Into life: those were the last words of The Star of Redemption, we muse. What does it mean? Religion is only ever about the everyday, W. says with great firmness. This is what Rosenzweig saw in rejecting mysticism. Revelation was a public affair. It was about ritual, about ceremony lived between people. And above all, it was about speech.
Speaking with others: what else did Rosenzweig mean by life? Rosenzweig was heading into life, existence, where he had, in The Star, argued the most elementary structures of religion were to be found. Henceforward, he could only inquire when he found himself inquired of, that's what he said. And inquired of by men rather than scholars.
Theological problems must be translated into human terms, and human problems brought into the pale of theology, that's what he said. Philosophical problems must be translated into everyday life, and everyday life brought into the pale of philosophy. To what extent do we live?, W. and I wonder. How could we be said, in the Rosenzweigian sense, to be alive?
Speech, thought Rosenzweig, was the bridge between human beings and God. It's all about speech, says W. About speaking. We're very good at that, he notes, speaking. We're chatterers. Are we ever happier than in our chatter? That's always our high point, we agree, when we've worn speech away talking about blowholes or monkey butlers and there's nothing left to say.
We carry on regardless, we agree. We twitter like birds. We ascend to the highest, most rarefied plain of inanity. But what's that got to do with God? Perhaps we are only desecrators and despoilers of speech. Perhaps we only bring it to the edge of meaninglessness, of the tohu-bohu.
For when have we ever been inquired of? When have we ever drawn anyone else into the process of inquiry? We compare ourselves to our third leader, who's clearly superior to us. He gives, we take. He has ideas, we don't. He actually engages with the world, whereas our engagement is mediated by books we half understand.
He tries to change things, whereas we're parasitical on people who try and change things. He makes people feel witty and intelligent; we make them feel depressed and demotivated. Every day, for him, something new might occur. But every day, for us, confirms that nothing new will ever have happened.
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