modern legitimacy – Infrapolitical Reflections

If the modern age is characterized by the triumphant claim to legitimacy thanks to some major forgetting, then there is much to learn from Chaim Bialik’s 1917 enduring essay on Jewish Law, Halakhah e Aggadah: Sulla Legge ebraica (Quodlibet, 2025), which has just been republished in a very timely fashion in Italian. Bialik in 1917 means being in good company of many other names: Franz Kafka and Gustav Landauer, Walter Benjamin and Martin Buber, Ahad Ha’am and Carlo Michelstaedter, and many other names that surely have been eroded by the dust of historical time. This very erosion is at the center of Bialik’s essay that in the thunderstorm of the First Great War, the imperial consolidation of political Zionism, and the disintegration of the Austro-Hungarian Empire where many Jewish marranos dwelled, decides to take a step back from the modern acceleration and ask about the two poles of Ancient Judaic Law: the Haggadah and Halakhah. Immediately taking distance from the modern scheme of positive law and natural law, norms and principles, Bialik reminds us that Haggadah and Halakhah are two faces of the divine dispensation of Judaic law, in which temporal continuity and the statute, the heart and the shelter appear to communicate each and every time through the life of a people (5).

As someone writing in the waning of Halakhah due to modern secularism, Bialik’s essay is first and foremost invested in preserving the Halakhah as a living tradition, “an art of concrete life” that allows for the form of life of human beings in the world (7). It is from Bialik’s essay where Walter Benjamin in the 1934 Kafka essay would later incorporate the notion that Judaic law as void of content, open to the pure means of its own transmissibility. But perhaps in Benjamin’s materialist rendition Bialik’s central notion of the Hallakah is also blurred, since for the Jewish theologian what is central is the spiritual formation of the soul, a sort of subterranean facticity that is passed throughout the ages, just like that Chrisitan masons built major Medieval cathedrals across the centuries (11) (the metaphor is indeed his). The Halakhah insofar as it inspires the soul is an endless formation, although it is also “the imagination of becoming a living soul, with a body and a sense of beauty” (13). The Halakhah is a region of de-autonomized sublime that Bialik compares to a crossgenerational Shabbat in which a people are observant to a way of living in its own becoming (14). In other words, the Halakhah is not a moral principle for personal virtue as arete as in the ancient metaphysical ethics; it is the absorption of the life of the community into the “voice of the heart” that can regenerate forms of sensible wisdom (16). It is wisdom without a master or priest that teaches the law, since it is not a knowledge that must be interrupted through mental capacities. According to Bialik’s theory, once the Jewish people are thrown into a temporality of dilation, what appears to shine in a powerful light is the cultivation of a life against the abuse and corruption of historical obsolescence. As Bialik writes in one of the most striking passages of his essay:

“Che questi «vasi di vita» siano rimasti da parte per qualche tempo non significa che siano inutili. È una grande legge: ogni forma di vita durante la sua creazione, finché dura questo periodo, rappresenta a sua volta un contenuto nello spirito del suo creatore. Appena la sua creazione è compiuta, essa si separa, si confonde con le altre, e ormai priva di essenza propria decade a strumento: chiunque vi trova quel che vi mette ogni volta che la usa. Essa deve tutto all’uomo e allo spirito dell’uomo a cui tocca in sorte come un bene abbandonato. Se egli vi mette oro, troverà oro; se polvere, polvere. Se non sa cosa mettervi, può anche lasciare che questo strumento arrugginisca. Ma quell’uomo non deve dire: lo strumento è inservibile, da buttare; deve dire invece: io sono povero!” (19).

This means that for Bialik the theological conception of “creation” does not stand for a mythical origin unconcealed by some authority; rather, it is a “vase of life” that allows life to be attuned to the the spirit of the creator, and for the creator to be rendered unfinished because the texture of the form of life is always to be written. At bottom, this modal structure of theological interdependency is at the heart of Bialik’s underappreciated theory of the letter and spirit of law that still resonates in our days. It is not that there is unwritten tradition and then it becomes a written norm to adjudicate the force of law (as in the current American jurisprudential debates about the “History and Tradition” test); on the contrary, Bialik’s legal contribution, well beyond the confines of Ancient Judaic Law, is that there is an abyss in the soul in every enigmatic life because the legal force cannot yet (and cannot for a long time) adjudicate a resolute execution of judgment (23). Counterintuitively, we can thus say that to really “live in the Law” cannot be expressively taken to be to defend court orders and police powers, but rather to allow life to live concretely as enigmatic life that is deprived of temporary ad hoc fictions suited to social domination. That is to say, to live according to the law means coherently with the Hakkhalah entails to an awareness that the law remains fully unknown, in this way incapable of becoming a part of social and penal organization that in our days it has thoroughly transformed the legal systems of the West (37).

This is why Bialik also includes a strong warning towards the end of Halakkah e Aggadah: the rise of substantive qualifications of Judaic culture (Jewish art, education, work, nationalism, theology) bending towards identitarian abstractions amount to what he called “ethereal love” (38). This ethereal love not only dissolves into the solution of modern humanism, but betrays the enigmatic form of Jewish life in the time of dilated waiting. A time of dilation (Aufschub) that does not mean that there is nothing to do – consummated boredom and alienated experience – it is rather the opening to a whole field of possibilities and relations, of worlds and the attunement of the imagination in its exposure. This non-closure of the theological experience provided by the fine attunement of the heart cannot be properly called political; which is why Bialik understood the land of Palestine as a vitam nomoi and not one of nationalist settlement validated by the institutional authority of the modern state.

As Andrea Cavalletti records in his illuminating Postface Bialik telling Hannah Arendt: “La mia convinzione politica, se ve n’è una, è anarchica” (64). Like in Oskar Goldberg’s theology, what is at stake in Bialik is an anarchic Hebraism that allows the presence of God in the world to deter the emergence of poisonous deifications (the individual and the state). Far away instrumentally infused pseudo-messianic overtones of an “elected People” for historical assertion and depredation, Bialik understood that only in the free relation between Halakhah and Haggadah, could the gordian knot of life and law be considered if we are to avoid the slippage into the seductions of the ethereal forces.

There is something to be said about the facticity of epochal decline, and the reiterated attempts to call for its overcoming. But both decline and renewal are so interconnected in the Western dispensation of community and institutional organization that any attempt to surpass only deepens and pushes onwards the pendular movement between rise and fall towards generic equilibrium and social stabilization. Oswald Spengler understood well that decline situates civilization at the center of Western internal historical development just as birth presupposes death; thus, civilization is merely the coagulation of vital energies to overcome the emergence of decline. The genesis of civilization into final decline should at least elicit a question to break this ongoing circularity: what does it mean to hold to decline without converting its minimal energy into the orientation of a new horizontal epoch? The end of growth (economic stagnation) realized in real subsumption and the autonomization of value also allows us to formulate the question in the following terms: what does it mean to seize the fall of the rate of profit affirming demobilization and the inoperative nature of life beyond its conversion into the movement of energetic production that characterized the epoch of production through the historical figure of the worker?

Ultimately, this is a question about how to represent (or how to avoid representation) an ethical orientation of life. At the turn of the twentieth century, it was noted that the ethical bourgeois form of life was conditioned by the sense of “community upon all men” around utility of life’s functions subsumed by work, and work as the sole purpose and meaning of life. The definite character of modern social life can be said to compensate for decline for giving up the incommensurability of life forms; that is, what Lukács also called the temporality of the “genius, in the sense that [the genius] can never be measured against anything, whether interior or exterior” [1]. Confronting this very question at the threshold of the crisis of the transmission of forms in Antiquity, Bernard Berenson in The Arch of Constantine: the Decline of Form (1954) offers a distinct position: the moment for seizing decline should be a deliberate prospect of gazing backwards; a facilis descensus that will disclose something entirely different deprived of the race towards “newness” promised by temporal futurity and its social spheres rhetorically organized. In a remarkable moment of his book, Berenson writes that: “Except in unique moments like the fifth century in Hellas or some three thousand years earlier in Egypt and Sumeria, conscious, deliberate, purposeful art is constantly looking backwards – renaissancing – if I may be allowed this uncouth but necessary verb-striving to recapture some phase of its choice in the art of the past, or at least to model itself or draw inspiration from it” [2].

In other words, there is only “renaissancing” if one is able to traverse the decline of the past in the fullest sense of its inheritance of its formal stratification. The perpetual infantilism of the modern ethical outlook is that it tries to claim its definite character in irreversibility in order to exit the downwards path of decline through abundance and vulgarity (and we know from Ruskin that vulgarity is one of the forms that death takes unto the living).

For Berenson there seems to be authentic renaissancing at the level of life forms – of that incommensurable generality of human concrete and practical creation – by holding on to epochal decline, and not through state cultural policies that have sedimented the disappearance of forms of art legitimized by a “critic that will discover a deep meaning, a strange beauty, a revelaning newness in what you have done” [3]. The vicious modern liquidation of the free interplaying creation of forms of life and their external model of appearances is paid with the ascension of the rhetorical utility that will alleviate, at least momentarily, the sentiment of the decline proper to the transmission of dissolution. Whatever redemption creation can offer in the muddled waters of decline, the modern autonomy of reified forms, pushing upwards towards “newness”, will separate the sensorial transformation of life to the homogenous representation of communitarian representative order that puts an end to mood and solitude.

What Berenson calls “renaissancing” of factical experience nourishes the unrealized instances of the tradition not towards the breakthrough of a historical epoch (something like a virtuous mythic age of “Renaissance”) that can be posited by way of general background principles nor through the enforcement of a common social morality; rather the incorporated memory of the past is transformed to its very end because in its liquidation “true life” beyond measure reemerges. Berenson will state quite enigmatically that “style cannot be manufactured by taking thought” independently [4]. This is what Hölderlin had in mind when in a moment of “The Fatherland in Decline” from his theory of the tragic and its passage of dissolution: “The new life, which was to dissolve and did in fact dissolve, is not actually the ideally old, the dissolution of which was necessary, exhibiting its peculiar character between being and nonbeing…thus dissolution, as necessary, when seen from the point of view of ideal remembrance” [5]. It is this remembrance of dissolution that reveals decline as a felicitous fall without judgment that brings the appearance of life outside the irreversibility of the modern historical progress that has accumulated the oblivion of possible worlds.

This is why Hölderlin will also claim in his “The Perspective from which we look at Antiquity” (1799) that the ‘general decline of all peoples’ is due to the inheritance of forms of “an almost boundless prior world, which we internalize either through learning or experience and exerts pressure on us” [6]. To take up decline in a serious way means that we proceed from the formlessness of life, and not from the mimetic drive that expresses, in the name of ‘originality and autonomy’, the civilizational alienation towards the most distant (Antiquity) and the most near (ethos). We can then say that in decline the most distant and the irreducible becoming allows the ascension of ethical life. In this way, we can authoritatively say that there is only hope and redemption in decline because new life flourishes in a time of prudens futuri temporis exitum (“Prudently the god covers the outcome of the future in dark night”) that will transcend itself by becoming into what ceases and ultimately is.

Notes

1. Georg Lukács. “The Bourgeois Way of Life and Art for Art’s Sake”, in Soul and Form (Columbia University Press, 2010), 76.

2. Bernard Berenson. The Arch of Constantine: the Decline of Form (1954), 36.

3. Ibid., 64.

4. Ibid., 22.

5. Friedrich Hölderlin. “The Fatherland in Decline”, in The Death of Empedocles (Suny Press, 2008), 154.

6. Friedrich Hölderlin. “The Perspective from which We Have to Look at Antiquity”, in Essays and Letters on Theory (Suny Press, 1988), 39-40.