in effect, adhere to the old way of knowledge, […], or leave it—and then he leaves it” (ibid.). Like Nietzsche, Rosenzweig sees the limits of a rigid truth, the control it exerts over reality and the hierarchy it establishes, but, differently than Nietzsche, he does not see rigidity as its essential feature and is thus capable of understanding truth without and beyond rigidity. The theoretical core of Rosenzweig’s conception of truth, finally, is the notion of ‘relation,’ whose essential fluid and dynamic nature allows a reshaping of truth, without giving it up for good.

Truth as Relation ‘Relation’ is the key notion Rosenzweig’s conception of truth is based on. In fact, a brand new understanding of truth becomes necessary when it comes to dealing with the same problems Hegel and Nietzsche address, if at the same time the objectionable conclusions they come to are to be avoided. More precisely, the problem of division, which is so essential in Hegel’s thought, can be solved in a non-Hegelian way, that is, without conceiving of truth as an abstract self-movement of thought. Similarly, that hierarchical attitude of thought which Nietzsche criticizes so harshly can be overcome without resorting to the allout abolition of truth that characterizes Nietzscheanism. In Rosenzweig’s view, thinking of truth in relational terms—rather than uni-totalitarian and/or hierarchical—is the crucial move for showing a way out of the impasse philosophy, in its Hegelian or Nietzschean extremes, has fallen into. Hegel conceives of an all-embracing truth, whose distinguishing trait is its internal dialectical progress: an abstract self-movement of thought that generates reality by generating itself at the same time. For Rosenzweig, however, Hegel’s solution creates more problems than it can—or is intended to—solve. Divisions between different elements of reality may be mended, but the price to pay is the rise of a new division between abstract truth and concrete reality. Nietzsche’s criticism is mostly leveled against this gap, which he considers a form of hierarchy. However, the solution he proposes turns out to be worse than the original problem. In particular, Nietzsche’s destructive attitude against hierarchies ends up also involving the very notion of truth, which he sees as an expression of hierarchical thought. The risk in Nietzscheanism is that freedom from hierarchies may degenerate into a relativistic absence of truth. In this context, the challenge for Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ is a very difficult and ambitious one: it must reconcile divisions, without conceiving truth in terms of an abstract system; and it must reject hierarchies, without rejecting

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truth altogether. The notion of ‘relation’ plays the decisive role in formulating a new conception that is really up to this challenge—to wit, the conception of a ‘relational truth.’ This can be defined in both a negative and a positive way: ex negativo, by negatively marking its differences from other positions; ex positivo, by positively describing its characterizing features.

Ex Negativo Like Hegel, Rosenzweig aims at bridging divisions between the different spheres of reality. But, whereas Hegel does this by means of a common logical structure (the dialectic) which underlies every sphere, Rosenzweig bases his conception on connecting the spheres through relational ties. Hegel’s strategy consists in proving that the problem of divisions is not really a problem at all. The supposedly separated spheres turn out to be actually different aspects of a single sphere, different expressions of a unique principle, and their separation is revealed as only apparent. In other words, Hegel solves the problem of divisions by means of reduction, by showing that however different and unrelated the spheres may seem, they are always parts of the same uni-totality, the same monistic-totalitarian form of truth. The problem is that for Rosenzweig a truth thus conceived is overly abstract, and therefore unable to properly account for reality. Reduction is not the only way to oppose divisions, though. These can also be overcome by recognizing connections between the spheres. The difference between Hegel’s idealism and Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ on this point lies in their different approaches of tackling the problem: Hegel applies a reductio ad unum to the whole of reality, conceiving uni-totality as the ultimate truth and separation as a fallacious concept. Rosenzweig establishes connections instead, overcoming separation through the relational network each sphere develops with the others. What emerges is a primacy of relation itself over the elements that are in relation, as it has already been observed: “God, world and man […] are in themselves nothing. They only become something in relationship” (Samuelson 1994: 33); they acquire their meaning only when considered in their relational dimension. For Hegel, divisions are overcome by realizing that a reduction-based unitotality has primacy over them. For Rosenzweig the same result is achieved through the central role he assigns to relation. What makes a relation-based truth valuable is that for Rosenzweig reality is also relation-based. As a sort of ‘common denominator’ between truth and reality, the notion of ‘relation’ allows the shortcomings of the idealist approach to be avoided, to wit: the abstractness of truth and its consequent detachment from the concreteness of reality. “Truth

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is that alone which is entirely one with reality” (GS  2:  428), Rosenzweig says. But the kind of truth he means in this passage is certainly not the idealistic kind, since it must undergo a radical shift: from a reduction-based to a relation-based approach—from the idealistic, false All, to the true, internally relational All (see ibid.).79 Relational truth not only solves the problem of division without giving in to abstractness, it also overcomes hierarchies without losing its character as truth. Once again, it is the notion of ‘relation’ that allows for this double achievement: it is deeply anti-hierarchical and yet still remains the distinguishing trait of truth. In his struggle against hierarchies, Nietzsche recognizes the main property of truth in that it tends to impose itself on reality, rather than expressing it faithfully. The solution he proposes, however, is overly drastic from a Rosenzweigian point of view, as it consists in getting rid of the hierarchical imposition of truth, that is by getting rid of truth itself. This definitely solves the problem, but also leads to conceiving of reality in relativistic terms, in a way, that is, that threatens to deprive reality of any structure and orientation.80 Relational truth is anti-hierarchical in at least two senses. In one sense, the principle of relation is essentially at odds with that of reduction. Reduction lessens the autonomy of each sphere by leading it back to another, higher-ranking sphere. In Rosenzweig’s view, however, relation implies that autonomy, as authentic relations can develop only between irreducible and equal-ranking spheres. On the other hand, it must be observed that hierarchy is a direct consequence of reduction. In fact, the particular sphere the others are reduced to is given hierarchical supremacy, precisely because of its prominent role as a terminus ad quem. But the fact that a reduction cannot take place in a relational environment means that the very precondition for a hierarchical order to be established is not satisfied in this context—and therefore hierarchy itself is impossible. In traditional philosophy, moreover, hierarchy develops not only between the spheres, but also between truth and reality. The second meaning in which 79 In reconstructing Rosenzweig’s picture of reality, Norbert Samuelson writes: “Rosenzweig’s universe is a world, not of things but of motions. […]. In this context, ‘reality’ (or ‘truth’) expresses the complex relationship between all these movements” (Samuelson 2002: 64). On one hand, this passage confirms the abovementioned primacy of relations over their elements (“not of things but of motions”). On the other hand, that the words ‘reality’ and ‘truth’ are used as synonyms testifies to their convergence in Rosenzweig’s thought. 80 The importance of an orientation for reality emerges clearly in Rosenzweig’s account of ‘revelation.’

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relation can be said to be anti-hierarchical, emerges here: relation is what makes reality and truth ‘be one with each other,’ thereby preventing any hierarchical order from developing between them. In Rosenzweig’s view of reality, everything is in motion toward and in relation with something else. But exactly the same can be said of truth, which is characterized by the same dynamics taking place in reality. The conceptual pair fluidity-rigidity, which Nietzsche used to mark the gap between reality and truth, does not work anymore for Rosenzweig because both are fluid in his conception; both reality and truth are defined by the fluidity of a constant, relational movement. To recap, two keywords can be assumed to define Rosenzweig’s view in distinguishing it from both idealism and irrationalism: concreteness and truth. Through the concept of ‘relation,’ Rosenzweig overcomes divisions, without enacting a process of reduction and maintaining a contact with concrete reality. At the same time, ‘relation’ is also what allows hierarchies to be abolished without truth itself being abolished with them.

Ex Positivo It is easy to determine how Rosenzweig’s conception distinguishes itself from Nietzsche’s: the ‘new thinking’ is still based on a form of truth, whereas Nietzsche comes to the conclusion that the very notion of truth is no longer tenable. Less easy, however, is a comparison between Rosenzweig and Hegel, because in this case two opposite conceptions of truth are involved. More precisely, Rosenzweig’s relational truth can be defined by means of theoretical features that are in exact opposition to those defining idealistic truth. As an abstract self-movement of thought, Hegelian truth is unitary, totalitarian, static,81 and purely theoretical. On the other hand, Rosenzweigian truth consists of a concrete set of relations, which, as such, imply the notion of otherness. Such a truth is then also dynamic and evental, while its concreteness ties in with its essentially practical slant.

81 It may seem to be a contradiction in terms to describe a (self-)movement as static, but it must be noted that the kind of movement characterizing Hegel’s conception of truth is a logical, rational, and necessary one. That means that every step of the (self-) development of truth is for Hegel the necessary outcome of the previous steps. From a logical point of view—which is always Hegel’s point of view— the last step of a necessary process is always already present (implicit) in its first step—and the same goes for every intermediate step. The simultaneous presence of all steps of a (presumed) movement reveals its fundamentally static character.

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‘Relation’ overcomes the divisions between the three spheres but maintains and even requires their reciprocal otherness. At a first rough glance, the two notions of ‘division’ and ‘otherness’ seem more similar than they actually are. By ‘division,’ a radical separation is meant, whose main trait is a total lack of relation between the terms it refers to. ‘Otherness,’ on the other hand, is what makes a relation authentic and meaningful. ‘Division’ is the opposite of ‘relation,’ as it rules out on principle the very possibility of any interaction; but ‘otherness,’ far from being at odds with ‘relation,’ is rather its primary condition, and therefore also the prerequisite of relational truth. Broadly speaking, an authentic relation can occur only between elements that are ‘other’ to each other, whereas this would be impossible in a condition where a lack of otherness obtains. Obviously, no relation is possible when only a single term is available. Rosenzweig writes: “To discern God, the world, man, is to discern what they do […] to each other and how they are affected by each other. […] if ‘in the deepest depth’ the other were the same as myself, I could not love him, but only myself ” (GS 3: 150). What Rosenzweig says about love actually applies to every relation. For him, authentic relations can develop only on the basis of radical otherness, while the opposite concept, sameness, makes any relation impossible.82 It is clear that this view represents a powerful critique directed at the very core of idealism, which is based on such notions as ‘self-consciousness,’ ‘self-reference,’ ‘self-movement,’ etc. The prefix ‘self-’ indicates precisely a kind of internal relation that is supposed to develop in a reflexive way, but for Rosenzweig reflexiveness is a synonym for sameness, so that in his view ‘reflexive relation’ is an untenable contradiction in terms.83 Relation is basically ‘encounter with another’ and Rosenzweig thinks of such encounter as a dynamic event—the second feature of his understanding of truth. The notion of ‘relation,’ as such, does not imply a dynamic, evental character. In principle, it could be conceived as a stable link that connects its terms statically

82 A simple geometric example can shed light on this point. A relation can be thought of as a line segment and the terms in relation as the end points of the segment. For the segment to exist, and for the relation to develop, it is necessary that the two end points are not coincident, that is, that they are not the same point; rather, they must be other to each other. As ordinary as this example may seem, it is not far from Rosenzweig’s conception. If the Magen David represents reality and truth in the course of their making—as it does in Der Stern der Erlösung—then it is necessary that its points are not overlapping, i.e. there must be otherness between them. 83 “The need of an other” (GS 3:  151–152)—summarizes Rosenzweig—is what distinguishes his ‘new thinking’ from the ‘old,’ idealistic thinking.

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and permanently. But this is not the case in Rosenzweig’s view. For him, everything that is, is in relationship to something else and in motion from an origin to an end. Thinking of ‘relation’ in terms of ‘motion’ means that the features of the latter concept are ascribed also to the former. Relations are then like movements: irreducible to and undeducible from any previous state of things. Kierkegaard’s influence is clear here; but while he summarizes all of this in his conception of ‘freedom,’ Rosenzweig introduces a conceptual cognate: the notion of ‘event’ (Ereignis).84 In general, an event can be defined as the occurrence of something unexpected that breaks usual patterns and subverts previously stable structures. By applying the notion of ‘event’ to those of ‘relation,’ ‘division,’ and ‘otherness,’ the following picture can be delineated: ‘division’ describes the original condition that is revolutionized by the event of relation; whereas relation itself, conceived of here in evental terms, is the discriminating factor between the previous state of ‘division’—which is by definition alien to relation—and the subsequent development of ‘otherness’—which, instead, is a key element of relation and can be considered the new form ‘division’ assumes, after being touched by an event. In short: ‘Otherness’ is after the event of relation what ‘division’ is before that event. The ‘event’ converts ‘division,’ that is nonrelational separateness, into ‘otherness,’ that is relational separateness. This latter sentence allows attention to be drawn to another important aspect of the event—and thus of relational truth as being essentially evental: its retroactive effect. An event determines a transition from one condition to another. When an event occurs, something happens in a context, but, at the same time, it also happens to that context, changing it radically. An event, then, not only occurs in reality, but it also changes the very perspective from which reality is observed. Before the event, as absolutely undeducible and unpredictable, there is no sign of its imminent happening, but from an ‘after-event’ point of view, what precedes the event comes to be seen in an utterly different light: as an “anticipation or, more accurately, [a]‌foundation, the exhibiting of pre-conditions” (GS 2: 119). In other words: the attribution of a preparatory value to what precedes an event is a retroactive effect of the event itself.85 84 Luigi Pareyson’s Ontology of Freedom (1995) is one of the most radical attempts to conceive of freedom and event in their ontological relationship. A comparison between Pareyson and Rosenzweig can be found in Bangerl 2006. 85 This aspect, which is here described in general terms, finds particular application in the relationship between the Rosenzweigian notions of ‘creation’ and ‘revelation,’ as well as in the parallel relationship he recognizes between philosophy and theology (see the following parts).

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The event par excellence, in Rosenzweig’s view, is revelation. This is seen as an unexpected conveyance of truth that asserts itself to its recipients, in a similar way as one may be ‘hit’ by something. But revelation also has a revolutionary effect on the context it occurs in, providing it with a reference point it did not have before. Both aspects are dealt with in Rosenzweig’s Urzelle. At first, he refers to the experience of revelation by quoting “ ‘Ecce deus fortior me qui veniens dominabitur mihi’ ” (GS 3: 125)86 and thus depicting revelation as something that ‘comes and imposes itself.’ However, this first aspect alone, though “not straightforwardly false, [is] much too impoverished” (ibid.), and needs integrating with a second characteristic:  “revelation is orientation […]. After revelation there is an […] Up and Down in nature—heaven and earth” (125–126). This means that revelation also constitutes a central point, a fixed and immovable focus, whose evental character consists precisely in changing the very frame through which reality is perceived. A third feature of relational truth is its practical nature. This refers to Rosenzweig’s conception that the experience of truth must be corroborated through human actions in the world. Two phases can be distinguished:  (1) humans receive truth passively and (2) are called to verify (bewähren) it actively in life practices. Both the German word ‘bewähren’ and its most common English translation, ‘to verify,’ refer to the verb that more than any other pertains to praxis:  ‘machen,’ ‘to make.’ One of the main acceptations of ‘bewähren’ is ‘wahr machen’ and ‘to verify’ derives from the Latin ‘verificare,’ composed by ‘verum’ (‘true’) and ‘facere’ (‘to make’): ‘to make true.’ Moreover, ‘bewähren’ and ‘to verify’ signify also a process of proof. They mean: ‘als wahr erweisen,’ ‘to prove true,’ so that their meaning in this context can be formulated as: ‘to make something true, by proving it true in concrete life and praxis.’87 What needs to be made true is truth. It may sound paradoxical, but in fact the paradox is only apparent, as two different forms of truth are involved. The 86 “Behold God, stronger than me, who comes to rule over me.” The verse is taken from Dante’s La Vita Nuova (Alighieri 1294: II.4). 87 The notion of Bewährung is given careful consideration in the field of Rosenzweig studies. Already in 1950 Will Herberg stresses the importance of this concept as well as its practical implications: “This conception of ‘making true’ (bewähren) by commitment, decision, and venture is at the heart of the ‘new thinking.’ It is […] not theoretical knowledge but ‘existential’ knowledge—that is, knowledge of such a kind that it is only fully realized as practical decision” (Herberg 1950: 544). Another important contribution to this topic is made by Emil Fackenheim, who specifies this practical character in terms of a shift in perspective “from the centrality of the Torah itself to the centrality of an Israel witnessing to the Torah” (Fackenheim 1982: 81). That means that the stress is not on truth and knowledge in themselves (the Torah itself), but on

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above-mentioned phases define the relationships between these two forms:  in the first phase, truth turns from its divine form as complete and unitary into its human form as partial and manifold: “ ‘the’ [divine] truth changes into our [human] truth” (GS 3: 158). Receiving truth, for a human being, means appropriating it, but, obviously, this appropriation can be made only within the limits of human abilities: “What can I make mine then? Only that which fell to my share in my inner here and now. Whether it is the ‘whole’ truth, what do I care? It is enough that it fell to my ‘share.’ ” (GS 2: 437). The whole truth, which pertains only to God, becomes partial, as a human being receives it: it becomes “that which is one’s own” (438). This partiality is the starting condition for the process of verification that characterizes the second phase. Precisely because the perspective on truth changes from divine to human, the approach to truth must change as well—from the static contemplation of something that simply is true, to the active work on something that needs to be made true:  “Truth thus ceases to be what ‘is’ true and becomes what wants to be verified (bewährt) as true” (GS 3: 158). Partial truth does not contradict the whole truth, but provides a point of view from which wholeness is seen as something to be achieved.88 And it is here that truth, as incomplete and thus ‘in need of verification,’ shows its practical character, as verifying consists in putting received truth into practice, in translating truth into concrete acts,89 each of which contributes to the goal of a final unity.90 their practical realization in concrete life (that bears witness of the Torah). Other, more recent interpretations are, for example: Gibbs (2000), Rashkover (2005), Bonola (2008), Baccarini (2011), and Kavka (2012). Beyond their differences, what they all seem to agree on is the prominent role of praxis in Rosenzweig’s conception of truth. This is the most relevant aspect to the present work. 88 It is “a part that verifies (bewährt) the whole truth instead of denying it” (GS 2: 438). 89 “Which acts, then? I said the big ones. It does not say much, though. […]. Which acts, then? The living (lebendig) ones. It is about creative (schöpferisch) acts, acts that produce life (Leben schaffen), not only outside of us, but also in ourselves. The acts that turn us into something different from what we are” (GS 3: 590–591). In Das Büchlein vom gesunden und kranken Menschenverstand, Rosenzweig gives an example of what he means, when he writes: “The child wonders at the mature man. But the question that lies at the roots of his wonder ends up answering itself, when the child grows into a mature man himself ” (B: 29). This passage gives a glimpse of Rosenzweig’s conception of truth. At first, adulthood may be a mystery to the child, but the truth of adulthood gradually reveals itself to him, as he himself becomes a mature person. Moreover, it is important to notice that becoming an adult is not a merely passive process. On the contrary, it requires action. In order to grow up, and finally understand the truth of adulthood, the child has to perform acts that are able to change him, i.e. those acts that, according to Rosenzweig, “produce life”. 90 In Der Ster der Erlösung, Rosenzweig writes: “This unity is, as it is in becoming, a ‘becoming unity’ ” (GS 2: 456). The difference between an already given unity and a

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Theory and Praxis Without concretization, received truth would be a dead letter,91 or in other words: truth becomes truly true—that is is made true, is veri-fied—only if it finds practical application in real life. Moreover, this conversion into praxis has a definite direction, as it aims at truth’s unity and completeness. In this view, two different yet connected, aspects emerge: (1) a shift from theory to practice and (2) its eschatological overtones. In a letter from 1924, Rosenzweig proposes a conceptual distinction between what can be expressed (aussprechbar) and what can be experienced (erfahrbar): expression, as “formulation of something objective” (GS 1.2: 1002), is a theoretical function; experience, on the contrary, can only be practically lived. This difference is then applied to the notion of truth in its divine and human forms. Divine truth, as “universal to the highest degree (das Allerallgemeinste)” (ibid.), is expressible,92 while the receiving of that truth a parte hominis is always particular, inexpressible and only experienceable. The way divine truth relates to human truth is mirrored in the way ‘the expressible’ relates to ‘the experienceable.’ In both cases, the first term fulfills itself in the second one.93 Divine truth fulfills itself in human truth, ‘the expressible’ in ‘the experienceable,’ and, finally, theory fulfills itself in praxis.94 This focus on praxis is imbued with an eschatological meaning. Not only truth must be made, this making is also oriented toward a goal, that is toward truth’s unity, the absolute, the whole truth. In a letter to Siegfried Kracauer from 1923, Rosenzweig writes: “It is about becoming-absolute, not being-absolute […] in a certain sense, being-absolute by partial payments. It depends on whether the

process of unification is even clearer in Die Wissenschaft von Gott (1921), where “the ‫( אחד‬echad, the unique one) is always conceived of in terms of ‫( יחוד‬ichud, unification)” (GS 3: 622). 91 On account of this relationship between theory and praxis, some scholars highlight an affinity between Rosenzweig’s and William James’ positions. For both, truth is considered the result of a practical process, without which theory alone would be meaningless. See, for example, Gibbs (2000: 244) and Bonola (2008: 83). 92 What Rosenzweig means in this case is the most universal, general, and therefore generic truth about God: “that he ‘is’ ” (GS 1.2: 1002). 93 “One’s own experience, utterly inexpressible, is the fulfillment and realization of expressible truth. All that is needed is—to have this experience (Man muss sie nur— machen)” (ibid.). 94 “For us, that universal theological connection [the divine-human connection] comes alive only if and when we can fulfill it as a single precept” (ibid.).

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installments are paid on time […]:  it depends […] on verification” (cited in Baumann 2011: 175). Each act done in compliance with the divine law represents an installment, in Rosenzweig’s metaphor. However, the ultimate verification (i.e. the last installment), which would result in complete unity (i.e. the whole amount of money), is not within human reach, as “only with God himself does the verification reside, only before him is the truth one” (GS 3: 159). Verification is thus seen as a gradual process that leads closer to—but never reaches—the ultimate truth. ‘Particularity’ and ‘commitment’—or, in Rosenzweig’s terms, “station and mission” (GS 2: 438)—stand out as keywords defining this view. ‘Particularity’ indicates that it is always a single human being that receives truth and that he or she is always situated in a particular place and time. ‘Commitment,’ on the other hand, means that the received truth must develop in the outside world in form of concrete actions, and that such actions must be oriented to the goal of truth’s unity and wholeness. An active, practical meaning is thus conferred on Rosenzweig’s understanding of relational truth, but along with it, an eschatological slant is also present. Truth is not only something that happens (evental character) and is passively received by its recipient. It also requires the active effort of further corroboration, confirmation, attestation, and verification with regard to a goal. To sum up: this section sought to define relational truth negatively, by focusing on what it distinguishes itself from; and positively, by directly addressing its distinguishing traits. In other words: truth is described first by what it is not and then by what it is. The negative way shows that relational truth differentiates itself from its idealistic counterpart by prioritizing concreteness, while at the same time it also distances itself from an irrational position à la Nietzsche by simply being itself, that is by still being the truth. On the other hand, the features emerging along the positive way are: (1) otherness, which, as irreducibility between different spheres, is the very basis of relational truth; (2) evental character, which brings to light truth’s dynamic nature; and (3) eschatological praxis, which presents truth as the result of a practical process, and such process as oriented toward a goal. In the course of its making, relational truth follows faithfully the structure and movements of reality, which for Rosenzweig consists of two dimensions: that of the spheres, or Urphänomene, or elements, that is God, world, and human being; and that of the paths, that is creation, revelation, and redemption. These dimensions can be distinguished, but not separated from each other, much as an object in motion (the elements) can be distinguished but not separated from the direction of motion (the paths). An in-depth analysis of the spheres can show— once again, but from another perspective—how Rosenzweig’s position differs

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from both idealism and irrationalism. The three spheres are based on an internal relation between two terms. Only the ‘new thinking’ is able to grasp each sphere in both its essential components, while idealism and irrationalism focus one-sidedly on one component only. Internal relations characterize the three spheres, but, at the same time, these are also involved in external relations that Rosenzweig calls ‘paths:’ creation, revelation, and redemption. On account of this, reality and truth take shape as a set of relations between elements that are basically relations themselves: a configuration that can be described, appropriately enough, as ‘relations of relations.’ In this context, an examination of the three paths allows the specific features that define relational truth to be positively delineated. More precisely: Rosenzweig’s conception of creation lays the stress on the notion of otherness as constitutive of relational truth; his account of revelation emphasizes its evental character; while the practical-eschatological inclination of relational truth emerges clearly from Rosenzweig’s understanding of redemption.

The Three Spheres in Rosenzweig’s ‘New Thinking’ In Rosenzweig’s thought, the first level of reality and truth consists of the three spheres of God, world, and human being. Each of them is composed of two dimensions, developed along the so-called ‘way of yes’ and ‘way of no.’ Ontologically and epistemologically speaking,95 these two ways could not be more different from each other, as the ‘yes’ corresponds to a static substantiality, while the ‘no’ indicates a dynamic action. In their interaction, the two opposite ways provide the stable enclosedness in itself (Geschlossenheit in sich selbst) that constitutes each sphere as an independent and unitary substance. In order to describe this internal relation, Rosenzweig employs a sort of wordplay with the German words Tatsache (Fact), Tat (Action), and Sache (Thing). The ‘no’ shows the characteristics of an action (Tat); the ‘yes’ recalls the substantiality of a thing (Sache); and together they form the closed unity of a matter of fact (Tatsache) (see GS 2: 270). Reading idealism and irrationalism through the lens of Rosenzweig’s own categories, idealism can be seen as accounting mainly for the ‘way of yes,’ the Sache, that is the positive, static part of each sphere, while neglecting the negative part. Irrationalism, on the other hand, seems to focus only on the ‘way of no,’ the Tat, that is the negative, dynamic, and fleeting component of each sphere, while ignoring, if not even rejecting, the positive dimension. What distinguishes Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking,’ then, is its capability of accounting for both ‘yes and no’—Tat and Sache, which together form a Tatsache. The ‘new thinking’—as suggested in this book’s title—takes shape as a sort of tertium datur between Hegel’s idealism and Nietzsche’s irrationalism, whose accounts thus turn out to be opposite, but equally one-sided positions. Based on the broader spectrum the ‘new thinking’ covers—‘yes’ and ‘no’ instead of only ‘yes,’ or only ‘no’—it is possible to highlight another important facet of its nature. Not only does the ‘new thinking’ distinguish itself from 95 The three Urphänomene, the particular forms of nothingness they come from, and the ways that bridge the gap between nothing and something have to be considered both ontologically and epistemologically—as Rosenzweig says: “We must well admit [that] to the nothing of our knowledge corresponds a real nothing (ein wirkliches Nichts)” (GS 2: 96). In a word, ontological and epistemological perspectives converge. See also Pollock (2009: 160 ff.).

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idealism and irrationalism, the particular mode of such distinction can now also be further specified: it does not follow the conceptual model summarized in the correlative pair ‘neither… nor…;’ rather, it proves to be in line with the conjunction structure ‘both… and….’ Plainly put, Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ is a third way, not because it is something completely different from the other two ways— which would be properly described through the double exclusion of a ‘neither… nor…’—but because it represents a combination of their opposite positions— hence the inclusive tendency expressed in a ‘both… and….’96 Before turning to a thorough description of the three spheres—illustrating for each of them how Rosenzweig’s account can integrate idealist and irrational elements—it must be pointed out that a three-terms comparison—between idealism, ‘new thinking,’ and irrationalism—can be carried out only in relation to the sphere of the human and the sphere of the worldly. As to the sphere of the divine, only idealism and ‘new thinking’ can be directly compared, because irrationalism, considered in its Nietzschean form, does not provide any specific conception of God or the divine. On the contrary, it argues for their definitive dissolution.

The Divine In Rosenzweig’s view, the first way that contributes to form the Urphänomen of God is the ‘yes.’ It consists in going from nothing to something by means of affirmation, that is by establishing a state that acts as a substantial basis for the whole sphere of the divine. In Rosenzweig’s own words, it is the “affirmation of the notnothing [that] circumscribes as its inner boundary the infinity of all that is not nothing. It is an affirmed infinity: God’s infinite essence, his infinite factuality, his physis” (GS 2: 29). By God’s physis a pure ontological position is meant—in the original sense of the Latin positum, from ponere, to place, to put, to lay. It is the Sache-part of what is going to be a final Tat-sache. It is “God’s simple and infinitely affirmed Being” (30), a static and placid background, a passive ‘being situated,’ an “unmoved, infinite being” (ibid.). “[T]‌he ‘no’ is just as original as the ‘yes’ […]. It presupposes nothing but the nothing” (ibid.). Both ‘yes’ and ‘no’ emerge from the original, particular nothing of God, but the ‘no’ is, obviously, completely different from the ‘yes:’ “The ‘yes’ in God was his infinite essence. His free ‘no,’ springing forth from the negation of

96 The same topic is discussed in more detail in the section Between and Beyond Hegel and Nietzsche.

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his nothing, is not itself essence; for it does not contain a ‘yes;’ it is and remains a pure ‘no,’ it is not ‘so;’ only ‘not otherwise’ ” (31). The ‘no’ has nothing positive and lacks therefore any substantiality. It heads toward the something by rejecting the nothingness. From this point of view, it is a purely denying gesture, a finite act of negation. It is ‘punctual’ in the linguistic acceptation of the term, as an action without extension and/or duration. The ‘no’ represents the dynamic principle in God97 and—as Rosenzweig asks rhetorically—“what name could we give to it if not that of freedom?” (32).98 Metaphorically speaking, God’s physis is an “infinite sea” (ibid.), while God’s freedom is an “inexhaustible source” (ibid.). The static ‘yes’ and the dynamic ‘no’ combine together as contrasting forces that reach equilibrium precisely through their contrast to each other. “Freedom aims at infinity. […]. As the infinite object to which it aspires, it finds only the essence [God’s physis]” (33). In approaching God’s physis, however, God’s freedom finds a growing resistance that makes it weaker and weaker, so that “at the focal point of the infinity of the inert ‘yes,’ the infinitely weakened power of the infinitely active ‘no’ would be extinguished” (ibid.). The dynamic ‘no’ encounters the static ‘yes,’ or in other words, the Tat reaches the Sache. The result is a ‘yes and no,’ a Tat-sache, that Rosenzweig names ‘God’s vitality’ (Lebendigkeit). This constitutes a closed sphere, which has its own substantiality provided by God’s physis, but is also internally animated by God’s freedom. The double character of what is ‘static and dynamic’ can be seen as mirroring the conceptual pair of ‘rational and irrational.’ This is probably one of the aspects where Kierkegaard’s influence on Rosenzweig is most evident. For Kierkegaard, only stasis is rational, in the sense that it can be logically grasped, while movement and freedom—which Kierkegaard considers akin to each other—are said to be ‘irrational,’ as they are always beyond reason. Mutatis mutandis, the static and positive ‘yes’ for Rosenzweig is also rational because it is a condition, a state, and as such, it lends itself to be treated with rationality’s usual means (logical laws, general categories, etc.). On the other hand, the ‘no,’ as negative and dynamic, is irrational in the Kierkegaardian sense that rationality cannot grasp it fully. Being

97 “In the Yes, there is nothing that pushes out beyond itself; this is the ‘so.’ The movement must therefore come from the No” (GS 2: 30). 98 Actually, many other names could be found for the original ‘no.’ But Rosenzweig’s word choice testifies to his conception of freedom as a dynamic principle, which, like for Kierkegaard but unlike for Hegel, turns out to be related to such notions as ‘movement,’ ‘motion,’ ‘change,’ or ‘action.’

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an action, a motion, the ‘no’ is always a step ahead of any attempt to account for it in a rational way. As a compound of physis and freedom, ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ the static and the dynamic, the Urphänomen of God turns out also to be a compound of rational and irrational dimensions. This double character can now be assumed as a paradigm to interpret other rival positions, to wit: (1) the idealistic, Hegelian account of God tends to focus mainly on its rational component—that is the Rosenzweigian ‘yes’—while being unable to provide a proper account for God’s freedom—that is the Rosenzweigian ‘no.’ (2) On the other hand, the irrational, Nietzschean view rejects the very concept of God and the divine, so that it may seem impossible to make a comparison in this case. However, one may observe that Nietzsche’s rejection is based on a consequence of his particular understanding of freedom— which corresponds to the ‘no,’ in Rosenzweig’s terms—so that some remarks can be made in this case too. Let us begin with Hegel. He conceives of God as absolute spirit, and the deeply rational character that typifies it comes to be a key also to understanding his conception of God. More precisely, one may argue that by equating God and absolute spirit, Hegel ends up taking only those rational aspects into consideration that in Rosenzweig’s view would fall within the ambit of the ‘yes.’ What can be now considered an excessive focus on rationality results in an all-out ban of irrationality from the Hegelian system. Even the notion of ‘freedom,’ which for Rosenzweig represents the irrational, dynamic ‘no’ opposing the rational, static ‘yes,’ has a completely different meaning in Hegel. He thinks of freedom in such a way that it is made compatible with the general rational tenor of his system. For Hegel, freedom is even included in the field of rationality, as the result of a rational process of determination. Hegel conceives of the development of the spirit as basically self-reflection. The prefix ‘self’ indicates a movement of thought that makes it independent from anything other than itself, and it is precisely in this sense that the spirit can be said to be free, because the progressive removal of otherness it enacts corresponds to its advancement toward independence and autonomy. Hegel writes: “[The spirit] is in and with itself. […]. Now, this is freedom, for if I am dependent, I refer to something else that I am not. […] I am free, on the contrary, if I am with myself.” (W 12: 30). In other words, ‘being with oneself ’ (bei sich selbst sein) is freedom, and it consists in overcoming otherness, in subduing and appropriating it. The spirit becomes free by relating to otherness in such a way that this is not perceived as an obstacle on the spirit’s way to the absolute, but rather as a developmental stage of that way.

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The development of the spirit is then a progressive abolition of otherness and therefore a progressive acquisition of freedom. At the same time, though, the objection may be raised that the spirit develops also according to a necessary pattern—the dialectic. It may seem paradoxical that two opposite features are ascribed to the same entity,99 but in fact freedom and necessity are not incompatible concepts in Hegel’s philosophy; rather, they combine together and thus mutually imply each other. However, it must be pointed out that such a relationship between them is possible only on the basis of the particular way Hegel conceives of freedom. More precisely: it is only because Hegel sees freedom as a state of autonomy—rather than as a spontaneous, arbitrary act—that it can coexist with necessity. In the Wissenschaft der Logik, Hegel provides a description for the freedomnecessity relationship. The developmental law that governs the progress of the spirit—and thus of God as spirit—is a form of internal (immanent) necessity that as such cannot be imposed by anything external and qualifies therefore as ‘self-determination.’ That the spirit is ‘self-determined’ means that it relies only on itself for its own determination, and such a form of independence is exactly what Hegel understands by the term ‘freedom.’ Necessity and freedom thus turn out to be closely connected with each other—to the point that “freedom reveals itself to be the truth of necessity” (W 6: 246).100 Self-determination is here the key notion, the conceptual link between necessity and freedom: it is a free process, because it is independent; but at the same time it is also necessary, because it develops according to a dialectical scheme.101 If Hegel’s thought prioritizes the rational aspects of God as spirit, Nietzsche, on the other hand, focuses mainly on a conception of God as infinite freedom.

99 Ernst Tugendhat talks about a “reversal of freedom in what is usually thought to be its contrary” (1979: 349), that is necessity. Hegel—Tugendhat argues—“introduces the word ‘freedom’ roughly as it is ordinarily understood. But he subsequently gives a twist to its meaning, so that now the word stands for exactly the opposite” (350). 100 The same topic is dealt with also in the Enzyklopädie, where Hegel writes:  “real freedom is conceived of as necessity” (W 10: 317) or “Freedom assumes the form of necessity” (303). 101 The conceptual relationship between freedom and necessity is a central issue in the field of Hegel studies. Some of the most relevant works about this topic are: Tugendhat (1979), Franco (1999), Patten (1999), and Wallace (2005). Particularly the latter summarizes Hegel’s understanding of freedom and necessity as coexisting in God and spirit, as is evident in the following quote: “God’s freedom is his self-determination, and this self-determination is absolute necessity” (Wallace 2005: 207).

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As Rosenzweig himself says:  “for [our conception of] God’s freedom, we can follow in the footsteps of Nietzsche” (GS 2: 20). In this view, Nietzsche’s famous sentence ‘God is dead’ is not seen as a neutral refusal to believe in God, but rather can be interpreted as the result of a competitive relationship between divine and human being. This is at least Rosenzweig’s interpretation of Nietzsche, which is based on a crucial passage from Also sprach Zarathustra: “If there were gods, how could I bear not to be God?” (KGA 6.1: 106).102 According to this reading, then, God represents a threat to the human being, who “looks at the divine freedom with furious hate” (GS 2: 21), because, if a being like God exists, it must certainly have infinite freedom, and this cannot but constitute a limitation on human freedom, which is by nature finite. In Die fröhliche Wissenschaft, Nietzsche connects God’s death to the opening of an infinite number of choices for human beings—or at least, for the ‘free spirits:’ “at hearing the news that ‘the old god is dead,’ we philosophers and ‘free spirits’ feel illuminated by a new dawn; our heart overflows with gratitude, amazement, forebodings, expectation—finally the horizon seems clear again” (KGA 5.2: 256). God’s death can thus be considered the removal of an obstacle for human freedom, which is now seen in terms of self-affirmation103 and as such, perceives other freedoms as possible threats and limitations—especially if they are infinite. It is precisely for this reason that the particular aspect of God which more than any other needs abolishing in this view is his infinite freedom. Rosenzweig seems to have this in mind when writing: “It is not God’s being, but God’s freedom that leads him [the human] to protect himself in this way” (GS 2: 21), that is to protect his own freedom against what could limit and frustrate it.

102 This sentence is also quoted in Rosenzweig’s Der Stern der Erlösung (GS 2: 20) with a slight variation. The original, Nietzschean version refers to ‘gods’ (plural), while Rosenzweig talks about ‘God’ (singular). In this particular context, the difference appears to be irrelevant. 103 The antagonism between divine and human freedom, as it is hinted at in Der Stern der Erlösung, can be explained on the basis of a conception of Nietzschean freedom as self-affirmation. However, Nietzsche’s view on freedom is more complex than it appears in Rosenzweig’s account. Relatively recent works examine the topic in depth, covering the whole range of its different aspects. Oaklander (1984), for example, deals with Nietzsche’s different—and sometimes inconsistent—views on freedom. All the contributions in Gemes and May (2009) tackle the notion of freedom in Nietzsche, involving such other connected themes as: the constitution of selfhood and/or the relationship between freedom and ethical ideals.

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Rosenzweig’s idea of God consists basically in the balancing of a static dimension—the ‘yes’ of God’s physis or essence—and a dynamic one—the ‘no’ of God’s freedom. The former is rational, because as a static essence, it is determined and lends itself to be defined in those general terms that are the typical tools of rationality. The latter, on the contrary, is a free act that does not tolerate any determination and thus shows the irrational character of what is irreducible to reason. “Necessity and destiny” and “power and arbitrariness” (34) are other terms through which Rosenzweig describes the two dimensions of God, and his choice of words here is already in itself clarifying: “necessity and destiny” indicate something stably determined that as such, lends itself to rational thought, while “power and arbitrariness” emphasize the indeterminateness of something rationality cannot be perfectly applied to. What emerges, then, is a sort of rational-irrational dichotomy, in which necessity belongs to the rational side, while arbitrariness places itself on the irrational side.104 Two opposite triads of concepts can summarize this polarity: the adjectives rational, necessary and static define the ‘yes,’ while irrational, arbitrary (i.e. free), and dynamic characterize the ‘no.’ Now, it is from this point of view that Hegel and Nietzsche appear to take opposite, but equally one-sided positions. Each of them deals with only one of the two triads that Rosenzweig, on the contrary, combines in a unitary conception. In Hegel’s case, it is the rational character that prevails, as the equation of God and absolute spirit implies the exclusion of any irrational element. Even freedom, which could be thought of as breaking this predominance of rationality, is actually conceived as autonomy, rather than as arbitrariness, and is thus in agreement rather than in contrast with rational necessity. In the last analysis, the Hegelian notion of freedom turns out to be fully absorbed within the ambit of rationality, and is therefore unable to constitute an irrational alternative to it—as it is the case in Rosenzweig’s thought. As for Nietzsche, his famous sentence against God hides an indirect acknowledgment of his infinite freedom. In Nietzsche’s ‘God is dead’ a conception is 104 It is worth noting that such relationships are corollaries of Kierkagaard’s general account of freedom, becoming, and irrationality, on one hand, and necessity, stasis, and rationality, on the other hand. Kierkegaard writes: “No becoming is necessary; not before becoming, for then it could not become, nor after, for then it would not have become. All becoming takes place with freedom, not by necessity” (1844a: 69). For both Kierkegaard and Rosenzweig, rationality is always based on a form of predictability only necessity and stasis can provide. But when it comes to authentic becoming, with its inherent freedom and unpredictability, the limitations of rationality emerge. ‘Irrationality’ refers then to the scope of what is beyond those limitations.

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hinted at, in which God is seen as essentially consisting in his freedom. It is this way of conceiving of God that makes the extreme conclusion of his death an unavoidable step in Nietzsche’s thought. In other words: it is because of his freedom that God must die. This is due to the fact that freedom consists for Nietzsche in a process of constant self-affirmation. It is the capability of choosing goals and overcoming any possible obstacle to their realization. This is why freedom is, more properly, an ‘instinct to freedom,’ a drive toward self-realization that relates to other freedoms by assuming an antagonistic attitude toward them. From this perspective, then, God’s death can be considered the human reaction to an otherness that is perceived as threatening precisely because it is acknowledged as an opposing freedom. For Nietzsche, the irrational character of an instinct defines his understanding of freedom. The centrality of this notion for his conception of God makes it poles apart from Hegel’s view:  while the Hegelian ‘God as spirit’ is essentially rational, without any trace of irrationality, the Nietzschean ‘God as freedom’ qualifies as basically irrational. To recapitulate, then, from a Rosenzweigian perspective:  Hegel’s conception is perfectly in line with the first triad, the rational-necessary-static ‘yes;’ Nietzsche’s view shows a higher affinity to the irrational-arbitrary-dynamic ‘no;’ while Rosenzweig’s understanding of God, as a combination of ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ rational and irrational dimensions, can be rightly considered a third way between Hegel’s purely rational and Nietzsche’s purely irrational approaches.

The Natural-Worldly The same characterization that distinguishes Rosenzweig’s conception of God from Hegel’s and Nietzsche’s remains valid also for the other two Urphänomene and can thus be applied to the world and to the human being. Broadly speaking, Hegel takes positions that, translated into Rosenzweigian terms, correspond in each Urphänomen to the positive, rational pole of ‘yes;’ Nietzsche’s accounts of the world and the human being, when compared with Rosenzweig’s, resemble the negative, irrational ‘no’ of each sphere; while Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ stands out precisely because of its ability to conceive ‘yes’ and ‘no’ in their interaction. And ‘interaction’ is the key word here. Basically, it means that Rosenzweig’s thought constitutes a third way between Hegel’s and Nietzsche’s; but more precisely, it is that particular kind of third way that consists in integrating the other two ways, rather than rejecting them altogether. In the specific case of the world, Rosenzweig identifies the ‘yes’-component as logos and the ‘no’-component as worldly plenitude. In every sphere, the original

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‘yes’ affirms the infinity of the ‘not-nothing:’ “As an infinite—and as an infinite alone the not-nothing can be affirmed—it is possible to affirm only what is ‘everywhere’ and what is ‘always’ lasting. […]. But the being of the world is ‘everywhere’ and ‘always’ only in thinking. The logos, then, is the essence of the world” (GS 2: 46). In other words: affirming the not-nothing means affirming something infinite, which must be such in both space (‘everywhere’) and time (‘always’). Infinity must go beyond the particularity of the hic et nunc and the unique dimension which is able to do this is that of thinking:  the logos. Like every ‘yes,’ the logos plays the role of a static essence in the world, a solid foundation that acts as a universally valid structure to provide the various phenomena occurring in the world with determination. Phenomena are the other main component of the world: they are the original ‘no.’ “There is […] something else in [the world], something always new, pressing, imposing” (48), that is a plenitude of figures, formations, phenomena. “But the emergence of this plenitude out of the original nothing is, once again, completely different from the emergence of the world’s logos” (ibid.). While the latter follows the ‘way of yes,’ by placidly affirming the static essence of notnothing as an ontological alternative to nothingness, the former has the negative character (‘way of no’) of that which directly negates that nothingness: “the plenitude […] breaks the nocturnal prison of the nothing in an ever renewed convulsion of procreation and giving birth; each new thing is a renewed negation of the nothing, something that has never been, a beginning for itself, something unheard of ” (ibid.). As different as they may be, the ‘yes’ of logos and the ‘no’ of plenitude converge to shape what Rosenzweig calls “the configured world (die gestaltete Welt)” (51). In order to explain this conception, he makes metaphorical use of such metaphysical categories as ‘body’ and ‘soul.’ For Rosenzweig, the logos is “spirit of the world (Weltgeist)” or “soul of the world (Weltseele)” (48), which, when applied to the “living body of the world (der lebendige Weltleib)” (51)—that is, to the worldly plenitude of phenomena—produces a sort of organism, a compound of body and soul, matter and structure: an accomplished and closed sphere. Other pairs of concepts are used to express the same relationship between logos and phenomena, for example: the universal (das Allgemeine) and the particular (das Besondere) (see 52); form and content of the world (Weltform und Weltinhalt) (see 54); or concept (Begriff) and thing (Ding) (see ibid.). However, another conceptual pair, comprising the features ‘rational’ and ‘irrational,’ can be introduced to describe the two components of the world. In this view, the logos represents the rational pole, while the worldly plenitude of phenomena is the irrational pole. Now, that the logos can be considered

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rational needs no explanation: as a stable organized structure that finds in the world its specific field of application and domain of validity, the logos meets all requirements to embody the rational side of Rosenzweig’s account of the world. On the other hand, by ‘worldly plenitude’ Rosenzweig means the dimension of the particular and defines it in terms of “surprise (Überraschung)” (50). Needless to say that the wording itself is decisive here: that the particular is a ‘surprise’ means that it essentially eludes reason’s fixed—and thus predictable—schemes. It means that the particular, as a surprise, is essentially beyond reason and, in this sense, irrational. As such, a surprise is always irrational, in the sense that it is essentially incompatible with what can be considered rationality’s primary goal, that is predictability. Through its rules, schemes, and structures, rationality aims to find an order in reality105 with the clear purpose of making it predictable, that is in line with an intelligible form of regularity. It is clear that the notion of ‘surprise’ constitutes an insurmountable obstacle to the realization of rationality’s project, as it is the primary antonym of ‘predictability.’ From this point of view, worldly plenitude and the particulars comprising it, can be rightly considered irrational, because they resist the general condition of predictability that rationality aims to establish. When thought of as a surprise, the emergence of each particular is by definition ‘that which by no means can be predicted,’ ‘that which by no means can be incorporated within a rational structure’—in a word: irrational. It is exactly as a surprise, that is as irrational, that “the phenomenon had been the crux of idealism, and thus of all philosophy from Parmenides till Hegel; idealism could not grasp it as ‘spontaneous,’ because with this it would have denied the omnipotence of the logos” (ibid.). The ‘supremacy of the logos’ and the incapability of conceiving surprise and spontaneity characterize idealism in general and Hegelianism in particular—and this is because spontaneity threatens the very foundation of idealism as a rational view of reality. As is well known, idealism’s basic principle is that reality can be exhaustively accounted for through reason. Thus, no aspect of reality can be seen as escaping or setting itself beyond rationality, because in an idealistic perspective the domains of the rational and the real are thought to be identical. Obviously enough, such a perfect congruence would be impossible if the origin of phenomena were characterized as ‘spontaneous,’ that is coming from outside the realm of reason.

105 Or, depending on their specific philosophical view, some would maintain that rationality’s aim is to impose an order on reality. However, it is not this divergence of views at issue here.

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In this case, ‘spontaneous’ would take on the meaning of ‘unpredictable’ and ‘not predetermined by logos.’ Such a spontaneous emergence of a phenomenon, then, would be apprehended by the logos as something extraneous to it; something to which the logos could relate only as a sort of belated answer: first the phenomenon emerges, and then the logos accounts for it. In this conception, a particular kind of phenomenon-logos relationship would emerge, in which the phenomenon always has the first move, so to speak, and the logos, by necessarily turning to it at a later time, is debased to the level of reflection (Nachdenken)106—a form of thinking that presupposes its objects and is thus considered “naïve (unbefangen)” in Hegel’s view (see for instance, W 8: 93). The Hegelianidealistic system, then, cannot tolerate spontaneity, as it represents an aspect of reality that, preceding the logos, places itself beyond reason and stands in sharp contrast with the basic principles of idealism. The point is that idealism does not acknowledge logos and phenomenon as equal in rank; rather, it is based upon a clear primacy of the former over the latter. In other words, the logos does not relate to the phenomenon as to something opposite but nonetheless equal. On the contrary, phenomena are subordinated to the logos, to the extent that their truth, their very essence, is not to be found in themselves, that is in their presumed independence from thought; rather it lies exclusively in their being rationally grasped. As Hegel says:  “only what is known of things and in things by thought is really true in them, that is, what is known in them, not in their immediacy, but as first elevated to the form of thinking, as things of thought” (W 5: 38). Truth, as idealism understands it, does not reside in the immediacy of the phenomenal dimension, rather it can be reached only in the dimension of logos, that is only if phenomena are determined by logos and thus elevated to objects of thought. Translating now these relationships into Rosenzweig’s own categories, the idealistic ‘supremacy of the logos’ amounts to a supremacy of the ‘yes.’ While Rosenzweig conceives of the two poles of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ as opposite forces that, being equal, balance each other and reach equilibrium, Hegel’s position can be described through an asymmetrical structure that gives primacy to the logos and sees phenomena as constituting a secondary pole which depends on the logos for

106 Nach-denken is literally ‘after-thinking,’ that is a form of thinking that always comes after its objects. The reasons for Hegel’s criticism become clear when one considers that the constitutive lateness of reflection and the fact that it is preceded by something else prevent thinking from being that original dimension of reality that it is supposed to be in Hegel’s view.

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essence and truth. In idealism, says Rosenzweig, “the fundamental relationships must go from species to individuals, from concepts to things, from form to content” (GS 2: 54–55), that is from the general structure of the logos (‘yes’) to the content of a particular phenomenon (‘no’) by means of deduction. In this manner, phenomena are subsumed into the logos as its developments and the relationship between them—logos and phenomena, ‘yes’ and ‘no’—hence turns out to be hierarchical, rather than equal. The primacy of rationality that characterizes Hegel’s idealism can be translated into Rosenzweig’s terms as a primacy of the ‘yes’ of logos. Nietzsche’s irrationalism, on the other hand, if likewise interpreted through the lens of Rosenzweigian notions, corresponds to the opposite position, that is, the primacy of the ‘no’ of worldly plenitude. If reality is for Hegel fundamentally rational, Nietzsche, on the contrary, sees in the ‘will to power’ its ultimate principle—a principle that is irrational in nature, as it is characterized by ambiguity, contradiction, mobility, incessant change and, in a word, by chaos. “Chaos sive natura” (KGA 5.2: 417. 1881, 11–197) is the concise formula with which Nietzsche equates chaos and reality, but he also illustrates his view in another, more extensive passage: “And do you know what ‘the world’ is to me? Shall I show it to you in my mirror? This world: a monster of energy, […] a play of forces and waves of forces, […] a sea of forces flowing and rushing together, eternally changing, eternally flooding back” (KGA 7.3: 338. 1885, 38–12).107 Nietzsche’s conception of the world, as it emerges from the last quote, is strikingly similar to the description of Rosenzweig’s notion of ‘worldly plenitude’—which the latter depicts as follows: “Its [of the world] womb is insatiable in conceiving, it is inexhaustible in giving birth. […]. Stone and plant, state and art—without cease, every organism is renewed” (GS 2:  48). Both Rosenzweig and Nietzsche, then, speak of an ever-flowing, ever-changing, chaotic, and therefore irrational dimension. However, while such a dimension is just a part of reality for Rosenzweig, it represents the whole of reality for Nietzsche. In the last analysis, this is the main difference between their views:  in Der Stern der Erlösung, the rationality of the world’s order (the logos) combines with the irrationality of worldly plenitude to form the configured world, while in Nietzsche’s account irrationality stands alone as the unique feature of reality.

107 With regard to Nietzsche’s view of reality as the irrational principle of ‘will to power,’ see, among others, Grimm (1977) (especially the first and second chapter) and Williams (2001).

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The notions of ‘universal’ and ‘particular’ may be assumed as keys to the reading of the different positions considered here. More precisely, Hegel’s, Nietzsche’s, and Rosenzweig’s positions can be compared and classified by the way each of them conceives the relationship between the universal and the particular. For Hegel, the particular is connected to the universal in such a way that the former is subordinated to the latter; Nietzsche, on the contrary, sets the particular free from the universal, so to speak, putting forward a worldview that abolishes the universal and comprises only the particular; Rosenzweig, finally, considers both the universal and the particular—thus distinguishing his view from Nietzsche’s—and sees their relationship as a coordination rather than a subordination—which marks a radical difference between the Rosenzweigian and Hegelian conceptions. Even in his account of the world, then, Rosenzweig proves his ability to distance his view from Hegel’s idealism as well as from Nietzsche’s irrationalism, thus once again showing a third way between, and beyond, those opposite conceptions. Philosophy in general—and all the more so Hegel’s philosophy, as its highest development—has always conceived of truth as reachable through a subsumption of the particular under the universal. In the Hegelian system, a logical-deductive line leads the development of the spirit from its abstract, universal stages to the richness of its particular and concrete determinations. Ultimate truth is not to be found in the dimension of the mere hic et nunc; and the kind of particular truth that belongs to that dimension makes sense only if it is connected to a more general and universal truth. In other words: any particular truth can never be independent, but always needs embedding in a general set of rules and principles, which provides it with a foundation and constitutes a ‘horizon of sense’ for it to be included into.108 Now, that the universal founds the particular means precisely that the latter depends on the former; and subsequently that the relationship between them can be properly described with the term ‘subordination.’ As Hegel writes in the Enzyklopädie, each particular determination of thought (Denkbestimmung)—and, 108 A particular truth like, for example, the assertion ‘this ball is red’ owes its meaning to a pre-comprehension of such notions as ‘ball’ and ‘red,’ each of which, in turn, implies the notions of ‘object,’ ‘form,’ and ‘space,’ as well as a certain familiarity with the concepts of ‘color’ and ‘visuality.’ Moreover, the meaning of the logical operation that ascribes the quality of ‘being red’ to the object ‘this ball’ must also be known for that sentence to make sense. The point of this elementary example is then to show that every truth—no matter how simple and banal—can be true only as a particular expression of more general, universal truths.

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consequently, the truth it bears—is “deduced (abgeleitet) from thought itself ” (W 8:  117). The notion of ‘deduction’ is illuminating here, as it reveals that Hegel’s dialectical method, in passing over from one determination to another, traces a theoretical path that gradually leads from the universal to the particular—or from the abstract to the concrete, in Hegel’s own terms—and establishes between them the same relationship that in common reasoning occurs between premises and conclusions109—that is, a relation of dependence of the latter upon the former. Compared to this conception, Nietzsche’s view is radically anti-Hegelian. It can be considered a sort of ‘liberation of the particular’ from its traditional subjection to the universal. The central role Nietzsche assigns to the ‘will to power’ results in an account of reality as something essentially fluid, dynamic, and in a state of constant becoming. For Nietzsche, reality is a multitude of particular elements that neither let themselves be led back to a unique principle, nor forced into a rational structure, nor organized in a system. Without an order to be aligned to, the particular becomes free to develop unrestrictedly. However, the price to pay for this ‘new’ freedom is the loss of that rational character that an order would ensure. Reality thus conceived is an irrational chaos, then, and the absence of any fixed criteria and unchanging laws is precisely what characterizes Nietzscheanism in comparison to both Hegel’s idealism and Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking.’ In structures, laws, and the stability they provide, Hegel sees the main features of the universal, from which the particular is dialectically deduced; while Nietzsche recognizes in them nothing else but one of the many forms dominion may assume. Hegel’s view encompasses both the universal and the particular, connecting them in a hierarchical relationship that gives primacy to the former. Nietzsche, on the contrary, sets the particular free by abolishing the universal for good. Rosenzweig, finally, represents a sort of mediation or more precisely, a third way between such opposite positions:  the universal, in Der Stern der Erlösung, is not discarded like in Nietzsche’s philosophy, but at the same time it does not relate to the particular as something subordinate that must be brought

109 “Hegel’s dialectic is not much different from a deductive process. Hegelian reasoning is basically an argumentation in which conclusions are reached from premises. However, the distinguishing trait of this method is that the consequences deduced from the starting assumptions turn out to be in contradiction with those assumptions” (Cortella 1996: 211). See also Cortella (1995: 295–350).

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into subjection and controlled. In Rosenzweig’s view, universal and particular come together and build up a perfectly equal relationship. For Rosenzweig, the particular—that is the phenomenon, or the ‘no’—is neither deduced from the universal, as it is in Hegel, nor totally free from its influence, as in Nietzsche; rather, “the living, ever renewed flow of the phenomenon, […] sweeps down on the calmly opened womb of the soul of the world and unites with it to shape the organized world” (GS 2: 51). Now, the metaphorical turn of expression “the opened womb of the soul of the world” signifies the universal—that is the logos, or the ‘yes’; while the movement of unification sketched out here and which is further on in the text described as a “descent of the particular upon the universal” (ibid.) represents the final merging of two opposite, but nonetheless equally original and essential components in the sphere of the natural-worldly.

The Human Like the other two Urphänomene, the sphere of the human owes its ontological conformation to the concurrence of two opposite dimensions: that deriving from the original ‘yes’ and that developing along the ‘way of no.’ Though they assume different forms according to the context they are embedded in, the ‘yes’ and the ‘no’ show specific traits that remain constant, irrespective of the particular Urphänomen they pertain to. More precisely, the ‘yes’ always gives rise to a static essence, while the ‘no’ always lies at the roots of a dynamic action. The former is characterized as something solid, concrete, tangible, while the latter shows such features as a fleeting, intangible nature, imponderability, and a lack of substantiality. Moreover, the combination of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and the reciprocal influence they exert on each other, provide each phenomenon with the internal balance and the closedness in itself (Geschlossenheit in sich selbst) that make it a self-contained sphere. With regard to the human being, Rosenzweig maintains that human essence, the ‘yes,’ is defined by transitoriness and particularity: the two main features that distinguish the human being from God and the world: “What is this true being of man? […]. Transitoriness (Vergänglichkeit), which is foreign to God and the gods, and for the world is the disconcerting experience of its own, ever-renewed force, for the human being is the abiding atmosphere that surrounds him, which he inhales and exhales with every breath he takes. The human being is transitory, being transitory is his essence” (68). God, as eternal being, cannot be transitory; while the world sees the ephemeral and transitory as an internal force, that is, as nothing more than an ingredient, which as such cannot essentially affect worldly

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nature. But human beings, unlike God and the world, are utterly at the mercy of transitoriness—to the extent that this constitutes their most defining feature. At the same time, the human being is not only transitory, but also particular. Particularity, as an antonym of universality, has always been acknowledged as an essential feature of the human being, and there is nothing specifically Rosenzweigian in such a view. That every single, concrete individual is different from the concept of ‘individual’ is actually something many thinkers would fundamentally agree on, although at a later stage controversies would certainly arise between them about the meaning to attribute to that difference and more precisely, about the way the particular and the universal relate to each other. There is a gap between the particular human existence and “the universal validity and necessity of knowledge. [The human being] is before knowledge and, precisely therefore, also after knowledge” (69). Now, the question is whether this gap is bridgeable or not. For Rosenzweig, this gap is not bridgeable. In his ‘new thinking’, the adjective ‘particular’, when referring to the human being, is used in its Kierkegaardian— and anti-Hegelian—acceptation, so that it does not only mean ‘different from the universal,’ but also takes on the additional meaning of ‘irreducible to any form of universality.’110 Thus it is emphasized, once again with Kierkegaard and against Hegel, that no universal system of knowledge can fully account for the particular, single human being. As Rosenzweig says: “he [the human being] shouts his victorious cry: ‘I am still here’ to all knowledge, however completely it may imagine that it has put him into the vessels of its universal validity and its necessity. His essence is precisely that […] he is always ‘still there,’ that, in his particularity, he always comes up trumps against the universal’s pretensions to domination” (ibid.). At this point, some clarification may be helpful to avoid ambiguity about the category of ‘particularity.’ First of all, one may observe that it not only appears in the sphere of the human, but also in that of the worldly. However, the main ambiguity surrounding this category is due to the different roles it plays in the two spheres: ‘the particular’ represents the ‘no’ in the world and the ‘yes’ in the human being. It may seem paradoxical that the same category assumes opposite

110 The same term, ‘particular,’ has obviously an utterly different meaning in Hegel’s philosophy. This is based on a conception that sees the absolute-universal-infinite and the particular-finite as different developmental stages of the same process. They are connected, that is, through the logical-dialectical line that founds the reducibility of the particular to the universal.

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meanings in two Urphänomene, but in fact two different kinds of particularity are here at issue—or, more precisely, two different ways of considering the particular. As a first approximation, the notions of external and internal may help to mark this difference: in the world, particularity is viewed from what can be called an external perspective; in the human being it is considered from an internal point of view. An external perspective considers each particular in relation to its context and is therefore especially appropriate for the sphere of the world, since the worldly particular derives its particularity from the relation it establishes with other contiguous particulars around, beside, or in a word, external to it.111 Such a relation is always negative, and the reason for this can be traced back to the meaning of the well-known formula omnis determinatio est negatio.112 This formula states that each ‘something’ can be itself only by negating every possibility of being something else. Its specificity, in other words, depends on the features it possesses, but also on those it does not possess. These belong to other possible ‘somethings’ that every particular ‘something’ must distinguish itself from in order to simply be what it is. This distinction can be seen as a negation of otherness, and it is thus safe to say that in the world each particular determines itself by negating any feature that is other to it, or—which is the same—external to its ontological scope. If the worldly particular acquires its ontological status by way of negation of any external otherness, the human particular, on the other hand, “knows nothing of other singulars beside it, […] knows nothing at all of a ‘beside it’ ” (ibid.). Closed to the outside and completely withdrawn into itself, the human particular only allows of an internal perspective, whose main trait is above all indifference to the outside. In the world, each particular defines itself through confrontation and

111 “the singular of the world […] leaps up for a moment, in a continuous series of singulars” (GS 2: 69). 112 The formula has great relevance in the Spinoza-Hegel relation. Spinoza writes: “[…] determination isn’t a fact about the thing’s being but its non-being. Therefore, because the shape is nothing but a determination, and determination is a negation, it cannot be anything but a negation” (1677b: Ep. 50). Hegel’s comment about it sounds: “That determinateness is negation posited as affirmative is Spinoza’s proposition: omnis determinatio est negatio, a proposition of infinite importance” (W 5: 121). Spinoza’s sentence expresses the negative essence of determination. Every determination implies negation and not-being for the simple fact that every ‘thing,’ to be what it is, must at the same time negate the possibility of being any other ‘thing.’ A determination, in other words, consists of the features it has (includes), just as much as it depends on the features it does not have (excludes, negates).

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opposition to other particulars, that is, through a process that always requires openness to the outside. On the contrary, the human being cannot follow a similar way: she cannot relate to her surroundings and therefore can neither perceive nor possibly negate other particulars. “The self [read ‘the human being’] cannot look out over its walls, the world remain[s]‌outside” (89). From the internal perspective that is proper to it, the sphere of the human appears to have a double, contradictory nature that Rosenzweig describes as follows: human nature “is a singular reality and yet it is an All” (69). Now, this pairing of opposite qualities, that is this coexistence of singularity and totality in the same element, is only an apparent contradiction and illusion caused by the introversion, indifference, and isolation that have been acknowledged as characterizing the human being. If the human particular cannot cross the boundaries of its typical enclosedness in itself, a necessary precondition for knowing itself as a particular is not satisfied. Confrontation with and negation of other external particulars turn out to be impracticable, and the human being thus comes to see herself as she is not: as an All. It is the internal perspective of/on the human being, then, that ends up presenting her particularity as if it were a totality.113 Another distinguishing trait of the human particular is its absolute absence of negativity, because the human enclosedness—as it is well known by now— hinders any possible contact with otherness, and hence also any negation thereof. In the world, particularity comes into contact with otherness, so that negative relationships are established among particulars. The human being, on the other hand, knows her own particularity only from an internal perspective, which makes her ignore other particulars and does not provide the conditions for any form of negation to take place. Alien to the action of negation, then, the human particular comes to assume the character of a positive, static essence, and the primary difference between the external-worldly and the internal-human approach thus turns out to be mirrored in the two opposite ways particularity is conceived: “in the world it is ‘no,’ in man ‘yes;’ in the former it is the always new miracle of individuality, in the latter the lasting being of character.” (70–71). In order to define the ‘yes’-component of the human being—particularity—a comparison with the same notion in the different context of the world has been required. Similarly, the ‘no’-component in the sphere of the human can be

113 Singularity can be mistakenly taken for totality only as long as the human being is considered in isolation— that is in the enclosedness of the Pre-World. A radical change in perspective takes place, when the three Urphänomene start relating to one another, i.e. in the World.

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discussed by comparing it to its counterpart in the sphere of the divine. More precisely, the original ‘no’ leads the human being to her will, in the same way as the negative force in the case of God corresponds to his infinite freedom. The main difference between them can be highlighted by means of the conceptual pair finite-infinite: at first glance, God’s freedom is infinite, while the human being’s will is finite. “God’s freedom was, owing to its infinite and totally passive object, the divine essence, infinite power […]. But human freedom will run into a finite, […]; so even in its origin it will be a finite reality” (71). This difference, while not incorrect, is actually an oversimplification, as in both God and the human being two levels of examination can be distinguished and roughly associated with the notions of ‘form’ and ‘content.’ Formally speaking, both divine and human freedom are finite, because they are original ‘no’-es, that is negations of nothing, and, like all negation, they posit something limited and finite. On the other hand, the contents of these two kinds of freedom is defined also by what they oppose, and it is here that the main difference between them emerges: God’s freedom, as a ‘no,’ finds its own ‘yes’ in something infinite like God’s essence; while human freedom encounters the opposing force of a ‘yes’ in the human particularity, which is always finite. In the last analysis, divine and human freedom are both finite in their (negative) form, but they are, respectively, infinite and finite in their contents. Going into more detail, what can be referred to as ‘formal finitude’ is “required by the direct springing up from out of the denied nothing” (ibid.) that pertains to every original ‘no.’ This kind of finitude characterizes both human and divine freedom, irrespective of their further differences, but these become indirectly noticeable by considering the natures of the divine and human ‘yes’-es:  the infinity of God’s essence (‘yes’) determines the content of his freedom (‘no’) as equally infinite; likewise, the finitude of human particularity (‘yes’) is mirrored in the corresponding finitude of the human will (‘no’). This “is not freedom for action, like God’s, but a freedom for willing; not free power, but free will. In contrast to the freedom of God, power is denied to it from the very beginning” (71–72). As ‘yes’ and ‘no’ act as opposing forces that achieve balance by contrasting each other, so ‘human particularity’ and ‘free will’ converge, conferring unity and closedness on the whole sphere of the human. In this process, some intermediate stages mark the way to unity, since ‘particularity’ and ‘will’ do not meet directly, but undergo a sort of preparatory transformation before coming into contact with each other: ‘will’ turns into ‘stubbornness’ (Trotz) and ‘particularity’ into ‘character’ (Charakter). As a result of this change, each component settles into a new state of being, which from Rosenzweig’s perspective is seen as characterized

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by a higher level of concreteness: “As stubbornness, the abstraction of free will takes shape” (73), while ‘character’ indicates the notion of ‘particularity’ as it distinguishes itself from that of ‘individuality.’ ‘Stubbornness’ is more concrete than ‘will,’ just as ‘character’ is more concrete than ‘particularity.’ The human being “was still a pure abstraction as free will and as particularity” (72). The former is “merely direction, without yet having a content” (ibid.); the latter is something that “simply—is” (ibid.). In this view, they represent two opposite extremes that cannot account for the real human being as long as they are abstractly considered in themselves. They are a pure direction without the concrete substantiality of a content and a pure static substantiality without the orientation of a direction. As such, that is precisely because they are pure, they turn out to be detached from real, concrete life. And this is why they need to go through a process of ‘increase in concreteness’—because what “we are seeking [is] the living human being [who] is more than will [and] more than being. How does it become this more […]?” (ibid.). Well, the short answer to Rosenzweig’s question is: by turning ‘will’ into ‘stubbornness’ and ‘particularity’ into ‘character.’ Now, the long answer is that in Rosenzweig’s terminology ‘stubbornness’ is ‘will’ when it is applied to an object, that is when its being a pure direction finds a concrete target to be focused on. More precisely, what ‘will’ wants, that is its object or target, is “nothing other than […] essence” (ibid.). This essence, however, cannot be approached as long as it is in the form of ‘particularity,’ because in such a form it is still too abstract to sustain a contact with ‘will,’ while the latter, in turn, “would dissolve into nothing” (73) if it tried to reach ‘particularity’ directly. It is therefore necessary that ‘particularity’ determines itself later on as ‘character,’ in a process that provides it with a level of concreteness high enough to constitute an object for ‘will.’ This whole discussion can be fairly summarized by saying that ‘stubbornness’ is ‘concretized will’ and ‘character’ is ‘concretized particularity.’ Whereas it is clear that having an object to aim at can make a pure direction more concrete than it would be as a mere tendency without a purpose—and this is precisely the case of ‘will’ with its turning into ‘stubbornness’—it may be asked with regard to human essence why the notion of ‘character’ should surpass that of ‘particularity’ in its overall level of concreteness. Well, the key lies obviously in the way Rosenzweig conceives of the notions of ‘particularity’ and ‘character,’ along with that of ‘individuality’. The problem is that in this context words can be highly misleading, as Rosenzweig ascribes different meanings to terms that in everyday language would be considered synonyms. Therefore, a sort of glossary will be of great help in understanding the nuances of each word.

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It may sound like some kind of pun, but the following sentence can be taken as a starting point: ‘particularity is general’. ‘Particularity’ is a general, generic notion that can refer to the human being as well as to the world. And it is only at a further level of specification that human and worldly particularity can be distinguished from each other. Rosenzweig writes: “human particularity is therefore something other than the individuality [the human being] assumes as a singular phenomenon inside the world. It is not an individuality that secedes from other individualities, it is not a part” (69). And after trying to define human particularity negatively, that is by what it is not, Rosenzweig goes on to describe what it actually is: “For [the human being] alone, the particularity does not change into a partial ‘individuality,’ but into a […] ‘character’ ” (70). What can be gathered by comparing these two quotes, is that ‘particularity,’ as a general concept, can refer equally to a dimension of the world or to an aspect of the human being; but, depending on the case, it can specify itself respectively into worldly ‘individuality’—which is a ‘no’ for Rosenzweig, and therefore a dynamic “act [or] event” (ibid.)—or into human ‘character’—which is a ‘yes’ in Rosenzweig’s view, and therefore a static, “perpetual essence” (ibid.). To schematize, then: (1) the word ‘particularity,’ without any further specification, can indicate a component of the world or of the human being; (2) ‘individuality’ is the specific term Rosenzweig uses for worldly ‘particularity;’ and, finally, (3) ‘character’ means human ‘particularity.’ To be even more clear: (1) ‘particularity’ tout court can be worldly or human; (2) ‘individuality’ is only worldly; (3) ‘character’ is only human. Furthermore, that ‘particularity’ is general means also that it is abstract. On this point Rosenzweig seems to take the common view that the more general a notion is, the more abstract it is; and, conversely, the more specific a notion is, the more concrete it is. This explains why ‘character’ and ‘individuality,’ as results of a deeper specification, are considered more concrete than mere ‘particularity.’ And this is also the reason why the ‘no’ of ‘will,’ previously concretized into ‘stubbornness’ through the reference to an object, can relate to the ‘yes’ of ‘particularity’ only when this has already assumed its concrete form as human ‘character:’ “by coming into contact with ‘character,’ ‘stubbornness’ does not undergo the same annihilation process as ‘will’ would do, if it related to ‘particularity’ […]; [stubbornness] does not find its abolition here, but rather its determination, its content. […] It takes ‘character’ as content” (73). Before turning into concrete ‘stubbornness,’ human will is a mere impulse, a mere direction, which as such is too insubstantial to focus on and stick to any target. On the other hand, something similar can be said of ‘particularity’ too. Before taking human shape by determining itself into ‘character,’ ‘particularity’ is

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still too slippery a concept to constitute itself as the substantial object stubbornness needs as its own target. Therefore it is only after maturing into stubbornness and character that the two components of the sphere of the human, that is its ‘no’ and its ‘yes,’ can meet without vanishing and merge into unity: “stubbornness is stubborn on the character. This is human self-consciousness or, in a word, the self. The self is what arises […] as ‘and’ of stubbornness and character—that is as a conjunction of stubbornness and character—[and] is absolutely enclosed into itself ” (ibid.). Showing the same structure as the other two Urphänomene, the human being too can be analyzed through the conceptual pair rational-irrational. The human ‘yes,’ be it in the primal form of ‘particularity’ or in the more mature, concrete form of ‘character,’ is a static essence, which as such can be said to be rational in the sense that it shows as its main feature the solid substantiality that rationality typically requires of its objects. On the contrary, the human ‘no,’ seen as ‘will’ or as ‘stubbornness,’ is a dynamic act that as such eludes any attempt by reason to comprehend it and resists being forced into rational categories. Since for Rosenzweig rationality always fails to grasp the becoming and flux of an action, the ‘no’ can be rightly considered irrational—this term being understood to mean ‘beyond reason.’ Through the mediation of such qualities as rational and irrational it is now possible to compare Rosenzweig’s conception of the human being with Hegel’s and Nietzsche’s views on the same subject. Hegel’s approach leads him to account only for the rational part of the human being, that is, for the part that in Rosenzweig’s terminology lies within the ambit of ‘yes’ or ‘particularity’/ ‘character.’ At the other end of the spectrum, Nietzsche’s irrationalism tends to see the human being as basically consisting in an expression of the ‘will to power,’ so that the whole sphere of the human turns out to be based on a purely irrational principle. Translated into Rosenzweig’s categories, Nietzscheanism corresponds to a one-sided consideration of the ‘no,’ or ‘will,’ or ‘stubbornness.’ Once again, then, this interpretation can be summarized as follows: while Hegel focuses only on the rational ‘yes,’ and Nietzsche considers only the irrational ‘no,’ Rosenzweig’s view represents a third way between them, since it consists in a conjunction of ‘yes’ and ‘no’—rational and irrational. As is often the case with Hegel, the placement of a topic within the structure of his system is in itself revealing of the way he conceives of it. The human being is mostly dealt with in the system section called ‘the subjective spirit,’ whose subject matter is expressly declared to be “knowledge, not in the sense of logical idea, but in the sense of concrete spirit determining itself ” (W 10: 38). Now, one may object that since knowledge is the main subject matter of every part of the

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system,114 ‘the subjective spirit’ cannot be anything special. However, one may also observe that while all sections of the system deal with basically the same topic—viz. knowledge—each particular section approaches it from a different angle. Differences among systematic branches emerge then in the different levels of concreteness they are able to reach in addressing their common object. What distinguishes Hegel’s account of the human being, then, is not so much its reference to knowledge, as the connection it establishes between the most concrete form of knowledge and the individual as its expression. In the hierarchy of Hegel’s system, the superiority of one part over another can be recognized precisely by the level of concreteness it reaches in dealing with the topic of knowledge. The Wissenschaft der Logik, for example, is the first part of the system and as such it shows a minimal level of concreteness that leads to the consideration of logical categories in their pure abstractness. The Philosophie des Geistes, on the other hand, is the most advanced part of the Hegelian system. The highest grade of concreteness is reached in it, thanks to the fact that knowledge takes on the form of a concrete human being that knows itself as a (self-) consciousness. ‘Concreteness’ then stands out as the main notion through which Hegel’s conception of ‘human being’ can be reconstructed and its deepest meaning becomes all the more clear in relation to its conceptual cognates. These are ‘determinateness,’ ‘finitude,’ and ‘particularity,’ which emerge in many different passages of Hegel’s work and connect to one another in various ways.115 A first relevant connection is between ‘concreteness’ and ‘determinateness.’ Hegel gives the adjective ‘concrete’ and the corresponding noun ‘concreteness’ different meanings from the ones they have in ordinary language. For Hegel, they do not refer to something existing in a material or physical form as in their common acceptation; rather they indicate ‘embeddedness in the totality.’

114 Hegel’s system is not only a structure that includes all real determinations and arranges them into a uni-totalitary form. It also allows establishing knowledge about the unitotality. Conceived of as substance and subject at the same time (see W 3: 22–23), the uni-totality has an ontological as well as an epistemological meaning: the same logic governs the development of being and the development of knowledge. 115 Hegel’s view on the relationship between concrete individual and corresponding idea thus turns out to be mirrored in the very structure of the system. Just as logic is at a lower ontological level than the philosophy of spirit, so the abstract idea of human being is ontologically inferior to the concrete person. Moreover, this is one of the points where Hegel’s anti-Platonism becomes particularly noticeable, as Plato holds exactly the opposite view: for him, the individual is a mere accident of the idea, an entity that is always lower-ranking than the pure essence of its idea.

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In other words, something is ‘concrete’ in Hegel’s view not because it is actual, material, or tangible, but because it is organically connected to everything else.116 It is then perfectly legitimate to understand the following quotes as basically synonymous: (1) “the truth is the whole” (W 3: 24) and (2) “the true is concrete” (W 18:  45). Combining these two quotes results in the following formulation:  for Hegel, truth is a unique self-developing dimension that encompasses everything (as whole) and takes shape as an organic union of interrelated elements (as concrete). Truth is a progressive development117 whose final moment is the Absolute.118 This corresponds to the self-affirmation of the totality and—which is the same— to the achievement of the highest grade of concreteness. Each dialectical phase in the self-movement of truth brings about an increase in the general level of concreteness. The entire process can thus be seen as a growth in the consciousness of how everything is intimately connected to everything else, because this kind of connection is precisely what concreteness consists in. Now, the point is that the general level of concreteness is directly proportional to the general level of determinateness. Concreteness and determinateness, to put it clearly, go hand in hand in the development of the Hegelian system—and here is how and why. Hegel says: “Every finite being consists in abolishing and conserving itself ” (W  8:  172–173).119 What characterizes every finite determination120 is then

116 It is a fundamental principle in Hegel’s philosophy, which can be summarized in the formula: ‘no unmediated immediacy’ (see, for example, W 5: 122–124). In other words, every element of reality that is supposed to be independent (i.e. immediate) is actually deeply connected (i.e. mediated) with every other. Elements, if thought in their truth, turn out to be always in a relation and, ultimately, relations themselves. 117 Hegel talks about “the progressive evolution of truth” (W 3: 11) and says that “[truth] is indeed never at rest, but carried along the stream of progress ever onward” (17). 118 “Of the Absolute it must be said that it is essentially a result, that only at the end is it what it is in very truth” (W 3: 24). 119 In this case it is worth quoting the original formulation: “Alles Endliche ist dies, sich selbst aufzuheben.” The German verb aufheben needs two English verbs to be thoroughly rendered: to abolish and to conserve. 120 A terminological remark:  ‘determination’ means a single distinguishing trait. In other contexts, the same term can be used also to indicate the act of determining. ‘Determinateness’ is the quality of being determined, that is the quality of having at least one determination, and can be used as a mass noun. In this view, every determination shows a higher level of determinateness than the preceding ones, as every determination combines its own determinateness and that of every other determination that has been, of course, abolished, but also conserved along the way.

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a fundamental instability:  it cannot keep being itself and must pass over into another (opposite) determination. In turn, the latter is “another finite, which equally is a […] passing-over into another finite, and so forth” (W 5: 148). No single determination can be taken as a constant. Rather, each of them is absorbed within the process, which thus emerges as the authentic truth behind the reciprocal reference between different determinations. However, it would be wrong to consider this process a mere vanishing, as it consists basically in a series of Aufhebungen, that is, in a series of double movements that, along with an abolishing moment, always imply a retentive one. The negated determination is always maintained within the negating one, with the result that every dialectical stage contributes to raising the general level of determinateness. In addition, determinateness implies particularity. From a philological point of view, one may observe that in many passages Hegel uses the two terms as synonyms. For example, in the Enzyklopädie he writes:  “The concept as such contains the moments of universality […], of particularity, that is, of determinateness […], and of singularity” (W 8: 311). From a theoretical point of view, a particular can be defined as something (1) provided with at least one distinguishing trait and, precisely by virtue of that trait, (2) distinct from what it is not. Now, the connection between determinateness and particularity emerges clearly, if one considers that (1) the quality of showing a characteristic feature is precisely how determinateness can be defined and that (2) acting as a boundary between the being and the not-being of something is the main task of determinateness (Bestimmtheit), which—it is worth remarking—Hegel considers to be the German translation for the Greek hóros (ὅρος), which means ‘limit,’ ‘border,’ ‘boundary’ (see W 3: 16). The combination of (1) determinateness as quality and (2) determinateness as hóros is explicitly dealt with in a passage in the Wissenschaft der Logik: “Something has a quality, and in this quality it is not only determined but also delimited; its quality is its limit […]. This […] constitutes the finitude of the something” (W 5: 139). With this quote, a new notion is introduced: that of ‘finitude.’ It relates to the others in the following way: determinateness, as both quality and hóros, implies finitude and this, in turn, implies transitoriness: “When we say of things that they are finite, we understand by this that they not only have determinateness, that their quality is not only reality and existent determination, that they are not merely limited […], but rather that not-being constitutes their nature, their being. Finite things are, […] but the truth of this being is (as in Latin) their finis, their end. The finite does not just alter, as the something in general does, but perishes […]. The hour of their birth is the hour of their death.” (ibid.).

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Let us summarize Hegel’s path in his understanding of the human being. The first notion he introduces is that of concreteness: the concrete individual is at issue, as opposed to the abstract idea of ‘individual.’ Moreover, concreteness is deeply related to determinateness, which, in turn, can be considered a synonym of particularity, while at the same time implying finitude and transitoriness. It is remarkable, then, that as a result of these connections, Hegel’s account of the human being turns out to be based on the same two notions that also define Rosenzweig’s conception: particularity and transitoriness. But what is even more remarkable is that Hegel sees these two notions as characterizing the entire human being, while they define only one of her components, that is her ‘yes’component, in Rosenzweig’s view. In short: Hegel attributes to the whole what Rosenzweig attributes only to a part. This divergence stems from a far more radical difference between Hegel and Rosenzweig that can be pinpointed in the ways they conceive of particularity, and, more precisely, in the ways they see the relationship between particularity and universality. For Rosenzweig, particularity is opposed to universality and radically irreducible to it. In writing that “the human being suddenly discovers that he, who has after all long been digested philosophically, is still there” (GS 3: 127), Rosenzweig means to say that it is typical of the human being to always frustrate philosophy’s attempt to ‘digest’ her. Philosophy—based on a fundamental claim to universality—cannot but fail to subsume the human being—bearer of particularity—under its categories. And it is precisely because she constitutively eludes the grasp of universality that the human being is always ‘still there.’ For Hegel, on the other hand, particularity is always included within universality. No contrast can be found between them, as the former is a developmental stage of the latter. In the Wissenschaft der Logik, Hegel writes: “The essence of philosophy has often been located […] in the task of answering the question:  How does the infinite go forth out of itself and come to finitude? […] The answer to the question, ‘how does the infinite become finite?’ is therefore this: There is not an infinite which is infinite beforehand, and only afterwards does it find it necessary to become finite, to go forth into finitude; the infinite is rather for itself just as much finite as infinite” (W 5: 168–170). The finite is already included in the infinite; is already reduced to the infinite. What appears to be a transition from infinity to finitude by means of determination, is actually only an apparent transition. It is not a real ‘change of state;’ rather it can be described as ‘the making explicit’ of something—that is the finite—which was already implicitly included in the infinite as one of its essential components. Of course, in this quote Hegel uses the terms infinity and finitude, while the categories here at issue are universality and particularity. However, it has already

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been shown how concreteness, determinateness, particularity, finitude, and transitoriness constitute a unique conceptual family, so that particularity and finitude can rightly be seen as synonyms—or at least as cognates—in this context. As for infinity and universality, Hegel is clear on their relationship. In the Phenomelogie des Geistes the notions of infinity and absolute often occur as though they were virtually interchangeable, for example in a passage where Hegel talks about “infinity, or the absolute concept” (W 3: 131, my emphasis). In another passage, moreover, Hegel explicitly says that “the Absolute […] is the universal” (23). Connecting these hints, it thus follows that if the infinite corresponds to the absolute, and the latter, in turn, corresponds to the universal, it is safe to say that the relationships involving infinity end up involving universality too. More precisely, then, the infinite-finite relationship Hegel accounts for in the Wissenschaft der Logik is mirrored also in the universal-particular relationship. Infinity and universality turn out to play, in their respective contexts, an identical role. And the same can be said of finitude and particularity. A parallel can be drawn here between these two pairs of notions: the finite belongs to the infinite, and their relationship is definable in terms of an explication rather than as a real transition; likewise, particularity can be seen as an aspect of universality, whose essential self-movement takes shape as a systematic self-development into each and every particularity, through a process consisting of a series of successive abolition-conservation acts (Aufhebungen). The point here is that both Hegel and Rosenzweig consider particularity a rationalizable, that is potentially rational, dimension—something being definable as rational, when it gains its own sense by way of inclusion within a more general, universal horizon of meaning.121 From this point of view, it is clear that particularity lends itself to rationalization, since its close connection with determination—which, it is worth recalling here, is the typical feature rationality demands from its objects—allows it to meet all the requirements for being rationalized. However, the rationalizability of particularity has just a potential meaning: particularity has all it takes to be fully rationalized, but an actual process of rationalization does not take place by necessity; and a possible transition from potentiality to actuality depends on the specific context particularity appears in.

121 Thus conceived, ‘rational’ and ‘rationalization’ become very similar in meaning, if not identical, with ‘systematic’ and ‘systematization,’ as a system represents exactly that ‘general, universal horizon of meaning’ that has been mentioned above.

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What constitutes a difference between Hegel and Rosenzweig on this point, then, is precisely a matter of context. For Hegel, particularity is included in a systematic context, where it is seen as an expression of universality; while for Rosenzweig particularity is a ‘yes’-component and, as such, is always associated with its opposite, the ‘no’-component. In the first case, the systematic context provides the right environment for particularity to carry out a transition from being potentially rationalizable to being actually reduced to rationality. In the other case, though, its connection with an irrational component like the ‘no’ prevents the ‘yes’ of particularity from becoming actually rationalized— that is reduced to universality—and forces it to remain in a state of potential rationalizability. By way of conclusion, this is the main, radical difference between Hegel’s and Rosenzweig’s accounts of the human being. For Rosenzweig, the human being is a compound of ‘yes’ and ‘no;’ that is a compound of a rationalizable, but never rationalized, dimension and an irrational dimension, where the latter acts as a sort of permanent hindrance to any possible rationalization process that aims at involving the former. This is why something like an irrational ‘no’component à la Rosenzweig would be unthinkable in Hegel’s highly rational system. Neglecting on principle anything (dis)qualified as irrational is the decisive move that allows Hegel to preserve the pure rationality of his system; while at the same time understanding particularity as included within universality allows him to conceive of the human being—which for Hegel consists only of his particularity—as exclusively rational and completely reducible to the system. Turning now to Nietzsche, one sees that his idea of the human being turns out to show a kind of reverse one-sidedness, when compared to Hegel’s conception. This considers only one of the two dimensions forming the human being—to wit, its rationalizable dimension, which corresponds to Rosenzweig’s ‘yes of particularity’ and is the only one compatible with the system. Nietzsche’s view, on the other hand, is as one-sided as Hegel’s, but in an utterly opposite sense, since it accounts only for the other, irrational dimension—that is the dimension that in Rosenzweig’s terms would be called the ‘no of human will.’ Once again, then, the following positions emerge: Rosenzweig conceives of the human being as a conjunction of rationalizable ‘yes’ and irrational ‘no;’ Hegel, for rational-systematic reasons, takes only the ‘yes’ into account; while Nietzsche, for opposite reasons, presents a picture of the human being as consisting only of a ‘no’-component. It has already been shown that Nietzsche’s reflections about the world result in a complete identification between the world itself and the ‘will to power.’ As Nietzsche expressly states on several different occasions: “This world is will to power—and nothing else!” (KGA 7.3: 339. 1885, 38–12). In Jenseits von Gut und

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Böse, moreover, he uses almost the same wording to say that “the world viewed from within, the world determined and defined in its ‘intelligible character’—it would be will to power and nothing else” (KGA 6.2: 51). These two quotes are similar but not identical, because in the second quote a subtle yet important difference can be found: the clarification is made that the world is ‘viewed from within.’ That is to say that the perspective from which the world is recognized as essentially ‘will to power’ is an internal one. And here is where the human being comes in. For Nietzsche, ‘internal’ perspective means ‘human’ perspective in this context, so that seeing the world ‘from within’ is for him tantamount to seeing it with human eyes. The overall picture becomes more and more clear, then: what Nietzsche aims at is to make internal, human dynamics the key to the explanation of external, worldly dynamics. Moreover, such a connection turns out to be possible and plausible by virtue of an analogical link that can be found—or maybe founded122—between human being and world. Nietzsche argues for a close analogical correspondence between internal and external processes and expounds his view on this subject in a fragment from 1885: “it is necessary that all motion, all phenomena, all laws are seen as symptoms of an inner occurrence, and that the human being is employed as an analogy to this aim” (KGA 7.3: 287. 1885, 36–31). The role of the human being as an analogical way of accessing the character of the world comes even more to the fore in Jenseits von Gut und Böse: “Assuming that our world of desires and passions is the only thing ‘given’ as real, that we cannot get down or up to any ‘reality’ except the reality of our drives […] are we not allowed to make the attempt and pose the question as to whether something like this ‘given’ is not enough to render the so-called mechanistic (and thus material) world comprehensible as well? […] In the end, we are not only allowed to make such an attempt: we have to make it […] we must make the attempt to hypothetically posit the causality of the will as the only type of causality there is. […] we must venture the hypothesis that […] every mechanistic event in which a force is active is really a force and effect of the will. […] then we will

122 As is often the case with many aspects of Nietzsche’s philosophy, one could wonder whether the analogical relationship between world and human being is the result of a descriptive inquiry—which would justify the usage of the verb to find—or rather of a prescriptive one—which would make the verb to found the right word choice. However, this is a matter for Nietzschean philology and, as such, exceeds the scope of this work.

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have earned the right to clearly designate all efficacious force as: will to power” (KGA 6.2: 50–51). The world is essentially ‘will to power’—and this assertion is tenable by virtue of the analogy the world has with the human being. In other words, it is legitimate to describe worldly reality in terms of ‘will to power’ because it has been recognized as belonging “to the same plane of reality as our affects” (50), that is to our inner being, which is itself ‘will to power.’ Considering this matter from another angle, one may say that the ‘will to power’ has human character before gaining worldly validity, and it comes to have a meaning for the world precisely because of the concomitance between (1)  its human foundation and (2) the human-worldly analogy. However, that the human being is basically ‘will to power’ is a conclusion Nietzsche comes to by reasoning about other fundamental notions, in particular the notion of life system (Lebens-system) and that of dynamic quanta (dynamische Quanta). The first step in Nietzsche’s path is a distinction he draws within the sphere of the human, between imaginary and real individuals. In a posthumous fragment from 1881, he writes: “the individual is a mistake […]. However, I distinguish between imaginary individuals and authentic life systems” (KGA 5.2: 340–341. 1881, 11–7). To clarify this difference, another conceptual pair that has already proved relevant to Nietzsche’s thought can be of help: the pair rigidity-fluidity. Following an interpretative approach based on these two notions, the whole of Nietzsche’s philosophy can be roughly summarized as a rejection of any form of rigidity for the sake of fluidity. What makes then fictive individuality a mistake, in this view, is its claim to constitute a unity, which Nietzsche sees as an example of rigidity: a rigid entity endowed with substantiality. Against this conception of the individual, which is a derivative of a picture of reality as something rigid, Nietzsche advocates an idea of individuality as a flowing dimension. “[T]‌he individual is […] a sum of perceptions, judgments, and mistakes […], a ‘unity’ without stability” (ibid.)—he says. But one should be careful not to take the word ‘unity’ all too literally here. It is written in inverted commas for a reason—that is, to indicate that it is used in an improper way. In other words, Nietzsche speaks of a ‘unity,’ which is such in name only; it is a ‘unity’ that, without stability, lacks precisely the distinguishing feature that would characterize it as such. In order to be a unity, every unity needs a certain degree of stability. Deprived of it, it cannot be a unity anymore—and Nietzsche’s expression thus turns out to be a contradiction in terms. The only notion that can account for the real individual is that of fluidity: as an ever-changing sum and a false unity, the individual turns out to be essentially a flux, an instable dimension in constant motion: “The ‘I’ proves to be something

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becoming (etwas Werdendes)” (KGA 8.1: 322. 1886 7–55). But the fluidification of the individual is not without consequences for the whole of reality, as “[…] every other being is made in its [the ‘I’s’] image” (321–322). It is then perfectly consistent with this view that “there are no durable ultimate unities, no atoms, no monads” (KGA 8.2: 278. 1887 11–73), and that the world too, in analogy with the individual, “is not a rigid fact (Thatbestand), but is ‘in a flux’ like something becoming (sie ist ‘im Flusse,’ als etwas Werdendes)” (KGA 8.1: 112. 1885 2–108). If it is the very notion of unity, with its implicit determination and rigidity, which should be criticized and rejected in Nietzsche’s view, the question may be raised as to how the individual human being, should be correctly thought of. Of course, she cannot be seen as a unitary subject. But neither can she be considered a plurality, because each element of it would imply, once again, the notion of unity in order for it to be properly conceived of. The first option is effectively discredited in Jenseits von Gut und Böse, where one reads: “that I am the one who is thinking, […], that there is an ‘I,’ [are just] bold claims that are difficult, perhaps impossible, to establish” (KGA 6.2: 23–24). On the other hand, the notion of plurality cannot but share the same fate as that of unity, as a plurality is always a plurality of unities. The problem now can be formulated as follows: how is it possible to conceive of the individual as a life system without resorting to the notion of unity—be it taken in itself or as a precondition for that of plurality? Nietzsche’s solution consists in introducing another key concept:  the power-quantum or dynamic quantum. Defining a power-quantum is no easy task, as it is something of a slippery concept. It does not have the status of a ‘thing,’ whose conceptual boundaries would be clear and distinct; and after all, defining something means basically drawing conceptual boundaries around it. Actually, a power-quantum is conceived in direct opposition to the notion of ‘thing:’ “no things remain but dynamic quanta in a relation of tension to all other dynamic quanta: their essence lies in their relation to all other quanta, in their ‘effects’ […]—not a being, but a pathos” (KGA 8.3: 51. 1888 14–79). Nothing is further from the notion of power-quantum than the well-definable, stable, and rigid substantiality of a thing. As Nietzsche says in the quote above, a power-quantum does not have the slightest kinship with a static being; rather, it has a dynamic character, and thus shows much more affinity with such notions as ‘pathos,’ ‘impulse,’ ‘tendency,’ or ‘drive.’ In this view, the category of unity, which would be perfectly suitable for grasping the nature of a thing, turns out to be wholly inadequate when it comes to accounting for a power-quantum. In fact, a power-quantum is fundamentally dynamic, and so alien to the principle of substantiality that its very essence consists exclusively in insubstantial aspects—like

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the relationships it forges and the effects it exerts. As a dynamic drive, a powerquantum does not exist in itself,123 but only in its actions. The last step in Nietzsche’s reasoning is the equation he makes between the notions of ‘power-quanta,’ ‘will to power,’ and ‘life.’ A  reconstruction of these relationships can be broken down into two parts, with the first part dealing with ‘power-quanta’ and ‘will to power.’ Nietzsche says: “a power-quantum is characterized by its effect and its resistance. […] A will to put [other quanta] into subjection is essential, as well as a protection against being put into subjection.124 That is why I call a quantum ‘will to power’ ” (KGA 8.3: 50. 1888, 14–79). The second part connects ‘will to power’ and ‘life:’ “life […] is specifically a will to accumulation of power. […] Life […] strives for a maximal feeling of power. Striving is nothing else than striving for power” (KGA 8.3: 54. 1888, 14–82). With this latter quote, then, the final connection is established, so that it is now possible to summarize the whole of Nietzsche’s path. The real individual is for Nietzsche a life system, and a life system is a conglomerate of power quanta. Such a conglomerate is not to be thought of as a unitary entity based on a stable substantiality. Rather it is a convergence of insubstantial tendencies, which align with one another as they respond to a shared drive to enlarge their power. The point is that striving for more and more power and growing indefinitely is exactly what the ‘will to power’ does, and it is on the basis of this common character, then, that the power quanta turn out to be essentially ‘will to power.’ The power quanta are what the ‘will to power’ consists of; they are its basic form.125 Now, to recapitulate: if the human being is for Nietzsche a life 123 Nietzsche writes: “a thing = its features” (KGA 8.1: 95. 1885, 2–77) and “the features of a thing are effects upon other ‘things’ […]. There is no thing without other things, i.e. there is no ‘thing in itself.’ ” (KGA 8.1: 102. 1885, 2–85). A thing does not have its features, it is them. These features, however, are nothing more than effects, that is nothing substantial, but just exercises of power. In these fragments of 1885, Nietzsche does not yet use the term ‘power-quantum’—he does not do so until 1887. However, the word ‘thing’ in the texts quoted proves already to be not up to scratch. It is an old term, loaded with metaphysical meaning and unsuitable to the new concept, which can be better rendered by the compound ‘power-quantum.’ 124 Original text:  “Es ist essentiell ein Wille zur Vergewaltigung und sich gegen Vergewaltigungen zu wehren.” 125 The equation ‘power quanta = will to power’ is sometimes carried to the extreme point that the very notion of ‘will to power’ as a single dimension is put into question. For example: “there is no will: there are will-punctuations that constantly increase or lose their power” (KGA 8.2: 278–279. 1887, 11–73). Rüdiger Grimm writes of this aspect: “we might say that while the will to power is formally one, it is specifically

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system, which is basically a certain set of power quanta, which in turn are the primary form of the ‘will to power,’ one may conclude that the human being is nothing other than ‘will to power.’ The human being is for Nietzsche a portion of the fundamental principle of the ‘will to power’ and the whole sphere of the human is exhaustively accounted for by the notion of will. This latter assertion represents the point where a comparison with Rosenzweig becomes possible. As a first approximation, it can be remarked that Nietzsche recognizes the deepest nature of the human being in what for Rosenzweig is only one of her constitutive dimensions. In Rosenzweig’s conception, will is one of the two components converging in and forming the Urphänomen of the human being—to wit, the ‘no’-component, which completes and counterbalances the opposite ‘yes’-component. On the other hand, it is safe to say that in Nietzsche’s view will alone exhausts the whole sphere of the human—and indeed the whole of reality.

Between and Beyond Hegel and Nietzsche The same relationship that has been analyzed between Hegel and Rosenzweig seems to occur again between Rosenzweig and Nietzsche, only in reverse. While from Rosenzweig’s point of view Hegel’s account of the human being can be charged with what could be called ‘rational one-sidedness:’ Nietzsche’s position on the same topic lays itself open to the opposite criticism. That is to say that the way Nietzsche conceives of the human being could be criticized from a Rosenzweigian perspective for being an example of ‘irrational one-sidedness.’ Hegel’s one-sidedness can be called ‘rational’ because it consists in reducing the sphere of the human to its rational—or at least rationalizable—dimension only. Nietzsche’s one-sidedness deserves instead the adjective ‘irrational’ because all he sees in the human being is an irrational principle: the will to power. For opposite reasons, then, both Hegel and Nietzsche fail to acknowledge the human being as rational and irrational at the same time.

many” (1977: 3). However, one could point out that in general it is otiose to oppose ‘monism’ and ‘pluralism,’ especially if one considers that a single entity always includes a plurality of aspects and that, in turn, a plurality can always be considered as a single collection (on this point, see also James 1909: 3–40 and Goodman 1978: 2). What counts, after all, is the way reality is seen, and this is all the more crucial for a philosophical position that, like Nietzscheanism, bases its approach to reality on interpretation and perspectivism.

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Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ places itself at the midpoint between idealism and irrationalism and thus represents what has been called a third way between them. This median position can be taken as a key for reading the whole of Rosenzweig’s thought. It finds application in each one of the levels, or layers, which he sees as comprising reality. The three elements of God, world, and human being, considered in their enclosedness in themselves, constitute the first layer; while the three paths of creation, revelation, and redemption, in opening to each other the three elements, form the second layer. The specific way elements and paths are thought of in the ‘new thinking’ is precisely what makes it different both from an idealistic forma mentis and from an irrational conception. In general, there are actually various approaches when it comes to charting a third way between two alternatives. More precisely, ‘thirdness’126 can be achieved by way of exclusion or through a process of inclusion. In the first case, the third element emerges by radically distinguishing itself from the other two elements. It does not share the slightest feature with them, so that it gains its particular kind of ‘thirdness’ through what appears to be a double rejection. This can find expression in some structures of ordinary language127 and can be epitomized, in particular, by the correlative conjunctions ‘neither… nor….’ The following sentence serves as a clear example of this correspondence: ‘a third way obtained by exclusion has nothing in common with the other two ways, neither with the first way, nor with the second one.’ Inclusion, on the other hand, consists in an utterly different process. The third element, in this case, emerges as a conjunction of the other two. It is a composition of them, so that its ‘thirdness’ does not stem from rejecting the other two options, but rather from merging them and creating something completely new that, though including the other two elements, is nonetheless irreducible to each of them when taken singularly. Sticking with the metaphorical parallel drawn above between different types of ‘thirdness’ and different grammar structures, it turns out that inclusion can be represented by the correlative conjunctions ‘both… and…’—as exemplified in the following sentence: ‘a third way obtained by inclusion combines in itself the properties of both the first and the second way.’

126 The word ‘thirdness’ is used here in the sense of ‘the quality of being third.’ It has nothing to do, in this context, with the specialist meaning it has in Peircean philosophy. 127 Rosenzweig himself makes large use of linguistic and grammatical structures to illustrate some key notions of the ‘new thinking.’ Suggesting a similar analysis, here, is therefore true to the spirit of Rosenzweig’s thought.

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Inclusion rather than exclusion is the model Rosenzweig adheres to in developing his ‘new thinking’ as a third way between an idealist and an irrationalist approach. Far from being completely different from those two philosophical positions, the ‘new thinking’ combines their opposite attitudes of thought: like idealism, it focuses on the rational dimension of reality, but, like irrationalism, it also accounts for dimensions that place themselves beyond rationality. These two natures—the rational and the irrational—complement and limit each other. They provide the ‘new thinking’ with a sort of internal balance, keeping it equidistant from those which can be regarded as ‘opposite poles of philosophical extremism.’ If on the one hand it is certainly true that its irrational nature makes the ‘new thinking’ anti-idealist and anti-Hegelian, on the other hand it is just as true that it is its rational nature that prevents the ‘new thinking’ from falling into a form of relativistic irrationalism. At the most basic level of reality—which Rosenzweig calls Pre-world (Vorwelt)—the three elements of God, world, and human being represent the first field of application for what can be taken by now as a recurring pattern in Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking:’ the model of a third way that develops by means of a combination of the other two ways. The rational and irrational natures that together characterize Rosenzweig’s thought at a macro level are also mirrored at a micro level in the ontological structure of each of the three Urphänomene. Each element takes shape as a compound of a rational ‘yes’ and an irrational ‘no,’ and thus bears witness to how the ‘new thinking’ aims at—and indeed succeeds in—going beyond the opposite limitations of a purely rational-idealist view or a purely irrational one—or, metaphorically speaking, beyond the pitfalls of Scylla and Charybdis. To conclude, it can be remarked that, for Rosenzweig, philosophy, as a way of thinking, has come to a sort of dead end, represented by a series of alternatives that are all unsatisfying: either idealism or irrationalism; either the philosophy of Uni-totality or the point of view-philosophy; either Hegel or Nietzsche, either Charybdis or Scylla. Now, if such an impasse is an inevitable outcome of the philosophical way of thinking—as Rosenzweig believes—at least a partial overcoming of philosophy is needed in order to break the stalemate. The third way mentioned above is conceived precisely in order to meet this need. However, it is just a preliminary phase in Rosenzweig’s whole project. A second phase must follow, which consists in an influencing of philosophy by motives, concepts, and ways of thinking that come from an extra-philosophical tradition. And it is obvious that, for Rosenzweig, such a tradition is that of Jewish thought. In Anleitung zum jüdischen Denken (1921) Rosenzweig describes the intellectual situation of his time as “Greekized and de-Jewished” (vergriecht und

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entjudet) (GS  3:  598), that is, deeply influenced by the Greek philosophical way of thinking while at the same time alienated from the Jewish tradition of thought. Rosenzweig’s project aims at overturning this situation. Its goal is to make thinking ‘more Jewish’ and ‘less philosophical.’

The Three Paths in Rosenzweig’s ‘New Thinking’ In Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking,’ the second level of reality and truth consists of three relational paths, through which the three Urphänomene of God, world, and human being connect to each other. More precisely, the path of creation involves God and world, the path of revelation occurs between God and the human being, while the path of redemption develops between world and human being. From the first to the second level of reality and truth—from the three spheres to the three paths—the change is dramatic, as it entails a transition from a state of enclosedness to one of reciprocal openness. Considering that the Urphänomene end up being closed, isolated spheres, it may rightly be asked of the relational paths how they are at all possible. Simply put: how can each element break its enclosedness and open up to the others? How and why does such a transition take place? Rosenzweig’s answer to this question is strictly connected to the method of inquiry he adopts throughout his entire thinking. It is a method that in general can be described as the succession of two steps: (1) the starting point is the fact of having some vague inkling that there really is a particular object of inquiry; that it does exist; (2)  the next phase consists in confirming that vague inkling through a thorough scrutiny of what the object of inquiry exactly is. Rosenzweig says: “From the nothings of knowledge, our explorers’ journey reaches the something of knowledge” (GS 2: 22), and thus indicates the two poles of its method. The ‘nothing of knowledge’ is not pure nothingness, rather it corresponds to a form of hypothetical knowledge—also referred to as “belief (Glaube)” (96)— that by its very nature aims at finding confirmation. That “it contains in itself the promise of definability” (24), as Rosenzweig maintains, means that it is the nature of knowledge to evolve from being vague and hypothetical to being stable and settled. This methodic-methodological succession of original belief and subsequent confirmation thereof is first applied to the three spheres:  “we ‘believe’ in the world, at least as much as we believe in God or in our Self. […]. We can only hypothetically free ourselves from the fact that we have that belief; hypothetically because we are building it from the ground up; in such a way that we shall finally reach the point where we shall see how the hypothetical had to turn into the a-hypothetical, the absolute, the unconditional of that belief ” (45). For every Urphänomen, the first step is the acknowledgment of the mere fact that it

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is believed to be, to exist. A temporary suspension of the validity of belief then follows for purposes of inquiry. Beliefs are then finally regained, restored, and confirmed as authentic (anhypothetisch) knowledge. The three paths are treated with the same method. An original belief is assumed and subsequently put to the test in order to confirm its value as real knowledge. More precisely, the movement the three elements are involved in serves here as an initial factual situation: “These are the elements of our world, but we do not know the world this way; this is the world we believe in, but we do not believe in it as it is presented to us here. We know a living movement, a circular current in which these elements swim […]. Only the curve of the path can make visible the mystery of the elements. Only the curve leads from what is purely hypothetical about the elements into the categorical of perpetual reality” (91). That the three elements relate to each other is here the matter of fact that requires confirmation, that is, the point to start from to account for “our world” as “we know” it. Now, given that such a movement must be, the question is: how is it possible? Which way has led to this movement as a final result? “[H]‌ow could the elements come to enter into the current? Can we bring it to them from the outside? Never, for in this case the current would be an element itself, and the three elements would not belong to it. No, the path of the flowing movement must originate from the elements themselves” (96). The first, tentative answer would consist in seeing the movement as added to the elements from the outside. But it is clearly an unviable way, if one considers that no ‘outside’ is thinkable in a reality that is completely exhausted by the three Urphänomene. So, the only avenue remaining is that the movement arises from within each element, from processes taking place inside them. In other words, the same internal forces that produce enclosedness by converging, can also lead to relational openness, if they switch from convergence to divergence. The enclosedness in itself of each element results from the converging forces of ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ as the final step of the first level of reality and truth. What in the first level is a result, becomes in the second level an origin. However, no continuity is possible between the first and second stages because only a radical change in their inner natures, that is a radical break between their state as results and their state as origins, could explain the equally radical reversal from enclosedness to openness that describes the emergence of their movement. “[T]‌he results are inverted in order to become origins. […] this is a turning, a conversion. That which flowed together on the inside as Yes will radiate as No, that which had entered as No will come out as Yes” (97). To sum up: the transition from the first to the second level of reality and truth corresponds to a conversion of each element,

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from being closed in itself to being open and ready for relations. This is due to its internal forces turning from converging into diverging forces and depends, finally, on ‘yes’ and ‘no’ inverting their positive and negative charges. Rosenzweig goes on to clarify the dynamics of reversal, which turns out to develop in a non-dialectical way. “What ended as Yes emerges now as No, and vice versa, just as we unpack things from a suitcase in the opposite order as we packed them. As trivial as the comparison might sound, we must take it seriously” (124), because ‘yes’ and ‘no’ are not dialectically connected: “the No is not the ‘antithesis’ of the Yes; rather, they face the nothing with the same immediacy” (125). This means that ‘yes’ and ‘no’ are not successive, but rather parallel, and that therefore the very core of dialectic here is rejected. No step is determined by a necessary connection to the other, as it would be in a dialectical environment. Rather, the emergence of ‘yes’ and ‘no’—at the first level—as well as the conversion of their ontological values—at the second level—are free occurrences in the sense that they are not governed by logical necessity. Turning back now to the original question—how and why does the transition from enclosedness to openness take place?—it can be observed that it breaks down into two sub-questions: how? and why? Only the first question can, and does, have a descriptive answer in the metaphorical example of the suitcase, while an explanatory answer to the second question would need to resort to the principle of causality to identify the reason why ‘yes’ and ‘no’ undergo a process of conversion. However, causality is precisely one of the principles that cannot be resorted to in this case, as it cannot operate in a context that, such as this one, lacks logical necessity and dialectical determination. The transition from enclosedness to openness is a matter of fact, about which it does not make any sense to ask why it is what it is. Even the final confirmation it receives leaves the question why? unanswered, because such a verification consists in making explicit the way the transition occurs, not the reason why it does.

Explicit References and Implicit Analogies Rosenzweig’s method is another way through which the character of his ‘new thinking’ emerges clearly: it is anti-philosophical, in general, and anti-idealist, in particular. Not only does this method reject dialectic, but, more radically, the presupposition dynamics it is based on make it the furthest thing from philosophy’s ideal of a pure movement of thought without external presupposition. It is commonly accepted that lack of presupposition (Voraussetzungslosigkeit) and the autonomy of thought this implies have always been the goal of philosophy. Every philosophy aims at abolishing presupposition, but only Hegel’s idealism

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succeeds in doing it, with his conception of ‘absolute spirit’ as the final stage of a development that leads reason to know reality and itself as knowing reality. The result is a condition in which reason does not presuppose anything ‘external’ to itself, as everything turns out to be included in—‘internal’ to—it. In this regard, Hegel’s idealism can be rightly considered the highest accomplishment of philosophy: it abolishes every external presupposition of thought and so also the very possibility of transcendence. Every aspect of reality is now deduced through an immanent movement of thought and thus absorbed into the domain of rational thinking. Against such a conclusion, Rosenzweig’s hypothesis-based method can be seen as a restoration of extra-rational entities which precede reason and to which reason can refer only at a later stage. From a more general perspective, this re-introduction of presuppositions means a re-affirmation of the fact that reason is not ‘almighty’ and that some aspects of reality are, and will always be, beyond rationality. If Hegel’s idealism brings philosophy to its conclusion through a complete abolishment of presuppositions, Rosenzweig’s restoration thereof is probably his most anti-idealist, and even anti-philosophical, gesture. The critical meaning lying at the root of Rosenzweig’s hypothetical method, however, is not an original or exclusive trait of his conception.128 Other thinkers before him—or also after, but independently of him—take similar methodological positions. As different as they may be, each of them is characterized by the rehabilitation of an element that essentially exceeds the boundaries of rationality, something that stands in front of reason and never lets itself be grasped in a rational development. Every form of anti-idealism accounts for an element that escapes rationality and acts as a ‘presupposition’ for thought. It is then from this common trait that direct influences and indirect similarities can be found between Rosenzweig’s conception and other philosophical views—like, for example, Schelling’s experiential-narrative philosophy (erfahrende-erzählende Philosophie) or the inquiry method of phenomenology. In Der Stern der Erlösung, Schelling is explicitly acknowledged as one of that work’s main philosophical reference points. Especially Schelling’s late philosophy, expounded in such works as Philosophie der Offenbarung (1858) and Die Weltalter (1861), was taken as a paradigm by Rosenzweig for his account of presupposition—and he certainly makes no bones about admitting it: “With

128 Dealing with Rosenzweig and the problem of presupposition, Massimo Cacciari, for example, talks about a “general anti-idealist mood (Stimmung) of contemporary thought” (1986b: 43).

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these considerations, we are following the path of Schelling’s later philosophy” (GS 2: 19–20)—writes he. Schelling is for Rosenzweig both a pre-Hegelian and a post-Hegelian thinker at the same time (see GS 1.1: 410); but it is only as a postHegelian that he becomes a source for Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking.’ More precisely, Schelling’s ‘positive philosophy,’ with its pivotal notion of ‘merely being,’129 represents for Rosenzweig the path to follow in order to oppose Hegel’s philosophy of spirit and the conception of a hegemonic, all-embracing rationality that it culminates with.130 Whereas Schelling’s influence on Rosenzweig is explicitly recognized and has by now become a topos in secondary literature,131 with regard to a presumed connection between Rosenzweigian and phenomenological methods it may be legitimately asked on which theoretical basis such a relation can be affirmed. To avoid misunderstandings, then, it must be clearly stated that no direct influence can be claimed between ‘new thinking’ and phenomenology. Husserl is never mentioned in Rosenzweig’s works,132 and neither are any other phenomenologists for that matter. In general, Rosenzweig knows little,133 if anything, about phenomenological philosophy. However, there are good reasons to see at least what could be called ‘a family resemblance’ between ‘new thinking’ and phenomenology, ‘a common style,’ so to speak, that consists in relating to something that manifests itself in an immediate, self-evident way.134 129 The expression ‘merely being’ (das bloß Seyende, ἁπλῶς ον) indicates something that cannot be grasped in thought and thus sets itself beyond it. “The nature of the ‘merely being’ consists in being independent of every idea,” writes Schelling (1858: 161). 130 “I’m anti-Hegelian (and anti-Fichtean); of the four, my tutelary saints (Schutzheiligen) are Kant and—above all—Schelling” (GS 1.1: 538). 131 Some of the most relevant works dealing with the relationship between Schelling and Rosenzweig are: Tilliet (1985), Cacciari (1986b), Courtine (1998), Belloni (2001), Bienenstock (2004), Schmiedt-Kowarzik (2005a), Bertolino (2006). 132 Husserl is, however, mentioned in Rosenzweig’s correspondence with Margrit Rosenstock-Huessy—more often than not in a negative way. In a letter of November 18, 1918, Rosenzweig writes: “Today I’ve listened to Husserl, whom I didn’t know. Once again, a philosopher less (Wieder ein Philosoph weniger)” (GB: 193). On August 18, 1924, Rosenzweig is even more disapproving, as he writes: “Husserl must be a dunce (Esel). In a first […] semester, he told me hair-raising stuff (haarsträubende Sachen)” (GB: 815). 133 Even if Rosenzweig declares: “Now I know Husserl completely” (GB: 744), he then adds: “only from his students” (ibid.). That is to say that Rosenzweig’s knowledge of Husserl’s theory is only an indirect one. 134 A phenomenological reading of Rosenzweig’s thought has been attempted by Bernhard Casper (1966, 1999).

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While traditional philosophy ‘from Ionia to Jena’ requires substantiating every phase of reasoning—especially the starting phase—by providing each step of logic with a rational foundation and basing it on such incontrovertible principles as, for example, the laws of non-contradiction and excluded middle, Rosenzweig rejects the notion of such an all-pervading rationality and instead argues for the impossibility of a philosophical reflection that is fully grounded in reason. For Rosenzweig, however rationally a movement of thought may develop, it will never come to illuminate its very origin, its starting point, its initial trigger. Rational thought, in other words, can account for everything, except for the spark that sets it off: this has the character of a giving-itself, whose spontaneity has always been an impenetrable enigma to rationality. What gives itself spontaneously is for Rosenzweig the triad of God, world, and human being. With regard to the legitimate question why he identifies precisely three Urphänomene as terminus a quo for his ‘new thinking,’ and why precisely these three, Rosenzweig says: “The number as well as the names of the ‘substances’ are purely empirical, simply picked up, found—which would be an atrocity for the old-style philosophy, but here, on the contrary, is exactly the point. It wouldn’t be difficult to deduce the substances from one another; dialectic is child’s play, but seeing the Urphänomene with eyes wide open and in a non-dialectical way (undialektisches großäugiges Sehen der Urphänomene) is […] rare” (GS 1.2: 1071, my emphasis). In other words, the Urphänomene are not actively obtained by way of rational-dialectical deduction; rather, they offer themselves to a reason that, in turn, disposes itself to be affected by—but can by no means penetrate—them. In the last quote, the expression ‘großäugiges Sehen,’ which alludes to what can be called the ‘simple apprehension of something self-evident,’ might lead one to see a convergence between ‘new thinking’ and phenomenology. Such an intellectual act is said to be ‘simple’ because it neither affirms nor negates anything about the apprehended object, being rather a ‘neutral receiving’ thereof. The apprehended object, in turn, is defined as ‘self-evident,’ because it is not the product of a movement of thought, but rather offers itself spontaneously to thinking. Every interpretation that aims at highlighting an affinity between ‘new thinking’ and phenomenological thought hinges on a particular understanding of how thought and Urphänomene meet: (1) an Urphänomen emerges spontaneously and strikes thought; (2) thought receives it neutrally, that is refrains from adding any rational process that could possibly interfere with the purity of that giving. It is not coincidental that this relationship can be schematized in two points, because in a sense Rosenzweig splits again in two what philosophy, with Hegel, has come to unify: the dimensions of being (or reality) and thought (or rationality).

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In fact, the way Rosenzweig conceives the reality-thought-relationship is where his ‘new thinking’ differs the most from Hegel’s idealism and, at the same time, has its closest affinity with Schellingian and phenomenological thought. For Hegel, reality and rationality are the same, in so far as the latter produces135 the former; but for Rosenzweig, Schelling, and phenomenological positions, reality is always antecedent to thought. It is the presupposition of a thought which, relating to something before itself, does not produce its objects anymore, and comes rather to be seen as the ‘horizon of manifestation’ of an independent reality. The idea that thought may presuppose something is per se the highest form of anti-Hegelianism, as it makes the very foundation of Hegel’s thought untenable:  that any act of thought can turn to its object only after this has already manifested itself represents the most radical denial of Hegel’s conception of thought as producing reality. In this view, reality regains primacy over thought, as the former can exist regardless of the latter; yet thought on the contrary needs reality as the only object it can relate to. ‘Primacy of reality over thought’ is then probably the most telling phrase to describe Rosenzweig’s presuppositional thinking. That reality somehow is—though in a still unclear way that needs to be better defined—is the stable starting point from which every act of thinking can and must begin in order to subsequently clarify what reality is and is like. From a purely theoretical point of view, the whole discussion revolves around two distinct problems: the quid sit-question and the quod sit-question. Broadly speaking, the first question focuses on the nature of its object, investigating what it is; while the second question is concerned with the existence of its object, dealing with the question as to whether or not it is. This ontological difference is then mirrored, at an epistemological level, in two different forms of knowledge: the quid sit-question falls under the jurisdiction of rational thought, while the quod sit-question can find an answer only in the domain of empirical experience. Moreover, it is noteworthy that putting the point in terms of quid

135 The term ‘production,’ when referring to Hegel’s idealism, has a different meaning compared to the one it has in ordinary language. Saying that ‘rationality produces reality’ certainly does not mean that material things are created through an act of thought, as in a sort of creatio ex nihilo. In an idealistic view, the essence of a thing consists in its rational structure, that is in the aspects of it that are graspable and grasped by rationality. Now, rationality grasps only what is obtained by means of dialectical deduction, in the ongoing progress of spirit. That thought produces reality, then, means that every element of reality has its essence—and therefore its innermost truth—determined by the logical-dialectical operations that take place in and constitute the development of thought.

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vs. quod allows Rosenzweig’s affinity with Schellingian and phenomenological thought to become all the more clear, as the same terms appear in Philosophie der Offenbarung and are true to the spirit of some relevant phenomenological works. As for Schelling, he writes:  “It is to be noticed that a distinction should be drawn about every aspect of reality:  it is completely different to know what a being is, quid sit, and that it is, quod sit” (Schelling 1858: 57–58, my emphasis). While knowing the quid of a being means acquiring knowledge of its essence through a purely conceptual approach, the quod of a being, that is its existence, the fact that it exists, is always beyond the reach of conceptual reasoning, “(etwas über den bloßen Begriff Hinausgehendes)” (58). And given this difference, it is clear that the two dimensions of quid and quod pertain to two different cognitive faculties:  conceptual reason and non-conceptual experience. Schelling says: “[…] in so far as the question is about the ‘what’ it addresses reason, but that something is, […], i.e. that it exists, can be taught only by experience” (ibid.). On the basis of this dichotomy, Schelling also coins the terms ‘negative’ and ‘positive’ philosophy. By ‘negative philosophy’ he means a form of rational reasoning that develops through conceptual progress and deals with the nature of reality, its essence, its quid. ‘Positive philosophy’ is based instead on experience (erfahrende Philosophie). Its subject matter is the fact that reality is, that is its existence or quod; while the way it develops, its “modus progrediendi” (91), is not conceptual but narrative. This means that ‘positive philosophy’ does not try to penetrate reality conceptually; rather, it expounds the self-giving of reality in a storytelling way.136 To sum up, then: ‘negative philosophy’ deals with essence (the quid) rationally and conceptually. On the other hand, ‘positive philosophy’ focuses on existence (the quod) and treats it in the only ways it can be treated, that is: by having recourse to experience rather than to reason, and by adopting the method of narration rather than abstract conceptualization. That Schelling’s ‘positive philosophy’ serves as a model for Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ should be beyond dispute by now, but it does not mean that some differences cannot be found between the two thinkers’ views. In both cases a form of thought that develops rationally, abhors presuppositions, and deduces everything a priori is opposed to another form which instead must assume the irrational (i.e. ungraspable by reason) self-giving of a presupposition as a starting point and which from there must develop a posteriori. The Schellingian term ‘negative philosophy’ and the Rosenzweigian ‘old philosophy’ refer both to the a

136 For a comparison between conceptual and narrative ways of thinking, see Fortis (2011).

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priori-form, while the a posteriori-form is called ‘positive philosophy’ and ‘new thinking,’ respectively. Despite this noticeable similarity, however, a remarkable divergence emerges in the ways Schelling and Rosenzweig conceive of the relationship between two such different kinds of thought. In Schelling’s view, it would be a misunderstanding, to consider ‘positive philosophy’ a substitute for ‘negative philosophy.’ In this regard, he writes:  “I go now back to the opinion […] according to which [positive philosophy] should replace negative philosophy completely, pushing it aside and overcoming it:  I never meant it like that” (89, my emphasis). And later on he adds: “[…] on the contrary, it should be said that the accomplishment of philosophy requires both negative and positive philosophy” (93). So, whereas Schelling argues for the coexistence of the two philosophies, Rosenzweig seems to take a position that is more akin to that criticized in the quote above than to Schelling’s own stance. In other words, Rosenzweig advocates precisely that replacement which Schelling considers a misconception. For Rosenzweig, the ‘new thinking,’ as a posteriorithought, should take the place of the ‘old philosophy,’ which, being essentially a priori, is equally essentially detached from reality. This anti-Hegelian, anti-rational, and anti-a priori approach also has a parallel in phenomenological philosophy.137 Rosenzweig himself is most likely unaware of this proximity, because, as it has already been remarked, he never considers phenomenology a reference point for his own work. It is Emmanuel Lévinas, however, who makes the most meaningful attempt to connect ‘new thinking’ and phenomenology. In his book Totalité et infini, Lévinas says explicitly that Der 137 Strange as it may sound, the most striking analogy between ‘new thinking’ and phenomenology is not to be found between Rosenzweig’s and Husserl’s thought, but rather between Rosenzweig’s and Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s. While it can be argued— taking Lévinas’ interpretation as a starting point—that Rosenzweig and Husserl share a similar tendency toward concreteness and against abstraction, the analogy between Rosenzweig and Merleau-Ponty, though it goes for the most part unnoticed, appears to be all the more deep, as it can be traced back to the reference both make to Schelling (on the relationship between Schelling and Merleau-Ponty, see Burke and Wirth 2013 as well as Bilda 2016). Merelau-Ponty, for example, talks about a “fundamental faith in the fact that there is something” (Merleau-Ponty 1964: 140). This faith corresponds to an always already positive answer to the question as to whether reality is—the quod or an sit-question. “Then, if the question can no longer be that of the an sit, it becomes that of the quid sit; there remains only to study what the world and truth and being are” (142, my emphasis). In other words, Merleau-Ponty—like Schelling and Rosenzweig—sees philosophical reflection as an attempt to discover what reality is (quid sit), based always on the solid certainty that reality is (quod or an sit).

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Stern der Erlösung “is too often present in this book to be cited. But presentation and development of the notions employed owe everything (doivent tout) to the phenomenological method” (Lévinas 1961:  14). At this juncture, the question arises as to whether a common trait can be found between Rosenzweigian and phenomenological thought which allows them to be equally decisive sources for Lévinas’ conception. The answer can be derived from the following quote: “Notions held under the direct gaze of the thought that defines them turn out to be, unbeknown to this naïve thought, implanted in horizons that it does not even suspect. Such horizons endow those notions with a meaning—Here is Husserl’s essential teaching. […] What counts is the idea of overcoming objectifying thought through a forgotten experience it lives from” (ibid.). The conception that emerges from this passage is based on a radical distinction between two levels. A form of thought described as ‘defining,’ ‘objectifying,’ and ‘naïve’ is placed at a first level, while ‘unsuspected horizons’ and a ‘forgotten experience’ constitute a second level. The first, most superficial level is characterized by a kind of thought that, committed to objectification and definition, has exactly the same attitude that rationality has toward reality: it is therefore rational thought. This kind of thought, however, is also said to be ‘naïve,’ because it does not, and cannot, realize that it is rooted in a deeper dimension—that is precisely the second level—that sustains rational thought and acts as a hidden source of meaning for it. This underground dimension is to be understood as a highly concrete dimension, which on the one hand is a necessary foundation for every movement of thought, yet on the other hand also has the character of an indistinct background that, as such, can never be ‘held under the direct gaze’ of rationality. Thus the second level can be said to be irrational in the sense that it does not allow rational thought to grasp it. It does not let itself be objectified by a form of thought that, for its part, cannot but objectify, and is therefore incapable of recognizing anything that is by nature refractory to objectification. As a result, the indistinct background cannot be captured by reason, rather only by experience. This two-level structure, which Lévinas considers “Husserl’s essential teaching,” is also the theoretical element he relies on to suggest a consonance between Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ and Husserl’s phenomenology. What they share, their ‘common denominator,’ so to speak, consists in a view that sees a de facto situation—concretely experienceable, but not formally thinkable—as a foundation and a starting point for rational thought to develop. On the basis of this common trait, however, the consonance can be extended to include also Schelling, so that it is now possible to summarize as follows: Schelling and Rosenzweig are bound by a relationship of direct influence of the former on the

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latter, while some scholars (see, besides Lévinas, Cohen 1988 and Casper 1999) argue that indirect analogies can be found between Rosenzweig’s ‘hypothetical method’ and the method of phenomenology. More precisely: Schelling’s understanding of an experiential quod sit-question that always precedes the rational quid sit-question influences Rosenzweig’s view of original phenomena (Urphänomene) giving themselves as matters of fact and thus triggering the always subsequent inquiry into what they properly are. Schelling’s and Rosenzweig’s conceptions, then, find their counterpart in what for Lévinas is Husserl’s most fundamental tenet, to wit, the idea that the development of rational, abstract thought must always be based upon a non-rational, concrete background. Moreover, this concreteness, being the (secret) source of rational reasoning, cannot be called into question by the same thought it nourishes and sustains, and thus shows the same degree of indubitability as Schelling’s quod sitquestion or Rosenzweig’s triad of God, world, and human being. In this view, that Schelling’s ‘merely being,’ Rosenzweig’s Urphänomene, or, according to Lévinas, Husserl’s ‘background of concreteness’ are, that is exist, is a fundamental point that it would not make any sense to cast doubt on. Therefore, precisely this assumption is also the theoretical presupposition for any inquiry that aims at defining what those entities are. Before investigating what reality is through the exercise of reason, it is necessary to have at least a vague, non-welldefined experience of the fact that a certain reality, somehow, is. Otherwise, there would not even be any reason for the inquiry to begin.

‘Quod sit’ and ‘Quid sit’ in Der Stern der Erlösung The categories that have emerged through a comparison between Rosenzweig, Schelling, and phenomenology can now be used as keys for the reading of Rosenzweig’s own thinking. In particular, the quod-quid-relationship described above plays a fundamental role in the architecture of Rosenzweig’s work, occurring at different levels of it. That the three Urphänomene exist and that they relate to one another are matters of fact that for Rosenzweig represent always already affirmative answers to the respective quod sit-questions. Taking this positive assurance as a stable starting point, then, the whole Stern der Erlösung can be seen as an attempt to explain—per posterius—what reality is and is like, that is as an attempt to answer the quid sit-question based on the certainty of the quod sit. Starting from the fact of three Urphänomene in relation to one another (quod sit), Rosenzweig reconstructs what has led to that fact as a result (quid sit). Going into greater detail, the question can be broken down into two parts which correspond to the first two parts of Der Stern der Erlösung. Rosenzweig defines

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the Urphänomene as “ultimate factuality (letzte Tatsächlichkeit)” (GS 3: 147).138 In this phrase, the adjective ‘ultimate’ indicates that the Urphänomene have the character of presuppositions and thus constitute the ‘last,’ impassable step in Rosenzweig’s path toward the original foundations of reality. At the same time, however, they also constitute the ‘first’ step of the reverse movement, that is the point Rosenzweig’s picture of reality139 is able to start to develop from. As presuppositions, the three Urphänomene are what everything else is based on, yet for the same reason they themselves cannot be based on anything—or, in a linguistic twist, they can be based only on nothing. This is precisely the conclusion Rosenzweig comes to; it is also the first (partial) result of his hypothetical method. That the three Urphänomene must emerge from nothing is a logical inference from the fact that they are presuppositions. Being a presupposition implies that it is not possible to have a presupposition. In other words, nothingness is the only ‘thing’ a presupposition can tolerate before itself, so that an origin from nothing— presupposing only nothing—is the only possible conception that can account for the three Urphänomene, without undermining their presuppositional character. Incidentally, here is a perfect example of how quod-sit and quid-sit questions relate to each other in Rosenzweig’s thought. In short: (1) the presuppositional nature of God, world, and human being is the subject of the quod-sit question, that is a matter of fact in need of explanation. (2) Their emergence from nothing is exactly this explanation. It answers the quid-sit question about what may have led the Urphänomene to their de facto existence, representing the only possible account that is consistent with it. The second word in the phrase ‘ultimate factuality (letzte Tatsächlichkeit)’ alludes to the notion of ‘fact (Tatsache)’ which in Rosenzweig’s terminology has a more complex meaning than in ordinary language. For Rosenzweig, a Tatsache is a compound of Tat (act, action) and Sache (thing, in the sense of static being). This double nature of the Tatsache—and therefore of the Urphänomene as letzte Tatsächlichkeiten—is what provides it with the necessary stability to simply be in itself, to be in that calm and stationary state that characterizes a fact in its givenness. In this regard, Rosenzweig writes: “Not the thing (Sache), not the act (Tat), only the fact (Tatsache) is safe from falling into nothingness” (GS 2: 270).140 The risk is then a ‘fall into nothing.’ Tat without Sache or Sache without Tat

1 38 For an inquiry into the role of this concept in Rosenzweig’s thought, see Fortis (2010b). 139 The whole Stern der Erlösung is nothing more than a picture of reality, after all. 140 An insightful commentary of this passage can be found in Pollock (2006).

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cannot prevent it, as only a combination of them, that is a Tat-Sache, can maintain itself against nothingness. Once again, the fact that the three Urphänomene are, that is, that they are included in the realm of being and, evidently, have not fallen into nothing, is the de facto-situation to start from in order to investigate their nature. That they are and resist being absorbed into nothing is the starting point to discover what and how they are. But before following Rosenzweig in his backward movement of thought, from a state of things to what makes it possible—that is from a condicio rerum to its corresponding condicio sine qua non, or from a quod to its corresponding quid—an insight into some parallels among Rosenzweigian notions is in order. A first parallel can be drawn between the notions of ‘yes’ and ‘Sache’ as they share the same ontological mode:  the static substantiality of a ‘thing.’ A second conceptual pair, then, includes the notions of ‘no’ and ‘Tat,’ which are both characterized by a dynamic and fleeting nature. On the basis of these parallels, it is now possible to retrace Rosenzweig’s argument in its backward direction. (1) That God, world, and human being are, and do not fall into nothing, is the matter of fact Rosenzweig starts from. (2) If they can stay detached from nothing, as they do, it means that they are Tatsachen, because only a Tatsache “is safe from falling into nothingness.” (3) That they are Tatsachen means that they result from a combination of Tat and Sache, action and thing, dynamic and static component. (4)  Given the parallels mentioned above, these two components emerge as the last developmental stages of what Rosenzweig calls ‘way of yes’ and ‘way of no.’ More precisely, the former way leads to the Sache, while the latter results in the Tat. Together, they give shape to each Urphänomen as a ‘yes and no,’ or—which at this point can be considered the same—a compound of Tat and Sache, that is a Tatsache. The quodditas of the three Urphänomene, as letzte Tatsächlichkeiten, requires a double quidditas.141 As letzte, the three Urphänomene cannot presuppose anything and must, therefore, emerge from nothing. As Tatsachen, that is as compounds of Tat and Sache, it is also necessary that such emergence from nothing occurs in two different ways at the same time: through an ‘affirmation of the not-nothing,’ that is through a ‘yes’ that leads to the formation of a Sache, but also through a ‘negation of nothing,’ that is, through a ‘no’ resulting in a Tat. At this juncture, however, a question still remains as to why only the Tatsache is not

141 The term quodditas is used here with the meaning of ‘the fact that something is,’ while the term quidditas means ‘what something is.’ Possible translations in German and English are: Dassheit and Washeit or thatness and whatness.

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exposed to the risk of falling into nothing. In other words, point 2 in the reconstruction above appears to be only stated and not thoroughly discussed, so that one may rightly wonder why a Sache without Tat or a Tat without Sache should be bound to fall into nothing. A Sache without Tat is the outcome of the ‘way of yes,’ which Rosenzweig defines as ‘affirmation of the not-nothing.’ As an “affirmation through negation” (GS 2: 26), it defines its object only negatively, that is, saying only what the affirmed is not. More precisely, the ‘affirmation of the not-nothing’ indicates the infinite vastness of what has no other feature than that of ‘not being nothing.’ Or looking at the same matter from another angle, a possible formulation could be: for an element to be regarded by the ‘affirmation of the not-nothing,’ and to be thus included in the realm of not-nothing, it is enough that such an element simply is, that is that it is not nothing. The Sache resulting from this logical operation, then, shows a fundamental indeterminateness as its distinguishing ontological trait. And it is precisely this feature that is able to explain why the Sache should fall into nothing, if considered without its corresponding Tat. On closer inspection, conceiving the Rosenzweigian Sache as fundamentally indeterminate makes it not much different from the Hegelian being (Sein). In the Wissenschaft der Logik, the indeterminate character of Sein is the dialectical trigger that makes it necessarily turn into its contrary category, that is into nothing (Nichts). As Hegel says: “Being, the indeterminate immediate, is in fact nothing” (W 5: 82). In this view, an analogical connection can be suggested between Hegel and Rosenzweig: if not accompanied by the determining action of a Tat, the Sache alone remains indeterminate, showing exactly the same indeterminateness as nothing, and thus ending up passing over into nothing.142 Based on this interpretation, then, what Rosenzweig calls a ‘fall’ of Sache into nothing can probably be better defined in terms of ‘indistinguishability’ between Sache and nothing, due to the fact that both are equally indeterminate.143 A Tat without Sache is what would result from the ‘way of no,’ if it did not come across the ‘way of yes.’ The ‘no’ originates from the logical operation of a ‘negation of nothing’ and maintains its dynamic character as an operation throughout the whole course of its development. In general, every operation has

142 “Nothing is, therefore, the same determination, or rather absence of determination, and thus altogether the same as, pure being” (W 5: 83). 143 This reading shows, how Hegel’s influence on Rosenzweig is more pervasive then one might expect. Though Hegel’s idealism is the main polemical target in Der Stern der Erlösung, an implicit Hegelian vein can still be noticed in Rosenzweig’s reasoning.

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as its object a substantial entity, but the operation itself lacks any substantiality, as it is something intangible and fleeting. Now, precisely in this impalpable nature the reason can be found why a Tat without a Sache to be applied to is said to fall into nothing. An operation without an object to turn to is utterly ineffective, because it does not find any substratum on which effects, in general, can be produced. Similarly, without the static substantiality of a Sache that could receive and sustain it, the dynamic drive of a Tat ‘falls into nothing,’ in the sense that it dwindles to a futile act. It is in vain, so to speak. It misses the mark, or—sticking to this metaphor—it does not even have a mark to aim at.144 That God, world, and human being constitute three closed and independent spheres is the self-evident fact the first part of Der Stern der Erlösung gives an account of—the starting quod. Emergence from nothing and the necessary convergence of Tat and Sache in a fully-fledged Tatsache are the two main features that can be inferred from that fact—the subsequent quid. Now, the same dynamics come up again in the second part of Rosenzweig’s work. Here, the relationship between quod and quid applies, respectively, to the web of relations the three Urphänomene are involved in and to the conversions necessary for such relations to develop. More precisely, that the three Urphänomene relate to one another is a matter of fact—the starting quod. This relational mode requires a state of reciprocal openness between the Urphänomene which can be obtained only through an internal conversion of their ‘yes’-es and ‘no’-es, a reversal of their positive and negative ontological values—the subsequent quid. Focusing now on the second part of Der Stern der Erlösung, its characteristic conversions have evental character, in the sense that they just happen. Nothing leads to them; nothing, before their factual happening, foreshadows them. The only reason why it is possible to affirm that they actually take place is that Der

144 In this respect, Rosenzweig presents Asian conceptions of divinity, like Heaven or Brahman, as defective and insubstantial entities. He talks about “the shadows (Schemen) of the Asiatic East” (GS 2: 38, my emphasis). Their defectiveness and insubstantiality are for Rosenzweig examples of what happens, when ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ Sache and Tat, do not meet and form a unity. “China’s Heaven, [for example, is] divine power that does not pour itself over divine essence” (ibid.)— that is, a ‘no’ that does not meet its corresponding ‘yes.’ On the other hand, Indian Brahman represents divine nature that is left untouched by divine freedom— that is, a ‘yes’ without ‘no.’   Heaven and Brahman pertain only to the sphere of the divine, but Rosenzweig makes analogous remarks about world (see 62–65) and human being (see 80–82).

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Stern der Erlösung is written from the middle145 of Rosenzweig’s articulated picture of reality, that is, from a point of view from which the conversions have already happened, and it is thus possible to draw conclusions from the effects they produced. A parte ante, the conversions are utterly unpredictable, but a parte post—that is from Rosenzweig’s and his readers’ perspectives—they can be inferred backwards from the well-known fact that the Urphänomene relate to one another, as the conversions constitute the only possible explanation for such self-evident relations. These relations—creation, revelation, and redemption—and the conversions they imply, will be analyzed in the following sections.

Between God and World: The Path of Creation Creation is the relationship through which God and world open up to each other. But before establishing this connection, they are both still closed Urphänomene which owe their enclosedness to a perfect balance between their ontological poles of ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ More precisely, God becomes a concluded, isolated, and self-sufficient sphere through the convergence of divine essence (‘yes’) and divine freedom (‘no’), which in combination together reach a condition called divine vitality (‘yes and no’). In line with the same ontological process, the world acquires the status of ‘configured’ (gestaltet), when its logos (‘yes’) and its plenitude (‘no’) merge with each other, giving shape to a closed unity. What is engaged in creation, however, is not the pair vital God-configured world, but an advanced version of it, so to speak, that has undergone a process of internal, ontological conversion. The condition of “blind inwardness (blind Insichgekehrtheit)” (GS 2: 97) that characterizes vital God and configured world as closed entities makes them unable to interact with anything. However, given that an interaction must take place, as attested to by experiential evidence, it is clear that a rupture in their enclosedness must have occurred at some point to allow God and world to relate

145 Rosenzweig writes in the ‘Urzelle’ des Stern der Erlösung: “The organizing concept (Ordnungsbegriff) of this world [is] neither the beginning, nor the end, but rather the middle” (GS 3: 133). This assertion becomes clear, if one considers that three main dimensions comprise Rosenzweig’s picture of reality: the Pre-World of the past, the World of the present, and the Over-world of the future. Der Stern der Erlösung is not written sub specie aeternitatis, but takes the point of view of today’s mankind, that is, a point in the present (in the World), halfway between an origin in the past (in the Pre-World) and an end in the future (in the Over-World).

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to each other in creation. It is just as clear, moreover, that if the inwardness is caused by a convergence of the ways of ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ the necessary rupture of inwardness must be due to a divergence between those ways. Finally, it is important to observe that the required transition, from convergence to divergence, implies a change in ontological polarity between the positive ‘yes’ and the negative ‘no’—as expounded by Rosenzweig’s example of the suitcase (see 124): what converges as ‘yes,’ diverges as ‘no,’ and vice versa. Retracing now the general path of creation in its fundamental steps: (1) that God and world relate to each other is an indubitable matter of fact that requires to be accounted for; (2) the only process that can explain creation as a relationship is a transition of God and world, from their previous condition of enclosedness to their current condition of reciprocal openness; (3) this transition requires that God’s and world’s ‘yes’-es and ‘no’-es diverge, and that, in so doing, they reverse their ontological values. By way of conclusion, then, convergence and enclosedness typify the last developmental stage of what for Rosenzweig is the first level of reality. Divergence and openness distinguish the first developmental stage of the second level. No logical mediation, or any kind of continuity, can be claimed for a transition from first to second level: only a leap can bridge the gap between them.

The Creator: Divine Power The divine component that enters the relationship of creation is divine power: “this power, which came from his divine freedom, hence from his primordial ‘no,’ now emerges otherwise, no longer as ‘no,’ but as ‘yes.’ As ‘yes,’ so not as singular ‘act’ that tears itself away from God in a spasm of self-negation, but as quiet, infinite ‘attribute,’ whose essence consists in being put outside in the permanent” (125). The divine power, coming from divine freedom, can be considered an evolution of it. But while freedom is still defined by the negative ontological charge of a primordial ‘no,’ its development into power undergoes a process of conversion that makes it take on the positive ontological charge of a primordial ‘yes.’ It is worth pointing out that the ‘yes’ obtained by means of conversion is not the contrary of the ‘no’ it comes from, but rather a further evolution of it that exceeds its origin, without disregarding or rejecting it.146

146 In this regard, Rosenzweig distinguishes between the “primordial and pure forms of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ that emerge from nothing” and the “forms that have already reversed their roles, by going from ‘no’ to ‘yes,’ and have already experienced their mutual influence on each other” (GS 2: 138). He seems to suggest here that the second kind

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Rosenzweig uses the following formula to express the meaning of divine power as an attribute: “God [as essentially powerful] can do anything he wants, but he wants only what he must want, according to its nature” (ibid.). This phrase can be divided into two parts, with each representing the two main aspects of divine power. (1) The statement that “God can do anything he wants” corresponds to the clearest and plainest acknowledgement of his arbitrariness (Willkür) and as such it bears witness of the origin of power from an act of freedom. (2) Saying that God “wants only what he must want, according to its nature” is a way of limiting the ambit of arbitrariness. A connection to something stable like divine nature is established, so that divine power can combine in itself the dynamic character of freedom as well as the stability of an essence—the ‘no’ of the act it comes from as well as the ‘yes’ of the attribute it turns into. For Rosenzweig, such a combination is crucial for mediating between two equally erroneous views. On the one hand, an idea of creation based on God’s absolute arbitrariness “threatens to release God from any necessary connection to the world” (126). In this case, the risk would be twofold: the existence of the world would turn out to be something superfluous and inessential, while God himself would remain as detached from and indifferent to the world as the Olympian gods used to be—thus showing not the slightest evolution when compared to them. On the other hand, a conception of creation as something necessary would make the world dwindle to a mere expression of God’s need—not to mention that, in general, ascribing ‘needs’ to God would be tantamount to diminishing his perfection.147 If creation occurred by necessity, then, it would be detrimental to God’s perfection as well as to the world’s autonomy. The many terms Rosenzweig uses in his account of creation can be sorted roughly into two main semantic fields:  such notions as ‘no,’ ‘act,’ or ‘arbitrariness’ fall within the domain of ‘freedom,’ while ‘yes,’ ‘nature,’ ‘essence,’ or ‘attribute’ belong to the ambit of ‘necessity.’ Once reduced to these two keywords, Rosenzweig’s conception of God as powerful creator can be defined as a combination between the opposite concepts of ‘freedom’ and ‘necessity.’ However, ‘combination’ may be too vague a word in this context, as the sequence in which freedom and necessity are combined is not irrelevant. In other words, it is not the same if necessity is grafted onto freedom or, on the contrary, freedom rests on

of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ is, in a sense, more ‘emancipated’ than the first one: it is enriched by the experience of ontological reversal, still bearing the signs of its previous condition. 147 It follows from the concept of divine perfection and absoluteness that “God cannot be dependent on anything, and least of all on a need, be it external or internal” (126).

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a foundation of necessity. These two alternatives lie at the roots of two radically different ontological conceptions which give primacy to freedom or to necessity, respectively. The history of philosophy provides significant examples of necessity-based ontologies, in particular the systems of Spinoza or Hegel. As to the former, in the Ethica ordine geometrico demonstrata (1677a), Spinoza writes: “That thing is said to be free (liber) which exists solely from the necessity of its own nature, and is determined to action by itself alone. A thing is said to be necessary (necessaries) or rather, constrained (coactus), if it is determined by another thing to exist and to act in a definite and determinate way” (Def. 7). Later on, he adds: “God acts solely from the laws of his own nature, constrained by none” (Prop. 17), and finally: “[…] God does not act from freedom of will” (Prop 32, Cor. 1). It appears clear, then, that primacy is given to necessity over freedom. However, it is not that in Spinoza’s system there is no room for freedom at all; rather this has to be reformulated and put into a subordinate position. The freedom-necessity relationship is clarified in a letter Spinoza sent to Schuller: “[…] I place freedom, not in free decision, but in free necessity (libera necessitas)” (1677b: Ep. 58). This quote shows that for Spinoza there is no contradiction between freedom and necessity. The opposite of ‘free’ is not ‘necessary,’ but ‘constrained,’ and both freedom and constriction are just different forms of the same necessity. Simply put: (1) everything is necessary; (2) what follows necessity of its own nature is said to be ‘free;’ (3) what is under the influence of something else is said to be ‘constrained.’ The main notions emerging from this view are ‘free necessity’ (libera necessitas) and ‘constrained necessity’ (coacta necessitas)—which, whether free or constrained, are nevertheless always necessary. Freedom, on the other hand, as libera necessitas, cannot be thought of as ‘arbitrariness’ anymore, but in order to maintain compatibility with necessity must be redefined in terms of ‘autonomy.’ With regard to Hegel, it has been already pointed out how his notion of freedom undergoes a similar redefinition. It is certainly true that Hegel levels harsh criticism against Spinoza, but it is just as true that his polemical targets are the static character of the substance and its lack of self-consciousness, while the notion of libera necessitas is never called into question. Hegel argues that the Spinozistic substance can be really absolute, as it claims to be, only if it becomes aware of the necessity through which it posits itself. For Spinoza, the substance finds its absoluteness and freedom in the full realization of its necessary nature. For Hegel, absoluteness and freedom of the substance must be based on its

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capability to know itself as realizing its necessary nature.148 In conclusion, Hegel never questions the Spinozistic nexus between freedom and necessity, rather he strengthens it through the notion of self-consciousness. Whereas Spinoza’s and Hegel’s views epitomize the notion of libera necessitas, Rosenzweig’s conception hinges on what could be called necessaria libertas. By this expression a reversal in the relationship between freedom and necessity is meant—it being understood that a relationship between them plays a central role also in Rosenzweig’s thought. Spinoza and Hegel rethink freedom in terms of autonomy to make it compatible with and subordinate to necessity, which is always the undisputed founding principle of their philosophies. Rosenzweig, on the contrary, makes necessity dependent on freedom. And his account of God, before and after conversion, exemplifies his position perfectly: the necessity of divine power (‘yes’) rests upon the freedom of divine arbitrariness (‘no’), in a relation that accords primacy to the latter over the former.

The Creature: Worldly Existence The dimension of the world that meets divine power and establishes with it the relation of creation is worldly existence (weltliches Dasein). This emerges “as a reversal of what used to be its lasting essence. The lasting essence of the configured world is the universal, [i.e. worldly logos]. In the world, which reveals itself as creature, this lasting essence changes into a momentary essence, ‘endlessly renewed’ and yet universal: an inessential essence, then. [A]‌n essence that is not ‘always and everywhere’ and arises anew every moment with the whole content of the particular it includes. This essence that includes in itself all particularity, but is itself universal and recognizes itself at every moment as a whole, is existence. In contrast to being, existence means the universal that is full of the particular and not always and everywhere, but […] must perpetually become new to preserve itself.” (GS 2: 133–134). Once again, Rosenzweig’s thought produces a paradoxical concept. ‘Inessential essence’ or ‘universality full of particularity’ may sound like contradictions in terms—much like the notions of libera necessitas or necessaria libertas. The point is that Rosenzweig’s system of conversions is structured in such a way that every

148 Incidentally, thus conceived the substance develops into a subject. This transition, from Spinozistic substance to Hegelian concept (i.e. subject), is thoroughly described in the Wissenschaft der Logik—in c­ hapter 3 of the Doctrine of Essence, called The Absolute Relation, as well as in the first part of the Doctrine of the Concept, called Of the Concept in General.

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notion includes the one it comes from—and they are always opposed as ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ As the creator integrates freedom and necessity in divine power, so the creature blends the features of the logos it is derived from with those of the existence it turns into. Now, logos is a lasting and static ‘yes,’ while existence is a punctual and dynamic ‘no.’ Their ontological tenors are at odds with each other, but the difference between them involves only the ways a content is treated in their respective domains, not the content itself. What logos and existence have in common, although in different forms, is universality.149 When a conversion transforms logos into existence, the feature of universality is the only feature to be maintained throughout the whole transition from ‘yes’ to ‘no.’ Simply put, this means that existence is as universal as logos. However, it is clear that they can be both universal, only in two utterly different ways. The universality of existence must obviously take on the form of a ‘no,’ and as such has nothing to do with its counterpart in the ‘yes’ of logos—except for the fact that they are both universal, of course. While in the domain of ‘yes,’ as essentially static, universality is thought of as a rigid structure covering the totality of time and space—Rosenzweig uses the phrase ‘always and everywhere’ (immer und überall)—; in the domain of ‘no,’ as essentially dynamic, a form of universality can be found only in the iterative process of a constant renewal—whose keyword is for Rosenzweig ‘always anew’ (allzeit erneut). Rosenzweig thinks of existence as based on two distinguishing traits: (1) its inborn incompleteness and (2) its striving for completeness. These two points emerge from the following passage, in which Rosenzweig says that existence “is needy, in need not only of its own renewal, but, as the whole of existence itself, still in need of—being. Because being, absolute and universal, is what existence is lacking and also what it […] calls for, to acquire stability and truth” (134). Existence aspires to the completeness of being, however, “its own being […] cannot guarantee this to it, because that being is left behind, in the unessential appearance of the Pre-World. It is thus necessary that an ‘external’ being […] takes on the ramification150 of existence. Under the wing of such a being, which would provide it with stability and truth, the creatureliness (Kreatürlichkeit) of existence presses to emerge” (ibid.). 149 In general, for a conversion to be such, it is necessary that its two stages, that is start and end point, share at least one content. If they did not, there would be no reason to consider them two different phases of the same process: they would be just two unrelated states of things. 150 Ramification is the distinctive feature of logos, and it keeps characterizing also that evolution of logos that existence is.

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Not only existence is constitutively defective, it does not even have the means to overcome its condition on its own. The completeness the world, as existence, looks for cannot be found in the world itself, but only in the world tending toward another being—another sphere of reality. The second feature of existence, then, turns out to be something more than a generic ‘striving for completeness.’ More precisely, it is a ‘search for fulfillment through a reference to an external being’— that is a reference to otherness. In addition, the two features that define existence on the ontological level—in short: incompleteness and need for otherness—have repercussions also on the epistemological and temporal levels. Epistemologically speaking, creation is for the world the realization of its creatureliness, while from a temporal perspective, being created is a process still in progress. In three passages, Rosenzweig describes the meaning of creation from the creature’s point of view. Although with different wording, each excerpt expresses the same conception: creation, for the creature, is basically a matter of consciousness—and thus an epistemological matter. (1) “[Creation] from [the world’s] side, means nothing other than the breaking in of the consciousness of its creaturehood (Geschöpflichkeit),151 the consciousness of being made (Geschaffenwerden)” (133). (2)  “Its being made would be its self-revealing as a creature. [It is] the consciousness of not having been made just once in the past, but of being constantly created (des immerwährenden Geschöpfseins)” (ibid.). (3)  “The world’s creatural consciousness (Kreaturbewußtsein) [is] consciousness of being made (Geschaffenwerden), not of having been made (Geschaffenwordensein)” (ibid.). When dealing with an epistemological topic like that of consciousness, a temporal dimension is also introduced. From the quotes it becomes apparent that creation is not done once and for all, but is an ongoing process that started in the past, continues in the present, and will end in the future. However, this is true only for the world, but not for God—that is only for the passive side of creation, represented by the creature, but not for the active side, embodied in the creator. The otherness between God and world in creation is mirrored also in their respective temporal dimensions. God relates to creation as to something belonging to the past, a factum, while the world experiences creation as a process still in fieri: “What for God is past, […] for the world can definitely be still present, and it can keep being present till the end of the world; the creation of the world must find its end only in redemption” (132).

151 True to Rosenzweig’s word choice, the terms Kreatürlichkeit and Geschöpflichkeit are translated, respectively, with ‘creatureliness’ and ‘creaturehood.’ However, the two elements of each couple, in both German and English, are to be considered synonyms.

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To explain the temporal gap between the two poles of creation, Rosenzweig analyzes the sentence ‘God created the world.’ Like every sentence in an active form, it expresses the point of view of its subject, while it does not say anything about its object—except for the fact that it has some kind of relation with the subject. The action is determined only for the subject, while it remains open for the object. Moreover, only God (the subject) and his relationship with the world (the object) can be described in the past tense, as creation is concluded only for the creator. For the creature, on the contrary, creation is still an open process. In Rosenzweig’s own words:  “[only from God’s perspective] the past form is valid, the ‘once and for all’ of the sentence; while for the world, its being made (Geschaffenwerden) does not necessarily end with the creative act God performed once and for all” (ibid.).

Rosenzweig Versus Hegel: Creation Versus Production Creation is not rational. This means that it cannot be the demonstrandum of a logical argumentation that takes the world as a premise, develops a certain number of steps of logic, and concludes by proving God’s creative action as a result. In fact, creation is for Rosenzweig a prophecy of revelation and as such it acquires its meaning only in a retrospective view from after the event of revelation. Despite being before it, creation presupposes revelation to retrospectively display its full significance and, from this point of view, it would not be wrong to say that creation is always revealed creation. Rosenzweig writes: “Who has not yet been reached by the voice of revelation has no right to assume the idea of creation, as if it were a scientific hypothesis. […]. So it is only fair that the thought, which was not able to adopt the idea of creation, sought a substitute for it” (149). This is precisely the case with idealism, which cannot tolerate anything beyond the realm of reason and must therefore reject creation, while at the same time elaborating a rational alternative to it. “The main concept through which it [idealistic philosophy] tries to bypass and replace the idea of creation is that of production” (ibid.). To be a valid substitute for creation, production must (1) lead to the same result as creation, but at the same time it should also (2) avoid what in the idealistic view is considered the shortcoming of creationism. More precisely:  (1) like creation, production must give an account of the being of the world; but, in so doing, (2) it must also display that rational character that is alien to creation as based on revelation. In Rosenzweig’s own words: (1) “Production must perform the same as creation” (ibid.), but (2) “[…] it has to establish a connection that is rationally conceivable (rational faßbar)” (150).

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Retracing the steps of Rosenzweig’s view on creation, it can be observed that it starts with the Urphänomen of God breaking its enclosedness through the emergence of divine power. This emergence is the result of God’s internal ‘yes’ and ‘no’ switching their ontological polarity, but this switch—and here is the point—is not necessary. It is not the unavoidable effect of a cause, that is it is not subjected to causality constraints. Rather, it can be described as ‘the sudden and free givingitself of an event.’ It happened, of course. And subsequently, nothing can change the fact that it happened. But it could also have not happened. It is irreversible, but not necessary.152 In other words, the irrationality of creation consists precisely in the fact that its happening is not derived from a rationality-based causeeffect process, but rests on evental freedom, that is, on something that, being constitutively undeducible, places itself outside of the reach of rationality. The irrationality of creation is a direct consequence of God and world being two unrelated, independent Urphänomene. If God and world are divided by reciprocal otherness—as they are, in Rosenzweig’s view of the Pre-world—any possible relation that develops between them, starting from their mutual separation, cannot but take on the character of a leap, in the Kierkegaardian sense of the term.153 In the general isolation of the Pre-world, there is nothing to act as a prelude to the relational paths of the World, so that a transition from enclosedness to relationality can occur only as a free and sudden event, rather than as a necessary result that is already implied in some logical premises. Initial isolation and otherness make every following relation (thus also creation) assume the features of a leap, which, as essentially non-predetermined and unpredictable, is free, and therefore beyond reason, that is irrational. 152 Grasping the difference between irreversibility and necessity is more often than not a matter of perspective. A parte post—that is, after an event has occurred—nothing can be done to erase it from reality. Factum infectum fieri nequit—and this impossibility lends itself easily to be confused with necessity. However, the difference between the two notions becomes evident a parte ante—that is, before the event. Anything necessary can be predicted exactly by virtue of its necessity. It may be taken for granted even before its actual occurrence. But an authentic event is by nature unpredictable. While necessity remains constant, irrespective of the particular point of view each time assumed, the unpredictability of an event—a parte ante—acts as a foundation for its irreversibility—a parte post. The ontological distinction between irreversibility and necessity is at the very core of Pareyson’s ontology of freedom (see Pareyson 1995: 32). 153 By ‘leap’ Kierkegaard means a transition that cannot be accounted for by a series of logical steps. It is a movement of thought that leads beyond the boundaries of reason and, in this sense, can be said to be ‘irrational.’

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In a short historical inquiry, Rosenzweig reconstructs a path that leads from creation to production through the mediation of a third notion:  emanation. “Emanation: the flow of the world from out of God and, in the world, the flow of always new streams from out of the each time last inflow (aus dem jeweils zuletzt Hervorgeströmten). This is the representation that, in universal history, tried to rival the idea of creation” (151). Emanation claims to be a rational alternative to the irrational conception of creation. Its rationality is guaranteed through the fundamental proportionality and commensurability it posits between God, as emanator, and the world, as emanation—because proportionality and commensurability ensure continuity, and this is a basic condition for rationality to be established. However, emanation is for Rosenzweig but an intermediate, unsatisfactory step. “The idea of emanation does not satisfy the demand of reason that invoked it” (ibid.). The failure of emanation in representing a fully rational point of view is due to the fact that it assigns the role of emanator, that is the origin of emanation, to God—and this is in disagreement with the requirements of pure reason.154 The problem of the origin has always been a major difficulty for every form of thinking that claims to be wholly rational. It is necessary that the origin is a stable starting point, where the adjective ‘stable’ stands for ‘sure,’ ‘certain,’ a fundamentum inconcussum in the Cartesian acceptation of the phrase. The point is that God cannot serve as such an unshakeable foundation, because it is itself an “object of knowledge” (152), and thus not the basis for any possible knowledge. God is the demonstrandum, not the solid premise. It has to be proven—for example, through the ontological argument—and for this very reason it cannot be assumed as the stable ground every proof needs to be developed. From Descartes to Hegel, the element that has been recognized instead of God as such a stable ground is the self. “[I]‌t is the ‘I’ of idealism. The ‘I,’ the ‘subject,’ the ‘transcendental apperception’ the ‘spirit,’ the ‘idea’—these are all names that the self (the only element still available, besides the world and God) assumes, once it has decided to take the place as producer. […] A single flow of 154 This is the long excerpt from Der Stern der Erlösung, in which Rosenzweig makes this point clear: “No, God, too, had to be known and, consequently, cease to be origin and thus become content for the principle of all that is known. Instead of God there had to appear a different origin of the world, including maybe possibly God himself. But since the appearance of the notion of creation in revelation, it could no longer be ignored that the world itself is not its own origin, but that because of its enclosedness in itself (Insichgeschlossenheit), it demands an origin outside itself; so at most the self can still be envisaged as taking the place of that origin” (GS 2: 152).

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production goes from the ‘I’ through the world of things; these arrange themselves in a series, a ‘descending path,’ from the pure ‘I’ to the ‘not-I’ ” (152–153). While emanation involves God and the world, idealistic production establishes a relationship between the self (the ‘I’) and the world (the ‘not-I’). As the certainty of the self represents a more solid basis than the idea of God could ever do, the self-based production of idealism turns out to succeed where God-centered emanation proves to fail: in meeting the standards of pure rationality. Despite their differences, emanation and production are two attempts— respectively less and more successful—to oppose creation in a rational way. This common purpose determines the characteristics they share as their distinguishing features, to wit, proportionality and commensurability between the elements they connect. Emanation explains worldly existence in terms of all things flowing out from God, in such a way that they are progressively less perfect than their divine source, but remain constantly connected to it.155 Idealistic production, on the other hand, sees the world as a developmental phase in the self-movement of the spirit. In this view, the otherness between producer and product—that is between self and world—is posited for the sole purpose of being overcome at a later stage. The poles of production are thus proportional and commensurable to each other, as they are not thought of as different entities, but rather only as different moments in the development of the same entity. The categories of ‘proportionality’ and ‘commensurability’ serve the cause of rationality, as they contrast sharply with the category of ‘otherness,’ and thus also with the irrationality this leads to. It has already been observed that starting from a condition of radical otherness—as is the case with creation— leads to conceiving of relations as based on free and irrational leaps. To obtain a rational relation instead, it is necessary to eradicate what would act in it as a source of irrationality, that is an original condition of separation between its elements. Otherness, in other words, must be replaced with something that is not an obstacle to, but rather a condition for rationality. Something like proportionality and commensurability, then, whose essential continuity ensures the

155 The arguably most important exponent of emanationism is Plotinus. In his work, The Enneads, he writes: “All beings […] produce, from their essence and by virtue of their power, some existence around themselves, which is continuously attached to them […]: thus fire gives out its heat; snow is cold not merely to itself; fragrant substances are a notable example; for, as long as they last, something is diffused from them and perceived wherever they are present. All beings […] engender, therefore the perfect being [God] engenders eternally” (Plotinus, Enneads: V, 1, 6, 1–2, my emphasis).

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immanent—that is without leaps—character of every transition, and thus allows a rational correlation between real developmental stages and ideal steps of logic. The difference between creation on one hand, and emanation or idealistic production on the other hand, rests on a more fundamental difference between the categories of ‘otherness’ and ‘proportionality’-‘commensurability.’ If the otherness that creation has at its basis determines the irrational character of creationism, adopting a rational approach—as emanation tries to do and production manages to do—makes it necessary to switch from an otherness-based conception to a proportionality-commensurability-based one. That means that otherness, as a source of irrationality, must be substituted by proportionality and commensurability, as conditions for rationality—or, to put it differently, that otherness must be sacrificed for the sake of rationality. Two mutually exclusive alternatives emerge, then, in the end: either the radical ‘otherness’ of creation, which leads to irrationality; or the ‘proportionality’ and ‘commensurability’ of idealistic production, which ensure rationality.

Rosenzweig Versus Nietzsche: Creation Versus Eternal Return Whether thought of as irrational or as rational, ‘relationship’ is the key notion for creation as well as for emanation and production. Despite their differences, all these conceptions share the common project of accounting for the world and a common way of doing it by resorting to something non-worldly. For all of them, the world has its raison d’être outside of its boundaries, in another element it is essentially related to. For creationism and emanationism, the world’s origin has to be found in God, while the idealist view sees the world as a product of the self in the course of its development toward absoluteness. It is clear then that in a picture of reality like the Nietzschean one, in which God is dead and every form of absoluteness, including the absolute self, has become untenable, the world cannot rely on anything extra-worldly to come to be and subsist; rather, it must derive its existence from itself. It is the notion of eternal return which acts as a foundation for Nietzsche’s nonrelational cosmology. The circular movement it imparts to worldly becoming provides an explanation for the being of all things, without exceeding the limits of the world or requiring the contribution of anything other than the world itself. Through the notion of eternal return, an account of the world is given that is not detrimental to its autonomy and the result is a condition that, in Rosenzweigian terms, could be called enclosedness in itself (Geschlossenheit in sich selbst). But this is also where the similarities between Nietzsche and Rosenzweig end. In the Geschlossenheit in sich selbst Rosenzweig sees a transitory state, bound to be left

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behind for a more mature state of relationality. For Nietzsche, on the contrary, conceiving of the world as a closed, self-sufficient realm is part and parcel of the new dimension of freedom the eternal return represents. Nietzsche’s line of reasoning to account for the world through the notion of eternal return revolves around three main arguments, differently expounded and combined in some posthumous fragments between 1881 and 1888: (1) the finite amount of power; (2) the never-ending, ongoing becoming of reality; and (3) the infinity of time. Points 1 and 3 are mentioned in the following fragment: “The amount of power of the all is determined, not infinite. […] On the contrary, time, in which the all exercises its power, is infinite” (KGA 5.2: 421. 1881, 11–202). Point 2 is made through a reduction ad absurdum, that is by showing the contradictoriness of any form of stasis: if power were not continually in motion, “one should conclude that it is active only from a certain point on and that it will stop—but thinking of a beginning of activity is absurd; if it were in a condition of balance, this would last forever!” (KGA 5.2: 456. 1881, 11–305). The total amount of power must be a constant (point 1). If there were the possibility of a decrease, given the infinity of time—both onwards into the future and backwards into the past—power would be completely depleted by now. On the other hand, if power could grow, the questions would be left unanswered as to what it could grow out of and where it could find nourishment for such a growth (see KGA 5.2:  423. 1881, 11–213). Obviously, they are both rhetorical questions: if the power is ‘of the all,’ as it indeed is, there is nothing outside of the all that could possibly serve as a source of new, additional power, for the simple reason that, if the all had an ‘outside,’ it would not be ‘the all.’ “The world, as power, cannot be thought of as unlimited […]—we refrain from conceiving of power as infinite, because it is incompatible with the very notion of ‘power’ ” (KGA 7.3: 280–281. 1885, 36–15). Worldly becoming is continuous (point 2). For Nietzsche, the contrary of becoming, as essentially dynamic, is being, as essentially static. Starting from this main difference, he argues that if the world “were capable of staying still and stiffening, if it were capable of a ‘being;’ if, in the whole of its becoming, the world had, even for a moment, this capability of ‘being,’ worldly becoming would have finished long ago” (ibid.). If a static condition of being were possible, it would have been already reached in the past, because “an infinity has gone by already, that is every possible development must have already taken place” (KGA 5.2: 421. 1881, 11–202). If the balance of being had already been reached, it could not have been disturbed again to allow of becoming, because that would have implied the intervention of some power external to the all—which is a plain contradiction. The evidence of becoming in the present (Thatsache des Werdens),

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then, implies its continuity through time, based on the general impossibility of being. That time is infinite (point 3)  does not need any particular justification in Nietzsche’s view. Together with the other two points, it allows the deduction of the next relevant step in Nietzsche’s reasoning: the impossibility of always-new states of things. At this juncture, it is important to clarify the meaning of the adjective ‘new’ in this context. It is not to be understood in the sense of ‘additional,’ but in the sense of ‘different from any other.’ What Nietzsche considers impossible, in other words, is not an ongoing succession of states of things, that is the fact that for every state of things, an additional one is always due to emerge. On the contrary, this is actually the conclusion reached in point 2. What Nietzsche denies, then, is the possibility that every state differs from every preceding one. In this sense of ‘new,’ “a becoming that is always-new is a contradiction. It would presuppose an always-growing force” (KGA 5.2: 423. 1881, 11–213). In an even more explicit fragment, Nietzsche says that “there has already been an infinite number of states of force, but not an infinite number of different states of force” (KGA 5.2: 428. 1881, 11, 232). A finite amount of power (point 1) that constantly changes its arrangement (point 2) in an infinite course of time (point 3) results in infinite combinations. However, this is a quantitative kind of infinity, not a qualitative one. That is to say that the combinations are infinite in number, but not in variety: despite having no end, their sequence cannot consist of always-new elements, and must therefore contain repetitions. The necessity of repetition, in other words, is inferred from the impossibility of its contrary: the impossibility of novelty. But the ‘necessity of repetition’ is just another way of saying eternal return. Thus the first and the last step of this argumentative path are finally connected in the lapidary sentence: “the principle of energy conservation calls for the eternal return” (KGA 8.1: 209. 1886, 5–54). By way of conclusion, Nietzsche expounds his view thoroughly in a long fragment entitled Die neue Welt-Conception (The new world-conception):  “If the world may be thought of as a certain definite quantity of force and as a certain definite quantity of centers of force—every other representation being indefinite and thus useless—it follows that, in the great dice game of existence, it must pass through a calculable number of combinations. In an infinite time, every possible combination would, at some time or another, be realized; more: it would be realized an infinite number of times. And since between every combination and its next recurrence all other possible combinations would have to take place […] a circular movement of absolutely identical series is thus demonstrated: the world as a circular movement that has already repeated itself infinitely often and plays its game in infinitum” (KGA 8.3: 168. 1888, 14–188).

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With the notion of eternal return, Nietzsche declares the self-sufficiency of the world. In comparison to other conceptions mentioned previously—creation, emanation, and production—the Nietzschean view categorically rejects any idea of the world as ‘made,’ be it created or produced: “We do not need to worry for a moment about the hypothesis of a made world. The concept ‘to make’ is today completely indefinable, unrealizable; merely a word, a rudimentary survival from the ages of superstition […]. The last attempt to conceive a world with a beginning has lately been made several times with the aid of logical procedures—generally, as one may easily guess, with an ulterior theological motive” (ibid.). Thus creation—dismissed as superstition—and production—as the logical surface of a hidden theological intention—are joined in Nietzsche’s rejection. As a final remark, then, it is worth noting that Nietzsche’s account of the world excludes otherness and relationality. While otherness is thinkable only as included in the world, as something pertaining to its internal elements, the idea of another element outside of the world is untenable, given the Nietzschean premises. And without external otherness, relationality is impossible too.

A Keyword for Creation: ‘Relational Otherness’ In creation, God and world relate to each other, are ‘other’ to each other, so that the most meaningful notion that characterizes and summarizes their reciprocal openness can be relational otherness. The relationship they forge is the way through which God and world define their own identities as creator and creature, respectively. That God, in order to be a creator, needs a creature to direct its creative action to, and that a creature, in turn, presupposes a creator, could be considered trivial. However, relational otherness affects both in a much deeper sense. To put it concisely: God’s specific contribution to creation—apart from the obvious remark that it is God who gets creation started—consists in preserving its relational character; while conceiving the created world in terms of existence—with the incompleteness this implies—makes it essentially inclined to find its fullness in a relation to otherness. God intervenes in creation with his power, whose ontological configuration, as a combination of freedom and necessity, acts in such a way so as to avoid two extreme situations: identification of God and world or reciprocal indifference between them. If God acted by necessity alone, the world would be a necessary development of God’s essence and, as such, it would not be really ‘other’ than God himself. If, on the contrary, God created in an act of pure freedom, the world would be doomed to irrelevance and creation would be characterized by a fundamental indifference between its poles. For opposite reasons, both situations

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would kill any chance of relation: identification would lead to excessive closeness between God and world, thus depriving them of any room for relation; while indifference would give rise to excessive distance between God and world, thus making any relation between them equally impossible. An essential need for otherness is the distinguishing trait of the creature as existence. A  constant reference to another being defines the creature at the ontological and epistemological levels, while the centrality of otherness is also mirrored in a temporal gap between creature and creator. The ontological incompleteness of existence makes it turn to an external being to find completeness— which basically means that its fulfillment depends on its relation to otherness. From an epistemological point of view, creation consists in the world acquiring consciousness of being a creature, but, once again, such a consciousness can arise only in relation to the otherness of a creator. Finally, the gap indwelling in creation, between the ‘once and for all’ of the creator and the ‘still in progress’ of the creature—the factum and the in fieri—is the particular form their reciprocal otherness takes on, when considered from a temporal angle. A comparison with Hegel and Nietzsche makes even more clear how Rosenzweig’s account of creation is built on the twin pillars of relationality and otherness. As different as they may be, the Hegelian conception of production and the Nietzschean conception of eternal return agree at least in two regards: their common disregard for otherness and, consequently, their lack of relationality. Production is a process that presupposes a fundamental commensurability between the self and the world, so that the otherness between them turns out to be only superficial, non-radical, as it rests on the more fundamental sameness of the absolute spirit. But if otherness is not rigorous, relationality cannot be either. Actually, in the case of production it would be more correct to speak of selfrelationality, with reference to the spirit’s capability of relating to itself by positing but also sublating otherness. The eternal return can be considered the Nietzschean reply to the notions of creation and production. It presents worldly becoming as a cyclic succession, and necessary repetition, of the many—but not infinite—combinations that can be obtained from a fixed amount of matter. While creation is based on a radical form of otherness and production on a superficial form that is subordinate to sameness, the eternal return distinguishes itself from both by rejecting otherness altogether. It is an independent process that feeds on itself and does not need to turn to any other element to be triggered and sustained. As Nietzsche says in one particularly meaningful fragment, the world goes on with a circular movement, along a continuum without a start or an end. He writes: “The world […] becomes, it

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passes by, but it never started to become and never stopped to pass by. […] It lives on itself: its excrements are its food” (KGA 8.3: 166. 1888, 14–188). By way of conclusion, if a keyword were to be chosen to express the overall meaning of creation in Rosenzweig’s view, it would probably be relational otherness: a two-word phrase would account for the perspectives of both elements involved. As to the first element, the role God plays as creator can be summarized in the notion of ‘relationality’—the relationality his divine power saves from fading away, by preventing creation from falling into the extremes of two opposite, non-relational conditions. With regard to the second element, the world’s involvement in creation can be condensed into the notion of ‘otherness’—the otherness that molds every aspect of its being a creature. Relational otherness is then the result of a conceptual combination, of divine relationality and worldly otherness encountering each other along the path of creation.

Between God and Human Being: The Path of Revelation Creation sets a sequence of relationships in motion. It is the beginning of a process that is not exhausted by the mere contact between God and world, but goes on beyond it, and expands to include also the human being. This new articulation is what Rosenzweig calls ‘revelation.’ However, some terminological explanation is necessary here to distinguish between two different acceptations of the same word. Rosenzweig writes: “the first revelation in creation, precisely for the sake of its revelatory character, requires the breaking in of a ‘second’ revelation, of a revelation that is nothing but revelation, of a revelation in a stricter sense of the word, or, better, in the strictest sense.” (GS 2: 179). Creation is “the first revelation” that has to be completed through “a second revelation.” This means that, depending on the particular meaning of the term ‘revelation,’ this is seen as something other than creation, or as something including it. The quote above suggests that the two nuances of meaning can be expressed through a distinction between the wider and stricter sense—lato and stricto sensu—of the term ‘revelation.’ ‘Revelation’ lato sensu designates the whole process through which God becomes manifest, shifting from a state of enclosedness in himself to one of relationality with the other two Urphänomene. This process can be broken down into the two phases of creation and revelation stricto sensu. To be clear: revelation lato sensu—as self-manifestation of God—includes creation and revelation stricto sensu. As Rosenzweig says: “[Creation] is also revelation [lato sensu], but only ‘also,’ essentially and above all, it [is] creation; the kind of revelation we are looking for must be essentially [exclusively] revelation

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[stricto sensu] and nothing else; but that means: it must be nothing else than the opening up of something enclosed in itself ” (ibid.). While revelation lato sensu involves all three Urphänomene, revelation stricto sensu is the specific relationship taking place between God and human being. Technically speaking, it consists in contact and connection between one of the two components of God and one of the two components of the human being. More precisely, the divine dimension that before the conversions was a ‘yes’ and after the conversions emerges as a ‘no,’ encounters the human dimension that was born as a ‘no’ but after the conversions changes into a ‘yes.’ The divine side of revelation, then, has the active and dynamic nature of a ‘no,’ while the human pole shows the static and passive mode of a ‘yes.’ Moreover, considering that for Rosenzweig revelation (stricto sensu) mirrors the development of love dynamics, the ‘no’ of God takes shape as the active love of a lover, while the ‘yes’ of the human being assumes the role of a beloved.

The Revealer: Divine Love The path of revelation (sticto sensu) opens with a divine act of love directed at the human being. That revelation, as an oriented movement, starts from God may sound quite obvious. Less obvious, however, is that the divine part in it can be qualified as an act of love. In fact, this is the conclusion Rosenzweig comes to only at the end of his line of reasoning. He starts his reflections with systematic considerations about God’s components, their conversions, and their ontological natures as ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ On this basis, he goes on to determine the requisites an element must satisfy to be considered the ‘trigger’ of revelation. And finally, he concludes that the only element capable of this is love, as only love shows all the features that have been recognized as constitutive and necessary for a revealer to start revelation: “It is love that complies with all the demands put on the concept of the revealer” (181). More precisely, the features a revealer must display, and which can only be found in love, are: (1) an instantaneous nature and (2) a character as ‘imposition,’ which is typical of rules and commands. Rosenzweig writes: “love alone is at the same time a fatal violence [point 2] that beleaguers the heart in which it awakens, and yet (doch), so newly born, so devoid of a past, so surrendered to the moment [point 1] it fulfills, and to that moment alone” (178, my emphasis). The word ‘yet’—‘doch’ in the original text—and its adversative meaning suggest that there is a sharp contrast between the notion of ‘imposition’—or ‘fatal violence,’ in Rosenzweig’s terms—and that of ‘instantaneousness’—or ‘surrender to the moment,’ as Rosenzweig puts it. In this view, then, what love proves to be

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able to epitomize is the paradoxical unity of two opposite features—as opposite as ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ ‘Imposition’ and ‘violence’ recall the notion of ‘necessity,’ and this in turn recalls the constraining effects of a law that has been in force since forever. On the other hand, the concept of ‘instantaneousness’ conjures up the fading, fleeting nature of something that comes to be just for a moment and passes away immediately after; something that lacks the necessary substantiality even just to endure, to subsist. Now, Rosenzweig sees love as a combination of these two (apparently) incompatible features, and he sums up this combination with the same phrase he also used in the Urzelle: ‘Ecce deus fortior me qui veniens dominabitur mihi’ (ibid.).156 Two main aspects can be distinguished in this phrase, with each representing one of the two features love merges together. While words like ‘fortior’ and ‘dominabitur’ express necessity and imposition, corresponding to “a decree created from all eternity” (ibid.), other words like ‘ecce’ and ‘veniens’ hint at something that happens in the moment, in “the ‘now’ of its ‘having-comeprecisely-in-this-moment’ (das Gerade-in-diesem-Augenblick-gekommen-sein)” (ibid.). The double character of divine love is the direct consequence of ontological relationships taking place between ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ Divine love is a ‘no.’ And as such it has a dynamic character that finds proper expression in one of the two aspects mentioned above—precisely, in what appears at point 1: instantaneous nature. However, love is not just a simple ‘no,’ as it does not emerge directly from nothing, but comes from a preceding ‘yes’ by way of reversal. Love has its basis in the original ‘yes’ of divine essence, and this means that despite being mainly a ‘no,’ it still inherits the ontological stability of the ‘yes’ it is derived from. As a result, love combines the stability of a ‘yes’ with the fleetingness of a ‘no.’ It condenses eternal necessity in a single moment, a “moment that, in its own narrow space, preserves the entire weight of destiny” (ibid., my emphasis). Being a ‘no,’ divine love is dynamic and negative. As to dynamism, Rosenzweig writes, in his typical metaphorical language: “Love is not attribute, but event, and there is no place in it for an attribute. [God’s] love is not the fundamental form, the solid, immovable form of his face, it is not the hardened mask that the modeler (der Former) removes from the face of a dead person, but the evanescent,

156 With this phrase Rosenzweig defines revelation also in his Urzelle (see GS 3: 125). It is particularly meaningful that exactly the same wording is used to indicate revelation, in the Urzelle, and love, in Der Stern der Erlösung. It indicates that, for Rosenzweig, revelation identifies fully with love.

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never exhausted change of expressions, the always new light that shines upon the eternal features” (183). Not ‘solid,’ ‘immovable,’ or ‘hardened,’ love is rather ‘instantaneous,’ “wholly in the moment and at the point where it loves” (ibid.). It is an act of self-offering, a giving himself of God (ein Sich-Geben Gottes)157 to the human being. It is safe to say that in love God ex-poses himself—in the etymological sense of the term158—and that through this latter remark, a negative character of ‘no’ emerges, along with its dynamic nature. Phrases like ‘giving itself,’ ‘ex-posing itself,’ ‘offering itself ’ emphasize the dynamic meaning of divine love, but they also imply a negative significance that Rosenzweig describes as follows: “the lover—he uproots his love from the stem of his self, just as the tree bursts forth its branches from out of itself, and just as each limb breaks out from the trunk, no longer remembering it, and denying it” (181, my emphasis). That God ex-poses himself in love means that through an act of love, he places himself outside of himself and in so doing, he denies his previous being-in-himself. From God’s point of view, the love of revelation is “the self-negation of a merely mute essence” (179). It makes God change his condition from being-in-himself, as isolated Urphänomen, to being-for-other, as pole of a relationship. In other words: in revelation, God negates his being-in-himself for the sake of his being-for-other. Despite being dynamic and negative as a ‘no,’ divine love is nonetheless rooted in the original ‘yes’ of divine essence. This rootedness makes its influence noticeable in that love conjugates its fleeting nature with a particular form of stability. It is necessary that the kind of stability that characterizes divine love is a particular one, because it has the no easy task of accounting for love’s origin from a ‘yes,’ without contradicting its character as a ‘no.’ Love’s stability must be conceived in an utterly different way than the basic stability of a pure ‘yes’ and more precisely, it must be devoid of any trace of static character. In other words: while the stability of a pure ‘yes’ is essentially static, that of a ‘no’ rooted in a ‘yes’ must take shape as an oxymoronic non-static stability. But, if not in a static character, which would be incompatible with the dynamism of its being a ‘no,’ what should divine love find its stability in? 157 In a letter to Margrit Rosenstock-Huessy, written on November 9, 2018, Rosenzweig writes:  “[God] does not give revelation. Rather, he gives himself in revelation” (GB: 182). 158 From Latin expònere, composed by ex- (‘outside’) and pònere (‘to put,’ ‘to place’), with influence from Old French poser (‘to lay,’ ‘to place’). The sentence ‘God ex-poses himself in love’ alludes to an exteriorization, to the fact that God, by loving the human being, places himself outside of himself.

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The short answer is: in repetition and intensification of the same dynamic act. The long answer can be formulated with Rosenzweig’s own words: “love loves its object a little more every day. This constant increase (stete Steigerung) is the form of stability (Beständigkeit) in love […]. Love increases because it wants to be always new; it wants to be always new in order to be able to be stable; […] it must be stable so that the lover may be not merely the empty bearer of an ephemeral emotion” (181–182). Repetition, epitomized in the dynamics of the ‘always new,’ and intensification, as a ‘constant increase,’ provide divine love with a form of stability that is dynamic rather than static. As such, it is also the only form of stability that does not contrast with the evental character of divine love. To sum up, then: even something essentially fleeting like divine love can—and must—be stable, but internal contradiction can be avoided only if such stability is based on dynamic repetition and intensification, rather than on static substantiality.

The Recipient of Revelation: Human Humility Divine love, as a ‘no’ coming from a ‘yes,’ encounters a ‘yes’ coming from a ‘no’ on the human side of revelation. This is defined in terms of humility. Technically speaking, human humility is a ‘yes’ that comes from the ‘no’ of human stubbornness, as Rosenzweig clearly states: “this humility […] is nothing other than the stubbornness coming out of its mute enclosure and making its appearance” (187–188). At a first rough glance, however, it may be hard to see a conceptual connection between the original stubbornness and the humility it turns into by way of reversal. They seem to be even at odds with each other, but in fact Rosenzweig clears up all doubt about their presumed incompatibility by introducing a sort of middle term between them that enables a conceptual transition from the former to the latter. Such a middle term is identified in the notion of ‘pride.’ The newly introduced concept of ‘pride’ is able to fulfill its mediation function because Rosenzweig conceives of it in such a way that its conceptual scope includes both stubbornness, as terminus a quo, and humility, as terminus ad quem. Or—observing this relationship from another point of view—it may be said that both stubbornness and humility are thought of as different forms of the same common dimension of pride. This can develop into “the stubborn pride of free will, which, in its endless surges (Aufwallungen), had confined the existing character to the self ” (186), or into humility, because—it is worth noting—“humility, too, is pride. Only haughtiness and humility are opposite. But the humility that is conscious of being what it is through the grace of a higher

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being is pride, […]. Humility lies in the feeling of being protected. It knows that nothing can happen to it” (187). Through the mediation of pride, the conversion of stubbornness into humility turns out to be a transition from stubborn to humble pride. This means that it is not a changeover between two radically different concepts, but between two different modes of the same concept. In other words: it is always pride that can be stubborn or humble. Now, conceived in terms of humble pride, and thus based upon a fundamental ‘feeling of being protected’ (Gefühl des Geborgenseins), human humility finds a perfect match in the notion of love. The same has been said of God too, of course, but obviously human humility and love do not relate to each other in the same sense as love represents the divine intervention in revelation. While divine love stands for the love of a lover, human humility embodies that of a beloved. With a radical change in perspective, then, it is the other side of the same love which is here at issue. Like every other ontological value that is not pure and does not emerge directly out of nothingness, the ‘yes’ of humility is still deeply affected by the ‘no’ of stubbornness it comes from. This means that humility is predominantly a ‘yes,’ but nonetheless it still displays some of the ontological features that are typical of ‘no’-es—above all, some dynamic traits. Going now into greater detail: regarding human humility receiving divine love, two different—but obviously connected— aspects can be distinguished:  (1) the sense of reverence that the human being feels for divine love and (2)  a feeling of faithfulness to the received love. The first is static and passive, and as such testifies to human humility being a ‘yes;’ the second lives in a process of constant re-affirmation that, being essentially dynamic, is a sign of human humility coming from a ‘no.’ A static character is the distinguishing feature of every ‘yes.’ In the particular case of reverence, Rosenzweig describes reverent love as a context, an ambient, or an atmosphere the human being is plunged into: “his being loved is the air in which he lives” (188). Moreover, the specific temporal dimension of reverent love is “not the singular, always new moment—which would suggest a dynamic slant—but the tranquil duration” (ibid.)—which can be seen as the temporal counterpart of anything in a state of rest, that is of anything static. While such images as ‘the air one is immersed in’ or something ‘placidly lasting in time’ emphasize a static character, other phrases in Rosenzweig’s account lay the stress on a passive nature. Human reverence, as an aspect of human humility, epitomizes an aspect of the love of a beloved, whose essential passivity emerges in that “loving back, for [the human being], consists just in letting himself be loved” (189).

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Human reverence is only one of the components of human humility, to wit, the static and passive component that as such testifies to its being ontologically a ‘yes.’ However, humility is not simply a ‘yes,’ but a ‘yes’ that is always also based on a ‘no;’ a ‘yes,’ that is, that still bears the signs of its origin from a ‘no,’ and thus it cannot be exhaustively accounted for by the ‘yes’ of reverence alone. Another component is then needed which along with reverence, complements it, representing also the aspects of humility that are derived from its rootedness in an original ‘no.’ This second component is human faithfulness. Charged with the task of expressing the ‘no’ the ‘yes’ of humility comes from, human faithfulness raises the issue of how to carry out that task. How to advocate the reasons of ‘no’ in a context that is still mainly ‘yes’-based? How to introduce the dynamic traits of a ‘no’ in the static-passive domain of a ‘yes’? This apparently impossible agreement between ‘yes’ and ‘no’—static-passive and dynamic character—finds a viable way in conceiving of ‘faithfulness’ as the result of a reiterated (i.e. stubborn) exercise of freedom. In this view, faithfulness is a static condition, as it consists basically in such static qualities as ‘permanence’ and ‘consistency.’ But these essential features follow from a reiteration process that is always based on the free will of the human being, that is, on the consent the human being gives freely and repeatedly to divine love. As is well known by now, free will for Rosenzweig evolves into stubbornness and this, “in its perpetual surges, affirms the character, […] giving it the strength to hold on (Halten) and to hold fast (Festhalten). Without the storms of stubbornness […], the calm sea of faithfulness […] would be impossible. […]; without stubbornness, no faithfulness” (190). The receptive side of revelation, human humility, is a static ‘yes,’ but coming from a ‘no,’ it also shows some dynamic traits inherited from the ‘no’ it is derived from. In this view, human humility is to a greater extent static like the ‘yes’ that it is, but to a lesser extent it is also dynamic like the ‘no’ it comes from. This double character is mirrored in its two different aspects: on the one hand, human reverence (the first aspect) accounts for the static and prevalent dimension of ‘yes;’ on the other hand, human faithfulness (the second aspect) stands for the minor, yet still noticeable, influence of the original ‘no.’ By conceiving faithfulness as a form of ‘permanence and consistency,’ the static character of ‘yes’ turns out to be represented. But seeing them as based upon a ‘repeated consent,’ that is as the result of an ‘exercise of stubbornness,’ is a way to render at the same time the dynamic character of ‘no.’

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Revelation as Cornerstone of Reality Revelation is the encounter of divine love with human humility. God negates himself in the act of offering his love to the human being, who in turn affirms that love by accepting it. Though not completely devoid of affirmative value, divine love is mostly a ‘no’—just as human humility is predominantly a ‘yes,’ despite showing some traces of the negativity of a ‘no.’ Broadly speaking, revelation is this ‘no and yes:’ the process consisting in the dynamic principle of the ‘no’ of divine love meeting the static principle of the ‘yes’ of human humility. The point is, however, that there is always the risk that such a meeting does not succeed. Like every lover, God offers his love, exposing himself to the risk of a refusal, and that the human being, as beloved, accepts God’s offer is something that cannot be taken for granted. Revelation, in other words, can fail. And this failure would have a relevant impact on the other two dimensions of reality, that is on creation and redemption. Creation is the first moment of revelation lato senso and as such it heralds the second moment, that is revelation stricto sensu, in what takes shape as a prophecy-fulfillment relationship. In this kind of relationship, it is crucial that revelation (stricto sensu) actually happens, because it is the only way for creation to acquire and consolidate its meaning as a prophecy: after all, a prophecy without fulfillment would not be a prophecy at all. Therefore, despite being ontologically subsequent to creation, it is revelation (stricto sensu) that retroactively determines what it means for the world to be created; while creation—which basically consists in the world becoming conscious of its ‘creatureliness’—owes its meaning to the light revelation (stricto sensu) sheds back on it. In short: creation depends on revelation (stricto sensu) entering reality. But the same can also be said of redemption, whose dependence on revelation (stricto sensu) is actually even more evident. Redemption is the relationship between world and human being.159 Basically, it consists in the human being performing acts of neighbor-love in the context provided by worldly life. But neighbor-love is a development of divine love. In the closing lines of the section dedicated to revelation, Rosenzweig says “As he [God] loves you, so shall you love” (228). There is a close connection between the divine love of revelation (stricto sensu) and the human love of redemption, since the latter is an extension of the former. That implies, however, that the human being must have already acknowledged and accepted divine love to be able to subsequently convert it into 159 The dimension of redemption will be analyzed in much more detail in the following section.

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neighbor-love. Put differently: the human being must have been already touched by revelation (stricto sensu) to be able to engage in the work of redemption. Though in two different ways, both creation and redemption depend on revelation, since they can be considered, respectively, its preparation and its further development—its ‘pre-’ and its ‘post-.’ Thus conceived, revelation (stricto sensu) turns out to be the center, the cornerstone of Rosenzweig’s picture of reality. And it is then at this juncture that the general problems arise as to what can possibly serve as a center for reality; which requisites an element must have to fulfill such a function; and whether a cornerstone of reality is possible at all. Problems like these constitute the theoretical context in which Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ shows its major differences from Hegel’s idealism and Nietzsche’s irrationalism. And it is precisely in connection with such problems, then, that the character of the ‘new thinking’ as a third way between two opposite poles emerges particularly clearly.

Rosenzweig Versus Hegel: Revelation Versus Dialectical Logic In Rosenzweig’s rough reconstruction of the history of philosophy, two main phases can be distinguished: (1) the ‘old’ philosophy ranging ‘from Ionia to Jena,’ from Parmenides to Hegel; and (2)  the ‘new’ philosophy, also called ‘point of view-philosophy,’ developing along the theoretical line from Kierkegaard to Nietzsche. Obviously, a third phase must be finally added: that of Rosenzweig’s own thinking, which, however, is not only philosophical, but already beyond philosophy, as it involves extra-philosophical—precisely: theological (Jewish)— notions. The point of this distinction is, among other things, to evaluate the scientific character of each kind of philosophy. While the ‘old’ philosophy is indubitably scientific, doubts can be raised about the validity of the ‘new’ one. “The question in objection to Nietzsche is necessarily posed to all philosophical efforts that are worthy of consideration: is this still science? […]. This observation of things, each for itself and each in its countless connections, now from this point of view and now from that, […]—is this still science?” (117). To answer this question, however, it would be necessary to determine in general what it means for philosophy to be ‘scientific.’ Rosenzweig does not provide an answer to this directly, but gives hints about which requisites philosophy should have in order to obtain an objective, rigorous character: “[philosophy] must keep a firm grip on its new starting point, the subjective and even extremely personal self, […]; it must maintain its point of view, while achieving the objectivity of science. Where can we find this bridge that connects the most extreme subjectivity […] and the luminous clarity of an unlimited objectivity?” (ibid.).

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Irrespective of the answer to the last question, that is, irrespective of the particular element that in each philosophy acts as such a bridge, what emerges is the general condition that every philosophical position must satisfy to acquire scientific character: it must be able to connect subjectivity and objectivity. Now, this kind of connection, and the scientificity it provides, is one of the highest achievements of Hegel’s idealistic conception, so that from (at least) this point of view Rosenzweig can be considered a Hegelian. Despite suggesting different solutions, both Hegel and Rosenzweig turn out to deal with the same problem:  finding a ‘bridge’ that is able to connect subjectivity and objectivity. For Rosenzweig, the “bridge from the most subjective to the most objective is thrown by theology’s concept of revelation” (117–118). For Hegel, that bridge consists in dialectical logic. In the Introduction to the Wissenschaft der Logik, Hegel says: “Pure science presupposes the liberation of consciousness from opposition. It contains thought insofar as the latter is the thing in itself, or [it contains] the thing in itself insofar as it is just as much pure thought” (W  5:  43). Scientific character is obtained through “liberation from opposition,” that is by leaving behind for good the idea that being and thought are two separate dimensions and by acknowledging instead their identity:  “thinking and the determinations of thinking are not something alien to the things, but are rather their essence, or […] the things and the thinking of them agree in and for themselves (also our language expresses a kinship between them);160 […] thinking in its immanent determinations, and the true nature of things, are one and the same content” (38). But this sameness is possible because of a connection between thinking and things. The determinations of thinking—that is, the subjective pole, in this context—and the determinations of things—that is, the objective pole—relate to one another and develop according to the same logic. And this is precisely the connecting factor between thought and being, between the subjective and the objective: the dialectical logic that governs both of them. Hegel’s absolute spirit represents the combination of the modern principle of subjectivity and the ancient, metaphysical principle of objectivity.161 The rational structure such a combination is based on is dialectical logic, which can fulfill its mediation function because it partakes of both subjectivity and objectivity. More precisely, the subjective character of logic consists in the fact that it is an expression of a rational, independent

160 Hegel alludes to a presumed—it is actually rather unlikely—etymological affinity between the German terms ‘Ding’ and ‘Denken.’ 161 “The objective logic thus takes the place […] of the former metaphysics” (W 5: 61).

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subject, but at the same time logic is also objective, in the sense that it is necessary and pertains to the real essence of things.162 With regard to the subjectivity of logic, Hegel says: “Critical philosophy did indeed already turn metaphysics into logic but […] it gave to the logical determinations an essentially subjective significance” (45). The subjective nature of logic is actually the main thrust of Kant’s criticism, and despite his general antiKantianism, Hegel does not go back on this outcome; rather he starts from it in order to develop it further. While for Kant the subjectivity of logic replaces the objectivity of metaphysics—as in his view the notions of traditional metaphysics turn out to be actually subjective categories, located in the transcendental subject—Hegel develops the former to the point that it comes to include the latter. The final moment of Hegel’s system, that is the absolute spirit, is a dimension that comes from subjectivity but overcomes it, reaching a level that can be rightly defined as supra-subjective. The development of the subject into the absolute spirit—which is the task of the Phänomenologie des Geistes—is not an elevation, but a radical change. The dimension of the absolute spirit is a dimension that cannot be called ‘subjective’ anymore, as it also comes to acquire objective significance. It does not pertain only to the subject, it also accounts for objective reality. This means, in other words, that ‘spirit’ is not synonymous with ‘subject’163—even if Hegel is sometimes ambiguous on this point. Rather, the spirit has a subjective side as well as an objective one. And what keeps them together is precisely the fact that, broadly speaking, they are two sub-dimensions of the same wider dimension. The same rational law that governs the whole of spirit, that is dialectical logic, governs necessarily also its subjective and objective sides, thus serving as a connecting factor between them. From a Rosenzweigian perspective, though, the Hegelian connection of subjectivity and objectivity through the mediation of logic is seen as based on a reduction process. In this view, one may argue that for subjectivity and objectivity 162 “ ‘Thinking’ is an expression which attributes the determination contained in it primarily to consciousness. But inasmuch as it is said that understanding, that reason, is in the objective world, that spirit and nature have universal laws to which their life and their changes conform, then it is conceded just as much that the determinations of thinking have objective value and concrete existence” (45). 163 On the contrary, ‘spirit’ can be considered a synonym of ‘thought,’ but only if ‘thought’ is conceived of as composed by a subjective and an objective dimension: thought as thinking activity (i.e. the subjective side) and thought as intelligibility of reality (i.e. the objective side).

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to connect by means of following the same logic, each dimension must be previously reduced to the part of it that lets itself be governed by dialectical logic. More precisely, the part of subjectivity the whole of subjectivity is reduced to is only its rational part, that is (self)-consciousness. Though including it, the subject, however, is always more than just rational (self)-consciousness. Such notions as impulse, drive, feeling, or will, for example, fall clearly within the ambit of subject, but not within that of (self)-consciousness. They are subjective, but not fully rational. They belong to subjectivity, but do not align to a logical development. An analogous kind of reasoning applies also to the objective pole. Only the part of objective reality that is answerable to dialectical logic can be connected to subjectivity, but once again, the whole of reality is more than just that part. In a passage on Plato, for example, Hegel writes: “The Platonic idea is nothing else than the universal, or, more precisely, it is the concept of the object; it is only in the concept that something has actuality, and to the extent that it is different from its concept, it ceases to be actual and is a nullity; the side of tangibility and of sensuous self-externality belongs to this null side” (44–45).164 What emerges from this quote is a distinction in the sphere of objectivity between two parts: a conceptualizable and a non-conceptualizable part—a part in which dialectical logic is in force, and another part which is impervious to that logic. The whole of objectivity is then reduced to the former only, while the latter is regarded as ‘a nullity.’ The connecting factor through which Hegel keeps the subjective and the objective together in the absolute spirit is dialectical logic, while for Rosenzweig—it has been already mentioned above—the same function is fulfilled by the notion of revelation. The challenge for Rosenzweig, then, consists in conceiving of revelation as displaying the same features that allow logic to serve as a link, while at the same time avoiding the reduction process that dialectical logic implies. Revelation, like logic, should be subjective and objective at the same time, but differently than in the case of logic, the subjectivity and objectivity involved in revelation should be considered in their wholeness—that is in their rational and irrational sides. In Rosenzweig’s view, it is only as event that revelation can connect subjectivity and objectivity. Only when thought of as event, is revelation able to meet

164 It is not often that Hegel praises Plato. Hegel’s criticism of the Platonic notion of ‘idea’ addresses mostly its incapability of accounting for the subjective dimension of thought. As to the objective dimension, however, this is perfectly captured in the Platonic view, which is thus a conception Hegel can agree with—and even praise.

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the conditions for ensuring a scientific character to knowledge. Like dialectical logic, the event of revelation succeeds in its connecting function, because it summarizes the features of the dimensions it means to connect, showing both a subjective and an objective side. The former consists in the fact that revelation always strikes a single human subject, while the latter is to be found in revelation’s ineluctable character, which is typical of all events. Event in general, and revelation, as a particular kind of event, have the same objectivity of a destiny, of something that, once it has happened, can by no means be revoked. Revelation, as event, imposes itself with the same ineluctability of something independent of the human being, something the human being is not in control of. In a word: something objective.165

Rosenzweig Versus Nietzsche: Revelation Versus Disconnection As an alternative to dialectical logic, revelation testifies to Rosenzweig’s opposition to Hegel’s particular way of connecting subjectivity and objectivity, while at the same time maintaining the necessity of such a connection. Like Hegel, Rosenzweig thinks that reality needs a cornerstone, that is, something all dimensions of reality can converge on and find cohesion in. In contrast to Hegel, however, Rosenzweig contends that the role of connecting factor can be played by logic. The difference between them, then, does not lie in the goal, but in the specific way of pursuing it. In this context, Nietzsche takes a position that differs from both Hegel and Rosenzweig. It consists in calling into question the very necessity of connecting the subjective and objective sides of reality. In fact, Nietzsche rejects even the possibility that notions such as ‘subject’ and ‘object’ can still be tenable. Hegelian logic connects subject and object by surreptitiously reducing the former to thinking activity and the latter to an object of thought. In this particular context, Nietzsche’s anti-Hegelism consists in radically rejecting this double reduction and in reestablishing each dimension in its full compass, beyond the limits it has been reduced to. But if the two poles of subjectivity and objectivity turn out to be more than the rational pictures idealism can provide of them, that ‘more’ also makes the idea untenable that they can be connected through rational logic. Actually, Nietzsche is even more radical than that. Not only do the two poles exceed their rational reductions in his view, they cannot even constitute themselves as poles. Not only does a rational connection, like that which rests on 165 More details on the notion of event can be found in the following sections, especially in ‘Event’ in Philosophy and in Jewish Thought.

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dialectical logic, prove to be inadequate, but any connection, at this point, turns out to be impossible. Through the two main notions of his philosophical thought—that is the ‘will to power’ and the ‘eternal return’—Nietzsche levels harsh criticism against the traditional way of conceiving subject and object by means of rational reduction. The eternal return testifies to the dynamics of reality being always beyond any rational pattern that tries to account for them. If everything incessantly returns, no element of reality can be assumed as a privileged reference point. The establishment of value systems and hierarchies thus turns out to be impracticable and consequently the basic conditions for rationality to apply cannot be met. Far from exhausting itself in being rationally grasped—that is in becoming an object of thought—reality as it emerges from the theory of the ‘eternal return’ is devoid of any form of rationality and thus impervious to rational logic. In short:  the eternal return tells what happens to the pole of objectivity when it develops beyond the rational limitations the previous philosophy—that ‘from Ionia to Jena’—imposed on it.166 As to the subjective pole, it undergoes a similar process of dissolution, whose ultimate meaning is summarized in the notion of ‘will to power.’ This represents the last form the modern principle of subjectivity takes on, but it is a development that, in its last step, turns into a dissolution. In this view, the ‘will to power’ acts in the context of subjectivity in the same way as the eternal return does in that of objectivity: it shows the extreme consequences the principle of subjectivity is led to, once it frees itself from the burden of sticking to a rational constitution. Actually, what Nietzsche delineates is a real role reversal: not only does will no longer depend on logic and rationality, but, quite the contrary, logic and rationality also turn out to be products of will. Nietzsche writes: “[…] logic is just the μηχανή (mēkhanḗ)167 of will” (KGA 3.3: 69. 1869, 3–32). The conclusion Nietzsche comes to, however, does not consist in conceiving a unitary subject, whose innermost character is irrational rather than rational. For him, the very notion of ‘unity’ is still a residue of rationality and as such 166 By introducing the notion of eternal return, Nietzsche shows how the presumed objectivity of reality is in fact not objective at all. His argument consists of two steps: (1) the eternal return implies nihilism: “The ‘eternal return’ […] is the most extreme form of nihilism” (KGA 8.1: 217. 1886, 5–71); (2) nihilism reveals objectivity as an unsustainable concept: “Radical nihilism is (…) the understanding that we do not have the slightest right to postulate […] an ‘in-itself ’ of things (ein An-sich der Dinge)” (KGA 8.2: 237. 1887, 10–192). 167 The word means ‘tool,’ but also ‘invention’ or even ‘deceit.’

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must be overcome. Nietzsche’s view on this point, then, can be summarized in a single word: ‘fragmentation.’ He writes, for example: “Maybe it is not necessary to assume a single subject, maybe it is equally possible to assume a multiplicity of subjects, whose interplay and fight lie at the roots of our thought and our consciousness” (KGA 7.3: 382. 1885, 40–42). Once revealed as the hidden source that produces the subject, the will to power turns out to be also the most authentic form of subjectivity. And this form is not unitary, but plural and fragmentary: “the human being is a multiplicity of ‘wills [plural] to power,’ each with a multiplicity of means of expression and forms” (KGA 8.1: 21. 1885, 1–58). Reality seen through the lenses of ‘will to power’ and ‘eternal return’ cannot constitute a well-ordered totality anymore. Everything for Nietzsche is chaos, incessant becoming without any cause or goal. Reality is essentially nonoriented, so that it is impossible to find anything serving as a reference point in it. The concept that summarizes this view better than any other, then, is probably ‘disconnection’. Every element of reality is basically disconnected from all other elements, and any attempt to establish new connections cannot but lead to transitory results. The ‘old’ philosophy’s idea of reality as a unitary totality (unitotality, Ein- und Allheit) based upon a basic principle has become unsustainable, and the only way a totality can still be conceived in the new view is in terms of the ‘unknown sum’ of all elements. But this is an empty idea precisely because it lacks the reference point a general sense of reality can be built on.

A Keyword for Revelation: ‘Event’ The three positions of Hegel, Nietzsche, and Rosenzweig can be now summarized as follows. Hegel, the highest exponent of the ‘old’ philosophy, erects his system as a perfect connection of subjectivity and objectivity, based on dialectical logic as a common denominator between them. However, for subject and object to be perfectly connected with each other, a process must previously and surreptitiously occur that reduces each dimension to its rational-rationalizable component only. Against Hegel’s view, Nietzsche’s ‘new’ philosophy conceives of subjectivity and objectivity—or rather: what the ‘old’ philosophy used to mean by the terms ‘subjectivity’ and ‘objectivity’—as ranging far beyond their rational restrictions. But the price to pay for reestablishing both dimensions in their fullest meaning is that a connection between them is no longer possible. Rosenzweig’s third way between Hegel’s idealism and Nietzsche’s irrationalism consists then in rejecting the connection performed by Hegelian logic— like Nietzsche does—while at the same time maintaining the necessity of a connecting factor for reality—this time with Hegel and against Nietzsche. As

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an alternative to both Hegel’s logical connection and Nietzsche’s disconnection, Rosenzweig’s solution relies on the theological notion of ‘revelation.’ But more precisely, what Rosenzweig actually means by ‘revelation’ is not just a single notion. His conception can perhaps be more properly described as based upon a conceptual triad, which besides ‘revelation’ also includes the related notions of ‘love’ and ‘event.’ Their relation within the triad emerges clearly in the fact that for Rosenzweig revelation is the entrance of love into reality and this entrance has evental character. Each element of the triad has two sides: God and human being, as poles of revelation, are mirrored in divine love and the human assent to it, as poles of love. These, finally, correspond to ‘the self-giving’ and ‘the being perceived’ of an event. By conceiving of an event as a ‘bridge’ between these two moments, its double character as subjective and objective, as well as its significance as a connecting factor, becomes evident. Revelation—like love and event—is objective, because it imposes itself on the human being with the same inexorability of something that exceeds human control.168 But at the same time it is also subjective, in consideration of the fact that it always appeals to a single subject. The parallel between revelation and event can now be strengthened by comparing some passages from Rosenzweig’s so-called ‘Urzelle’ des Stern der Erlösung and some general definitions of the notion of ‘event.’ In trying to define revelation, Rosenzweig writes:  “I knew nothing further than the sign of the ‘unwillingly’ […], the fact that ‘the Prophet […] fights against the image that gradually raises up before him’ ” (GS 3: 125). Unwillingness, the sense of imposition it expresses, and the prophet’s fight are all metaphorical means of rendering the objective side of revelation as something inescapable. This meaning turns out to be consistent with that of a general definition of event, according to which: “an event [is] something shocking, out of joint, that appears to happen all of a sudden and interrupts the usual flow of things; something that emerges seemingly out of nowhere, without discernible causes, an appearance without solid being at its foundation” (Žižek 2014: 2).169 168 Richard Cohen uses the notion of ‘heteronomy’ to explain this particular aspect, meaning something that comes from an ‘outside’ the human being has no control over (see Cohen 1990: 353 ff.). 169 The definition is taken from one of the most recent works dealing with the general notion of ‘event:’ the book Event, by Slavoj Žižek, which provides a comprehensive overview of various conceptions and positions. In another passage Žižek says: “Remember Plato’s description of Socrates when he is seized by an Idea: it is as if Socrates is the victim of a hysterical seizure, standing frozen on the spot for hours, oblivious of reality around him—is Plato not describing here an event par excellence, a sudden traumatic

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Regarding the subjective side of revelation, Rosenzweig lays the stress on its reception on the part of the human being, as he defines it in terms of ‘center of reality,’ a pivotal concept which provides humankind with a sense of direction in the world: “Revelation is able to be epicenter (Mittelpunkt), firm, immovable epicenter” (GS 3: 133). With revelation, in other words, the subjective way the human being is in the world changes radically, as a new reference point provides reality with a new order.170 In this case, too, a general definition of event confirms Rosenzweig’s view: “an event [is] a change of the very frame through which we perceive the world and engage in it” (Žižek 2014: 10). In this second definition, what can be considered the subjective side of the event is at issue, as the focus is on the aftermath of an event, on the way the world is subjectively perceived, after the event has entered reality. In the last analysis, the same theoretical operation carried out in the case of creation can be repeated here, in the context of revelation: a single keyword can be used to summarize the many facets of the relation between God and human being. Given the strict correlation between Rosenzweig’s view and the notion of event—through the mediation of love, of course—it is easy to see how the keyword that more than any other can render the sense of revelation is precisely ‘event’ (on this topic, see also Fortis 2018: 421–428).

Between Human Being and World: The Path of Redemption Revelation lato sensu splits up into three parts: creation, revelation stricto sensu, and redemption. Temporally speaking, each of them is connected to a different time dimension. Creation pertains to the past; revelation stricto sensu to the present; and redemption to the future. Creation, from the past it is situated in, represents a completed phase of reality, which receives confirmation from the fact of being embedded in revelation lato sensu. As a part of this latter, creation encounter with another, supra-sensible dimension which strikes us like lightning and shatters our entire life? For Plato, the first and most elementary form of such an encounter is the experience of love” (79–80). Based on this remark, a certain kinship between Platonic and Rosenzweigian views may appear plausible, as both acknowledge the evental character of love, but in fact a radical difference between them remains. There is no room for a notion like ‘revelation’ in Platonism, so that Žižek’s understanding of Plato may result in establishing only a conceptual pair—i.e. the pair love-event. But on the other hand, it has been already shown that in Rosenzweig’s view it is a conceptual triad that is at stake—that is the triad love-event-revelation. 170 In a letter to Eugen Rosenstock-Huessy, Rosenzweig writes: “the essence of revelation is that it brings order in history” (GS 1.1: 306).

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becomes revealed creation, that is, creation that is known as such. On the other hand, revelation stricto sensu is centered in the present. It is an instantaneous dimension, whose role in Rosenzweig’s system is that of a cornerstone: it reopens what with creation seemed to be closed, while serving at the same time as a prelude to what comes next, that is redemption, which is an incomplete dimension aiming at the future. The ‘last word’ of creation is ‘death:’ “Death is, for each created thing, the fulfiller (Vollender) of its total thingness (Dinglichkeit)” (GS 2: 173). Each created thing bears the mark of its creatureliness, that is of its finitude and therefore of its destiny of death. Against this destiny, however, revelation (stricto sensu) opposes ‘love’. “As keystone of creation, death imprints everything created with the indelible stamp of its creatureliness, with the words ‘has been.’ But love wages war on it” (174). However, love itself, in its instantaneity, is just a glimpse, a fleeting prophetic sign of the final word for the whole of reality—and indeed of Rosenzweig’s book. That word is ‘life,’ eternal life, whose eternity has not yet been reached, but exerts its influence from a distance, like a goal that has to be pursued through that concrete ‘work’ that redemption consists in. This latter remark, moreover, clearly reveals the temporal distinctiveness of redemption, in comparison to creation and revelation (stricto sensu). Creation is a completed past, and perhaps the temporal adverb that best describes it is ‘already.’ It is the always already given foundation of reality. Revelation (stricto sensu), on the other hand, is an instantaneous present, perfectly summarized in the adverb ‘now’. Bursting into reality, revelation (stricto sensu) sheds a new light on it and revolutionizes the way reality itself is perceived. Redemption, finally, is a still unreached future. It is the promise of something still to come, something still incomplete in the present, but potentially complete in the future. This particular aspect of redemption’s temporal character can be rendered by ‘not yet.’ Rosenzweig says: “what we are looking for is nothing already present, but only something that is still to come” (249). In Rosenzweig’s system, redemption is the third relational path, the one that brings the whole system to its conclusion. While creation connects God and world, and revelation (stricto sensu) takes place between God and human being, redemption closes the circle by developing a relationship between human being and world. Technically speaking, redemption consists in the ‘yes’ of the human being that, turning into a ‘no’ by way of conversion, moves toward the world. On the other side of this relational path, the world is involved in redemption with its ‘no’-component that, undergoing the usual conversion, changes its ontological value into that of a ‘yes.’ In other words: redemption is the encounter between

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a ‘no coming from a yes’—which constitutes the human part in it—and a ‘yes coming from a no’—representing the contribution from the worldly side.

The Agent of Redemption: Human Neighbor-Love The human contribution to redemption comes from what was a ‘yes,’ that is the character or daimon in the still enclosed human being: “the character, the daimon by which the human begin is possessed, looks for its way to break free into the open. Once again, it must undergo an internal reversal, from something ‘affirmed’ once and for all, to something struggling to emerge, through the always-new self-denial of its own origin, of its enclosedness. But what sort of character is this that at every moment is extinguished and at every moment reappears anew?” (237). Before answering the question, it is worth noting that the first component of redemption, that is the human component, must change from ‘yes’ to ‘no,’ and in so doing, it takes on the main feature of the latter, that is a fundamental “being-connected-to-the-moment (Augenblickverhaftetheit)” (ibid.). At the same time, however, it cannot disclaim its origin from a ‘yes,’ and the ontological necessity it implies. The ideal element for representing the human part in redemption, then, being a ‘no coming from a yes,’ should meet two requisites, to summarize the features of both its new transformation into a ‘no’ and its original form as a ‘yes.’ It must be something “renewed at every moment [like a ‘no’] and yet always determined as171 by destiny (schicksalhaft) [like a ‘yes’]” (ibid.). Rosenzweig writes:  “The human being, who is one day possessed by his daimon, has received a ‘direction’ for his entire life. His will is now determined to go in this direction that orients him once and for all” (237–238). The binding inclination described in this quote is the effect of the ‘yes’ of human daimon, but only as long as it keeps within the boundaries of the enclosed Urphänomen. The direction, in other words, can be “established once and for all” (238) only as a pure ‘yes,’ but it is a pure ‘yes’ only before its conversion. The direction is “established, unless the only one event takes place that can interrupt this once-and-for-all […]:  the inner reversal. And it is exactly what happens to the human being, as it happens to God and to the world when they

171 Not ‘by destiny,’ but ‘as by destiny.’ Rosenzweig underscores that an origin from the ‘yes’ of daimon cannot be described in terms of ‘destiny,’ as it would be in order in the case of God’s essence. What for God is destiny, is for the human being, in a weaker sense, a ‘direction.’ Both destiny and direction are ‘yes’-es, because both are binding and established in the ‘once and for all’ mode, but they differ in their binding force.

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proceed from their enclosure of the pre- and under-world toward the light of revelation [lato sensu]. Now [i.e., after internal reversal] the direction […] is no longer established once and for all, but at every moment it dies and is renewed” (ibid.). Simply put: the direction, which is static and binding like a ‘yes,’ takes on, after conversion, the features of a ‘no,’ in particular, the dynamic nature of a constant renewal. Now, once the features have been established the human contribution to redemption must display, there remains nothing left to do other than to identify a specific element which can embody them. “What is this [element] to be called? […] The answer is not difficult […]. It can be nothing else than neighbor-love” (ibid.). As a ‘no coming from a yes,’ neighbor-love partakes of both the stability of the ‘yes’ it is rooted in and the dynamic nature of the ‘no’ it has become through ontological conversion. As to the first point, neighbor-love can in fact be seen as rooted in two different ‘yes’-es. (1) Not only is it the result of internal ontological reversal applied to the ‘yes’ of human daimon, it also (2) presupposes the reception of divine love—which is the human part of revelation (stricto sensu) and is always experienced as a ‘yes.’ Rosenzweig writes: “the human being can externalize himself in the act of love, only after having been awakened by God. Only if the human soul is loved by God (die Gottgeliebtheit der Seele), its act of love becomes more than a mere act, namely the fulfillment of a—commandment of love. […] Love for God must express itself in neighbor-love” (239). The response to God’s love does not consist in loving him back, but in addressing love to other human beings. Actually, the two acts are not thought of as mutually exclusive, since loving one’s own neighbor is the specific way of returning divine love. From this point of view, the ‘no’ of human neighborlove rests on the revelation-‘yes’ of the human ‘being loved by God,’ which acts here as a necessary prerequisite: “behind its [of neighbor-love] origin, the presupposition (Voraussetzung) of ‘being loved by God’ becomes visible” (ibid., my emphasis). Given this presupposition-based relationship, the kind of rootedness that connects the ‘no’ of giving neighbor-love to the ‘yes’ of receiving divine love can be described through the adjective ‘external,’ because strictly speaking this ‘yes’ belongs to revelation and affects redemption only indirectly, that is from the outside. But another ‘yes’ also lies at the basis of the ‘no’ of neighbor-love: the primordial ‘yes’ of human daimon. This is the second ‘yes’ neighbor-love is rooted in, and the kind of rootedness displayed in this case is completely different from that dealt with above. If the dependence of human neighbor-love on divine love can be said to be of the ‘external’ type, its derivation from human daimon can certainly be qualified as ‘internal,’ because this ‘yes’ acts as an essential, that is

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intrinsic, factor for delineating the ontological profile of neighbor-love. From the ‘yes’ of daimon, neighbor-love inherits the ontological stability of every ‘yes,’ which in this case manifests itself in the constancy of human love being directed to the ‘neighbor.’ But nonetheless, neighbor-love is a ‘no,’ and as such has the dynamic character of something always new—it is basically “a starting-alwaysall-over-again (ein Immerwiedervonvornbeginnen)” (240). This apparent contradiction between the dynamism of the ‘no’ that neighborlove is and the stability of the ‘yes’ it is descended from, parallels the structure of the linguistic notion of ‘deixis.’172 A word or phrase is defined as ‘deictic’ if its semantic meaning is fixed, but its denotational meaning varies depending on the context. And this is precisely the structure that emerges from Rosenzweig’s description of the ‘neighbor.’ He says:  “[…] both in the holy language and in Greek, the word [‘neighbor’] means the neighbor at the precise moment of love. […] The neighbor is therefore only a representative; he is not loved for himself, […], but only because he is just there, because he is just my neighbor” (243). Neighbor-love, as a direction, a tendency, is settled once and for all, but the specific neighbor it addresses is each time a different one. Neighbor-love is then a fixed attitude toward the world that each time turns to a variable target: fixity and variability at the same time—to put it succinctly. The former results from the stability of the ‘yes’ of human daimon and corresponds to the permanent semantic meaning of a deictic word. The latter on the other hand represents the dynamic character that neighbor-love as a ‘no’ must display, and in the case of deixis finds a counterpart in its ever-changing denotational meaning. Rosenzweig summarizes the features of human neighbor-love by emphasizing its double character as stable ‘yes’ and dynamic ‘no:’ “The neighbor is therefore, as just noted, only a place-keeper (Platzhalter); […], love is really oriented toward the embodiment of all those—humans and things—that could at any moment take the place of its neighbor, in the last resort it applies to everything, it applies to the world” (ibid.).173

172 This particular example is not to be found in any of Rosenzweig’s texts. However, it is Rosenzweig himself who, on many occasions, avails himself of examples from linguistics and grammar to illustrate some crucial points of his thought. Therefore, this parallel between neighbor-love and deixis, though not supported by textual evidence, seems to be true to the spirit of Rosenzweig’s thought. 173 The notion of ‘place-keeper (Platzhalter)’ is here particularly meaningful, as it alludes to a situation in which there is something constant, that is the place, but also something that is each time different, that is the subject that takes the place.

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The last sentence is decisive: human neighbor-love “applies to the world.” Seen from the point of view of the human being, this means that redemption consists in adopting a particular attitude toward the world, that is toward the ‘neighbor’ that—as it is suggested in the quote—may be another human being, but also a thing. Describing human neighbor-love with Rosenzweig’s systematic terminology, it is a ‘no coming from a yes,’ actually, from two different ‘yes’-es: from (1) the revelation-‘yes’ of ‘being loved by God’—which serves as a necessary presupposition—and (2) the primordial ‘yes’ of human daimon—which is the form it used to have, before undergoing ontological conversion. But leaving aside technical terminology, neighbor-love is basically something dynamic (it is a ‘no’), which is nonetheless based on something static (it rests on ‘yes’). More concretely, finally, neighbor-love is a praxis made up of love acts performed in everyday life in the context provided by the world. It is the human way of relating to what plays the role of ‘neighbor’ in each different situation. But although changing each time in relation to its particular object (once again, as a ‘no’ it is dynamic and ever-changing), neighbor-love is a general attitude that always takes shape as a response to the fixed commandment of love that lies at its roots (once again, it rests on the stability of ‘yes’).

The Context of Redemption: Worldly Life Neighbor-love is human praxis and, being the first pole of a relational path, it cannot be an end in itself, but needs a second pole to be aimed at. As in the other relational paths—creation and revelation (stricto sensu)—a reference (Hinweis) is implied in redemption between its first pole and the ‘something other’ it must be addressed to. This second pole is the world. In the complex network of relationships that makes up Rosenzweig’s system, the primordial ‘yes’ of worldly logos has already turned into the ‘no’ of worldly existence in order to take part in creation. This means that, for structural reasons, “only the ‘yes’ remains for redemption” (244). But given the by now well-known mechanism of ontological reversal, the ‘yes’ through which the world is involved in redemption is more precisely the result of the primordial ‘no’ of worldly plenitude converting into its opposite. Moreover, it is precisely in its transition from being a closed Urphänomen to being involved in relational paths that the world turns out to be an exception, when compared to God and to the human being. As long as they are unrelated Urphänomene, they are all equivalent, showing exactly the same internal structure of a closed ‘yes and no.’ But in their reciprocal opening, the “exceptional position (Sonderstellung)” (ibid.) of the world stands out:  “For both God and

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human being, the emergence of the ‘yes’ chronologically preceded the emergence of the ‘no:’ God created ‘first’ and ‘then’ revealed himself, the human being ‘first’ received the revelation and ‘then’ got ready to work in the world; each time what had happened once and for all (das einfürallemal Geschehene) preceded what was happening in the moment (das augenblickshaft Geschehende); but this temporal relationship is reversed for the world” (243). God and human being, in opening themselves to the dimension of relational paths, seem to follow a specific sequence: first they mobilize their ‘yes’-es, that is the static component of their essences, and only afterwards do they put their ‘no’-es into action, that is their dynamic impulses. But for the world this sequence runs the other way around. That is, for the world the first component to come into play is the dynamic ‘no,’ as one of the poles of creation, while its static ‘yes’ is solicited only at a later stage, when it is involved in redemption. “The reason for this exceptional position (Sonderstellung) of the world resides in what we have already shown in the transition from Part One to Part Two:  God and human being already are, the world is becoming. The world is not complete yet” (244). The stability of being and essence (in a word, the ‘yes’) is already made for God and human being, while it is still in the making for the world. Like every other element that undergoes inversion, the worldly contribution to redemption acquires a particular ontological value once it gets involved in the relational path, even though it used to have the opposite value in the primordial dimension it comes from. In short: it comes to be a ‘yes,’ but used to be a ‘no.’ Moreover—this time unlike every other element—the world takes part in redemption with a still incomplete component or rather, with a component that can be seen as ‘complete’ only if projected onto a future scenario. To put it at its simplest:  the worldly side of redemption should be (1)  a ‘yes coming from a no’ that as such merges the stability of the former with the dynamic character of the latter. At the same time, it should also be (2) something still incomplete, but capable of completion in the future. And actually there is something like this in the world which fulfills all the above-mentioned conditions—“it is called: life” (248). In the world, life performs the function of ‘yes’ that comes from the ‘no’ of worldly plenitude. The latter is an ever-changing dimension and the very terms Rosenzweig uses to describe it are revelatory of its dynamic nature: “the instantaneously happening” (243), “the self-negating action” (244), or “the selfnegating phenomenal manifestation” (ibid.). All of them emphasize the transitory character of something instantaneous, governed by the dynamism of a constant becoming. Now, for structural-systematic reasons, the ‘no’ of worldly plenitude must turn into the ‘yes’ of life, thus acquiring features that are at odds

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with those mentioned above.174 At this juncture, then, the question is how the notion of ‘life’ should be thought of in order to qualify as a ‘yes:’ “But then what is a plenitude that is lasting, an individuality that has in it something that does not die, but, once there, stays there?” (247). So this is the answer to the question: for life to act as a static ‘yes,’ it should be thought of in terms of permanence; as something that, resisting change and becoming, opposes the process of dying away that characterizes the transient ‘no’ of worldly plenitude. In this view, life is a sort of inertial resistance, thus showing—or, at least, aiming to have—the features that are typical of every ‘yes:’ stability, consistency, and durability. “But what does this being-alive mean, then, as opposed to mere existence? Really only what we have just now already said: the figure that is its very own, forming itself, coming out from within, and hence necessarily lasting. […]. Life offers resistance; it resists death. It supports the inherent weakness of creatural existence […], by providing firm, immovable, structured essences” (248). Thus conceived, life constitutes a background of stability (‘yes’) that contrasts with the ephemerality (‘no’) of existence. The stability that makes life a ‘yes’ is based upon its resistance to worldly becoming in general, and to the destiny of death it leads to in particular. However, life cannot provide an all-out opposition to death. Life can only curb, but not prevent, the inevitable end of everything worldly. “As life preserves its duration (Dauer) through resistance, it is clear that it does not entirely correspond to what we are looking for. […]. We were looking for an infinite duration that could serve as a foundation or a support for existence, which is always confined to the moment. In other words, we were looking for a substance of the world under the phenomena of its existence” (ibid.). Worldly life provides but a finite duration and thus a limited opposition to death. Only infinite life, on the contrary, would have an infinite duration and could thus contrast becoming and death effectively. As a matter of fact, opposing or even defeating death is the ultimate goal of redemption. In a nutshell, the whole book Der Stern der Erlösung can be described as a path from death to life through love—which parallels the path from creation to redemption through revelation. A condition of mortality pertains to creation essentially. The love of revelation is what opposes that condition,175 thus opening out onto a future of life, in which death is overcome and defeated for good. Such

174 “The plenitude, [which] had entered into the pre-world as instantaneous […] must now return as something lasting, something stable” (247). 175 One of the most quoted sentences from Der Stern der Erlösung is about the conflict between death and love: “Love is as strong as death” (174).

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a future, however, is only heralded in revelation, and can be actually reached only through redemption, by which real life can develop. A  question arises at this point: what is real life in Rosenzweig’s view? Obviously, the kind of life that pertains to redemption and is able to defeat death cannot be worldly life—which instead of opposing death is rather subjected to it. The kind of life which redemption pertains to must be infinite and eternal. Worldly and eternal life are not completely different from each other, though, as the former is an anticipation of the latter: “We look for an infinite life, but we find a finite one. The finite life that we find is then just a not-yet-infinite one (das Nochnichtunendliche)” (249). Worldly life, and its limited resistance to the destiny of death, is a still immature form of that eternal, infinite life that the redeemed world, as a future goal, will host. Despite its limitations, worldly life is nonetheless still the way through which eternal life can be gradually achieved: “The world may have not been created as finished from the outset, but it has been endowed with the determination to become finished. The future of its ‘becoming finished’ (ihres Fertigwerdens) was born together with the world as its own future” (250). In other words: the world is essentially in fieri: always between a present aiming at a future and that future itself.

Redemption: Communality and Eternity Bridging the gap between present and future is a task the world cannot carry out on its own. And here is where the human being comes in: redemption, as the specific relational path between human being and world, consists basically in reaching the future by way of anticipation,176 and this requires the mutual effort of its two elements. “From two sides, then, there is a knock at the locked door of the future. In an obscure growth, refractory to any form of calculation, worldly life shoots up. In ardent abundance of the heart, the soul, sanctifying itself, seeks its way toward the neighbor. Both world and soul knock at the locked door: the world by growing, the soul by acting” (254). The process described, then, sees the two members of a relationship working for the same goal, each starting from a different position, but converging on the same final point in the future. This final point is what Rosenzweig calls ‘Kingdom of God’—a dimension that “is not at all more worldly than human, nor more outer than inner” (266). Its main features are communality and eternal life and both are obtained through the exercise of neighbor-love on the part of the human being, in the context 176 “For there belongs to the future above all the anticipation” (252); and “Because it is critical for the future that it can and must be anticipated” (261).

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provided by life flourishing in the world. Rosenzweig conceives of communality and eternity as closely connected with each other, so that in a sense, the former is a first step toward the latter. Human neighbor-love leads to a condition of communal existence, and this is the basis on which worldly life can become eternal. The link between these two phases lies in the notion of ‘soul.’ The communality neighbor-love leads to is always a communality of souls, which, spreading in the world, makes it “a world inhabited by soul” (267). And it is precisely as ‘ensouled’ (beseelt) that the world acquires eternity. The communality of redemption is also referred to as “the One and the All” (266), but it has nothing to do with the uni-totality of philosophy. The main difference between them lies in the process of reduction (Reduktionsverfahren), as there is no trace of this in redemption. Obviously, it is not the same, if unity is achieved through an abstract self-movement of thought, or through concrete acts of neighbor-love. Rosenzweig’s notion of ‘communality’ becomes clearer when compared to “the last stanza of the song, in which the voices […] are united in the powerful unison of the ‘We’ […]. All voices have become independent, each sings the words to the melody of its own soul, and yet all these melodies merge into the same rhythm and are united in one harmony.” (263–264). The harmony of the whole does not suppress the single melodies, just as true communality does not simply incorporate single individuals or sacrifice their individualities for the sake of unity. More precisely, neighbor-love creates communality by acknowledging177 the other, the neighbor, as a soul. Rosenzweig writes: “a neighbor, his [of the human being] neighbor, is placed before his soul, and of him, to begin with exclusively of him, he is told: he is like you. ‘Like you,’ hence not ‘you.’ You remain you and you will remain you. But he will not remain a ‘he’ for you and hence only an ‘it’ for your ‘you;’ no, he is like you, like your ‘you,’ a ‘you’ like you, an ‘I’—a soul” (267). What emerges, then, is a unity based on communality, and a form of communality based on the recognition of the neighbor as ‘like me,’ that is as a soul. This has two effects: (1) having the soul as its own foundation is precisely what makes unity alien to reduction—because an ‘it’ would lend itself to reduction, but certainly not a soul; (2)  the process of the ensoulment (Beseelung) of the world through neighbor-love converts worldly life into eternal life.

177 An interpretation of the work of redemption as a process of recognition in the Hegelian sense is offered in Kavka (2012).

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This conversion is actually ‘obscure’,178 as Rosenzweig himself confesses. He conceives of worldly life as a self-developing force endowed with its own law of growth, which is a necessary, but not sufficient condition for life to make the leap from worldly to eternal. In order to concretely reach the dimension of eternity, an additional effort is needed that aims at providing the world with soul, and therefore also with what constitutes the main feature and the essence of souls: immortality. “Only when and where the ensouling breath of neighbor-love is blown into the members of this growing organism, it is only there that they add to their life what life itself could not give them: ensoulment, eternity. […]. The soul demands […] an articulated life; on this life the soul exercises its freedom and ensoules it in all its particular members, and everywhere in this ground the soul sows the seeds […] of immortality” (268). The conversion of worldly life into eternal life is the specific task of redemption, which can be performed only through human neighbor-love ensouling the world. The immortality thus prefigured and striven for represents the final victory of (eternal) life over death and the establishment of the ‘Kingdom of God.’ This is the final step of a long process of opposition against that fate of mortality which creation has delineated and revelation has started to fight through love. It is worth noting, finally, that the central role of neighbor-love, manifesting itself in concrete acts in concrete everyday life, makes redemption the dimension of Rosenzweig’s picture of reality that more than any other shows a practical slant. As a task, redemption takes on a prescriptive meaning: it provides a general “rule of conduct (Regel des Handelns)” (267) for the human being; it gives directions about how human praxis in the world should be performed.

Rosenzweig Versus Hegel: Redemptive Praxis Versus Self-Reflection and Theory Traditional philosophy ‘from Ionia to Jena’ has always maintained a fundamental primacy of theory over praxis. This is not to be understand as a radical separation between the two dimensions. Indeed, they have always been thought of as connected: theory provides the paradigm praxis has to be aligned to, but at the same time theoretical reflection is not immune to life-practices, as these latter can affect the former in many ways. However, what marks an unassailable 178 “The world carries the law of its growing life. But how this life, which grows in it and, in every new self-articulating member (in jedem neu sich gliedernden Glied), claims permanence, should really attain that permanence, that is whether it must be accorded immortality, this remains obscure for the world” (268, my emphasis).

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superiority of the theoretical over the practical is theory’s ability to conceive of and lead to universality. While praxis consists in a plurality of practices that take place in the empirical world of finitude and are therefore necessarily bound to the particular, theory—and especially philosophical theory179—elevates itself above particular determinations, looking for that common denominator among them that enables the point of view of universality. The primacy of theory over praxis is then the consequence of another primacy: that of the universal over the particular. In Rosenzweig’s historical reconstruction, universality has always been the goal of every philosophy elaborated from Parmenides to Hegel—and it is precisely this inherent pursuit of universality which makes philosophy enact that Reduktionsverfahren that Rosenzweig criticizes so often and extensively. Although there are many different positions in what Rosenzweig calls the ‘old’ philosophy, in his view it is characterized by a single, underlying forma mentis. This instance sees in the universal the ‘truth’ of the particular, as the latter is thought to make sense only when traced back, that is reduced, to the former. In this view, moreover, the intelligible is seen as the principle of the empirical, and finally—following this series of conceptual correspondences—theory is considered the foundation of praxis. The Rosenzweigian ‘old’ philosophy starts with Parmenides. The basic principle of his philosophy is a perfect identity of being and thought,180 on the basis of which the theoretical reflection on reality (thought) is equated to reality itself (being). At the same time, the sphere of the empirical, characterized by becoming, is disqualified as ‘false’ and ‘illusory.’ And the point is that, given this first rejection, praxis is necessarily rejected too. Praxis—understood here as concrete action performed in the tangible world—is completely immersed in the empirical realm of worldly becoming; it is totally embedded in that dimension which, from Parmenides’ point of view, cannot but qualify as fallacious. Praxis is not even mentioned in Parmenides’ text, but this is probably due to the fact that he does not need to reject it explicitly, as the impossibility of praxis results necessarily from the very premises of Parmenidism. 179 As is well known, Hegel is for Rosenzweig the leading exponent of the ‘from-Ioniato-Jena’-philosophy. In Hegel’s view, the notion of ‘universality’ is so essential to philosophical reasoning that philosophy itself starts up only when human thought comes to conceive of that notion: “Philosophy—says Hegel—starts there, where the universal is conceived of as the all-embracing being, or where being is thought of in a universal way” (W 18: 115). 180 “Thinking and being are actually the same (τὸ γὰρ αὐτὸ νοεῖν ἐστίν τε καὶ εἶναι)” (DK 28: B3).

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If a fundamental primacy of theory over praxis is based upon the identity of being and thought, as it is indeed the case with Parmenides, maintaining this identity is tantamount to maintaining that primacy. And this is exactly what Hegel does. Hegel—the endpoint of the historical-philosophical segment ‘from Ionia to Jena’—remains true to the principles of Parmenides—the starting point of that same segment. More precisely, Hegel, like Parmenides long before him, founds his whole philosophy on the original unity of being and thought. However, differently from Parmenides, Hegel does not come to the conclusion that becoming is impossible, he does not see becoming as incompatible with the equation ‘being = thought;’ rather, he introduces becoming into that equation, so that the whole of reality (being) is nothing other than spirit (thought) in the full self-unfolding (becoming) of its essence. Hegel’s understanding of theory and praxis181 is deeply connected to his conception of spirit, and the distinction between them emerges explicitly in the § 443 of his Enzyklopädie. Here, the dimensions of being and thought—or, in this context, object and subject182—are formulated in terms of being (das Seiende) and its own (das Seinige). Reaching a condition of identity between them is what the spirit aims at, as Hegel writes: “The determination of spirit is twofold—it is determined as being and as its own: by the former, the spirit finds in itself something that is, by the latter the spirit posits this being as its own. The path of the spirit consists therefore in: (a) being theoretical, that is in having to do with the rational as its own immediate determination and in positing it as its own (das Seinige). [On the other hand], (b) will, practical spirit, […] frees its determination of will (Willensbestimmung) from its subjectivity” (W 10: 235). What Hegel describes is the double way through which the identity of being and thought can be reached. This may happen (1) by equating being with thought, or (2) by equating thought with being. More precisely, (1) by recognizing being (das Seiende) as its own (das Seinige), or (2) by converting its own (das Seinige) into being (das Seiende). The first way runs from das Seiende to das Seinige. It is the theoretical mode of the spirit, as it consists in interiorizing and appropriating being by recognizing it as a product of the spirit itself, that is as its own product. The second way runs in the opposite direction, from das Seinige to das Seiende. 181 The following reading of Hegel’s understanding of theory and praxis is indebted to Adriaan Peperzak’s and Stephen Houlgate’s reflections. See Peperzak (1987) and Houlgate (1995). 182 While it is true that ‘being’ does not always correspond to ‘object’ and ‘thought’ is not always synonym for ‘subject,’ this double correspondence seems to be valid in this particular context.

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It is the practical mode of the spirit and consists in exteriorizing and positing as a real being what for the spirit is initially only its own. These two modes of the spirit are presented as equally ranked and symmetrical, but some elements may lead such symmetry to be called into question. First of all, § 481 suggests a subordination of the practical to the theoretical. The text reads: “Free will [i.e. the practical faculty of the spirit] is free will for itself, because it has overcome [aufgehoben] formalism, contingency, and narrowness of its practical content. By overcoming the mediation therein contained, [will] purifies itself and becomes universal determination. Will has now this universal determination as its own object and aim. Moreover, as it thinks itself and knows its own concept, will is like free intelligence” (300). What emerges from this passage is a conception that sees will becoming free, by overcoming its practical content and reaching universality. This is possible, because will comes to think itself and to know its own concept, that is it comes to be self-conscious and thus intelligence-like. In other words, this paragraph suggests that will evolves by dismissing its practical nature and acquiring theoretical properties. Will becomes free, by thinking of itself as free. The awareness of its own freedom leads will to see itself as the source of the possibility of acting in the world. The acquisition of this kind of knowledge requires an act of abstraction, which Hegel, in the Philosophie des Rechts, describes in these terms:  “[E]‌very limit […] is dissolved. […]. Will is the possibility of abstraction from every aspect in which the ‘I’ finds itself or has set itself up. It reckons any content as a limit and flees from it” (W 7: 50). Will evolves into free will, by cutting itself off from every specific feature (Bestimmung), by rejecting particularity and thus reaching a dimension of universality. In this view, becoming free is tantamount to acquiring consciousness of universality—which is one of the defining factors of theoretical intelligence. As Hegel summarizes: “this liberation is theoretical in nature” (VR: 4, 108). ‘Thinking itself,’ ‘knowing itself,’ as well as ‘universal determination’ all fall within the sphere of theory rather than within that of praxis. ‘Will’ passes over into ‘free will.’ It becomes ‘free’ and advances within the system by becoming less practical and more theoretical, so to speak. Considering now the general rule of Hegel’s system—according to which every determination is more concrete and higher ranking than those preceding it—it is safe to conclude that the category of ‘will,’ along with its still practical complexion, is less concrete and thus lower ranking than the category of ‘free will,’ which has already changed its nature from practical to theoretical. But this also means that in the internal economy of the Hegelian system the still practical character of ‘will’ is subordinated to the already

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theoretical character of ‘free will’—so that in general, praxis turns out to be subordinated to theory. A glance at the general structure of Hegel’s system provides another argument in favor of that subordination. The philosophy of spirit is divided into three sections:  subjective, objective, and absolute spirit. While the first and the third part are plainly theoretical—finitely and abstractly theoretical the former; infinitely and concretely theoretical the latter—the second part, the objective spirit, is the compendium of Hegel’s entire practical philosophy, so that its position within the system speaks volumes about the role and consideration praxis is given in Hegel’s thought. Now, this position is an intermediate one; the objective spirit acts as a bridge between subjective and absolute spirit—that is between basis and conclusion, starting and end point of the whole philosophy of spirit. In this view, praxis figures as a necessary, but subordinate domain: a transitional phase between more fundamental and more conclusive stages. This interpretation finds correspondence also in Rosenzweig’s general assessment of Hegel’s dialectical method. Rosenzweig says:  “the antithesis becomes the mere mediation between the establishment and the re-establishment of the thesis, and in this constant rediscovery of the thesis, the work of knowledge is carried out toward an always profounder cognition. […]. This conception of the synthesis therefore implies quite essentially a mediation by the antithesis; the antithesis is transformed only in the transition from the thesis to the synthesis; it is not itself the original” (GS 2: 256, my emphasis). The first (thesis) and the third (synthesis) moment are the focal points of the process, which is primarily a theoretical one, as based on ‘knowledge’ and aimed at ‘profounder cognition.’ In the philosophy of spirit, finally, the marginal role of the antithesis is that of the objective spirit, which corresponds to a minor role for praxis. To sum up, then: one of the main differences between ‘old’ philosophy and ‘new thinking’ lies in the way each of them sees the relationship between theory and praxis: a difference that is then mirrored in what is thought to be the role of the human being in the world. (1) In the ‘old’ philosophy’s view—as epitomized in Hegel’s idealism—the human being should approach the world with a theoretical attitude, with the aim of building up a form of knowledge about it. (2)  According to Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking,’ the human being’s main task is instead acting in the world, practicing neighbor-love with the aim of ensouling and thus redeeming the world. In the second case, then, the approach is practical rather than theoretical. This does not mean that there is no room for theory in the ‘new thinking,’ but the traditional theory-praxis relationship is overturned in it: it is theory now that depends on and lives off praxis.

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Rosenzweig Versus Nietzsche: Redemptive Praxis Versus Gift-Giving Virtue In a three-term comparison between Hegel—who prioritizes theory— Rosenzweig—who prioritizes praxis—and Nietzsche, the latter would be surely closer to Rosenzweigian positions than to Hegelian ones. Like Rosenzweig, Nietzsche gives primacy to praxis, which he sees as the hidden foundation of every theoretical construct. Although agreeing on this point, they disagree however on many others, in particular on the specific way the notion of ‘praxis’ is to be understood. For Nietzsche, every theoretical approach to reality is nothing more than the human attempt to dominate it by removing its original otherness. Once known, reality is not felt as ‘other’ anymore, falls under human control, and ceases to be perceived as threatening for the human being. In this view, an impulse of will is at work behind every theoretical operation and theory thus turns out to be the tool of a more original praxis aimed at dominating reality. Actually, an idea of praxis as the hidden trigger of theory describes only a first, immature form of nihilism.183 But in Nietzsche’s thought a more mature form of nihilism should come to the fore, once the first one has been unmasked. In other words, a radical change in perspective must act as a watershed between immature and mature nihilism. Their difference is then mirrored in two different ways of understanding the human attitude toward the world. In a condition of immature nihilism, the human being takes on a theoretical attitude aimed at bringing the world under control, by reducing it to a rationalized object for a subject. But with mature nihilism both elements change dramatically:  the human being evolves into the Overman and the world is freed from the oppression of ratio. In immature nihilism, praxis is still the hidden driving force behind theory; in mature nihilism, praxis is the dimension in which the new freedom can openly express itself. The radical change that enables the transition from immature to mature nihilism is what Nietzsche calls ‘transvaluation of all values’ (Umwerthung aller Werthe). In a posthumous fragment, he schematically illustrates the effects of this process by means of a before-after contrast: “The transvaluation of all values. No more pleasure in certainty, but in uncertainty; no more ‘cause and effect,’ but continuous creation; no more will to conservation, but will to power” (KGA 7.2: 223. 1884, 26–284). While immature nihilism consists in rationalizing the world to satisfy an inborn human need for certainty, mature nihilism overcomes 183 The basic principle of immature nihilism is that equally immature form of ‘will to power’ that Nietzsche calls ‘will to truth’ (Wille zur Wahrheit).

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that need, embracing uncertainty as a new dimension of freedom. Against the products of rationality, which are based on a cause-effect relationship and serve a need for conservation and protection, the new worldview fosters the never-ending creation and creativity of the ‘will to power.’ In fact, the two different forms of nihilism correspond to two different forms of ‘will to power.’ The kind of ‘will to power’ at work in immature nihilism is to be understood in terms of ‘desire for dominion.’ ‘Power’ is seen here as a synonym for ‘dominion’ and the object at which will, or desire, is directed. Now, this interpretation is surely legitimate, but only partial, as it renders just the lowest level of ‘will to power.’ Its limitations lie precisely in the fact that it represents the point of view of the powerless: only those who do not have any power tend to perceive power as a form of oppressive dominance. On the contrary, will at its highest level is based on an utterly different conception. Power, in this more advanced view, does not consist in putting down the others, but in performing acts of giving and creating. ‘Gift-giving virtue’ (schenkende Tugend) is then the key notion in the context of mature nihilism, as well as the form the ‘will to power’ assumes in it. In Also sprach Zarathustra, Nietzsche writes: “How did gold attain the highest value? Because it is uncommon, and useless, and gleaming, and soft in luster; it always gives itself. Only as an image of the highest virtue did gold attain the highest value. Golden gleams the glance of the giver. Golden luster makes peace between moon and sun. Uncommon is the highest virtue, and useless, it is gleaming, and soft of luster: a gift-giving virtue is the highest virtue” (KGA 6.1: 93). Just as gold shines, so the gift-giving virtue gives itself: both are examples of pure gratuitousness. And ‘gratuitousness’ is exactly the feature that makes a ‘will to power’ conceived of as gift-giving virtue radically incompatible with one conceived of as thirst for dominion, because nothing is more alien to the idea of a gratuitous self-giving than that of an oppressive attitude to dominance. Clearly, the first interpretation of will to power—that is that of immature nihilism—becomes untenable, once the notion of ‘gift-giving virtue’ is introduced. And the fact that ‘power’ cannot mean ‘dominion’ anymore implies that also the relationship between the single concepts of ‘will’ and ‘power’ needs thorough rethinking. Seen through the lens of immature nihilism, ‘power’— as ‘dominion’—is the object of will; it is in other words what the will aims at, what the will wants. But from the point of view of mature nihilism the roles are inverted:  ‘power’ is here the subject184 of will. More precisely, it is what makes 184 In this context, the term ‘subject’ has obviously nothing to do with its metaphysical acceptation as cogito, or self, or I, etc. Rather, it indicates a conception of ‘power’ as the internal impulse that is at work in the will.

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the will want something, its inner driving force, the impulse that gratuitously animates will from within. As Gilles Deleuze effectively summarizes: “Power is not what the will wants [i.e. not the object], but what, from within the will, wants [i.e. the subject]—that is, Dionysus” (Deleuze 1967: 278). The notion of ‘gratuitousness,’ which defines the new conception of ‘will to power’ as gift-giving virtue, has its main feature in a general ‘absence of purpose.’ In Nietzsche’s view, such absence is a crucial condition for human praxis to take shape in terms of creativity and freedom,185 because a goal to aim at, as well as the rational path needed to reach it, would necessarily restrict the unfolding of any free and creative activity. Goals and goal-oriented rationality appear here as residues of that old ratio-based forma mentis that Nietzsche thinks should be overcome for good. In his view, it is clear that every pursued goal would represent a stable reference point, whose stability may probably satisfy the ‘need for certainty’ of immature nihilism, but would definitely contrast with the new ‘pleasure in uncertainty’ the transvaluation of all values ushers in. It is precisely with regard to the presence or absence of purposes that Rosenzweig’s and Nietzsche’s conceptions of praxis show their major differences. The primacy of praxis over theory, which both acknowledge, develops then in different directions for each of them. For Rosenzweig, the human praxis in the world should consist in concrete acts of neighbor-love, which, ensouling the world, are aimed at and contribute to reaching the future goal of redemption. On the other hand, for Nietzsche, human praxis expresses itself in a form of free and exuberant creativity that cannot tolerate having a goal, since the fixity of a point to aim at would be perceived as a limitation for the constitutive fluidity of freedom. For both Rosenzweig and Nietzsche praxis prevails over theory, but a decisive difference lies in the character of praxis each of them thinks of: a goaloriented one, for Rosenzweig; and a form of free creativity without purpose, for Nietzsche.

A Keyword for Redemption: ‘Oriented Praxis’ Repeating now the same operation that has led to the recognition of ‘relational otherness’ and ‘event’ as keywords, respectively, for creation and revelation, the notion that summarizes Rosenzweig’s conception of redemption better than any other is probably ‘oriented praxis.’ In the context of redemption, this phrase represents the particular expression of what is a general trend in the whole of 185 “Creating: this is the great liberation from suffering, and life’s alleviation. […]. Willing makes free: this is the true doctrine of will and freedom” (KGA 6.1: 106-107).

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Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking,’ that is, the capability of charting a third way between the first way of Hegel’s idealism and the second way of Nietzsche’s irrationalism. The two words composing the phrase, that is the participle adjective ‘oriented’ and the noun ‘praxis,’ testify to the middle position taken in Rosenzweig’s thought, with each marking a distance from one of the two extremes of idealism and irrationalism. In short:  ‘oriented praxis’ distances itself from idealistic positions, because it is ‘praxis,’ and from Nietzsche’s stances, because it is ‘oriented.’ But the two words ‘oriented’ and ‘praxis’ correspond also to the two elements involved in redemption: world and human being. ‘Praxis’ stands for the human attitude toward the world, which, in turn, is seen as the context concrete acts should take place in, rather than as an object of theoretical knowledge. On the other hand, ‘oriented’ describes the world in its constitutive tendency toward a fulfillment in the future, while at the same time indicating its being essentially in progress, and thus also its incompleteness in the present. Rosenzweig writes: “[The human being] knows only that he must always love what is nearest and its neighbor; while the world grows in itself, apparently according to its own law; and world and human being will find each other today, or tomorrow, or who knows when—the times are unpredictable” (GS 2: 269, my emphasis). The stress should be laid on “they will find each other.” The sentence conjures up the idea of two independent movements, whose developments end up converging on a final point. Now, that point is redemption; and the two movements are, obviously, the human and the worldly contributions to it. From the one side human praxis, consisting in acts of neighbor-love, progresses toward the final goal of redemption; while from the other side worldly life keeps growing with its oriented advancement toward the same end point. This final destination is explicitly defined in terms of completeness (see 266). But at the same time it is also distinguished from the Uni-Totality of philosophical thought: “This [the All of redemption] is the true All, the All that does not split into pieces as in the world of the nothing [i.e. the pre-world (Vorwelt)], but the one All, the All and One” (428). Both forms of totality open out onto a dimension of eternal life and immortality as a ‘solution’ to the “fear of death” (3) which represents the incipit of Der Stern der Erlösung. This means that for Rosenzweig too, and not only for Hegel, “an All would not die, and in the All, nothing would die. Only that which is singular can die” (4). But a profound difference between them lies obviously in the way they conceive of that ‘All.’ In both cases, the human fate of mortality is overcome by abandoning the plane of reality on which death is in force—that is the plane of individuality—and by reaching another plane, from which death is

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banished—that is a supra-individual dimension. The point is that the notion of a supra-individuality immune to death is conceived of as absolute thought, in the case of Hegel, while it is a community, for Rosenzweig—that is a plurality of individuals, in which the single human being “expands its ‘I’ to the ‘we all’ ” (279). The difference can be easily rendered through the conceptual pair theorypraxis. Absoluteness and universality define the final stage of a movement of pure thought, a movement, that is, whose entire development has a purely theoretical nature, as it proceeds with the typical triadic rhythm of Hegel’s dialectical logic. On the other hand, the communitary ‘we’ Rosenzweig speaks of is obtained through the unifying effect of neighbor-love praxis. In Hegel’s view, mortality—that is the finitude of the individual—is overcome as an immature developmental stage of a theory-based totality, which, once it has reached full maturity, that is absoluteness, cannot be affected by death anymore. Rosenzweig, on the other hand, says that “we are eternal; before this triumphant cry of eternity, death collapses into nothing” (281). For him, then, it is the praxis-based totality of the ‘we’ that defeats death once and for all. From a temporal perspective, it is certain that human praxis and worldly growth will meet some time in the future. But the precise moment at which it will happen remains as yet unspecified. In other words, it is certain that redemption will be reached, but nobody can predict when it will be reached. This peculiar mix of certainty and uncertainty is perfectly expressed in Rosenzweig’s newly coined terms “the not-yet-having-taken-place (das Noch-nicht-geschehen-sein)” (278) and “the yet-still-to-come-one-day (das Doch-noch-einst-geschehen-werden)” (ibid.). The practical work for redemption consists in progressing toward a goal that is sure and fixed, without knowing how long it would actually take to reach it. Considered now from a Nietzschean perspective, it is true that Rosenzweig’s conception shows some aspects of uncertainty, but these are definitely not enough to make it similar to Nietzsche’s view. It has been already shown that Nietzsche pleads for a total uncertainty, which precisely because it is total cannot consist of just some aspects. According to Nietzsche, uncertainty represents the highest form of freedom, achieved through a transition from immature to mature nihilism. Thus conceived, uncertainty is the basic condition for human praxis as creativity; it is an essential feature of the gift-giving virtue as well as something the Overman is able to derive pleasure from. The fact that human praxis could be not completely uncertain—because, for example, it is supposed to come to a conclusion sooner or later—is per se incompatible with the Nietzschean ‘praise of uncertainty.’ The orientation towards a goal—like in Rosenzweig’s account of redemption—would imply a limitation of uncertainty, and thus also of

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that freedom and creativity that characterize Nietzsche’s idea of how the humanworld relationship should be. Returning now to the key word chosen for redemption, ‘oriented praxis’ marks a double difference from its counterparts in Hegel’s and Nietzsche’s thought. On the one hand, the focus set on praxis, rather than on theory, distinguishes Rosenzweig’s conception of the human-world relationship from the Hegelian view. On the other hand, that human praxis is thought of as oriented—and thus to some extent certain—determines a major divergence between Rosenzweigian and Nietzschean conceptions.

Beyond Philosophy: The ‘New Thinking’ as Jewish Three basic elements of reality—the Urphänomene of God, world, and human being—relate to each other, giving rise to three relational paths—creation, revelation, and redemption. Each relational path can be represented by a keyword that summarizes its main features: ‘relational otherness’ renders the general sense of creation; ‘event’ is the central notion through which a glimpse of the nature of revelation is possible; while ‘oriented praxis’ simply describes what redemption consists in. Each keyword accounts for a particular dimension of reality, and only when taken together do they let the whole picture emerge. This picture is based on a central event that provides general orientation and sheds light on what precedes and what follows it.186 A conception of reality is thus delineated that rests on the presupposition of radical otherness among its basic elements and that is oriented towards its completion, in the sense of a final goal reachable through concrete praxis. The fact that reality composes a ‘picture,’ that is a coherent arrangement of its different dimensions, testifies to Rosenzweig’s conceiving of his own thought as “just a system of philosophy” (GS 3: 140). However, Rosenzweig’s system proves to be at odds with other traditional philosophical systems—of which the Hegelian one is the most meaningful example—as it is not developed outside of time, in a sub specie aeternitatis dimension. Rather, it is plunged into time, with an evental rupture in the present that gives sense to its origin in the past and its goal in the future. Differently from traditional systems, the Rosenzweigian system is ‘open’ in the sense that it has not yet reached its conclusion. But apart from its incompleteness, it nonetheless shows systematic nature in its inner ‘architectonic,’ in the internal structure by virtue of which parallels and correspondences can be established among different dimensions of the same system. The same pattern that occurs during the development of each Urphänomen; and the perfect symmetry in the complex network of ‘yes’-es and ‘no’-es, simultaneously converting into their own opposites, are just two of the aspects that allow Rosenzweig’s thought to be characterized as regular and systematic. Even

186 “[…] the center (die Mitte) comes in as the authentic sense of the development between origin and end (zwischen Anfang und Ende)—in the gap of gradualness, the evental suddenness” (GS 3: 587).

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if it cannot be sufficiently emphasized that, for many reasons, Rosenzweig’s system is an atypical one, of the many structural correspondences in it, there is one that stands out from the others as the most relevant and typical for a philosophical system: the close correlation and conformity between truth and reality. It is worth noting that, given this connection, it is not coincidental that the keywords defining the three dimensions of reality also define the three aspects of Rosenzweig’s conception of truth.187 ‘Relational otherness,’ ‘event,’ and ‘oriented praxis’—each of these terms summarizes Rosenzweig’s view on a particular aspect of reality. At the same time, they also bear witness to how, in relation to each of the aspects they correspond to, Rosenzweig’s position sets itself against the Hegelian approach as well as against its diametrical opposite, the Nietzschean position. In other words: in each one of the contexts reality can be divided into, Rosenzweig takes a position that lends itself to be appropriately condensed into a single keyword, while at the same time representing an alternative (a third way) to the two extremes of Hegel’s (the first way) and Nietzsche’s (the second way) stances in that same context. The conceptions of ‘relational otherness,’ ‘event,’ and ‘oriented praxis’ are as anti-Hegelian as they are anti-Nietzschean—as far from idealism as they are from irrationalism. ‘Relational otherness,’ as the keyword for the Rosenzweigian category of creation, highlights an aspect of the God-world relationship that distinguishes Rosenzweig’s view from other attempts to account for the world’s existence, to wit, the Hegelian conception of production, as the deductive, dialectical process of the spirit, and the Nietzschean doctrine of the eternal return. Both approaches, however different they may be, share a common disregard for the notion of ‘otherness.’ For Hegel, it is merely an intermediate phase of the whole process, and as such it has to be overcome to allow the fundamental sameness of the spirit to be re-established. But sameness is also the main category lying at the roots of Nietzsche’s ‘eternal return,’ whose complete name is actually ‘eternal return of the same,’ and which consists in the cyclical succession and necessary recurrence of every combination obtainable from the same amount of matter and energy. The notion of ‘event,’ as the core of revelation, and revelation itself, as the cornerstone of reality, are what the whole of Rosenzweig’s system is based on. Thus a radical break is marked with Hegel’s conception, in which the same central, pivotal role is given rather to a rational structure like dialectical logic. At the other end of the spectrum, an equally radical difference from Nietzsche’s thought

187 See the section Truth as Relation, in particular the sub-section Ex positivo.

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can also be recognized. Nietzsche’s extolling of chaos, as the essential feature of everything that is, leads him to conceive of a picture of reality that does not need any kind of cornerstone to be held together—actually, it does not even need to be held together—and that shuns any structural organization as a limitation on the fundamental fluidity reality consists in. The evental foundation provided by revelation contrasts with the rigid foundation of Hegel’s dialectical logic as well as with the lack of foundation maintained by Nietzsche. ‘Oriented praxis’ conveys the gist of Rosenzweig’s understanding of redemption, that is, of the relational path concerning the human attitude in the world. Thought of as a practical series of acts of neighbor-love, and having the cumulative nature of a process moving toward a future conclusion of eternal life and communitary feeling, Rosenzweig’s conception turns out to be anti-Hegelian and anti-Nietzschean at the same time. As a form of praxis, it opposes Hegel’s view of the human being approaching reality in a way that privileges a theoretical attitude over a practical one. But on account of its being oriented, Rosenzweig’s conception contrasts also with Nietzsche’s position, which condemns ‘orientation’ as such, because the very fact of having a goal, a reference point, a result to aim at, represents for Nietzsche a form of rigidity that ill accords with the genuine fluidity of reality, and thus limits that freedom and creativity which are supposed to characterize human action. Representing a double opposition to both Hegel’s idealism and Nietzsche’s irrationalism, each keyword qualifies as ‘extra-philosophical.’ Hegel and Nietzsche epitomize the two main forms of philosophical thought, so that together they cover the whole of what for Rosenzweig falls under the label of ‘philosophy.’ Hegel is the highest exponent of the first, more traditional form of philosophy, the ‘old’ form ranging ‘from Ionia to Jena.’ Nietzsche, on the other hand, is the last of a triad of thinkers that, after Hegel, aim at undermining the very foundation of the philosophical tradition. The triad includes Kierkegaard, Schopenhauer and, of course, Nietzsche. Their criticism of the ‘old’ philosophy consists in a radical shift in perspective that leads philosophical reasoning from being based on such notions as universality, totality, and absoluteness, to focusing more on the single, irreducible individual and on her personal point of view. Now the point is that, by distinguishing itself from both the ‘old’ and the ‘new’ forms of philosophy, Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ ends up distinguishing itself from the whole of philosophy and, in this sense, it can be rightly defined as ‘extraphilosophical.’ It represents an alternative, third position (or way) between the two philosophical approaches. Judging by the picture Rosenzweig provides of it, philosophy, with its two opposite branches, seems to have come to a halt at a crossroads: in one direction, Hegel; in the opposite direction, Nietzsche; either

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idealism or irrationalism, that is, either Charybdis or Scylla. Both options are unsatisfactory. But if this alternative is all that the philosophical way of thinking has to offer, then maybe, in order to go further and find a third way out of this impasse, it may be necessary to abandon—in part, at least—the very terrain of philosophy. And this is exactly the conclusion Rosenzweig seems to draw:  to overcome the limitations of philosophy—be it ‘old’ or ‘new’—extra- or even antiphilosophical motives have to be integrated into it. The ‘new thinking’ thus takes shape as a combination of philosophical and non-philosophical elements; a combination, in which the non-philosophical part corresponds for Rosenzweig to the contribution of Jewish thought. At this juncture, however, the following questions arise: (1) what does Rosenzweig mean by ‘Jewish thought’? And (2) what does the specifically Jewish contribution to his ‘new thinking’ consist in? (1) The first question is dealt with in some lecture drafts Rosenzweig wrote between 1920 and 1921. A first approach to the problem can be found in Grundriss des jüdischen Wissens (1921), where Jewish knowledge is defined by the adjective “immediate” (unmittelbar) (GS 3: 579), in contrast to other forms of knowledge such as the philosophical one, which are based on conceptual mediation. It is the Anleitung zum jüdischen Denken (1921), however, which offers the most in-depth look at what it means for Rosenzweig “to think Jewishly” (jüdisch denken) (597). The core notions he considers in the text are ‘common sense’ (gesunder Menschenverstand) and ‘philosophy, or thought of the actually.’ The former epitomizes Jewish thought; the latter is an expression of that mindset that was born in ancient Greece and, through various developments, continues down to Hegel’s idealism and Nietzsche’s irrationalism. Rosenzweig writes: “Philosophy has never been universally human. Universally human was, is and will be common sense. And philosophy has always despised it, from the very beginning” (ibid.). Philosophy is seen as a systematic search for the essence of things, that is for what they actually are. It is a way of thinking that does not let reality be just what it is, but rather obliges every element to be actually something else, that is to find its essence in something different from itself. “[The word] ‘actually’ is always nonsense. But philosophy has always said ‘actually.’ Everything is actually water—Thales’ sentence is typical (no matter then if it is water or spirit or will188 or movement or matter or idea or God). Common

188 The fact that ‘will’ is also mentioned among other basic principles shows that for Rosenzweig the ‘new’ philosophy of Schopenhauer and Nietzsche is actually not that

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sense never says ‘actually’ ” (ibid.), it does not give rise to the same abstraction process as philosophy does; rather it stays true to the concreteness of real life. For Rosenzweig, it is precisely this connection to lived reality that establishes a deep affinity between common sense and Jewish thought against philosophy. As is clearly expounded in the key passage of the text, Rosenzweig writes: “Q.: Is that Jewish thought? A.: Yes. Q.: And its contrary? A.: Greek thought, thought of the ‘actually’ [that is, in other words, philosophy]” (598). And again: “We want to find the courage of Jewish thought, that is to say, the courage of using our common sense” (ibid., my emphasis). With regard to this quote, it is probably not stretching the point to lay the stress on the adverb ‘that is to say,’ because it is here that common sense and Jewish thought are literally equated with each other, while at the same time being both opposed to philosophy. (2) In his texts of 1920–1921, Rosenzweig says what Jewish thought is opposed to and what it is similar to, but he never tries to explicitly say what it is. A sort of reluctance to clearly define what makes a thought ‘Jewish’ is actually quite understandable on Rosenzweig’s part, as the very fact of giving a definition, in general, would be tantamount to answering a Was-ist-Frage—that is the criticized question about the essence. In so doing, a pillar of the philosophical forma mentis would end up strengthened, rather than rejected. And Jewish thought, which is supposed to oppose philosophy, would surreptitiously adopt a philosophical strategy. A less ambitious way of dealing with the problem might consist in asking the question when a form of thought can be said to be ‘Jewish.’ Unfortunately, however, an answer to this question is also missing in Rosenzweig’s corpus. The most prudent answer to the question about the Jewishness of thought could read thus: a view qualifies as ‘Jewish,’ when it is developed in dialogue with and is influenced by the Old Testament, Jewish texts, and/or related conceptions.189 According to this criterion, then, the Jewish dimension in the ‘new thinking’

different from the ‘old’ one: both forms are characterized by an essential tendency to reduce everything to a unique principle. 189 Compare the similar—but not identical—‘criterion of Jewishness’ adopted by Norbert Samuelson for his work on the doctrine of creation (see Samuelson 1994). See also the definition of Jewish philosophy Nathan Rotenstreich suggests: “Jewish philosophy appears as the philosophical interpretation of Jewish sources, ‘sources’ being understood to include both literary documents and modes of actual life. Philosophy makes explicit that which is only implicit in literary documents, or presupposed as an underlying principle of behavior” (Rotenstreich 1985: 73).

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consists in the role played by Jewish sources in the development of Rosenzweig’s accounts of creation, revelation, and redemption. Each of them can be summarized by a keyword, and behind each keyword a Jewish source can be found. Thus, the following scheme emerges: (1) Creation can be summarized by the notion of ‘relational otherness,’ which goes along with Rosenzweig’s understanding of Bereshit 1. (2) ‘Event’ corresponds to revelation and is strictly connected to Rosenzweig’s interpretation of Shir ha-Shirim. (3)  ‘Oriented praxis’ defines redemption and grows out of Rosenzweig’s analysis of Psalm 115, combined with his reception of the concept of Tiqqun.

Creation: Relational Otherness – Bereshit 1 The Jewish source Rosenzweig relies on for his treatment of creation is Bereshit 1. In the textual analysis of this chapter, he writes: “One sentence runs through the whole chapter, which relates the work in the beginning. […]. This sentence is: ‘Good!’: it was and it is and it will be—‘good.’ Creation resides in this divine affirmation of creatural existence” (GS 2: 168). In this view, creation is said to consist in an act of confirmation. It is not about the world coming to be out of nothing, nor about God giving existence to something that did not have it. Creating, from the perspective of Rosenzweig’s Stern der Erlösung, means rather acknowledging the existence of something already existing. More clearly:  the ontological change from ‘not-yet-created’ to ‘created’ is not appropriately rendered as a transition from ‘not-yet-existing’ to ‘existing,’ but rather as one from ‘not-yet-acknowledged-as-existing’ to ‘acknowledged-as-existing.’ This conception—which obviously contradicts the traditional conception of a creatio ex nihilo—is a necessary precondition for maintaining the particular kind of ‘otherness’ that Rosenzweig attributes to creation. For him, God and world are not only other to each other, they are also equal ranking.190 While ‘otherness’ in general could be found in both conceptions—that based on creatio ex nihilo and that presented by Rosenzweig—equal otherness—that is the relation between two elements that are other to each other and equal ranking at the same time—would be incompatible with the idea of God creating the world out of nothing. In this case, creation and creator could certainly be seen as different from each other, but 190 “World and human being are not in a privileged position compared to God (sind nicht besser gestellt)” (GS 3: 619). In this sentence, Rosenzweig considers world and human being on the one hand, and God on the other, but the relationship he sees between them is a symmetrical one, so that no privileged position can be claimed for any of the three Urphänomene.

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they could by no means be considered on the same level, as the creator would always maintain a position of superiority over his creation. In short: the condition of otherness would be satisfied, but not that of equality.191 One might argue that Rosenzweig rejects the conception of creation ex nihilo in order to preserve his own notion of otherness as equal and symmetrical. Obviously, such a rejection does not come without difficulties, and Rosenzweig himself is well aware of the problem when he writes: “It seems paradoxical, at first glance, to assert that the world has been created ‘after’ its completion as configuration. At the very least, it seems that we have moved irrevocably away from the traditional concept of creation out of ‘nothing.’ For us, the world has already emerged out of ‘nothing’ as configuration. Should the configured world become nothing again, in order to represent the ‘nothing’ out of which the world would have been created? This is how it is.” (131–132). There is surely a profound ambiguity in this idea of a world that first comes out of nothing as configured, then falls back into nothingness again, before finally emerging for the last time as created. However, two points stand out as defining this objectively ambiguous and complex conception. (1)  creatio ex nihilo is not completely rejected, but only anticipated, as it can be found at the first stage of Rosenzweig’s system. Though not a fully-fledged creatio, a movement ex nihilo can still be recognized in the Pre-World—precisely, in the double emergence from nothing of the various ways of ‘yes’ and ‘no.’192 (2) The ‘nothingness’ the configured world is supposed to come back into is not a real one. Rather, it is what can be called a ‘comparative nothing:’ a kind of nothing that is such, only if compared to something else: “Compared to this world created in the end—but, really, only compared to

191 What emerges here is a difference between two ways of conceiving creatural otherness. On the one hand, equal or symmetrical otherness between God and world—and human being, for that matter—is the structural foundation of Rosenzweig’s picture of reality. On the other hand, unequal or asymmetrical otherness is the notion that can be coined to describe the God-world relationship on the basis of creatio ex nihilo. The Magen David, as visual representation of Rosenzweig’s conception, is composed of two equilateral triangles: the first triangle connects the three elements of God, world, and human being; the second triangle connecting the three paths of creation, revelation, and redemption. The equilaterality of the triangles is a way of visually representing the equality of elements and paths. 192 The topic of creatio ex nihilo in Rosenzweig’s thought is dealt with in Samuelson (1988) and Bertolino (2000, 2005, and especially 2006). Both authors develop their reflections with regard to the pre-world—thus confirming the reading suggested here.

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it—the configured world of the metalogical worldview would really have to be ‘nothing,’ i.e. something absolutely incomparable with the created world” (133, my emphasis). (1) Creation, as the relationship between God and world, cannot start from nothing—cannot be ex nihilo—because, like all relationships, it presupposes the two relating elements. That means that God and world must exist in the first place in order to be subsequently connected in the relational path of creation. However, it does not imply that nothingness is completely out of the picture. On the contrary, it appears at the very beginning of the process: it is directly negated by the ‘way of no,’ that is the negation of nothingness; and at the same time it is indirectly opposed by the affirmation of its contrary, that is the affirmation of the not-nothing along the ‘way of yes.’ In this view, nothingness is not seen as the source of a relationship, but as the origin of the elements that are about to be involved in a relationship. (2) Real nothing is the background the configured world emerges from. Hence the second kind of nothingness this world has to fall into—after its configuration, but before its creation—cannot be also real: it must be merely a comparative nothingness. Based on the text, this seems to be exactly the position Rosenzweig takes for at least two reasons. First of all, the word ‘nothing’ is always written in quotation marks, thus indicating that it is not to be understood literally, rather only in an unusual and arguably inappropriate way. Moreover, the adjective ‘comparative’ that defines this conception of nothingness appears to be particularly fitting, as it is ‘nothing’ only in comparison to something infinitely greater, richer, or superior. And this is the case in the relationship between configured and created world:  the former can be said to be ‘nothing,’ not because it lacks being, but because it is infinitely inferior to the latter. By way of conclusion, Rosenzweig develops his account of creation in intense dialogue with the biblical source of Bereshit 1, so that the above-mentioned conditions are satisfied for a thought to qualify as ‘Jewish.’ The notion of equal and symmetrical otherness, which constitutes one of the basic principles of Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking,’ is to be found also in his exegesis of the biblical passage, in which creation is interpreted as a form of confirmation, rather than in terms of a transition from nothingness to being. In this view, the traditional conception of creatio ex nihilo, which seems to play no role in Rosenzweig’s reading, is not rejected altogether, but is radically rethought (it is not creatio anymore, but emergence of the elements from nothingness) to fit within the picture of reality Der Stern der Erlösung presents.

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Revelation: Event – Shir ha-Shirim The Jewish source lying at the roots of Rosenzweig’s account of revelation is the Song of Songs, Shir ha-Shirim. In the context of Rosenzweig’s thought, the deepest meaning of Shir ha-Shirim consists in representing the intrinsic connection between love and revelation. The relationship between God and human being that makes up revelation “happens under the love of God. […]. The analogy (Gleichnis)193 of love, as analogy, runs through the whole of revelation” (221). The two dimensions of love and revelation, however, can be associated and thus seen as analogous, only if a common trait is recognized in both of them. The first and the second term of the analogy are kept together by the fact that they share a feature, which, precisely because it is shared, acts as a connecting factor between them. In this case, the link can be pinpointed in the evental character of both revelation and love: revelation is like love, because both are events. Now, what distinguishes an event is its irrational nature, in the sense that it always eludes any attempt to grasp it within rational structures. One of these rational structures is, for example, the law of causality, which sees every element of reality as an effect logically derived from a cause. This kind of derivation law is exactly what cannot apply to the self-giving dynamics of an event, which essentially upsets the usual connections among things—above all, the cause-effect connection. An event simply emerges, without any solid foundation behind it that could possibly serve as a ‘cause.’ This aspect is perfectly rendered by Rosenzweig’s phrase “evental suddenness (die Plötzlichkeit des Ereignisses)” (GS 3: 587). It indicates that each event is by nature ‘sudden,’ and as such “makes the natural concept of development toothless (seine Spitze kehrte)” (ibid.). The concept of ‘development,’ which Rosenzweig considers at odds with that of ‘event,’ is based on a fundamental gradualness (Allmählichkeit), that is, it is the exact opposite of the suddenness (Plötzlichkeit) that characterizes events. In general, a development can be defined as ‘a gradual (series of) transition(s) from a cause to an effect.’ Once obtained, each effect then turns into a cause to start another stage and thus give rise to another effect. This fundamental continuity, which satisfies rationality’s need for order and predictability, is radically called into question by the sudden emergence and connected causelessness of an event, which, being essentially incompatible with any form of linear progression, comes “like a bolt from the sky” (ibid.). Just like a bolt, an event bursts into the

193 See Bienenstock (2017).

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context of the world, but differently from a bolt, it has a permanent influence on the context it happens in. From this point of view, love and revelation are both fully-fledged events. Both happen suddenly, have no determined causes they could be led back to, and are thus not rationally graspable. Moreover, another essential feature of events is their capability of radically and permanently changing the context they happen in and—more importantly in this case—the human being whom they happen to. This is particularly true for the two evental dimensions at issue here: revelation and love. It is not by means of a rational argumentation that faith in God can be acquired. Likewise, falling in love with someone is not a logical conclusion that can be obtained through a rational process starting from well-founded premises. On the contrary, causes or logical premises can be found, at most, after the event, that is, as a posteriori justification of something already given—or, in this case, self-given. Rosenzweig’s view on the relationship between God and human being revolves around three notions composing a conceptual triad: revelation, event, and love. It is the second element, the event, that acts as a pivot for the whole triad, as it represents that common ontological mode that provides a foundation for the analogy between the first and third element. This particular way of relating concepts, moreover, testifies to Rosenzweig’s particular approach to the problem. While the idea of love as a metaphorical representation of revelation is already an established one, and several interpreters in the course of history have repeatedly associated the two dimensions in a bond of affinity,194 the fact that their connection may be—and actually is—rooted in a third notion—that is that of event—constitutes the original contribution of Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ to the topic of the divine-human relation. To conclude, the ‘Jewishness’ of Rosenzweig’s account of revelation emerges clearly in what can be considered its ‘hybrid character.’ Rosenzweig’s view is the result of combining what he develops in his ‘new thinking’ with what is derived from his interpretation of the Jewish source of Shir ha-Shirim. More precisely, the close link between ‘love’ and ‘revelation,’ as it emerges from the reading of the biblical text, is grafted onto and embedded within the conception of ‘event’ that Rosenzweig elaborates in his own thought.

194 A panorama of the different interpretations of Shir ha-Shirim and the notion of love it presents is offered in Der Stern der Erlösung (GS 2: 221 ff.). See also Rühle (2004) and Moyn (2005) on the same topic.

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Redemption: Oriented Praxis – Psalm 115 and Tiqqun As to redemption and its keyword, ‘oriented praxis,’ the text Rosenzweig takes into account in the first place is psalm 115. In his view, this psalm is the Jewish source that more than any other lays the stress on the communitary significance of redemption as well as on its capability of ushering in a dimension of eternal life. Though such aspects as communality and eternity can be recognized in psalm 115, the central idea of oriented praxis does not emerge from the psalm and is instead to be found in another Jewish source: the cabbalistic motive of Tiqqun, expounded by Yitzchàq Luria. By Tiqqun the process of restoration of the world is meant, which develops in time, aims at its conclusion in the future, and, more importantly, depends on human action to progress. Only by combining Psalm 115 and Tiqqun, then, can a thorough account of redemption emerge. Rosenzweig reads psalm 115 in such a way that many—though not all—distinguishing traits of his idea of redemption come to the fore: the sense of anticipation of the future; the shift in perspective from single ‘I’ to communitary ‘we;’195 the progression of a gradual growth; a reference to the earth (i.e. the world), as a genuinely human context;196 and the victory of immortality over mortality197—all these facets of redemption find textual support in the biblical excerpt. What the psalm does not mention, however, is the core notion of Rosenzweig’s view, the keyword that summarizes it, to wit, ‘oriented praxis.’ The idea of human practices aiming at and actively contributing to a final goal of completion and fulfillment has its Jewish origin in the Lurian mystical tradition, rather than in the Torah. Rosenzweig’s thinking seeks to merge these different sources into a coherent picture. Psalm 115 opens with the words: “Not to us, oh Lord, not to us, but to your name give honor” (Ps 115: 1). In this first verse, Rosenzweig sees a movement of anticipation of the future. And it is, more precisely, a double movement that first draws the ‘we’ close to the honor of the divine name and then brings it back again away from God: “the ‘we’ is brought in the completeness of an immediate proximity to the divine name, and from this goal it is called back again into the ‘not-yet’ of the present” (GS 2: 280). The proximity between the still incomplete dimension of the ‘we’ and the complete sphere of the divine is asserted and 195 “This is the only one of all the psalms that begins and ends with a powerfully underscored ‘we’ ” (GS 2: 280). 196 “The highest heavens belong to the Lord, but the earth he has given to mankind” (Ps 115: 16). 197 “It is not the dead who praise the Lord, […]; but we” (Ps 115: 17–18).

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denied at the same time. Or as Rosenzweig says: it is asserted “in the only admissible form: by explicitly denying it” (ibid.). This apparent contradiction between assertion and denial is solved precisely by projecting it onto a temporal dimension: what is asserted in relation to the future is at the same time denied in the ‘not-yet’ of the present. A sort of progression is then described in the central verses of the psalm. ‘Israel,’ ‘the house of Aaron,’ and ‘those who fear the Eternal’ (see Ps 115: 9–11) represent for Rosenzweig the three phases of a gradual growth, from a partial ‘we,’ to a complete ‘we all,’ passing through a ‘you.’198 In Rosenzweig’s view, it is clear that this development is exactly what redemption consists in. ‘Israel’ is for him the initial and still partial community of Jewish believers. ‘The house of Aaron’ is that same community considered in its confrontation with the ‘you’ of the outer world, on “the way leading through the world and time of the ‘you’ ” (GS 2: 281). Finally, the phrase ‘those who fear the eternal’ hints at an extended community of the future, a community that will be no longer only Jewish, but will have grown to include the whole of humankind: it will be “the old messianic community of humankind, of the ‘we all’ ” (ibid.). Now, the only aspect that psalm 115 does not cover is the specific way through which this growth can be achieved. As is well known, for Rosenzweig it depends on human beings acting and loving their neighbors in the context of the world, but no word in the text of the psalm lends itself to be interpreted as a call to neighborly love. According to the biblical text, redemption emerges as the final stage of a process, but what is left unsaid is that redemption is also a goal to work towards, and that the kind of work it requires is the concrete exercise of neighborly love. These aspects of redemption, then, must be borne out by other Jewish sources, which Rosenzweig pinpoints in the mystical tradition and, more precisely, in the doctrine of Tiqqun. In the context of this doctrine, redemption takes on the form of a continuous work of fulfillment of the commandments, with the ultimate aim of unifying God. It is precisely the notion of ‘unification’ that makes evident a correlation between Rosenzweig’s view and its corresponding Jewish source. In Der Stern der Erlösung one reads: “Human being and world fade out in redemption, but God completes himself. It is only in redemption that God becomes […] the One and the All” (266). But a conception of redemption as unification of God is also what Rosenzweig draws from his reading of the Tiqqun, which he reconstructs as

198 It could even show some similarities with a ‘dialectical triad,’ if only this term were not loaded with Hegelian overtones.

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a process aimed at a final restoration and fostered by human praxis. In his own words: “the Jewish human being fulfills the endless customs and precepts ‘for the unification of the holy God and his Shekhina.’199 […]. God’s glory is scattered in countless sparks in the whole world, [the Jewish human being] will gather that glory from scattering and one day will bring it home to God, who has been deprived of it. Each of his [of the Jewish human being] deeds, each fulfillment of a law carries out a piece of this unification” (456). In the case of redemption too, then, as already previously observed with regard to creation and revelation, Rosenzweig’s exegesis of Jewish sources combines with the development of his own thought. The different facets that together give shape to his understanding of redemption find correspondence in the concepts that emerge from his interpretation of biblical texts and mystical doctrines. Anticipation of the future, a communitary dimension, and the achievement of a form of eternal life can be detected among the verses of psalm 115. The idea of a concrete work for redemption by means of human praxis in the world—in a word, ‘oriented praxis’—is instead the outcome of Rosenzweig’s reading of the Lurian theory of Tiqqun.

199 ‘Shekhina (‫ ’)שכינה‬is the divine presence in the world. The unification of God, in this context, means precisely a unification of different dimensions that are all divine in nature.

Final Remarks The image of a third way between two opposite positions has served so far as a key to the reading of Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking.’ At the end of this work, the same interpretative scheme allows some final remarks to be made about the general structure and meaning of Rosenzweig’s thought. In particular, two topics will be addressed. (1) A first set of remarks deals with the notions of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ as ontological modes at the very basis of Rosenzweig’s conception of reality. It is by conceiving of reality as a compound of ‘yes and no’ that Rosenzweig delineates his ‘new thinking’ as a third way between other views that focus only on one of the two components. (2) The second set of remarks addresses the Jewishness of the ‘new thinking’. The aim is to analyze the ‘new thinking’ in regard to the question of ‘Jewish philosophy,’ which is here considered a hybrid form—again, a third way—between philosophy and Jewish thought.

A Third Way between Idealism and Irrationalism As is well known by now, Rosenzweig conceives of every Urphänomen as the outcome of a transition from its particular nothingness to something. Such a transition develops along two opposite ways at the same time, coming to an end where these converge. More precisely, each Urphänomen develops along the separate ways of ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ reaching its complete form only at the point where they merge in a final ‘yes and no.’ Considering now that reality for Rosenzweig is completely exhausted by the three Urphänomene—by their isolated existence at the first level; and by their interactions at a more advanced level—the following syllogism can be constructed:  premise (1)  reality consists exclusively of three Urphänomene; premise (2) each Urphänomen consists of a ‘yes’-dimension and a ‘no’-dimension; conclusion (3) therefore, the whole of reality consists of three ‘yes’-dimensions and three ‘no’-dimensions. Going into more detail, reality is composed of God, world, and human being. God summarizes the ‘yes’ of physis and the ‘no’ of freedom; the world includes the ‘yes’ of logos and the ‘no’ of worldly plenitude; while the human being, finally, is a compound between the ‘yes’ of particularity and the ‘no’ of human will. Three ‘yes’-es and three ‘no’-es, then. However, it would be a mistake to see them as six completely different dimensions. In fact, all ‘yes’-es, though pertaining to different Urphänomene, share a common ontological nature. Similarly, the three ‘no’-es, despite emerging in different contexts, are nonetheless linked through

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the fact of having the same way of being. This allows us to speak of two triads of dimensions, rather than simply of six dimensions, with each triad kept together by a common ontological character as a connecting factor. Two triads of dimensions correspond to two opposite ways of being—to the ‘yes’ and the ‘no,’ which from this point on are considered in their different ontological modes. Now, giving an account of this difference is certainly no easy task. Rosenzweig has to employ a highly abstract terminology combined with a set of visual metaphors in order to make his explanation of this difference as clear as possible. The ‘yes’ is defined in terms of “affirmation of the not-nothing” (GS 2: 26). As such it posits something indeterminate and infinite: it includes, in other words, everything that is not nothing, anything that has no other feature than that of ‘not being nothing.’ On the other hand, the ‘no,’ as “negation of nothing” (ibid.), is a limited, determinate, and finite act; it is “solely and exclusively act” (ibid.). Without any kind of ontological substantiality, the ‘no’ exhausts itself completely in performing an act of negation. Metaphorically speaking, the “affirmation of the not-nothing” results in a background, a field, an area that stretches around nothingness—as if the ‘yes’ were the neighbor (Anwohner) of nothingness. The ‘yes’ is a placid essence that “flows calmly (entquillt) out of nothingness” (ibid.)—says Rosenzweig. The verb he uses in this sentence to refer to the emergence of the ‘yes’ is entquellen, alluding to a movement so calm and slow that it borders on stability and stasis. What is here described, then, is a calm flowing stream that leads to a “still sea” (30)—or, metaphors aside, the way of ‘yes’ is the establishment of an ontological dimension conceived of in terms of “unmoved, infinite being” (ibid.). In conclusion, both logical and metaphorical descriptions converge on presenting the ‘yes’ as a dimension of reality that, provided with ontological substantiality, embodies a fundamentally static principle. While it is true that the ‘yes,’ on account of the very fact that it comes out of nothing, constitutes an opposition to nothingness, it is nonetheless arguable that the particular kind of opposition it offers can be said to be an ‘indirect’ one. The term is particularly fitting, because the ‘yes’ does not clash frontally with the nothingness it comes from, but opposes it indirectly, solely by virtue of its ontological substantiality. As “affirmation of the not-nothing,” neighbor of nothingness, alter ego of nothingness, the ‘yes’ challenges the nothingness by simply being itself—indeed, by simply being. In order to affirm what is not-nothing, in other words, the ‘yes’ does not need to collide with nothingness, but constitutes an ontological alternative to it by simply staying at its side. Simply showing that there is something else beyond the insubstantiality of nothingness is enough to produce a detachment from it.

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On the other hand, all metaphors used to describe the ‘no’ are carefully chosen to express a meaning that is at odds with that of ‘yes.’ While the ‘yes’ can be visually represented by a vast surface, the ‘no’ is more similar to a dimensionless point. While the ‘yes’ is a neighbor that quietly coexists next to nothingness, the ‘no’ “tears itself away from nothingness (entrinnt dem Nichts) […], breaks free from (entbricht) the prison of nothingness [and] is nothing more that the event of this liberation” (26, my emphasis). Differently from the ‘yes,’ the ‘no’ is not a being, but an event. Its own ontological mode is not that of ‘a stable staying,’ but rather that of ‘a fleeting giving itself.’ The emergence of the ‘no,’ in other terms, is an instantaneous break, which, as a break, negates the context it distances itself from and, as instantaneous, is unable to acquire any sort of ontological substantiality. The images Rosenzweig avails himself of to convey the sense of ‘no’ aim at conjuring up its essentially active nature, as well as its conflictual relationship with nothingness. Comparing the ‘no’ to a “gushing fountain (Springquell)” (27) or to an “inexhaustible source (unerschöpfliche Quelle)” (32) lays stress on the dynamic character of something constantly in motion. Incidentally, this becomes evident when Rosenzweig writes that “movement can come only from the ‘no’ ” (30). As to the idea of conflict, then, the ‘no’ is presented as fighting against nothingness in order to break free from its hold. The verbs used—entrinnen (to tear oneself away) and entbrechen (to break free)—hint at a sudden, even violent, movement, but the image of a battle is even more vividly rendered through such expressions as “body to body (Leib an Leib)” (31), “opponent (Gegner)” (ibid.), and “wrestling match (Ringkampf)” (ibid.).200 When all this is considered, it is safe to say that the ‘no’ opposes nothingness directly, as much as the ‘yes’ does it indirectly. A geometrical equivalence may be enlightening here: while nothingness and ‘yes’ can be compared to two neighboring planes, the ‘no’ is more properly represented as a point. As naïve as it may seem, this equivalence has some explanatory appeal. In Rosenzweig’s view, the ‘no’ removes itself from nothingness, in the same way as a point is able to ideally detach itself from a plane. Although it is just a single point, the lack of it is nonetheless enough to make the plane incomplete, to prevent the plane from being itself, and in a sense, to negate its being a plane—because it is clear that a plane, without even one of its points, is no longer a plane. The ‘no,’ that is the ‘negation

200 It is true that Rosenzweig himself says that “the image of two wrestlers is misleading” (GS 2: 31), but in saying that he is referring only to the duality the metaphor conjures up. The conflictual meaning it suggests, on the other hand, is still apt for to representing Rosenzweig’s view.

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of nothingness,’ is thus presented as an act of subtraction that by its very occurrence opposes directly and irreversibly denies what it is aimed at. The difference between ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ as one between a static being and a dynamic event, is borne out by what Rosenzweig explicitly writes about this topic. However, if one goes beyond the letter of the text, while at the same time remaining true to its spirit, it is possible to extend the series of opposites that schematizes the antithesis of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and consider two additional couples of features: ‘determinable’ and ‘rational,’ as attributes of ‘yes;’ ‘indeterminable’ and ‘irrational,’ as qualities pertaining to the ‘no.’ More precisely, the ‘yes’ signifies a part of reality that is determinable and therefore rational; while the ‘no’ stands for the opposite part, which is indeterminable and therefore irrational. Obviously at this juncture it is necessary to provide an explanation of what is exactly meant by ‘in/determinable’ and ‘ir/rational’ in this context. At the same time, the conceptual ties between determination and rationality should also be clarified. The adjective ‘rational’ applies to that part of reality which can be completely grasped by rationality, since its aspects, elements, and dimensions can be put into correspondence with rational categories. On the other hand, ‘irrational’ is the adjective for another part of reality that escapes the grasp of reason and thereby makes that correspondence fail. It is important to make clear that ‘irrational’ here does not mean ‘against rationality’, but rather ‘beyond rationality.’ That reality also has an irrational part, then, is not to be understood as somehow suggestive of conflict between reality and rationality. Rather it bears witness to how the former exceeds the latter. Of course, reality includes aspects that let themselves be thoroughly accounted for by reason, but in addition to them, other aspects belong to reality that are impervious to rationality and determination. The word ‘determination’ indicates a process and its result at the same time. As a process, determination consists in drawing conceptual boundaries201 around a certain portion of reality. As a result of this process, determination is the term by which the circumscribed portion is designated. The notion of ‘conceptual boundary’ is then crucial for both acceptations of the word. But this centrality also implies that not every part of reality may be subject to determination—or, in other words, not every part of reality is determinable. Based on these definitions, 201 This can be easily seen by considering, for example, the etymology of such cognate words as ‘concept’ or ‘definition.’ ‘Concept’ stems from the Latin verb concipio, composed of cum, which means ‘with,’ ‘together’ and capio, meaning ‘I contain or hold.’ A concept results from a process of gathering and holding—that is putting and keeping within boundaries—different aspects of reality. Likewise ‘definition’ contains the Latin word ‘finis,’ which means ‘boundary’ or ‘limit.’

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then, what qualifies for determination is only that kind of reality that is able to receive and bear those conceptual boundaries the very notion of ‘determination’ rests on. Determinable, and determined, can only be that kind of reality which, by virtue of its ontological constitution, is able to take on the same conceptual structure as that governing the realm of rationality. An essential bond between rationality and determination can be found wherever rationality expresses itself through acts of determination (as a process) and through the establishment of relationships between determinations (as results of that process). More precisely, rationality’s typical mode of proceeding consists in (1) positing conceptual boundaries in order to mark limited portions of reality and (2) establishing relationships between those portions. By means of determination, an organized structure is produced in the realm of rationality, in order to be subsequently applied to reality. Such an application, however, succeeds only in those sectors of reality, where the structure of rationality finds a counterpart to correspond with. Two structures are here at issue, then: one structure made of rational determinations, the other made of real determinations. The possibility of a rational approach to reality depends on whether or not the two structures agree with each other. In fact, an agreement is not always reachable. While a structure based on rational determinations is always possible, the formation of real determinations and their arrangement into an organized structure depend on the ontological quality of the part of reality these operations take place in. When applied to Rosenzweig’s ontological conception, this last consideration allows of the following scheme: the ‘yes,’ with its ontological stability and substantiality, provides a secure ground for determination, and thus also for the application of rationality; while the ‘no,’ with its fleeting and dynamic nature, does not tolerate the rigidity of the conceptual boundaries determination is based on. A structure of real determinations cannot come to be in the field of ‘no,’ so that this has nothing to offer for rational determinations to agree with. An agreement is unfeasible in this case, as one of its supposed poles cannot even be formed.202 Rationality applies to reality through the mediation of determination. But when a part of reality does not provide suitable ontological conditions for

202 Determinability and rationality of the ‘yes’ depend on its static nature, while indeterminability and irrationality of the ‘no’ come from its dynamic character. In this view, an essential connection is maintained between stasis and rationality, on one hand, as well as between motion and irrationality, on the other hand. Kierkegaard’s thought is clearly perceivable at the basis of this view.

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determination to take place, that part cannot establish any connection with rationality. The ‘no’ is thus irrational because it is indeterminable; and it is indeterminable because of its ontological character as a fleeting event. The ‘yes’ is rational because it is determinable; and it is determinable because of its ontological character as a stable essence. Now the point is that the three determinable and rational ‘yes’-es Rosenzweig takes into account correspond to the three conceptions of God, world, and human being that can be found in an idealistic view. On the other hand, the three indeterminable and irrational ‘no’-es closely resemble what can be said about God, world, and human being from an irrational point of view. Taking Hegel as the leading exponent of idealism, his conception of a systematically organized totality of being leads him to recognize only the rational part in each sector of reality. So God, as absolute spirit, represents the highest level of determination and rationality; the world is reduced to its rational structure only; and the human being, as part of the system, is considered only in those aspects of hers that lend themselves to be systematized, that is rationally determined. The Hegelian approach, in other words, sees in each element of reality only its determinable, rational part, while at the same time neglecting the indeterminable, irrational—but equally essential—dimension. Translated into Rosenzweigian terms, this means that Hegel sees in God only his physis; in the world only its logos; and in the human being only her particularity. What emerges, finally, is a picture of reality made up only of Rosenzweigian ‘yes’-es. Analogous considerations show how an opposite one-sidedness can be found in the field of irrationalism. In Nietzsche’s view—which is here assumed as a model for irrationalism in general—the world is a chaotic dimension characterized by an overwhelming abundance of power, while the human being is essentially reduced to her will, that is to a blind, ceaselessly striving, irrational force. As to God, it is certainly true for Nietzsche that he is dead. But this does not mean that God is not considered at all in Nietzscheanism. Actually, God’s death is the result of a human action, performed in acknowledgment of God as infinite freedom.203 Now, by translating Nietzsche’s view into Rosenzweig’s terminology, a conception emerges in which God is only freedom; the world is only its dynamic plenitude; and the human being consists only in her will. It is a conception, in other words, that sees reality as made up only of ‘no’-es.

203 It is because God is essentially freedom—thus perceived as limiting and threatening by the human being—that his death is an unavoidable outcome.

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Presenting a picture of reality as composed of ‘yes’-es and ‘no’-es at the same time is what allows Rosenzweig to open a third way204 between the Charybdis of idealism—which admits only ‘yes’-es—and the Scylla of irrationalism—which recognizes only ‘no’-es.

A Third Way between Philosophy and Jewish Thought By constituting a third way between idealism and irrationalism, the ‘new thinking’ overcomes the alternative philosophy has been stuck in, according to Rosenzweig’s interpretation. But if philosophical thought can only be either idealist or irrational, going beyond both options is tantamount to going beyond philosophy itself. This development can be rightly seen as a move out of philosophy, but it represents only the pars destruens of Rosenzweig’s path. More precisely, the process of overcoming philosophy is only one of two sides of the same movement, which continues on the other side as an approach to the extraphilosophical tradition of Jewish thought. Leaving the field of philosophy brings Rosenzweig closer to that of Jewish thought, so that his ‘new thinking’ seems to settle into a mean position between them. The notion of ‘mean position’ shows how the interpretative model of a third way can maintain its validity also in this second aspect of Rosenzweig’s thought— but in a slightly different sense. In other words, the question of ‘Jewishness’ in Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ can still be dealt with through a ‘third way’paradigm, but such a reading also implies a shift in the focus: from philosophy considered in its internal relationships, to philosophy considered in relation to an extra-philosophical tradition. At stake here is not the possibility of a third way between two positions that are both philosophical—not anymore at least, as it used to be the point in the pars destruens of the ‘new thinking.’ Now, its pars construens develops rather as a third way between a philosophical and an extraphilosophical pole, between philosophy and Jewish thought, combining them in that hybrid form that can be given the name of ‘Jewish philosophy.’ The most elementary definition of ‘Jewish philosophy’205 is simply based on the two words the phrase is made of. More precisely, a ‘Jewish philosophy’ 204 Rosenzweig overcomes the alternative between an idealist ‘yes’ or an irrational ‘no’ by advancing the idea of a synthesis of ‘yes and no.’ This is an inclusive conception based on the value of the “little word and (das Wörtchen Und)” (GS 3: 158), which plays a fundamental theoretical role in the entire development of Rosenzweig’s thought. 205 The debate about a shared definition of ‘Jewish philosophy’ is far from being closed, as it still includes a wide range of opposing, irreconcilable positions. But however different these stances may be, most of them seem to agree at least on a minimal definition

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develops when ‘Jewish’ and ‘philosophical’ concepts, motives, and/or ways of thinking interact with one another. Or in other words:  a philosophical view can qualify as ‘Jewish,’ when it develops with reference to Jewish sources, that is when it agrees with and is influenced by those sources. The point is that such an agreement and such an influence are exactly the factors that characterize Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ in its relation to the Jewish tradition. That the ‘new thinking’ is a ‘Jewish philosophy’ is then a tenable thesis, if one considers that a ‘Jewish’ influence can be detected in every relevant aspect of Rosenzweig’s view and its main notions are always delineated in light of a ‘Jewish’ reference point. The keywords—‘relational otherness,’ ‘event,’ and ‘oriented praxis’—which characterize the three paths in Rosenzweig’s understanding of reality are the pillars of his ‘new thinking.’ They can be considered the ‘Jewish’ versions of notions that always have a counterpart in philosophy. Each of them can be seen, in other words, as a ‘Jewish’ alteration of a ‘philosophical’ basis.

‘Otherness’ in Philosophy and in Jewish Thought Dealing with the notion of ‘otherness’ is obviously not an exclusive preserve of Jewish thought and a treatment of this topic is certainly not alien to the philosophical tradition. Quite the contrary, the theoretical roots of ‘otherness’ can be easily traced back to the very beginning of philosophy, to the Platonic concept of eteron (ἒτερον). However, the particular form the notion takes on in Rosenzweig’s thought—where it acts as a foundation for creation—makes it irreducible to the Platonic eteron (ἒτερον). In fact, that particular form consists in some distinguishing traits that are not of Greek origin, but are rather derived from the Jewish, biblical source of Bereshit 1. Getting somewhat ahead of the explanation here, purely philosophical and Rosenzweigian-Jewish conceptions of ‘otherness’ differ from each other because only the latter can be said to be really radical. In Plato’s Sophist, the Stranger says: “When we speak of not-being, we speak, I  suppose, not of something opposed to being, but only of something other”

of ‘Jewish philosophy’ as a field of interactions, exchanges, and influences between philosophical and Jewish traditions. Obviously, each of these notions appears vague, if not defined in its conceptual profile—and there are good reasons to hold that the main difficulty in defining ‘Jewish philosophy’ consists exactly in delineating those profiles. Going into the details of this open question is beyond the scope of this work, but showing the interactions, exchanges, and influences that take place in the particular case of Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ can nonetheless provide a significant—albeit partial—insight into the general problem of determining ‘Jewish philosophy.’

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(Soph., 257b). Not-being, as otherness, is not the opposite of being; rather, it belongs to being206 as one of its possible modes. What emerges is thus a two-level structure: (1) a first, superficial level where not-being, as eteron (ἒτερον), is situated; and (2) a second, deeper level, on which being serves as a background. This structure shows how the ‘otherness’ of not-being is always seen as a second-class feature, while the first-class status is due only to the ‘sameness’ of being. In this view, ‘otherness’ is always included into and thus subordinate to a more fundamental dimension of ‘sameness.’ Ontological primacy, in other words, is given to ‘sameness,’ while ‘otherness,’ though not neglected, is nonetheless relegated to a secondary, superficial, non-radical level. Radicality, in fact, is the feature that cannot be drawn from the philosophical version of ‘otherness’ and for which Rosenzweig turns to the Jewish version, developed from the source of Bereshit 1. Once again, it is not ‘otherness’ tout court that reveals a Jewish vein, as the notion is also present in a long philosophical tradition. But for ‘otherness’ to be really radical, as the Rosenzweigian conception requires, philosophical sources are not helpful anymore, and here is where the Jewish sources come in. At this juncture, two quotes can be cited to illustrate, respectively, (1) the need for radicality in Rosenzweig’s conception of ‘otherness’ and (2) the possibility to find it only in the biblical account of creation. The first quote is by Rosenzweig himself, while the second quote, although by another author, namely Emmanuel Lévinas,207 is nonetheless true to the spirit of Rosenzweig’s reflections. In Das neue Denken (1925), Rosenzweig points out that if the three Urphänomene were not separate, they would not be able to affect one another. For example, he says it would be impossible to feel love for God, if he were conceived of as just the highest, noblest part of the human soul. In this case, the human being would just love herself (see GS 3: 150). In this example, only love is explicitly mentioned, but the underlying idea can be generalized to include every kind of relationship. The point here is to make clear that in order for a relationship to be authentic, it must be based on radical otherness. If otherness were non-radical—as it is in Plato’s view and the philosophical tradition deriving from it—the kind of relationship developing from it would always be diminished

206 Later on, the Stranger adds: “we have shown that the nature of the other—is” (Soph., 258e), that is: otherness is always included in the sphere of being. 207 Moreover, it is needless to say that Lévinas is an author who is considerably influenced by Rosenzweig. Indeed, he often explicitly refers to Rosenzweig in the course of his own philosophical reflections.

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by the fact that the ‘other’ is not really ‘another,’ but rather “in the deepest depth” (ibid.) just the ‘same.’ In other words, the relationship would be diminished by the fact that its basic ‘otherness’ is not sufficiently radical. The quote by Emmanuel Lévinas shows that the kind of radical otherness that is needed for an authentic relationship cannot be derived from philosophical thought, rather it can only be sought in the Jewish tradition, which is able to provide a precedent, and thus a model, for it. “To affirm […] creation is to contest the prior community of all things within eternity, from which philosophical thought, guided by ontology, makes things arise as from a common matrix. The absolute gap of separation, which transcendence implies, could not be better expressed than by the term ‘creation’ ” (Lévinas 1961: 326). Creation implies transcendence, which is another way of saying radical otherness. It contests the “community of all things” and rejects the possibility of a “common matrix.” But this means that an essential tenet of philosophy—the sameness of being—is contested and rejected by an equally essential principle of Jewish thought—the radical otherness between creator and creature.

‘Event’ in Philosophy and in Jewish Thought A similar comparison between philosophical and Jewish versions of the same notion can be replicated, mutatis mutandis, with regard to the second cornerstone of the ‘new thinking,’ that is the keyword representing revelation: ‘event.’ Actually, a conceptual profile of the notion of ‘event’ could be delineated even from within the boundaries of philosophy only, that is, without crossing them towards the field of Jewish thought. However, the conception of ‘event’ that would emerge from such an inquiry would not be able to account for Rosenzweig’s own conception, which is characterized by the centrality of ‘love’ and by a close conceptual connection between ‘event’ and ‘love.’ Pushing this view a little further, it is safe to say that Rosenzweig even comes to conceive of ‘event’ in terms of ‘love’—and this is possible only by drawing on Jewish sources, and not on philosophical ones. One of the most relevant works on the notion of ‘event’ in the philosophical tradition is probably Forma ed Evento (Form and Event) (1952) by the Italian philologist Carlo Diano. The Greek word he recognizes as an antecedent for the modern notion of ‘event’ is Tyche (Τύχη), which means ‘destiny,’ ‘fate.’ Diano provides the example of a series of facts, each determined by a ‘cause.’ A backward movement is thus described, in which every element is seen as an effect of the previous cause it depends on. But such a movement cannot go on forever: “at a certain point the series stops. One comes to an element of the series that does

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not depend on anything else” (36). The emergence of an element without any discernible cause behind it, its spontaneous ‘giving itself ’ that is not pre-determined by anything, is “what the fate or the Tyche (Τύχη) wants” (ibid.). Thus the main feature of the notion of ‘event’ is portrayed: causelessness. After defining the ‘event’ with reference to Tyche (Τύχη), Diano goes on to distinguish it from a mere ‘happening.’208 Something that simply happens, that is a ‘happening,’ is defined by the Latin formula: quicquid èvenit (anything that happens), while a fully-fledged ‘event’ is rather id quod cuique èvenit (something that happens to someone) (see 69). While a ‘happening’ may be something independent and completely impersonal, an ‘event,’ in order to be such, must show a bipolar structure, in which one of the two poles has a personal nature. More precisely, a simple ‘happening’ is adequately described by the impersonal form ‘giving itself,’ but according to Diano, an ‘event’ also has to be for someone. The movement of ‘giving itself ’ characterizes both ‘happening’ and ‘event’. For the event, however, it also has to be perceived by the personal pole of a recipient subject. Throughout the history of philosophy, this conception of ‘event’ has never essentially changed and can be found substantially unaltered in one of the philosophical accounts closer in time to Rosenzweig’s thought, to wit, the Heideggerian view. Especially in his work Beiträge zur Philosophie (Vom Ereignis) (1936–38), Heidegger develops his idea of ‘being’ (Sein) as ‘event’ (Ereignis), as being in an essential relationship with a ‘being there’ (Dasein) that receives it. Without going into the details of Heidegger’s complicated theory, what emerges even at a superficial glance is a structure, in which an impersonal dimension—that is the ‘being’ (das Sein)—‘gives itself ’ in an evental way, while it is received at the same time by a personal pole—that is the ‘being there’ (das Dasein). It is a structure, in other words, that closely corresponds to the one described by Diano. The encounter between an impersonal, self-giving dimension and a personal receiving pole is the most advanced conception one can achieve through philosophical reasoning—it is the most philosophy has to offer, so to speak. And this is exactly the reason why philosophical sources cannot be regarded as a basis for Rosenzweig’s view, which firmly rejects any trace of impersonality and introduces the idea of a personal-personal polarity, instead of the impersonalpersonal polarity of philosophy. Rosenzweig thinks of ‘event’ in terms of ‘love,’ which develops into two main forms:  the self-giving of divine love and its

208 In the original Italian text, the difference is between ‘accadimento’ and ‘evento,’ which are translated here respectively by ‘happening’ and ‘event.’

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acceptance, as human love, on the part of the human being.209 It is the notion of ‘love,’ then, that makes Rosenzweig’s view incompatible with the philosophical approach. Love requires that both elements it involves have a personal nature, as it would not make any sense to attribute love to an impersonal dimension. In order to thoroughly account for love, it is necessary to reject impersonality altogether. And here is where the Jewish heritage comes in. The centrality of love, and the need to give it fair consideration, may be not completely alien to the philosophical tradition,210 but conceiving of revelation, event, and love as forming a single conceptual triad is possible only by relying on Jewish sources, rather than on philosophical ones. In particular, the biblical source of Shir ha-Shirim, as a fundamental reference point, is crucial for Rosenzweig’s account. And it is precisely by virtue of this influence that the Rosenzweigian view can be said to be ‘Jewish.’ Not because only Jewish thought deals with the notions of ‘event’ or ‘love,’ but because only through Jewish sources can revelation take on the features of an event whose occurrence is modelled on love dynamics.

‘Praxis’ in Philosophy and in Jewish Thought Like ‘otherness’ and ‘event,’ the notion of ‘praxis,’ which informs Rosenzweig’s understanding of redemption, is outlined in a way that makes it incompatible with philosophical sources, while at the same time revealing its Jewish derivation. Obviously, this does not mean that philosophy ignores praxis altogether and only Jewish thought can account for it. Quite the contrary, philosophy has always dealt with the notion of ‘praxis,’ but the many forms and different nuances that have emerged throughout the course of its history can be roughly grouped into two main categories that are both inadequate as sources for Rosenzweig’s view. The first category consists of those positions in which praxis is seen as subordinated to theory, while the second category includes attitudes of thought and views which conceive of praxis as independent and free of theory. Moreover, a direct correspondence can be established between these two categories and the two segments philosophy breaks down into according to Rosenzweig, that is the ‘from Ionia to Jena’-philosophy and the ‘point of view’philosophy; or simply put, idealism and irrationalism. In the first segment,

209 As two sides of the same flux, divine love is a giving act, while human love has receiving nature. 210 To provide but two examples, one might consider the role of Eros in Plato’s Symposium or the connections Aristotle establishes between God, love, and the notion of ‘unmoved mover’ in his Metaphysics.

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praxis is essentially thought of as subordinate to theory. It is theory’s specific duty to elaborate a structure of ideal values that acts as a reference point and a goal, so as to provide human action with a direction and a model to be aligned to. In the second segment, a crisis afflicting many of the cornerstones of the previous view leads to a rejection of rigid theoretical schemes, and thus to a conception of praxis as free from theory’s diktat. However, once the control of theory is abolished, there is nothing left to bind praxis to follow a specific direction, and the result is that praxis takes on an exploring, creative, tentative attitude. This outcome lends itself to two opposite interpretations. On the one hand, the abolition of theory for the sake of praxis can be greeted as a form of liberation. This is for example Nietzsche’s view, supported and enhanced by those philosophical positions that rely on Nietzscheanism and lay stress on its relativistic vein, such as: postmodernism, nihilism, ‘weak thought,’ etc. On the other hand, this new form of total freedom threats to turn human action into a sort of ‘wandering in vain’—a futile exercise of simply ‘doing something,’ without aiming at anything, without producing effects, and, in a word, going nowhere. This second view rests on the consideration that a lack of goals, and of guidelines to reach them, may condemn human action to ineffectiveness and indifference. Without a goal, in other words, the benchmark is missing, only against which the value and meaning of human praxis could be assessed. Based on this brief overview, one gains the impression that the different conceptions of praxis philosophy has elaborated as possible models develop along two opposite, mutually exclusive paths: either praxis receives its orientation by means of theoretical reflection, but for this very reason turns out to be subordinate to theory; or praxis emancipates itself from its need for theory, but then the price to pay for this liberation consists in losing the sense of direction that only a goal to aim for can provide. In short: either praxis is oriented, but therefore subordinate to theory; or praxis is independent from theory, but therefore without orientation. None of these two philosophical options can be taken as an antecedent for the idea of praxis which redemption is based upon. The sources for Rosenzweig’s particular conception are rather to be found in Jewish thought. The kind of goal redemption represents is completely different from that provided by theory. In a theoretical environment, every goal is always already reached, as it is seen as the necessary, unavoidable outcome of a logical process. Rosenzweig says: “Thinking is timeless and wants to be timeless. With one stroke it wants to make a thousand connections; the last, the goal, is for it the first” (GS  3:  151). The timelessness of thinking consists exactly in eliminating the temporal distance between premises and conclusion. The last step, the goal,

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is always already included in the first step, the origin, so that the gap between them turns out to have been always only an apparent one. Redemption, on the other hand, cannot be reached through theoretical reasoning, but only through a concrete work performed in the world. As a goal, it is given, but it is not yet accomplished. Such accomplishment requires time, responsibility, and practical acts aiming at it. If Rosenzweig’s idea of praxis oriented toward the promised goal of redemption differs radically from the purely theoretical approach of the ‘from Ionia to Jena’-philosophy, that is of idealism, an equally radical difference can also be observed at the other end of the spectrum, between the position of the ‘new thinking’ and that of the ‘point of view’-philosophy, that is of irrationalism. In this context, the question in dispute concerns the relationship between freedom and redemption. From an irrational perspective, the lack of a goal is seen as the very condition for human praxis to be authentically free, so that in this view the goal of redemption represents in itself a limitation to freedom. The problem is that redemption is promised in revelation, and if the achievement of a goal is promised, that is assured and certain, the risk is that such certainty makes human freedom dwindle to irrelevance. The doubt is legitimate, yet from a Rosenzweigian perspective one might argue that it is rather the lack of a goal to aim at which implies a diminishment of freedom. This counterargument is based on two considerations. (1) That redemption is promised represents a certainty concerning the fact that the redeemed world is going to come, but the exact moment of its coming is left unknown. In other words, one knows that redemption will be reached, but not exactly when. This means that some leeway is nonetheless left, even though redemption has the certain character of a promise. (2)  Being reachable only through the concrete exercise of human praxis, the goal of redemption, far from diminishing freedom, is rather its exaltation. It is a call to action and a demand for human responsibility toward what takes shape as real ‘work’ for redemption. This second consideration deserves to be examined more thoroughly. ‘Responsibility’ is the central notion here. It is precisely what opposes the reassuring certainty of logical necessity—which relieves from any responsibility—while at the same time it allows freedom to acquire its full value, to become authentic, and to avoid turning into arbitrariness, that is into a pointless movement without purpose. In the context of human action, freedom is always exercised between different options—for example, freedom of doing good or evil; of observing or breaking precepts. In other words, the freedom of human action is always freedom of choice between alternatives. But—and here is the point—these alternatives can be evaluated only in relation to a goal that serves

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as a criterion for them. The lack of a goal, then, implies the lack of a criterion. And this would result in a condition where every choice has the same value as any other; in a state of indifference, that is, which is arguably the contrary of freedom.211 Without a goal to reach, and thus without a criterion of choice, every action is discharged from any form of responsibility, since its effects, if any, turn out to be irrelevant. They can neither be seen as progress nor as regression; neither as a step toward nor as a move away from an aim, for the simple reason that no aim is given. The loss of responsibility, which may seem to be an enhancement of freedom, is actually the cause of its diminishment because freedom without responsibility is deprived of its seriousness and declines into a sort of arbitrary play with no consequences. As Massimo Cacciari summarizes: “[Redemption] does not abolish the dimension of ‘the possible,’ does not put human consciousness at ease, in a sort of ‘already happened’ apocalypse, but is a call to responsibility toward the ‘work’ for messianic restoration. Before this moment, there is no authentic possibility, but only a ‘wandering in vain’ ” (1985: 38).212

211 One of the finest thinkers to dedicate himself to the study of the notion of freedom in its ontological implications is Luigi Pareyson. In his posthumous work Ontologia della libertà (Ontology of Freedom) (1995), he describes freedom as follows: “It has two main features: the first one is unpredictability; the second, irreversibility” (30, my emphasis). An act of freedom is unpredictable a parte ante and irreversible a parte post. It is this second dimension, however, that provides a foundation for responsibility. Acknowledging the irreversible effects of any act of freedom, in other words, requires taking responsibility for it. 212 At this juncture, it is probably not inopportune to recall some famous metaphors from the history of philosophy: Kant’s dove and Wittgenstein’s ice-walker. In the Kritik der reinen Vernunft (1781–1787), Kant writes: “The light dove, in free flight cutting through the air the resistance of which it feels, could get the idea that it could do even better in airless space” (51). But what the dove does not seem to realize, in Kant’s example, is that air resistance is indispensable to flight. Wittgenstein has something similar in mind when he writes: “We have got on to slippery ice where there is no friction and so in a certain sense the conditions are ideal, but also, just because of that, we are unable to walk” (1953: § 107, 341). In both metaphors, something that appears to be an obstacle at first glance turns out to be the very condition of what it was supposed to hinder. Air is not an obstacle to the dove. Rather, air is what makes flight possible. Likewise, a lack of friction does not make walking easier, since it is only thanks to friction that walking is at all possible. Mutatis mutandis, the fact that human praxis has to be aimed at the goal of redemption, in Rosenzweig’s view, is not to be seen as an obstacle to freedom. On the

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Given its difference from both main philosophical positions, it is clear that philosophy cannot provide the sources for Rosenzweig’s understanding of praxis. The aspects and nuances that make it irreducible to the philosophical conceptions are rather extracted from Jewish sources, namely from Psalm 115, and above all from the cabbalistic idea of Tiqqun. The notion of communality and the fact that human praxis can lead toward redemption only to the extent that it assumes a collective nature are derived from the psalm. The idea of a goal that has to be reached gradually in the course of time; the understanding of that goal in terms of unity in the making;213 and a conception that sees every step toward that unity as a result of human action in the world—these motives all come from the cabbalistic doctrine of Tiqqun. ‘Otherness,’ ‘event,’ and ‘praxis’ are the key notions on which Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking’ is based. All of them are represented, to a certain extent, in the philosophical tradition, but in each of them a specific element or aspect stands out that marks a radical difference between Rosenzweigian and philosophical conceptions. An extra-philosophical component is thus at work in Rosenzweig’s thought, since what distinguishes its concepts from those elaborated in the field of philosophy is precisely their derivation from the extra-philosophical tradition of Jewish thought. Hence, (1) ‘otherness’ is certainly dealt with in philosophy, but only through the contribution of Bereshit 1 can it be thought of as radical. (2) There is no doubt that philosophy knows the notion of ‘event,’ but only on the basis of Shir ha-Shirim can ‘event’ and ‘love’ be conceived of as coessential. Finally, (3) ‘praxis’ has always been a philosophical subject matter, but it is the cabbalistic conception of Tiqqun that serves as a reference point for molding the Rosenzweigian view, thus giving it a ‘Jewish twist.’

Conclusion While the first level of reality—precisely, the ontological structure of the three Urphänomene—can be seen as a way of overcoming philosophy while still maintaining philosophical categories, the second level of reality, with its relational paths, marks the introduction of categories of Jewish origin. The ‘yes and no’ that characterizes the Urphänomene is certainly a step out of philosophical forms of one-sidedness, but the advance in this case consists basically in combining philosophical concepts that used to be thought of as mutually exclusive. contrary, it is only in relation to a goal to reach, that freedom can imply responsibility and thus attain its fullest value. 213 “The unity is […] only becoming unity; it exists only in becoming” (GS 2: 456).

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It does not yet consist in introducing new, extra-philosophical notions. This happens only at the second level, where ‘radical otherness,’ ‘event of love,’ and ‘oriented praxis’ result from the influence of Jewish sources on philosophical conceptions. The interpretative model of a third way works for both levels. At the first level, which represents the pars destruens of Rosenzweig’s ‘new thinking,’ a third way develops between the philosophical positions of idealism and irrationalism, thus leading outside the scope of philosophy itself. At the second level, which corresponds to the pars construens of Rosenzweig’s thought, a third way can be found connecting philosophy in general and Jewish thought. More concretely, it consists in integrating philosophical and Jewish concepts, in such a way that the ‘new thinking’ takes on the hybrid form of a ‘Jewish philosophy.’

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Thomas Wabel / Michael Weichenhan (Hrsg.): Kommentare. Interdisziplinäre Perspektiven auf eine wissenschaftliche Praxis. 2011.

Band 11

Elisabeth Hackstein: Auf der Suche nach den jüdischen Wurzeln. Zur Kritik „christlicher Sederfeiern“. 2012.

Band 12

Andreas Hölscher / Anja Middelbeck-Varwick / Markus Thurau (Hrsg.): Kirche in Welt. Christentum im Zeichen kultureller Vielfalt. 2013.

Band 13

Rainer Kampling / Andreas Hölscher (Hrsg.): Musik in der religiösen Erfahrung. Historischtheologische Zugänge. 2014.

Band 14

Markus Thurau: Der „Fall Schelkle“ (1929-1949). Zur frühen Rezeption der Formgeschichte innerhalb der katholischen Bibelwissenschaft im Spannungsfeld von lehramtlichem Widerstand, politischem Kalkül und theologischer Erneuerung. 2017.

Band 15

Beniamino Fortis: TERTIUM DATUR. A Reading of Rosenzweig’s ‘New Thinking’. 2019.

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