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DOI: 10.1007/s11007-006-9022-5
c Springer 2007
JOHN CARUANA
Ryerson University
Abstract. The motif of the ‘drama of being’ is a dominant thread that spans the entirety of
Levinas’s six decades of authorship. As we will see, from the start of his writing career, Levinas
consciously frames the tension between ontology and ethics in a dramatic form. A careful
exposition of this motif and other related theatrical metaphors in his work—such as ‘intrigue,’
‘plot,’ and ‘scene’—can offer us not only a better appreciation of the evolution of Levinas’s
thought, but also of his proper place within the western philosophical tradition. Levinas accuses
western philosophers of being exclusively attuned to what he calls the ‘drama of existence.’
And even then, philosophers have eluded the implications of the tragic fatalism that define this
drama. Philosophers are generally unaware of an ‘other scene’ that radically alters the fatalistic
logic of the ontological drama. Levinas calls this other scene the ‘ethical intrigue.’
For Levinas, there are two essential dramas that define who we are. The first
is the ontological drama. This drama involves the self in relation to its own
being and being in general. If there are other selves or players within this drama
they are to be understood as other egos competing for the same finite terrain.
The western philosophical tradition has been for the most part concerned
with sketching out this drama and finding possible solutions to the inevitable
violence that defines it. As Levinas sees it, the principal problem with most
traditional accounts of the drama of being is that they manage, in one way or
another, to evade what is truly problematic with it. This blind-spot is intimately
connected to the fact that these attempts fail to take notice of another, more
essential, drama. Levinas refers to this other drama, one that implicates the self
and the Other, as the ethical intrigue—the dramatic connotation of “intrigue”
should not be lost on us. For Levinas, only a proper understanding of the
ethical intrigue can offer us an honest appraisal of the ontological drama.
These two dramas are not meant to be understood as discrete and separate,
for they are intricately intertwined.1 What transpires in the second drama has
the potential to place a human face on the drama of being. More to the point,
the ethical intrigue offers the only legitimate response to the indifference and
widespread cruelty of the existential drama.
In the final period of his work, Levinas insists that we must strive to express the
ethical—even at the risk of sounding “strange” (OB 183). Levinas certainly
252 J. CARUANA
existential reflex: overcome by its awareness of the burden of its own being,
the self, nevertheless, is helpless in acquiring any relief from it (OE 66–68).
In the two texts that were published shortly after the Second World War, Le
temps et l’autre (Time and the Other) and De l’existence à l’existant (Existence
and Existents), Levinas continues to highlight the self’s profound ambivalence
vis-à-vis being, and in particular, to indeterminate being, existence shorn of
existents. “One possesses existence,” he notes in 1947, “but is also possessed
by it” (EE 47). At this time, Levinas views the self as an impressive achieve-
ment given the hurly-burly (le remue-ménage) 8 nature of anonymous being,
the il y a. Like Blanchot’s notion of le neutre and Sartre’s l’être en-soi, Lev-
inas’s concept of the il y a suggests a disquieting indifference at the heart of
general being. That a self could even emerge from such a hostile environment
strikes Levinas as virtually miraculous. These post-war works conceive of the
self as an instant that temporarily suspends the meaningless noise and disorder
of the il y a. But the self, despite its achievement, is simultaneously ridden
with a kind of double-mindedness. In establishing a place for itself within
being, the self demonstrates a formidable mastery, as it momentarily halts the
violent intrusion of the il y a. There is a price, however, to be paid for this
mastery. For in the process of constituting itself, the self takes on the “weight
of existence” (EE 77). The accomplishment of the self represents therefore
a double-edged sword: it signifies an instant or moment of freedom from
anonymous existence and, at the same time, the locus of an acute awareness
of one’s boundedness. The embodied self acts as the base for the possibility
of enjoying the natural elements, but this attachment simultaneously commits
the self to the perpetual vagaries of elemental life. In his own chilling descrip-
tion of the self’s ambivalent relationship to the elements of being, Blanchot
will write some time later, “the sky, the same sky,” that only moments before
bathed the self with its rays of life and splendor, now “suddenly open[s], ab-
solutely black and absolutely empty, revealing . . . such an absence that all has
since always and forevermore been lost therein. . ..” 9 The severity of this on-
tological vacillation— between enjoyment and terror—represents more than
just a persistent nuisance to the ego. For Levinas, the self’s inherent inability
to resolve this ambivalence undermines the very constitutional possibility of
selfhood. By underestimating the urgency of this problem, Levinas would have
us understand, we fail to appreciate what finally saves the self from psychic
incoherence.
The central argument of both Existence and Existents and Time and the
Other is that no matter how hard it tries, the self cannot release itself from
the contract that binds it to its own being. The self, as Levinas describes it in
both of these works, finds itself in the same unenviable position as Faust, who
signs away his soul for the most remarkable of powers, only to discover that
THE DRAMA OF BEING: LEVINAS AND THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY 255
Levinas contends that with very few exceptions, western philosophy has
failed to come to grips with the challenge of the drama of being. In this
regard, western thought never successfully extricated itself from the problem
of fatalism, despite the fact that it has from its origins presented itself in
opposition to mythological thinking. As long as philosophy insists on the
exclusivity of being, then the specter of fatalism hangs over it indefinitely.
Yet this specter has hardly deterred philosophy from asserting the supremacy
of being. Consequently, Levinas suggests, philosophy seems to suffer from
a refusal to face up to the implications of its own assertions. Even the most
sober-minded philosophers—like Hobbes, Spinoza, and Nietzsche 11 —fail to
notice the consequences of their own thought as it concerns the drama of being.
But we must be precise as to the nature of the disagreement between Levinas
and modern philosophy. Levinas does not take issue with the picture of being
that modern philosophy paints. Spinoza’s notion of the conatus essendi, for
example, presents us, according to Levinas, with a forthright assessment of the
drama of being. In the Ethics, Spinoza stipulates that “[e]ach thing, in so far as
it is in itself, endeavors to persist in its own being. . .. The conatus with which
each thing endeavors to persist in its own being is nothing but the actual essence
of the thing itself.” 12 As far as Levinas is concerned, Spinoza’s depiction of
being as moving simultaneously along the two parallel axes of preservation
and enhancement is fundamentally sound. In words that effectively repeat his
earlier comments in De l’évasion, Levinas consents to the claim established
by modern philosophy that “[b]eing’s interest takes dramatic form in egoisms
struggling with one another, each against all, in the multiplicity of allergic
egoisms which are at war with one another and are thus together” (OB 4 [my
emphasis]). The classical expression of this view is Hobbes’s bellum omnium
contra omnes, the war of all against all. “War,” Levinas concurs, is at the very
heart of “the drama of essence’s interest” (OB 4). As the Latin interesse—
being (esse) and ‘to be between’ (inter)— suggests, the essence of being “fills
every interval of nothingness that would interrupt it,” a kind of “strict book-
keeping where nothing is lost nor created” (OB 125). The ontological drama
is indeed cramped, suffocating, with little, if any, breathing room for respite
or peace.
The problem with modern philosophy, however, for Levinas, is that the var-
ious moral, social, and aesthetic solutions it puts forth to address the conflicts
inherent in the drama of being are radically insufficient. The philosophers
of power, like Spinoza and Nietzsche, undertake to present an alternative
account of morality and politics—in opposition to the transcendental expla-
nations proffered by certain philosophers and theologians—that begins and
ends with being. According to the theorists of power, order and community
derive from each being’s recognition that its own self-interest is best served
THE DRAMA OF BEING: LEVINAS AND THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY 257
honest to admit that no permutation of being could be responsible for “the little
humanity that adorns the world” (OB 185). Being, in and of itself, cannot be the
springboard for what we value most in life—like peace, tolerance, respect—
for the simple reason that being is too callous, too unresponsive to the frailties
of human beings, and, in particular, to the most vulnerable in society. We
ought not to conclude from Levinas’s assessment of being that the resources
of being, such as power or nature, should not, or cannot, be used in the service
of goodness. Levinas is not a utopian thinker, that is, he does not renounce
the realm of being for the sake of some higher spiritual truth. The upshot of
Levinas’s critique is that it is legitimate to appeal to a theory of calculations
and compromises with power, but only after a moral stance has been taken
with respect to being. Before then, we live at the mercy of the inhumanity of
being.
Another strategy that philosophers have adopted to conceal the problem of
the fatefulness of being is to suggest that the totalizing propensity of being or
fate is disrupted by non-being. Hegel, of course, is the most influential expo-
nent of this view. Hegel presents a theory of sublation [Aufhebung] to explain
why he believes that the human spirit is not a hapless victim of fate; why in-
dividual minds and cultures do not slip into a state of perpetual sclerosis. The
negation of being, for Hegel, ensures that arcane forms of understanding and
social relations give way to increasingly more progressive mental structures as
well as more just political orders. But for Levinas, the negation of being is no
more a legitimate remedy than the affirmation of being proposed by thinkers
like Spinoza and Nietzsche. Rather than generating a dialectical recovery or
sublation of the ruins of the past into a new and higher equilibrium, the nega-
tion of being prompts the swarming and deafening bustle of the il y a. In Time
and the Other, Levinas observes that Shakespeare is one of the few great writ-
ers to grasp the limitations of the tragic outlook’s fascination with negation.
Hamlet “understands that the ‘not to be’ is perhaps impossible and he can
no longer master the absurd, even by suicide” (TO 50). If Hamlet “recoils
before the ‘not to be,”’ it is because he recognizes that every negation—be it,
for example, war, suicide, or death in general—far from representing an exit
from being actually condemns us to the clutches of being. Neither being nor
non-being can resolve Hamlet’s dilemma. Either way, being demonstrates its
persistence.
In Otherwise than Being, Levinas repeats the same conclusion that he had
arrived at in his earlier work: the negation of being does not liberate us from
THE DRAMA OF BEING: LEVINAS AND THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY 259
fate, but serves to seal our fate in being. Whereas Hegel’s modern individual,
standing at the threshold of the end of history, believes that she can take so-
lace in the new world to come after the “slaughterhouse of history,” Levinas’s
post-Holocaust individual hears only the chilling, inconsolable whimpering
of its survivors: “[t]he void that hollows out is immediately filled with the
mute and anonymous rustling of the there is [il y a], as the place left va-
cant by one who died is filled with the murmur of the attendants” (OB 3).
This point extends Levinas’s earlier insight that even the certainty of one’s
death does nothing to alleviate the “horror” or “perpetuity of the drama of
existence, necessity of forever taking on its burden” (EE 63). The despair
that is implied in these statements does not mean that hope is illusory for
Levinas. Far from it. His point is simply that hope is not generated from
being or its correlative, negativity. It is by a sleight of hand that philosophy
claims, without any reference to the good beyond being, to find redemption
either in being or non-being. Despite the rebellious stance that philosophy
takes towards the hopelessness of mythology, Levinas remains unconvinced
that philosophy, and in particular, modern philosophy, has offered a gen-
uine response to the problem of fatalism and impersonality in the drama of
existence.
Levinas also assesses Heidegger’s thinking in relation to the question of
the ontological drama. In his very first essay on Heidegger, Levinas reminds
us that at the centre of the Heideggerean drama of being is a demand for Da-
sein to adopt a resolute stance towards its existence. Thus Levinas comments
that the “passage from implicit and inauthentic understanding to explicit and
authentic understanding comprises the fundamental drama of human exis-
tence” for Heidegger (MHO 16, cf. 26). This early article does not yet hint at
the critical position that Levinas will later assume towards Heidegger. That
stance is made quite explicit, however, when four decades later Levinas notes
in a seminar that occidental philosophy is an “intrigue of knowledge, an ad-
venture of experience between the clear and the obscure” (GDT 208 [trans.
mod.]). The reference to the “clear and the obscure,” no doubt, alludes to
Heidegger’s view of truth as aletheia, or the unconcealment of being. From
Levinas’s perspective, Heidegger’s position, whether before or after his Kehre,
is dominated by the problem of being. The fundamental question of the Hei-
deggerean drama amounts to one question: “what does being signify?” (GDT
58). This exclusive concern with being means that Heidegger’s philosophy—
with its view, at least during the period of Being and Time, that nothingness or
being-towards-death holds the key to the meaning of human being—is, as far
as Levinas is concerned, fundamentally in line with the tragic-comic vision.
The implications of this vision of the drama of human existence are rarely
appreciated:
260 J. CARUANA
Nothing is more comical than the concern that a being destined to de-
struction takes for itself, as absurd as him who questions the stars, whose
verdict is without appeal, in view of action. Nothing more comical, or
nothing more tragic. It belongs to the same man to be a tragic and a comic
figure. (CP 138)
. . .what is the good of the grand and the wild? The sea, for instance . . ..
merely makes one sad. . .. Fear clutches the heart at the sight of the bound-
less expanse of water, and there is nothing to rest the eyes aching with the
endless monotony of the view. The roar, the wild onrush of the waves do
not caress man’s feeble hearing; they repeat a melody of their own, gloomy
and mysterious, the same since the world began; and the same old wail is
THE DRAMA OF BEING: LEVINAS AND THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY 261
Levinas’s work from the early 1930s onwards can be understood as an attempt
to find a proper solution to the problems that plague the ontological drama. The
search for a response that would interrupt the drama of being reaches its apex
262 J. CARUANA
We have shown that the question ‘what shows itself in truth?’ questions
the being that exhibits itself in terms of this being. The question ‘who is
looking? is also ontological. Who is this who? In this form the question
asks that ‘the looker’ be identified with one of the beings already known .
. . the question ‘who?’ asks about being. (OB 27; my emphasis)
Failure to hear the question in its proper register has serious implications
for Levinas. Hence, Levinas writes:
If one is deaf to the petition [demande] [that is, the demands made by the
Other to the self] that sounds in questioning and even under the apparent
THE DRAMA OF BEING: LEVINAS AND THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY 265
. . . from the start I repudiate the Heideggerean concept that views solitude
in the midst of a prior relationship with the other. . .. The relationship with
the Other is indeed posed by Heidegger as an ontological structure of
Dasein, but practically it plays no role in the drama of being or in the
existential analytic. All the analyses of Being and Time are worked out
either for the sake of impersonality of everyday life or for the sake of
solitary Dasein. (TO 40 [my emphasis])
approximates the ideal of perfect justice. According to Levinas, this idea has
been a mainstay of western philosophy ever since Plato first articulated it:
“[f]reedom will triumph when the soul’s monologue will have reached uni-
versality, will have encompassed the totality of being . . .” (CP 49).
Levinas is persuaded that much of the philosophical tradition, Heidegger
included, has blindly inherited Plato’s supposed dialogical—for its structure
is indeed monological—model of the soul. Neither Plato’s idea of the self-
conversing soul nor Heidegger’s picture of a self-questioning Dasein does
justice to the core of the human drama—in particular, that point where hu-
manity is periodically released from the stifling grip of anonymous being.
Both philosophers are blind to the dilemma posed by the hopelessness of vi-
olence that is at the centre of the intrigue of being. For Levinas, the drama
or dialogue that occupies thinkers like Plato and Heidegger—centered on the
relationship between the soul (or Dasein) and being—presupposes a far more
important intrigue that binds the self to the Other.
The silent coming and going from question to response, with which Plato
characterized thought, already refers to a plot [une intrigue] in which is
tied up [se noue] the node [noeud] of subjectivity by the other commanding
the same” (OB 25). 37
Here then is the second sense in which Levinas uses the word
‘intrigue’—one which is closely related to the first sense of intrigue as ‘drama.’
An intrigue—the Latin intricare means ‘to entangle’—is a knot or a twisting
(la torsion). Levinas’s original insight is to have caught sight of the fact that
the key element of subjectivity involves the intrigue or knot that fastens the
Same to the Other. The human being is “the Gordian knot of this ambiguity
of the idea of the Infinite” (DR 117), or the “interweaving of the Infinite with
the finite” (BI 113), the juncture where the finite self and the infinite Other
are firmly intertwined.
The motif of ethical entanglement, which is central to the ethical drama, is
pervasive in Levinas’s later writing. Entire passages are constructed around the
theme of the binding of self to Other. In “God and Philosophy,” for example,
he speaks of “an imbroglio [that is] to be taken seriously; this is a relation to
. . . that which is without representation, without intentionality. It is the latent
birth, in the other [autrui], of religion . . .” (GCM 72 [my emphasis]). The two
key terms here are ‘imbroglio’ and ‘religion.’ An imbroglio, of course, is an
intricate situation—in other words, another name for intrigue. Imbroglio also
suggests an embarrassment; a quarrel or involvement with another that one
would rather have avoided. Levinas employs the term “religion” for similar
reasons. According to one etymological tradition, religare means literally to
THE DRAMA OF BEING: LEVINAS AND THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY 267
tie more firmly. And like another related term, religion is an obligation, 38 an
imposition that binds one to others. Levinas’s use of the term ‘religion’ thus
departs from the ordinary meaning of the word. Religion, as Levinas conceives
of it, refers to the singular and insoluble cement that joins self to others. “We
propose to call ‘religion,’ ” Levinas announces in Totality and Infinity, “the
bond that is established between the same and the other without constituting
a totality” (TI 40). 39 Finally, in the same section of Otherwise than Being that
I have been discussing above, Levinas goes on to describe the ethical intrigue
as “an allegiance (une allégeance) of the same to the other” (OB 25). Again
the language that he employs is deliberate and carefully chosen. Allegiance 40
originally referred to the feudal relation between a vassal and a lord. That the
self is in a relationship of allegiance with respect to the Other resonates with
Levinas’s conviction that this relationship is asymmetrical: the self is beholden
to the Other, who is master and lord. Ethical subjectivity, therefore, involves
neither a monologue, nor a dialogue between two individuals (OB 25). In this
intrigue, it is clear who has the upper hand. Within the ethical drama the self has
no say in the intrigue that ties it to the Other. Not surprisingly, the allegiance or
intrigue of the ethical is not something that the ego welcomes. It is “imposed”
on the self, and it is “preliminary to all consciousness” (OB 25). We would be
terribly mistaken to conceive of this intrigue as a form of slavery or bondage.
The intrigue of the Other is paradoxically liberating. As Levinas points out in
a late lecture, the “intrigue attaches us to that which detaches itself [rattache
à ce qui se detache]” (GDT 198). If in the ethical intrigue, the Other binds me
in obligation, it is to set me free—in the responsibility that I assume—from
another bondage, the irremissable one that rivets the self to being, thrusting
the self into a state of perpetual ambivalence. Paradoxically, it is the Other’s
imposition in the ethical intrigue that makes dialogue a possibility. There is,
of course, no guarantee that dialogue will take place. I can always decide
to evade the call of the Other. But before making this decision, I will have
heard—for this is not in my control—the Other’s call as a demand directed
at me.
Levinas often describes the ethical intrigue with the neighbor as the Other
in the Same. But he warns us to avoid reading the ‘in’ of this phrase as though
it had ontological relevance. The ‘in’ of the drama of the Other in the Same
does not, if we keep to the theatrical metaphor, refer to an actual scene or
location within the stage of phenomenality. If the Other is transcendent he or
she is so because the Other interrupts the interests of being. Thus, the ‘in’
of the ‘Other in the Same’ speaks of a disturbance, a break-in: the Other’s
commandment “slips into me ‘like a thief’ ” (OB 148). For the later Lev-
inas, the subject is first and foremost a conscience, a troubled consciousness.
Traditional philosophy misconstrues subjectivity because it falsely presumes
268 J. CARUANA
has to be put back into the signification of the whole plot [intrigue] of
the ethical or back into the divine comedy without which it could not have
arisen. That comedy is enacted equivocally between temple and theater, but
in it the laughter sticks to one’s throat when the neighbor approaches—that
is, when his face, or his forsakenness, draws near. (GCM 141)
The self lacks all bridges and connections; it is turned in upon itself
exclusively. And this in turn drenches divine and worldly things with that
peculiar darkness in which the tragic hero moves. [To come to grips with
guilt and fate] would [mean] hav[ing] to break their silence . . . [and]
stepping out of the walls of their self, and they would rather suffer in
silence than do this. 45
In the ethical intrigue, the centrality of the everyday worries and anxi-
eties that the self undergoes in relation to itself and to its environment is dis-
placed. The Other’s power to intermittently unhinge the self from the drama of
270 J. CARUANA
Notes
1. As Derrida compels Levinas to acknowledge more explicitly after Totality and Infinity.
See, in particular, “Violence and Metaphysics: An Essay on the Thought of Emmanuel
Levinas,” in Writing and Difference, trans. Alan Bass (Chicago: The University of Chicago
Press, 1978).
2. In particular, Levinas’s two texts of 1947, Existence and Existents and Time and the Other,
abound with references to drama and theater.
3. See, for example, TO 72: “[I]t sometimes seems to me that the whole of philosophy is only
a meditation of Shakespeare.”
4. John Llewelyn, Emmanuel Levinas: The Genealogy of Ethics (New York: Routledge,
1995), p. 13. Llewelyn, it ought to be noted, is one of the few English commentators to
have picked up on the importance of Levinas’s conception of ‘drama.’
5. Aristotle, The Poetics 1448b1.
6. John Llewelyn, Appositions of Jacques Derrida and Emmanuel Levinas (Bloomington and
Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2002), p. 69.
7. Franz Rosenzweig, The Star of Redemption, trans. William H. Hallo (Boston: Beacon
Press, 1972), pp. 76–8, 244ff.
8. Levinas frequently associates this phrase with Maurice Blanchot. See, for example, Éthique
et infini : Dialogues avec Philippe Nemo (Paris: Fayard, 1982), p. 48. Blanchot’s thought,
especially his fiction, captures the mute despair provoked by neutral being. An excellent
example is the novel, L’arrêt de mort (Paris: Gallimard, 1948).
9. Maurice Blanchot, The Writing of the Disaster, trans. Anne Smock (Lincoln and London:
University of Nebraska Press, 1986), p. 72.
10. Goethe, Faust, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York and London: Anchor Books, 1961).
11. These three philosophers are either alluded to or explicitly mentioned in the opening
chapter of Otherwise than Being.
12. Baruch Spinoza, The Ethics and Selected Letters, trans. Samuel Shirley (Indianapolis,
Indiana: Hackett Publishing, 1982), Part III, propositions 6, 7.
13. Ibid., Part III, Proposition 9, Scholium.
14. Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York: Random
House, 1966), 259.
15. Shakespeare, Hamlet 3.1.66–7.
16. Martin Heidegger, Being and Time, trans. John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson (New
York and London: Harper and Row, 1962), (SuZ 250). All references to the pagination of
the German edition, Sein und Zeit; hereafter SuZ.
272 J. CARUANA
17. Ivan Goncharov, Oblomov, trans. Nathalie Duddington (New York: E.P. Dutton & Co.,
1960), p.96.
18. Leo Tolstoy, “What Men Live By,” The Raid and Other Stories (New York and Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1999). Levinas recounts another similar story by Tolstoy, also
involving an order of boots, but with slightly difference circumstances, (OB 129).
19. In Time and the Other, Levinas writes: “Prior to death there is always a last chance, this
is what heroes seize. . .. The hero is the one who always glimpses a last chance . . .”
(TO 73). In particular, Levinas cites Juliet’s bold affirmation of death—“I keep the power
to die”—as paradigmatic of this tragic ruse (TO 50). Interestingly, Levinas suggests that
Shakespeare is fully aware of this ruse.
20. Levinas borrows this phrase from Philippe Nemo (GCM 129).
21. See, for example, GCM 69.
22. Levinas does not actually explicitly refer to a dialogue between Plato and Heidegger.
I am suggesting, however, that the first part of the second chapter of Otherwise than
Being can be better understood if we read it as an imaginary exchange between Plato and
Heidegger—one that Levinas interrupts.
23. Until the end of the 1920s, Heidegger’s attitude towards Plato was for the most part
sympathetic. After his famous Kehre, however, Heidegger adopts an increasingly critical
stance towards Plato’s philosophy. For the later Heidegger, Plato represents the beginning
of the ossification of ontology that Heidegger claims undergirds western thought right to
the present.
24. Plato, Sophist 244a; cited in Being and Time (SuZ 1)
25. SuZ 6. This is a direct reference to Sophist 242c.
26. Levinas explicitly refers to Heidegger’s peculiar reading of the Sophist in the 1932 study,
“Martin Heidegger and Ontology” (MHO 15).
27. Even though only Plato’s name is explicitly mentioned in these opening pages of the second
chapter of Otherwise than Being, Levinas’s remarks demonstrate quite clearly that he has
both Plato and Heidegger in sight.
28. It is not entirely clear from Levinas’s discussion if the question of the ‘who?’ that he
attributes to Heidegger refers to Dasein or Das Man. In at least one part of Being and
Time, Heidegger states explicitly that the question ‘who?’ refers to the ‘they-self,’ and
not Dasein (SuZ 114–117). But perhaps Levinas has Heidegger’s discussion of conscience
in mind, where the ‘who’ behind the voice of conscience corresponds to Dasein itself
(SuZ 276–7). For the purposes of my discussion, I will assume that Levinas is referring to
Dasein.
29. SuZ 15–17.
30. SuZ 7.
31. SuZ 8, 11–12.
32. I am thinking primarily of Derrida, and his numerous attempts to demonstrate the nuances
that are frequently omitted in Levinas’s critique of Heidegger; even as Derrida acknowl-
edges the general legitimacy of many of Levinas’s criticisms.
33. Martin Heidegger, The Basic Problems of Phenomenology, trans. Albert Hofstadter, Re-
vised ed., Bloomington and Indianapolis, Indiana University Press, p. 120.
34. Ibid.
35. SuZ 15.
36. “[T]hinking and discourse are the same thing, except that what we call thinking is, precisely,
the inward dialogue carried on by the mind with itself without the spoken sound” (Sophist
263e).
THE DRAMA OF BEING: LEVINAS AND THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY 273
37. In his translations of Levinas’s work, Lingis consistently translates the French word intrigue
as “plot.”
38. “[T]he relation to God called faith does not primordially mean adhesion to certain state-
ments that constitute a knowledge for which there is no demonstration. . .. To me, religion
means . . . the excellence proper to sociality. . . .” Levinas goes on to describe transcendence
as that which “bind[s] men among one another with obligation, each one answering for
the lives of all the others” (TN 171).
39. Cf. CP 23, BPW 7–8.
40. From the Late Latin, laetus, meaning, ‘serf.’
41. Levinas briefly mentions an episode in the Phaedrus where Socrates “denounc[es] those
who . . . instead of listening to a statement, ask about the one that states it” (OB 27).
Levinas is probably referring to Socrates’s rebuke of Phaedrus for being more concerned
about the source—‘who is it?’—of an important story that he has just recounted, than
whether or not the story is true or false—‘what is it?,’ that is, the ontological validity of the
story (Phaedrus 275c). The context of Levinas’s analysis implies that he in turn rebukes
Socrates for subsuming the utterer (‘who’) under the utterance (‘what’).
There is a passage from the Theaetetus—which Levinas does not mention—that I think
illustrates his point quite effectively. Socrates is addressing the popular perception that
philosophers are useless and clumsy. He invokes the story of the maidservant who ridicules
Thales after he falls into a well while attempting to study the stars. What good is his
preoccupation with the heavens, she asks mockingly, if Thales does not even pay attention
to the ground beneath his own feet? In defense of Thales—and all ‘genuine’ philosophers—
Socrates notes that while it is “true that [the philosopher] is unaware what his next-door
neighbor is doing, hardly knows, indeed, whether the creature is a man at all,” the true
philosopher “spends all his pains on the [far more important] question, what man is. . . .”
(174a-b [my emphasis]). In other words, for Socrates, who your flesh-and-blood neighbor
might be is of little significance compared to the question ‘what is man in general?’
42. In the immediate wake of Hitler’s rise to power, the young Levinas observes that liberalism
has lost touch with the “transcendent inspiration” that originally motivated Judaism, and,
later, Christianity, to tear humanity from the “bedrock of natural existence” (RH 65–66). In
failing to grasp what is at stake in the denaturalization of humanity— the rupture with the
oppressive values of the mythological outlook—liberalism eventually “evades the dramatic
aspects of [the Judeo-Christian] liberation” (RH 66 [my emphasis]).
43. “Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity” (Ec. 1:2) [King
James Version]. See also OB 182.
44. Rosenzweig, The Star of Redemption, p. 219.
45. Ibid., p. 78.
46. Ibid., p. 424.
I would like to thank the Ryerson Faculty of Arts for granting me a SIG Research Grant
to help complete this article.