Castles in the Air: Why ‘Modern Orthodoxy’ has never existed (Part 1)

A winter’s day in a deep and dark December. I am alone. Gazing from my window to the streets below on a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
Well, I can only say/mumble the first line to myself with any conviction for another few hours so I might as well make the most of it. I would also have to amend the second line to ever-present thin layer of ice. Incidentally, usually only Dylan merits the ‘italics’ treatment, but I feel that Paul Simon deserves the promotion as S+G have at least as many quotable lines and a far higher proportion in a fairly short career. Incidentally, if anyone knows of any vaguely competent contemporary lyricists I would be interested in hearing about them. Ed Sheeran is passable I suppose. I quite liked a few Passenger songs. I like Springsteen’s lyrics mainly because they make you imagine that you are driving down an American dust road in an epically significant convertible truck and have experienced it all. G-d bless America. The voice helps as well. I have little respect for singers who actually try and sing. Hoarse/ deep rumbling wins any day, viva Mark Knopfler. I digress.

 My title implies that I am taking the jump and becoming one of those people who comments on everything vaguely intellectual in the Jewish world, pinning words like sine qua non and ontological onto them, lets everyone know that I know about the dead-sea scrolls and making a hullaballoo about it on Facebook (yes I just used the word hullaballoo). The sarcasm of the above sentence will hopefully protect me from that fate. Hopefully. I like an uninterrupted forum to rant. It also implies that I'm going to conclude: Therefore everyone should be Chareidi. I warn you now that this is unlikely unless I take a time capsule back to sixth form. I have simply tried to learn from messers Kellner and Shapiro how to sell fairly parev material with classic titles such as 'Must a Jew believe anything' and the 'limits of Orthodox theology' (notice that limits sounds very like limitation which makes it appear more controversial).

  

In addition, as ‘New years’ approaches, you think about certain things. Yes I know it’s not Jewish and I don’t attribute significance to it in any meaningful way, but a change of the calendar year does evoke certain introspective feelings of Time, Time, Time see what’s become of me or, to quote the Floyd ‘And then one day you’ll find seven years have gone behind you no-one told you where to run you missed the starting gun’. And this brings me to one of my favourite topics: community and identity. What is it that really unifies us and brings us together in a meaningful sense/ how do we create that if we don't feel it? How should we aspire to live as Jews in the 21^st Century? Is there a singular utopian vision? Can we ever find it in the larger group as well as individual relationships? 

 Sitting here in London I struggle to find answers, but certain things have struck me about what might be called Modern Orthodoxy and I thought it might be interesting to express them in words and see if people have any views on them. 

In short, MO’s biggest strength and weakness is that it is defined principally as an idea rather than through concrete symbols. What many choose to see as a religious ideology or lifestyle choice, it seems to me, is in fact simply a particular expression of the religious spirit. The most distinctively ‘MO’ communities are those which have defined themselves by a particular course of action, usually in the dilution of religious strictures or innovative modernising programmes which many see as blurring the lines of Halacha. In response, many claim that this is not the ‘real thing’ because it doesn’t live up to the ideals espoused by certain rabbinic leaders, and this leads to the refrain of ‘It’s an ideal that can never work in practise, too dangerous etc.’ I am going to try and suggest something which seems pretty strange and try to explain it over the next few posts by looking at a few examples of the ‘integrated’ approach and how it expressed itself. The problem is that whenever I write too seriously I want to get side-tracked so as not to want to be ‘that guy’. So I make plans and fail to stick to them.

 My suggestion is this: Modern Orthodoxy has never existed, and can never exist as a religious ideology. It can only exist as an expression of the individual spirit. This differs from an ideology in a few ways that come to mind: 1.It is not a choice of lifestyle or something you subscribe to. It is a necessary spirit which everyone has within them and for many people is an essential part of being a religious Jew. 2. 'It' cannot be used to build communities around it as there are very few formal rules, or concrete symbols unlike in the Chareidi world. YU? American Orthodoxy, not ‘modern’. Very American Orthodoxy. 

Playing around with words? Maybe, but I will attempt to justify it. R. Hirsch in the 19^th Century? Medieval Spain? Rambam? Anyone community that ever studied/encouraged philosophy? All had ‘Modern’ elements but I will suggest that this was not their defining feature. I will conclude by suggesting that we maybe think about communal identity in ways that are not binary. I don't either have to be in box a or b. (Workers of the world, unite!) I may get stuck along the way but that’s part of the fun.

     

To conclude the intro, this started when I was highlighting different parts of the Kuzari a few months back before getting side-tracked (you notice a pattern emerging) R. Yehudah ha-Levi, in explaining the Jewish attitude towards observance of mitzvoth as opposed to fasting and ascetic practises writes through the mouth of the rabbi: “Did we not agree that one can only approach Gd through deeds which He commanded? Do you think that this closeness can be gained just by submission, humility, and the like?” Yet I noticed that for many thinkers in Jewish history, this rhetorical question is certainly not obvious. The desire for 'Devekut', a form of tangible connection with Gd beyond mere observance of commandments dominates large portions of Kabbalistic literature from the 16^th Century onwards, finding its most potent expression in the writings of Hasidut, and Maimonides makes it clear that without the philosophical quest, man can never reach his full potential. A full discussion of different approaches towards this topic is interesting and I recommend the opening chapters of David Hartman’s book on Maimonides which delineates different approaches towards this issue (and makes it somewhat clear how he wants Maimonides to think at the same time). Good day.

Art Galleries and their religious value. It's not as pretentious as it sounds, promise...

It's been a while since I've written anything, for various reasons. I was vaguely thinking of publishing something on some thoughts that I've had on why I feel that Modern Orthodoxy cannot really be considered an actual religious movement but rather a certain individual spirit which cannot build a community on its own, but I'll save the fun stuff for another time when I've been able to write down my ideas properly.

So instead I'll turn to another hobby of mine, visiting art galleries. I have just been on a trip with a friend to Spain and I have a few preliminary remarks. Firstly, I realised how interesting it is to visually experience the circumstances in which people have lived. Toledo, for example, with its winding,hilly streets and striking views helped me imagine what it might have been like to be a Jew there in the 13th and 14th centuries; what it must have been like to live in the shadow of several very imposing churches knowing that cordial relations were never guaranteed. Barcelona too, with its shadowy narrow streets in the medieval quarter retains its intensity when you eventually manage to escape the hub of irritating tourists such as yourself. Gerona, home of the Ramban, Rabbeinu Yonah and the Ran with its tranquillity, panoramic views and orange trees. Makes you wonder how peaceful times might have affected attitudes towards all sorts of things and understand why there are so many poems praising Spain and its beauty.

But as we came to Madrid, there was one thing on the agenda: Art galleries. So on Tuesday, I spent a day visiting the Museo del Prado and the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum. 
From a very young age, I have always loved art galleries. Reading that line I would say to myself: This guy needs to get over himself. Reading it a second time I would say: This guy needs to get over himself. And yes, reactions are usually fairly similar:  "Art galleries? Ooh, cultured." "you're so cultured (sarcasm)" " pretentious (insert four letter word of choice)" "What do you see in it?" even, occasionally "teach me how to appreciate culture" " I bet you love classical music as well". “Posh boy”. Needless to say, it’s not something I usually do with friends. So for the first time, leaving my friend in the hotel, I decided to think about what it was that had always struck me about them.

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Usually on areas of 'culture' there are two very polarised schools of thought. There are the ‘scientists’, or the peasants as I call them, who simply cannot for the life of them understand why anyone would waste their time on these things beyond wanting to look cultured. With their steely reductionist tendencies I am reliably informed that I could save the money and look at the pictures online. 

Yes, when you visit a European city you must see the sites. Why? Well, because they are there and famous and you can say you've seen them before heading to the nearest pool/beach.

 And then there are the good old fashioned snobs who simply dismiss this incredulity with a casual "you wouldn't understand". Or, “philistines”. Now normally, I happily associate with the latter group and allow the scientists to feel satisfied that my lack of functionality represents a fundamental character flaw. But this time I decided to think of a response to ‘what I see in it’ and give it some sort of definition. This was partly triggered by a plaque dedicated by the owner of what had previously been a private collection saying how art “moved people and brought them together”. I immediately visualised that sentence being read by a certain friend of mine (you know who you are) and couldn't help grinning. But then I thought about actually trying to define the visual process slightly beyond the mere realm of feeling in words. I realise that I am treading a fine line here between actively appearing to be a massive ‘get over yourself’ but I will give it a go:

The thing about Art is that, at least in theory, it combines two profound realms of human experience: nature and human creativity. One of the main reasons so many seeking spiritual experiences go out into the woods and into far-off countryside is that the natural world is striking for its beauty. Nature, in its wildest form, is quite mesmerising. It is hard to accurately capture this in a word but perhaps it is  simplicity. No cars, work, agendas, corruption, fakery, deception, interviews or CVs. Whilst trying not to sound too much like a 19^th Century Idealist, I find it interesting that trips to the countryside or the Heath can make problems from the ‘big city’ appear illusionary. Especially in London. Everything seems fast, hurried and suited. A lifestyle, which to quote Dire Straits, runs on 'heavy heavy fuel'.

A painting has the ability to capture the sensation associated with nature in that it reduces life to its fundamental and simple elements. Ok I'm going to do this and accept the consequences: 

The Haywain, by John Constable, to be found in the National Gallery, London. (Up the stairs straight ahead as you enter, first room, on your left ;-) ). I am no expert in anything artistic and have never studied it formally. I have no idea about technique beyond what I can immediately see. But I think this is a fairly good example of what I'm talking about. The calmness and quiet serenity of nature is portrayed. Tranquility, calm and yes, good old nostalgia. But it freezes it. Because a painting, like any art form, is not simply a reproduction of something (“Why can’t they just take a bloody picture, didn’t they have cameras back then?”) but it also is the investment of the artist's mind and thoughts into the work. The different elements, the little dog, old cottage etc. combine to create an experience and communicate it with the viewer. 
A bit like a piece of music, it stirs in different ways: 
It can be the romantic tranquillity favoured by landscape artists, the tragedy of war, psychological insights into personalities through their facial expressions, or simply depictions of honour, majesty or pain. A good example of this was one of Goya's paintings that I saw the other day:

 

Either way, the viewer is moved because through this medium basic, deeply-felt messages which they can relate to are communicated. Because it is frozen, moreover, it doesn’t just leave and lie forgotten. It stays and is transfixing, allowing the viewer to briefly transport themselves into the scene and reminding them of things that may be self-evident but are rarely thought about. Enchanted and stirred, the individual sometimes remembers long-forgotten parts of themselves that have been lost along the way. 

 Or alternatively, it can do none of the above. A bit like music, it just depends on the individual. To many, the above description may be wishy-washy nonsense. Fair enough. This isn't a question of teaching someone to 'be cultured'. Once it becomes a box ticking exercise, like most box-ticking exercises, any quality it may have contained becomes lost. 

But this leads me to a larger point which I have encountered in religious life. What I find interesting is that 'The Arts' are rarely seen to have intrinsic value in the ‘frum’ world. Yes, if you are talented, design a sefer Torah, use it to beautify a shul or something similar. But its value is instrumental, not intrinsic or substantive. The ability of an art form to stir the soul and provide access to a relationship with G-d is rarely mentioned, acknowledged, or probably thought about.

I understand that for many people this whole concept appears bizarre and irrelevant to religious life but for others it could perhaps enable them to view themselves and the lives they lead as being of profound spiritual worth. The suppression, ignorance or patronising dismissal of a whole vista of human experience can create a perception within the hearts and minds of those who do relate to it of a rather bland, conformist religiosity which ignores the individual spirit as a conduit of G-dliness. That is a great shame.  

Incidentally, the 'intrinsic' approach is epitomised by R. S. R Hirsch and whilst I generally try to avoid broad generalisations, with even a casual perusal of his writings this becomes self-evident. See his eulogy for the German poet Schiller translated by Marc Shapiro: http://www.yutorah.org/lectures/lecture.cfm/745805.