| Похвала глупости Лев Шестов (1907) | |||
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| In Praise of Folly | In Praise of Folly | ||
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| Lev Shestov In Praise of Folly On the Occasion of Nikolai Berdyaev's Book Sub specie aeternitatis. Den Leib möcht ich noch haben, Den Leib so zart und jung; Die Seele könnt ihr begraben, Hab' selber Seele genug. Your body I'd still like to possess, A body so tender and young; As for your soul you can bury it, I myself have enough soul. H. HEINE I begin my eulogy to folly not in jest as did the illustrious Erasmus of Rotterdam in the old days, but in all sincerity and from all my heart. In this task Berdyaev's new book will be of great assistance to me. Had he wished to do so, he could have titled it, following his long-deceased colleague's example, In Praise of Folly, because its purpose is to challenge common sense. True, the book is a collection of articles written in the last six years, hence, properly speaking, it does not and cannot serve some one purpose. Six years is a long time: not only a writer like Berdyaev, but any writer will change to some extent during so long a period. The book opens with an article written long ago, "The Struggle for Idealism" (Bor'ba za idealizm), in which the author still maintains a strictly Kantian viewpoint that admits, as we know, common sense and all its accompanying virtues. Then the author gradually evolves and, by the end of the book, he openly declares war on common sense, but what he opposes to common sense is not Folly, as is usually done, but Great Reason. Of course, one can express oneself in this way, calling Folly Great Reason, and, if you like, this has a deep meaning or, more precisely, a deep sting, for what can be more insulting and humiliating to common sense than to confer the honorific title of Great Reason on Folly? Until now common sense has been accepted as the father and closest friend of all minds, great and small. Now, Berdyaev, scorning genealogy and historically shaped heraldry, elevates "opposition to common sense," that is, Folly to the order of Great Reason. No doubt, this is very audacious, but Berdyaev is a writer who above all is daring and, in my opinion, this is his greatest strength. I would say that his gift, his philosophical and literary talent, lies in his audacity. As soon as it abandons him, the source of his inspiration evaporates, he has nothing to say, and he ceases to be himself. But I have run too far ahead. Let us return to his evolution or, rather, to the evolution of his idea. As I have said, like any thinking person, Berdyaev has changed his convictions or ideas many times in the course of six years. Of course, I mean his philosophical ideas. In his political views he is incomparably more stable and consistent. He was and remains a democrat and even, it seems, a socialist. This is curious. Why do people change their philosophical beliefs much more easily than their political beliefs? The same comparative stability of political convictions can be observed also in other writers who along with Berdyaev have evolved from Marxism through idealism to mysticism and even to positive religion. Take, for example, Bulgakov. Had he displayed the same rate in changing his political beliefs, he would have been by now either among the Black Hundreds or the maximalists, that is, somewhere at the very fringe of the political field. But he has remained along with Berdyaev a democrat and socialist. True enough, he no longer worships Marx, only in the realm of theory. On practical issues he remains faithful to himself so that the unbreakable nexus idearum between Orthodoxy and reaction that exists in the public mind should be considered from now on to be finally severed. Now there are many students of Bulgakov, even among the young people, who with their teacher care for the Orthodox church and yet do not sing the praises of secular bosses with birch rods, nor field court-marshals, nor the unlimited power of ministers. How can one explain the inconstancy of philosophical beliefs in people who are politically stable and unwavering? Obviously, not by their character. One cannot be at the same time of a firm and a changing character. For the time being, let me leave this question unanswered and turn the reader's attention to another peculiarity of Berdyaev's intellectual development (and the same applies to Bulgakov). As soon as he abandons a set of ideas for a new one, he no longer finds in his previous intellectual wealth anything worthy of attention. All the old ideas are rags and good for nothing. Take, economic materialism, for example. At one time (in his first book) Berdyaev was excited with it—true, not in its pure version, but combined with Kantianism—and thought it contained the whole truth. Now he no longer sees any truth in it. So, let me raise the question: is a philosopher allowed to be so wildly extravagant? Surely, the materialists had at least some grains of truth. Why should they be scorned? And later on, when the time came to get up and to leave old man Kant, Berdyaev left everything, took not a thing with him, as if the slightest luggage would weigh him down, and sprinted freely to metaphysics confident in advance that he would find there both fatted herds and wide fields, in a word, everything a man needs to make a living. Then he dropped metaphysics and flung himself into the depth of religious revelation. The saga of Berdyaev's transformation from a metaphysician into a believing Christian was spread out for the reader on the pages of Problems of Life (Voprosy zhizni). What was particularly impressive about the transformation was its impetuosity. It was too fast even for Berdyaev. He became a Christian before he even learned to pronounce clearly all the words of the confession of faith. The metamorphosis, obviously, took place beyond the threshold of consciousness. In his article "On the New Religious Consciousness" (O novom religioznom soznanii), in which he first begins to talk about Christ, the god-man, the man-god, and so on, he breaks off and stutters, in a word, he displays all the signs that he finds himself in a foreign and unfamiliar realm where he can only move around by guessing and groping. Incidentally, I should point out an interesting fact that all our writers who arrived at Christianity through evolution absolutely cannot learn to pronounce the sacred words properly. Even Merezhkovsky, who has been practicing how to write on theological themes for so many years, has not yet reached anything like virtuosity in spite of his undeniable literary gifts. The right tone is lacking. This is like a person learning a foreign language at a mature age. One can always tell that he is a foreigner. The same is true of Bulgakov. He solved a difficult problem in an original way and, beginning with his first articles, he started to pronounce the word Christ in the same tone in which he previously pronounced the word Marx. And yet Bulgakov, in spite of his advantage of simplicity and natural manner (for he did not have to change it), does not convince a sensitive ear. In this respect they are all far outdone by Rozanov, although, as we know, he does not believe in Christ and does not accept the Gospel. But since childhood he has been raised according to the rules of piety, was never fascinated with Darwinism and Marxism, and has preserved his innocence. I do not think that either Merezhkovsky, Bulgakov, or Berdyaev will ever be Rozanov's equal. Bulgakov, it seems, senses this and switches from religious searchings to questions of the church, to church politics. Here, perhaps, he will be in the right place. Politics and the problems of social constitution are close and dear to him. From what I have said, one can draw many conclusions. First of all, it follows that intellectual evolution, which in the old days was so difficult and so extraordinarily slow and now takes place so easily and quickly, does not involve any deep internal changes. Bulgakov, when he was a Marxist, was just as fine a man as he is now. Berdyaev, whether he is a Kantian or a metaphysician, and Merezhkovsky, whether he is a Nietzschean or Christian—from the inside, there is no difference. Cuculeus non facit monachum (a cowl does not a monk make). Generally speaking, it is evident that the old thinkers were mistaken when they thought that philosophical ideas had to be carefully protected in a dry place from rust and moths, otherwise they would be damaged. Political beliefs are another matter. In politics if you change your beliefs then you have to change friends and enemies, you have to shoot people you defended with your own body and vice versa. Here you have to think things over. But to switch from Kantianism to Hegelianism and even, horribile dictu, to materialism, how will that affect anyone? I do not even see any reason for a person who knows a number of philosophical systems well to evolve inevitably from one system to another. It is permitted, depending on circumstances, to believe in one and then another. In the course of a day even, one can switch systems two or three times. In the morning one can be a convinced Hegelian, during the day hold firmly onto Plato, and in the evening..., there are evenings when one will believe Spinoza even: our natura naturata will seem so immutable. It is only difficult to consent freely that virtue brings no reward. It should, to be quite frank, it most certainly should bring a reward. But if Deus sive natura, sive substantia has arranged things so that it cannot change its own nature even, then there is nothing to be done, you have to accept things and try to find comfort in contemplating the world sub specie aeternitatis. | Lev Shestov In Praise of Folly On the Occasion of Nikolai Berdyaev's Book Sub specie aeternitatis. Den Leib möcht ich noch haben, Den Leib so zart und jung; Die Seele könnt ihr begraben, Hab' selber Seele genug. Your body I'd still like to possess, A body so tender and young; As for your soul you can bury it, I myself have enough soul. H. HEINE I begin my eulogy to folly not in jest as did the illustrious Erasmus of Rotterdam in the old days, but in all sincerity and from all my heart. In this task Berdyaev's new book will be of great assistance to me. Had he wished to do so, he could have titled it, following his long-deceased colleague's example, In Praise of Folly, because its purpose is to challenge common sense. True, the book is a collection of articles written in the last six years, hence, properly speaking, it does not and cannot serve some one purpose. Six years is a long time: not only a writer like Berdyaev, but any writer will change to some extent during so long a period. The book opens with an article written long ago, "The Struggle for Idealism" (Bor'ba za idealizm), in which the author still maintains a strictly Kantian viewpoint that admits, as we know, common sense and all its accompanying virtues. Then the author gradually evolves and, by the end of the book, he openly declares war on common sense, but what he opposes to common sense is not Folly, as is usually done, but Great Reason. Of course, one can express oneself in this way, calling Folly Great Reason, and, if you like, this has a deep meaning or, more precisely, a deep sting, for what can be more insulting and humiliating to common sense than to confer the honorific title of Great Reason on Folly? Until now common sense has been accepted as the father and closest friend of all minds, great and small. Now, Berdyaev, scorning genealogy and historically shaped heraldry, elevates "opposition to common sense," that is, Folly to the order of Great Reason. No doubt, this is very audacious, but Berdyaev is a writer who above all is daring and, in my opinion, this is his greatest strength. I would say that his gift, his philosophical and literary talent, lies in his audacity. As soon as it abandons him, the source of his inspiration evaporates, he has nothing to say, and he ceases to be himself. But I have run too far ahead. Let us return to his evolution or, rather, to the evolution of his idea. As I have said, like any thinking person, Berdyaev has changed his convictions or ideas many times in the course of six years. Of course, I mean his philosophical ideas. In his political views he is incomparably more stable and consistent. He was and remains a democrat and even, it seems, a socialist. This is curious. Why do people change their philosophical beliefs much more easily than their political beliefs? The same comparative stability of political convictions can be observed also in other writers who along with Berdyaev have evolved from Marxism through idealism to mysticism and even to positive religion. Take, for example, Bulgakov. Had he displayed the same rate in changing his political beliefs, he would have been by now either among the Black Hundreds or the maximalists, that is, somewhere at the very fringe of the political field. But he has remained along with Berdyaev a democrat and socialist. True enough, he no longer worships Marx, only in the realm of theory. On practical issues he remains faithful to himself so that the unbreakable nexus idearum between Orthodoxy and reaction that exists in the public mind should be considered from now on to be finally severed. Now there are many students of Bulgakov, even among the young people, who with their teacher care for the Orthodox church and yet do not sing the praises of secular bosses with birch rods, nor field court-marshals, nor the unlimited power of ministers. How can one explain the inconstancy of philosophical beliefs in people who are politically stable and unwavering? Obviously, not by their character. One cannot be at the same time of a firm and a changing character. For the time being, let me leave this question unanswered and turn the reader's attention to another peculiarity of Berdyaev's intellectual development (and the same applies to Bulgakov). As soon as he abandons a set of ideas for a new one, he no longer finds in his previous intellectual wealth anything worthy of attention. All the old ideas are rags and good for nothing. Take, economic materialism, for example. At one time (in his first book) Berdyaev was excited with it—true, not in its pure version, but combined with Kantianism—and thought it contained the whole truth. Now he no longer sees any truth in it. So, let me raise the question: is a philosopher allowed to be so wildly extravagant? Surely, the materialists had at least some grains of truth. Why should they be scorned? And later on, when the time came to get up and to leave old man Kant, Berdyaev left everything, took not a thing with him, as if the slightest luggage would weigh him down, and sprinted freely to metaphysics confident in advance that he would find there both fatted herds and wide fields, in a word, everything a man needs to make a living. Then he dropped metaphysics and flung himself into the depth of religious revelation. The saga of Berdyaev's transformation from a metaphysician into a believing Christian was spread out for the reader on the pages of Problems of Life (Voprosy zhizni). What was particularly impressive about the transformation was its impetuosity. It was too fast even for Berdyaev. He became a Christian before he even learned to pronounce clearly all the words of the confession of faith. The metamorphosis, obviously, took place beyond the threshold of consciousness. In his article "On the New Religious Consciousness" (O novom religioznom soznanii), in which he first begins to talk about Christ, the god-man, the man-god, and so on, he breaks off and stutters, in a word, he displays all the signs that he finds himself in a foreign and unfamiliar realm where he can only move around by guessing and groping. Incidentally, I should point out an interesting fact that all our writers who arrived at Christianity through evolution absolutely cannot learn to pronounce the sacred words properly. Even Merezhkovsky, who has been practicing how to write on theological themes for so many years, has not yet reached anything like virtuosity in spite of his undeniable literary gifts. The right tone is lacking. This is like a person learning a foreign language at a mature age. One can always tell that he is a foreigner. The same is true of Bulgakov. He solved a difficult problem in an original way and, beginning with his first articles, he started to pronounce the word Christ in the same tone in which he previously pronounced the word Marx. And yet Bulgakov, in spite of his advantage of simplicity and natural manner (for he did not have to change it), does not convince a sensitive ear. In this respect they are all far outdone by Rozanov, although, as we know, he does not believe in Christ and does not accept the Gospel. But since childhood he has been raised according to the rules of piety, was never fascinated with Darwinism and Marxism, and has preserved his innocence. I do not think that either Merezhkovsky, Bulgakov, or Berdyaev will ever be Rozanov's equal. Bulgakov, it seems, senses this and switches from religious searchings to questions of the church, to church politics. Here, perhaps, he will be in the right place. Politics and the problems of social constitution are close and dear to him. From what I have said, one can draw many conclusions. First of all, it follows that intellectual evolution, which in the old days was so difficult and so extraordinarily slow and now takes place so easily and quickly, does not involve any deep internal changes. Bulgakov, when he was a Marxist, was just as fine a man as he is now. Berdyaev, whether he is a Kantian or a metaphysician, and Merezhkovsky, whether he is a Nietzschean or Christian—from the inside, there is no difference. Cuculeus non facit monachum (a cowl does not a monk make). Generally speaking, it is evident that the old thinkers were mistaken when they thought that philosophical ideas had to be carefully protected in a dry place from rust and moths, otherwise they would be damaged. Political beliefs are another matter. In politics if you change your beliefs then you have to change friends and enemies, you have to shoot people you defended with your own body and vice versa. Here you have to think things over. But to switch from Kantianism to Hegelianism and even, horribile dictu, to materialism, how will that affect anyone? I do not even see any reason for a person who knows a number of philosophical systems well to evolve inevitably from one system to another. It is permitted, depending on circumstances, to believe in one and then another. In the course of a day even, one can switch systems two or three times. In the morning one can be a convinced Hegelian, during the day hold firmly onto Plato, and in the evening..., there are evenings when one will believe Spinoza even: our natura naturata will seem so immutable. It is only difficult to consent freely that virtue brings no reward. It should, to be quite frank, it most certainly should bring a reward. But if Deus sive natura, sive substantia has arranged things so that it cannot change its own nature even, then there is nothing to be done, you have to accept things and try to find comfort in contemplating the world sub specie aeternitatis. | ||
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