JUST AS MOST Americans surely know the name of Marjorie Taylor Greene, few know the name of Vladimir Jankélévitch. This may well be true even of Jankélévitch’s fellow French, given the challenges of his writing and the attention-grabbing childishness of Greene’s antics. Yet last month saw a strange convergence between their words and worlds — a convergence that reminds us that if we are careless about the former, it is curtains for the latter.
