Rooted: Introduction to the Declaration on Human Responsibility

Author: (French) Simone Weil
Translator: Xu Weixiang
Publisher:
Publication Date: 2003-01-01
Features: The only preface that can endure alongside Simone Weil's works will be—just as Mr. Gustave Thibon wrote for La Pesanteur et la Grace—an introduction by someone who knew her. Her readers will find themselves facing a difficult, volatile, and complex personality; while those fortunate enough to discuss or correspond with her for long periods, especially those who met and helped her under the specific circumstances of her last five years of life, will appreciate the lasting value of their encounters. The purpose of this preface is, first, to affirm my belief in the author and the importance of this work; second, to caution readers against hasty judgments and simplistic categorizations—urging them to constantly examine their own biases and to exercise patience with Simone Weil's stubbornness. Once her works are recognized and accepted, such a preface would become unnecessary. All of Simone Weil's published works appeared posthumously. La Pesanteur et la Grace—selected by Mr. Thibon from her extensive notebooks—will soon be published in France—a work of astonishing depth but somewhat uneven in form. Comparing her to Pascal (Simone Weil spoke of him with a certain severity) may be too far-fetched. The fragmentary nature of the texts included reveals profound insights and brilliant originality, yet it also suggests that her mind occasionally experienced moments of inspiration. After reading Attente de Dieu and this book, I find myself trying to understand the author's personality; and to do so requires reading and rereading her entire oeuvre, an essential part of this slow process of comprehension. In attempting to understand her, we must not allow ourselves to be distracted by overgeneralizing or agreeing or disagreeing with her on specific points—in subsequent readings, this is all too easy to do—we must simply present ourselves to this genius, this woman of a near-saintly nature. Perhaps "genius" is not the right word. The priest who was the only one to discuss faith and doubt with her once said, "Je crois qu'elle a un esprit bien plus élevé que son talent" (I believe her soul is far higher than her talent). This, in another way, indicates that our initial encounter with Simone Weil cannot be expressed in terms of approval or disapproval. I cannot imagine anyone fully agreeing with all her views, nor can I imagine someone not strongly disagreeing with some of them. But agreement and rejection are secondary; what matters is the encounter with a great soul. Simone Weil may have become a saint. Like some who have reached this state, she faced greater obstacles to overcome but also greater capacity to do so. A potential saint may be a difficult person (difficult person): I suspect Simone Weil sometimes struggled too. People are often struck by the contrast between her almost superhuman humility and her almost tyrannical pride. I once mentioned a profound remark by a French priest. He recounted that, to his memory, "Simone Weil never conceded in a discussion, though she had a sincere desire for objectivity." This observation helps to understand her published works. I never believed she took pleasure in her eloquence—such self-indulgence, I suspect, Pascal nearly succumbed to in his Letters—that is, in demonstrating her ability to persuade others in debate. Instead, her thoughts are so vivid that abandoning any one of them would require altering her entire existence: a process that would be neither painless nor confined to conversation. Moreover, and especially among the young, in those like Simone Weil who seem to lack a sense of humor—self-centeredness and complete indifference can be very similar, and we might mistake one for the other. However, to say that her "soul is far higher than her talent" could be misleading if it gives the impression of undervaluing her intellect. True, she was not always just or steady; true, she sometimes surprised people with her harshness and exaggeration. But the uncontrolled assertions that might frustrate readers do not stem from intellectual flaws but from an excess of temperament. She came from a family with intellectual gifts—her brother was a brilliant mathematician; as for her own mind (mind), it was entirely worthy of the soul (soul) that possessed it. But intellect, especially when focused on the problems that troubled Simone Weil, matures slowly; let us not forget that she died at thirty-three. I believe, especially in L'Enracinement, the maturity of her social and political thought is exceptional. But she had a great soul that still needed to mature; we cannot judge her philosophy at thirty-three by the standards of a twenty- or thirty-year-old. In the works of such an author, we must expect contradictions and paradoxes. At the highest level, Simone Weil was three things: a Frenchwoman, a Jew, and a Christian. She was a patriot, willing to be sent back to France to suffer and die for her compatriots: she had to die—it seems, partly as a result of her self-mortification, in which she refused to accept more than the official ration of food for ordinary French people—in a sanatorium in Ashford, Kent, in 1943. She was also a patriot who saw very clearly the faults and spiritual weakness of contemporary France—as this book demonstrates. She was a Christian, with a fervent devotion to the altar and the Eucharist, yet she refused baptism, and much of her work consists of a sharp critique of the Church. She was a true Jew, deeply pained by the suffering of Jews in Germany; yet she criticized Israel with the sternness of all the Hebrew prophets. We have been told that the prophets were stoned in Jerusalem; but Simone Weil faced stones from all sides. And in her political thought, she seemed equally critical of both the right and the left; yet she loved order and hierarchy more sincerely than those who claimed to be conservatives, and she was more devoted to the people than those who called themselves socialists. As for her attitude toward the Roman Church and toward Israel, I hope to touch only briefly on one point here. These two attitudes are not only compatible but consistent; we should regard them as one. In fact, it was her rejection of Israel that made her a very heretical Christian. In denying the sacred mission of Israel (while distinguishing traces of Chaldean or Egyptian influence in the parts she accepted), she belonged to a form of heresy not unlike the Marcionites. By denying Israel's sacred mission, she also rejected the foundation of the Christian Church. Thus, these difficulties caused her immense spiritual suffering. I must assert that there is no trace of Protestantism in her work: for her, the Church could only be the Roman Church. There were many things in the Church that she chose to ignore, or about which she remained strangely silent. She seemed to have no thoughts on the Blessed Virgin; as for the saints, she was only concerned with those whose works interested her—such as St. Thomas Aquinas (whom she didn’t like, perhaps because she wasn’t familiar with him) and St. John of the Cross (whom she greatly admired for his profound understanding of spiritual methods). At first glance, in some ways she shared something with contemporary intellectuals (most of whom had a vague liberal Protestant background), who believe that the path to religious life can only be found through Eastern mysticism. Her enthusiasm for all things Greek (including its mysteries) was boundless. For her, there was no revelation from Israel, but many from the Chaldeans, the Egyptians, and the Hindus. Her attitude risked bordering on that of Universalists, who claim that there is only one ultimate and esoteric truth, and that all religions reflect traces of it; it doesn’t matter which of these great religions we adhere to. Yet she avoided this error—this is something to be praised and comforted by—through her devotion to the Lord. In her critiques of Judaism and Christianity, I think we must make a triple distinction for ourselves and ask: How much of it is justified? How much constitutes serious flaws that must be refuted? And how much, on the wrong path, can be excused due to the immaturity of an exceptional and passionate personality? Our analyses may differ, but we must ask these questions and answer them for ourselves.