Campbell Corner Language Exchange
Simone Weil and the Intellect
of Grace:
A study of Henry LeRoy Finch's book of
the same name
by Matt Matros
Simone Weil wrote elegant prose, using simple
terms and economical sentences. Yet her writings
are not simple. To understand Weil’s work requires
much careful reflection, independent thought,
and a willingness to see things in a way most
people do not. No one understood this better than
Henry Leroy Finch, who dedicated much of his life
to studying Simone Weil. Mr. Finch passed away
almost five years ago. Though he didn’t publish
a book on Weil during his life, he was working
on a manuscript containing all his Weil essays
until the day before he died. His daughter Annie
went through the painstaking process of taking
her father’s work to an editor and seeing it through
to publication after his death. The result is
Simone Weil and the Intellect of Grace, a compact,
profound, and complex volume explaining Weil’s
life and philosophy with the rigor it deserves.
This paper serves as an introduction to Simone
Weil, expounding on the key points from Finch’s
book, and seeing how they apply to certain dilemmas
of modern society (something Finch does as well).
Although Finch divides his manuscript into twelve
chapters, each concerned with distinctly different
ideas in Weil’s writings, there are several themes,
or at least concepts, that appear in many places
throughout the book. One is Simone Weil’s idea
of the sacred, or The Good. We will see that,
for Weil, The Good is an otherworldly phenomenon,
and she uses this as an axiom from which she makes
many other claims about humanity and civilization.
Another theme is that Weil finds proof of love
in places almost no one else would—specifically
in things like affliction, absence, and abandonment.
The same thinking applies in all cases, that because
humans continue to love despite these hardships,
love must be otherworldly. We will go into some
detail on this point, I hope even mirroring Finch’s
precision. A final recurring idea is that God
is bigger than any one religion. This becomes
an easy mental step once the reader has become
familiar with Weil’s ideas of love and the supernatural.
Keeping these threads in mind as we examine Finch’s
book, we will see that Simone Weil’s writings,
though about a myriad of subjects, are remarkably
consistent in their philosophical underpinnings.
One of Simone Weil’s most distinguishing aspects
is her attentiveness. Finch opens his book by
telling us Weil approaches religion with the same
level of rigor as scientists approach their areas
of expertise. “To say that Simone Weil is a simple
writer is only to say that she is simple in the
way that Einstein’s equations are simple,” he
writes. “Simone Weil delivers formulae as impersonal
and enigmatic as the formulae of mathematical
physics.” Finch reveres Weil for this, and makes
clear that her readers need only put forth the
same effort they would in any other area of academic
study to see the brilliance in Weil’s ostensibly
simple writings.
The similarity between religion and mathematics
was particularly apt. For Weil, the supernatural
demands clear thinking in the same way mathematics
does. Further, mathematics is a perfect analogue
to the supernatural, or religion, in that their
essences lie in paradoxes, and that theological,
philosophical, and mathematical propositions should
be more clear in their languages than they would
be in simple narrative form. Mathematics has,
for example, precise ways of referring to different
levels of infinity. Even though it seems paradoxical
for something to be “more infinite” than something
else, some beautiful mathematics has been done
working within these realms of greater infinities.
Or take the classic logical paradox, “this sentence
is false.” That sentence can be neither true nor
false, but that hardly makes it useless. The idea
behind the sentence has been used in some of the
most important mathematical proofs, including
Godel’s Incompleteness Theorem. In the case of
religion, it is not enough to say God is invisible
and supernatural, and therefore we cannot understand
him. We must, in Weil’s view, take the same pains
mathematicians do, and study the supernatural
until we can put its paradoxes to use. This is
the only route to greater understanding of the
divine.
Mathematics deals in cold, impersonal truths.
For Simone Weil, so does God’s love, something
she refers to as The Good. Weil’s conception of
The Good—a force essential to true reason and
true enlightenment—is at the core of all her writings.
The key idea is that Weil’s conception of God,
i.e. The Good, is as a force external to us. But
it goes beyond that. This Good is not only external,
but otherworldly, supernatural, transcendent.
How does Weil arrive at this conclusion? She does
it in a most peculiar way. She asserts that this
Good shows itself primarily through affliction
and absence. In these two brutal everyday realities
of human existence, Weil finds the proof of the
proposition that God is love.
The first step in understanding her logic is
to accept that showing love even while suffering
affliction at the hands of another is not a human
trait. In suffering affliction, humans are deprived
of physical necessities, which should mean they
are deprived of emotional and intellectual necessities
as well. But since humans often express their
love and their ability to reason even when suffering,
Weil concludes that this Good must be an inhuman
kind; it must be this external and transcendent
Good. Take, for example, Prometheus. He is bound
to a rock as punishment for choosing to give man
the gift of fire. This puts him in obvious physical
pain. Yet he still maintains his powers of intelligence,
so much so that his prophecies ultimately frighten
the Gods enough to bring about his release. This
is proof of the separation between material and
intellectual necessity, which in turn, is how
Weil declares that in affliction we see proof
of God’s love.
It is similar with absence. Every day humans
cry out to God, and almost never receive an answer
in return. But they continue to cry out to God
despite these continuing signs of his absence.
This is further proof that the love which makes
people cry to God is supernatural, for it is certainly
not human to persist in pleading to an entity
that has done nothing but ignore these pleas.
In Weil’s view, nowhere do we see the Good more
than when Christ says, “O God, why have you forsaken
me?” God is absent for Christ on the cross, and
yet Christ still calls out to his father. So paradoxically,
the moment at which Christ seems to have finally
been abandoned, is the moment of the surest proof
of Weil’s conception of God as The Good.
We have spent some time now examining Weil’s
ideas of the supernatural which, as was mentioned
earlier, is crucial to understanding her writings
on virtually any subject. But in studying Weil’s
Good, it is instructive to note that Weil believes
in and distinguishes between two different types
of knowledge—episteme and gnosis, to borrow Plato’s
terms. Episteme is knowledge obtained by measurement
using human instruments. Gnosis is knowledge “learnt”
through inner appropriation, knowledge not measured
or taught. Weil rejects the idea that knowledge
becomes more and more exact through finer and
finer instruments of measurement. Do we understand
a circle better because we know Pi to more decimal
places? Weil would argue no, we understand a circle
better by appreciating it as a gift from The Good.
This is one of many issues for which Weil believes
modern science has gone far astray. Technologists
focus on bigger, more exact, more accurate models,
where their accuracy is not of the right kind.
Rather than creating out of knowledge that they
are contributing towards the Good, technologists
are creating so that their work will seem superior
when measured by human instruments. We will return
to Weil’s dissatisfaction with modern science
and technology later in the paper.
Once we understand Weil’s conception of knowledge
it is not difficult to accept another of her more
deeply held contentions—“that any human being,
even though practically devoid of natural facilities,
can penetrate to the kingdom of truth reserved
for genius, if only he longs for truth and perpetually
concentrates all his attention upon its attainment.”
One does not need to be brilliant, in Weil’s view,
to obtain the deepest level of understanding.
In this realm of deepest understanding reserved
for geniuses and those most devoted, lies truth.
For Weil, this truth is a gift given on the condition
that we don’t use it in this world. This is what
Finch means by what he so elegantly calls the
“intellect of grace.” Weil finds grace everywhere,
as she succinctly describes in this statement:
“It is impossible that the whole of truth should
not be present at every time and every place,
available for anyone who desires it.” This should
come as no surprise to the careful reader, who
can see that this is consistent with Weil’s conception
of knowledge. After all, if essential knowledge,
truth, “only comes to us from outside, and it
always comes from God” and is not learned, then
how could the highest knowledge be reserved for
only a select few? Weil’s truth is universal and
open to all, which makes it very attractive to
those who take the time and energy to understand
this.
A logical extension of Weil’s universal conception
of truth is her idea that “all religions are wonderful.”
Many readers misunderstood this, and some even
accused her of having a deep antagonism towards
the Jewish faith in particular. But as Finch puts
it, “it would be nearer to the truth to say she
had a deep antagonism to antagonism itself.” Weil
feels all religions have something to offer, because
they all have something worthwhile to say about
how to reach truth. Even though Weil was a Christian
and a believer in the divinity of Christ, she
believed Christ’s teachings should be added on
to other religions, not replacing them. The only
thing Weil feels a “deep antagonism” for was violence
and destruction carried out in the name of religion—any
religion. In Finch’s words, Weil believes “no
human beings are appointed by God to annihilate
other human beings.” It is easy to see how many
could mislabel Weil, as she has written much on
the spiritual power of the Christian faith, but
to call her intolerant or unaccepting of other
faiths would be a tremendous mistake.
One thing Weil is intolerant of is modern science
and its applications. While she accepts and loves
all religions, she despises, almost without exception,
the goals, creations, and philosophy of modern
technology. That last might seem strange, that
Weil actually rejects the philosophy of, and the
very spirit behind, science and technology, because
how can one reject the idea of an evolving and
productive civilization, or of a deeper understanding
of the laws of science? First understand that,
for Weil, science and technology are inextricably
linked, because science is not neutral. Then,
we must note that Weil believes that humans profoundly
misunderstand the proper uses of science and technology
in a more spiritual (and supernatural) context.
By that she means science has no connection to
The Good. Weil makes the striking observation
that humans substitute means for ends, and have
become obsessed with the proliferation of means
at the expense of ends. All this manifests itself
in the modern class system—workers and bosses,
the oppressors and the oppressed. Humans have
become so caught up in production that the individual
is being sacrificed for the “collective good.”
Machines, weapons, power, war, these are all products
of modern technology contributing to this frightening
phenomenon—means and not ends. Instead of helping
individuals to think more clearly, science dictates
the condition of life for the masses. And since
for Weil, the only way to obtain knowledge is
through inner appropriation by an individual,
science is working against Weil’s idea of knowledge.
Worse, the few attempts humans have made to rectify
this problem have attempted to use technological
solutions (we will soon look at an example of
this). But Weil recognizes that “to the problems
of technology, there is no technological answer.”
The accumulation of power and weapons in select
places on this planet, along with the many wars
of the past decades, are the realization of Weil’s
fears. The most recent war with Iraq is an almost
too-perfect example. This was a war fought by
machines and computers as much as it was fought
by men and women. But take a step back and notice
that the very logic for fighting the war in the
first place was the exact logic Weil objects to.
The United States went to war because it suspected
its enemy of harboring weapons of mass destruction.
But this problem cannot be solved through the
further use of weapons—in fact this defeats the
whole purpose of trying to solve the problem.
If Weil were alive to witness this war, she likely
would have described it as a real-life deadly
appearance of the evil of modern science: a science
that leads only to destruction and despair, and
never to knowledge. She would also agree that
we live in an age where weapons are telling us
what to do. She would pray that some day, maybe
100 years from now, maybe never, there would come
a time when we would finally be the ones giving
the orders.
While it seems clear that love and respect for
her fellow human beings is a constant theme in
Weil’s writings, sometimes one has to wonder if
she has the same love and respect for herself.
Weil discounts her own afflictions after eight
brutal months of hard labor in a metal factory,
as purely “biological.” Further, she says that
since her time in the factory, “I have always
regarded myself as a slave.” But how can one live
as a slave? How can one have any self-respect?
Indeed, Weil recognizes this problem and claims
that one had to build a new kind of self-respect,
a different kind than the one traditionally recognized
by society. She asks slaves to “substitute acceptance
for submission.” Of course, this is one of her
flimsier arguments, as it is nearly impossible
to do. And in the end, Weil herself could not
do it.
Simone Weil admitted that she thought death to
be “the instant when, for an infinitesimal fraction
of time, pure truth, naked, certain and eternal,
enters the soul.” She even prayed to Christ “that
I may be unable to will any bodily movement, or
even any attempt at movement, like a total paralytic.”
This idea, combined with her fanatical will power,
ultimately led to her death. She did not die out
of vanity or martyrdom, but out of an unrelenting
belief that she was waiting for the call of God.
While waiting, she was confined to the Grosvenor
Sanatorium in England and refused to eat any more
than meager portions. Her death was ruled a suicide
by starvation “while the balance of her mind was
disturbed.” But as Finch notes, this is hardly
accurate. Weil was fanatical, obsessed, even stubborn.
But the rigor of her thinking that had been her
hallmark throughout her life was very much evident
in the way her life ended. She believed in depriving
herself, so that is what she did. Indeed, the
balance of her mind may well have been least disturbed
on August 29, 1943, when she finally passed away.
And for all we know, she achieved the moment of
unaltered truth she had been seeking.
It is interesting to compare Weil to the modern
movement of Islamic extremism, and its most noted
philosopher Sayyid Qutb. Both Weil and Qutb advocate
death on Earth for the purposes of spiritual fulfillment.
They both consider the corporeal body secondary
to some higher understanding (what Weil called
The Good and Qutb Allah). The difference is that
Qutb wants a global acceptance of his philosophy,
whereas Weil, as we mentioned earlier, finds knowledge
put forth by the masses irresponsible. Weil believes
that individuals should appropriate knowledge
on their own, while Qutb has global visions of
life under Shariah. In this, the two philosophers
cannot be more different.
Simone Weil wrote of truth, death, beauty, The
Good, absence, affliction, abandonment, knowledge,
and love in a completely unique way. Her conception
of the intellect is so stunning, and so counterintuitive
to modern Western thinkers, that it is easy to
dismiss as irrelevant. It is even easier if one
considers the source of the idea is a woman crazy
enough to starve herself to death. But as Finch
rightly notes, all that is required to appreciate
Weil is a seriousness of mind when approaching
her work. Her ideas are seen not to be just strange
babblings, but profoundly original work. Give
Weil the attention and study she deserves, and
the careful reader will be rewarded tenfold.
Finch’s book provides a thorough analysis and
explanation of Simone Weil’s life and writings.
It is, however, curious that his work is titled
Simone Weil and the Intellect of Grace. It is
curious because it seems to imply that it will
discuss grace’s intellect, or God’s intellect.
Of course, it does do this. But more importantly,
Finch goes to great pains to explain Weil’s position
that our intellect, human intellect, is a form
of this greater Good, grace. So why not name the
book Simone Weil and the Intellect as Grace? We
can’t say for sure, but it is also clear that
Weil considers human intellect, the intellect
she lets us think of as grace, a gift of God,
a gift of grace. Perhaps it is less important
for Finch to define human intellect as grace than
it is for him to tell us the intellect is a gift
of grace. Weil would probably think so, as she
wrote of how grace did not belong to anyone, of
how it was supernatural and meant to be shared
by all. She was not interested in seeing the intellect
from the human perspective, she was interested
in describing its otherworldliness. Perhaps, then,
Finch’s title is his final and most significant
tribute to Simone Weil and her work.
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