Between Religion and Reason (Part I): The Dialectical Position in Contemporary Jewish Thought from Rav Kook to Rav Shagar 9781644690734

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BETWEEN RELIGION AND REASON P a

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THE DIALECTICAL POSITION IN CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT FROM RAV KOOK TO RAV SHAGAR

Studies in Orthodox Judaism Series Editor Marc B. Shapiro (University of Scranton, Scranton, Pennsylvania) Editorial Board Alan Brill (Seton Hall University, South Orange, New Jersey) Benjamin Brown (Hebrew University, Jerusalem) David Ellenson (Hebrew Union College, New York) Adam S. Ferziger (Bar-Ilan University, Ramat Gan) Miri Freud-Kandel (University of Oxford, Oxford) Jeffrey Gurock (Yeshiva University, New York) Shlomo Tikochinski ( Jerusalem)

BETWEEN RELIGION AND REASON P a

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THE DIALECTICAL POSITION IN CONTEMPORARY JEWISH THOUGHT FROM RAV KOOK TO RAV SHAGAR

EPHRAIM CHAMIEL

BOSTON 2020

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Chamiel, Ephraim, author. | Kallenbach, Avi, translator. Title: Between religion and reason / by Ephraim Chamiel ; translated by Avi Kallenbach. Other titles: Ben dat le-daʻat English. Description: Boston : Academic Studies Press, 2020. | Series: Studies in Orthodox Judaism | Includes bibliographical references. Identifiers: LCCN 2020001998 (print) | LCCN 2020001999 (ebook) | ISBN 9781644690727 (hardback) | ISBN 9781644690734 (adobe pdf) Subjects: LCSH: Jewish philosophy--20th century. | Jewish philosophy--21st century. | Dialectical theology. | Jewish philosophers. Classification: LCC B5800 .C37713 2020 (print) | LCC B5800 (ebook) | DDC 296.3/75--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020001998 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020001999 © Academic Studies Press, 2020 ISBN 9781644690727 (hardback) ISBN 9781644690734 (Adobe PDF) ISBN 9781644693827 (ePub) On the cover: David Breuer-Weil, "Lifetime." Oil on canvas, 196x384 cm. Book design by Kryon Publishing Services (P) Ltd. www.kryonpublishing.com Published by Academic Studies Press 1577 Beacon St. Brookline, MA 02446 [email protected] www.academicstudiespress.com

Table of Contents

Translator’s Note

vii

Introduction 

viii

Chapter One:

Historical Background

Chapter Two: Dialectical Approaches in the Background: Rav Kook as Interpreted by Avinoam Rosenak

1 7

Chapter Three: Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik: His Writings and the Interpretations of His Thought

16

Chapter Four:

Professor Samuel Hugo Bergman

56

Chapter Five:

Rabbi Professor Abraham Joshua Heschel

68

Chapter Six: Professor Leo Strauss and his Commentator Haim Rechnitzer

79

Chapter Seven: Professor Akiva Ernst Simon

98

Chapter Eight: Rabbi Professor Emil Fackenheim

108

Chapter Nine: Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer

119

Chapter Ten:

159

Professor Tamar Ross

Chapter Eleven: Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg (Shagar)

168

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Table of Contents

Chapter Twelve:

Dr. Moshe Meir

177

Chapter Thirteen:

Dr. Micah Goodman

185

Chapter Fourteen:

Dr. Elhanan Shilo

192

Chapter Fifteen:

Summary and Conclusions

200

Afterword204 Bibliography206 Index of Subjects

212

Index of Names

218

Translator’s Note

I

n his third book, Dr. Chamiel takes a thematic approach, drawing attention to those Jewish philosophers and theologians in the twentieth and twenty first century who believed that religion and reason, while both true, often contradict each other. This book discusses a wide range of responses to this dilemma: harmonization or dialectical synthesis, unsuccessful struggles to attain such a resolution, and acceptance of an imperfect world in which the tension is irresolvable and two contradictory truths prevail. As with any translation certain challenges presented themselves as I progressed; I would like to draw attention to one. While many of the thinkers discussed by Dr. Chamiel express their philosophical musings in English, others formulated their ideas in Hebrew. It is certainly possible to express abstract, philosophical ideas in a very “modernized” Hebrew, replete with foreign terminology and vocabulary. Such language lends itself relatively easily to English translation. However, the very nature of the dilemma explored in Dr. Chamiel’s book – the interplay and relationship between religion and reason – meant that many of the thinkers discussed chose to formulate not only their thoughts – but also their language – in close dialogue with the traditions of the Bible, Talmud, and rabbinic literature. While I could rely on previous translations when they existed (as I have documented in the footnotes), I was often required to provide translations of my own. Needless to say, it was no small task and I can only hope my translation does justice to the works of these writers, as well as to Dr. Chamiel’s insightful analysis of their various approaches. My gratitude to Avi Staiman, CEO of Academic Language Experts, and Professor Marc Shapiro who reviewed and corrected the translation as I proceeded. And of course, my many thanks to Dr. Chamiel who took an active part in the translation process offering insightful comments throughout. Avi Kallenbach

Introduction

The duality in the attitudes of the cognitive man and the homo religiosus is rooted in existence itself. (Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, Halakhic Man, trans. Lawrence Kaplan, Philadelphia 1983, 9). The distinction between religion [‫ ]דת‬and reason [‫ ]דעת‬is in the eye [‫ ]עין‬of the beholder. (E.C.)

T

 his book is the first volume of the third installment of a trilogy, a series on modern, religious Jewish thought from the beginning of the nineteenth century to present today. My first study focused on the historical and ideological background behind the rise of modern forms of religiosity among European Jewry. My goal was to identify the first religious thinkers in the modern period who, instead of rejecting the phenomena of modernity, sought to incorporate them into a framework of traditional Jewish observance. I encountered Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808–1888) from Frankfurt, Germany; Samuel David Luzzatto (1800–1865) from Padua, Italy; and Rabbi Tsvi Hirsch Chajes (1805– 1855) from Żółkiew (Zhovkva), Galicia. Wishing to contend with the challenges modernity posed to believers in divine revelation, these three nineteenth centuries figures formulated elaborate philosophies. After conducting a comprehensive and in-depth analysis of their philosophies, I began to understand how they sought to combine religion with human knowledge, tradition with modernity, and the dictates of reason, attained from philosophy and the sciences with the dictates of revelation encapsulated in the Written and Oral Torah. I submitted my findings to the doctoral senate of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. An adaptation of my doctorate was later published as a book: The Middle Way.1 1

Ephraim Chamiel, The Middle Way: The Emergence of Modern Religious Trends in NineteenthCentury Judaism, Responses to Modernity in the Philosophy of Z.H. Chajes, S.R. Hirsch, and S.D. Luzzatto, trans. Jeffrey Green, 2 vols. (Brighton, MA, 2014).

Introduction   

In order to analyze these different approaches, I adopted the model advanced by Shalom Rosenberg for the study of Jewish philosophy, adjusting and expanding it as needed.2 Using this model, I demonstrated that Chajes advocated a restrictive identicality approach, the approach espoused by Judah Halevi based on the teachings of the Mu’tazila students of Al-Ghazali. According to this approach, the dictates of religion and philosophy are, in principle, identical—meaning, any contradiction between them is impossible. However, in cases of putative contradictions or difficulties, it is the revelation of Scripture which must make the final determination. This is the approach of classic fundamentalism. Hirsch’s approach was similar. However, unlike Chajes, he was forced to admit that, in certain instances, scientific facts have been proven beyond a doubt yet persist in contradicting tradition. In such cases (and only in such cases), he shifted to the interpretative identicality approach advocated by Maimonides, who was, in turn, influenced by the Aristotelian rationalists, Al-Farabi and Ibn Sina. According to this stance, while both religion and science are in principle identical (and thus cannot contradict each other), in cases of difficulty or contradiction, it is reason which must make the final determination. In such cases, Scripture is to be reinterpreted allegorically. Based on the definition of James Barr, I have characterized Hirsch’s inconsistent approach as Neo-Fundamentalism.3 My contribution to the field was my explanation of Samuel David Luzzatto’s approach. Luzzatto’s statements on the subject are prima facie, incoherent and contradictory. This was at least, how my scholarly predecessors characterized his philosophy. I believe, however, that I have successfully demonstrated – based on a study of the majority of his writings and a review of their chronology – that Luzzatto’s approach shifted and evolved over the course of his life. His final approach can be characterized as akin to the “dual truth” stance. Historically, this was a very rare approach circulating in certain scholastic medieval circles. It was advocated by R. Isaac Albalag (the late thirteenth century)4 and Elijah Delmedigo (1460–1497)5 who followed the lead of Christian Averroists, followers   2 See Shalom Rosenberg, Torah Umada’ Bahagut Hayehudit Hahadasha ( Jerusalem, 1988), 23–45. Chamiel, The Middle Way, 351–357. An overview of the model is offered below in chapter one, under the heading: “Between Revelation and Reason – The Spectrum of Approaches.”   3 See James Barr, Fundamentalism (Philadelphia, 1978); Chamiel, op. cit., 112–13, 289, 349.   4 Y. Gutmann, Hafilosofia Shel Hayahadut ( Jerusalem, 1989), 184–187.   5 Ibid., 234–236.

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and interpreters of Muslim philosopher Ibn Rushd (Averroes). Some modern Straussian interpreters of Maimonides, believe that Maimonides also maintained such a position, as I will explain below in a chapter on Leo Strauss. According to the “dual truth” stance, one cannot escape contradictions and challenges by crafting an illusory harmony between the conclusions of reason and those of revelation. These two fields constitute two full, and often antagonistic, truths. Humans cannot in this world and with their reason reconcile them. I labeled this the “irresolvable dialectic approach” in order to denote something less scholastic and more existential; according to this approach, one should not celebrate both truths but rather ponder the tension between them. In truth, however, no real escape is possible until the final redemption. According to the “resolvable dialectical approach” advanced by German philosophers Johannes Gottlieb Fichte (1762–1814) and Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1770–1831), each stage in the history of the human spirit and religious belief consists of a thesis and an antithesis. These opposites can be fused into a synthesis – which may be either ephemeral or long-lasting. At this stage, the contradiction is resolved, and the process recurs until a new contradiction arises. By contrast, the irresolvable dialectic approach, based on the philosophy of Friedrich Wilhelm Schelling (1775–1854) maintains that a permanent or enduring synthesis is, at least in this world, nothing but an illusion. One should not seek to resolve opposites, but rather willingly resign oneself to acceptance of the two contradictory truths.6 This approach in which historical development progresses towards a redemption—as described by Fichte, Schelling and Hegel—was taken up by Jewish thinkers seeking to resolve contradictions between Jewish revelation and reason. It is important to note that the dual truth approach not only stands in opposition to the resolvable dialectical approach maintained by Nahman Krochmal (1785–1840)—in terms of the historical process and the difficulties prevailing between religion and reason according to Fichte and Hegel7—but also to the compartmental approach adopted by Isaiah Leibowitz based on the philosophy of the founder of the Haskalah movement Moses Mendelssohn (1729–1786). According to this approach, religion and reason are two parts of one great truth, each discipline pertaining to a separate area of inquiry, each one employing a different language and terminology. Consequently, any contradiction between them is impossible.8   6 See Chapter 2, below.  7 Chamiel, The Middle Way, vol. 1, 197–199; vol. 2, 331–337.   8 For a discussion of Rosenberg’s model, which I expanded and applied to the philosophies of Chajes, Hirsch, and Luzzatto. See Chamiel, The Middle Way, vol. 1, 351–357, 366–370, 402–447, 447–492.

Introduction   

In my second book, To Know Torah,9 a popular commentary on the Pentateuch, I show how a close reading of the biblical text based on the method of peshat already uncovers contradictions which should not be resolved but rather accepted. This shows that “dual truth” approach is already anticipated in the Biblical period.10 In my third book, The Dual Truth,11 I dedicate an entire chapter to an analysis and description of Luzzatto’s evolving views about the relationship between reason and revelation. Luzzatto specifically discussed the issues of free will, divine providence and reward and punishment. Ultimately, he was forced to concede that human reason is unable to resolve the contradictions between these subjects (or other subjects), that is, between the conclusions of pure philosophy and science—which advocate causality and determinism—and the conclusions of revelation, embodied in the Torah (when stripped of erroneous interpretations), which teaches the existence of free will, providence, and reward and punishment.12 Likewise, in another chapter, I discuss a figure influenced by Luzzatto’s approach to this subject, namely, Rabbi Umberto Cassuto (1883–1951).13 I also dedicate a chapter to the dialectical thought of Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook (1865–1935), seeking to trace the developments and changes in his approach. His philosophy only became dialectical with his immigration to the Land of Israel. Ultimately, he realized that the rift in his soul was irreparable and also adopted a notion of the dual truth. Rav Kook did not, however, resign himself to full acceptance of this insight, and spent his entire life struggling to reconcile reason and revelation but to no avail.14 The last chapter of the Dual Truth offers a brief overview of the dialectical approach in Jewish thought. It presents various approaches that attempt to resolve the contradictions between the sacred and profane, beginning with a gamut of theosophical-kabbalistic approaches. These were perpetuated in the thought of the Maharal, Hasidism and the writings of Rav Kook and continue to find expression in the stances of modern-day philosophers: those from the past generation such as Rabbi Joseph Dov Soloveitchik (1903–1993) and   9 Ephraim Chamiel, To Know Torah: To Understand the Weekly Parasha, Modern Reading in the Peshat of the Torah and its Ideas, 5 vols (Herzliya, 2018). 10 Ibid., vol. 1, 115–116 and note 134, 118 and note 137, vol. 2, 112-113 and note 137, 122 and note 142, 164 and note 226, 173 and note 237; vol. 5, 67 and notes 63, 163. 11 Ephraim Chamiel, The Dual Truth, Studies on Nineteenth-Century Modern Religious Thought and its Influence on Twentieth-Century Jewish Philosophy, 2 vols. (Brighton, MA, 2018). 12 Chamiel, The Dual Truth, vol. 1, 73–104. 13 Ibid., 500–536. 14 Ibid., 449–499.

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Leo Strauss (1899–1973) and those still alive today: my colleagues Micah Goodman, Avinoam Rosenak (an interpreter of Rav Kook), and Moshe Meir.15 Today I realize that other philosophers should be added to this list. From the past generation we can name Abraham Joshua Heschel (1907–1972), Shmuel Hugo Bergman (1883–1975), Akiva Ernst Simon (1900–1988), Rabbi Emil Fackenheim (1916–2003), Rabbi Mordechai Breuer (1921–2007), his uncle Rabbi Isaac Breuer (1883–1946), and Rabbi Shimshon Gershon Rosenberg (Rav Shagar 1949–2007). Also belonging to this list are some of our contemporaries: Tamar Ross, Haim Otto Rechnitzer (an interpreter of Leo Strauss), and Elhanan Shilo. The resolvable dialectical approach is complex; it demands a solution. The dual truth approach is even more complex; it is paradoxical and difficult to understand and “digest.” Nevertheless, and perhaps surprisingly, more and more religious thinkers today are reaching the conclusion that these two approaches are the only viable ones, the only ones that avoid illusions and apologetics. Each one of these contemporary philosophers, whom I did not discuss in the past, have been given their own chapter in the present book. The historical evolution of the dialectical approach is barely addressed in the present book. This book is dedicated to illuminating and exploring the contradiction between religion and reason as understood by dialectical philosophers and believers – it is not a historical survey. It behooves me here to express my thanks to Carmel Publishing house headed by Israel Carmel and to his team, especially Maayan El-On Feder and Dana Schiller. Dana spent much time and effort editing the book with intellect, understanding and expertise. Maayan worked on its beautiful external design. Carmel publishers stood behind me with the publication of my last two books in Hebrew, and successfully published them. My thanks to Tzippi Fisher who formatted and designed the book with exquisite talent. Likewise, my thanks to renowned London painter and sculptor, David Breuer Weil, who agreed to my request to use one of the works in his repertoire to adorn the cover of this book, asking for nothing in return. The greatest thanks goes to my wife Gulie, without whom none of this would have been possible. This book is dedicated to my ten beloved grandchildren who give me strength and furnish my life with meaning.

15 Ibid., 537–545.

CHAPTER ONE

Historical Background

I

n the Middle Ages, the poles of contradiction pertained to the question of the correct sources of knowledge and authority—rational science and philosophy versus divine revelation. This tension was expressed in the form of binaries such as rationalism versus mysticism, free will versus determinism, and the eternity of the world versus creation ex nihilo. Jewish mysticism – the Zohar, Lurianic Kabbalah and Hasidism – incorporates a system of dialectic states into its teachings. These states already inhere within the godhead, where, according to kabbalistic thought, the dialectic flow of emanation takes place.1 Man’s relation to supernal worlds and the Shekhina are also dialectical. The hasid, tzadik or kabbalist dwell concurrently in parallel worlds; they stand between heaven and earth. Their consciousnesses move between these worlds, sometimes in a dialectical and dynamic back and forth.2 In addition, the Shekhina, the sefirah of Malkhut, bestows its divine influence upon them from up high, using them as a conduit to the world as a whole. In their prayers and deeds, they theurgically influence the Shekhina from below. They help it unite with the sefirah of Tiferet and thus balance and unite the dialectical forces it encompasses.3 With the advent of the modern era, new binaries would become the subject of discussion. The philosophical discourse addressed conflicts such as rationalism versus romanticism, heteronomous morality versus autonomous morality, materialism versus spiritualism, pantheism versus transcendentalism, and deism versus theism. The beginning of the nineteenth century marks a turning point in the scope of dialectical thought. I believe that this can be attributed to three main factors:   1 G. Scholem, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism (New York, 1967), 217–218; 252–253; I. Tishby, Mishnat Hazohar, vol 1, ( Jerusalem, 1949), 265–270.   2 R. Elior, Yisrael Baal Shem Tov Uvnei Doro, vol. 1 ( Jerusalem, 2014), 433, 438–439, 461.   3 I. Tishby, Mishnat Hazohar, 266–268.

2

Between Religion and Reason

1) Philosophy: in their philosophical systems, Fichte, Hegel and Schelling theorize a world progressing through history (primarily the history of religions and cultures) and undergoing a series of dialectical processes. They propose that one can portray these contradictions and tensions as a thesis and antithesis and attempt to resolve them through a higher or more advanced synthesis. Ever since it was conceived, this approach has challenged modern thinkers and believers, forcing them to consider new solutions to problems and contradictions—that is, the conflict between their religious beliefs and the dictates of rational philosophy and scientific discovery. Gradually, several Jewish thinkers adopted this model, incorporating an imitation of it into their philosophies. However, only a few after Krochmal, such as Rav Kook and Emil Fackenheim, continued to address dialectical evolution of history as well.4 2) Society: the ideas of the French Revolution of 1789, its slogan “freedom, equality and fraternity,” spread throughout Europe, resulting in the gradual emancipation of European Jewry. The Jewish maskilim were gradually exposed to the world of European academies and were allowed to study in them. Jewish communities in general began to integrate into European society and culture. This exposed them to the attainments of human reason, scientific inventions, economic prosperity and the physical and spiritual pleasures they confer. In the Middle Ages, Jews had considered civil society and general culture anathema. These were societies which had in the past mercilessly persecuted, discriminated against and murdered Jews. Now their values and culture were suddenly enchanting growing circles in the Jewish communities and being treated as eminently valuable. A new legitimate source of authority thus arose, assuming its place alongside religion, revelation, and the Torah—reason, philosophy, and science. 3) Science (A) The scientific discoveries of Charles Robert Darwin (1809–1882) and his successors regarding the evolution of species and the descent of man, processes taking place over the course of millions of years, and the idea that the world had existed for billions of years provided an impetus and basis for a necessary corrective to the narrow perspective of religious fundamentalism.   4 For a discussion of the dialectic of spirit and religion in Hegel’s thought (which originated in the philosophy of Fichte), see Y. Yovel, Hida Afela: Hegel, Nietszsche Vehayehudim ( Jerusalem; Tel Aviv, 1996), 68–73; see also below, Chapter 4, n. 5.

Historical Background     Chapter One

(B) Impressive advancements in historical, philological, and archaeological research led to the rise of Bible Criticism. This approach made significant inroads into those Jewish circles that were open to academic studies, and even had a significant impact on the rise of the Reform movement. These developments helped broaden the perspective of traditional Jews, forcing them to offer a response. Because of these processes, the nineteenth century witnessed new discussions revolving around the tension between tradition and modernity, ones that should be directly attributed to developments in philosophy, science, and reason-­based scholarship. Topics discussed included the meaning and purpose of history as well as the tensions between reason and religion: secular studies versus religious studies, universalism versus particularism, evolution versus creationism, Bible criticism and scholarship versus traditional modes of study, tradition versus historical evolution, Reform versus Orthodoxy, and the status of women. After the foundation of the State of Israel in 1948, coinciding with the beginnings of post-modernism, the interests of dialectical scholars and philosophers began to shift. This became even more pronounced after the Six Day War and the conquest of Judea and Samaria. Most of these thinkers were not unduly concerned about the contradictions between Torah and science-­ philosophy, the focus of thinkers up to that point. Rather they began to direct more attention to the gap between two sets of priorities: on the one hand, practical modern life developing in the State of Israel and in the Jewish Diasporas in the United States and Europe alongside the values and ethics of Western Culture, on the other hand, the life of a believer in the Torah and the divine commandments, based on a different set of values and ethics. The discussions primarily pertain to subjects such as socialism and capitalism versus spiritual life; intermarriage versus separatism; a Jewish state versus a democratic one; religiosity versus secularism; inclusion of women in religious rituals and their halakhic status in light of feminism; treatment of the Arab minority, and non-Jews in Israel in general; the proper approach to homosexuality and non-standard sexual orientations; the proper treatment of refugees and foreign immigrants; the proper approach to academic studies; and the proper approach to the Israeli occupation and the non-Jewish residents of its conquered or liberated territories etc. It is my hope that by analyzing the texts of philosophers who subscribe to the dialectical approach—from the second third of the twentieth century to the first two decades of the twenty first—it will be possible to attain

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a clearer understanding of the dialectical approach, specifically the “dual truth” approach. I also hope that it will allow us to identify other disciplines and subjects which can be better understood in light of this method.

Between Revelation and Reason—The Range of Approaches Before delving into a detailed discussion of the dialectical approach and its modern proponents, I wish to offer a brief summary of a subject discussed at length in my previous books: the spectrum of opinions about the relationship between revelation and reason, religion and rationality, according to my expanded version of Rosenberg’s model. The first category includes three positions which are unconcerned by the relationship between the dictates of revelation on the one hand and the dictates of philosophy on the other. The “Haredi-fundamentalist” position maintains that human reason lacks an objective or legitimate basis and cannot guide man towards the true and ethical. Thus, when reason contradicts revelation— it is because the former is false. The only source of truth is God, who relayed his dictates and messages through revelation, and through his exclusive transmitters—Orthodox rabbis. The atheistic or deistic approach maintains precisely the opposite. According to this approach, there is no God—or at least not a God who has any interest in or affinity to mankind. Therefore, the only way towards the true and good is through reason. Dictates which claim to be those of a revelation, but contradict reason, are false. The third approach is that of “full identicality.” According to this stance, because both sources of authority—reason and r­ evelation—derive from God, their claims must be, by definition, completely identical. This may have been the view of Saadia Gaon, a proponent of the strongest rationalistic philosophy formulated by a Jewish believer. The second group also contains three approaches. All of them maintain that while the relationship between revelation and reason have some problems and challenges, in truth no contradiction exists, and neither one is false. Two of the three approaches maintain that in principle the conclusions reached by both disciplines are identical. According to the first approach, when such challenges arise, revelation should be used as the criterion for determining the truth. Claims of reason that seemingly oppose it should be re-examined and adjusted accordingly. This was the position of Judah Halevi and Hasdai

Historical Background     Chapter One

Crescas. Rosenberg refers to their position as the “restrictive identicality approach” (that is, restricting philosophy and science). The second approach maintains precisely the opposite view. In cases of contradiction, the proper criterion for determining the truth is reason. Revelation should be reinterpreted in light of reason, sometimes through allegorical hermeneutics. This was the position of Maimonides and it is referred to as the interpretative approach (that is, interpreting revelation). The third approach is the modernistic position of Moses Mendelssohn. According to Mendelssohn, the greater overarching truth can be divided into two separate, non-overlapping categories, distinct in both language and areas of inquiry. These two parts of the bigger picture are both important to some extent; both are necessary and both complement each other, and one who unites them can become a greater, more complete person. This position was also adopted by Naphtali Herz Wessely, Luzzatto (when he was younger), Franz Rosenzweig, and Yeshayahu Leibowitz. The third group is that of the dialectical approach: all attempts at harmonization are illusory. There is a real dialectical contradiction between both sources of authority; this cannot be ignored or avoided. That being said, both are still true. This group also includes three positions. According to the first position, a person should strive to understand and analyze both sides of the tension, the thesis and antithesis. By doing so, a person can sublate both opposites (aufbehung) and reach a higher synthesis and fusion. This is also how history unfolds. As mentioned, the proponents of this view were Fichte and Hegel, followed in the world of Judaism by Nahman Krochmal (and others). Krochmal, however, maintained that Hegel’s historical dialectic does not apply to the Jewish people, who are connected to the Absolute, and who instead undergo recurring processes of ascent and descent. The second approach, the “transcendental” approach, can essentially be characterized as Kantian. The contradiction between science and Torah is ascribed to the duality of the world of phenomena versus the world of things in themselves. Science pertains to the sphere of intellectual apprehension, i.e., phenomena; religion and faith, by contrast operate in a prophetic transcendent sphere, a different reality. These two layers of reality stand in opposition to one another. It is not a contradiction that intellect can solve. This was the approach adopted by Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer and, as I will discuss, his followers. According to the third approach, both contradictory disciplines belong to the same sphere. Each contains a full truth. The rift between the two truths

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cannot be mended in this world and remains irresolvable. This approach is referred to as the dual truth, and was adopted by Isaac Albalag, Elijah Delmedigo, and Luzzatto later in his life. Many of our contemporaries have followed in their footsteps, as I will discuss shortly. All proponents of the dialectical approach, in all three of its iterations, have doubts as to how and when the two opposites can be united, if at all. Scholars have searched for signs in their teaching for the conditions which allow such a unification. I will now begin my analysis of all three stances of the third group in modern day Judaism.

CHAPTER TWO

Dialectical Approaches in the Background: Rav Kook as Interpreted by Avinoam Rosenak

A

s previously mentioned, I provide an overview of the dialectical approach   in Judaism in the final chapter of my book The Dual Truth. I found a more detailed and comprehensive discussion in the doctoral dissertation (later adapted into a book) of Rav Kook scholar, Avinoam Rosenak.1 Rosenak asserts in this study that the best way to understand the entire scope of Rav Kook’s thought is through a so-called “Unity of Opposites” model. To support this approach, he reviews those thinkers whose influence left an impression on Rav Kook’s thought. This includes Rav Kook’s mystical kabbalistic predecessors, whose thought can be characterized as dialectical, especially Rabbi Judah Loew (the Maharal 1520–1609), Rabbi Zadok Hakohen Rabinowitz of Lublin (1823–1900), as well as non-Jewish philosophers whose approaches influenced the dialectical thought of an entire generation—Fichte, Hegel, and Schelling. With subtle analysis, Rosenak delineates the differences between these philosophers, showing how some thinkers maintained the possibility of unifying contradictory poles—holy and profane, the world of spirit and practice, Torah and philosophy-science, revelation and reason—while others envisioned such a fusion as something temporary and ephemeral.

1

Hahalakha Hanevuit: Hafilosofia shel Hahalakha Bemishnat Haraay”a ( Jerusalem, 2007).

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Describing the difference between Hegel and Schilling in this context, Rosenak writes: In Hegel’s opinion, reality’s wave of oppositions represents a stage that pushes reality to a higher level. This level will erase oppositions, until a new and different antithesis is created to oppose it, and so the process repeats itself. This stage of opposition is necessary but temporary. This is unlike Schelling’s vision of reality. In Schelling’s thought, the oppositions of reality are permanent phenomena. They are a realization of the power of the Absolute which is their source; they express different elements of the Absolute.2

In other words, according to Hegel, the opposing poles are united in a synthesis. This synthesis is, subsequently confronted by a new source of opposition, a new antithesis. The second set of thesis and antithesis is eventually united in a second synthesis and so on. According to Schelling, by contrast, opposites are never united in normal reality. They are only unified within the Absolute, which is none other than God Himself. Rosenak argues that Rav Kook’s approach more closely resembles that of Schelling. Rosenak begins by emphasizing the importance of Rav Kook’s assertion that in the divine sphere, lying beyond this world, everything is permanently united. By contrast, in our world, the world of man and his consciousness, unifications are possible but temporary: According to him [=Rav Kook], the human perspective of reality perceives or receives contradictions that require a solution. “From God’s perspective”—multivariance and contradictions are part of the greater [divine] whole, a One that includes everything. However, a distinction must be drawn between the supernal unification in the spirit of God—which completely erases oppositions—and the dialectical unification of opposites in human consciousness.3

Rosenak goes on to describe the shared assumptions of the thinkers he examines, namely the possibility of temporarily unifying opposites. He explains the   2 Ibid., 48. Emphasis in source. Unless otherwise stated, all emphases in excerpts are my own [E.C.].   3 Ibid., 49–50.

Dialectical Approaches in the Background     CHAPTER TWO

spiritual prerequisites demanded by each thinker in order to make such a reconciliation possible: Furthermore, in all the dialectical approaches belonging to the aforementioned “Unification of Opposites” [model] (both that of Rabbi Zadok Hakohen of Lublin and that of the Maharal, and Kabbalah in general), the theologian in question points to a spiritual option that makes [such] an experience possible, an experience in which oppositions are combined and (temporarily) drawn close to one another. This event requires a moment of transcendence above and beyond [man’s] polarized reality. In the thought of Rabbi Zadok Hakohen of Lublin, this takes place during an experience of devekut [=cleaving to God]; in ecstatic Kabbalah, the individual can be absorbed into the divine whole; this holds true in philosophy and Romanticism as well, especially in the thought of Schelling. In Schelling’s thought, unification is attained in the artistic work of the genius. He explains that this enlightened individual is the “artist who faithfully paints the kingdom of nature.”4

Rosenak goes on to discuss Rav Kook’s position, pointing to the similarities and differences between him and his predecessors: In Rav Kook’s thought, as in the thought of the Maharal, there are moments in which one can experience unification. However, the nature of this unification differs from the notions of his predecessors. Both Rav Kook and the Maharal speak of an event or stage in which oppositions are overcome; however, they maintain, unlike Rabbi Zadok of Lublin, for example, that this event is part of halakhic thinking. Here one can see the difference between Rav Kook and the Maharal. As explained by Avi Sagi, according to the Maharal, [unification takes place] in the theoretical study of Torah as opposed to concrete halakhic praxis. The halakhic determination, because it is a decisive ruling, does not allow for integration; it is only theoretical study (whether halakhic or aggadic), [the stage] preceding halakhic determination, that can give expression to the moment of Unification of Opposites. By contrast, according to Rav Kook, [unification] can be implemented on a halakhic level, in both theoretical [study] as well as in practical rulings. This implementation, as we will see, is clearly represented in   4 Ibid., 50–51.

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Between Religion and Reason [Rav Kook’s] meta-halakhic approach. The same momentary synthesis achieved by the genius of Schelling is realized by the halakhic decisor through prophetic Halakhah.5

In other words, theoretical study and jurisprudence in accordance with prophetic Halakhah enables, according to Rav Kook, the unification of opposites in the consciousness of the halakhic decisor. Does this achievement of unity calm the tempestuous soul of a person pulled to and fro by the tension between these poles? According to Rosenak—no: Even after the summit of prophetic Halakhah or an illuminating, clear insight has been conquered, the contradiction does not disappear. Therefore, we reach a seemingly paradoxical conclusion: on the one hand, all is united and settled in the One; on the other hand, the One does not “suffer any mental dissonance from the contradiction and for Him there is no need whatsoever for clarification or determination.” In other words, when source of multiplicity is the One itself, the contradiction or its resolution are considered the same. Polarity reveals a monistic wholeness and we are required to reach an integrationist approach that lies beyond the opposites. As we will see below, it is actually the spiritual schism and tension—and not the peaceful harmony that has been most commonly read into his thought—that [truly] reflects Rav Kook’s worldview. In other words: as opposed to Hegelian dialectics, which in Hegel’s opinion was realized within his own Christian state, Rav Kook remains within the twilight of a spiritual schism that is constantly in the process of being mended.6

 5 Ibid., 51. Emphasis in source. Rosenak’s approach bears similarities to that of Yuval Cherlow. As I will show below, Sherlo maintains that Rabbi Soloveitchik, like Rav Kook, held that the mending of a dialectical split is only possible through Halakhah. This insight was a source of serenity for both Rav Soloveitchik and Rav Kook: “Rav Kook sought peace for his soaring soul. He sought an anchor. This he found in his halakhic-legalistic activity, in the internal order and logical systematicity of Halakhah.” See Yuval Sherlo, Vehayu Leahadim Beyadekha: Midialeqtiqa Leharmonia Bemishnato shel Harav Yoseph Dov Halevi Soloveitchik (Alon Shevut, 2000), 113. As I will explain below, both Rosenak (in his discussion of Rav Kook) and I (in my discussions of Rav Kook and Rav Soloveitchik) maintain that the serenity of which Sherlo speaks was never attained. Sherlo’s statement is aimed at bringing himself and his readers peace but does not necessarily reflect what Rav Kook and Soloveitchik themselves thought. 6 Ibid., 51–52.

Dialectical Approaches in the Background     CHAPTER TWO

In other words, the stormy tension in Rav Kook’s soul was never resolved, even if he was able to identify the possibility of a temporary spiritual solution. In this regard also, Rav Kook is closer to Schelling than to Hegel: Now, if we once again compare Schelling’s philosophy to that of Hegel, we will see another distinction that will shed light on Rav Kook’s teaching: Schelling’s philosophy allows tension, schism, and a realm of twilight. For Hegel the Absolute Spirit reveals itself in the multiplicity that comprises it. For Schelling, by contrast, the opposites are the results of emanation from the Absolute.7

Following these insights, what can we conclude about the sources of inspiration that informed Rav Kook’s thought? Rosenak argues that the variety of dialectical models in Rav Kook’s thought render any definitive answer impossible; one can find in Rav Kook’s thought signs of gradual evolution as well as extreme diversity depending on the subject that he wished to address: I believe that one cannot provide a definite answer to the question “what sources of inspiration informed Rav Kook?” They were almost certainly diverse. There is no doubt that for Rav Kook, the imagery and terminology of Jewish theology was closer to the truth than those [offered] by philosophy (for example, the historiosophical dynamics of the First, Second and Third Temple, [which I] explained above in a Hegelian vein, are articulated by Rav Kook through kabbalistic terminology). The sources of [Rav Kook’s] “emanation” model can be located in the spirit of Romanticism as well as neo-­ Platonic and kabbalistic expressions. I also do not wish to claim that Rav Kook preferred to adhere to the approach of Schelling and reject that of Hegel. In Rav Kook’s thought (that never explicitly admits that it draws inspiration from philosophy but also never denies this), different dialectical models (which developed gradually) are present. When we analyze his writing, we find, all at the same time, historiosophical dynamics influenced by Hegelian thinking, dialectics from the schools of Rabbi Zadok and the Maharal, as well as the thought of Schelling. The dialectical model (in all its diverse modes) is the basis of his thought. It allows us to understand his treatment of different tensions both in spiritual being as well as earthly existence: the relationship between holy and profane, spirit and matter, scientific thinking and more.   7 Ibid., 52–53.

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Between Religion and Reason All of these are clarified in light of this model. In Rav Kook’s opinion, destruction and construction are the foundation of rejuvenation: it is the encounter with negation that produces “the vision of life.” The life of spirit is based, in [Rav Kook’s] writing, on contradictory oppositions that buffet each other and eventually reach a new state of completion: dialectics in morality (the natural aspiration for good), heresy becoming faith, repentance (which is revealed in everything but is ultimately based in sin), the general course of history (a dialectical process that Israel is excluded from) and intercultural or international struggles, especially those pertaining to Israel. The unique character of this dialectical structure is that it allows one to identify every aspect [generally] conceived of as evil as “unconscious” good.8

Rosenak concludes his discussion by noting how Rav Kook’s personality was an admixture of mysticism and rationalism; he was immersed in a tension of opposites aspiring to unite. On the one hand, this demonstrates the difficulties Rav Kook experienced; on the other hand it highlights his latent and dynamic powers of creativity—the key to understanding the contradictions and complexity which characterize his thought: With the “unity of opposites” model in mind, we can reassess the complexity of [Rav Kook’s] mystical personality [interspersed] with rationalistic dimensions. Indeed, the dialectic tension surging within Rav Kook was never resolved and continued to rock [him] to and fro. It is a tension that entails, as he himself describes, a great spiritual burden and “painful knowledge,” but which ends with a “complex vision” and “redoubled creative power.” On the one hand it represents a dynamic of unattainable completion; on the other hand, it is an ethos of future perfection, entrenched in higher worlds. This tension is difficult to understand; it flies in the face of our intuitions and the norms of our logic. Nevertheless, I believe that it can be used to resolve and interpret Rav Kook’s contradictory, complex, and, as we will see, prophetic writings.9

In other words, the tension is neither resolved nor mended. It is painful. Perfection is only possible in higher, divine worlds. This irresolvable tension does, however, have an advantage. The dynamism that it brings leads to the enhancement of human creativity.   8 Ibid., 52–56.   9 Ibid., 57.

Dialectical Approaches in the Background     CHAPTER TWO

I wish to make two comments on Rosenak’s analysis (As my expertise of Rav Kook’s thought cannot compare with that of Rosenak, I offer my opinion with a heavy grain of salt). Having read Rav Kook’s shelved work Linevukhei Hador,10 and having compared it to his later writings penned after his immigration to the Land of Israel, I have concluded that Rav Kook’s approach to the conflicting truths of reason and revelation, as well as the conflict between rationalism and mysticism underwent evolution over the course of his life. This development is, however, more complex than Rosenak suggests. In my previous book, The Dual Truth,11 I dedicated a chapter to Rav Kook. I sought to show there how Rav Kook, before he immigrated to the Land of Israel, was influenced by the Zeitgeist and culture of Europe, represented more prominently by German Neo-Orthodoxy than by Kabbalah and Hasidism. Therefore, in Linevukhei Hador, Rav Kook does not present a dialectical approach. Rather, he maintains that the philosophy, morality, and science of Western culture can be integrated with the teachings of the Torah. These two realms are, in truth, identical. In principle, no contradiction between them is possible and they can, therefore, be reconciled through study and reflection. Studying pure philosophy and interpreting the Torah to reveal its ethical basis and to reconcile it with the claims of scholarship—these are, in his opinion, the solution to any imagined difficulties that may arise. However, upon his immigration to the Land of Israel, he was gradually exposed to the renaissance of Jewish life in the Holy Land and to the tension between the aspiration for a spiritual messianic redemption, taking place before his eyes, and the secular reality of the land’s redemption in practice. This realization exhumed from the depths of his soul kabbalistic, mystical, and dialectical ideas and instilled within him a desire to unite the polar oppositions. A chronological review of his writings shows that, at first, he was optimistic about the possibility of reconciling the sacred with the nation in a Hegelian vein. However, recurring challenges and failures led him to Schelling’s model. Eventually, it led him to the realization that the schism in his soul could not be mended, not even temporarily; reality is characterized by a dual truth or an irresolvable dialectical tension. In other words: oppositions cannot be united in this world, as argued by Yosef Haim Brenner (1881– 1921).12 Nevertheless, and as opposed to Brenner, Rav Kook maintained that 10 A. I. Kook, Linevukhei Hador, ed. S. Rahmani (Tel Aviv, 2014). 11 See above in the Introduction, n. 14. 12 Chamiel, The Dual Truth, vol. 2, 493–497; A. Ravitzky, Haqetz Hameguleh Umedinat Hayehudim (Tel Aviv, 1993), 146–152. Like Ravitzky, I maintain that Rav Kook’s thought certainly moved towards a more dialectical approach, a shift that took place after his arrival

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one can, and even must, aspire to reach this goal. One must try to draw close to the ideal of unity and harmony as much as possible and take pains to search for a supernal perspective in which all oppositions are united. This was his goal. In Rav Kook’s writings one can find statements—with pantheistic, kabbalistic and Hasidic characteristics—about the overarching unity of being which is essentially holy; in particular he discusses the unity of science and Torah. However, I think that such statements should be viewed as a constant aspiration, as a goal that must be sought but which is essentially unachievable in this world. After Rav Kook’s immigration to the Land of Israel, one can see the development of his historical dialectic—that all things lead to, in a series of dialectical processes, to the redemption of the Jewish people and to the return to their land in a utopian-Messianic time.13 Rav Kook is unable to realize such a unity and is forced to sadly concede that only in God’s world does full unity prevail; only there do contradictions find their resolution. This was a painful and difficult conclusion to reach, and it brought Rav Kook no serenity. I bring here two excerpts from Rav Kook’s writings from this stage of his life: the first was in response to Brenner who portrayed him as a soul torn between sacred and secular and who claimed that his plan to unite the two would not succeed: He who says of me that my soul is torn spoke well. Certainly, it is torn. It is impossible for us to imagine a person whose soul is not torn. Only the inanimate is whole. But a person has opposing aspirations, and there is always a war within him. All a person’s effort is to unite the opposites in his in the Land of Israel. Interestingly, Ehud Luz maintains that the turning point in Rav Kook’s thought was only later, in the wake of World War I. See E. Luz, Kelim Shluvim: Mahshavot al Tsiyonut veal Hinnukh Yehudi (Tel Aviv, 2016), 251. Y. Bin-Nun, Hamaqor Hakaful (Tel Aviv, 2013), 21–22, argues that the change precipitated by Rav Kook’s arrival in Israel was the onset of divine inspiration but not a concomitant change in world-view. See Chamiel, The Dual Truth, vol. 2, 491–493. 13 On the unity of the totality of being see, e.g., A. I. Kook, Igrot HaRaayha, vol. 1 ( Jerusalem, 1962), 164; vol. 2, 120; idem, Orot Haqodesh (Jerusalem, 1985), vol. 1, 15; vol. 2, p. 419. On the dialectical unfolding of history, see Orot Haqodesh, vol. 2, 537–574; idem, Orot ( Jerusalem, 1990), 13–17; 151–158; E. Schweid, Toldot Hehagut Hayehudit Bameah Ha-20 ( Jerusalem, 1990), 254–255; Ravitzky, Haqetz Hameguleh, 146–147; A. Rosenak, Hahalakha Hanevuit, 55–56 and note 81; E. Holzer, Herev Pipiot Beyadam: Aqtivizm Tsvai Behaguta shel Hatsiyonut Hadatit ( Jerusalem and Ramat-Gan, 1989), 74–87. On the dialectic in Rav Kook’s attempt to reconcile the contradictions between secular and religious studies, between Torah and the sciences, and between sacred morality and the autonomous morality of the West, as well as his failure at this attempt, see Schweid, op. cit., 256–259.

Dialectical Approaches in the Background     CHAPTER TWO soul by an overarching idea which, in its greatness and exaltedness contains everything, and thus achieves absolute harmony. this is, of course, only an ideal, to which we aspire, but to reach this is impossible to anyone born of woman. However, in our endeavor we can draw closer and closer, and this is what the kabbalists call yihudim [=exclusiveness].14 There is a world of the profane and a world of holy, and worlds of profane and worlds of holiness. These worlds contradict each other, but of course this contradiction is subjective. With his limited intellect, a person cannot affect a compromise between the holy and the profane, and he cannot reconcile their contradictions, though they are reconciled in the higher world, in the abode of the Holy of Holies.15

My second comment pertains to Rosenak himself. Even if Rosenak is correct and I am wrong, he does admit, as I cited above, that while a momentary unity of opposites may be possible according to Rav Kook, nevertheless: It is actually the spiritual schism and tension—and not the peaceful harmony that has been most commonly read into his thought—that [truly] reflects Rav Kook’s worldview. In other words: as opposed to Hegelian dialectics, which in Hegel’s opinion was realized within his own Christian state, Rav Kook remains within the twilight of a spiritual schism that is constantly in the process of being mended.

I believe I am justified in assuming that Rosenak himself (as he once mentioned to me in an email correspondence) identifies with the views of Rav Kook and Rabbi Soloveitchik as far as the relationship between reason and revelation in concerned. He personally believes in a dual truth—i.e., that only in a utopian prophetic sphere beyond history, or within God Himself, can the poles be fused into one whole; only then and there is it possible to permanently reconcile oppositions.

14 This response was reported by Alexander Susskind Rabinowitz (AZ”aR) and printed in Sefer Hamahshava Hayisreelit, Leqet Divrei Harav Kook, ed. A. Kalmanson ( Jerusalem, 1920), p. 13. See Rosenak, Hahalakha Hanevuit, 52; Bin-Nun, Hamaqor Hakaful, 253–254 and note 315. 15 Shemona Qevatsim, Qovets 8–73. Written in London at the end of World War I, printed in Orot Haqodesh, II ( Jerusalem, 1994), 311. See Bin-Nun, Hamaqor Hakaful, 227.

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CHAPTER THREE

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik: His Writings and the Interpretations of His Thought

R

abbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik (1903–1993) was born in Pruzhany,   Poland. He grew up in Chisławiczi, where he studied Tanya in Heder and afterwards Talmud with his father Rabbi Moses Soloveitchik (1879–1941) who taught using the methods of Joseph Ber’s grandfather Rabbi Haim Halevi Soloveitchik of Brisk (1853–1918). Soloveitchik received the equivalent of a secular high-school education from private tutors. He went on to pursue a higher, academic education at the University of Warsaw, and later, when he was 22, at the University of Berlin. There he studied several subjects including mathematics, physics, and psychology – but his primary focus was philosophy with an emphasis on Neo-Kantianism. In 1932 he received a doctorate for his dissertation “The Pure Thinking and Constitution of Being according to Hermann Cohen.” During his university studies, Joseph Ber concurrently attended courses at the Hildesheimer Rabbinical Seminary in Berlin. At that time Rabbi Yehiel Yaakov Weinberg was a lecturer on Talmud and Halakhah and was an advocate of German Neo-Orthodoxy’s system of “Torah im Derekh Erets” in the vein of Samson Raphael Hirsch. In 1932, Joseph Ber immigrated to the United States with his wife and daughter and settled in Boston where he served as the community’s rabbi. He founded Maimonides School in Boston. In 1941, his father, a rosh-yeshiva at Rabbi Isaac Elhanan Yeshiva in New York, passed away; Joseph Ber was chosen as his successor. In 1945, the yeshiva would become Yeshiva University. Soloveitchik taught Talmud and Jewish thought at Yeshiva University until falling ill in 1985.

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three

In 1944, Joseph Ber published his essay “Ish Hahalakhah Galui Venistar” (Halakhic Man: Revealed and Hidden) and in 1965 the work The Lonely Man of Faith. Another essay, “Uviqashtem Misham” (“And from there you shall seek”) was written in a bout of emotional turmoil during the height of World War II. It was the direct sequel to his “Ish Hahalakhah Galui Venistar” but was only published years later (in 1978). In 1962, Soloveitchik delivered a lecture at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology which was published in Tradition in 1978 with the title “Catharsis.” In 1973, he delivered his lecture “Majesty and Humility” which was also published in 1978 in the same volume as “Catharsis.” The work, Hamesh Derashot is based on sermons Soloveitchik delivered to the American branch of the Mizrahi movement between 1962–1967. The work Al Hateshuva is a collection and adaptation of sermons delivered by Soloveitchik at the annual conferences of the Union of Orthodox Rabbis between 1962 and 1974. Many other works of Soloveitchik—essays books, articles, lectures, and sermons—have been published by his students.1 Soloveitchik was influenced by his Brisker forebearers as well as by the philosophies of Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) and Hermann Cohen (1842–1918). His dialectical philosophy was indebted to the works of George Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1880– 1831), and the dialectical theologies of Emil Brunner (1889–1966), Karl Barth (1886–1968), and Reinhold Niebuhr (1892–1971).2

Halakhic Man In his early essay, “Ish Hahalakha: Galui Venistar,” Soloveitchik portrays the experience of the modern believer by distinguishing between different personality types, describing the apogee of each one. The first, is the dry, secular intellectual, “cognitive man,” whom he will refer to in later writings as  1 A. Rakefet-Rotkof, “Biyografia shel harav Yosef Dov Halevi Soloveitchik” in Emuna Bizmanim Mishtanim, ed. A. Sagi ( Jerusalem, 1997), 17–41; J.B. Soloveitchik, “On a Draft of U-Vikkashtem mi-Sham” in Community, Covenant, and Commitment: Selected Letters and Communications of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, ed. Nathaniel Helfgot ( Jersey City, 2005), p. 323; A. Lichtenstein, “Divrei Hesped al Hagri”d Soloveitchik,” Mesora 9 (1994), 8–33.   2 For a discussion of the influence and imprint of these Christian theologians on Soloveitchik and his works, and his criticism of their approaches, see Alan Brill’s impressive article “Nitsahon Lelo Qerav: Gisha Dialeqtit Latarbut Behaguto shel Harav Soloveitchik,” in Rav Baolam HaHadash, ed. A. Rosenak and N. Rotenberg ( Jerusalem, 2011), 118–144. For a discussion of the influence of Kant and Hermann Cohen on Soloveitchik, see A. Rosenak, “Mibrisk LeMarburg Vehazara: Hayetsira Hahilkhatit Beshiurei Hatalmud shel Harav Y”D Soloveitchik,” Akdamot 9 (2000), 9–34.

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“majestic man.” The second is the man of religion, homo religiosus (both Jewish and not), whose focus is Heaven and who is plagued by contradiction and oppositions; in Soloveitchik’s later writings he is referred to as the “lonely man of faith.” The third is the ish hahalakhah galui venistar, the halakhic man. This figure is a combination of the two previous personality types. He is a person afflicted by doubts more challenging than those that beset homo religiosus, but, due to his unique spiritual constitution, is sometimes able to successfully fuse oppositions into a single whole: In some respects, he [=the halakhic man] is a homo religiosus, in other respects a cognitive man. But taken as a whole he is uniquely different from both of them. Halakhic man is an anti-nomic type for a dual reason: (1) he bears within the deep recesses of his personality the soul of homo religiosus, that soul which, as was stated above, suffers from the pangs of self-contradiction and self-negation; (2) at the same time the halakhic man’s personality also embraces the soul of cognitive man, and this soul contradicts all of the desires and strivings of the religious soul. However, these opposing forces which struggle together in the religious consciousness of the halakhic man are not of a destructive or disjunctive nature. Halakhic man is not some illegitimate, unstable hybrid. On the contrary, out of the contradictions and antimonies there emerges a radiant, holy personality whose soul has been purified in the furnace of struggle and opposition and redeemed in the fires of the torments of spiritual disharmony to a degree unmatched by the universal homo religiosus. The deep split of the soul prior to its being united may, at times, raise a man to a rank of perfection, which for sheer brilliance and beauty is unequaled by any level attained by the simple, whole personality who has never been tried by the pangs of spiritual discord. “In accordance with the suffering is the reward” and in accordance with the split is the union!3

In other words, halakhic man unites within himself majestic-cognitive man and homo religiosus. From these two oppositions he forges, in proportion to the depth of the split entailed by these opposing personalities, a synthesis greater than the sum of its parts. He (sometimes?) can even achieve this fusion of

  3 J. B. Soloveitchik, Ish Hahalakha: Galuy Venistar ( Jerusalem, 1979), 12 (translation taken from J.B. Soloveitchik, Halakhic Man, trans. by L. Kaplan [Philadelphia, 1983], 2–3).

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three

opposites within this world. The halakhic man is like a prophet, a man of God, within whom the truths of rationality and revelation are united. Soloveitchik proceeds to describe each personality type in detail (pp. 15–61). The cognitive man (who will later be referred to as majestic man) is a man of science, guided only by his reason. He is an objective, unimpassioned observer who seeks only to explicate and resolve. He eschews esotericism and obfuscation and organizes his world in line with the concrete and tangible elements of reality, in accordance with rational laws and numbers, completely distinct from the world of spirit. By contrast, homo religiosus (who will later be referred to as the man of faith) trembles before the concealed and numinous; he yearns to be freed from the constraints of the material and wishes to arrive at the transcendental—the mysterious, the sublime. He runs the risk of losing his grasp on reality, of forgetting mankind and its suffering, of stumbling and falling into moral dualism and even hypocrisy. The halakhic man is on the one hand, a man of rational thinking and set laws—very much like cognitive man. On the other hand, he brings to the table the ideal Torah of God, and in this respect, he resembles homo religiosus. However, halakhic man is not interested by the transcendental world. In this respect, he takes the opposite path of homo religiosus; he yearns to bring the transcendent into our problematic and tangible world transforming it into a world of “life.” He does this through the Halakhah, which while divine, a priori, and ideal, can also be implemented, realized and applied in this world, thereby achieving redemption. Thus, halakhic man protects himself from the danger of becoming disconnected from reality. He instead realizes the ethical ideal of Judaism—fulfilling the divine will from within human society, from the realm of the non-sublime, sanctifying man in the process. Soloveitchik proceeds to briefly describe the two major dialectical issues that afflict homo religiosus. First, homo religiosus is entangled in the tension between an awe and fear of the esoteric Divinity (which prompts him to flee it) yet, at the same time, finds himself attracted to it, drawn to it as if by magic, longing to unite with the divine. Thus, he “is suspended between two giant magnets, between love and fear, between desire and dread, between longing and anxiety. Homo religiosus is caught between two opposing forces [...] fluttering to and fro between these powerful opposing pulls, homo religiosus suffers from psychic torments and spiritual anguish.”4 Homo religiosus must also contend with another conflict: on the one hand, he conceives himself as lowly and worthless, as small and weak, as insignificant  4 Soloveitchik, Ish Hahalakhah, 62 (translation from J.B. Soloveitchik, Halakhic Man, 67).

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in the face of the infinity of the universe and God. On the other hand, he sees himself as supreme and exalted; he is the crown of creation; he has been blessed by God Himself to rule over the created universe. It is in this light that we can understand the deep contradiction pervading the spiritual self-evaluation of homo religiosus. On the one hand, he senses his own lowliness and insignificance, his own frailty and weakness. […] On the other hand, he is aware of his own greatness and loftiness. […] This antimony is an integral part of man’s creature consciousness; more, it is the source of the entire dispute concerning man’s place within cosmos. […] From a religious perspective, man, in his relationship to the world oscillates between the two poles of self-negation and absolute pride, between the consciousness of his nothingness and the consciousness of the infinity deep within him. Homo religiosus can never be free of this oscillation. In the depths of his consciousness he is entangled in the thicket of two contradictory verses. One verse declares, “When I behold Thy heavens, the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the starts which Thou hast established; what is man, that Thou are mindful of him, and the son of man that Thou thinkest of him?” (Ps. 8:4–5), while the other verse declares, “Yet Thou has made him but a little lower than the angels and has crowned him with glory and honor. Thou hast made him to have dominion over the work of Thy hands; Thou hast put all things under his feet” (Ps. 8:6–7). And homo religiosus has yet to find the third harmonizing verse. However, halakhic man has found the third verse—the Halakhah. He, too, suffers from this dualism, from this deep spiritual split, but he mends the split through the concept of Halakhah and law.5

Soloveitchik thus presents the two tensions that pervade the internal world of homo religiosus as he comes to face God—the tension between the conflicting desires to be distant and close to God at the same time and the tension of humanity’s conflicting feelings of greatness and lowliness in relationship to Him. While homo religiosus cannot escape these tensions; halakhic man, who is also a man of God, can. He contends with these tensions and manages to resolve the dilemma they pose through Halakhah. Halakha dictates for him, at every moment, the proper distance between him and God and his size in comparison to Him. It unites the upper world with the lower and thus implements God’s laws in the concrete reality of our world. 5 Soloveitchik, Ish Hahalakhah, 63–64 (translation from Soloveitchik, Halakhic Man, 68–69).

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three

From here until the end of the essay, Soloveitchik goes on to describe in great detail the wondrous and unique character of halakhic man, and the way how he, like an artist, combines trenchant, penetrative, intellectual study and deep understanding with a strong and formidable religious experience—the same one that Soloveitchik himself experienced when he still lived in the world of his forebears in Europe.

“Uviqashtem Misham” In his essay, “Uviqashtem Misham,” written as we have said immediately after “Ish Hahalakha Galui Venistar,” Soloveitchik enlists the dialectic between the lover and his beloved in Song of Songs to describe the tension that pervades man’s relationship with God. The lover and beloved, who yearn for each other and face obstacles as they seek to consummate their love, are, of course, a metaphor for creator and creation. Man is drawn to God. God in turn draws man in, reveals himself, but then eludes him. He is close to us and even resides in our midst, but at the same time He is infinitely distant. Soloveitchik here describes in greater detail the tension of proximity/distance only briefly hinted to in his previous essay. Man’s access to the Creator is characterized by the dual-consciousness that the Creator has instilled within human nature. The attempts to find God within nature and through intellectual exertion—“a natural, ontological consciousness”—fail time and time again due to the infinite and impassable distance separating finite man from infinite God. It is true that this is a religious experience that man undergoes as a free maker of literature and art; he may even experience joy in such attempts. However, according to Judaism, the distance can only truly be effaced when God reveals Himself to man—the “revelational, prophetic consciousness” forges a unilateral link. God does this as He pleases, primarily during times of crisis. The revelation is an imperative. It casts mastery, necessity and subjugation upon the created being. It robs him of his own will. God created humans as truth seekers and intellectuals but at the same time instilled within them a yearning for the Creator and a desire to transcend science. The dual feelings of proximity and distance are engraved into man’s soul. God’s attribute of mercy instilled within man love, trust and a desire to pursue God. God’s attribute of judgment instilled within man fear, reluctance and a desire to flee from God. Soloveitchik finds allusions to the entanglements of the believer in prophetic, halakhic, and liturgical texts. Both opposing religious experiences are equally necessary; together they give expression to

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a complete truth. However, such a truth cannot be attained in this world and must await the arrival of the eschaton: Man’s running toward and fleeing from his Creator, as he is hurled back and forth by the two colossal forces of love and awe, embodies the most magnificent worship of God. The mystics called this mysterious pendulum-like movement of the man of God, ratzo-vashov. […] He who worships God roves back and forth between the two poles, which are as distant as possible from one another, with his whole being inundated with the struggle between love and awe. The man of God both loves God and stands in awe of Him. Halakhic Judaism affirms both the thesis and the antithesis and brings them together in a glorious religious dialectic, which gives rise to the vision of the Jewish people at the end of days. […] The love fierce as death joins with the great awe. The force drawing the person toward the wondrous supernatural joins with the force pushing the person back to the circumscribed system of nature; the cleaving of ecstatic desire permeates the withdrawal of awe, and an animating joy burst forth from the silent agony of insignificance. The man of God, who is the man of the Halakhah, turns to and fro in his dialectic consciousness and discourse, caught fast in a thicket of opposites, without the possibility of escape or refuge. “In accordance with the suffering is the reward”; the worship of the heart is in accordance with the laceration of the heart.6

The irresolvable dialectic in the face of God engenders in halakhic man—the man of God—pain and rupture, but all in accordance with God’s plan. Like homo religiosus he vacillates between love and awe, between material nature and miraculous, supernatural revelations, between the desire to cleave to a God who is everywhere and a sense of repulsion from a God who is awe-inspiring and sublime, a God whose place of glory is unknown. In exchange for living with this split heart, for bearing a burden that has no resolution, for serving God—man will receive reward. And the size of one’s reward will be commensurate with the size of one’s suffering and pain. Up to this point, the depiction of halakhic man in “Uviqashtem Misham,” differs from that of “Ish Hahalakhah Galui Venistar.” There, it seems, halakhic man can mend the rifts in his soul—in   6 J.B. Soloveitchik, “Uviqashtem Misham” in Ish Hahalakha Galui Venistar ( Jerusalem, 1979), 177–179, (translation based on And from There You Shall Seek, trans. N. Goldblum, [ Jersey City, 2008], 77–80, with small changes).

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three

the here and now!; in “Uviqashtem Misham,” however, this is only possible in a distant eschatological future. But this changes as the essay proceeds. In the second half of the essay (pp. 180–235), Soloveitchik describes the journey of the man of God—the person torn between hope and disappointment, between cleaving to God and separation from him, between distance and proximity. It is a journey towards the desired fusion of opposites. The man of God begins with awe, fear, and withdrawal. In a more advanced stage, he strives to emulate his Creator in hopes of calming tensions and gaining new hope for a harmonization. He follows God’s path, the path of halakhic ethics, but cannot, through this method alone, extricate himself from a dialectical dead-end. There is, however, a means of achieving further heights. By following God’s ways, man can ascend to a level in which he cleaves to the Divine. At this point: “Dialectical love—love that is cushioned with awe—rises to the level of total, pure love. Intellectual yearning to cleave to God appears hand in hand with recoil out of dread, in a movement back and forth [ratzo vashov], turning into madness—the madness of absolute love, ultimate and without successor. It is all clinging and joining, all running toward without running away [ratzo livli shuv].”7 That which was described in the first half of the essay as an eschatological vision, can be realized through the study of Halakhah in the here and now: When a group of Jews sit and study Torah together […] [and] even when a single individual studies the Torah, the Shekhinah is with him, for whenever a Jew studies the Torah he brings about the gradual realization of the vision of the End of Days. The state of cleaving to God, whose essence is in the eschatological vision found in the prophecies of the End of Days, has begun to be realized even in this divided world, in the actual life of man with his flawed, sterile existence.8

Mysticism sometimes speaks of a complete unification of man and God, achieved when man nullifies his own existence and denies his essence. Judaism, by contrast, speaks of a person cleaving to God by fully expressing his personality, a personality that initiates and creates within himself, within his society, and within his culture, assisted and realized by the halakhic imperative. Thus:   7 Soloveitchik, “Uviqashtem Misham,” 187 (translation based on Soloveitchik, From There You Shall Seek, 81).   8 Soloveitchik, “Uviqashtem Misham,” 189 (translation based on From There You Shall Seek, 84–85).

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Between Religion and Reason At first, the yearning of love is joined with the repulsion of fear, but in the end a wave of pure love, ablaze with the fire of longing, surfaces and expels the anxiety and dread. The man of God begins with duality and ends with unity, starts with love mixed with terror and ends with love that transforms the repulsive power into attractive power and deterrence into yearning.9

Full cleaving is achieved by the man of God in two ways. First, he must immerse himself in analysis and intellectual study, turning himself into an intellector who unites with an intelligible, i.e., with the divine, Active Intellect. Second, he must identify and mix his thought with ethical will and action. Intellectual understanding is combined with acts of kindness, justice, and charity as per the will of God; thus leading an individual to fully cleave to Him. The supernal will is manifested in Halakhah; Halakhah translates thought into will and action. “Thus, when the halakhist adopts the thought of the Holy One Blessed Be He, he identifies with the intellect and the primordial will of the One and unites with it.”10 Halakhah ascribes great importance to intellect. It demands the sanctification of one’s body and impulses. It thus joins intellectual activity with revelational activity—the revelation of eternity with the achievements of science, allowing perfection to be attained: There is an intimate connection between the objective, normative Halakhah and the scientific cognition of the free, creative intellect. There is no scientific or technological innovation that is not of interest to the Halakhah. Efforts are made in the halakhic consciousness to penetrate the secrets of the scientific world. […] To define the laws, the Halakhah must understand the scientific background and structure of these things. Galileo said that nature is written in mathematical equations. It is no overstatement to say that Halakhah writes in the language of orderly scientific reality.11

Immediately after this, Soloveitchik discusses the third tension, one that he has yet to treat in any kind of detail and has only alluded to briefly. This is not the   9 Soloveitchik, “Uviqashtem Misham,” 193–194 (translation based on From There You Shall Seek, 91). 10 Soloveitchik, “Uviqashtem Misham,” 204 (translation based on From There You Shall Seek, 106). 11 Soloveitchik, “Uviqashtem Misham,” 216–217 (translation based on From There You Shall Seek, 120–121).

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three

tension between the man of faith and God. Rather, it is the tension between the individual and the reality in which he lives, between the natural and the spiritual. It is a tension between the grandeur of creation and the grandeur of Mount Sinai; between intellect and emotion; between reason and revelation; between religion and science; between questions posed by Creation and the answers provided through the revelation of prophecy. The answers provided include the divine imperative, that is, the halakhic imperative, the key to resolving the tension: The only difference between creation and Sinai is the change of direction: from question to answer. The former is clothed in mystery while the latter heralds the solution. Intellectual cognition directed at the creation is divided: half of it is logical thought, while the other half is the consciousness of the world of reality. Modern man’s entire cultural outlook is full of contradictions and oppositions. It encounters nonrational elements that cannot be grasped by the mind. Physico-mathematical science encounters the living qualitative reality; metaphysics encounters the blind and impenetrable substance, mechanical nature; morality encounters sin and evil; art encounters the ugly and the repulsive, and so on. The weight of the irrationality and inconsistency in the perceived world lies heavily on the cultural world view. In spite of man’s many human technological achievements and his conquest, to an extent, of matter, the eternal riddle continues to emerge from all the realms of creation, especially those illuminated by reason. The sound of the solution comes from Mount Sinai: The God who is sought on the paths of the creation experience reveals Himself in the Sinaitic vision. The mind seeks, and prophecy responds. The content of revelation is faith, bearer of the absolute imperative. The child of creation finds his purpose and his path to perfection in the revelational consciousness, the ontological law – in the prophetic statutes.12

In other words, the tensions experienced by the man of faith are, at the end of the process, resolved by the unification that takes place within the world of halakhic man. 12 Soloveitchik, “Uviqashtem Misham,” 221 (translation based on From There You Shall Seek, 127).

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“Catharsis” It is evident from Soloveitchik’s article “Catharsis,” that in the 1960s he understood that the dialectical states in which man is immersed cannot be fully resolved. The Torah and Halakhah require man to move forward, aspiring for victory in all aspects of his life, but then to withdraw as if defeated, and then to repeat the process again, total victory always eluding him. This idea is completely at odds with those expressed in the previous two essays that implied that lying at the end of the path is unification: What is heroism in the Halacha? What does the Halacha recommend to us, that we may attain heroic stature? The answer is: one must perform the dialectical movement. The Halachic catharsis expresses itself in paradoxical movement in two opposite directions - in surging forward boldly and in retreating humbly. Man’s heroic experience is a polar, antithetic one. Man drives forward only to retreat and to reverse, subsequently, the direction of his movement. […] At the most exalted moment of triumph and fulfillment man must forego the ecstasy of victory and take defeat at his own hands. […] Halacha teaches that at every level of our total existential experience the aesthetic-hedonic, the emotional, the intellectual, the moral-religious one must engage in the dialectical movement by alternately advancing and retreating. […] The movement is dialectical: forward-marching ends in retreat, which, in turn, leads to a resumption of the forward-march. […] This dialectical movement, no matter how incomprehensible to modern man, forms, as we stated above, the very heart of Halachic living.13

In terms of physical and carnal pleasures, there is a dialectic in one’s sexual relations with one’s partner: Halakhah dictates that one must retreat from his wife when she is menstruating. Likewise, in terms of food and amassing wealth—Halakhah requires “retreats” under specific circumstances. In terms of emotions, Halakhah obligates man to distance himself from certain states of consciousness through ethical imperatives, such as the prohibition of “thou shall not covet” or “thou shall not hate your brother in your heart,” or the obligation of a mourner to suspend his sorrow with the onset of a holiday. In the intellectual sphere, the scientist or scholar is forced to recognize that as much as his knowledge may grow or develop, so will comprehension of the eternal 13 J.B. Soloveitchik, “Catharsis,” Tradition 17, no. 2 (Spring 1978): 43–44.

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three

mystery of creation elude him. The great secret of existence cannot be deciphered. In the ethical sphere, the human endeavor to legislate a system of ethical laws using human intellect alone, as opposed to the system revealed at Sinai, is an illegitimate one. It is an expression of hubris and is doomed to failure. In the religious sphere, the experiment of Christianity is a disastrous failure. The ascent to the mountain of God entails cathartic falls and withdrawals: Great is not the man who has never faltered but, the man who tripped, fell and rose again to greater heights. Sin is a reality, not just a potential threat. Perfect man has never been created. If a man is not conscious of the contradiction inherent in the very core of his personality, he lives in the world of illusion and leads an unredeemed existence. […] In what does this catharsis express itself? In the aptitude of man to take a critical look at himself and to admit failure, in the courage to confess, to plead guilty, in the readiness to accept defeat. […] What doth the Lord require of thee, but to move forward boldly, to triumph over and to subdue thy environment and to retreat humbly when victory is within thy grasp.14

The Lonely Man of Faith In his work The Lonely Man of Faith, Soloveitchik further develops his views on the dialectical tensions that beset the believer. First, from here on forward, Soloveitchik will focus on modern believers, i.e., his reading audience in Boston and New York. Second, he now shifts his focus to a third type of tension, one only briefly adumbrated in his previous works—i.e., the internal tension in which modern man is immersed, between different aspects of his personality and reality. Third, Soloveitchik no longer views humanity through the prism of distinct personality types. There is now only one personality comprised of separate components. As man experiences reality, these components conflict with each other. At the beginning of this essay, Soloveitchik continues to discuss the dialectic of man’s distance from and inadequacy vis-à-vis the Divine. He claims that this was already the fate of the great Hebrew men of faith in the biblical era: The role of the man of faith, whose religious experience is fraught with inner conflicts and incongruities, who oscillates between ecstasy in God’s 14 Ibid., 53–54.

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Between Religion and Reason companionship and despair when he feels abandoned by God, and who is torn asunder by the heightened contrast between self-appreciation and abnegation, has been a difficult one since the times of Abraham and Moses. It would be presumptuous of me to attempt to convert the passional, antinomic faith-experience into a eudaemonic, harmonious one, while the Biblical knights of faith lived heroically with this very tragic and paradoxical experience.15

However, the modern Jew must face an additional conflict: that which prevails between his intellect and emotions – an irresolvable tension. The modern religious Jew acts in accordance with his emotions; his faith cannot be affirmed through the tools of intellect as demanded by Western Culture: What can a man of faith like myself, living by a doctrine which has no tech­ nical potential, by a law which cannot be tested in the laboratory, steadfast in his loyalty to an eschatological vision whose fulfillment cannot be predicted with any degree of probability, let alone certainty, even by the most complex, advanced mathematical calculations—what can such a man say to a functional, utilitarian society which is saeculum-oriented and whose practical reasons of the mind have long ago supplanted the sensitive reasons of the heart? It would be worthwhile to add the following in order to place the dilemma in the proper focus. I have never been seriously troubled by the problem of the Biblical doctrine of creation vis-a-vis the scientific story of evolution at both the cosmic and the organic levels, nor have I been perturbed by the confrontation of the mechanistic interpretation of the human mind with the Biblical spiritual concept of man. I have not been perplexed by the impossibility of fitting the mystery of revelation into the framework of historical empiricism. Moreover, I have not even been troubled by the theories of Biblical criticism which contradict the very foundations upon which the sanctity and integrity of the Scriptures rest. However, while theoretical oppositions and dichotomies have never tormented my thoughts, I could not shake off the disquieting feeling that the practical role of the man of faith within modern society is a very difficult, indeed, a paradoxical one. The purpose of this essay, then, is to define the great dilemma confronting contemporary man of faith. Of course, as I already

15 Soloveitchik, The Lonely Man of Faith (New York, 1992), 2.

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three remarked, by defining the dilemma we do not expect to find its solution, for the dilemma is insoluble.16

The conflict and opposition between the biblical narrative and historical-­ scientific truth did not bother Soloveitchik. He does not explain why because, I think, he considered the answer to be obvious. Like others before him, such as Luzzatto, Hirsch, Rav Kook, and Leibowitz, Soloveitchik maintained that Scripture has no interest in imparting scientific information. It is rather a source of spiritual-religious-ethical knowledge. This is how it must be read. Thus, Bible criticism and its discussion of internal contradictions within the text, also did not perturb him. On this point he adopted the “aspects theory”— that God, when he gave the Torah, included in His text different and contradictory perspectives of human reality, as I will explain below. Soloveitchik is quite open about this, and later in the essay even provides a detailed interpretation of the contradictions between the first two chapters of Genesis. Likewise, he reads other biblical accounts as metaphors pointing to a person’s different existential states. Unlike biblical criticism, the tensions between the truth of emotion (romanticism and belief in supernatural revelation) and the truth of intellect (rationalism and secularism)—two sources of authority for humanity, are indeed worrying. According to Soloveitchik, the existence of these irresolvable dialectical tensions is part of a divine plan—and we are better off as a consequence. As a result, it appears that the modern religious person is unable to practically navigate the route between Halakhah and Western culture. In other words, harmony between these two truths is an impossibility. Soloveitchik’s opinion of the secular world—that so entranced those around him, both in the United States and in Israel—was fairly negative. He would have preferred to live without it, as he states explicitly in one of his sermons: The Jew constantly seeks the Creator of the World, willingly or unwillingly, erroneously or intentionally. [...] As much as the secular Jew protests that 16 Ibid., 6–8. Why was Soloveitchik unconcerned by the contradictions between the Bible on the one hand and history and science on the other; why did he not address these issues? According to Rosenberg, Soloveitchik maintained as a principle that scientific research is irrelevant to the sum of man’s fundamental religious challenges, experiences, and unique-­ human consciousness. In other words, Soloveitchik is primarily interested in the existential and spiritual tensions experienced by the modern believer and not the tension between scientific research and the Torah. See S. Rosenberg, “Heqer Hamiqra Bamahshava Hayehudit Hadatit Hahadasha” in Hamiqra Vaanahnu, ed. U. Simon, (Tel Aviv, 1979), 115–116 especially n. 65 and in the second printing in Rabbi Mordechai Breuer, Shitat Habehinot, ed. Y. Ofer (Alon-Shvut, 2005), 245 especially n. 19.

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Between Religion and Reason he has no connection whatsoever to holiness, he feels in the depths of his heart that this is simply false testimony [...] secular culture is loaded with destructive elements; it has many negative and corrupting facets [...] the more one is able to live without it, the better for his soul.17

However, as I will show below, Soloveitchik maintains that secular culture can be cleansed of its errors and mistakes. He believes that already according to the existential-biblical truth, the rational persona, the studious conqueror who is at home in Western culture, is part of the deeper consciousness of every person. This applies of course to the modern believer as well, and when purified, secular culture can have intrinsic value. Later in The Lonely Man of Faith,18 Soloveitchik introduces his famous explanation for the contradiction between the two accounts of creation (of the world and man): Genesis 1 and Genesis 2. He rejects the approach of Bible criticism that views these two accounts as two separate traditions or documents produced by different human authors. For Soloveitchik, both accounts of creation emanate from a single divine source. The dissonance between them is meant to portray the contradiction within human nature, the dissonance within man’s internal world, his innate duality and dialectic. The first Adam is majestic man, the creator and conqueror. He is aggressive and daring; victory is his goal. He has an aesthetic and legalistic sense; he is a social person and an intellectual who seeks to reveal the secrets of nature and harness them for his own benefit. This is the Adam of Genesis 1. The second Adam is an honest and romantic man of faith. He is galvanized by the universe and seeks its metaphysical, divine dimension; he wishes to cleave to God through an experiential, spiritual experience. He is lonely; he lacks confidence. But he subdues his impulses, has a sense of discipline, and is humble and submissive before the Almighty whom he serves. He allows this Being to dominate him, and thus he attains redemption. This is the Adam of Genesis 2. Adam 1 lives in a secular, majestic community; Adam 2 lives in the “covenantal faith community.” The first Adam receives his answers from the universe; the second Adam, from revelation. However, as we have seen in Soloveitchik’s previous discussions of tensions, the relationship between humans and the God who creates and reveals Himself is problematic: God takes part in man’s creation, but, at the same time, is conceived of as sublime and exalted, a deus absconditus. This dichotomy and 17 J.B. Soloveitchik, Hamesh Derashot ( Jerusalem, 1974), 17–21. 18 Idem, The Lonely Man of Faith, 9–52.

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three

paradox inspires despair in the man of faith who seeks an intimate connection with God. Even when he is part of a covenantal community, the tension remains unresolved: “The dialectical awareness, the steady oscillating between the majestic natural community and the covenantal faith community renders the act of complete redemption unrealizable.”19 Within the mind of the modern man of faith, two personae run about in a state of tension, with no escape and no possibility of unification. Thus, the modern man of faith lives in two communities at the same time: the majestic community of nature and the community of covenantal faith. It is God’s will that man realize his aspiration for majesty and honor, while also working on redemption. Man must study and conquer nature, but also stand in awe and humility before its mysteries. The Bible itself teaches man how to live concurrently in two communities linked by the bridge of Halakhah. Soloveitchik continues: With what simplicity, not paying the least attention to the staggering dialectic implied in such an approach, the Bible speaks of an existence this-worldly centered—“When thou buildest a new home; when thou cuttest down thine harvest; when thou comest into thy neighbor’s vineyard”—yet theo-oriented and unqualifiedly committed to an eternal purpose! If one would inquire of me about the teleology of the Halakhah, I would tell him that it manifests itself exactly in the paradoxical yet magnificent dialectic which underlies the Halakhic gesture. When man gives himself to the covenantal community the Halakhah reminds him that he is also wanted and needed in another community, the cosmic-majestic, and when it comes across man while he is involved in the creative enterprise of the majestic community, it does not let him forget that he is a covenantal being who will never find self-fulfillment outside of the covenant and that God awaits his return to the covenantal community. I would also add, in reply to such a question, that many a time I have the distinct impression that the Halakhah considered the steady oscillating of the man of faith between majesty and covenant not as a dialectical but rather as a complementary movement. The majestic gesture of the man of faith, I am inclined to think, is looked upon by the Halakhah not as contradictory to the covenantal encounter but rather as the reflex action which is caused by this 19 Ibid., 80. This approach resembles Breuer’s “aspects theory” which was presented five years earlier in Breuer’s article “Faith and Science” in 1960. See below chapter nine, which includes a detailed comparison of the views of Soloveitchik and Breuer on this issue.

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Between Religion and Reason encounter when man feels the gentle touch of God’s hand upon his shoulder and the covenantal invitation to join God is extended to him. I am prompted to draw this remarkable inference from the fact that the Halakhah has a monistic approach to reality and has unreservedly rejected any kind of dualism. The Halakhah believes that there is only one world—not divisible into secular and hallowed sectors which can either plunge into ugliness and hatefulness, or be roused to meaningful, redeeming activity, gathering up all latent powers into a state of holiness. Accordingly, the task of covenantal man is to be engaged not in dialectical surging forward and retreating, but in uniting the two communities into one community where man is both the creative, free agent, and the obedient servant of God. Notwithstanding the huge disparity between these two communities, which expresses itself in the typological oppositions and conflicts described previously, the Halakhah sees in the ethico-moral norm a uniting force. The norm which originates in the covenantal community addresses itself almost exclusively to the majestic community where its realization takes place. To use a metaphor, I would say that the norm in the opinion of the Halakhah is the tentacle by which the covenant, like the ivy, attaches itself to and spreads over the world of majesty.20

Here Soloveitchik’s tone matches that of his two previous works (not to mention the tone employed by Rav Kook during his more optimistic period). Soloveitchik, it seems, is claiming that unification is possible and that all things can be exalted to a level of holiness through the mediation and influence of Halakhah. However, later in the very same work, Soloveitchik reiterates his previous argument: while covenantal man is obligated, assisted by divine law, to unify these two communities, the goal is not truly a feasible one; full redemption is, in fact, unattainable: In every one of us abide two personae—the creative, majestic Adam the first, and the submissive, humble Adam the second. As we portrayed them typologically, their views are not commensurate; their methods are different, their modes of thinking, distinct, the categories in which they interpret themselves and their environment, incongruous. Yet, no matter how far-reaching the cleavage, each of us must willy-nilly identify himself with the whole of an all-inclusive human personality, charged with responsibility as both a majestic and a covenantal being. God created two Adams and 20 Soloveitchik, The Lonely Man of Faith, 82–84.

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three sanctioned both. Rejection of either aspect of humanity would be tantamount to an act of disapproval of the divine scheme of creation which was approved by God as being very good. As a matter of fact, men of faith have accepted Adam the first a long time ago. Notwithstanding the fact that Adam the second is the bearer of a unique commitment, he remains also a man of majesty who is inspired by the joyous spirit of creativity and constructive adventure. Since the role has been assigned to man by God, it is God who wants the man of faith to oscillate between the faith community and the community of majesty, between being confronted by God in the cosmos and the intimate, immediate apprehension of God through the covenant, and who therefore willed that complete human redemption be unattainable.21

Like Luzzatto and older Rav Kook, Soloveitchik here at the end of this work asserts that full unification of and reconciliation between the opposing poles of the dialectical tension pervading human experience—that is, emotion and intellect, rationalism and romanticism, reason and revelation, religiosity and secularism, majesty and covenantal faith—can only be realized at the end of history, in the utopian future and in the realm of the divine: Jewish eschatology beholds the great vision of a united majestic covenantal community in which all oppositions will be reconciled, and absolute harmony will prevail. When Zechariah proclaimed “the Lord shall be King over all the earth; on that day the Lord shall be one and His name one,” he referred not to the unity of God, which is absolute and perfect even now, but to the future unity of creation, which is currently torn asunder by inner contradictions. On that distant day the dialectical process will come to a close and man of faith as well as majestic man will achieve full redemption in a united world. 22

Majesty and Humility The contours of Soloveitchik’s approach are further defined in his essay “Majesty and Humility,” which, it seems, post-dates the three previous works discussed. Man is a dialectical being; an inner schism runs through his personality at every level. This schism is not due to man’s revolt against his Maker, as 21 Ibid., 85–86. 22 Ibid., 87 (in asterisk).

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Between Religion and Reason Christian theology has preached since the days of Augustine. Unlike this view, according to which it was man who, by his sinful rebellion against his Maker, precipitated the split in human nature, the Judaic view posits that the schism is willed by God as the source of man’s greatness and his election as a singular charismatic being. Man is a great and creative being because he is torn by conflict and is always in a state of ontological tenseness and perplexity. The fact that the creative gesture is associated with agony is a result of this contradiction, which pervades the whole personality of man. Judaic dialectic, unlike the Hegelian, is irreconcilable and hence interminable. Judaism accepted a dialectic, consisting only of thesis and antithesis. The third Hegelian stage, that of reconciliation, is missing. The conflict is final, almost absolute. Only God knows how to reconcile; we do not. Complete reconciliation is an eschatological vision. To Hegel, man and his history were just abstract ideas; in the world of abstractions synthesis is conceivable. To Judaism, man has always been and still is a living reality, or may I say, a tragic living reality. In the world of realities, the harmony of opposites is an impossibility. The Psalmist proclaimed ‫[ אני אמרתי בחפזי כל האדם כזב‬I said in my haste: ‘All men are liars.’] […] The Psalmist is concerned with a different kind of lie - the existential lie that man tells, not others, but himself. Man is indeed a liar, because he is involved in an unresolvable contradiction, in an insoluble dialectic, because he is caught like Abraham’s ram in a thicket of antinomies and dichotomies. He swings like a pendulum between two poles: the thesis and the antithesis, the affirmation and the negation, identifying himself either with both of them or with neither. He must lie, but this inevitable lie is rooted in man’s uniqueness and is a moral lie. It is the springwell of human creativity. That agony accompanies the process of creativity is due to the fact we mentioned above - that it is torn man who is the creator.23 23 J.B. Soloveitchik, “Majesty and Humility,” Tradition 17, no. 2 (Spring 1978): 25–26; idem, Ish Hahalakhah, 15–22. B. Ish Shalom, “Al Mada Ushlemut Haruah: Biqoret Hamoderniyut Vehapostmoderniyut,” in Emuna Bizmanim Mishtanim, ed. A. Sagi ( Jerusalem, 1996), 367, distinguishes between Rav Hirsh’s view that one must sanctify physical life and reality and thus unite the holy and profane, and Soloveitchik’s view that requires the secular existence itself be used to realize God’s will. He also notes the differences between Soloveitchik and Rav Kook: the latter blurs the distinction between holy and profane, and adopts the metaphysical stance that all things are sacred. I have shown above how, in my opinion, Rav Kook later in his life adopted a view more akin to that of Soloveitchik. On existentialism in general, with a particular emphasis on Soloveitchik’s thought, see E. Meir, Filosofim Qiyumiyim: Yehudim Berav Siah ( Jerusalem, 2004), especially 55–67.

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three

This is an unambiguous exemplar of the dual truth, the irresolvable dialectical. According to the philosopher Soloveitchik, this is the existential fate of the modern believer who is immersed in an unremitting tension, a tension desired by God, and planned by him as human virtue. Soloveitchik explicitly notes that this is Judaism’s approach and that it differs from that of Hegel. For Hegel human history is an abstract concept; in a world of abstractions, synthesis is possible. By contrast, Judaism represents a system of existential concreteness; it pertains to real life. Here oppositions are not united, and harmony can only prevail with the advent of the eschaton and within the divine sphere. Does Halakhah create the possibility of reconciliation? Soloveitchik says that it does not: The clash is staggering. Man, confused, kneels in prayer, petitioning God who has burdened him with this dialectic, to guide him and to enlighten him. The Halacha is concerned with this dilemma and tries to help man in such critical moments. The Halacha, of course, did not discover the synthesis, since the latter does not exist. It did, however, find a way to enable man to respond to both calls.24

What is the deeper significance of these frequent vacillations between the irresolvable and resolvable dialectical approaches in Soloveitchik’s thought? Can these texts be harmonized with each other? Did Soloveitchik provide a definitive answer as to whether these tensions can be overcome? After all of this, does there exist any set of circumstances in Soloveitchik’s opinion that allows the unification of contradictory truths—whether temporarily or permanently—or not? I will now address the approaches of various scholars and philosophers who have endeavored to answer this very question.

Michael Rosenak While Israeli educational philosopher, Michael Rosenak, does not explicitly address the inconsistences between Soloveitchik’s different texts, he rightfully 24 Soloveitchik, “Majesty and Humility,” 26. It should be noted that Soloveitchik advocates this irresolvable dialectical approach in terms of theoretical theology, philosophy, and ideology. However, when it comes to praxis, the dialectic situation, although it still exists, should, according to him, be suppressed and conquered by man, so that the side of revelation will prevail. The will of God as presented in the Oral Torah, as expressed by the Sages of the Talmud, should be adhered to even if it contradicts our own logic, reason and ethics, much like in the Akeda. See vol. 2 of this book in the chapter on David Hartman.

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notes that Soloveitchik accorded Halakhah an exceptionally exalted role in the world of the modern man of faith beset by dialectical tension. That being said, Halakhah does not (at least before the End of Days) fully resolve this tension, neither for cognitive man nor for homo religiosus: Therefore, Halakhah, that is, Judaism, in all of its dimensions—both the theoretical (Halakhah as an idea) and the practical (Halakhah as a means of conquering earthly reality) —represents a model for integrating Adam the first with Adam the second. Halakhah [allows man to] navigate his dialectical existence, between conquest and submission, between honor and meaning, between “temporary life” and “eternal life.” We must, however, bear in mind that Halakhah does not resolve the human problem of being a creature who lives in a world where he is required to belong to two communities. It does not satisfy the desire of the “cognitive man—first Adam” for an organized and safe existence. These things are [man’s] responsibility as a being created in “God’s image.” Halakhah does not even respond to the yearning of homo religiosus—Adam the second’s longing for serenity.25

What then is the purpose of Halakhah? Rosenak explains that Halakhah allows man to maintain a dual existence in the two communities which he is obligated to live in concurrently. Halakhah is an act of bringing heaven down to the perceivable and conquerable reality of humans: It entrusts [man] with a difficult task: to constantly oscillate between one community and another, from majesty to covenant—both reflecting the will of the Creator—and to coronate the Halakhah within the community of majesty. Therefore, man is never even liberated from his “loneliness.” For God demands that he live a superficial and external life, by living a life of covenant, a life of true perfection and friendship. The requirement to draw down Halakhah into reality requires one to deal with the external world of achievements and majesty as a religious obligation. Man is built for this dualistic task, a task that requires him to confront the world and to conquer as a divine image, just as it requires standing before God submissively and in a state of dialogue and internal existence.26 25 M. Rosenak, “Haadam Hayehudi Vehamedinah,” in Sefer Yovel Likhvod Morenu Hagaon Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, ed. S. Yisraeli, N. Lam, Y. Raphael, vol. 1 (New York, 1994), p. 161. Emphasis in source. 26 Ibid. Emphasis in source.

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three

The goal of Judaism is to fully fuse the opposition within man and the world into a single, sacred existence. This, however, will only be fully realized in the End of Days: Halakhah calls upon man to unite the worlds within him, and to conquer and achieve a meaningful life for the most honorable part of his human world, until the world as a whole is united—when reality at large will be sanctified and completed. The “primary goal of Judaism,” “the vision of the End of Days, and the realization of all hopes in the world of the Jewish people”—is to “create” [...] to turn the emptiness of reality into a developed and sacred existence, engraved with combinations of God’s name.27

Eliezer Schweid In his study of Soloveitchik, Schweid primarily focuses on halakhic man’s difficulty implementing the idyllic Halakhah in a concrete-modern world, a world populated by people of faith intermingled with people of majesty, especially in the State of Israel. Halakhic man is confronted by the tension between a pristine theoretical-halakhic ideal and the compromises required in practice. According to Schweid, only in theoretical-ideal texts can halakhic man affect unification. By contrast, in texts pertaining to the practical application of Halakhah, contradictions are irresolvable. As Schweid sees it, Soloveitchik views this latter realm as one embroiled in constant struggle, filled with irresolvable contradictions which one must accept. It is the trial of practical life that one must withstand, a trial imposed upon humanity by the God of the Bible. Schweid cites Soloveitchik’s statements at the beginning of The Lonely Man of Faith about the man of faith’s difficulties, and explains that these are solely a practical issue:28 This is a pragmatic problem. Rabbi Soloveitchik continues by saying that he has had no philosophical difficulty in solving the ostensible contradiction between a scientific world view—not even scientific inquiry in history or in biblical criticism—and between the Weltanschauung of the believer. [...] If there is a practical divergence between these two ideals, and if majestic man’s ideal has taken over the societal-cultural reality, then the man of 27 Ibid., 162. 28 See above the excerpts next to notes 15–16.

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Between Religion and Reason faith will remain isolated. These things are said with an air of resignation of a tragic reality, with no pretense at a solution. [...] The question which arises is [...] what differentiates the halakhic man from the man of faith? Can a modern Jewish state based on halakha extricate the man of faith from the particular loneliness to which he has been condemned in a society that behaves in accordance with the ideal of majestic man? [...] It is implied that, in the ideal sense, one can say that Halakhah practices the principles of the man of faith in the territory of majestic man. But therein lies the problem: the absolute ideal of Halakhah poses the question as to whether it can be removed from the context of an ideal “discipline” and applied in man’s mundane existence. Can one at all imagine that majestic man would wish—and if he wished—could possibly apply Halakhah in his scientific, technological, and political endeavors? Although Rabbi Soloveitchik does not answer this question specifically, his reply to it is quite clear from the totality of his discussion [...] Yet it would appear that there is a watering down even between the theoretical-halakhic study of Torah for its own sake and the halakhic judgements that must be pronounced for the pragmatic needs of Jews as members of a covenantal society. [...] There is a palpable, principled tension which remains insoluble in this world [...] Rabbi Soloveitchik regarded the realization of the Zionist idea as a vital historical need of the Jews and as a great opportunity vouchsafed by God for his people; he saw modern civilization’s “conquest” of technological and scientific spheres by “men of faith” in a similar light, as an opportunity and a commandment. But he did not consider the sum of these achievements as a final and comprehensive solution. On the contrary, there was to be a perpetual battle which would involuntarily and recurrently impel man into mistakes, errors, sins and wrongdoing, as well as internal contradictions between segments of the Jewish people and between Jews and other peoples, both in the Diaspora, and in the State of Israel. From this standpoint, the man of faith must live with the problem even when he appears as a man of Halakhah. One could say that, in the biblical sense, this is a trial that he must withstand.29 29 Schweid, Toldot Hehagut Hayehudit Bameah Ha-20, 376–378. Translation based on Idem, Jewish Thought in the 20th Century : An Introduction, trans. Amnon Hadari (Atlanta, GA, 1992), 389–392. Schweid continues to explain there that this is a twentieth-century version of the nineteenth-century neo-Orthodoxy of Hirsch. While Hirsch maintained that the two realms are complementary and overlapping (as opposed to my own understanding of Hirsch, shared by M. Breuer, that the two realms are identical) Soloveitchik believed

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three

However, this understanding of Soloveitchik—in which ideal theory (in which the tension is resolved) is contrasted to practical action (in which there is no solution)—does not, in my opinion, stand up to scrutiny. In the text that Schweid enlists in support of his view, Soloveitchik does not claim that he has a solution for man in this world to the contradictions in the theoretical plane . To the contrary, and as I have been arguing, the contradictions between the biblical narrative and the conclusions of science did not trouble him—the Bible provides no scientific or historical information, and only imparts a religious-­ existential lesson meant to mold the personality of the believer. It is true that Soloveitchik was likely troubled first and foremost by conflicts that manifest in practical life, the plane in which the man of faith is forced to contend with contradictions between faith and its non-metaphorical Halakhah and the practical facets of modern existence and morality, practical tensions that derive from the theoretical contradictions. A review of other statements made by Soloveitchik turns up nothing resembling Schweid’s interpretation, and Soloveitchik never explicitly distinguishes between theory and practice in his writings. To the contrary, he discusses, as I have shown, several dialectical tensions, both spiritual and theoretical, that are not necessarily practical. Therefore, other scholars have sought to understand Soloveitchik’s thought in a different light.

Aviezer Ravitzky In his study, Ravitzky draws a stark contrast between different texts penned by Soloveitchik that address the possibility of resolving the modern man of faith’s dialectical tension. Ravitzky maintains that Soloveitchik’s system is a religious-philosophical journey in which the man of faith ascends to a spiritual summit upon which all oppositions are united. Using the model of the philosopher of Song of Songs (described in “Uviqashtem Misham”), that is, the man that they are antagonistic to each other, divided by conflict. See Schweid, Toldot Hehagut Heyehudit, 379. Gili Zivan, Dat Lelo Ashlaya ( Jerusalem; Ramat Gan, 2006), 225–226, also explains that Soloveitchik in this passage is advocating the view that the Torah imparts no scientific information. He therefore does not believe there is a contradiction between the teachings of the Torah, which are religious and existential, and those of science which provide information about the physical world. This argument is common to Hirsch (who adopted the identicality approach), Leibowitz (who adopted the compartmental approach), and Luzzatto (who adopted the dual truth approach). This demonstrates that the excerpt brought by Schweid does not pose a challenge to my view: the dialectic in Soloveitchik’s thought pertains to both theory and practice.

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of faith dialectically wandering between the majestic community and the covenantal community, Soloveitchik portrays the journey of a person searching for God in this world and yearning to draw close to Him. Using the model of the philosopher, halakhic man, that is, the person who is able to unify, through study (halakhic writing and ruling), the man of faith with the man of majesty, Soloveitchik describes the ultimate goal—a state in which the dialectical schism is mended, creating a new persona that clings to God. Rav Soloveitchik is the philosopher of Song of Songs; and he is the philosopher of Halakhah. The philosopher of Song of Songs tries to understand the dialectical nature of the religious consciousness. He follows the internal movements of the believer, the back-and-forth relations that develop between the young woman seeking God and her beloved who eludes her and moves on. [It is a tale] of closeness and distance, revelation and concealment, love and fear, freedom and coercion, realization and failure, majesty and covenant, pride and humility, conquest and defeat—these images and others reflect persistent change and movement, the duality and polarity that characterize the status of a man standing before his Creator. [...] By contrast, the philosopher of Halakhah tries to understand the nature of halakhic activity; he searches for halakhic man’s world, compositions, and system. It is he [= halakhic man] who teaches us how to anchor change and movement onto a stable Archimedean point, how to plant subjective experience in an enduring, objective reality. His task is to determine for us the proper relationship between the separate components of the religious personality, to establish the synthesis. [...] Unlike the philosopher of Song of songs, who depicts the process, i.e., the path that leads to the divine abode, the philosopher of Halakhah establishes the final destination, the supernal goal: the rejuvenation of personality and the mending of the split through the [exercise] of objective law and jurisprudence, by bringing together (on the halakhic plane) man’s will and intellect with those of the Divine. This meeting “unites the finite with the infinite” and creates a halakhist with a new character that is not subject to change or transience. [...] This system is no stranger to innovation, creation, and formation. However, these may only take place according to [Halakha’s] internal logic, according to its immanent and timeless constancy that does not depend on external factors. Only thus can objective Halakhah anchor the man of faith to a permanent mainstay, transcending the movements of to-and-fro, of subjective, psychological oscillation. [...] Rabbi Soloveitchik’s essay “From there you shall seek” illustrates a ladder of the religious persona’s

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three ascent, from dialectic oscillation to the rejuvenation of personality in the form of halakhic man.30

Ravitzky concludes his discussion by rightfully noting that in Soloveitchik’s view, only halakhic man merits a meta-status, although, as befits a dialectical situation, the philosopher of Song of Songs sometimes steps forward to attain this status as well: “because at the end of reckoning, both philosophers are one, a tension from within the system is necessary [...] Halakhah, and only Halakhah merits the status of a meta-principle. [...] That being said, it sometimes seems as if the philosopher of Song of Songs succeeds in breaking his shackles.”31 I find this conclusion difficult to accept. As I understand it, tension is the lot of halakhic man—that person who joins the man of faith with majestic man—as well. Furthermore, if this fusion is to be accorded the status of a meta-principle, then the philosopher of Song of Songs, who wanders between poles, will never succeed in affecting reconciliation unless he overcomes his innate tendencies and transforms himself into the halakhic philosopher. This being the case, how and under what circumstances can the philosopher of Song of Songs burst forth from the constraints imposed by his internal tensions to find resolution? Ravitzky does not explain. Regardless, his primary claim and his distinction between these two works are also problematic in my opinion. How does Ravitzky explain the passage appearing at the end of The Lonely Man of Faith that states that man’s complete redemption is essentially unattainable? Perhaps he would claim that this represents the penultimate stage of the journey—a time when halakhic man has yet to full ascend to his spiritual summit? If so, the location of the passage, at the very end of The Lonely Man of Faith, poses a problem. Furthermore, how does Ravitzky explain the passage, appearing in the middle of “Uviqashtem Misham,” that describes a figure twisting and turning but without any escape? One could explain these two contradictory texts by casting the “struggle” as an intermediary phase. This could even be supported by the fact that, at the end of “Uviqashtem Misham,” the attainment of unification is described. However, as I have shown above, the dialectical tension is mentioned by Soloveitchik in other contexts as well. The most emphatic texts in this regard are “Catharsis” and “Majesty and Humility”32 which were written after “Uviqashtem Misham.” 30 A. Ravitzky, Herut al Haluhot (Tel Aviv, 1999), 178–181; the citation from “Uviqashtem Misham,” is from p. 204. 31 Ravitzky, Herut al Haluhot, 326–327, n. 12. 32 Notes 23 and 24 above.

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In these essays, Soloveitchik explicitly states that harmony or synthesis in this world is impossible and that the dialectic that pervades Judaism can never be settled or overcome. These statements remain unexplained by Ravitzky’s approach. As noted previously, in The Lonely Man of Faith (which was written after “Ish Hahalakha Galui Venistar” and “Uviqashtem Misham”), halakhic man only succeeds in drawing two domains closer together; complete unification, however, is not possible. After the more optimistic statements in his two earlier works, Soloveitchik would never again claim that halakhic man—the man of God—can achieve harmony when he arrives at the summit of his spiritual journey. It is also unclear in Ravitzky’s approach why in The Lonely Man of Faith, which, again, was written after “Ish Hahalakha” and “Uviqashtem Misham,” Soloveitchik does not bother to offer his readers consolation by pointing to the possibility of a complete solution in this world, achieved in the consciousness of he who unites the personas of halakhic man and majestic man, realized by the man who lives his life in accordance with halakhic praxis and study. The possibility of unification is only mentioned in Soloveitchik’s first two works. In The Lonely Man of Faith, it is rejected, and in “Catharsis” and “Majesty and Humility,” it is not mentioned at all.

Binyamin Ish Shalom Ish Shalom views Soloveitchik’s texts from a panoramic perspective. He neither addresses the difficulties noted by others, nor does he ask whether Soloveitchik provided a solution to the dialectical contradiction that pervades the modern believer’s life. His general impression is that Soloveitchik sought to reconcile himself to the complexity of an irresolvable dialectic. Soloveitchik maintained that life in a faith-community, lived according to Halakhah but combined with the adoption of modern values, is the path to mankind’s redemption. This is because the faith-community recognizes and makes peace with the dialectical characters of its members, those people who live their lives in a state of contradiction: Rabbi Soloveitchik sees in Halakhah and the faith-community the framework which allows man to grapple with the crisis of modernity. It is not because it provides a solution, but because it is cognizant of the dialectical character of man, allowing him to live with his contradictions. Only thus, can each person fully express all the facets of his personality. Man’s redemption from the crisis of modernity will neither come from the adoption of

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three modern values or culture or from rejecting them categorically. Man’s complete redemption is materialized within modern reality – with the help of Halakhah and within the framework of a faith-community. For it is only here, within the domain of Jewish tradition, that one can accept man’s imperfection. Here his complexity is acknowledged; here his dialectical character is granted legitimacy.33

Dov Schwartz Dov Schwartz is well aware of the fact that Soloveitchik provided different answers as to whether the dialectical tension could be resolved. In his opinion, the solution lies in Soloveitchik’s use of the word “Halakhah” in two difference senses. “Uviqashtem Misham” and “the Halakhic Mind” express the conflict as an irresolvable dialectic tension within the mind of the religious person maintaining a halakhic way of life in the real world. “Ish Hahalakha,” however, presents an ideal, analytical, and abstract form of halakhic cognition, that of a figure who has overcome the rift and has reached the serenity of union. In Schwartz’s view, Soloveitchik personally identifies with the first figure, whose soul is rent asunder in the real world. The halakhic man, however, represents an ideal figure of the past, a representation of Soloveitchik’s Brisker ancestors. Therefore, at least from Soloveitchik’s personal perspective, no solution and no unification exist. “From There You Shall Seek” […] describes at length the dialectic features of homo religiosus’ consciousness […] This essay describes halakhic-­ practical consciousness in the real world. […] Halakhah, meaning the halakhic way of life, reflects the conscious rift and gives it rich expression. Halakhah is also the objective aspect of religious life in the sense of being a concrete and extra-cognitive expression of the inner-subjective world of religion. […] [By contrast, in “Halakhic Man”] Halakhah, meaning the halakhic-idealist cognition exhausted in endless processes of analysis and creation, shapes a serene and self-contained figure that overcomes the existential split and views it as part of a distant past. […] “From There You Shall Seek” and The Halakhic Mind present the perspective of homo religiosus with whom R. Soloveitchik identifies, whereas Halakhic Man ­presents

33 Ish Shalom, “Al Mada,” 375.

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In other words, Schwartz combines Schweid’s solution—a distinction between theory and practice—with a close reading of the texts themselves as well as adding his own theoretical considerations. Schwartz distinguishes between the way Soloveitchik perceived himself—a wanderer torn by the rift of the religious man who models his life on practical halakha, creating a synthesis between Halakhah and religion in a real-existential world comprised of men of faith and men of majesty—and the way he viewed his ancestors, men of ideal Halakhah, who in his view were perfect and complete in their halakhic worlds, but with whom he did not personally identify. When it comes to the inconsistent approaches appearing in “Uviqashtem Misham” and “Ish Hahalakhah” as to the possibility of unification, Schwartz continues the line of thought developed by his predecessors who sought to harmonize Soloveitchik’s contradictory texts. However, he also offers a new, interesting, and exciting take on Soloveitchik’s view. Based on a detailed analysis of the different texts and a review of the contradictions between them, he concludes that the Torah scholar’s life goes through three stages. In the first stage, he is a man of faith who is torn between a covenantal community and a majestic one. In the second stage, he is a halakhic man who oscillates between the opposing poles of “man of faith” and “halakhic man.” In the third stage, assuming he manages to reach it, the Torah scholar becomes the ideal halakhic man who has successfully mended the rift, and has created a synthesis between poles, attaining spiritual serenity. In other words, there are two completely different types of “halakhic men,” just as there are two different meanings of the word “Halakhah.” Soloveitchik identifies with the figure who is still embroiled in a spiritual conflict, as opposed to the ideal figures embodied by his ancestors, members of the Brisk dynasty who had reached the final destination.35 In my opinion, this solution is also problematic. As I have noted, Schweid’s distinction lacks textual basis. Furthermore, the essay “Uviqashtem Misham” actually concludes by describing unification, as Ravitzky and I have shown. Schwartz claims that within the text of “Ish Hahalakhah” there are internal contradictions and oppositions but that this represents an imagined dialectic not 34 D. Schwartz, Haguto Hafilosofit shel Harav Soloveitchik (Alon-Shevut, 2004), 398–403 (translation based on idem, Religion or Halakha: The Philosophy of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, trans. B. Stein [Leiden; Boston, 2007], 349–354.) 35 Ibid., 398–401.

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three

a real one. It is this claim that I find unconvincing. The split seems to me to be a real one, and the text implies that only halakhic man, after undergoing a process, succeeds in overcoming it. Likewise, I do not agree with the psychological distinction between the perspective of the halakhic homo religiosus, representing the mind of the author (Soloveitchik) himself, and the pure halakhic man with whom the author does not identify. My impression is that Soloveitchik identified deeply with halakhic man, in all stages of his life, and that he maintained that this figure is the authentic representation of Judaism’s aspirations— as opposed to homo religiosus whom he regarded with suspicion. I believe that Soloveitchik was certainly aware that all personality types have different qualities that characterize them. That being said, what most bothers me about Schwartz’s explanation is the fact that Soloveitchik himself never bothered to spell out to his listening and reading audience that two distinct types of halakhic men exist. Instead, for some reason he gives these two distinct personality types a single, undifferentiated title. Likewise, he did not bother to underscore—in his later writings that claim that unification is not an option—that the halakhic man, in the final stage of the process, actually does succeed in achieving unification, and that this goal can be realized in this world. If Schwartz is correct, then Soloveitchik seriously misconstrued his position to his audience and to scholars. In any case, Schwartz agrees that Soloveitchik found no solution (neither for himself nor for his audience) for mending a spiritual rift, and thus, for all intents and purposes Schwartz’s Soloveitchik adopted the dual truth approach.

Avi Sagi In his articles on Soloveitchik, Sagi addresses two points that are relevant to our own discussion. The first relates to the secular side of the equation, that is the realm of majesty—Western culture. In his article on Rabbi Soloveitchik, from 1997, Sagi makes the surprising claim that Soloveitchik refused to accord secularism any independent value or legitimacy. In Soloveitchik’s mind, so Sagi contends, the majestic man of modernity and Westernism is an existential component only when it participates in the dialectical circumstances of the man of faith. Sagi critiques Soloveitchik for this position, portraying Soloveitchik’s approach to secularism as stereotypical (bordering on demonization), anti-­ pluralistic, and divorced from a true understanding of reality. The second point is the fact that Sagi does not draw any distinctions within Soloveitchik’s approach as to the possibility of overcoming a religious-existential irresolvable

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dialectic. About Soloveitchik’s treatment of secularism, quoting an excerpt from Hamesh Derashot (which I cited above), Sagi writes: Such stereotypical attitudes toward the modern world, bordering on demonization, are slightly puzzling in a thinker so responsive to it. […] He does not accept secularization as validly acknowledging that it had indeed removed God from the world and created a godless viable replacement. He absolutely rejects the empirical fact that some people, including Jews, do not want and are not even interested in God. His philosophy never hints at a pluralistic stance, which is essential to the modern experience, and does not consider secularism “intrinsically valuable.” He is willing to take a tolerant view, ready to acknowledge the existence of a secular world that “does not deserve our ire but rather our sympathy and pity.” […] Soloveitchik’s unreceptive attitude toward secularism is evident in his appropriation of truth, when he categorically states concerning the modern individual in general and secular Jews in particular that they are “unwittingly” seeking God. Endorsing a tolerant outlook, Soloveitchik appears to be closer to a paternalistic view. […] Soloveitchik’s philosophy could be said to reflect greater openness toward the human condition of the modern individual as a free creature living in an alienated world. His philosophy, however, does not reflect similar openness or offer a comprehensive modern perspective toward the values of the modern world.36

Referring to the dialectic experienced by the modern believer, a tension between human universalism and national particularism, between seclusion and openness to Zionism and modernism, he writes: Internalizing the value of participating in the life of humanity is expressed in the fact that the human existence of “majestic man” is part of the dialectic of religious existence. [...] It seems that, in this as well [=in his approach to Zionism], Soloveitchik presents a dialectic of simultaneous openness and closure, reflecting the obstacles that hinder harmonization between the religious and secular worlds. This dialectic becomes constitutive of the 36 A. Sagi, “Harav Soloveitchik: Hagut Yehudit Lenokhah Hamoderna,” in Emuna Bizmanim Mishtanim, ed. A. Sagi ( Jerusalem, 1996), 491–493. (Translation based on idem, “Soloveitchik: Jewish Thought Confronts Modernity,” in idem, Tradition vs. Traditionalism [Leiden, 2008], 39–42). The citation of Soloveitchik is from J.B. Soloveitchik, Al Hateshuva ( Jerusalem, 1975), 251.

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three religious experience and Soloveitchik sums it up in the claim that a Jew has a double identity: “He is a part of the larger family of mankind, but he also has a Jewish identity which separates him from others.” [...] Soloveitchik is aware of this harsh tension: “There is something contradictory and psychologically discordant in maintaining this dual role.” But this is what Jewish identity means. The tension in Soloveitchik’s thought concerning modernity, the simultaneous openness and closure, emerges as his actual Jewish experience.37

In the first excerpt, Sagi ignores the fact that a dialectical tension can only exist when both sides have inherent value, even if one of them is subject to criticism and a demand for purification and perfection. The moment one invalidates the independent, inherent value of one pole, the dialectic will immediately vanish as will the tension that it entails. Likewise, in the second excerpt, Sagi almost completely ignores those texts that consider the possibility of unification and of halakhic man finding a solution. Sagi only mentions in his article the synthesis embodied by halakhic man, but not as a comprehensive solution to a dialectical tension of the modern religious man. In his article on Rav David Hartman (1913–2013), published in 2012, Sagi elegantly retracts his first claim while reinforcing his second. In this context, he draws a distinction. Soloveitchik, he argues, turns the dialectical tension and the contradiction between religion and modernity into the foundational principle of the modern believer’s religious experience (Once again, however, Sagi does not account for those texts in which unification is mentioned). Based on this argument, he correctly reaches the obvious corollary: that the pole of (secular) modernity, must in his opinion have independent value. Sagi himself explains that were modernity and Westernism completely bereft of value, then the contradiction between them and Judaism could not serve as a foundational principle. In other words, why would the believer be seduced by modernity in the first place if it was truly worthless? The fact that Soloveitchik mentions a contradiction shows that he recognizes the values of both ends of the tension. Furthermore, Rabbi Soloveitchik turns the tension and contradiction experienced by the modern believer into the foundational principle of his 37 Sagi, “Harav Soloveitchik,” 490, 493 (translation based on idem, “Soloveitchik: Jewish Thought Confronts Modernity,” 41–42). Citations from J.B. Soloveitchik, Peraqim Bemahshevet Harav ( Jerusalem, 1984), 126, 128.

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Between Religion and Reason religious experience. In this respect, [Soloveitchik] grants legitimacy and affirmation of modernism; the very acknowledgment of contradiction as a foundational principle with value means that each side that comprises the contradiction—religion and the modernistic experience—has value. If modernism lacks value, then the contradiction experienced by the man of faith in his personal life, is simply evidence of his inability to withstand the “seduction” of modernism; certainly, were this the case, modernism would not be able to become the foundational principle of religion. The necessary conclusion is that by situating such a contradiction as the foundational principle of religion, Soloveitchik essentially affirms modernism.38

For all intents and purposes, according to Sagi’s understanding, Soloveitchik believes that the dialectical split of the modern believer is irresolvable; he does not, however, address those texts in which Soloveitchik seems to claim that unification is possible.

Ehud Luz Luz, like Sagi and Ish-Shalom, describes Soloveitchik’s dialectical stance as irresolvable, at least until the advent of the End of Days. The unification affected by halakhic man is not a true unity; it is merely a tool that gives man the ability to live within this tension until the redemption in a utopian future. In Luz’s opinion, Soloveitchik’s stance is completely inimical to that of Rav Kook: that tensions lead to harmonious evolution and that unification is already possible in the here and now. Luz delineates six categories of responses to the rift between 38 A. Sagi, “David Hartman: Hagut Yehudit Modernistit, Pirqei Mavo,” in Mehuyavut Yehudit Mithadeshet, ed. A. Sagi & Z. Zohar (Tel Aviv, 2002), 490. It is interesting that Dov Schwartz cites the same passages from Hamesh Derashot about secularism, adducing them as proof that Soloveitchik ignores secularization and does not recognize it as an equal “partner” to religion with any value. This is also the view of Yaakov Blidstein and Ehud Luz. See Schwartz, Haguto Hafilosofit shel Harav Soloveitchik, 133–140 (idem, Religion or Halakhah, 119–127); Y. Blidstein, “Am Yisrael Behaguto shel Harav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik,” in Emuna Bizmanim Mishtanim ( Jerusalem, 1997), 151–152; 159–160; Luz, Kelim Shluvim, 339 (and n. 776 there). If they (Luz and Schwartz) are correct, it is unclear why they consider Soloveitchik’s approach “dialectical” at all. Schwartz explains (p. 137) that cognitive man and majestic man are described by Soloveitchik exclusively within the framework of the religious world, as maintained (but then rejected) by Sagi. This explanation, however, does not accord inherent-independent value to the pole of cognition and majesty, which is secular and thus, in my opinion, leaves no room for a discussion of a “dialectic” in Soloveitchik’s thought.

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three

Orthodoxy and modernity. The final two he describes as dialectical. The first of these two is the pantheistic-unificatory view of Rav Kook, the second is: the conception that envisions a necessary-dialectical opposition between two realms, but claims that man has at his disposal a tool that allows him to live within the tension between both realms and thus realize his goals. This tool is Halakhah. Halakhah plays a redemptory role in mending the split, even though redemption—and this is as opposed to the worldview of Rav Kook—is not a process evolving in time, but rather an eschatological vision. This approach characterizes the thought of Rav Soloveitchik. [...] His philosophical language is characterized by the routine use of terms that allude to humanity’s polarized state: “dialectic,” “tragic,” “paradoxical,” and “absurd.” Man is a dialectical creature; an inherent rift runs through his personality. The rift is not the result of sin, as maintained by Christianity. It is rather God’s will. Human life is marked by perpetual propulsion and movement between two opposing poles, each one demanding fulfillment, and man’s aspiration to combine them and to turn them into a unity is always doomed to failure. Thus, this dialectic is different than that propounded by Hegel: it only has a thesis and an antithesis; the synthesis exists only as an eschatological vision. In other words, man’s purpose is dialectic.39

I wish only to add here that in his later book, Kelim Shluvim, Luz retreated from the unambiguous portrayal of Rav Kook as an “optimist.” In this book, while Luz seems to suggest that for Rav Kook dialectic concludes with harmony,40 he later writes that Halakhah and Aggadah are only truly united in the eschatological messianic age.41 He adds that Rav Kook’s utopian vision is based on a firm belief in human progress towards realizing its potential, and that Rav Kook believed that the sharp conflict between halakhic conservatism and the revolutionary nature of the Zionist dream could be settled. However, theoretical possibility aside, Rav Kook did not succeed in this endeavor. In practice, he offered nothing but messianic expectation, suggesting that only the eschaton could bring the desired synthesis.42

39 E. Luz, “Hayesod Hadialeqti Bekhitvei Harav Y”D Soloveitchik” Daat 9 (1982), 77–78. See also p. 80 and p. 88. 40 See Luz, Kelim Shluvim, 251, 255. 41 Ibid., 256, 261. 42 Ibid., 270, 274–275.

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Yuval Cherlow Rav Sherlo dedicates an entire book to the dialectic in Soloveitchik’s thought. He correctly detects Soloveitchik’s changing and contradictory views on the subject. According to his reading of the essay “Majesty and Humility,” which concludes with a description of Abraham’s success in Akedat Yitshak (the binding of Isaac), which was only possibly after he had surrendered and accepted failure,43 Sherlo suggests that according to Soloveitchik, dialectical harmony is possible. When a person is self-absorbed, treating God as something external—the state described in “Uviqashtem Misham”—then indeed no fusion is possible. However, when a person emerges from himself, encountering the Other, be it a human (a husband, wife, or another member of the community) or God Himself (through prayer), as described in The Lonely Man of Faith and “Majesty and Humility,” then unity becomes possible. The two polar experiences of man meet within the realms of halakhic creativity (as in Rav Kook’s thought), prophecy, and sanctification of the human body: It therefore, seems to me that the essential dialectic experience changes when it encounters external factors. In other words: as long as a person is entangled in his own affairs and his own internal experiences, then these [forces] act upon him with all their might. However, if a person opens himself to factors outside of himself—whether it is to the Master of the World, or to his or her partner, his community, or another—the two poles in his personality are united. [...] The focus shifts from internal rift to a quest for unity and connection. Therefore, the intensity of the dialectical tragedy wanes. This is why in his work The Lonely Man of Faith, Soloveitchik sees a possibility of blunting the contradiction: when man bursts forth from his boundaries – in his relationship with his wife or through the experience of prayer. This existential experience, which refers not to the external trappings of familiarity, but rather to [intimate] unity and cleaving, combines a person’s two personae—majestic man and the man of faith—into one. This is also the case in the essay “Uviqashtem Misham.” When the experience is one in which God is an external object, then the two experiences—the natural-­religious experience and the revelational religious experience— antagonize each other. This does not refer to an internal unification but rather to its inversion. When a person adopts the path of internal cleaving, 43 Soloveitchik, “Majesty and Humility,” 36.

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three turning God into part of his fundamental existential experience—the two experiences meet in essential points: in the freedom of halakhic creativity, in the perpetuity of prophecy, and in the elevation of the body.44

It should be recalled that Sherlo is careful to note that even in these ideal situations (according to his explanation) the essential dialectic does not completely disappear but simply dies down and is blunted. That being said, I have three issues with Sherlo’s basic idea: 1) Sherlo claims in his book45 that maintaining that there are contradictions in Rav Soloveitchik’s thought is an incongruous position; it is difficult to claim, he argues, that Soloveitchik would leave unresolved contradictions in his writings on such fundamental issues. In other words, according to Sherlo it is impossible that Soloveitchik would not have a clear position about a subject so central and so essential to his thought. Why then, I wonder, does Soloveitchik not spell-out this distinction. Why does he not clearly explain and thus dissipate the illusion of contradiction, instead leaving us to discover the solution on our own? 2) “Uviqashtem Misham” actually concludes, as I have shown above, by describing a unification wrought by halakhic man. 3) Why does Soloveitchik conclude The Lonely Man of Faith with the assertion which I cited above: “Since the dialectical role has been assigned to man by God, it is God who wants the man of faith to oscillate between the faith community and the community of majesty, between being confronted by God in the cosmos and the intimate, immediate apprehension of God through the covenant, and who therefore willed that complete human redemption be unattainable”? In other words, why does Soloveitchik assert that unification is impossible even in communal existence? Furthermore, why does Soloveitchik go on to add (in a footnote): “On that distant day the dialectical process will come to a close and man of faith as well as majestic man will achieve full redemption in a united world,” which means that the unification will only be achieved in the eschaton? 4) Why does Soloveitchik conclude “Majesty and Humility” with the assertion, also cited above, that “The Halacha, of course, did not discover the 44 Sherlo, Vehayu Laahadim Beyadekha, 115–116. 45 Ibid., 115.

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synthesis, since the latter does not exist. It did, however, find a way to enable man to respond to both calls”? In other words, why does Soloveitchik state here that there is no unification, only adaptation and coexistence? Can Sherlo’s distinction between internal and external truly be applied to all of these texts? It should further be noted that Sherlo ignores two crucial sentences appearing at the end of “Majesty and Humility.” Right before he discusses Abraham’s victory, Soloveitchik writes: “Modern man boasts quite often that he has never lost a war. He forgets that defeat is built into the very structure of victory, that there is, in fact, no total victory; man is finite, so is his victory. Whatever is finite is imperfect; so is man’s triumph.”46 Furthermore, although he mentions Abraham’s victory, Soloveitchik also comments there that Moses achieved no such victory even when he retreated: “[H]is prayers were not fulfilled. He never entered the Promised Land which was only half a mile away. He listened, though his total obedience did not result in victory. God’s will is inscrutable.”47 In other words, that Abraham was victorious in some sense, is not evidence that true victory is possible. Abraham’s victory may have been temporary or partial. A total victory, however, is unattainable, as Soloveitchik himself states explicitly at the beginning of the essay. It seems that Sherlo, for the sake of his own peace of mind as well as that of his readers, does his utmost to find harmony in the synthesis of two dialectical poles; this is, however, not possible, at least according to Rav Soloveitchik’s final position, the subject of Sherlo’s study.

Lawrence Kaplan Lawrence Kaplan proposes a distinction similar to that proposed by Sherlo, even adducing evidence from the same texts. Kaplan, like Sherlo, notes Soloveitchik’s different approaches in different texts to the possibility of unification. In Kaplan’s view, The Lonely Man of Faith proposes unification whereas “Majesty and Humility” does not, as I have also claimed. Discussing and rejecting David Hartman’s critique of Soloveitchik, Kaplan proposes (based on Hartman’s distinction) an explanation that resembles that offered by Sherlo, in an attempt to account for the contradictions between Soloveitchik’s two works (though, of course, Sherlo maintains that in both works, unification is possible). 46 Soloveitchik, “Majesty and Humility,” 36. 47 Ibid., 37 n. 21.

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three

Kaplan argues that there are two types of human submission to God in Soloveitchik’s thought. In The Lonely Man of Faith, the modern believer, who is loyal to Halakhah and is engaged in it, commits an act of retreat and submission which is related to his familiarity with the Other; he realizes that the Other must also be allotted its place. By contrast, in “Majesty and Humility” the act of retreat is internal; it takes place between man and himself; it is a person’s experience of the Akedah. Therefore, in The Lonely Man of Faith the dialectical tension can be resolved by obeying the morality of Halakhah, within the context of the members of the covenantal community who are also members of the majestic community, allowing balance and a return from the state of submission. In “Majesty and Humility,” however, there is no resolution, no balance, no return from a state of submission and from the experience of the Akedah. Unification is impossible between man and himself if he does not follow Halakhah and thus interact with an Other: In ‘‘Majesty and Humility’’ and ‘‘Catharsis,’’ as Hartman correctly points out, defeat means that ‘‘in all areas of human experience and endeavor’’ man gives up, withdraws from, if only temporarily ‘‘whatever attracts [him] the most.” Defeat here is an intra-psychic category, one essentially unconnected with the presence of an Other, whether human or divine. It is an Akedah experience in the precise sense of the term, as man sacrifices that which is most precious to him only to re-acquire it once again. But in The Lonely Man of Faith, sacrifice, defeat, and withdrawal, are, to the contrary, essentially connected with recognizing and making room for the other, both human and divine. It is understandable, then, why the Rav insists in ‘‘Majesty and Humility’’ (25–26) that there can be no synthesis at all between the ethic of majesty and that of humility, while in The Lonely Man of Faith he can maintain ‘‘that many a time I have the distinct impression as if the Halakhah considered the steady oscillating of the man of faith between majesty and covenant not as a dialectical but rather as a complementary movement.48 48 L. Kaplan, “Ish Haemuna Haboded Larav Soloveitchik Bamahshava Hayehudit Haortodoqsit-Modernit,” in Rav Baolam Hahadash: Iyunim Behashpaato shel Harav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik al Tarbut, al Hinnukh, veal Mahshava Yehudit, ed. A. Rosenak and N. Rothenberg ( Jerusalem, 2011), 147–176 (translation based on the draft appearing on Kaplan’s personal website: http://lawrencekaplan.co/articles/rav-soloveitchiks-thelonely-man-of-faith-in-contemporary-modern-orthodox-jewish-thought/). Citation of Soloveitchik from The Lonely Man of Faith, 51.

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The problem with this explanation, like that of Sherlo, is that Soloveitchik himself never explicitly draws such a distinction. Furthermore, it is The Lonely Man of Faith that ends by postulating (as I have shown) the presence of an irresolvable split, solutions being reserved for the End of Days. As I have shown, Kaplan’s proof-text from The Lonely Man of Faith does not constitute evidence of “unification” and only represents adaptation—the possibility of continuing life despite the irresolvable dialectic it entails. The end of that essay proves this.

My Proposals for a Solution I believe I can offer two possible, albeit mutually exclusive, ideas that can resolve the contradictions between the texts that I have presented here. These solutions are different from all those described up to this point, none of which I found satisfactory because they all sought to offer a harmonious reading of Soloveitchik’s texts. According to my first solution, and as opposed to Sherlo’s stance that Soloveitchik’s approach must be cogent and may not contain contradiction, Soloveitchik may never have developed a final or fixed position on the possibility of unifying man’s dialectical rift. Sometimes Soloveitchik was overtaken by an ecstasy of joy, for example, when he studied halakhic literature, or when his mind was struck by brilliant ideas that solved complex talmudic discussions or yielded halakhic innovation. At those times, he felt that the rift in his soul had indeed been mended and he felt closeness to his God. At other times, when confronted by the prosaic or the challenges of this world—the Second World War and the horrors of the Holocaust; when tempted by the call of the word of majesty and its distance from the world of faith, the veiling and hiding of God’s face—Soloveitchik was beset by feelings of despair, of dread, of destruction, of alienation from his God. At these times, he realized that the split can only be mended in a utopian world lying beyond history. This tension is built into the human psyche by God Himself, impelling man and challenging him, forcing him to be persistently creative. Another possible solution is to organize the texts chronologically as I have done above, noting shifts and developments in Rav Soloveitchik’s approach. In his first two essays, “Ish Hahalakha” and “Uviqashtem Misham,” written close to the death of his father, Soloveitchik was still very much under the heavy influence of the Brisker dynasty and its figures (whose character he captures well in “Ish Hahalakha”). To him these figures were proof of the possibility of mending the rift in the mind of halakhic man—that is, within the man of God

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik    Chapter Three

who shares the level of the prophet. In his article “Catharsis,” Soloveitchik has already relinquished the idea that a full fusion is possible. In his The Lonely Man of Faith, the potential of this wondrous tool for affecting unification— Halakhah—is still mentioned. However, now it is presented as a medium for adaptation not mending. In his article, “Majesty and Humility,” Soloveitchik has adopted the decisive stance that a synthesis does not exist and is completely impossible within Judaism. If I am correct, then, at the end of his intellectual path, Soloveitchik adopted the dual truth approach.

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CHAPTER FOUR

Professor Samuel Hugo Bergman

P

rofessor Samuel Hugo Bergman (1883–1975) was born in Prague. He studied philosophy at the universities of Prague and Berlin. From 1907– 1914, and again from 1918–1919, he worked as librarian at the University of Prague library. In 1920, he immigrated to the Land of Israel. In 1923, he was appointed director of the Jewish National Library (today’s National Library of Israel) a position he held until 1935. In 1928, he began to lecture in the philosophy department of The Hebrew University, and in 1935 was appointed the university’s first rector, a position he held until 1938. After retiring as rector, he dedicated his time to writing and public activism. He composed an important series of books, Toldot Hafilosofia Hahadasha (The History of Modern Philosophy) which he published between 1970 and 1979. Other important studies penned by him include Hogei Hador (Tel Aviv, 1935) and Hafilosofia shel Shlomo Maimon ( Jerusalem, 1932; reprint 1967). He also published numerous articles in journals and his own collections of essays. Noteworthy among the latter are Mada Veemunah (1945) and Shamayim Vaarets (1969). In an article published in 1943, entitled “Tsevat Bitsevat,” Bergman discussed the relationship between science and religion. In this article, he asserted that the logic of science contradicts that of faith. Bergman contended that the experience of faith – taking place in the realm of the Absolute and infinite (God) – cannot be articulated using terms drawn from the static language of science, beholden as it is to the strict rules of contradiction. One can only strive to transcend scientific logic, approaching the Absolute through “dynamic thought.” However as much as one strives, full unification of these two realms is not actually possible. Any attempt to seize hold of science alone or faith alone, or to treat them as two separate, non-overlapping spheres, two parts of one greater truth, will only weaken the vitality of our Weltanschauung. Therefore, Bergman

Professor Samuel Hugo Bergman     Chapter Four

concludes, we should adopt a Maimonidean approach: we should seize hold of both ends of the contradiction, and with dynamic, creative thought, live with both disciplines at the same time, treating both faith and science as true, yet, at the same time, acknowledging that they contradict one another. We must, in other words, be cognizant of the fact that full unification lies beyond our reach and perception, and is only possible in the mind of the Divine: The believer has seen the face of the Absolute. If he tries to speak to us about what he has observed in his vision with the language of science, [a science] permeated by binary logic, then he can only speak in terms of contradiction: he will affirm and annul in the same breath, affirming that which he has annulled and annulling that which he has affirmed. [...] On the one hand, there is the position of the modern philosopher who maintains that belief in a God-Creator who created human-­creators is [a position that] “destroys itself,” collapsing under the weight of self-contradiction. On the other hand, there is the position of our teacher [=Maimonides]: we must seize hold of both opposing sides, despite the contradiction in our mind: “For My thoughts are not your thoughts [… declares the Lord]” [Isaiah 55]. What Maimonides has stated here [hilkhot teshuva 5, a position also appearing in the Guide of the Perplexed III, 20] we shall express in the language of contemporary philosophical thought as follows: the logic of the Absolute is not the logic of science which is subject to the principle of contradiction. We must acknowledge the possibility that beyond the logic of our science may lie another one. While it is true that such a logic cannot be [fully] perceived, a small portion of it can: the contradiction of both its sides, both of which we hold [to be true], and the internal dynamic of the concept that contradicts itself, both of its parts weighed and stretched in tension against each other. This dynamic, even though it does not allow us to understand that which cannot be understood, does grant us the ability to rise up with a mighty effort above and beyond our system of intransient concepts – concepts with fixed logic – toward the Absolute. The power of dynamic thought allows us to take one more step on a path upon which our static thought cannot accompany us. [...] The act of faith is the unmediated encounter of the finite with the Absolute, and one cannot express the relationship between the finite and the Absolute in a language that is subject to a binary logic, except in terms of contradiction.

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Between Religion and Reason This contradiction is far from being the end of faith. Rather it becomes, due to its internal dynamic, a cognitive tool. [...] We must seize hold of both sides of the contradiction, if we wish to perceive anything lying on the edge of the Absolute. Any attempt to cut the Gordian knot of contradiction and to seize hold of only one of the two theses, or, in an act of equivocation, to attribute each one of the two opposing theses to a separate realm of validity, or to only assert, as Kant does, that contradiction exists – all of this will only lessen us. Only if we hold this fruitful contradiction at both of its ends, can we understand man as a cosmic creature, just as Cohen did when he revealed the concept of correlation.1

Interestingly, Bergman goes on to attribute his own dialectical position to Hermann Cohen and Franz Rosenzweig (1886–1929). Having assimilated their teachings, Bergman claims that they too perceived reason and religious faith as two necessary and important, albeit contradictory, domains. That being said, I do not think that either Cohen or Rosenzweig would have expressed their views in terms of dialectic or contradiction. Bergman himself discusses in detail the shift in Cohen’s thought: his philosophy when he still taught in the University of Marburg as opposed to his approach later in life. At first, Cohen believed (as maintained by Kant) that God is a postulate assumed by reason as reason emerges from Him. Reason is, however, supreme; it, not religion, has the final say. Later, however, Cohen’s view changed: reason (which creates) and religion (which subjugates) have equal weight, even though this entails self-contradiction: However, what Cohen stated in Marburg – that the concept of God is freely postulated by man’s reason – we cannot state now [about Cohen’s later thought]. Rather [in his later thought,] scientific reason, the reason of beginning remains as is, but is [now] subjugated to faith. It knows that it is a part of God above. We must affirm both sides – the autonomous, creative reason as well as its subjugation to the supreme light of faith. Indeed, the man who sees this contradiction and affirms it is the believing man of science.2 1 S.H. Bergman, “Tsevat Bitsevat: Al Yahas Haemuna Vehamada,” in Sefer Hayovel Likhvod Harav Yosef Tsvi Hertz, ed. E. Goldston (London, 1943), 3. See M. Schwartz, Hagut Yehudit Nokhah Hatarbut Haklalit ( Jerusalem; Tel Aviv, 1976), 159–164. 2 Bergman, “Tsevat Bitsevat,” 13. In his essay “Hafilosofia Vehadat,” in Hogim Umaaminim: Masot (Tel Aviv 1959), 13, Bergman explicitly writes that according to Cohen, the existence of

Professor Samuel Hugo Bergman     Chapter Four

I disagree with Bergman’s portrayal of Cohen and Rosenzweig. They held that contradiction is an impossibility. In my book The Dual Truth, I discuss Rosenzweig and older Hermann Cohen’s views about the relationship between reason and revelation. I show there that Cohen and Rosenzweig held that the two disciplines, religion and reason, do not in fact contradict each other. Cohen maintained that the contents and conclusions of revelation and reason (which are expressed in the dictates of morality) are identical. That being said, the respective paths advocated by each discipline are different and even antagonistic; thus, Cohen’s views resemble, in my opinion, the identicality approach of Samson Raphael Hirsch. Rosenzweig’s approach, by contrast, resembles the compartmental approach advocated by Kant and Mendelssohn (albeit with some small changes). I cited there Cohen’s explicit rejection of the dual truth approach, an approach founded on the concept of contradiction. Cohen instead comes out in favor of the identicality approach: Duty, as the law of God […] is identical with the law of morality. For God is the guarantor of the autonomous morality of man, insofar as he is the guarantor of the infinite development of the human soul. God’s command is the religion expression that may not contradict, but rather must be equivalent to, the principle of autonomy except for their methodological difference. If I act of my own will, I must first of all prove to myself that my will is not an affect, but pure will. Therefore, pure ethics, in its application to man, cannot do without the concept of duty; it must change the moral law into duty. The analogous change is completed in religion by transforming moral law into God’s command.3

Mendelssohn’s approach—that religion and philosophy should be completely separated and that the Jewish religion is not philosophy and is nothing more than a code of law—Cohen considered mistaken. Likewise, he rejected the dual truth approach—that religion and philosophy represent two contradictory truths. In Cohen’s opinion, separating the contents of these two disciplines is an invalid approach; the only difference between faith and reason, is the path; the destinations of each, however, are the same—a single, identical truth.

3

two disciplines with identical contents is impossible and that therefore, religion by necessity must be absorbed into the pure ethic, while making place for reason. The term “believing science” was, of course, also used by Rosenzweig. H. Cohen, Religion of Reason, Out of the Sources of Judaism, trans. by Simon Kaplan (Atlanta, 1995), 324.

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Each method compensates for the deficiencies of the other. Religion is anchored in divine revelation, philosophy and science in the processes of heteronomous reasoning. Cohen explains: The thesis “credo quia absurdum” becomes entirely impossible. Equally, the separation between faith and reason is only permissible for the purpose of methodological distinction. The distinction may not be strained to the point of contradiction. Only a distinction is to be assumed, not a separation [...] This is the meaning of the title which Saadia gave to his book, and which one could actually translate Faith and Reason: ‫אמונות ודעות‬. This unifying tendency attains its classical maturity in Maimonides, but his predecessors are not inferior in their frank rationalism on this principal point. Bahya says (Duties of the Heart 1, 2): “It is true, when the philosopher says that the final cause and the final principle could be honored according to their nature only by the prophet of the time or by the competent philosopher.” Furthermore, Joseph Albo makes a valid distinction between theory and practice with regard to the concept of heresy. Theory he sets free. In no way, should this permit a double truth, but only freedom of thought; the autonomy of philosophy is protected against the revealed faith with its laws. No religious truthfulness can be established exclusively on authoritarian faith; for through this the authority of reason would be renounced, which, together with the truthfulness of knowledge, cannot be denied.4

I believe that Cohen here is following in the footsteps of Hegel. In Hegel’s philosophy there is no attempt to diagnose all those tensions later addressed by Jewish thinkers such as Rav Kook, Soloveitchik, Bergman, and others. Hegel’s focus is a theory of religions and cultures; his philosophy describes how they progress through history. It is these which Hegel describes in dialectical terms (as pointed out by Soloveitchik in the opening of his “Majesty and Humility”). A devout Lutheran, Hegel was sensitive to intra-religious contradictions. In his mind, a purified Lutheran Christianity was the ultimate synthesis, the end-point of the dialectical process of the history of religions. However, in Hegel’s view there is no real contradiction between philosophy and religion—especially if the religion in question is Lutheranism. The difference between religion and philosophy is simply a matter of form or medium. The contents, however—the study of truth and God—are shared and identical. Other Jewish thinkers took 4

Ibid., 421. Emphasis is my own.

Professor Samuel Hugo Bergman     Chapter Four

Hegel’s approach in a different direction—they held that there is indeed an opposition between philosophy and religion. This led them to wonder whether a solution to this opposition could be found.5 In 1945, Bergman published a small book entitled Mada Veemunah (which included his previous essay “Tsevat Bitsevat”).6 The book included a new essay with the title “Emuna Umadda” (Faith and Science)7 which now suggested a different approach—a mixture of Rosenzweig and Cohen. As mentioned, these two philosophers, each one in his own way, deny any contradiction between religion and reason. Instead they maintain either that the two realms are separate and complementary (Rosenzweig), or that they reach identical conclusions, the difference being an issue of method but not content (Cohen): We have emphasized time and time again the need to separate between faith and science, highlighting the differences and even oppositions between them. We do not mean that there is opposition between their conclusions; we do not share the opinion of believing philosopher F.H. Jacobi who maintained that the opposition between the conclusions of science and faith is so vast, that there is no possibility of reconciling or uniting them. We are not discussing an opposition of conclusion, only an opposition of approach, i.e., the path. Even if science, in terms of metaphysics, reached the same conclusions as faith (for example, if it could successfully prove God’s existence), there would still be an opposition of path. Nevertheless, the separation between these two paths cannot be the final word. You can separate methodologies, but the person employing these methodologies is still a single person. However different the paths may be, it is necessary that 5 See Bergman, “Hafilosofia Vehadat,” 12. There he explains that Schelling and Hegel believed that from a dialectical point of view (as opposed to a historical point of view, Lessing’s approach), religion represents a preliminary stage of philosophy; it represents the presentation of philosophical truths to the masses. Nevertheless, their contents are essentially the same. See also Yovel, Hida Afela, 92–94, especially the excerpts he brings from Hegel. For a discussion of the dialectical development of religions, see Ibid., 94–96. As I have mentioned, I distinguish between Hegel’s resolvable dialectic and the irresolvable dialectic discussed by modern Jewish philosophers of faith. It is noteworthy that Rotenberg, already in 1994, drew a similar distinction between Hegel’s dialectic (which he termed “static”) and that of other philosophers (which he termed “dynamic”). He, however, forgoes using the word dialectic, instead labelling it “a dialogical process.” See M. Rotenberg, Shivim Panim Lahaim ( Jerusalem, 1994), 124. 6 S.H. Bergman “Emuna Umadda,” in idem, Madda Veemunah: Shiva Peraqim al Ziqatam Hahadadit (Tel Aviv, 1945), 81–101. 7 Ibid.

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Between Religion and Reason they be united in the believer’s heart. Therefore, [when it comes to] science and faith, dual bookkeeping is forbidden. There exists, despite all of the necessary and justified duality, the ideal of a believing science.8

Bergman proceeds to quote Rosenzweig’s conception of “believing science” in its entirety.9 We can summarize Bergman’s new position as follows: he is still advocating the same dialectical approach. However, he now entertains the possibility of resolution, even if he does not provide any details as to what it is. Bergman was not religiously observant and did not believe that the Pentateuch was the literal, divine word of God. He did, however, believe in a deity and the possibility of revelation to man in one form or another. In an article published in 1958, discussing the relationship between religion and technology, Bergman claims that divine revelation is manifest in the teachings of different religions, systems created by founders who experienced revelation originating from the supernatural. All these expressions of revelation (except those that claim exclusivity) are parts of a single metaphysical truth. Humans, who today live lives dictated by materiality and the scientific truths of nature, desperately need ideals, and these are only to be found in the realm of religious truth, without which existence is impossible: I have stated that today there are no ideals outside of religion. And indeed, I believe that religion [were it not waning in power] could have saved humanity in our time. For within religion those ideals still live in actuality, and they could have restored to man his value and respect. When I say “religion,” I do not differentiate between Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Hinduism or Buddhism. I see in all of these revelation; in my opinion, they are all partial revelations of [the same] metaphysical truth. I am not willing to say that only our religion is the religion of truth, whereas other believers pray to “vanity and emptiness, to a God who shall not save them.” 8 Ibid., 98. Kant and Mendelssohn maintain that faith and science represent two necessary, but ultimately separate, sources of authority. Jacobi, one of the fathers of German romanticism, however, maintained that only faith is a valid source of authority; rational science which contradicts it cannot be accepted. Bergman’s dialectical approach, obviously, leans more towards the approaches of Kant and Mendelssohn. For a summary of Jacobi’s approach and a discussion of his dispute with Kant, see S.H. Bergman, Toldot Hafilosofia Hahadasha: Jacobi, Fichte, Schelling ( Jerusalem, 1977), 9–17. Emphasis in source. 9 See Ibid., 99. For source see F. Rosenzweig, “The Unity of the Bible,” in Scripture and Translation / Martin Buber and Franz Rosenzweig; trans. by L. Rosenwald & E. Fox (Bloomington, 1994), 26. Also cited in Chamiel, The Dual Truth, vol. 2, 331–332.

Professor Samuel Hugo Bergman     Chapter Four (We are so distant from this understanding in the State of Israel, that Haredim seriously ask if the upkeep of churches and mosques by the Ministry of Religions does not contradict the laws of idol worship as legislated in the Shulhan Arukh). All large religions are [the result of] another world bursting forth and entering our own. If our world would develop a new affinity to this other world, it could save humanity today.10

In other words, Bergman remains faithful to his view that one should acknowledge both truths, treating them both as sources of authority—the one physical the other metaphysical. Here, however, he no longer asserts that the two contradict each other. Instead he claims that only by adopting both can pluralism and the salvation of mankind be achieved. Thus, humans must live dynamically, following both truths. In 1959, Bergman published another collection of essays. The first essay is dedicated to exploring the issue of religion and philosophy. Here again, he explains that two separate sources of authority exist: This is the relationship between the God of “Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” and the “God of the philosophers.” The philosopher is forced to speak about God in the third person. We, however, know God from an encounter, from the prayer that we utter to him in the second person. [...] In light of this, we must say that philosophy and religion are two completely separate subjects.11 10 S.H. Bergman, “Dat Vetekhniqa” Moznaim 5 (28) no. 6 (164), (Heshvan 1958), 357– 361. For further details about Bergman’s dialectical position, see S.H. Bergman, “Elohim Veadam Bamahshava Hahadasha,” in idem, Anashim Vedrakhim ( Jerusalem, 1967), 13–50; M. Munitz, “Ahdut Haniggudim: Bein Harav A.Y.H. Kook Leprofesor S.H. Bergman,” (master’s thesis, Bar Ilan University, 2003). It is noteworthy that Munitz presents Bergman’s view as a harmonious weltanschauung, which can be attained by using the principles of contradiction, reaching the super-rational level of faith and religious experience, even if he concedes that Bergman himself admitted that he had never achieved this goal. At the same time, Munitz asserts there that Rav Kook had a harmonious-unificatory understanding of all of existence in the upper level. Furthermore, he opposes the view that the rift within Rav Kook’s soul was never mended. In my opinion, Rav Kook believed that this supernal level, present in the holy of holies, cannot be perceived by a human being, as I have shown above. In any case, it is clear that there is a connection between the worldviews of Rav Kook and Bergman, as Munitz states in the last section of his thesis, and as I will discuss below. Bergman the rationalist was ultimately forced to turn to the esoteric system of Kabbalah in an attempt to overcome contradiction. Emphasis is my own. 11 Bergman, “Hafilosofia Vehadat,” 19. Emphasis in source.

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These two disciplines, however, are not just separate. They also each claim to be the only one to embody the complete truth. Practically speaking, evaluation of these claims is impossible: “and here appears the fateful paradox: religions claim a truth that cannot, by its nature, be examined or analyzed externally by the non-believer; on the other hand, the philosopher, so long as he declares reason the one and only ruler, cannot justify the claim that there exists an entity that is nourished from other sources [of reality].”12 Bergman goes on to explain that it is impossible to decide in favor of one side or another: both truths are necessary, and therefore the philosopher must find a way to live with the truth-claims of religious experience. Bergman, however, still does not explain how one can overcome the difficulties entailed by such an approach: We are forced to admit that reason is not adapted to contend with the fundamental experiential conception of religion. If philosophy wishes never to reconcile itself to a reality of two realms, one scientific and inter-subjective, “public property,” the other subjective, the realm of individuals—two realms that despite everything require a close affinity to each other; if philosophy does not wish to reconcile itself to this, then it must find a way to expand its boundaries and to increase the light.13

Apparently, Bergman had gradually moved away from the dual truth approach in favor of a resolvable dialectical approach. In two further articles, published the same year, one can clearly see that he had completely retreated from the idea that religion and science entail an irresolvable contradiction. Instead he advocates a more traditional-mystical approach, and even proposes a direction to be pursued in hopes of finding the necessary solution. In his article “Mada Maamin,”14 from 1959, Bergman correctly notes that the dual truth was historically speaking, a marginal ideology in Judaism; therefore (he explains) he chooses to follow in the footsteps of Hermann Cohen and Rav Kook who propounded the idea of unifying the sacred and profane. In addition to the claim that we need both sources of authority, reason and revelation—two disciplines which are different and therefore mutually complementary—Bergman now states that the opposition between faith and science is in fact illusory and 12 Ibid., 20. 13 Ibid., 28–29. 14 S.H. Bergman, “Mada Maamin,” Mahanaim 37 (1959), 31–35.

Professor Samuel Hugo Bergman     Chapter Four

therefore can be resolved. The ideal science to which we should aspire should not be limited to a horizontal, rational system beholden to the laws of causality. Rather the ideal is to expand, to incorporate a faith-based, revelational, vertical approach, in line with the model of kabbalistic emanation and influence. The revelations offered by religion, art, and mystical philosophies allow us to accept the truth of God. Human reason complements these, adding the element of human criticism. In Bergman’s opinion, every culture has an attainable and accessible solution. Judaism’s model of serving God is one possibility; humans can use it to transcend the material and rational, and arrive at the spiritual, divine, and supernatural. Thus, Bergman raises the question and provides the solution: Some will claim: is it really possible to explain things from above to below? Does man even have the ability to rise to those supernal worlds of Forms, which, according to you, descend and shape the face of nature and history? Perhaps the reason man has sufficed with the horizontal explanation, the mechanistic and causal [model] that you have criticized, is [simply] because he cannot rise above the mechanistic world that is revealed to his senses? Are there ways to rise to those echelons of being which do not operate according to the senses (assuming they exist)?! To this one can answer: the means of spiritual ascent do indeed exist. Schools of philosophy such as those developed by the Pythagoreans and the Neo-Platonists taught their students how to ascend and progress. In India every philosopher in theory is also a great yogi in practice. Moreover, this is the task of philosophy, art, and religion: to show man the path to walk, the path of which I’ve spoken. As for art, even a putative atheist like Schopenhauer has shown that art is the gate to the world of Ideas. In recent times, Ziegler in his book Mesoret has pointed to the indispensability of art for the modern man—the victim of utilitarian technicalities. Such a person can be saved from the threat of obliteration by transferring some of his spiritual power from the world of utilitarian activity to [the world of] imagination and free creativity. In its teachings about the commandments, the oral and written Torah, the value of study for its own sake, fasting, and above all about contemplation in prayer, religion is a treasure trove overflowing with methods and practices that can foment an internal revolution within mankind. This is a prerequisite for the science of the future which we have discussed.

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Between Religion and Reason As to the cooperation between philosophy and religion, the sum total of all the things we have discussed here, in our own culture [we have the approach of] Rav Kook who coined the term Hokhmat Qodesh (Holy Wisdom). In his words: “the path of holy wisdom is as follows: unification of the concealed and revealed, of the general with the particular, of the sciences of sanctity and profane, as a foundation and path to the light of secrets, and the attentiveness of unifications [yihudim] which are manifest in the holy rejuvenation taking place in the Holy Land.”15

Ten years later, Bergman was already calling for a solution which he called a “synthesis.” In an article from 1968,16 Bergman discussed the binding of Isaac, describing the contradiction between the divine imperative to Abraham, who was commanded by God to sacrifice his son, and the moral imperative against murder. In this context, he contrasts obeying the dictates of the contents of faith, a nullification of man’s independence, with full trust in the attainments of human reason, which runs the risk of negating the value of any metaphysical religious dimension lying beyond the bounds of reason and cognition. The solution Bergman offers is to combine the oppositions into a synthesis, a task requiring no small amount of humility. In this process, challenges and misunderstandings come to the fore, the result of reason’s temporary shortcomings. However, guiding this endeavor is the understanding that ultimately, divine revelation cannot transmit instructions or conclusions that contradict reason. Bergman writes as follows: It seems that the escape from the problem of two paths and their dangers, the challenge which faces us as we read about the binding of Isaac, is synthesis. [We must hold onto] our inner truth about ourselves and about the revelation from up high, but with an awareness of man’s limitations, resulting in humility and lowness of spirit, a knowledge that man is not alone, that there are higher forces and revelations that guide his path, even when he does not yet understand this. [Gotthold Ephraim] Lessing in his beautiful article “The Education of the Human Race” likens the revealed God to an educator. Education does not provide man anything that he could not acquire himself; education 15 Ibid., 35. 16 S.H. Bergman, “Aqedat Yitshaq Vehaadam shel Hayom,” in idem, Hashamaim Vehaarets (Tel Aviv, 1968), 21–28.

Professor Samuel Hugo Bergman     Chapter Four provides him the same thing that he could have acquired by himself, but with greater speed and ease. Therefore, revelation gives the human race nothing that human reason could not discover with its own powers. However, it gave—and continues to give—man the most important things, earlier. Certainly, revelation does not give man anything that contradicts his reason, whether it be his logic or his morals.17

I believe that Bergman in his later thought sought to ease his task. However, as I see it, this approach worked for Lessing—a good, “enlightened” Lutheran, whose religion purified from the detritus of dogmas corresponded to the morality of his time, and for whom the normative validity of the Old Testament had been long nullified by Pauline Christianity. It is not, however, an approach that works for us, we who adopt the old norms of the Oral and Written Torah. Likewise, what worked well for Saadia Gaon in early medieval Baghdad, i.e., the idea of non-overlapping realms, does not work for the modern Jew who has assimilated Western Culture. While Bergman points to well-known tools which, in his opinion, allow us to overcome the wall separating man from God, he does not delve into the details of the challenge and does not explain how difficulties are resolved in practice according to his proposed synthesis. And as the old adage goes: God is in the details.

17 Ibid., 27–28.

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CHAPTER FIVE

Rabbi Professor Abraham Joshua Heschel

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rofessor Abraham Joshua Heschel was born and grew up in Warsaw (1907–1972). His father was the hasidic master of Mezhbizh and was a scion of a prestigious lineage of hasidic rabbis. At the age of sixteen, Heschel received his rabbinical ordination from Rabbi Menahem Ziemba (1883–1943). At age 18, he began studies at the gymnasium in Vilna. At age 20, he applied to study philosophy, art history, and Semitic philology at the University of Berlin, submitting his doctoral dissertation on the subject of Israelite prophecy in 1936. During his university studies, he also attended the Hochschule für die Wissenschaft des Judentums in Berlin, where he also held a teaching position, lecturing on Talmud. In 1938, Heschel was deported to Poland. He managed to make his way to London in 1939 and in 1940 immigrated to the United States. He began his career in America at the Reform seminary, Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati. In 1945, he moved to the Jewish Theological Seminary affiliated with the Conservative movement, where he served as a professor of Jewish ethics and Kabbalah, a position he would hold until the end of his life. His important works include his Hebrew Torah min Hashamaim Beaspaqlaria shel Hadorot (vol. 1, New York, 1962; vol. 2, 1965; vol. 3, 1990); The Sabbath (first published in 1951); and God in Search of Man: A Philosophy of Judaism (first published in 1955). In his book, God in Search of Man, Heschel addresses the dialectical tension lying at the very heart of Judaism and Jewish life, and tries to define the mutual relationship between religious believers and God. Heschel concludes as follows: Jewish thinking and living can only be adequately understood in terms of a dialectic pattern, containing opposite or contrasted properties. As in a

Rabbi Professor Abraham Joshua Heschel    Chapter Five magnet, the ends of which have opposite magnetic qualities, these terms are opposite to one another and exemplify a polarity which lies at the very heart of Judaism, the polarity of ideas and events, of mitsvah and sin, of kavanah and deed, of regularity and spontaneity, of uniformity and individuality, of halacha and agada, of law and inwardness, of love and fear, of understanding and obedience, of joy and discipline, of the good and the evil drive, of time and eternity, of this world and the world to come, of revelation and response, of insight and information, of empathy and self-­ expression, of creed and faith, of the word and that which is beyond words, of man’s quest for God and God in search of man. Even God’s relation to the world is characterized by the polarity of justice and mercy, providence and concealment, the promise of reward and the demand to serve Him for His sake. Taken abstractedly, all these terms seem to be mutually exclusive, yet in actual living they involve each other; the separation of the two is fatal to both. There is no halacha without agada, and no agada without halacha. We must neither disparage the body, nor sacrifice the spirit. The body is the discipline, the pattern, the law; the spirit is inner devotion, spontaneity, freedom. The body without the spirit is a corpse; the spirit without the body is a ghost. Thus, a mitsvah is both a discipline and an inspiration, an act of obedience and an experience of joy, a yoke and a prerogative. Our task is to learn how to maintain a harmony between the demands of halacha and the spirit of agada.1

In other words, even though opposition and polarity prevail, neither side of the equation can be abandoned; both are necessary. Our task is to harmonize these oppositions, preserving both. Is this possible? Heschel answers that with unremitting, daily effort, and by actively contending with specific situations, partial, ad-hoc solutions may be found. But a full solution to this state of polarity lies beyond this world: Since each of the two principles moves in the opposite direction, equilibrium can only be maintained if both are of equal force. But such a condition is rarely attained. Polarity is an essential trait of all things. Tension, contrast, and contradiction characterize all of reality. [...] Our great problem, therefore, is how not to let the principle of regularity (keva) impair the power of spontaneity (kavanah). It is a problem that concerns the very heart of 1

A.J. Heschel, God in Search of Man (New York, 1955), 341.

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Between Religion and Reason religious living and is as easy to solve as other central problems of existence. It is a part of human freedom to face that challenge and to create an answer in every situation, every day of our life. Palliatives may be found, but no cure to polarity is available in this “world of separation.”2

In this text, Heschel seems to have fully embraced the dual truth approach: he explicitly acknowledges that the contradiction within Judaism cannot be resolved in this world. One must, therefore, learn to live with and adapt to the contradiction; the path of Judaism is a dialectical one. However, earlier in the same book, Heschel focuses on another tension within Judaism: the tension experienced by the believer who has at his disposal multiple sources of authority, multiple sources of truth. In this context, Heschel discusses different approaches in Jewish thought to the relationship between science-philosophy and religion, and the apparent contradiction prevailing between them, offering his own views on the matter as well. He rejects both the approach that views the domains as identical as well as the approach that tries to harmonize them. When it comes to his own view, Heschel seems to persistently vacillate between the compartmental approach – which seeks to distinguish the discourse and domains of science and philosophy from those of religion – and the dialectical and dual-truth approaches. The reader cannot help but notice that Heschel, without explicitly saying so, is aligning himself with two different, contradictory positions at the same time. According to the compartmental approach, true contradiction between the realms of science and religion does not—by definition—exist; science and religion are two parts of a single greater truth. By contrast, according to the dual truth approach, there is (again, by definition) a contradiction between the two domains; each one represents an independent truth and each one contradicts the other. Heschel begins by rebuffing various approaches predicated on the notion of identicality, claiming that such views effectively degrade religion, render it superfluous, and fail to recognize its multi-faceted power: In the desire to reconcile philosophy and science with religion, attempts have often been made not only to prove that there are no conflicts between the doctrines imparted by revelation and the ideas acquired by our own reason, but also that they are intrinsically identical. Yet such reconciliation is not a solution but a dissolution in which religion is bound to fade 2

Ibid., 341–343.

Rabbi Professor Abraham Joshua Heschel    Chapter Five away. If science and religion are intrinsically identical, one of them must be superfluous. In such reconciliation, religion is little more than bad science and naive morality. Its depth gone, its majesty forgotten, its value becomes questionable. Its only justification is pedagogical, as a shortcut to philosophy, as a philosophy for the masses. [...] Following [Philo’s] example, many thinkers were mainly interested in pointing to the common elements in reason and revelation and desired to equalize what was different in them. What they failed to see is the unique wealth of spiritual insight contained in the prophetic ideas of the divine pathos.3

Heschel goes on to portray the relationship between science and religion using the compartmental approach: the approach that denies the validity of attempts at a synthesis and which allocates respective domains of relevance for each sphere: Hebrew thinking operates within categories different from those of Plato or Aristotle, and the disagreements between their respective teachings are not merely a matter of different ways of expression but of different ways of thinking. By dwelling upon the common elements of reason and revelation, a synthesis of the two spiritual powers was attained at the price of sacrificing some of their unique insights. Vitally important as it is for Judaism to reach out into non-Jewish cultures to absorb elements which it may use for the enrichment of its life and thought, it must not be done at the price of giving up its intellectual integrity. We must remember that the attempt to find a synthesis of prophetic thinking and Greek metaphysics, desirable as it may be in a particular historic situation, is not necessarily valid sub specie aeternitatis. Geographically and historically, Jerusalem and Athens, the age of the prophets and the age of Pericles, are not too far removed from each other. Spiritually they are worlds apart. [...] Science proceeds by way of equations; the Bible refers to the unique and the unprecedented. The end of science is to explore the facts and processes of nature; the end of religion is to understand nature in relation to the will of God. The intention of scientific thinking is to answer man’s questions and to satisfy his need for knowledge. The ultimate intention of religious thinking is to answer a question which man’s is not, and to satisfy God’s need for man. Philosophy is an attempt to find out the essence 3

Ibid., 13–15.

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Between Religion and Reason of things, the principles of being; Biblical religion is an attempt to teach about the Creator of all things and the knowledge of His will. The Bible does not intend to teach us principles of creation or redemption. It came to teach us that God is alive, that He is the Creator and Redeemer, Teacher and Lawgiver. The concern of philosophy is to analyze or to explain, the concern of religion is to purify and to sanctify. Religion is rooted in a particular tradition or in a personal insight; classical philosophy claims to have its roots in universal premises. [...] Religion, as we shall see, goes beyond philosophy, and the task of philosophy of religion is to lead the mind to the summit of thinking; to create in us the understanding of why the problems of religion cannot be apprehended in terms of science; to let us realize that religion has its own scope, perspective and goal; to expose us to the majesty and mystery, in the presence of which the mind is not deaf to that which transcends the mind. One of the goals of philosophy of religion is to stimulate a critical reassessment of philosophy from the perspective of religion. [...] Reason has often been identified with scientism, but science is unable to give us all the truth about all of life. We are in need of spirit in order to know what to do with science. Science deals with relations among things within the universe, but man is endowed with the concern of the spirit, and spirit deals with the relation between the universe and God. Science seeks the truth about the universe; the spirit seeks the truth that is greater than the universe. Reason’s goal is the exploration and verification of objective relations; religion’s goal is the exploration and verification of ultimate personal relations.4

However, in mid-thought, Heschel suddenly shifts to the dual truth approach. Until this point he has referred to separate domains. Now, however, he raises the concept of polarity, a contradiction that cannot be resolved except in the realm of God, the source of all things. He claims that the assertions and demands of religion do not correspond to human intellect. Therefore, man is obligated to respond with nothing but silence: A challenge is not the same as a clash, and divergence does not mean a conflict. It is a part of the human condition to live in polarities. It is an implication of our belief in one God to be certain that ultimately reason and revelation are both derived from the same source. Yet what is one in 4

Ibid., 15–19. Emphasis in source.

Rabbi Professor Abraham Joshua Heschel    Chapter Five creation is not always one in our historic situation. It is an act of redemption when it is granted to us to discover the higher unity of reason and revelation. The widely preached equation of Judaism and rationalism is an intellectual evasion of the profound difficulties and paradoxes of Jewish faith, belief, and observance. Man’s understanding of what is reasonable is subject to change. To the Roman philosophers, it did not seem reasonable to abstain from labor one day a week. Nor did it seem unreasonable to certain plantation owners to import slaves from Africa into the New World. With what stage in the development of reason should the Bible be compatible? Some of the basic presuppositions of Judaism cannot be completely justified in terms of human reason. Its conception of the nature of man as having been created in the likeness of God, its conception of God and history, of the election of Israel, of prayer and even of morality, defy some of the realizations at which we have honestly arrived at the end of our analysis and scrutiny. The demands of piety are a mystery before which man is reduced to reverence and silence. Reverence, love, prayer, faith, go beyond the acts of shallow reasoning.5

Heschel then proceeds to shift back (again, it seems unintentionally) to the compartmental approach, returning to the idea that the two domains are separate, that they complement and assist each other without contradiction: We must therefore not judge religion exclusively from the viewpoint of reason. Religion is not within but beyond the limits of mere reason. Its task is not to compete with reason but to aid us where reason gives only partial aid. Its meaning must be understood in terms compatible with the sense of the ineffable. The sense of the ineffable is an intellectual endeavor out of the depth of reason; it is a source of cognitive insight. There is, therefore, no rivalry between religion and reason as long as we are aware of their respective tasks and areas. The employment of reason is indispensable to the understanding and worship of God, and religion withers without it. The insights of faith are general, vague, and stand in need of conceptualization in order to be communicated to the mind, integrated and brought to consistency. Without reason faith becomes blind. Without reason we would not know 5

Ibid., 19–20.

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Between Religion and Reason how to apply the insights of faith to the concrete issues of living. The worship of reason is arrogance and betrays a lack of intelligence. The rejection of reason is cowardice and betrays a lack of faith.6

In volume 3 of his massive work on the philosophy of the Sages, Torah Min Hashamayim, Heschel distinguishes between two types of contradictions within Judaism. The first is an internal challenge (which he already discussed in God in Search of Man and in the first two volumes of Torah min Hashamayim) while the second is external (also mentioned in God in Search of Man). Heschel argues that the internal contradiction should be examined and diagnosed before the external: “For many generations, people have struggled with the problem of the oppositions between religion and science, that is, with the external challenge to religious thought. However, before us now is the conflict between two different conceptions within religious thought itself. And the question concerning the relationship between religious truth and scientific truth must necessarily be preceded by an analysis of religious truth itself.”7 In his analysis of the approaches of the Sages (discussed in the first two volumes of Torah min Hashamayim) Heschel claimed that the Sages can be divided into two schools of thought. The first is that of Rabbi Akiva and his followers. It is a mystical and romantic approach emanating from emotion, an approach of mystery and vision. The second is that of Rabbi Ishmael and his followers. It is a rationalistic and calculated approach emerging from reason, a school of logic and rationalization. In volume 3, Heschel continues to describe the intra-religious tensions between these two schools. Once again, two different approaches are discussed concurrently: the two spheres complement yet contradict; they are one yet represent a covenant of opposites. Now, however, he is more cognizant of the approach predicated on contradiction and dialectic and it becomes a dominant theme: Jewish thought is nourished from two sources, and it follows two parallel paths: the path of vision and the path of reason. With respect to those 6 Ibid., 20. 7 A.J. Heschel, Torah Min Hashamayim Beaspqlaria shel Hadorot, vol. 3 (London; New York, 1990), 98. Translation based on A.J. Heschel, Heavenly Torah As Refracted through the Generations, ed. and trans. by G. Tucker and L. Levin (New York; London 2005), 714. As Tucker and Levin took extensive liberties with the source text (as they explain in their introduction), I have made numerous changes to make the translations of the excerpts accord more closely with the Hebrew original.

Rabbi Professor Abraham Joshua Heschel    Chapter Five things that are subject to objective measurement, reason is primary. With respect to things of the heart, vision is primary. It was, after all, a violation of the law of noncontradiction when they said of two mutually exclusive ideas: “both these and these are the words of the living God.” Both were given by one shepherd, both complement each other. God has spoken one thing, I have heard two (Psalms 62:12) – this is an important principle in the teaching of faith. […] Torah can only be acquired in two ways: through the lens of reason or through the lens of the heart. One who is blind in one eye is exempt from the pilgrimage. Here is a rule of thumb: there is no statement of wisdom that does not assume and uproot at the same time. There is contraction in excess and excess in contraction. Negative statements have positive connotations and vice versa. Thought develops only through dialectic: through the synthesis of concepts that are opposed to one another and which complement one another. The one-sidedness of abstract thought is overpowered by awakening its opposite. A knife can only be sharpened by another blade. From both sides will the Halakhah be finalized. And here is a precious principle that was articulated by our Rabbis: “A controversy that is for a heavenly purpose will in the end endure.” [...] Anything that does not merit rectification by its opposite will in the end be faulty and weak. For the affirmation of one idea entails its opposition, its contrast, its contradiction. There is not one vision or one face. The nation has two countenances, which reflect two domains that are one. Despite the appearance of contradiction, there is in fact a covenant between opposites, a covenant that unites different modes of apprehension. And there is a vision in seeing both sides at once, in one glance.8

Heschel leans further and further towards that view expressed in God in Search of Man, which casts the problem in terms of contradiction and opposition as opposed to an illusory tension between two non-contradictory parts of one greater truth. The sentences I have emphasized even allude to the idea that the contradiction can only be resolved in the divine sphere, in other words in their other-worldly source—God. Having failed to provide a comprehensive answer, the question remains: did Heschel make any determinations in favor of the one approach or another? Did he think that at the end of the day, it is possible in our world to harmonize and resolve the contradictions? Did he really think that the poles, 8

Translation based on Heschel, Heavenly Torah, 708–710, with significant changes.

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oppositions, and contradictions can be reconciled, corrected, and united into a single covenant? Or perhaps not? It seems that Heschel continued to vacillate on the issue: In various places, I have attempted to demonstrate that one ought not to understand the essence of Judaism via one simple category, but rather through a process of polarities. Sometimes this presents itself as a system of tension, as a Coincidentia Oppsitorum (Coincidence of Opposites), that in the complementarity between different vectors fashions its product. The entire history of Jewish thought is a process of fusing together two extremities. And the direction of Jewish thought in this generation must be a fusion of thought and vision, of criticism and imagination. In the wedding of these two directions will the many colors of reason and faith shine forth. [...] There is space in the mind for both ideas.9

Nevertheless, Heschel was aware that his discussion of contradiction as a fact of life while at the same time alluding to the “marriage” and unification of oppositions, the dissipation of contradiction—was problematic. And if the contradiction remains, the problem is even greater. Regardless, he continues to move back and forth between the two possibilities. The first: there are two opposing and contradictory truths that live in correlation, each one sitting aside the other in man’s mind (the irresolvable dialectical approach); the second, synthesis and harmonization of both truths removing the contradiction (resolvable dialectic): Perhaps you will say that the two sides of the contradiction will bring chaos to the world of thought? It is not so. There is a complementarity between them as there is between language and meaning, between expression and concept. Every reality that can be perceived by human senses, that reality is a correlation of contrasts [...] One should not neglect the fact that the dual aspects of religious thought are liable to strengthen the hands of those of little thought. They may say that lofty matters are ambiguous and thus undecidable. But it has already been said that the Torah was not given to fools. [...] A person can split his heart into multiple rooms, but at the same time wander forth to find a clear halakhic ruling. The purpose of synthesis is clear: the harmonization of opposites, “God has spoken one thing, 9 Heschel, Torah min Hashamayim, 92–93 (translation based on idem, Heavenly Torah, 712, with significant changes).

Rabbi Professor Abraham Joshua Heschel    Chapter Five I have heard two.” A single verse can be interpreted in various ways, but at the end of the day a verse never departs from its peshat and meaning. What is the appropriate path that a person should follow? Sober concepts are like snow, and esoteric concepts like embers. The world cannot exist without snow, but it also cannot exist without embers. “All is in the hands of Heaven except for cold drafts.” To what can this be compared: “To a troop that was marching between two paths, one of fire and one of snow. If they march near the fire, they are burned, if they march near the snow, they will suffer frost. What shall they do? Let them walk in the middle and take care not to be burnt by the fire nor frostbitten by the snow.”10 “Not like the word of Beit Shammai who put no boundaries on their words and not like the words of Beit Hillel who went too far.” 11 [...] The straight path is the middle way of each and every opinion that mankind has; it is the opinion which is equidistant from both sides, and is not close to either one of them.12 The matter was handed over to the Sages of Israel to determine and establish the approach of the middle way.13

In a later article written in 1971, which was originally slated to be included in the third volume of Torah min Hashamayim, but was ultimately omitted, Heschel addresses the fact that religion originates from a source lying beyond nature. For this reason, he argues, it cannot be reduced to clear, unambiguous rational analysis. Doubt and confusion are crucial for the revival of religion: The sources of religion are in the depths of thought, in the observation that cannot be expressed, in the amazement before the wondrous and mysterious, above any comprehension or articulation. This being the case, the revival of religion will only come about by renewing the sense of internal bewilderment; through the tribulations of thought that confronts the hidden and concealed in each and everything, including the hidden and 10 BT Nida 4b. 11 Avot Derabbi Natan, Ms. Oxford, end of chapter 28. A parallel passage appears in the Jerusalem Talmud (Hagigah 2, 1 [9a]). Other thinkers who used this passage to describe the middle way include: N. Krochmal, Moreh Nevuchei Hazman, ed. S. Ravidowitz (Berlin, 1924), 10; Z.H. Chajes, “Sefer Ateret Tsvi” (1841) in Kol Sifrei Maharats Hayut (Jerusalem, 1958), 397. In my opinion, Krochmal held the resolvable dialectical approach whereas Chajes held the restrictive identicality approach. See in my book, Chamiel, The Middle Way, vol. 1, 1, 351–357. 12 Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Deot 1:3–4. 13 Heschel, Torah min Hashamayim, 93–96. (translation based on idem, Heavenly Torah, 712, with significant changes).

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Between Religion and Reason concealed within thought itself. From the despair that is at the same time accompanied by hope, from the tribulations and bewilderment, and from desire and song bursts forth and emerges the belief in God.14

Faith is not a permanent achievement but rather an ongoing dialectical state of searching in a state of bewilderment: Faith is not a permanent, fixed acquisition. It is rather observation, and occurrence, internal sight or enlightenment – it is ratso vashov. The believer does not stand in place. Rather he is constantly ascending and descending, finding and losing. [...] I do not refer to complete faith. [...] I mean faith that is accompanied by bewilderment, desire, searching, struggle, mental suffering—a faith that is embedded with doubts.15

In other words, according to this article, there is no complete rational solution to the plight of the religious believer. The believer can only expect to constantly fight with his or her doubts, and to be suspended in a protracted tension between two poles: faith and hope versus loss and despair. The split, the contradiction, is not to be harmonized. Heschel articulated his thoughts and feelings in a lyrical prose. It seems that he was not specifically aware of the difference between the compartmental approach and the dialectical approach. Within a single paragraph he would mix the two approaches, in the same breath mentioning dialectical tension as well as complementary differences, waxing eloquent about the possibility of unification and harmonization yet at the same time admitting to the concept of an irresolvable contradiction.

14 A.J. Heschel, “Nasata Venatata Beemunah,” Hadoar 50, no. 29 (1971): 496–497, reprinted in Elohim Maamin Baadam: Hayahadut Hatsiyonut Vehatsedek Hahevrati shel Avraham Yehoshua Heschel, ed. and trans. D. Bundy (Or-Yehuda, 2012), 90–100. Excerpt from p. 92. 15 Ibid., 93.

CHAPTER SIX

Professor Leo Strauss and his Commentator Haim Rechnitzer

P

rofessor Leo Strauss (1899–1973) was born to a religiously observant family in Kirchheim, Germany. He received a classic, humanist German education at the Gymnasium of Marburg. Towards the end of 1918 he began to study philosophy at the University of Marburg. There he was exposed to Hermann Cohen’s Neo-Kantianism. He wrote his doctorate on Heinrich Friedrich Jacobi (1743–1819). His thesis advisor was Ernst Cassirer (1874– 1945). In the 1930s, Strauss spent time in France and England researching philosopher Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679). In 1938, he immigrated to the United States and began teaching at the New School in New York. In 1948, he received a professorship at the University of Chicago where he made a name for himself in the study of political philosophy. He taught there until 1968. Among other thinkers, Strauss’ studies cover Plato, Maimonides, Hobbes, Abravanel, Spinoza and Nietzsche. Among his important works are Natural Right and History (1965) and The Rebirth of Classical Political Rationalism (ed. T. Pangle; 1989). In his many works he delved into important theological-political questions, harshly criticizing modern liberalism (marshalling Nietzsche’s arguments to this end), and formulating a political philosophy based on his readings of Nietzsche and Maimonides.1 Strauss’ views on the dialectical tension between Judaism and philosophy emerged from his interpretation of Maimonides’ approach to this subject.   1 E. Luz, “Leo Strauss Kehoge Yehudi,” in L. Strauss, Yerushalayim Veatuna Mivhar Ketavim, ed. E. Luz ( Jerusalem, 2001), 1–5; H. Rechnitzer, Nevua Vehaseder Hamedini Hamushlam: Hateologia Hamedinit shel Leo Strauss ( Jerusalem, 2013), 14–15.

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He first broached the issue in his book Philosophy and Law (originally published in German in 1935) and in his book Persecution and the Art of Writing published in 1952 which included two articles on Maimonides (both originally written in 1941). The one article shared the name of the book while the second was entitled “The Literary Character of the Guide for the Perplexed.” In his first book, Strauss addressed Spinoza’s criticism of Maimonides. Maimonides, Spinoza claimed, had tried to force a harmonization between religion and philosophy. In his second book, Strauss had already adopted the view that Maimonides’ writing was essentially esoteric: Maimonides secretly believed that there is an irresolvable tension between Judaism and philosophy, that is, between revelation and reason: Owing to the position which “the science of kalam” acquired in Islam, the status of philosophy in Islam was intermediate between its status in Christianity and in Judaism. To turn therefore to the status of philosophy within Judaism, it is obvious that while no one can be learned in the sacred doctrine of Christianity without having had considerable philosophic training, one can be a perfectly competent talmudist without having had any philosophic training. Jews of the philosophic competence of Halevi and Maimonides took it for granted that being a Jew and being a philosopher are mutually exclusive.2

All of Strauss’ interpreters agree that his reading of Maimonides was radical. Strauss claims that Maimonides cleverly hid information in his works, writing in an intentionally esoteric style. Furthermore, most interpreters of Strauss believe that beginning with his second book, a new approach can be detected: from this point forward, Strauss will assert that when faced by the contradiction between religion and science, Judah Halevi adopted Jerusalem while Maimonides adopted Athens. Thus, Strauss reopened the radical-­medieval interpretations of Maimonides in the modern era, inaugurating a debate with the more harmonious and moderate readers of Maimonides. Ravitzky, in an article dedicated to the interpretation of Maimonides in the Middle Ages and the Modern Era,3 explains that Strauss (and after him Shlomo Pines) renewed the radical interpretations of Maimonides in our time, albeit turning it on its head. Instead of saying, like Ibn Tibbon, that Maimonides had demonstrated the   2 Leo Strauss, Persecution and the Art of Writing (Chicago, 1988), 20.   3 A. Ravitzky, “Sitrei Torato shel Moreh Hanevukhim: Haparshanut Bedorotav Uvedoroteinu,” in Al Daat Hamaqom: Mehqarim Behagut Yehudit Uvetoldoteha ( Jerusalem, 1991), 157–160.

Professor Leo Strauss and his Commentator Haim Rechnitzer     Chapter Six

compatibility of the Torah with Greek philosophy – but hid the full scope of this harmonious reading from the masses – Strauss believed that in Maimonides’ view Athens and Jerusalem are separated by an unbridgeable gulf. In truth, Maimonides was a philosopher, a man of Athens; this was the secret he hid from the masses. This non-harmonistic reading became a cornerstone of the study of Jewish philosophy in the modern era and it elicited harsh criticism from harmonistic interpreters of Maimonides such as Leibowitz, Gutman, Harvey and Hartman.4 These scholars did not agree with Strauss’ assertion that Maimonides was an Athenian-Platonic-Jew, that for him the truth lay solely with philosophy and that he presented religion as true only to protect himself from persecution. By contrast, Sara Klein-Braslavy,5 Moshe Halbertal,6 and after him Micah Goodman,7 have accepted (to varying extents) the radical readings of Strauss and Pines, incorporating them into their own studies. Halbertal and Goodman argue, like Strauss, that the esoteric Maimonides was on the one hand radical, often presenting the views of Greek philosophy as compatible with Judaism. On the other hand, he sought to preserve the Judaism of revelation, with the purpose of filling his readers with bewilderment and doubt. Maimonides did not, they claim, really provide the key for reading his works. He thus left his perplexed reader a number of possible options to select from, believing that no one is obligated to relinquish the truth he has chosen, and that the truth may belong to one of the two realms. In Halbertal and Goodman’s view, Maimonides was also riddled with doubt, or at the very   4 For Gutman’s critique, and a discussion of his own stance (before Strauss changed his stance and afterwards), see Y. Guttman, Dat Umadda ( Jerusalem, 1979), 16–21; 66–70; 86–89; idem, Hafilosofia shel Hayahadut ( Jerusalem, 1989), 115–119, 145; E. Schweid, “Hadat Vehafilosofia,” in idem, Hashiva Mehadash ( Jerusalem, 1991), 45–76; Ravitzky, “Sitrei Torato,” 158 n. 70; Chamiel, The Middle Way, vol. 1, 356 n. 16. For Leibowitz’s critique, see Y. Leibowitz, “Harambam: Haadam Haavrahami,” Beterem 211 (1955), 20–22; idem, “Mitsvot Maasiot.” in idem, Torah Umitsvot Bazman Hazeh: Hartsaot Umaamarim (Tel Aviv, 1954), 19–20; Chamiel, The Dual Truth, vol. 2, 261 n. 11. For Hartman’s critique see his book Maimonides: Torah and Philosophic Quest (New York, 2001), 22–26; 42–54; 227–228. For Harvey’s critique, see Z. Harvey, “Leibowitz al Haadam Haavrahami, Emuna Venihilizm,” in Avraham Avi Hamaaminim, ed. M. Hallamish, H. Kasher, Y. Silman (Ramat Gan, 2002), 254–255; idem, “Keitsad Shiteq Leo Strauss et Heqer Moreh Nevukhim Bameah Haesrim” Iyun 50 (2002), 390.   5 S. Klein-Braslavy, Peirush Harambam Lesippur Briat Haolam ( Jerusalem, 1978), as well as Ravitzky, “Sitrei Torato,” 162, 170 n. 131. See also below in my chapter on Goodman.   6 M. Halbertal, Harambam ( Jerusalem, 2009), 299–302.   7 M. Goodman, Sodotav shel Moreh Hanevukhim ( Jerusalem, 2010), 331–337. For his radical interpretation of Maimonides see ibid., 88, 187, 225. See also below in my chapter about Goodman.

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least changed his position over the course of his life. Halbertal briefly summarizes the four possible readings of Maimonides, which include the conservative reading and the philosophical reading which he has discussed previously.8 Unlike the aforementioned scholars, Kenneth Hart Green and Oto Rechnitzer, whose most recent study thoroughly reviews all of Strauss’ writings,9 believe that there was no drastic shift in Strauss’ approach from 1941. They argue that Strauss’ later views are actually the direct continuation and development of ideas expressed in his earlier articles. In addition, Ehud Luz and Yonatan Cohen10 (like Halbertal and Goodman) have argued that according to Strauss, Maimonides did not choose Athens. He rather sought to preserve both ends of the tension, a tension which even today remains irresolvable. Luz and Rechnitzer draw attention to Strauss’ claim that the fact that philosophy has failed to disprove revelation, accords religion (and specifically its Orthodox facets) a certain superiority, even though no final determination between them can be made. Strauss, for his part, chose philosophy. According to the interpretations of Halbertal, Goodman, Luz, and Rechnitzer, one must conclude  8 Halbertal, Harambam, 263–298. In his article “Seter Vegilui: Hasod Vegvulotav Bamasoret Hayehudit Bimei Habeinaim,” Yeriot 2, ed. A. Reiner, Y. Ta-Shama, G. Efrat ( Jerusalem, 2001), Moshe Halbertal dedicated two sections to Maimonides’ esotericism. Addressing Strauss’ view on the matter he writes (p. 52): “Leo Strauss claimed that Maimonidean esotericism is related to the tension between truth and society as well as the survival of philosophy as a free enterprise. In his opinion, Maimonides belongs to a school that deems philosophy an esoteric discipline. Thus, Strauss treated it as esoteric himself. Indeed, these elements appear in Maimonides’ thought. Nevertheless, it appears that the idea of secret has another more central function in his view [...] he is interested in using the idea of the secret.” Halbertal goes on to explain what this function is: “the domain of the secret is what allows for the integration of two worlds that appear to contradict each other — the simple reading of Scripture and the philosophical-scientific world in which the perplexed person finds himself. This contradiction is resolved by systematically revealing the hidden layer of the text, a layer which contains philosophical and scientific information.” In other words, Strauss according to Halbertal thought that Maimonides was an Athenian. Moreover, Maimonides succeeded in integrating the Torah with philosophy and thus resolved the contradiction. It seems that Halbertal’s approach became more dialectical and skeptical between the publication of this article and the publication of his book Harambam in 2009.   9 H.K. Green, Jew and Philosopher: The Return to Maimonides in the Jewish Thought of Leo Strauss (Albany, NY, 1993), chs. 5–7 especially 106, 128–129; Rechnitzer, Nevua Vehaseder, 179–217. Later in this chapter I will bring more details about Rechnitzer’s position with relevant citations. 10 See Luz, “Leo Strauss,” 17–24; Y. Cohen, “Yesodot Shitatiyim Beheqer Hafilosofia Hayehudit Bizmanenu: Wolfson, Gutman VeStrauss,” Daat 38 (1997), 112–113; idem, Tevuna Utmura: Panim Beheqer Hafilosofia Hayehudit Vetoldoteha ( Jerusalem, 1997), 260–264. Cohen dedicated the last third of this book to a discussion of Strauss’ thought.

Professor Leo Strauss and his Commentator Haim Rechnitzer     Chapter Six

that the Straussian Maimonides and Strauss himself maintained the dual truth approach, and were not simple Athenians who held that only philosophy is true. It should be noted that Gutman and Rosenberg pigeonhole Maimonides as an advocate of the interpretative harmonistic identicality approach.11 Luz himself also discusses Strauss’ interpretation of Maimonides and the polemic he sparked.12 As mentioned above it seems that he also believed that both Strauss himself as well as the Straussian Maimonides made no determination one way or another. They did not think that the two realms were identical or harmonious. Luz argues that Strauss is inconsistent in his discussions of Maimonides. Strauss believed that he too should hide his true views about Maimonides, as Maimonides himself had requested. Luz thus concludes “in summary, Strauss reveals one by one the difficulties and contradictions in Maimonides, leaving us to wonder if Maimonides resolved the difficulties he raised or perhaps left them unresolved on purpose? Are Jew and philosopher mutually exclusive, which did Maimonides choose?”13 This is the same intentional skepticism pointed to by Halbertal and Goodman. I believe that it is evident in his writing, that Strauss himself was far from any harmonious understanding of the relationship between revelation and reason. Furthermore, it is likely, as stated by all contemporary scholars, that Strauss’ interpretation of Maimonides on this issue exerted an influence on his own irresolvable dialectical position. In his book Natural Right and History, published in 1953, Strauss explains for the first time (albeit briefly) his own irresolvable dialectical approach. He clearly and pointedly explains his view, arguing that the religion of the Bible and revelation and the Greek philosophy based in reason – the two ways humans arrive at proper truth and morality – are contradictory and mutually exclusive, and cannot be reconciled in our world. Nevertheless, both are important and neither one should be abandoned. Man wants free thought but yearns for divine enlightenment as well: Man cannot live without light, guidance, knowledge; only through knowledge of the good can he find the good that he needs. The fundamental question, therefore, is whether men can acquire that knowledge of the good without which they cannot guide their lives individually or collectively by the 11 See Rosenberg, Torah Umada, 29–31; Chamiel, The Middle Way, vol. 1, 351, n. 13. 12 See Luz, “Leo Strauss,” 52–65. 13 Ibid., 60.

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Between Religion and Reason unaided efforts of their natural powers, or whether they are dependent for that knowledge on Divine Revelation. No alternative is more fundamental than this: human guidance or divine guidance. The first possibility is characteristic of philosophy or science in the original sense of the term, the second is presented in the Bible. The dilemma cannot be evaded by any harmonization or synthesis. For both philosophy and the Bible proclaim something as the one thing needful, as the only thing that ultimately counts, and the one thing needful proclaimed by the Bible is the opposite of that proclaimed by philosophy: a life of obedient love versus a life of free insight. In every attempt at harmonization, in every synthesis however impressive, one of the two opposed elements is sacrificed, more or less subtly but in any event surely, to the other: philosophy. If we take a bird’seye view of the secular struggle between philosophy and theology, we can hardly avoid the impression that neither of the two antagonists has ever succeeded in really refuting the other. All arguments in favor of revelation seem to be valid only if belief in revelation is presupposed; and all arguments against revelation seem to be valid only if unbelief is presupposed. This state of things would appear to be but natural. Revelation is always so uncertain to unassisted reason that it can never compel the assent of unassisted reason, and man is so built that he can find his satisfaction, his bliss, in free investigation, in articulating the riddle of being. But, on the other hand, he yearns so much for a solution of that riddle and human knowledge is always so limited that the need for divine illumination cannot be denied and the possibility of revelation cannot be refuted.14

Strauss concludes that not only does philosophy have no superiority over religion – it is in fact inferior to it. For this reason, the claim that Strauss picked Athens alone seems to be mistaken: Now it is this state of things that seems to decide irrevocably against philosophy and in favor of revelation. Philosophy has to grant that revelation is possible. But to grant that revelation is possible means to grant that philosophy is perhaps not the one thing needful, that philosophy is perhaps something infinitely unimportant. To grant that revelation is possible means to grant that the philosophic life is not necessarily, not evidently, the right life. Philosophy, the life devoted to the quest for evident knowledge 14 L. Strauss, Natural Right and History (Chicago, 1965), 75–76.

Professor Leo Strauss and his Commentator Haim Rechnitzer     Chapter Six available e to man as man, would itself rest on an unevident, arbitrary, or blind decision. This would merely confirm the thesis of faith, that there is no possibility of consistency, of a consistent and thoroughly sincere life, without belief in revelation. The mere fact that philosophy and revelation cannot refute each other would constitute the refutation of philosophy by revelation.15

Some decades later, Strauss would return to this issue, this time in the context of biblical exegesis but with no change in his basic stance or its details. In an article from 1981, Strauss writes that the Bible, already in the Creation account, offers an alternative to Greek philosophy. Philosophy offers a life of freedom; revelation offers a life of discipline and obedience. The religious alternative is never rejected; however, the two alternatives can never be synthesized: What I am suggesting then is this: the crucial thesis of the first chapter, if we approach it from the point of view of Western thought in general, is the depreciation of heaven. Heaven is a primary theme of cosmology and of philosophy. The second chapter contains this explicit depreciation of the knowledge of good and evil, which is only another aspect of the thought expressed in the first chapter. [...] But that means, somewhat more simply expressed, knowledge of good and evil which is based on the contemplation of heaven. The first chapter, in other words, questions the primary theme of philosophy; and the second chapter questions the intention of philosophy. [...] The Bible, therefore, confronts us more clearly than any other book with this fundamental alternative: life in obedience to revelation, life in obedience, or life in human freedom, the latter being represented by the Greek philosophers. This alternative has never been disposed of, although there are many people who believe that there can be a happy synthesis which is superior to the isolated elements: Bible on the one hand and philosophy on the other. This is impossible. Syntheses always sacrifice the decisive claim of one of the two elements.16

In a similar article about Jerusalem and Athens from 1983, published in a collection on the political philosophy of Plato, Strauss reiterates the same claim in different words. Philosophy and the Bible claim exclusivity over the truth. 15 Ibid., 75. 16 L. Strauss, “On the Interpretation of Genesis,” L’Homme 21 (1981), 18–19.

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The Bible offers the fear of God, philosophy – wonder. Because they contradict each other, we are asked to pick one of the two: We must then try to understand the difference between biblical wisdom and Greek wisdom. We see at once that each of the two claims to be the true wisdom, thus denying to the other its claim to be wisdom in the strict and highest sense. According to the Bible, the beginning of wisdom is fear of the Lord; according to the Greek philosophers, the beginning of wisdom is wonder. We are thus compelled from the very beginning to make a choice, to take a stand. Where then do we stand? We are confronted with the incompatible claims of Jerusalem and Athens to our allegiance.17

Strauss concludes his discussion by contrasting the Jerusalem of the Pentateuch to the Athens of Plato: “The Platonic statement taken in conjunction with the biblical statement brings out the fundamental opposition of Athens at its peak to Jerusalem: the opposition of the God or gods of the philosophers to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the opposition of Reason and Revelation.”18 In an article published in 1989, Strauss connects his previous insights about Jerusalem and Athens to his theory about the crisis of Western liberal modernity – that it has failed and is unable to advance humanity toward redemption. Already in the previous article about Jerusalem and Athens, Strauss wrote that Hermann Cohen was able to discuss the synthesis of Plato and the prophets because he belonged to a pre-World War I world. The rise of communist Russia and Nazi Germany are the external manifestation of this failure.19 Therefore, Strauss claims that the path of progress lies in a return to the pre-modern era of Western culture. This, however, raises the problem that he presented in his previous works. Pre-modern Western culture does not have one source; it has two. Each one claims exclusivity and each one contradicts the other. History has seen many attempts to harmonize them. However, all these attempts failed: The crisis of modernity on which we have been reflecting leads to the suggestion that we should return. But return to what? Obviously, to Western civilization in its premodern integrity, to the principles of Western civilization. Yet there is a difficulty here, because Western civilization consists of 17 L. Strauss, “Jerusalem and Athens: Some Preliminary Reflections,” in idem, Studies in Platonic Political Philosophy (Chicago, IL, 1983), 149 18 Ibid., 169. 19 Ibid., 167–169.

Professor Leo Strauss and his Commentator Haim Rechnitzer     Chapter Six two elements, or has two roots, which are in radical disagreement with each other. We may call these elements, as I have done elsewhere, Jerusalem and Athens, or, to speak in nonmetaphorical language, the Bible and Greek philosophy. This radical disagreement today is frequently played down, and this playing down has a certain superficial justification, for the whole history of the West presents itself at first glance as an attempt to harmonize, or to synthesize, the Bible and Greek philosophy. But a closer study shows that what happened and has been happening in the West for many centuries, is not a harmonization but an attempt at harmonization. These attempts at harmonization were doomed to failure for the following reason: each of these two roots of the Western world sets forth one thing as the one thing needful, and the one thing needful proclaimed by the Bible is incompatible, as it is understood by the Bible, with the one thing needful proclaimed by Greek philosophy, as it is understood by Greek philosophy. To put it very simply and therefore somewhat crudely, the one thing needful according to Greek philosophy is the life of autonomous understanding. The one thing needful as spoken by the Bible is the life of obedient love. The harmonizations and synthesizations are possible because Greek philosophy can use obedient love in a subservient function, and the Bible can use philosophy as a handmaid; but what is so used in each case rebels against such use, and therefore the conflict is really a radical one.20

Strauss continues and explains that this dispute must be understood according to the common ground shared by both approaches – the centrality and importance of morality. The argument is not whether morality is important. It is rather its foundation and source, as well as how it can be brought to perfection, that is subject to dispute. Is morality the philosophical understanding of humanity or is it the humility of the faith and holiness embodied in Scripture? Is the purpose of reason to understand the commandments and to decide in favor of obedience or is it meant to free man from them? What is primary – thought or deed? Alluding to both Judah Halevi and Maimonides, Strauss writes that this dispute over the hegemony of truth and the difficulty entailed by the fissure between religion and reason continued after the biblical period into the era of medieval Jewish philosophy; it continues until our day. It could

20 L. Strauss, “Progress or Return?,” in T.L. Pangle (ed.), The Rebirth of Classical Political Rationalism: Essays and Lectures (Chicago, IL, 1989), 245–246.

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very well be that these opposites are a consequence of the duality within the human consciousness and soul: Yet this very disagreement presupposes some agreement. [...] Negatively we can say, and one could easily enlarge on this position, that there is a perfect agreement between the Bible and Greek philosophy in opposition to those elements of modernity which were described above [anthropocentrism, rights, desire, freedom, and the historicization of human thought] [...] One can say, and it is not misleading to say, that the Bible and Greek philosophy agree in regard to what we may call, and we do call in fact, morality. They agree, if I may say so, regarding the importance of morality, regarding the content of morality, and regarding its ultimate insufficiency. They differ as regards that x which supplements or completes morality, or, which is only another way of putting it, they disagree as regards the basis of morality.21 [...] According to the Greek philosophers, as already noted, it is understanding or contemplation. Now, this necessarily tends to weaken the majesty of the moral demands, whereas humility, a sense of guilt, repentance, and faith in divine mercy, which complete morality according to the Bible, necessarily strengthen the majesty of the moral demands.22 And I think that this is the Biblical solution to the problem of human knowledge: human knowledge, if it is dedicated to the service of God, and only then, can be good; and perhaps, in that sense, it is even necessary. But without that dedication it is a rebellion. Man was given understanding in order to understand God’s commands. He could not be freely obedient if he did not have understanding. But at the same time this very fact allows man to emancipate the understanding from the service, from the subservient function for which it was meant, and this emancipation is the origin of philosophy or science from the Biblical point of view. And so the antagonism between them. Even if you take as your model, e.g., so-called Jewish medieval philosophy, you will still find that this difficulty is very noticeable. […] So, philosophy in its original and full sense is, then, certainly incompatible with the Biblical way of life. Philosophy and the Bible are the alternatives, or the antagonists in the drama of the human soul. Each of the two antagonists claims to know or to hold the truth, the decisive truth, the truth regarding the right way of life. But there can be only one truth: hence, 21 Ibid., 246. 22 Ibid., 250.

Professor Leo Strauss and his Commentator Haim Rechnitzer     Chapter Six conflict between these claims, and necessarily conflict among thinking beings; and that means, inevitably, argument. Each of the two opponents has tried for millennia to refute the other. This effort is continuing in our day, and in fact it is taking on a new intensity after some decades of indifference.23

In an earlier version of “Progress and Return,” published as “The Mutual Influence of Theology and Philosophy,” Strauss added the following clarification: Ultimately, I think, one would have to go back to a fundamental dualism in man in order to understand this conflict between the Bible and Greek philosophy, to the dualism of deed and speech, of action and thought – a dualism which necessarily poses the question as to the primacy of either – and one can say that Greek philosophy asserts the primacy of thought, of speech, whereas the Bible asserts the primacy of deed.24

In “Progress and Return,” Strauss goes on to show that none of the philosophical and scientific proofs levelled against revelation stand up to criticism. Nevertheless, the theological arguments marshaled against a philosophical life are no better and are all based on unproved assumptions. Therefore, at the end of the article, Strauss summarizes his position as follows: we are faced with an unsettled conflict over an issue of paramount and vital importance. It is this tension which is the secret to the creative impulse in Western culture and which guarantees its continuity. We must live with this conflict for the good of the human race. Humanity cannot liberate itself from the conflict; the two poles cannot be synthesized. Nevertheless, the individual philosopher and thinker is incapable of maintaining both truths together. He must, therefore, decide if he is first and foremost a philosopher who acknowledges the challenge posed by religion or a theologian who acknowledges the challenge of philosophy: Generally stated, I would say that all alleged refutations of revelation presuppose unbelief in revelation, and all alleged refutations of philosophy presuppose faith in revelation. There seems to be no ground common to both and therefore superior to both. If one were to say, colloquially, the philosophers have never refuted revelation and the theologians have never 23 Ibid., 258–260. 24 L. Strauss, “The Mutual Influence of Theology and Philosophy,” The Independent Journal of Philosophy 3 (1979), p. 111.

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Between Religion and Reason refuted philosophy, that would sound plausible, considering the enormous difficulty of the problem from any point of view. [...] However this may be, it seems to me that this antagonism must be considered by us in action. That is to say: it seems to me that the core, the nerve, of Western intellectual history, Western spiritual history, one could almost say, is the conflict between the Biblical and the philosophic notions of the good life. This was a conflict which showed itself primarily, of course, in arguments— arguments advanced by theologians on behalf of the Biblical point of view and by philosophers on behalf of the philosophic point of view. There are many reasons why this is important, but I would like to emphasize only one: it seems to me that this unresolved conflict is the secret of the vitality of Western civilization. The recognition of two conflicting roots of Western civilization is, at first, a very disconcerting observation. Yet this realization has also something reassuring and comforting about it. The very life of Western civilization is the life between two codes, a fundamental tension. There is therefore no reason inherent in Western civilization itself, in its fundamental constitution, why it should give up life. But this comforting thought is justified only if we live that life, if we live that conflict. No one can be both a philosopher and a theologian, nor, for that matter, some possibility which transcends the conflict between philosophy and theology or pretends to be a synthesis of both. But every one of us can be and ought to be either one or the other, the philosopher open to the challenge of theology or the theologian open to the challenge of philosophy.25

Is Strauss suggesting that there is a way to mend the split, a means of uniting the polls of the dialectic through some form of synthesis? If so, is this unification something that can take place in history or something reserved for the End of Days, that is, in a world far different from our own, the realm of God Himself? It seems that Strauss envisioned a possible unification between Athens and Jerusalem in the future based on Nietzsche’s notion of the Übermensch who will unite both cultures into a single universal one. Thus, he writes at the beginning of his article on Jerusalem and Athens from 1983: But if the universality of the beholding of all cultures is to be preserved, the culture to which the beholder of all cultures belongs, must be the 25 Ibid. p. 270. For Strauss’ position see also Cohen, Tvuna Utemurah, 247–257; Luz, “Leo Strauss,” 17–24; idem, Kelim Shluvim, 304–305, 334.

Professor Leo Strauss and his Commentator Haim Rechnitzer     Chapter Six universal culture, the culture of mankind, the world culture; the universality of beholding presupposes, if only by anticipating it, the universal culture which is no longer one culture among many. The variety of cultures that have hitherto emerged contradicts the oneness of truth. Truth is not a woman so that each man can have his own truth as he can have his own wife. Nietzsche sought therefore for a culture that would no longer be and hence in the last analysis arbitrary. The single goal of mankind is conceived by him as in a sense super-human: he speaks of the super-man of the future. The super-man is meant to unite in himself Jerusalem and Athens on the highest level.26

In other words, according to Strauss, reconciliation is not possible in our present human existence. Only on a super-human plane, the end goal of humanity, can it be achieved and it will be embodied by a person whom we do not know – the Übermensch. The Übermensch can unite Athens and Jerusalem. It seems that this is not a stage within history but rather one lying beyond it. It is a stage connected to a pure sphere of divinity, to sacredness – to a new type of revelational religiosity of the “philosopher of the future” discussed by Strauss in 1989: Nietzsche’s philosopher of the future is an heir to the Bible. He is an heir to that deepening of the soul which has been affected by the Biblical belief in a God that is holy. The philosopher of the future, as distinct from the classical philosopher, will be concerned with the holy. His philosophizing will be intrinsically religious. This does not mean that he believes in God, the Biblical God. He is an atheist, but an atheist who is waiting for a god who has not yet shown himself.27

26 Strauss, “Jerusalem and Athens,” 148–149. This position of Strauss was first noted by Rechnizter, Nevua Vehaseder, 280–285. See below. 27 L. Strauss, “Introduction to Heideggerian Existentialism,” in T. L. Pangle (ed.), The Rebirth of Classical Political Rationalism: Essays and Lectures (Chicago, IL, 1989), 41. Rechnitzer brings an excerpt from Strauss in which the latter interprets Nietzsche and claims that his position is ahistorical. He explains that the interpreters of Nietzsche are divided over whether the unification achieved by the Übermensch denotes a connection to the Divine. Yirmiyahu Yovel and Walter Kauffman believe no; Ran Sigad and Jacob Golomb believe yes. However, Sigad and Golomb approach the issue from a psychological perspective whereas Strauss approaches it from a philosophical one. See Rechnitzer, Nevua Vehaseder, 267–268, and n. 85.

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Haim Otto Rechnitzer Rechnitzer’s recent interpretation of Strauss is the most comprehensive take on his approach. Rechnitzer’s first claim is that Strauss’ studies on Maimonides had a specific agenda. Strauss’ Maimonides, Rechnitzer argues, believed on the one hand that there is an un-mendable rift between religion and philosophy. On the other hand, he also believed that the philosopher can arrive at prophecy, an experience that belongs to a sphere beyond reason. Prophecy is not a miraculous event emanating from God; it is rather the pinnacle of man’s natural ascent via reason. Strauss thus concludes that prophecy is not restricted to the past and it can be expected in the future – as opposed to the Orthodox approach. Rechnitzer writes about the rift as follows: Judah Halevi and Maimonides – and after them Strauss – were aware of the fundamental antagonism, that antagonism which Strauss refers to as a conflict between Jerusalem and Athens. While Judah Halevi decided in favor of Jerusalem, Maimonides made no decision one way or another. [...] Maimonides remained faithful to the tension between philosophy and law. Therefore, I do not think that Strauss adopted the philosophical position (an Athens without Jerusalem) privately or publicly. Rather he adopted an approach that seeks to maintain Western culture, to preserve it and to fructify it by stubbornly preserving the antagonism between Jerusalem and Athens. From this antagonism, Strauss wished to teach about a more fruitful plane for culture – the super-modern plane.28

Discussing prophecy according to the Straussian Maimonides and its significance for the future, Rechnitzer writes: Maimonides’ theory of prophecy does not on principle deny the possibility of a philosopher jumping ahead to the pinnacle of prophecy; to the contrary, it encourages it. In light of Strauss’ analysis, the falsifa’s description of prophecy, especially that which was offered by Maimonides, takes on the character of naturalistic-phenomenology – not historical wonder. This thread continues in Strauss’ later studies. Strauss lays the ground, I believe, for the resumption of prophecy in the future. This innovation would on the one hand actually be at odds with the Orthodox tradition of Judaism which 28 Ibid., 217.

Professor Leo Strauss and his Commentator Haim Rechnitzer     Chapter Six sees in the revelation of the past a singular event. [Orthodoxy] relies on its exegetical tradition to fill the role of revelation. Strauss saw Maimonides’ model as one that allows for the possibility of prophecy – and not a model intended to supplant prophecy with an exegetical tradition in relation to a revelation of the past. Therefore, it is Maimonides’ conception of prophecy that Strauss presents as an alternative: not the full scope of Maimonides’ halakhic-exegetical project.29

Rechnitzer’s second argument is that the scholarly debates over whether Strauss was more an Athenian or more a Jerusalemite are misguided. According to Strauss, Athens and Jerusalem are two contradictory truths. Every product of Western culture originates from both, yet they cannot be harmonized. They must both be included, the tension they produce inducing the flowering of culture. While Strauss himself chose to be a non-observant Jewish philosopher (not an Athenian), he nevertheless always admired believers in revelation, especially followers of Orthodox Judaism. In Strauss’ view, culture flowered thanks to the fruitful tension that prevailed even before the modern enlightenment. The enlightenment, however, sought to dethrone the truth of Jerusalem and thus plunged Western culture into crisis. This tension can serve us in the future provided we return to it: The question whether Strauss was an “Athenian,” that is, a philosopher, or a “Jerusalemite,” that is a Jewish philosopher who depends on Jewish theology, does not accord with Strauss’ approach to the antagonism between these two cities. Strauss is a product of Western culture and thus became what he was due to the “coming together of biblical faith and Greek thought.” Therefore, the desire of his students and scholars to pigeonhole him unambiguously into one of the two categories is inappropriate. Strauss never even intends for harmonization. Opposing elements can be included; this preserves an internal tension with the power to nourish and vivify. Strauss chooses to emphasize the antagonism of Jerusalem versus Athens because he believes that contemporary Western culture has lost its way. His presentation is meant to move the discussion back into a state of fruitful tension, a tension that uncovers the life that is latent in contradictory options. The tensions between Jerusalem and Athens were fruitful in the past, before the advent of modern enlightenment, and it can still serve 29 Ibid., 177. Emphasis my own [E.C.].

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Between Religion and Reason as a source of vitality for Western society in the future. The need to move the discussion back to the antagonism of Jerusalem and Athens is meant to counter the attempt of modern enlightenment to hide the element of Jerusalem and to establish the West upon a single foundation.30

Rechnitzer’s third argument is that the opposition between the thought of Athens and the thought of Jerusalem revolves around both the source of law as well as the basis of morality and the means of bringing it to its completion. Unlike Hermann Cohen, who saw the teachings of the prophets and philosophers as harmonious, Strauss wished to preserve the two poles of the sharp opposition; he did not wish to annul Jerusalem. This was not only to perpetuate the fruitful tension between religion and politics, between reason and revelation, but also to prepare a perspective which envisions prophecy and revelation in the future: According to the model of Athens, philosophy claims that in theory, the perfection needed [in order to establish and justify morality] will derive from philosophical study, from a life of free inquiry. By contrast, according to the model of Jerusalem (the belief in revelation), the perfection will be achieved through the assistance of a divinely revealed law, and through the life of a believer who loves God. Any attempt at synthesis or harmonization is a contradiction and sacrifices the foundational elements of Jerusalem and Athens. [...] Strauss struggles to preserve both perspectives. He does this in order to make possible a perspective that looks beyond them. Eschewing determination is a concrete action. It reopens the possibility of revelation. It weakens the essential claim of philosophy to exclusivity and deepens the arguments for the eternity of the theological-political problem. [...] Strauss opposes Hermann Cohen’s claim that Athens and Jerusalem can mutually complement each other. Cohen maintains that “truth” is a synthesis of Plato and the prophets. [...] Strauss, unlike Cohen, teaches opposition, antagonism between two truths. [...] According to Athens, human intellect is the source of laws; according to Jerusalem it is revelation. Unlike the God of Aristotle, who is characterized as nothing but thought, the God of the Bible is characterized as both thought and will, as expressed in the name He reveals to Moses “I am who I am.” Even though the biblical deity also incorporates the elements of wisdom, He rules the world with His will and as 30 Ibid., 183. Citation from Strauss, “Jerusalem and Athens,” 147.

Professor Leo Strauss and his Commentator Haim Rechnitzer     Chapter Six He wills. Therefore, He issues commands and gives legislation. By contrast, providence is ascribed to Aristotle’s God, because he thinks of Himself, and only Himself. The opposition is, therefore, a sharp one.31

Rechnitzer’s fourth and most important claim appears in the final stages of his book. It is a subject that other scholars have not explored. Strauss, Rechnitzer claims, followed Nietzsche in his aspiration to arrive at some supernal ideal, above both Athens and Jerusalem, in the future. Unlike Hegel, who believed that a final ideal can be achieved today through his system of synthesis, Nietzsche believed that the Hegelian synthesis is only the beginning of the path towards a final synthesis. Unity will only be achieved in a super-historical epoch and only on at super-human level that can be attained by no one but the Übermensch, the philosopher of the future: According to Strauss, it is Nietzsche who represents both the pinnacle of historicism as well as the rediscovery of a rigid category, of a truth that rises above all other truths, a non-relative truth. Nietzsche revealed this new criterion: super-history. [...] Nietzsche’s historical, critical project leads to the radicalization of the historicist approach and reveals the super-historical criterion, the absolute, the super-human truth. Nietzsche believed that he had revealed the place of the unification of human creativity and all of being, reality, and nature. [...] Nevertheless, neither Nietzsche nor his philosophy can actually live according to the “transvaluation of values” – only the Übermensch can. Unlike Hegel’s approach, the perspective of lofty finality does not truly realize the final ideal but only inaugurates the path to the process. The final ideal is not visible to us. It must be revealed by the Übermensch – by the “philosophers of the future.”32

Rechnitzer’s fifth claim is that Strauss wanted to unify the Maimonidean approach to prophecy with the philosophy of Nietzsche. In Strauss’ opinion, Nietzsche’s Übermensch can arrive at his destination – a place that transcends the theologian of Jerusalem and the philosopher of Athens and creates a final synthesis between them. This place is prophecy. It is not Orthodox prophecy, 31 Rechnitzer, Nevua Vehaseder, 185–192. For further discussion of Strauss’ criticism of Hermann Cohen, see Luz, Kelim Shluvim, 308–310. 32 Ibid., 267–268.

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but rather the prophecy of the atheist who awaits the revelation of a God who has yet to arrive: Strauss teaches about another higher vantage point from which one can observe the antagonism between Jerusalem and Athens. This is not the plane of the philosopher or theologian but the prophetic plane, or in Nietzsche’s words, the plane of the Übermensch or the philosopher of the future. It is a bird’s eye view that allows one to reenter Plato’s natural cave [and share the philosophical truth with those there]. Strauss implies that the “philosophers of the future” will combine the two cities, Jerusalem and Athens, in the highest sense of the word. [...] This return is only possible from an atheistic starting point, with no naivety, cruel and harsh. The return is only possible from a secular perspective that is neither philosophical nor theological. [...] The return is not a return to the harmonization of the two cities, as attempted by Cohen, Rosenzweig, and Buber but rather an ascent to a new plane. The philosopher of the future carries the two cities on his shoulders and brings them to this new plane. It is he who must do this because he enjoys the bird’s eye view of the struggle between theology and philosophy. He is “an atheist awaiting a God who has yet to reveal Himself.” He is an atheist awaiting revelation. [...] But the “future” is still not here. Strauss, like Nietzsche is not a philosopher of the future; he is only the bridge to it. Strauss, using Nietzsche, teaches the direction of ascent to another perspective, beyond modernism, a perspective in which both cities are present. The two will stand forever embroiled in persistent conflict. It is this conflict which Strauss wishes to revive through his studies. It is specifically due to the persistent conflict that a new vitality will flourish in Western culture, including within Judaism. [...] The struggle between theology and philosophy, between Jerusalem and Athens, moves culture forward and does not freeze it as a balanced scale.33

This passage contains a number of antimonies and paradoxes. The prophecy is the prophecy of Maimonides but divorced from his views on the Torah and its commandments. Who is this God awaited by atheists and secularists? What is the essence of this new sanctity? Will the future prophecy come from above or from below? And perhaps the most important question: will the struggle between Jerusalem and Athens continue for all eternity or perhaps unity will 33 Ibid., 282–285.

Professor Leo Strauss and his Commentator Haim Rechnitzer     Chapter Six

eventually be achieved? Does ascent to the prophetic plane take place during history or at its end? Rechnitzer’s conclusions are not clearly articulated, perhaps because Strauss himself was not entirely clear on the subject. Rechnitzer does not share in his book his own take on the matter. In between the lines, however, one can detect admiration and sympathy for Strauss. In Rechnitzer’s opinion, Strauss is indeed secular, but the great importance ascribed to Jerusalem in his thought, speaks to him more than anything else. It seems that for Rechnitzer as well, it is important to maintain both poles at once – to not make due with rationalistic philosophy devoid of the experiences of revelation. Nevertheless, Rechnitzer’s overall approach to Strauss’ stance is clear: there are two contradictory truths. In our natural world of the present they cannot be reconciled. They are both equally important and therefore we must include them both. Every person must choose one while acknowledging the truth of the other, continuing to contend with the contradiction. This protracted tension is of paramount importance. Without it the creativity of human culture cannot continue to flourish and produce. In my opinion, this is the dual truth approach or the irresolvable dialectical approach. As for the character of the reconciliatory solution and its time, differences of opinion are possible.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Professor Akiva Ernst Simon

P

rofessor Simon (1900–1988) was born in Berlin and grew up in an ­assimilated Jewish home. A German patriot, he served in the artillery corps during World War I and was injured in combat. During his army service he encountered anti-Semitism for the first time, an experience that turned him into a Zionist. In 1919 he began his studies in Berlin and Frankfurt, and in 1923 completed his doctorate in philosophy at the University of Heidelberg. His doctoral dissertation was about Ranke and Hegel. During his studies he met famous figures such as Franz Rosenzweig, Rabbi Nehemiah Nobel, and Martin Buber; they would have a significant influence on his subsequent writings. Simon assisted Buber in publishing the periodical Der Jude and was a founder of and teacher at Rosenzweig’s Hochschule in Frankfurt. Simon even organized a prayer quorum at Rosenzweig’s home when the latter fell ill. In 1928, Simon immigrated to Palestine with his wife. Among other occupations, he taught at the Realschule in Haifa. In 1934, he moved with his family to Jerusalem where he taught at the Hebrew University High School and Teacher’s School where he also served as principal. In 1939 he began teaching at Hebrew University in the education department, lecturing on the philosophy and history of education. He received a professorship in 1950. In 1955 he received tenure and was appointed principal of the university education school, a role he filled until his retirement in 1967. During that year he received the Israel Prize for education.1 Among his books and articles are the following: “Humanizm Yehudi – Mahu?” (What is Jewish Humanism?), published in Yahid Vehevra Behinnukh Aliyat Hanoar ( Jerusalem, 1956); Haim Od Yehudim Anahnu (Are We Still Jews?) (Tel Aviv 1982); Hazekhut Lehanekh: Hahova Lehanekh (The Right to Educate: The Duty to Educate) (Tel Aviv 1983); Yeaadim, Tzmatim,

  1 See A.E. Simon, Pirqei Hayim: Binyan tokh Hurban, trans. A. Tobias (Tel Aviv, 1986).

Professor Akiva Ernst Simon     Chapter Seven

Netivim: Haguto Shel Mordekhai M. Buber (Goals, Crossroads, and Paths: The Philosophy of Martin Buber) (Tel Aviv 1985). At home with German culture while also religiously observant, Simon was well aware of the contradiction and tension between reason and revelation. Like Buber and Rotenstreich,2 he too realized the crisis religious faith faced: the contradictions between faith and science proposed by reason. In his discussions of the dialectic between these two poles, he used the terms “Jewish humanism” and “second innocence.” In his writings, Simon the educator contends with the contradiction and tension between humanistic European culture (an anthropocentric approach) and the Jewish faith (a theocentric approach). Simon wished to bequeath both truths to the next generation. In 1956 the Jewish Agency’s Youth Aliya division published a small pamphlet comprised of several lectures. The lectures were given by the attendees of an educational conference held at the president’s residence in Jerusalem to commemorate ten years since Henrietta Szold’s death. Simon, one of the speakers, dedicated his talk to Jewish humanism. He said the following: The liberal theology of the nineteenth century characterized religion as merely another part of the human culture which produced it, thus turning it into a product of humanity. By contrast, the theological dialectic [based on the approach of Karl Barth] has restored to religion its original purpose and has reasserted its right [to claim] a super-human origin. Thus, two contradictory and unconnected world views face off against each other. They can be likened to two closed circles each one with its own center. The theological circle has God at its center – the humanistic circle, man. What is the approach of today’s religious Judaism to these two domains?3

Leibowitz’s answer to this question, according to Simon, resembles that of dialectical Protestant theology: man must completely subjugate himself to God. According to this approach, the humanistic circle is completely stripped of any authority. Only one circle remains, the circle with God at its center. It is interesting that Simon avoids delving into the converse position, rejecting it out of hand: the stance of atheists or, to be more accurate, deists who deny the possibility of any connection between God and man. They strip the other circle, the   2 See N. Rotenstreich, Tarbut Vehumanizm ( Jerusalem, 1965), 22–25.  3 A.E. Simon, “Humanizm Yehudi–Mahu?,” in Yahid Vehevra Behinnukh Aliyat Hanoar ( Jerusalem, 1956), 50.

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super-human circle, of any authority and remain with only one center—man. Simon also rejects Leibowitz’s approach: Judaism cannot be drawn with a circle with a single center. It is rather an ellipsis with two focal points, one man, the other God. The relationship between them is indeed very strained. [Their union] cannot be realized without constant struggle, a struggle referred to in the Holy Tongue as brit [lit. covenant], that which the philosophers refer to as correlation (Hermann Cohen). The conception of man being created in God’s image can only be understood through this world view – “religious humanism,” an approach that can easily be supported by a host of Jewish sources.4

I believe that Simon inaccurately portrayed the views of both Leibowitz and Cohen. The approach of Protestant theologians is, I think, more akin to “Haredi fundamentalism” than it is to Leibowitz’s view. Haredim truly deem reason and human culture unimportant. They subjugate man to God; He is the only legitimate authority. Therefore, they are left with but one circle and any possibility for dialectic is rejected out of hand. Leibowitz, however, did not reject reason, human culture, human morality or science. To the contrary, he dedicated his life to these very pursuits. As Rosenberg and I understand him, Leibowitz maintained that science is relevant to the affairs of man in the world and is thus completely disconnected from religion and faith which relate exclusively to man’s position before God. This is the reason there is no dialectic—not because reason is completely annulled. Therefore, if we are to use a geometrical metaphor, Liebowitz’s stance is more akin to two squares, one atop the other, the divine above, the human below. Combined they create a single, comprehensive truth. Leibowitz also prefers the term “humaneness,” which he believes reflects an important human quality, over the term “humanism” which to him represents man’s supremacy over the world, an approach repudiated by Judaism. Nathan Rotenstreich debates him on this point: Rotenstreich believes that humanism is neutral as far as religion is concerned. He understands humanism as pertaining to man’s power as a being who creates; it refers to his superiority over the things he produces and not towards the world or God.5   4 Ibid., 51. See also Luz, Kelim Shluvim, 386–390.   5 On Leibowitz’s view, see Chamiel, The Dual Truth, vol. 2, 286–288; esp. nn. 71–73. On Rotenstreich’s view see Rotenstreich, Tarbut Vehumanizm, 39–40.

Professor Akiva Ernst Simon     Chapter Seven

I have already shown above in Chapter 4, Bergman also places Cohen in the dialectical camp. However, as I have explained, Cohen believed that the contents of religion and philosophy are, in fact, identical. The difference is merely methodological: they are two different paths for attaining the same information, but there is no dialectic between them. Therefore, his stance can be likened to two overlapping circles, God and man, the circle of man’s reason expanding the places where they overlap. Correlation, which implies a mutual relationship between two concepts, accords with Cohen’s idea that God is revealed within human reason—the perpetuation of the divine creation. This claim does not characterize a state of dialectic and contradiction but rather a state of intersection and mutual complementariness. In any case, Simon advocates a dialectical approach with two poles. They are separated by a great tension and contradiction. After constant struggle, they can possibly be united. However, if the struggle is indeed constant, perhaps the unification mentioned by Simon cannot truly be realized? To ascertain Simon’s view on this issue, I shall move to Simon’s discussion of second innocence. In 1983, Simon published his book Haim Od Yehudim Anahnu? The book includes one of his most important essays “Az Eitam: (Al Hatemimut Hasheniyah).” This article was first published in installments in the Israeli journal of philosophy Iyun 14 (1964). Simon, in this essay, borrows Peter West’s term “second innocence.” The roots of the concept, Simon believed, can be traced to Plato, Philo, Augustine and Nicholas of Cusa. The term encompasses the religious response of a philosopher who acknowledges the dictates of reason: The person of second innocence is a philosopher with faith. In his life and education, he undergoes a dialectical process that unfolds in three stages: In everything he does, this personality type confirms the three-stages rule: [first the] innocence of childhood, [then] partial destruction [of this innocence] at the hands of experience and criticism, and [finally] the possibility of a new innocence. This, for example, is the meaning of self-expression. At first it is manifest in a toddler as non-communicative authenticity: The number of languages is like the number of babies; each one makes noises, their meanings known to only themselves. At first adults must extract meaning from these sounds because the children have yet to learn how to imitate adults. Every imitation represents the disruption of the self and it is the beginning of the second step. It is manifest most poignantly and at its latest at school. Here the child is taught inauthentic communication: everyone uses the same agreed-upon symbols and all speak as if with one tongue.

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Between Religion and Reason In the current state of society and education, many people—perhaps even the majority—remain stuck in this necessary transitional stage (While there do exist pedagogical methods superior to those which are the norm, methods that can blunt its sharpness, they cannot erase it). The duty of education is to move all pupils, not just the talented ones, to the third stage: to communicative authenticity—knowing how to express one’s [true] self in a way that can be understood by others. In every authenticity there is an expression of naivete, man’s self-identification. With communication, [this naivete] is enhanced by the principle of empathy for the Other albeit without being subjected to him. These three steps represent three periods. Any educational program of worth contains [all of] them. As is known, proper education requires roots in the past, activity in the present, and anticipation of the future. The naivete of childhood is a persistent past that is renewed every day, every time a baby is born. The second innocence is always in the future – however, those who possess it know how to anticipate it in the present. Faith is anticipation. It is the act of drawing the future into the present. The sabbath anticipates redemption. Prayer anticipates a [divine] response. The ten commandments anticipate a society that is all peace and justice, the only society in which every person and every nation will be able to observe every commandment. Every act of religious repentance is a new beginning. He who repents is as if he was born today. But he is not a baby. He knows the mistakes and sins that he has committed, and he also knows for a fact that he will sin and err in the future up to the day he dies. [...] Thus the picture of the ideal personality type, the person of second innocence, is constructed from many objective data of reality. He begins to learn things anew, on a plane that is higher than that upon which he learned as a child and an adolescent. Above all, he relearns how to learn. [...] For study which is the sequel and headline of the path of a great scholar is unlike the frequently renewed study of the person of second innocence: which reveals to him surprises which he did not expect, especially in those matters which he thought that he knew well. He also fills his mouth with song for he can do nothing else. The wellsprings of faith and the wellsprings of song open to him at the same time and almost against his will. This certainly is unrelated to musical talent or lack thereof. He shall learn again how to use the name of God. [...] “To call in God’s name” means to pray. The ability to pray again—it is the last test of the man of second innocence. It may arrive in the form of a private prayer or public prayer, as a [personal] supplication

Professor Akiva Ernst Simon     Chapter Seven or in the language mandated by the Sages. Regardless, his prayer is not an innocent prayer, for he has tasted the taste of sin.6

Simon here employs the language of an educational philosopher. If I may translate his words into the language of religious philosophy, he is saying something like this: the dialectical process of the modern believer is comprised of three stages. The thesis is formulated in his childhood. During this time, he assimilates naive religious belief in pre-school and from his parents. At this stage, God is an overseer, a punisher, a rewarder, the coordinator of the events that take place in this world. The antithesis is created during elementary school and high school. Scientific and historical information gleaned from teachers, books, and personal experience develop a person’s ability to criticize the original thesis borne of naivety. The conclusions of this critical approach, the antithesis, contradict the thesis of innocence and destroy it. This desolation of antithesis only deepens as a person continues onto academic studies. This is a turning point in which most people remain stuck, unable to advance toward a synthesis. At this point, the modern believer has three options: 1) he can flee the antithesis and withdraw back into the thesis of first innocence. In doing so he has annulled reason’s role as a meaningful source of authority, determining it to be illegitimate and subjective. 2) he can rely on the conclusions of reason, adopt the antithesis wholeheartedly, and reject religious faith as a meaningful source of authority, determining it to be illegitimate and subjective. 3) he can have the intelligence to build a synthesis that stands above the poles of supernatural religious faith and human reason. This latter possibility is chosen by only a select few. In this higher stage, a person continues to believe, yet, at the same time, can criticize his own faith. He returns to faith but knows that he will 6 A.E. Simon, “Az Eitam: (Al Hatemimut Hashniya),” in idem, Haim Od Yehudim Anahnu? ( Jerusalem, 1982), 167–169. For a discussion of Simon’s concept of “second innocence,” see Luz, Kelim Shluvim, 392–395. Luz writes on the one hand that for Simon “faith and knowledge reunite within second innocence,” meaning that the contradiction is resolved. However, he also writes that the person who experiences second innocence is in a dialectical state of forgetting and remembering the fact that the redemption has yet to arrive— meaning the tension is perpetual. However, at the end of his discussion there (405–406) he summarizes as follows: “I, therefore, think that Simon believed that there is no unambiguous solution that works for every individual struggling with the [contradiction between] Halakhah and morality. Because it is a personal responsibility, the determination must be completely personal as well. Thus, we have returned to the tension between religion and morality, a conflict with no rational solution but which one can bear witness to by leading a certain lifestyle.”

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sin again. He thinks but also prays and sings. He continues to learn but also begins to re-learn. He cares about himself but about others as well. His roots are in the past. But he lives in the present and anticipates the future. Can someone who has chosen the third option and transitioned to this higher stage succeed in reconciling the rift between reason and faith? Can one succeed in settling contradictions and resolving the tension between the two foci of the ellipsis? As I understand Simon’s words, one cannot. The person of second innocence succeeds in living with both focal points due to a heightened awareness of their importance and the importance of contradiction. The tension, however, remains. While one may be able to anticipate the future, it does not arrive. As Simon said in the excerpt I cited above: The second innocence is always in the future – however, those who possess it know how to anticipate it in the present. Faith is anticipation. It is the act of drawing the future into the present. The sabbath anticipates redemption. Prayer anticipates a [divine] response. The ten commandments anticipate a society that is all peace and justice, the only society in which every person and every nation will be able to observe every commandment.

A society which is all peace and justice, in which every person will be able to fulfill the ten commandments is a vision reserved for the End of Days. The second innocence, which few can achieve, is a messianic island (like a perfect painting) within a pre-messianic stage in an unredeemed world. He who merits it will, however, continue to live in a consciously dialectic state. He will have criticism coupled with messianism, skepticism mixed with optimism and hope—until the fulfillment of the vision of redemption within a future beyond history: The second innocence is specialization in preparation of redemption within the pre-messianic world. Therefore, “perfect works of art are islands of the messianic in the sea of unredeemed time” [...] those who dwell on these happy islands, whether permanently of periodically, must be actively conscious of the turbulent sea surrounding them. Those who leave these islands give up their protected isolation in order to enter into the struggles of life. [...] However, they will never trade their critical messianism and optimistic skepticism with criticism of the present with no vision of the future, or with comprehensive skepticism uncoupled with hope.7   7 Ibid., 165–166. The citation is from poet Ludwig Strauss, see Ibid. n. 52. According to Luz, Kelim Shluvim, 416–417, Simon is calling for the renewal of the spirit of prophetic criticism,

Professor Akiva Ernst Simon     Chapter Seven

In 1968, spurred by events taking place in Judea and Samaria in the aftermath of the Six Day War, Simon wrote an article in response. Jewish settlers justified the occupation and their treatment of the local population by citing verses from the Bible. This was for Simon a source of consternation. In this context, he broached the contradiction between humanism and biblical sources: For the Jew in our era who holds the Torah dear yet also aspires to arrive at the well of religious humanism founded upon Jewish sources, [the Torah’s mandate to correct Jewish society alone] is a major difficulty for which I have yet to find a satisfying or complete answer. One must of course mention the apologetic response: that ethnic isolationism, manifest in the limitation of these moral commands [to a single people], was necessary at the time when it was legislated: in that era, there was no international law that obligated the neighbors of the Land of Israel to maintain a mutual relationship with the land and its inhabitants in accordance with the statutes of the Torah. However, the real problem is not fundamentally historical. We teach our children the Torah as if it were a holy book and seek to treat it as a perpetual present with eternal value. It is the very attempt to revive the Torah, its first signs evident among some of the youth being educated in Israel, that exacerbates the contradiction between the limited, simple reading of certain biblical passages and that which is required by the universal and human—that truth which some of us wish to tempt ourselves into viewing as the “real,” simple meaning of Scripture.8

In other words, for the believing educator, the contradiction is more an educational problem than a historical one. Even if he himself has “second innocence,” his students certainly do not. It is the educator’s task to bequeath to them that perspective that sanctifies the text as perpetually relevant. The particularistic simple meaning of Scripture sometimes contradicts universal Western morality. The Bible also contains internal contradictions, the result of having been written over the course of roughly one thousand years by different people. Simon does not wish to accept delusional or apologetic attempts to resolve the contradiction. Rather he wishes to face the contradiction between rational morality and revelational morality head on (even though he did not believe an attempt to draw the functions of intellect closer to the functions of one’s conscious and heart. In my opinion, Simon did not believe prophecy to be possible within history.   8 A. E. Simon, “Kasher Vepasul Betsitutei Hamiqra: Hirhurim al Haefsharut shel Humanizm Yehudi-Universali,” Shdemot 30 (1968), 88; Luz, Kelim Shluvim, 402–403.

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that the texts were literally dictated by the Almighty). Someone who wishes to teach his pupils the statements of eternal sacred texts alongside universal humanism, faces a dual truth: the two truths are embroiled in irresolvable contradiction. Simon moves on to discuss the biblical ger, showing how this figure is treated in the Bible as opposed to the stricter approach adopted by the Sages. He presents the difficulties that emerge from the discriminatory stance of the Sages who distinguished the ger who has converted to Judaism from the non-Jewish resident who dwells in our midst. He concludes: “in summary: while we do find here the rejection of racism, there is, as of yet, [nothing resembling] unmitigated religious tolerance.”9 Further examples of contradictions and moral dilemmas abound. Joshua’s violent conquest of Canaan and extermination of the seven nations at God’s behest (a mandate watered down by the Sages) stands in opposition to the preaching of the prophets for universal morality. The tale of Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai—who violently ruled against each other in their halakhic jurisprudence, in a generation, in which religious zealotry was married to political zealotry (BT Shabbat 17a; JT Shabbat 1:4— with an obvious allusion to our modern era), stands in opposition to other rabbinic statements about the two schools: for example, “that the Halakhah is like Beit Hillel,” because the students of his school were pleasant and humble (BT Eruvin, 13b). Another account tells that Hillel the elder recommended that a Torah scholar strive to be a disciple of Aaron—a lover and pursuer of peace (Avot 1:12). Furthermore, a talmudic account states that a heavenly voice (a bat qol) emerged to inform the Sages that Hillel (who was humble and kind) deserves to have the Shekinah rest upon him (BT Sota 48b): The voice of God [=prophecy] was already asleep then [in the generation of Hillel]. Its echo, however, the bat qol, still existed. For us as well, only an echo—or even an echo of an echo—remains. We must translate it based on the Torah in our possession in two different directions: backwards toward the voice of God Himself, and forwards to our generation and its needs. Some only deal with translating backwards—the Orthodox and fundamentalists; others only deal with translating forwards: the Reform movement and its intellectualists. The path of the religious Jewish humanist spreads out between these two poles. He lives with their tension every day and every hour. Therefore, he must be wary of stating “this is the opinion   9 Ibid., 89

Professor Akiva Ernst Simon     Chapter Seven of the Torah, this is the meaning of Scripture, this and nothing else.” For he knows the inherent contradictions within Scripture. He knows about the historical and human forces that dispute each other. He knows of the problems that lack a solution. On the one hand he will strive to arrive at a comprehensive vision. On the other hand, he will fearlessly state his own view. It is true that his approach is selective. However, the decision of his conscious will not silence that which he cannot adopt for himself. [...] May we be so lucky that the laws of the State of Israel be established in the spirit of Beit Hillel!10

The existence of contradictory sources of truth, and the will to seize hold of both at the same time, forces the believing humanist to reject the solutions offered by both the Orthodox and Reform. Both those camps maintain only one side of the tension, rejecting the other. Aware of the contradictions, the believing humanist stands in the middle. He is surrounded by the perpetual tension between both poles and must constantly navigate carefully between two truths. On the one hand, he recognizes Halakhah and is familiar with the spirit of Torah. On the other hand, he remains loyal to his conscious, accepting and understanding that both truths remain true even after, under specific circumstances, he chooses one of them. Therefore, as I understand it, Simon adopted the dual truth approach. Even one lucky enough to achieve “second innocence,” still experiences an unremitting, dialectical tension between revelation and reason. It cannot be resolved until the advent of the Messianic age.

10 Ibid., 92; Luz, Kelim Shluvim, 403–406. One can detect continuity and traces of Simon’s approach in the biblical exegesis of his son Uriel. See U. Simon, Baqesh Shalom Verodfehu (Tel Aviv, 2002), 52–55 about Abraham’s ability to contend with oppositions and dialectical tensions, as well as the blessing of oppositions which he bequeathed to his children.

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CHAPTER EIGHT

Rabbi Professor Emil Fackenheim

P

rofessor Fackenheim (1916-2003) was born in Halle, Germany. In 1939, he completed his rabbinical studies in the Hochschule für die Wissenschaft des Judentums in Berlin, receiving ordination as a Reform rabbi. During his rabbinic studies, he also studied philosophy and Arabic at the University of Halle. Following Kristallnacht, he was expelled from the university and was temporarily detained in a concentration camp. In May 1939, he left Germany for Scotland where he continued his studies in philosophy at the University of Aberdeen. With the outbreak of World War II, his German citizenship led to his incarceration in a prison camp in Canada. In 1941 he was released and continued his studies in philosophy and Arabic at the university of Toronto. He completed his doctorate there in 1945. The subject of his doctorate was “Substance and Perseity in Medieval Arabic Philosophy.” In 1943, he was appointed rabbi of the Reform temple Anshe Sholom in Hamilton, a position he held until 1948. That same year he began teaching in the philosophy department of the University of Toronto. He taught there until 1983, when he immigrated with his family to Jerusalem. There he taught as a professor at the Institute for Contemporary Jewry at Hebrew University. Fackenheim wrote several books and articles. He studied Jewish and Muslim medieval philosophy, the German philosophy of the modern era—primarily Kant and Hegel—as well as theological-­ philosophical discussions revolving around the essence of Judaism over the course of history. He paid special attention to the significance of Jewish faith in the aftermath of the Holocaust and the establishment of the State of Israel. Fackenheim’s dialectical thought is presented in a small book dedicated to Eli Wiesel: God’s Presence in History: Jewish Affirmations and Philosophical

Rabbi Professor Emil Fackenheim     Chapter Eight

Reflections.1 In this work, Fackenheim discusses the dialectical processes manifest in history, as well those within the relationship between religiosity and secularism. In the first chapter of his book, Fackenheim introduces the problem he wishes to address: God’s presence within history as understood by Judaism over the generations. The basis of this presence is the two foundational (or as Fackenheim puts it “root”) experiences of the Jewish People, the salvation at the Red Sea and the divine legislation at Mount Sinai: these two events were experienced within history and before a public audience, and for the Jews at least, they irrevocably changed the course of history. These events inspired an enduring sense of wonder accompanied by happiness and awe; their ability to elicit these emotions is the mark of their uniqueness. Fackenheim goes on to describe the three dialectical contradictions that arise when one tries to apply philosophical analysis in an attempt to undermine these foundational, faith-based, unmediated experiences: The first of these [contradictions] is between divine transcendence and divine involvement. The “sole Power” present at the Red Sea and Mount Sinai manifests a transcendent God, for involvement would limit His Power; it manifests an involved God as well if only because it is a Presence. [...] This contradiction is logically first, but no more significant than the other two—respectively, between divine Power and human freedom, and between divine involvement with history and the evil which exists within it. [...] Such are the contradictions in the root experiences of Judaism insofar as they concern our present purpose. Philosophical reflection, on becoming aware of these contradictions, is tempted to remove them, and to do so by means of a retroactive destruction of the root experiences themselves. At this point, however, Jewish theological thought exhibits a stubbornness which, soon adopted and rarely if ever abandoned, may be viewed as its defining characteristic. Negatively, this stubbornness consists of resisting all forms of thought which would remove the contradictions of the root experiences of Judaism at the price of destroying them. Positively, it consists of developing logical and literary forms which can preserve the root experiences of Judaism despite their contradictions. [...] Instead, a dialectical   1 Z. Harvey, “Emil Fackenheim: Filosof Yehudi shel Hahistoria, Mavo,” in E. Fackenheim, Al Emnua Vehistoria: Masot Beyahadut Zmanenu ( Jerusalem, 1989), 7-8. My thanks to Benjamin Pollack who drew my attention to this scholar.

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Between Religion and Reason tension develops, and this points to a future in which evil is vanquished by divine Power and human freedom, and in which divine Power and human freedom are reconciled. This future, a necessity for theological thought, is a necessity for immediate experience as well, and indeed rivals in significance the root experiences of the Red Sea and Sinai. It is not, however, itself a root experience, for it is a future anticipated rather than a past reenacted. If nevertheless it is as basic as these root experiences, it is because, without that anticipation, any reenactment of the root experiences of Judaism remains incomplete. Indeed, these experiences themselves remain incomplete. The Messianic faith arose at a relatively late date in Jewish history. As will be seen, it is implicit in Judaism ever since the Exodus.2

The first two contradictions (divine transcendence versus divine immanence; divine power versus human freedom) are well known. The third (divine involvement in history and the existence of evil) was formulated by Fackenheim in the aftermath of the horrors of World War II, the Holocaust and the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He argues that the Jewish people developed a theological-­ Jewish thought that opposed philosophical contemplation. This approach adopted its own tools to preserve Judaism’s root experiences, to maintain faith in them despite the tension between faith and reason. This approach insists on postulating a God who is involved in the world, the existence of human freedom alongside evil, as well as the image of God as the exclusive and infinite Creator. Thus, Jewish thought stubbornly insisted on maintaining the root experiences without furnishing them with concrete explanations. This Jewish thought is pulled to and fro by a constant dialectical tension. It looks forward to the End of Days at which time the dialectical tension will be resolved. This is the dual truth approach in the fullest sense of the term. Pre-modern Jewish thought developed midrashic ideas and imagery to explain tragedies and disasters: punishment for sins, cathartic suffering, hiding of God’s face, and the image of the Shekinah (which Fackenheim renders “divine presence”) going into exile with its children. However, the modern world rose to challenge this Jewish approach, forcing it to confront the ideology of secularism and the horrors of the Holocaust. This represented an unprecedented and harsh campaign against the Jewish people and their faith. Once again, the Jews were required to defend the idea of God’s presence in history. Fackenheim’s   2 E. Fackenheim, God’s Presence in History: Jewish Affirmations and Philosophical Reflections (New York, 1970), 16-19.

Rabbi Professor Emil Fackenheim     Chapter Eight

three dialectical stages in the developing tension between the Jews’ faith and reason—a period of midrashic naivety, the challenge of the enlightenment which shattered this innocence, and the desolation of the Holocaust followed by Jewish resurgence and an insistence on living as Jews—are reminiscent of the three stages described by Simon in the context of “second innocence.” In the second chapter of his book, Fackenheim describes the new challenges posed by the modern era. Beginning with Kant, scientists and philosophers severed the connection between modern science and metaphysics, freeing each domain from the grasp of the other. The science and philosophy of today reject the hypothesis of God’s existence: it is a theory which cannot be verified empirically. It is claimed that God and scientific explanations are mutually exclusive. The modern secular critic of root experiences claims that the children of Israel did not really see the sea split and did not really hear God’s voice at Mount Sinai. They simply imagined these events. There was no divine presence; the people were simply overwhelmed by their emotions. Understood thus, the wonder and amazement that once pervaded these events do not persist and vanish. The root experiences stir nothing but curiosity (though even this disappears when psychological explanations are considered): The actual divine Presence in history, as asserted by millennia of Jewish (and Christian) faith, has vanished. A radical conflict has thus manifested itself between Biblical and rabbinic faith, on the one hand, and modern, scientifically inspired secularism on the other – a conflict for which the pre-modem world has no precedent. From our first chapter it has emerged that the Jewish faith, originating in root experiences of a saving and commanding divine Presence, remains in a state of immediate openness to such a Presence as throughout history it reenacts the ancient root experiences open to the possibility of a divine Presence even in times when the actuality is only a memory and a hope! We have now come upon a stance of critical reflection which dissipates every supposed divine Presence into mere feeling and appearance. This critical reflection does not ignore the evidence of faith; it rather hands it over for explanation, and the terms in which the explanation is given or promised are such that what we have referred to as the Midrashic framework lies in ruins.3

  3 Ibid., 43.

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In other words, the gulf between divine power and human freedom has only widened. Modern criticism seeks to dismiss out of hand the possibility of those root experiences. It deems them nothing more than metaphors or emotions. However, this does not mean that one side of the dialectical tension has succeeded in defeating the other: But it is one thing to admit the incompatibility of faith and modern secularism, quite another to admit that faith is refuted by such a secularism. [...] The first [=secularism represented by Bertrand Russel] articulates a faith, for he presupposes and does not prove that God is a mere inference—one rightly discarded. The second [=faith represented by Martin Buber] too articulates a faith, for he is open to the possibility of a divine Presence even if that Presence is not actual. [...] The two positions are obviously irreconcilable. Less obvious, but no less important, is that they are mutually irrefutable as well. Believing immediacy cannot refute secularist reflection for this divides the evidence of faith into “objective” natural-historical events and “subjective” feelings of divine Presence and the divine Presence is not among either class of “data,” or legitimately inferred from them. Subjectivist reductionism is irrefutable by faith. The reverse is equally true. The “sole Power” is present in and through a natural-historical event for an “abiding” wonder. Secularist criticism—historical, sociological, psychological—does not refute this immediate Presence when it splits up religious immediacy into “objective” physical “data” and “subjective” psychological ones. This split already presupposes subjectivist reductionism. The secularist, therefore, cannot refute but only convert the religious believer. This possibility, too, is mutual. [...] Conceivably the secularist might partake of an astonishment radical enough to sweep aside all mere curiosity, to overwhelm all destructive reflection, and to assume a permanent quality which could only be deepened by causal explanations. Were this to occur, the secularist would have turned away from his secularism: he would have turned to, and have been turned by, the presence of God.4

In other words, like Strauss, Fackenheim claims that the contradictory approaches, secularism (Strauss’ Athens) and Jewish belief (Strauss’ Jerusalem), are both based on beliefs (Strauss’ axioms). Therefore, they cannot refute each other. Each side of the contradiction can stand on its own merits and can ignore   4 Ibid., 44-45.

Rabbi Professor Emil Fackenheim     Chapter Eight

its opposition. However, surprisingly, the modern believer is not willing to ignore modern secularism but rather continues to view it as a challenge. Fackenheim, therefore, asks: If modern secularism cannot refute but only contradict Jewish faith, why has it been, and continues to be, a challenge which is without precedent? [...] The ancient rabbis remained within the Midrashic framework. Modern Jews have stepped outside that framework and called it into question. This is obviously true of Jews abandoning their Jewish heritage. But it is true also of those who, in one form or another, are concerned to preserve it. Except for more or less marginal groups [=Haredim], they believe in the necessity of coming to terms with modem secularism. This fact is easily confirmed. Whereas pre-modem history produced one normative Jewish religious response, modem history has inspired a variety of Jewish responses, vying with each other in their claims, if not to normativeness, then to modernity. [...] What is this need, almost universally felt, for self-exposure to modem secularism, by a faith which secularism cannot refute? [...] What inspires this necessity? The fact that, in modern times, the secular world is “where the action is,” and that a God of history must be where the action is. Yet self-­ exposure to secularity involves self-exposure to secularism—the critical dissipation of the very possibility of the presence of God. Jewish no more than Christian faith can avoid this self-exposure. For a Christian to do so would be to seek flight into a wordless church. For a Jew it would mean flight into the pre-modern Ghetto. But if God is a God of history He must be a God of contemporary secular history also. Either flight is impossible. It has thus emerged that faith and modern secularism do not, after all, confront each other on even terms, their mutual irrefutability notwithstanding. By the terms of its own self-understanding, modem secularism can afford to ignore faith, and, if the presence of God were to shatter it, this would cause radical surprise. By the terms of its self-understanding, however, modern faith ( Jewish or Christian) cannot afford to ignore secularism. Religious immediacy must expose itself to the threat of subjectivist-reductionist reflection, and modem Jewish faith can authentically preserve the Midrashic framework only after having stepped outside that framework, thus calling it into question. Such a stance of faith was called by Søren Kierkegaard “immediacy after reflection.” [...] Self-exposed to a secularism which would dissipate every claim to a divine Presence into mere feeling or appearance, it comes face to face with the possibility that man is in principle

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Between Religion and Reason cut off from God. Hence it is only by virtue of an unprecedented stubbornness that the modern Jewish believer can be a witness, in and to the modern secular world, of God’s presence in history. Such is the testimony of a faith which is immediacy after reflection.5

Fackenheim explains that it is not only unwise for modern proponents of the belief in God’s presence in history to ignore rationalist-modern secularism—it is a necessity. This is because most of the historically significant activities and events in the modern era take place in the secular sphere. Therefore, God, if He is truly present, should be found there as well. The secular side of the equation, has the luxury to ignore its opposition without fear of harm. The modern secularist need not concern himself with the dialectical-polar tension experienced by the modern believer. Exposing itself to secular and critical examination, modern faith found a way to preserve God’s unmediated presence, employing variety of compromises that acknowledge both sides of the tension, some more some less. However, reason does not accept God’s presence. Only Judaism’s stubborn insistence remains testament to it. Toward the end of Chapter 2, Fackenheim explains that ever since Nietzsche, modern faith has faced a new set of challenges: The meaning of Nietzsche’s famous declaration “God is dead” is that God has faded into the internal life of humanity, a humanity that remains alone without a God. Humanity has received a completely new kind of freedom, and therefore must now conceive a new kind of human—the Übermensch. Because of these world-historical claims, the Nietzschean death of God challenges Jewish as well as Christian faith. Moreover, its challenge is profound and radical. For, unlike the secularism discussed hitherto, this secularism constitutes a religious challenge. Subjectivist reductionism destroys the God hypothesis; Nietzsche’s atheism overcomes God Himself. The God-hypothesis is a finite projection, always false and the product of mere ignorance, superstition or neurosis; the God of Nietzsche is an infinite projection, true while it lasted, and producing a world-historical transformation when the old truth turns into an anachronism. In both forms of secularism, the otherness of the Divine is denied. But while in the first case   5 Ibid., 47-49. Emphasis in source. Ernst Akiva Simon, basing himself on Peter West (18841940) called this advanced form of faith “second innocence.” See Simon, “Az Eitam,” 135-169, especially 135 and 164-169, as well as the previous chapter.

Rabbi Professor Emil Fackenheim     Chapter Eight this otherness was never authentic, in the second it was authentic while it lasted; and while in the one case the denial leaves no result, in the other, denial is at once affirmation. For to deny the otherness of the Divine is to affirm the potential divinity of the human. Subjectivist reductionism, in short, is a destruction of religion which has no real power over the religiously minded. Nietzsche’s atheism is a new rival religion, the passion and power of which match the old.6

Fackenheim goes on to explain that this applies not only to Nietzsche but also to any left-wing Hegelian—be it Ludwig Feuerbach, Karl Marx, or Ernst Bloch. For these thinkers, the new human freedom does not manifest in remarkable individuals but rather in new forms of social organization. Therefore, they treat history as an organic, messianic whole. These views represent a more principled and more specific challenge than that posed by Nietzsche—completely denying Jewish religious existence and the God of Israel and demanding a universal human who aspires to achieve a pan-national, secular redemption. Marx and anti-Semite Feuerbach levelled extensive accusations against Judaism. They claimed not only that Judaism (its primary characteristic selfishness) had died, but also that it never was truly alive in the first place; from the beginning it was always destined to disappear. Bloch’s views were closer to the truth in Fackenheim’s opinion. Bloch admired the Jewish past and characterized Judaism by its messianic outlook. What is needed now, according to Bloch, is the final dialectical process. It is a process comprised of atheistic, post-­religious, and post-Jewish messianism. This shall lead to universal human freedom, a reality in which Judaism will both be realized and abrogated at the same time. Fackenheim argues, however, that the modern-believing Judaism does not need these declarations about a new freedom. In Judaism’s opinion, the presence of a demanding divinity to which it attests does not quell human freedom but rather exalts it. The Jew is not choked by the yoke of law, but rather rejoices in it. The views of Nietzsche and Marx have died—not God—and today’s realist secularists no longer have any messianic expectations to speak of. In Chapter 3 of his essay, Fackenheim addresses the final stage: the Holocaust and its aftermath. Fackenheim was one of the few religious believers (such as Eliezer Berkovits7) who philosophically faced the horrors of the   6 Ibid., 51. Emphasis in source.   7 For Berkovits’ post-holocaust ideology see E. Berkovits, Faith after the Holocaust (New York, 1973).

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Holocaust head on without resorting to apologetics. Fackenheim begins by describing the horrors of the Holocaust in vivid detail, portraying it as the darkest hour of human history, and resisting attempts to furnish it with religious or logical significance. The Holocaust left no room for martyrdom, because no choice was ever given to its victims: “Auschwitz was the supreme, most diabolical attempt ever made to murder martyrdom itself and, failing that, to deprive all death, martyrdom included, of its dignity.”8 Fackenheim decides instead to follow the approach of Martin Buber: the Holocaust was an eclipse of the God of history but not His death. Such eclipses can pass. In his opinion, the Holocaust represents the pinnacle of such challenges and contradictions, and they raise terrifying questions. The old contradictions have become more urgent, and new contradictions have joined the fray. The systematic genocide of a third of the Jewish people for no reason or goal except to disseminate boundless hate-filled propaganda, simply because they belonged to a particular race, means that a Jew who raised his children to be Jewish before the Holocaust unwittingly signed their death sentences. Why would anyone want to perpetuate such a religion? What guarantee is there that the worst will not repeat itself? The question is no longer about God’s presence but rather his very existence. Furthermore, these questions and this challenge now trouble secular Jews as well. Their desire to continue to raise their children as Jews and to continue to perpetuate the Jewish people has become illogical: “A Jew who confronts Auschwitz and reaffirms his Jewishness discovers that every form of modern secularism is equally in crisis.”9 With no answer or explanation, Fackenheim decides to follow the approach of Eli Wiesel, who personally lived through the horrors of the Holocaust. He claims that the Holocaust commands us to continue to be Jews. Otherwise, we are simply finishing the work begun by the Nazis, extinguishing Jewish faith among those who survived. “Yet for us to cease to be Jews (and to cease to bring up Jewish children) would be to abandon our millennial post as witnesses to the God of history.”10 We, believers and secularists, have chosen to declare our Jewish existence today despite the contradiction it entails. We stubbornly continue to bear witness to the God of history despite contradictions and dangers. The establishment of a sovereign Jewish state symbolizes this stubbornness. This is the only answer to and the greatest resistance against the demons of Auschwitz. We believe, dialectically,  8 Fackenheim, God’s Presence in History, 74.   9 Ibid., 79. 10 Ibid., 71.

Rabbi Professor Emil Fackenheim     Chapter Eight

in both victims and Judaism. Therefore, we resist and refuse to be consoled. Yet we also refuse to detach God from the Holocaust, and continue to be his witnesses, responding to the commanding voice that emerges from Auschwitz. This is a state of affairs that transcends reason: “Jewish opposition to Auschwitz cannot be grasped in terms of humanly created ideals but only as an imposed commandment. And the Jewish secularist, no less than the believer, is absolutely singled out by a Voice as truly other than man-made ideals – an imperative as truly given – as was the Voice of Sinai.”11 This according to Fackenheim is the commanding voice of Auschwitz: Jews are forbidden to hand Hitler posthumous victories. They are commanded to survive as Jews, lest the Jewish people perish. They are commanded to remember the victims of Auschwitz lest their memory perish. They are forbidden to despair of man and his world and to escape either into cynicism or otherworldliness, lest they cooperate in delivering the world over to the forces of Auschwitz. Finally, they are forbidden to despair of the God of Israel, lest Judaism perish. A secularist Jew cannot make himself believe by a mere act of will, nor can he be commanded to do so... And a religious Jew who has stayed with his God may be forced into new, possibly revolutionary relationships with Him. One possibility however, is wholly unthinkable. A Jew may not respond to Hitler’s attempt to destroy Judaism by himself cooperating in its destruction. In ancient times, the unthinkable Jewish sin was idolatry. Today, it is to respond to Hitler by doing his work.12

This commanding voice is pervaded by contradictions and clashes which neither secularist nor believer can bear. But we have no choice. We must bear the burden and endure. The only thing aiding us in this endeavor is the commanding voice of Auschwitz: How can the religious Jew be faithful to both the faith of the past and the victims of the present? [...] A Jew today is obliged to retrace the road which led his brethren to Auschwitz. It is a road of pain and mourning, of humiliation, guilt, and despair. To retrace it is living death. How suffer this death and also choose Jewish life which, like all life, must include joy, laughter, and childlike innocence? How reconcile such a remembrance 11 Ibid., 83. Emphasis in source. 12 Ibid., 84.

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Between Religion and Reason with life itself? How dare a Jewish parent crush his child’s innocence with the knowledge that his uncle or grandfather was denied life because of his Jewishness? And how dare he not burden him with this knowledge? The conflict is inescapable, for we may neither forget the past for the sake of present life, nor destroy present life by a mourning without relief—and there is no relief. No Jewish secularist today may continue to hope and work for mankind as though Auschwitz had never happened, falling back on secularist beliefs of yesterday that man is good, progress real, and brotherhood inevitable. Yet neither may he, on account of Auschwitz, despair of human brotherhood and cease to hope and work for it. How face Auschwitz and not despair? How hope and work, and not act as though Auschwitz had never occurred? Yet to forget and to despair are both forbidden. The Voice of Auschwitz commands Jews not to go mad. It commands them to accept their singled-out condition, face up to its contradictions, and endure them. Moreover, it gives the power of endurance, the power of sanity. The Jew of today can endure because he must endure, and he must endure because he is commanded to endure. [...] The Jew after Auschwitz is a witness to endurance. He is singled out by contradictions which, in our post-Holocaust world, are worldwide contradictions. He bears witness that without endurance we shall all perish. He bears witness that we can endure because we must endure; and that we must endure because we are commanded to endure. [...]13

A fortuitous turning point in the years after the Holocaust was Israel’s victory in the Six Day War. It made room for hope: When at Jerusalem in 1967 the threat of total annihilation gave way to sudden salvation it was because of Auschwitz, not in spite of it, that there was an abiding astonishment. Nothing of the past was explained or adjusted, no fears for the future were stilled. Yet the very clash between Auschwitz and Jerusalem produced a moment of truth—a wonder at a singled out, millennial existence which, after Auschwitz, is still possible and actual.14

Contradictions are not reconciled, but the religious and secular Jews stubbornly continues, as if forced, to live with them, to live with the dual truth, to preserve the Jewish people as a witness to God’s presence in history. 13 Ibid., 84-95. Emphasis in source. 14 Ibid., 95-96.

CHAPTER NINE

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer

M

ordechai Breuer (1921-2007) was born in Karlsruhe, Germany. His   father Shimshon was Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer’s brother. Isaac and Shimshon were the sons of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch’s daughter. At age 12, Breuer immigrated to Palestine with his parents. He studied in Horev High School in Jerusalem and later in Yeshivat Kol Torah and Yeshivat Hebron in Jerusalem and Yeshivat Kletsk in Pardes Hannah. In 1947 he began to lecture at the Bnei Akiva Yeshiva in Kfar Haroeh and from 1949 to 1965 taught at Yeshivat Hadarom (previously Kletsk) which had moved from Pardes Hanna to Rehovot. There he began to research the Masoretic text of the Bible as well as biblical exegesis, developing his “aspects theory.” From 1966-1967 he served as a superintendent, and afterwards as the national superintendent for the study of the Oral Torah for the Ministry of Education. From 1967 to 1982 he taught Bible studies at Michlalah Jerusalem College, and from 1969 taught Bible in Yeshivat Har Etzion in Alon Shvut. In 1999 he received the Israel Prize for Torah literature and also received an honorary doctorate from Hebrew University. Based on his studies of the history of the biblical text, Breuer concluded that there had existed an original, fixed Masoretic text. He published his findings in a new edition with the title, “The Pentateuch, Prophets, and Writings Edited According to the Masoretic Text of the Aleppo Codex and Manuscripts Similar to It.” This edition was published in three volumes (1977, 1979, 1982) and in a single volume in 1989. Its text corresponded to that of the Aleppo Codex when it was discovered. For his work, Breuer won the Bialik prize. Breuer turned his findings into a meticulously edited academic edition that was published by the Ben Tzvi Institute in 2001. The Hebrew University

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adopted this version and dubbed it “Keter Yerushalayim.” In this chapter I will focus on the following books written by Breuer: Pirqei Moadot, Alon Shvut 1986; Pirqei Bereshit (Alon Shvut, 1999), as well as his Hebrew translation of Hirsch’s German commentary on the Pentateuch.1 Breuer arrived at a dialectical approach to religion from his biblical exegesis; it emerged from an exegetical system that he perfected over the course of several decades. On the one hand, Breuer was a direct heir of the Neo-Orthodox heritage of Hirsch. Hirsch had maintained that the Oral and Written Torah were both transmitted by God to Moses concurrently; both were given during the sojourn of the Children of Israel in the wilderness. However, Breuer feeling at home with Western Culture—a culture which Hirsch believed was identical to biblical revelation provided it was purified—was well aware of the findings of biblical criticism, its claims that the Pentateuch contains contradictions, and that these contradictions point to different, and even contradictory, voices and worldviews: in other words, that the Pentateuch was cobbled together from earlier sources and represents a composite work. Unlike his great-grandfather, Breuer found such claims compelling. But while the basic claims were true in his opinion, the conclusions drawn from them—that the Torah is a patchwork of documents written by human authors, who hailed from different time periods, all of which postdate Moses—contravened his Jewish faith. How could this contradiction be resolved? Was a resolution even possible? In 1960, Breuer published for the first time his fantastical-fundamentalist method in two consecutive articles in the periodical Deot.2 He would continue to perfect and develop this method which he and his students dubbed “the aspects theory.” He published discussions of its details several times, in 1978, 1999, and again in 2005.3 In order to delineate the theory’s evolution, I will quote all these sources, completing my discussion with the third most developed version of Breuer’s method, allowing the reader to view how his views unfolded and developed over the course of his literary career.

  1 M. Bar-Asher, “Harav Mordekhai Breuer Umifalo Hamadai,” Hatsofe, June 28, 1991.   2 M. Breuer, “Emuna Umada Befarshanut Hamiqra,” Deot 11, 18–25; Deot 12, 12–27 (1960); reprinted in Shitat Habehinot Rabbi Mordechai Breuer, ed. Y. Ofer (Alon-Shvut, 2005), 15–53.   3 M. Breuer, “Limmud Peshuto shel Miqra: Sakanot Vesikkuyim,” Hamaayan 18, no. 3 (Nissan 1978), 1–13; reprinted in Hamiqra Veanahnu, ed. U. Simon (Tel Aviv, 1979), 153–171; idem, Pirqei Bereshit, vol. 1 (Alon Shvut 1999); idem, Limmud Hatorah Beshitat Habehinot ( Jerusalem, 2005).

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine

In his first article, Breuer explains that the putative contradiction between religion and the natural sciences has already been solved; they have been divorced from each other and consigned to separate domains. The main task that remains is to resolve the contradiction between religion and the humanities, specifically biblical studies, a field that seems to contain insurmountable difficulties. Breuer explains the “scientific claims” of Bible Criticism and contrasts these with the axiomatic beliefs about the Torah’s origins demanded by religious faith: Ultimately [the question is as follows:] what does Bible Criticism claim, and how can our traditional faith respond? Indeed, it has been “proven” that the Torah was neither written by one person nor in the time of Moses, nor in any [single] period whatsoever. It is rather comprised of various layers that were written, corrected, edited and even corrupted, not over the course of one year and not over the course of forty years but rather in a protracted process spanning hundreds of years by different schools with divergent worldviews, beliefs, and even styles. This being the case, what is to be done with all these claims, that are proven, justified, and [predicated on a solid] basis—[and how can they be reconciled] with the Jewish belief that the Torah is from Heaven and that it existed for 874 generations prior to creation? Is there any need to explain that the Torah which was revealed in a prophetic revelation—in the glowing mirror of Moses’ prophecy—was not written or composed by some historical figure; [must we explain that it was] neither written by one author nor a thousand? Therefore, surely it cannot be subjected to historical research that seeks to reveal its development and authors? The Torah was uttered “by God’s mouth to Moses’ ears, as it is said ( Jeremiah 36) He pronounced all these words unto me with his mouth, and I wrote them with ink in the book.” (Nachmanides, Introduction to Commentary on the Pentateuch). Therefore, is it any wonder that [the text] encompasses generations and ages? Is it surprising that it is comprised of layers and written in [different] styles that do not always correspond to each other? The Torah was “captured” from up High; [there it] was black fire written upon white fire.4 Now it is written in ink on a scroll—like any other book—and can therefore be preyed upon by men of science and their intellectualist investigations. But can [the Torah] really reveal its supernal, supernatural origin? Can it really be used to prove   4 JT Shekalim (BT Vilna Printing) 16b; JT Sota, 8 3.

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Between Religion and Reason its own sanctity to every heretic, to anyone who denies the very existence of holiness? Must we wait until Wellhausen and his colleagues bring some historical-literary proof that the Pentateuch was composed in pre-­history, in a super-geographical location, and that it was revealed only later to Moses son of Amram, 26 generations after Creation, after a fast lasting forty consecutive days?5

Breuer bases his approach on Kantian transcendentalism, learning it from his uncle Isaac Breuer. He uses it to resolve the supposed contradictions between religion on the one hand and the natural sciences and biblical studies on the other. However, in his treatment of Bible Criticism, Mordechai Breuer enlists the resolvable dialectical approach of Fichte and Hegel as well. The critiques of religion that emerge from the world of science and causality have nothing in common with the axioms of faith that emerge from the world of miracles and prophecy. These are two parallel domains, each one with dominion over another realm of truth. This is why they contradict each other. This approach is based on the philosophy of Kant, who distinguished between the world of phenomena, the realm of subjective truth, and the world of things-themselves, the realm of objective truth. The contradictions between these two realms cannot be resolved by a scientific intellectual method hailing from the world of phenomena. Breuer argues that besides intelligence, man is also endowed with will and illumination: therefore, the sum of our apprehensions is comprised of these two worlds: the world of nature and the higher world of miracles and prophecy. By combining them, it is possible to reconcile them. However, as mentioned, the tension and contradiction prevailing within the Torah itself are a consequence of the nature of its author: Thus, the world of nature unfolds alongside the world of miracles; neither kingdom overlaps with its counterpart even by a hairsbreadth. The phenomena in the world of nature are bound up in a system of causality; they seek an “explanation” from intellect. The supernal revelations are disclosed in a world of miracles, they seek illumination from the power of prophecy. Thus, prophecy and intellect reign in separate domains, one in the world of causality the other in the world of miracles. It is impossible to disprove the existence of miracles, just as it is impossible to disprove the existence of the world of nature. Demarcation between the domains of intellect and   5 Breuer, “Emuna Umadda,” 11; 18–19. All emphases in this chapter are in source.

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine prophecy prevents any possibility of a clash between faith and science, not only in the natural sciences but also within the world of Torah. When men of science use the axioms emerging from the kingdom of causality to study phenomena, they are being faithful to themselves and to their mission. Within the framework of the world of nature, there is no place for a divine Torah; only a human one. Indeed, they are justified in studying the “evolution” of the Pentateuch; [they are right] to study it as a natural phenomenon which can be integrated into the world of literature, as a human creation that is subject to the laws of the humanities. In the past they were naive—they attributed the entire work to one person, a contemporary of Moses son of Amram or [a figure] from some other period. Today they have grown wiser; they have learned how to analyze and critique the text. Thus, they have turned the Torah from the monumental handiwork of a single genius spirit, into the product of several generations and schools. Regardless, [in their view,] the Torah is a natural phenomenon that requires an explanation within the realm of nature. Regardless, they have already denied the divinity of the Torah, and have already removed themselves from the belief of Israel. For indeed, what do all these investigations have to do with the free world of prophecy!? There one does not ask “why?”; there one does not seek an “explanation”! There the Holy One Blessed is He reveals Himself to his creatures—through his creation and his Torah, through his actions and words. Who shall tell Him what to do and what to command?! In the world of miracles, illuminated by prophecy, the Torah was, is, and will be forever the free revelation of the Creator. He created the World as He willed, and He even produced prior to it a template that would reflect His free will. His deeds reveal themselves in creation; His attributes are revealed in the Torah. The Holy One Blessed is He looked at the Torah and created the world:6 and He left both of them to mankind’s free will. If a person wishes, he can view them as natural “phenomena”; he can seek “explanations” for them. But he can also see in them a revelation of the supernal will and consult the words of prophecy. A person can do as he wishes: he can submit himself to the dominion of necessary matter, or rise above it, ascending above all fortune or astrological [fate]. He can accept the yoke of the world or bear the yoke of the Torah!7   6 Zohar, II, 161a-161b.   7 Breuer, “Emuna Umadda,” 11, 19–20. Isaac Breuer, and Mordechai Breuer after him, believed, mistakenly in my opinion, that Hirsch completely subjected “Derekh Eretz” to

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Breuer thus completely accepts the principles and foundations of academic Bible criticism. He accepts its ingenious discovery of the Torah’s internal contradictions and lack of uniformity. He argues that these conclusions are necessary and even crucial for anyone who truly wishes to study the Torah. This is a daring position in a pious, religious context, that is, in circles where the findings of criticism are generally dismissed out of hand. That being said, Breuer shows that these insights do not contradict the belief in the Torah’s divinity. To the contrary, they allow us to discover a revolutionary and faith-based form of Bible study that is predicated on these contradictions. This understanding requires the traditional scholar, after he has adopted the findings of criticism, to transcend the rational-scientific plane and reach a parallel plane of miracles and revelation—to undergo, in other words, a dialectical process. This revolution is fundamentalist and fantastical, and I do not consider it an acceptable approach: Here, in the field of research and exegesis, the scientific conclusions of Bible Criticism not only do not harm the Jewish faith, but are in fact necessary and important for every sincere scholar. Naive exegesis that treated the Torah as a single contiguous structure without contradictions and shifting styles, has been conclusively refuted. Dividing the Torah into “sources”— supplemented by “explanatory notes” and “editorial additions”—is truth beyond question. It is salient to the scholar, whether he wishes [to accept it] or not; it [emerges] from the methods of linguistic scholars “and the peshat-readings which are created anew every day.”8 All the weak explanations offered by harmonizers cannot withstand the inner truth within the brilliant scholarship of Wellhausen and his colleagues. In their attempts to dispute the school of Bible Criticism, Cassuto and his compatriots are like dwarfs before a giant, like [paupers] collecting crumbs under the table of a rich man.9 Those of little faith are terrified by the revolution. They fear straying from a path traversed safely by generations. But Israel are believers sons of believers and they see in the revolution of Bible Criticism an act of Divine Providence that has come to enlighten us, revealing new paths that demonstrate the wonders of the Torah.10 the Torah. See Chamiel, The Middle Way, vol. 1, 425–441. In the next chapter, I will show how Rabbi Shagar also adopted the transcendental approach.   8 Rashbam, Genesis 37:2.   9 See Chamiel, The Dual Truth, vol. 2, Chapter Thirteen. 10 Breuer, “Emuna Umadda,” 22. On the transition from one plane to another in the understanding of the Bible as proposed by Breuer, see Rosenberg, “Heqer Hamiqra,” 113.

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine

Breuer suggests using the esoteric teachings of Judaism—the view that God is a multilayered entity—to understand the different viewpoints and contradictions emerging from the biblical text. With this method it can be argued that the Pentateuch’s contradictions emerge from God Himself: However, when the world of the peshat [simple-meaning] has been thoroughly drained and squeezed, then the world of esotericism begins to open its gates. It rains down the dew of resurrection upon a parched, tired soul. Before the world of the peshat—limited in reach and measure—rises up the world of esotericism, incorporating all worlds and extending into eternity. For esotericism is the religious [emunati] meaning of the findings of scientific research, it is that very internal content of all those layers and sub-layers that reveal themselves to the scholar based on the methods of language and style. It is only when a person has exhausted his scientific study, that the Torah is laid out before him: including all the combinations of its [divergent] pages, all of its intricate weave, all supposed oppositions and contradictions. At that moment [the scholar] will turn to the hidden world of the Torah and with the well of flowing water of the true path, irrigate his study which has become dried and shriveled. The soul does not content itself with the revealed garment of the Torah; it seeks to plum its hidden and concealed core. “Only when one understands properly the esoteric-­ meaning, will everything be completely settled, peshat, allusion, homiletics and esotericism; however, for he who does not understand the secret, even the peshat eludes him!” (Rabbi Elijah of Vilna, Proverbs 3:9).11

Breuer reads the statements of the Sages literally. When they discuss divine attributes, such as the attribute of judgment or the attribute of mercy, this is not to be construed as mere metaphor. It is rather a mystical statement, akin to the readings of the kabbalists: the divine is comprised of—at least partially—independent layers, the sefirot of Kabbalah. According to the kabbalistic system, God controls the world with his different attributes. These attributes contradict each other, and the Torah therefore, not surprisingly, reflects this. The attribute of judgment (the name Elohim = nature), which creates the world in Genesis 1, contradicts the attribute of mercy (the Tetragrammaton) which creates the world in Genesis 2. An enduring world is one which includes both contradictory attributes, compromise being represented by the attribute Tiferet 11 Ibid., 23.

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(Glory). Just as the different attributes of God unite with their single supernal root, so too can the Torah be viewed as one and thus have its contradictions settled. From here on forward, when discussing God and the Torah, Breuer will employ the language of a dialectician who has achieved synthesis—although perhaps he was still unaware of this: Now, is it so wondrous if the Torah’s pages clash with each other? Is it strange that human intellect finds it difficult to settle such oppositions? God’s [modes of] providence over the world—the visible expression of His attributes and holy names—do they not seemingly contradict and conflict with each other, at least as far as human eyes and understanding are concerned? If the Holy One Blessed is He includes both mercy and judgment, Hesed with Gevura, if he can appear to Israel like a seated elder, or as a young warrior, as merciful and compassionate yet [at the same time] vengeful and jealous—how could one even entertain the idea that the Torah, its letters combinations of divine names, would tread quietly and peacefully, as an uninterrupted continuity which satisfies the heart of every lecturer with a university chair? The world has as many contradictions as there are seeds in a pomegranate. [Yet people expect] the Torah—which is the blueprint of the world—to be harmonious and unified like some child’s dream. If all the sages of the East and West gathered together and sought a cure to the contradictions in the first two chapters of Genesis, they would come up with nothing but a broken pot-shard. Try as they might, the challenges remain steadfast. This is because the contradictions are manifest in the external garb of the Torah. The resolution lies in [the Torah’s] inner, hidden root. Thus, if we are regardless wondering about the visible results of the divine attributes, let us delve deeply into the bodies of the attributes themselves. So long as we are resolving external revelations visible to the eye of man—let us “resolve” the hidden attributes, which are the roots of all manifestations! How can a Creation that draws sustenance from the attribute of judgment simply be reconciled with a Creation from the attribute of mercy? How can the world of nature [teva], deriving [numerologically] from the name Elohim, simply unite with the world of revelation, deriving from the Tetragrammaton? What relationship is there between the person placed within the world of nature to conquer and rule—with the person immersed in the Garden of Eden who derives pleasure from the glow of the Shekhinah? Is it any wonder that the attribute of judgment created vegetation

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine before creating man, while the attribute of mercy created man before creating vegetation? [Is it any wonder] that the cooperation of mercy and judgment, the secret of God’s unity emerging from both passages, leaves vegetation on the edge of the ground until man has finished being created? [...] The “cooperation” between the contradictory attributes of judgment and mercy, of Hesed and Gevura, is the secret of Tiferet, God’s unity which is transmitted to the nation of Israel alone. The cooperation of contradictory attributes and drawing them together to their supernal root is the secret of the Holy One Blessed is He’s unity with the Torah; it is the soul and essence of the Congregation of Israel.12

With its publication, Breuer’s article and the system it propounded elicited questions, comments, and objections. Further responses were voiced at a conference that took place on 16 Kislev in Beit Hillel in Jerusalem where Breuer was the keynote speaker. Several scholars participated in the conference including Jacob Katz, Isaac Heinemann, Meir Weis and Uriel Simon; none of them found Breuer’s approach compelling.13 Hugo Bergman published an article critiquing Breuer’s system.14 Tzvi Werblowsky published an article commending Breuer’s groundbreaking attempt, characterizing the approach as “dialectico-­ mystical.”15 Following these responses, Breuer published some further clarifications in the next volume of Deot. He begins this article by arguing that it is impossible to use intellectual proofs to undermine the claims of faith and the Torah. He then proceeds to list the many contradictions between the world of nature and the faith of Israel. Adopting the transcendental approach, he asserts that the laws of nature and evolution are appropriate for describing human creativity within nature. However, they do not apply to the world of faith and the divine Torah. The only laws that apply in this realm are those of prophecy. In this realm, anything is possible: Everyone knows that it is impossible to disprove the Torah’s divinity. The divinity of the Torah, like the existence of God and the resurrection of the 12 Ibid., 24–25. 13 Their lectures were later published in Deot 13 that same year, and were reprinted in Shitat Habehinot, 202–216. It is interesting that both Heinemann and Simon (like his father) say they prefer contradictions and disunity over negative and impossible harmonization that require living in two worlds at once. See Ibid., 205–206. 14 “Tarbut Vesifrut,” Haaretz, November 11, 1959. 15 Molad 18 (1960), 162–168.

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Between Religion and Reason dead, transcends scientific proof or refutation. Everyone knows that the Holy One Blessed is He is not bound by literary principles. He can speak to Moses our teacher in the style of Ezra the scribe or adopt four contradictory styles [at once]. Everyone knows that the Holy One Blessed is He foresees the future. He can allude to later events whenever he sees fit. Everyone believes that the God of Israel is one, and that those things which to humans appear as contradictions emerge and unite in his Blessed simplicity and unity. Thus, the sting of Bible Criticism is neutralized and its beautiful edifice—even were we to assume that it was devoid of any logical errors—collapses and falls like a building without a foundation. [...] Not just the estimated age of the world, or the exact date of the Torah’s “composition”—but rather the entire Israelite faith, down to its principles, details, and intricacies—all of these strongly oppose any natural-scientific approach. We cannot fulfill even one letter of the religion of Moses and Israel, the Written and Oral Torah, so long as we believe in the intuitive axioms of scientists and academics. Within the realm of nature, the only realm in which the observations of science are valid, there is no God—at least not one that men of science can admit to. There is no being who can oversee man’s actions and orchestrate his history. There is certainly no God Who can hear the prayers of His people or grant men reward commensurate with their actions. The laws of history view the belief in the coming of the Messiah as a naive utopia. The laws of nature deny the possibility of a resurrection of the dead. Nevertheless, we here—we who left Egypt and stood at Mount Sinai, we who saw the Red Sea split before Moses, we who heard the voice of the Lord issue from a mountain blazing with fire—we saw with our own eyes and heard with our own ears, that the great God can abrogate the laws of nature and can change the actions of creation as a potter molds clay. And we, the faithful Jews, the eternal witnesses to God’s might and deeds, we believe in all the principles of the Jewish faith, even if they do not seem compelling within the framework of nature. And even were they to prove to us with wonders and miracles that the laws of literature disprove the Torah’s antiquity, we would refuse to listen to their proofs; for we have received from the eternal Congregation of Israel a tradition that God’s Torah was revealed in a glowing mirror [aspaqlaria hameirah]—in flagrant opposition to all the laws of history and literature. We believe in the laws of nature only so long as the world continues as it is. We deny the laws of nature the moment God reveals Himself to those who invoke Him. Thus, the entire logical basis of that bitter war waged from

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine ages past, the battle between faith and Bible criticism, is undercut. For even were we to accept the claims of the Bible critics, they are insufficient to disprove even one facet of the Torah’s true origins. True, if one entertains the possibility that the Torah is a human creation, then its composition requires a protracted process of development. But we believe in the divine origins of the Torah, and we believe that its revelation to man obeys no laws except those of prophecy. Within the framework of the laws of prophecy, there is no limitation or coercion. There is nothing that can stop God from bestowing prophecy upon man as he wishes. The Lord our God has spoken—who cannot prophesy?!16

Using this transcendental approach, Breuer argues that ultimately the contradictions between faith and science will be settled. Conclusions borne of a critical approach are not permanent—they will be refuted. The identicality approach (advocated by his great-grandfather) which views faith as a replacement for science is likewise not true. Science changes and is supplanted. The Torah is forever. The Jewish faith is the inner-spiritual meaning of all sciences in any time because the Jewish people possess a Torah that comes directly from God Himself. That being said, classical exegesis, an approach that seeks to artificially harmonize contradictory texts and evades contending with the findings of criticism, is equally mistaken: Here as well, there is no distinction between antiquated, harmonistic exegesis and the modern exegesis of Bible critics. The faith of Israel is unrelated to some temporary fluctuation of science. It stands strong against all the vicissitudes of man’s spirit, against all the wise misgivings of every pure scientific scholar. Not only does it not clash with any reasonable scientific hypothesis but, to the contrary, it provides the internal religious meaning of the fluctuating shifts in every secular science. The faith of Israel is not a substitute for science; it certainly does not contradict it. Rather it provides the internal content of every ephemeral, earthly science. Thus, the belief in Creation that shed light on the [cosmology] of Ptolemy is the metaphysical explanation of the cosmologies of Kepler and Einstein as well. The secret of the “Account of Creation” [ma’aseh bereshit] that emerges from the first Chapter of Genesis provides a metaphysical interpretation of every passing cosmological approach—be it the primitive approach of geocentrism or that of advanced 16 Breuer, “Emuna Umadda,” 12–14.

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Between Religion and Reason heliocentrism. Should that same belief in the divinity of the Torah that shed light on Reuchlin’s system of biblical exegesis be prevented from shedding light on the new exegesis—even the exegesis of Bible Criticism?17

Breuer proposes purifying Bible Criticism with the light of faith. Instead of concluding that the Torah was composed by different authors in different ages, we should view it as a divine composition that voiced its message through a number of distinct styles hailing from many generations: Thus, Bible Criticism can be sanctified and purified, as long as its empty secularism is removed, and thus we shall imbue it once again with the light of the Jewish faith. For we believe with complete faith that the Torah, in all of its contradictory pages, in all of its allusions to later times, in all of its polychromatic styles—was given to Moses in an act of transcendent revelation that lies beyond the conception of [human] intellect. How, then, is the secular Torah of the Bible critic—which appears as if it developed over the course of generations—any different than the secular Torah of the Middle Ages which appeared to be written by one man alone? The Sages of Israel in the Middle Ages knew how to apply meta-exegesis deriving from belief in the Torah’s divinity to the secular Torah of their generation. Instead of a human Torah, the product of one person, they viewed it as a divine Torah that speaks in the language of man. Is this not our task today as well? Is it not our [obligation], as part of the commandment to study Torah, to restore the meta-exegesis of the divine Torah to the secular Torah of our age; instead of viewing it as a human Torah produced by many generations, can we not see in it a divine Torah that speaks in the styles of [many] generations?18

For Breuer it is also important to justify his divergence from the approach of his great-grandfather who seemed to eschew the esoteric approach of Kabbalah. Breuer claims (in error, in my opinion) that the authoritative interpreter of Hirsch is Isaac Breuer, who reconciled Hirsch’s approach with that of Kabbalah. In our era we cannot manage without it: And if you wish to point to the teachings of Rav Hirsch, which were— seemingly—bereft of kabbalistic influence, seek out the books of his great 17 Ibid., 15. 18 Ibid.

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine successor Dr. Isaac Breuer, [and see] if today it is possible to acquire a Jewish lifestyle without drawing sustenance from esoteric teachings. [Isaac Breuer] dedicated his life to interpreting his grandfather’s teachings— he based his arguments on the book Shnei Luhot Habrit [Shelah] and he emphatically declared that Rabbi Hirsch’s system accords with esoteric teachings (Hakuzari Hehadash, 22 [possibly a typo for 242; in the new edition p. 207]). Go forth and ask those who studied with him, how he would spend days and nights sustaining his yearning soul with the sweet fruit of esoteric teachings. Regardless of all of this, it is impossible today to describe a Jewish worldview without the solid principles established by the great books of the Maharal which interpret the paths of esotericism! One cannot study the ethics of Moses Haim Luzzatto’s Messilat Yesharim without using the other foundational texts penned by the same author—Derekh Hashem, Kalah (138) Pithei Hokhma! Indeed, how dry and withered would Judaism be were we to throw away that entire rich, spiritual heritage, the fruits of the labors of the great leaders of Israel in the last ages!19

Breuer summarizes once again the principles of his new theory: that God sought to teach us through his Torah different—and sometimes even contradictory—modes of providence. They are only resolved in their supernal, divine source: Thus, the Torah was not written by different authors; rather, [the Torah is] the manifestation of different modes of providence. This difference between different modes of providence is manifest in all the Torah’s different methods of expression, the Torah which “speaks in the language of man”: with shifts in style, [internal] “disputes,” and “factual contradictions.” However, these contradictions cannot be settled using superficial harmonizations—only by seeking and delving into the source of all differences [can the issue be resolved].20 19 Ibid., 17. Breuer thus abandoned the neo-romanticism of German modern Orthodoxy in favor of a mystical kabbalistic approach. Only with mysticism could he find a solution to the tension and contradictions facing him. The fear of failing to find a solution overcame concerns about indulging in mysticism. The page numbers refer to the German edition of the Kuzari Hehadash (Der Neue Kusari) published in Frankfurt in 1934 (Mordechai Breuer, in his writings, translated the relevant passages himself into Hebrew). I have added page numbers in brackets that refer to the new Hebrew edition: Isaac Breuer, Hakuzari Hehadash: Derekh el Hayahadut, trans. S. Henshke ( Jerusalem, 2008). 20 Ibid., 19.

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Breuer once again affirms the basic accuracy of the findings of Bible Criticism, i.e., that God is portrayed differently in Genesis 1 and 2 respectively. However, in his opinion, this variety does not stem from different human authors. It is rather the result of God’s different attributes that participated in creation. These attributes contradict each other in their modes of providence over mankind. For once, Breuer also mentions the influence of this tension upon the individual. Besides the evident tension between God’s different attributes within the Torah [itself], another tension lies within the heart of the traditional Jew. This is the tension between his relationship to a God who is both close but also far; it is one of the tensions described by Soloveitchik, as I explained in Chapter 3. The Jewish believer aspires on the one hand to be led by the attribute of judgment, by the world of nature, and thus to earn free will—a freedom that stands in opposition to God. However, at the same time, he wishes for the providence of the attribute of revelational mercy—he wishes to earn an eternal life in the Garden of Eden and to cleave to the Shekhinah. Although he does describe it, this tension does not unduly perturb Breuer, who did not need to choose between two truths. The believer knows that God controls the world using both of his attributes. He relies on this fact. At the same time, he understands that our dark world is unfitted to this sought-after light. The full revelation of the Shekhina, which entails the attribute of mercy fully realizing its potential, can only take place at the End of Days. The cooperation of mercy and judgment in this world through the mediation of the attribute of Tiferet is an integral part of the Jewish world-view. Breuer’s exegesis of the opening chapters of Genesis is notably similar to that of Soloveitchik at the beginning of his book The Lonely Man of Faith—published just five years later. Already in 1944, in his work Ish Hahalakhah, Soloveitchik had invoked the divine attributes of judgment and mercy—concepts originating in midrashic texts21—as an explanation for the contradictions in the mind of a human standing before God.22 That being said, Soloveitchik’s comprehensive dialectical approach stems primarily from his own existential interest in the different components of ambivalent human soul—as evinced by the two contradictory accounts of creation, which are used to explain the dialectic in the world of the modern believer. Soloveitchik tellingly makes no mention of a kabbalistic Tiferet which settles the contradiction by combining judgment and mercy. This is because for him achieving synthesis is not actually possible. By contrast, Breuer’s 21 Bereshit Rabba 12 15. 22 Soloveitchik, Ish Hahalakhah, 156–158; idem, Lonely Man of Faith, 9–12.

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine

position is rooted in different interests: he wishes to use the different components of the divine world delineated in kabbalistic theosophy in order to explain and resolve contradictory passages in Scripture. Man’s spiritual world was to him less pressing a concern. Therefore, while Soloveitchik did not bother to apply this type of exegesis to additional problematic passages in the Pentateuch, Breuer dedicated two books to the subject.23 Breuer describes the goal of the believer as follows: There is thus a spark of truth in all that prattle about the “different conceptions” of God arising from different pages of the Torah. To be sure, the attribute of God Who conceals Himself in the first passage of Genesis is unlike the attribute of a God reveals Himself in the second passage: just as the attribute of judgment is unlike the attribute of mercy. For the attribute of judgment is limitation and concealment, whereas the attribute of mercy is completely revelation and emanation. The one enthrones man over nature, delivering it to him for conquest and dominion, the other places man in the Garden of Eden where he can enjoy the glow of the Shekhinah. However, these two attributes that “participated” in the creation of the world, encapsulate the entire world view of Judaism: I mean our desire to merit judgment by free choice between good and evil, without compulsion or intervention by any supernal power and our desire to benefit from our ethical labor, to earn it as opposed to receiving it as kindness, [a reward] for our ability to withstand the trial of our impulses. But indeed, one cannot speak about man’s free will without the complete concealment of God, the screen of mute nature that shrouds Him. Nevertheless, we wish to also merit “mercy”: to see our king completely revealed, with no barrier of nature standing between us. The revelation of the Shekhinah, which is impossible in this world of shadowy matter, is the greatest aspiration of the Congregation of Israel; it is its memory from time immemorial and is its faith for the future to come.24

23 Amnon Bazak recounts “more than once I heard the late Rabbi Breuer expressing his regret that Rav Soloveitchik did not expand his system beyond the specific perspective noted here [Genesis 1–2].” See A. Bazak, Ad Hayom Hazeh (Tel Aviv 2013), 138 n. 86. Bazak adopts most elements of Breuer’s “aspects approach.” See ibid., 109–150 and see above Chapter 3 n. 19. Shilo notes this as well, but praises Soloveitchik for knowing where to stop. See E. Shiloh, Yahadut Qiyumit ( Jerusalem; Tel Aviv 2017), 53. 24 Breuer, “Emuna Umada,” 19.

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The last issue that occupies Breuer in this article is the proper response to the critical attribution of different scriptural accounts to different time periods—­a theory based on anachronistic references to events long before they occurred, an indication that the book as a whole was written after the time of Moses. Breuer explains that the history of the world is anticipated within the text of the Torah. The Torah was used to create the world and man, not the reverse. Breuer thus completes his system which essentially amounts to “divine Bible Criticism”: Just as there is no validity to the problem of different “authors,” so too there exists a religious “translation” of the problem of allusions to [later] time periods. True, later events are reflected in the Torah’s accounts. However, does this not go without saying? He who foresees all generations to come left His imprint upon the Torah; He causes all events to transpire; He is the writer of the Torah. Now, how can we not expect historical-literary bridges in a book that unites all periods—the same one God Who wrote them was the one God Who made them happen. Of course, the Torah’s accounts were written against a certain historical backdrop: thus, the episode of Judah and Tamar refers to the Kingdom of Judah, and Abraham’s sojourns to the conquests of Joshua. Likewise, the episode of the Tabernacle refers to the Temple. This is because the Holy One Blessed is He revealed all these things in the glowing mirror of Moses’ prophecy. [God] then went and made these allusions a historical reality, just as they were conceived in His mind initially. For it is not later events that gave birth to the Torah; rather the Torah itself is the original root of all events.25

In Nissan of 1978, Breuer published another article entitled “Limud Peshuto shel Miqra: Sakkanot Vesikuyim.” He republished it again twice, once in the collection Hamiqra Veanahnu edited by Uriel Simon in 197926 and again as the introduction to his book Pirqei Moadot published in 1986. There the article is entitled “Hapeshatot Hamithadshim bekhol Yom.”27 In this article, Breuer further clarifies his system which had, since his previous article, undergone some 25 Ibid., 20. 26 Breuer, “Limmud Peshuto,” 1–13. The collection Hamiqra Veanahnu published in 1979 included lectures that were delivered at the international annual conference of the Institute of Judaism and Contemporary Thought convened in 1977. At the end of the article, appear the editors’ comments with Breuer’s responses. 27 M. Breuer, Pirqei Moadot (Alon Shevut, 1986).

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developments. He begins by explaining what he deems to be the peshat (the simple-meaning) of Scripture. He rejects the opinions offered by later scholars: For “the peshat of Scripture,” is not a term invented in our time. It was already mentioned in the Talmud (BT Shabbat 66a). We find, therefore, that we must interpret the peshat according to the peshat of the term: according to the intention of the Sages who were the ones to coin the term [initially]. If we examine the definitions offered above, it is doubtful that we will find among them the peshat of the word peshat. [...] Here we will offer another proposal for defining the peshat of Scripture. This definition is related to the famous claim that the Torah speaks in the language of man. This means: the language of the Torah ought to be interpreted the same way as one interprets the language of man. Men speak using grammar, syntax, and style. The grammar of poetry is unlike the grammar of prose. The style of wisdom literature is unlike the style of law and jurisprudence. This is obvious when discussing speech emerging from a human mouth; but it is not so obvious in reference to speech emerging from the mouth of God. [For that reason,] the Sages taught us that even God’s Torah speaks in the language of man. [According to this,] anyone who interprets Scripture according to the rules of human language is interpreting it according to its peshat. The advantage of this definition is that it opens up the possibility of other exegetical paths. For we are not claiming here that the Torah is actually the speech of man, that it [actually] came from man’s mouth. To the contrary, the Torah is divine; it is God’s speech. Nevertheless, it speaks in the language of man, as if God contracted [tzimtzem] His own power of speech. In His Torah, He does not speak only in the language of the narrator, God, but also in the language of the audience, man. [...] All the problems with interpreting Scripture according to its peshat are encapsulated in this definition: the Torah was spoken by God, but it is to be interpreted as if it was spoken by man. Great faith is required in order to withstand this contradiction: to believe in the Torah’s divinity yet to interpret it as if it were spoken by man.28

In our age, however, Breuer explains, a severe problem has emerged. While biblical studies have proven that the Torah is comprised of different philosophies, belonging to different people, from different ages, the Jewish people have, ever 28 Ibid., 11–12.

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since Rashi, ceased to study Scripture according to its peshat (as defined by Breuer), instead interpreting it as if it were the teaching and language of God. By contrast, among non-Jewish scholars, the Bible is studied as if it is were the teachings and language of man. “I,” Breuer asserts, “am the only one to read these texts correctly”: Ever since the period of Rashi and the other early authorities, the study of Scripture’s peshat has been almost entirely forgotten. The vast majority of Jewish scholars study a divine Torah that speaks in a divine language. From homiletical works to books of Kabbalah and Hasidism—all engage in the hidden language of the Torah: midrash, allusion, and esotericism. The language of man, however, has been delivered into the hands of gentile scholars. They have achieved great things, impressive to every student and scholar. But they do not believe in a divine Torah speaking in different human languages; they believe in a human Torah, with every human speaking his own language. Thus, one group studies a divine Torah speaking in a divine language while the other group believes in a human Torah that speaks in the languages of men. There is no school today—not even a single person—who studies a divine Torah that speaks in the language of man. The Jew who wishes to study the peshat of Scripture, will find no rabbi to teach him.29

Because the Torah was formulated by God, because God encompasses contradictory providential forces, and because God’s true language is incomprehensible—there is only one way to interpret God’s speech expressed in the language of men. First, in every passage, the two contradictory stances must be presented (thesis and antithesis) as if written by different humans. Only afterwards, can these be resolved (synthesis) by the language of the redactor. This is precisely how God’s attributes of Gevura and Hesed are reconciled in the attribute of Tiferet: The esoteric scholars stated that Abraham represents the attribute of Hesed; Isaac represents the attribute of Gevura; and Jacob represents the attribute of Tiferet which combines Hesed and Gevura. We learn that two contradictory attributes can become manifest in two separate people; only after the attributes are presented separately can they be re-revealed in unity. This 29 Ibid., 13.

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine unification of contradictory attributes is the purpose of contradiction; the attributes only contradict in order to be re-revealed in unity. This is the hidden meaning of the nation’s three forefathers: Jacob cannot fulfill his mission unless he is preceded by Abraham on one side and Isaac on the other. Nevertheless, the nation is not named for Abraham nor for Isaac but rather for Jacob who unites the contradictory attributes. He is the most important of the forefathers; and Israel are only called a nation due to their ancestor Israel. The Torah is similar. Its whole purpose is to describe divine attributes. The beliefs expressed therein are utterly contradictory; therefore, if they are to be spoken in the language of man, they can only be spoken in the language of different men. Ultimately, however, the contradictions will be resolved. This resolution—if it is to be spoken in the language of man—can only be said in the language of a redactor; he is the one who resolves the contradictory beliefs after they have been revealed in a state of contradiction.30

One can use this exegetical method to explain why the creation of the world was described using two consecutive but contradictory narratives. Thus, we can understand that the world was not created with judgment (nature) alone. Nor was it created with mercy (revelation) alone. Only by combining them, mercy sweetening the judgment, can the depth of the peshat, represented by the midrashim of the Sages, be understood: In other words: the contradictions between the first two chapters of the Torah cannot be reconciled. They do not even require reconciliation. For they express two different worldviews that utterly contradict each other; the depth of their opposition is commensurate to the depth of opposition between judgment and mercy. Just as there is no mercy within judgment, and just as there is no revelation within the framework of nature—so too there is no place for a Garden of Eden in the world in which we find ourselves. Nevertheless, the Torah described the two worlds side by side. This teaches us that the one God makes peace in the heavens and lets both mercy and judgment “participate.” In other words, He created the world without pure judgment or pure mercy but rather with judgment “sweetened” by mercy. This then is the intention of the Torah when it wrote two contradictory chapters. A world created with pure justice corresponds to the narrative in Genesis 1; a world created with pure mercy corresponds to Genesis 2. A world in which mercy and judgment join 30 Ibid., 14.

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Between Religion and Reason forces incorporates those things stated in both chapters: it has both nature and revelation, and mercy sweetening justice. This, is, however, neither absolute nature that leaves no room for revelation nor the overflowing power of revelation unbounded by nature’s rule; it is rather a revelation taking place alongside nature in which both judgment and mercy participate. Even though the world was created with justice and mercy, the Torah does not immediately describe this cooperation; rather it begins by describing pure judgment and [only] afterwards pure mercy. The combination of the two emerges automatically by juxtaposing the two passages together. For it is impossible to speak of the cooperation of two contradictory attributes so long as they have not been described in their state of contradiction; there is no meaning to cooperation so long as we do not know who the “participants” are. If the Torah had described the combination of attributes from the outset, this could not be viewed as cooperation in any sense. We would simply have thought that this admixture of mercy and judgment is the divine attribute in its original form. This lends new meaning to the Sages explanation regarding the relationship between vegetation and man. It does not correspond to the peshat of Scripture—neither to Chapter 1 nor to Chapter 2. But it does, however, accord well with the depth of the peshat, the combination of Chapters 1 and 2. In other words, had the world been created with judgment alone, then vegetation would have fully sprouted before man was created. By contrast, had the world been created with the attribute of mercy alone, man would have preceded the sprouting of vegetation. However, the world was created by combining mercy and justice, and therefore vegetation precedes man and man precedes vegetation. These two “preceedings” are, however, not absolute. Vegetation began to partially sprout before man, but man preceded the completion of this sprouting.31 One should interpret in similar fashion other Scriptural passages that contradict each other in terms of content and style.

Here Breuer summarizes his method, concluding that it can be used to settle other contradictions in the written Torah. Often the midrashim of the Oral Torah cited by the Sages resolve the contradiction and present the synthesis; they represent the deeper significance of Scripture’s peshat: Many other contradictions in different passages of the Torah can be resolved in a similar fashion. In all of them one must seek out the contradictory 31 Ibid., 15–16.

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine themes—and find every polar opposition between them. Only afterwards can one seek out the combination and find a compromise between the two extremes. Usually it will turn out that the midrashim of the Sages resolve all those contradictions that pertain to the depth of Scripture’s peshat: they do not accord with the peshat of any one of the contradictory passages, but they do accord with the peshat of Scripture which combines contradictory passages.32

Breuer here has significantly increased his use of dialectical terminology as well as adding the claim that the midrashim realize the desired synthetic reconciliation between the Torah’s inevitable contradictions. While he does point to a certain amount of tension (involving man as well) between revelation and nature and between a God distant and a God far, he is not perturbed by it because there are those who can unify and reconcile it. I have noticed that Breuer avoids employing philosophical terms such as dialectic, thesis, antithesis and synthesis. He prefers to use Hebrew terms such as setirot (contradictions), nigudim (oppositions), midot (attributes), shituf (cooperation), yishuv (reconciliation), and ihud (unification). Only at the end of his response to the editor, Uriel Simon, does Breuer mention the word “synthesis,” referring to the actions of a human redactor. For some reason, Breuer also avoids using the word sefirot and instead refers to midot (attributes) and hanhagot (modes of providence). Thirteen years later, Breuer published his book Pirqei Bereshit. In the introduction33 he explains the final version of his system, entitling it “settling Scripture according to its peshat.” Here he added a new term to his lexicon; the word peshara (compromise), standing in for the word synthesis. He also underscores the view, following in the footsteps of Isaac Breuer, that any contradiction between belief in creation and the natural sciences is impossible. The two disciplines represent two parallel but separate worlds.34 I should note that Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch also maintained that such a contradiction is impossible by definition but for a completely different reason: He maintained the identicality approach—an approach that Breuer could not accept. In the final version of Breuer’s system, the theological and fundamentalist extremism it entails comes to the fore. 32 Ibid., 22. 33 Breuer, Pirqei Bereshit, 11–19. 34 Ibid., 7–8.

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Breuer begins by explaining that the contradictions within the divine world are understandable; they are a necessary result of God’s unity which encapsulates all the variety we see in His creation: The very fact that the two divine attributes contradict each other need not surprise anyone, for it is the direct result of God’s unity. [Maintaining] the unity of God does not preclude the multiplicity of his attributes. To the contrary, the multiplicity of God’s contradictory attributes is the main test of God’s unity. He is one, and in the essence of His unity He incorporates all the oppositions and contradictions in the world. He forms light and creates darkness, makes peace and creates evil. He has mercy on his creations but also judges them. He executes and revives, crushes and heals, strikes and cures.35

Because God has contradictory attributes, finding textual inconsistencies in His Torah is eminently reasonable. Regardless, there is no need or even possibility to resolve such contradictions. One must rather strive to understand the contradictions between passages because they reflect the contradictory attributes of God Himself: It follows that we should not be surprised that the Torah contains many passages that contradict each other. Furthermore, we could have anticipated such contradictions a priori. None of these contradictions require resolution, nor is resolution possible; for they derive from the contradictions between God’s attributes. These contradictions are nothing less than the supernal expression of God’s unity. However, while we have no ability to resolve these contradictions, we are obligated to understand their meaning. For two contradictory passages express two ideas originating in God’s attributes. We must determine the nature of each one of these two ideas and define the difference between them.36

We can use this principle to understand the two creation accounts in Genesis. Here Breuer explains his system clearly: For when the Giver of the Torah wrote the first account, He assumed the attribute of judgment. Therefore, He could only describe the creation of 35 Ibid., 12. 36 Ibid., 13.

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine the world in the sequence that accords with this attribute. For this reason, He narrated that vegetation preceded man and that man and woman were created together—for only this sequence accorded with the attribute of the name Elohim. Within the framework of this attribute the world could only be created in this sequence. However, when He wrote the second chapter, He assumed the attribute of mercy and described the creation of the world according to the sequence corresponding to this attribute. For this reason, He recounted that man preceded vegetation, and that man was created before woman. For this was the only sequence that accorded with this attribute.37

Breuer goes on to explain why God wrote the Torah in the language of man. When humans wish to compose anthologies comprised of the writings of different authors, they copy the words of their sources ad verbatim and place different sources next to each other. The writer of the Torah, God, did the same. Here we arrive at the height of Breuer’s fantasy: The Giver of the Torah found within His hidden strength some books which He had written with different divine attributes. From these He copied the Torah: “in one book He found thus, in another book thus, and as He found it, so He copied, for He did not wish to change.” Originally, He wrote the book with black fire upon white fire. Afterwards He dictated it to Moses our teacher at Mount Sinai so that He could write it in a book with ink. This is the book of the Torah which the Jews transmit from father to son, rabbi to student, from first generation to the last.38

From all these assumptions, Breuer arrives at a conclusion that frankly defies imagination: From everything described thus far, it is clear that the two tales of creation did not wish to recount how the world was created in reality. Rather they wished to describe the sequence of creation that corresponds to the name Elohim on the one hand and that which corresponds to the Tetragrammaton on the other. Nevertheless, we see that both stories speak in the past tense, as if recounting events that transpired. For within the framework of that 37 Ibid., 14. 38 Ibid., 14–15.

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Between Religion and Reason divine attribute, this is the way and the sequence in which things ought to have transpired. Therefore, they are viewed as if they [actually] transpired in this order. However, while the Torah does not desire to recount what took place in reality, there is a direct connection between what the Torah recounts and that which did occur in reality. However, this connection is the opposite of that which is implied by language. The Torah does not write how the world was created. To the contrary: the world was created according to that which was written in the Torah. We have learned this already from the teachings of the Sages. They already said that the Torah was the blueprint for creating the world. And just as a builder builds a house according to the blueprint drawn by the architect, so too did the Creator create the world according to the program which He found in the Torah. And because He found two contradictory stories about the world’s creation—one according to the attribute of Elohim and the other according to the attribute of the Tetragrammaton—He was required to create a compromise between these two stories and express both: for example, the vegetation reached the edge of the ground before man was created but emerged from the ground after he was created. Thus, each one of the divine attributes was expressed in part—though neither one was expressed in full. This is what the Sages refer to as the cooperation of the attributes of mercy and judgment. This cooperation is not written explicitly in the Torah. Rather it emerges automatically from the fact that the two contradictory accounts of creation are written in the Torah next to each other. We thus understand automatically that the Creator implemented both stories at once, and this could only be done through compromise. For only compromise can lead to cooperation between two divine attributes that in their most extreme forms contradict each other. They can only be reconciled if they make concessions to each other, allowing them to coexist.39

These compromises were explicated by the Sages in the midrash and the Oral Torah. Thus, the peshat of Scripture presents things as they were intended by individual attributes. The midrashic readings of the text demonstrate how things unfolded in actuality: We can thus define the difference between the peshat of Scripture and that of its midrash. The peshat of Scripture expresses the intention of the Giver 39 Ibid., 15. For a more elegant formulation, see his later work Limmud Hatorah Beshitat Habehinot, 14–15, 19–21.

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine of the Torah within the framework of each one of His holy attributes. It always corresponds to what the text expresses in the language of man. By contrast, the midrash expresses the practical application of contradictory divine attributes, and generally does not correspond to what the text expresses in the language of man.40

Breuer emphasizes that the same exact principle applied here to the narrative portions of the Pentateuch applies to contradictions between different biblical laws. Thus, for example, he explains that the different sets of slavery laws, discussed in various contradictory passages, also derive from different divine attributes. The compromise lies in the midrashic readings of the Sages: Therefore, we can maintain both only via the method of compromise which causes the divine attributes to cooperate. And if we wish to fulfill that which we find written in the Torah, we must remove the text from its peshat and interpret it through the method of midrash.41

Breuer adds that in most cases, the contradiction does not emerge from consecutive, discrete passages. Rather the Torah combines the texts of both accounts, weaving them into a single story: for example, the flood narrative and the sale of Joseph. Thus, doublets and contradictions pervade the verses of the story throughout. In such cases the exegete should strive to separate verses from each other until he has two narratives recounting analogous stories—each one reflecting a different mode of providence. These will undoubtedly contradict each other in a number of respects. Thus, the narrative will be interpreted three times. Once according to one mode of providence, a second time according to a second mode of providence (the theoretical peshat, the language of men) and a third time by combining the first and second readings by employing concessions and compromises (practical midrashic reading, the depth of Scripture’s peshat): “This narrative embodies the cooperation of two contradictory modes of providence, this is the tale that took place in reality. It does not, however, correspond at all to the peshat of the passages that recount them; it can only be accepted using the method of midrashic reading.”42 40 Ibid., 16. 41 Ibid., 16–17. 42 Ibid., 17; Shiloh, Yahadut Qiyumit, 49–57, shows that even if one investigates Breuer’s specific interpretations, the system fails to stand up to criticism.

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In summary, in Breuer’s fantastical world, divinity is dialectical—an idea he expresses in the language of kabbalistic theosophy and sefirotic layers. It follows that dialectic inheres within the Torah as well, and to some extent in the mind of the believer. The midrashim of the Sages, which in Breuer’s opinion resolve contradictions and represent the deeper significance of the peshat— what took place in reality—he reads literally. They are not a metaphor, lesson, or abstract idea. Thus, it is clear to Breuer that the texts of the Torah were originally written in heaven in separate books and by different divine attributes, each one being written according to the mode of providence embodied by that attribute. When the Creator wished to create the world, he read the various blueprints prepared by His own attributes and fused them together, employing synthesis and compromise, creating a plan that could be implemented while incorporating elements of both. When He wished to give the Torah to the Children of Israel, He collected and redacted passages from these separate books into a single work but without changing its constituent texts. This anthology was written with black fire on white fire. God then dictated to Moses the narrative and halakhic texts, including contradictions, to teach Moses and the Children of Israel the ideas and intentions that inhere in each mode of providence. At the same time, God gave them the Oral Torah, the midrash of compromise, so that Moses and Jewish sages after him could use the thirteen hermeneutical principles to understand what actually took place and how one should implement Halakhah in practice. Consequently, the dialectical tension in the divinity and the Torah is resolved by the Giver of the Torah Himself. All passages are united in the midrash just as all passages originally derived from a single supernal divine source. In his last book dedicated to this system, Breuer summed up his position as follows: “the two passages indeed contradict each other but are nevertheless both true. This is, however, nothing but a partial monolithic truth reflecting but one attribute. The complete truth will be found only by combining all truths. Only this is the truth of the Torah.”43 By contrast, within the inner world of the religious believer, there is no significant dialectical tension and contradictions are only superficial. On the one hand, the believer receives from God through the Sages the synthesis of the Torah. On the other hand, the believer adopts a transcendental approach that resolves all contradictions between revelation-faith versus science-philosophy. This is because these are two separate parallel worlds. The believer chooses the world he prefers and selects his own truth. Nevertheless, he understands that 43 Breuer, Limmud Hatorah Beshitat Habehinot, 29.

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine

full proximity to God can only be achieved in an eschatological future. Until then he must content himself with judgment sweetened by mercy.44 Breuer maintains that until his time, Jewish exegetes treated the Torah as the word of God. Because of its contradictions they interpreted it as representing a godly language and thus failed to describe Scripture’s peshat. Non-Jewish scholars by contrast, due to error or wicked heresy, ascribed the Torah to man. Thus, while they do present its peshat, they fail to understand the deeper significance of it, its indication of how events actually transpired and how one should act halakhically—all of which are contained in the Midrash. Breuer essentially says the following: I am the first to understand that one must read the Torah as the word of God transmitted in the language of man, presented as an anthological text, the deeper meaning lying in the midrash—also the word of God, but transmitted orally. God concealed his true intention within the text in so convoluted a way that no one before me successfully understood it. Only I have understood how to decode the Torah and explain to others how it ought to be read.45 In 1999, Breuer published a short response to an admiring piece written by Amnon Bazak about the method described in Breuer’s book Pirqei Bereshit. Bazak writes that the main novelty in Breuer’s system is that the midrash describes what truly happened in the narrative portions of the Torah; the midrash is not limited to dictating the practical application of Halakha. According to Bazak, this approach has precedent in the words of Rabbenu Peretz, one of the Tosafists. Breuer, who regarded Bazak’s article favorably, immediately responded. He argued that in actuality nothing he said was new. This was a well-known fact of halakhic exegesis and all he did was apply it to the narrative portions of the biblical text: 44 At a symposium held in honor of Breuer’s 70th birthday, one of the speakers Moshe BarAsher said the following: “Rabbi Breuer is the man of dualities, the man of contradictions and oppositions, strewn between two worlds that by their very nature conflict with each other—on the one hand seeking the peshat and the scientific truth, on the other hand [imbued] with unrestricted faith in the divinity of the Torah—offering his own path.” See Bar-Asher, “Harav Mordechai Breuer.” It should be emphasized how far and how antithetical Breuer’s fantastical theory about the origins of the Oral and Written Torah is compared to the equally fundamentalist approach of his great-grandfather, Samson Raphael Hirsch. Hirsch maintained that the Oral Torah was first given to Moses. Subsequently Moses was given the written text of the Torah as a brief code-book, a tool to be used by him and subsequent sages to learn, memorize, and recall the laws of the Oral Torah. See Chamiel, The Middle Way, vol. 1, 258–264. 45 See M. Lichtenstein, “Ahat Dibber Elohim: Shtayim Zu Shamati?” in Shitat Habehinot shel Harav Mordechai Breuer, ed. Y. Ofer (Alon Shvut, 2005), 322, who expresses his disbelief at Breuer’s megalomaniacal and pretentious assertion.

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Between Religion and Reason Thus, the Torah states, “an eye for an eye.” This verse indeed describes what must be done “in actuality and reality”—as long as it is interpreted according to the midrashic way. Conversely, if it is interpreted according to the peshat, then it describes what ought to be: one ought to blind the eye of he who has blinded another. The [same principle] applies to the narrative portions of the Torah. Genesis 1 and 2 describe what happened “in actuality and reality” so long as it is interpreted according to the midrashic way. Man was created after vegetation emerged from the ground. Until that point the vegetation only reached the ground’s edge. Conversely, if these verses are interpreted according to their peshat, they describe what ought to have taken place: in accordance with the attribute of judgment, vegetation should have preceded man; in accordance with the attribute of mercy, man ought to have preceded the vegetation. Is there really any problem here? Yes, there is. He who believes that the peshat is the “correct” or “true” interpretation of the Torah, will find it difficult to believe that the peshat does not describe what took place “in actuality and reality.” This is the method of the Sadducees and Karaites. The true believers of Israel believe that the peshat and the midrashic meaning both provide the true and correct meaning of the Torah. The midrashic readings describe what was done in actuality and reality; the peshat readings what ought to have been done. This is well known and universally agreed upon as far as the Torah’s halakhic sections are concerned; my aspects theory merely transferred this to narrative sections. And therefore, where is the problem and where is the innovation?46 46 M. Breuer, “Hapeshat, Haderash Vehametsiut: Teshuva LeAmnon Bazak,” in Shitat Habehinot shel Harav Mordechai Breuer, ed. Y. Ofer (Alon Shvut, 2005), 299–300. A fitting response to this fundamentalist attitude toward the dissonance between the law of the Torah and the teachings of the Sages regarding the words “an eye for an eye” was provided in Jacob Levinger’s discussion of Maimonides Guide of the Perplexed III, 41. Maimonides there claims that the matter entails a secret that should not be written. According to Levinger, Maimonides believed that “an eye for an eye” was indeed practiced literally in the time of Moses. However, because according to Maimonides there is no ideal law that applies to all eras, and because the Oral Torah is not static but rather constantly evolving, the Sages are allowed to limit biblical laws and issue timely rulings. Thus, the original meaning of the commandment was abrogated, and a new ruling was accepted. This is the position delineated in the talmudic tradition. Breuer’s system corresponds to Narboni’s interpretation of Maimonides. Narboni distinguishes between the ideal law of the Torah and its practical application by the Sages. This approach is dismissed by Levinger as unlikely; there would be no need to hide such an approach from the masses. See J. Levinger, “Maamada shel Hatorah Shebikhtav Bemahshevet Harambam Ketsiyun Derekh Didaqti Bishvilenu,” in Hamiqra

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine

I believe that one of the most important differences between the approaches of Isaac and Mordechai Breuer lies in the claims being made here. Isaac Breuer consigned the dialectical process to the realm of Halakhah. There one must make determinations between different and contradictory opinions so that an observant Jew will be able to observe Halakhah in practice. Astonishingly, Mordechai acts as if transferring this impressive dialectical process into the narrative portions of the Torah—and thus concluding that it is the midrash, not the peshat, that recounts what truly happened in the past—is trivial and self-evident. I think that Bazak was correct in arguing with Breuer on this point. Breuer’s approach entails a significantly innovative approach that is frankly unacceptable. Seven years later, in 2005, Breuer published a new article in a collection that contained his own articles and critical responses from other scholars. There, he once again describes how the Torah was written by God. This portrayal is somewhat more moderate than its previous iterations, omitting several elements but, at its core, remaining unchanged: God sought to write a book that would express all of His holy attributes and reflect all the ideas and thoughts of His heart. However, the attributes of God are many, and some self-contradictory. Therefore, He began by writing books that would be used as the drafts of the Torah. Thus, for example, in one book He described the creation of the world as it appears to the eyes of a natural scientist. In a second book, He describes the creation of the world as it appears in the eyes of a poet. In a third book, He described the creation of the world as it appears in the eyes of a man torn between the spirit yearning to ascend up high and the desire of flesh and matter. Afterwards He incorporated all these accounts into the Torah, describing the creation of the world as it truly was—a world that is ruled by blind nature yet is full of poetry and meaning. Within this world, man walks about, a creature but one step below God, but nevertheless seemingly controlled like an animal by the base temptations of his inclinations. This Torah was written in black fire upon white fire, 974 generations before the world or man were created. [...] The sources of the Torah express two contradictory truths, each one containing only a partial, univocal truth. Afterwards, the redactor of the Torah combined these two truths into a single one; only it is completely Veanahnu, ed. U. Simon, Tel Aviv 1979, 127–128 reprinted as “Torah Shebikhtav Vetorah Shebaal Peh,” in Harambam Kefilosof Ukeposeq ( Jerusalem, 1990), 63.

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Between Religion and Reason true. [...] Were it not for science [Bible Criticism], we would think that the Torah expresses one truth, which, due to its univocality, cannot be anything but a partial truth. Only thanks to science do we know that the Torah expresses all the partial and univocal truths and that the only way to express the complete truth is by combining these.47

Two elements present in Breuer’s earlier discussions, have been omitted here: first, the importance of God’s attributes, each one writing a book corresponding to its own mode of providence. Here Breuer claims that God wrote different drafts that would express His attributes and prepare the way for the Torah itself, a book which combines all these descriptions into a single comprehensive truth. The second: the midrash as describing what happened in actuality. These may be conscious omissions, or perhaps the consequence of paraphrase. Regardless the principle is fairly clear. I do not consider Breuer’s approach a reasonable one. We, modern religious mortals, do not live—and cannot live—in a world of prophecy and miracles paralleling the more familiar world of phenomena. One who is not a kabbalist cannot accept the assertions of theosophic Kabbalah regarding the layers and contradictions within the divine. The midrashim and aggadot of the Sages are, in my opinion, important metaphors and parables for studying wisdom and ethics—they are not meant to recount what truly took place in the past. I try to glean the peshat of the text from the historical and literary context of Scripture. It is entirely unimportant to me if the theophany at Sinai truly took place as a real historical event in time and space. I strive to observe the laws of the Sages, not because their midrash halakhah transmits the peshat of Scripture, showing how the laws must be carried out in practice. Rather, I accept the authority of the remarkable ancient sages of Israel who sanctified the Written Torah, who reconciled contradictory texts with their reason, who based their laws on Scriptural sources, and who sometimes even legislated against the biblical text for worthy purposes. Furthermore, Bible Criticism discusses more than just two documents. If so, how many drafts of the text did the Giver of the Torah find in his “hidden strength”? Which divine attributes are embodied in the Priestly and Deuteronomic texts? Breuer, without ever having been appointed to the task, gives “grades” to the religious believers of our time,

47 M. Breuer, “Limmud Torah Hashem al pi Biqoret Hamiqra,” in Shitat Habehinot shel Harav Mordechai Breuer, ed. Y. Ofer (Alon Shvut 2005), 184–185.

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine

determining who is a Sadducee or Karaite and who, in his opinion, should lead the true believers of Israel. This is improper, and his word is not our guide.

Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer Isaac Breuer (1883-1946) was born in Pápa, Hungary. His father Shlomo was Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch’s son- in-law. Upon Hirsch’s death in 1883, Shlomo Breuer was appointed rabbi of the Jewish community in Frankfurt. Isaac received his primary education at Kehal Adat Yeshurun, the school founded by his grandfather, and afterwards studied in the yeshiva founded by his father in Frankfurt where he received his rabbinic ordination. He went on to study history and philosophy in various universities and was particularly influenced by the philosophy of Immanuel Kant. He also studied the epistemological theories of Leibniz, Schopenhauer, and Kant. Breuer ultimately decided to study law with a focus on legal philosophy. He was certified as a lawyer and received the title doctor of law. From 1913 he worked as a lawyer in Frankfurt. In 1936 he immigrated to Palestine. In 1912 he served as one of the leaders of Agudat Yisrael in Germany. Upon his immigration he was publicly active as part of the Poalei Agudat Yisrael. He was a staunch opponent of secular Zionism, and envisioned Israel as a halakhic, fundamentalist, and messianic state.48 In 1940 he retired from public life and returned to practicing law. Among his most important works are his Hakuzari Hehadash published in 1934 and Moriah published in 1944. Having fully explored Mordechai Breuer’s views, I wish now to go back to the end of his first article. There he explains the difference between his uncle Isaac Breuer—from whom he learned the transcendentalist approach that constitutes the basis of his system—and other German-Jewish thinkers such as David Tzvi Hoffmann. He begins by noting that his uncle, following in the footsteps of Kant, drew a broad distinction between the realm of intellect in the natural world (the world of phenomena), and the realm of faith in the world of miracles and the supernatural (the world in itself). He proposed this as a comprehensive solution to the tension between science and religion: If I may, I would like to begin by discussing the system of Dr. Breuer. I will mention first that the problem of Bible Criticism, to the extent that 48 On this position, see E. Schweid, “‘Medinat Hatorah’ Bemishnato shel Yitshak Breuer” in Hashiva Mehadash ( Jerusalem, 1991), 117–139.

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Between Religion and Reason it is an exegetical problem, was solved by Dr. Breuer with the same clarity and clear mindedness that is featured throughout his thought. Anyone who studies his book Hakuzari Hehadash (see ibid., 325-335 [290-299]) will be amazed before the wonder of this analytical edifice, how he uses razor sharp logic to separate the realm of intellect (which views both the world and the Torah as nothing but the product of prolonged evolution) from the world of supernatural faith (which sees in both a miraculous and inimitable act of creation). We thus learn that Bible Criticism cannot by its nature contradict the belief in the Torah’s divinity—just as the natural sciences cannot contradict the belief in the creation of the world. Every science is based on the postulate that nature is eternal and preexistent. This is only an axiom and it cannot be proven or disproven scientifically.49

From here Mordechai Breuer goes on to show how his uncle used this approach to resolve the textual-contradictions identified by Bible critics. Using Kantian 49 Breuer “Emuna Umadda,” 21; Rosenberg, Torah Umadda, 40–42, coined the term I use here: transcendental approach. Mordechai Breuer quotes from the letters of his uncle very briefly. I therefore think it appropriate to quote some further passages in order to demonstrate the great influence of the uncle on the nephew. Discussing the similarly between the creation of the world and the Torah, both of which can be examined from a Kantian perspective, i.e., the demarcation between the phenomena and the world-itself lying beyond reason, Isaac adds: “But its creation-like ‘givenness,’ which can only be derived from the Torah-in-itself which is removed from our perception, has to remain completely unscathed. The Torah is a revelation in words just as nature is a revelation in conception. In the latter, as in the former, the revelation lies in the ‘givenness.’ [See S.R. Hirsch, The Nineteen Letters of Ben Uziel, trans. by Bernard Drachman (New York; London, 1899) letter 18, 194, n. 1.] The Torah represents for biblical criticism, which lays hands on the word, not the revelation of the word but the word pure and simple. Also, the natural scientist would not leave nature unscathed—viewing it as it is and shying away because of the shortcomings he supposes are present. The Torah bothers just as little about the Bible critic as nature does about the natural scientist. [...] The “I” is not the creator—“I” of Torah, but only the “I” which both perceives it and is addressed by it. In both cases an untouchable ‘givenness’ is evident. [cf. Hirsch, Exodus 19:13]. In both cases the ‘givenness’ is the boundary of perceiving reason. This ‘givenness’ is creation. The creation of the Torah joins the creation of the world. The revelation in words joins the revelation in deeds. [...] There exists just as little agreement of the Bible critic and the Jew of the Torah as there is agreement of the solipsist, who considers the world to be his dream, and the person who acknowledges an objective world. [...] But the world-in-itself is surely the world that is independent of the “I” and that exists outside the “I”—the world insofar as it is not my conception. [...] The Torah is not merely our conceptual cogitation of a special kind stimulated by a certain written text (Breuer, Hakuzari Hehadash, 290–294; translation based on I. Breuer, A Path of Judaism, selected and edited by Jacob S. Levinger [ Jerusalem, 1974], 244–249).

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine

terminology and distinguishing the world of phenomena from the things in themselves, Breuer explains that the findings of Bible critics are correct according to the world of science and nature. In this world one can study a text and comprehend it. However, ultimately the critics are mistaken. They deny the Torah’s divinity, that it comes from a miraculous supernatural source, and thus, they do not study the Torah as Torah in itself: Indeed, Dr. Breuer understood well that the simple-scientific meaning of the Torah points to the opinion of the Bible critics—precisely the way the scientific study of the earth indicates the view of the geologists: “Is there a contradiction between the wisdom of the Torah and this other wisdom? No! Without a doubt, the conclusions of Bible Criticism and the conclusions of the wisdom of Torah contradict each other. And indeed, here as well, it is not intellect qua intellect that is guilty. For the subject of Bible Criticism and the subject of the wisdom of Torah are completely different from one another. Just as the conclusions of the natural sciences are correct if we assume the preexistence of a [natural] “law,” so too the conclusions of Bible criticism (assuming they do not emerge from pure stupidity) can be correct, on the dual condition that the authors of the Bible were simple people, humans such as ourselves, and that the Bible does not contain the words of the living God.” (Moriyah, 175 [168-169]). However, while he reached his conclusion in the realm of natural sciences—and thus permitted scientific research for the purposes of practical lab work—he could not permit the scientific study of the Torah which had ceased to be “Torah.” For indeed, despite the seeming parallelism between the natural sciences and the science of Biblical studies—there is a profound gap between them: “With regards to the world, we may resign ourselves to the fact that we can only perceive it as conception. If, however, we possessed only the comprehended Torah, then we would not have the possibility of extracting from it God’s real will so as to give our lives the required shape.” (Kuzari Hehadash, 335 [296]). These words clearly show the difference between the two sciences. For nature, completely devoid as it is of religious meaning, it may be sufficient; for even within its secularity it fulfills its primary purpose—to serve man’s conquest and domination of the world. Nature is not obligated to be Torah! By contrast, the Torah must live up to its name—it must be “Torah,” that is, a religious teaching [hora’ah] to man from God, from Commander to his creatures. There is no value or meaning to a secular, scientific Torah that is subjected to research. For the Torah must

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Between Religion and Reason be studied as the Torah of God and not as [a product of] human culture; it must be studied as a miraculous creation and not as a literary work. It must be studied as [a text] captured from upon high in fire and clouds, and not as the handiwork of a series of generations and schools!50

Isaac Breuer goes on to ask himself how one can transition from “researching” the Torah using the methods of secular-scientific peshat (thesis) to “studying” the Torah as a divine document (antithesis). He answers that the mediation, the Hegelian synthesis, is accomplished via the Oral Torah, which draws down the true peshat of the Oral Torah from the supernatural world, supplanting the peshat originating in human intellect. Mordechai Breuer his uncle’s approach as follows: Thus, while Dr. Breuer admitted to the truth of criticism (in light of its assumptions), he sought the true and holy path of the Torah. The scientific Torah can be comprehended in secular fashion: it is written with ink on parchment. However, the Torah of Israel is the divine Torah, written with black fire on white fire; now, where is the transition from the secular Torah which is researched to the divine Torah which is learned? This is his answer: “The Torah of the spoken word forms the link between Torah-in-itself, the Torah of the written word, and comprehended Torah” (Kuzari Hehadash, 335 [297]). “The symbols of the Torah of the spoken word are not a written text, which our reason is able to interpret of itself. […] Its symbols are ciphers which can only be made out by our reason after having been per50 Breuer, “Emuna Umadda,” 21. The quotation from Moriah is from the Jerusalem edition 1954. In the updated edition, which I used, the quote is taken from Breuer’s discussion of Torah and science, see I. Breuer, Moriyah, Yesodot Hahinukh Haleumi Hatorati ( Jerusalem, 1982), 160-169. The translation of the quotation from Hakuzari Hehadash is based on Breuer, A Path of Judaism, 252. On the findings of the scientific study of Scripture see Breuer, Hakuzari Hehadash, 295. It bears mentioning that we see here how the Ultra-Orthodox stance of German Jewry has become both more extreme as well as more dialectic. Hirsch was adamant that the Torah is divine, that it cannot be studied with scientific tools, and that the exegesis of the Sages and the midrash Halakhah represent the peshat of the legal portions of Scripture; midrash aggada, by contrast, is not binding. However, whereas this leads Hirsch to completely reject the findings of Bible Criticism—and to even forbid the study of Scripture using philological or historical tools—Isaac Breuer is willing to allow their use under certain circumstances. Mordechai Breuer goes a step further and views such tools as ingenious and even necessary, enlisting them to resolve the contradictions in Scripture. In terms of the Oral Torah, Mordechai Breuer added that the midrash aggada reflects what truly took place in the narratives recounted by the Bible. For a discussion of Hirsch’s views on Bible criticism, see Chamiel, The Middle Way, vol. 1, 87–94. For his approach to the midrashei halakhah and midrashei aggada see ibid., 258–273.

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine formed by the Torah of the spoken word,51 and only insofar as God considered it necessary for the molding of the life of his nation” (ibid., 336 [298]). “The Torah which is nothing but comprehended is fundamentally not credited with any value of truth. Only Torah which is comprehended with the Torah of the spoken word is the Torah which we have correctly perceived for the purpose of our earthly active life” (ibid., 337 [298]). These are clear matters that have been stated with extreme consistency. The scientific peshat of the Torah is comprehended and it leads in one form or another to Bible Criticism. However, the Torah of Israel is a Torah of revelation, written with black fire on white fire. The will of the commanding God cannot be known except through the Torah from Heaven. The key to this divine Torah is transmitted to the Sages of Israel in the form of the hermeneutical principles. Thus, Dr. Breuer while admitting to the truth of criticism, and while identifying the world of the peshat with the world of Bible Critics—simply denied the religious legitimacy of the depth of Scripture’s peshat. The Torah has no holiness without the Oral Torah. The Torah can only be understood using the 13 hermeneutical principles. For indeed, every simplistic exegesis leads to Bible Criticism; there is no divine Torah, except through the principles transmitted by the Sages.52

Thus, Isaac Breuer killed two birds with one stone: he rendered unnecessary the laborious efforts of generations of scholars who sought to reconcile the midrash with the peshat of Scripture, while also contending with and accounting for the conclusions of Bible Criticism. The findings of criticism are the scientific peshat. The midrashim of the Sages are the divine peshat. Both Breuers believe that this was Hirsch’s opinion as well. In my opinion, Hirsch indeed believed that the midrash halakhah is the true peshat. He did not, however, think this to be so as far the midrash aggada was concerned.53 Likewise, Hirsch refused to grant the opinions of Bible Criticism any status or validity. Mordechai Breuer explained his uncle’s solution as follows: And thus, by identifying the peshat with Bible Criticism, Dr. Breuer was exempt, not only from contending with criticism—but also from the 51 The editor of the modern Hebrew edition suggests the following in a note: “cf. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch Exodus 21:1.” I agree. See at length in my book, The Middle Way, vol. 1, 258–264. 52 Breuer, “Emuna Umadda,” 21-22. Translation of citations from Hakuzari Hehadash based on Breuer, A Path of Judaism, 254 53 See Chamiel, The Middle Way, vol. 1, 102–104; 265–273.

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Between Religion and Reason exhausting [task of] reconciling the peshat with the midrashic reading. How many pens have been used, how many ink wells consumed by the great leaders of Israel in all generations in their attempts to reconcile the peshat with the words of the Oral Torah—Dr. Breuer dismisses all these with one sleight of subtle philosophy: “There exists no relationship between the Torah which is no more than comprehended, spirit of the spirit of those who comprehend, and the Torah which is comprehended by the Jewish nation, spirit of the spirit of God” (Kuzari Hehadash, 337 [298]). Rabbi Isaac Breuer’s method of exegesis is summarized in terms of its approach to Bible Criticism and also, in passing, to the hermeneutical problem of the peshat and the midrashic reading, in the following words: “Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch set up with ingenious clarity, right at the beginning of his literary career, the following maxim with regard to the Torah: ‘As Jews we must read it’54 With this maxim he dealt a blow of rejection to Bible criticism which freed him for the rest of his life from obligation of a discussion. Had we always understood this maxim correctly and taken it to heart, then we would have been spared many any aberration” (Hakuzari Hehadash, 337 [298-299]).55

Rosenberg in his book,56 citing passages from his writings, demonstrates that Breuer adopted the “transcendental” approach, an essentially Kantian view. Rosenberg explains as follows: Isaac Breuer began by elaborating how the scientific process operates; the Torah warns us not to be tempted blindly by the 54 Hirsch, Nineteen Letters, 13. 55 Breuer, “Emuna Umadda,” 22. Translation of citations from Hakuzari Hehadash based on Breuer, A Path of Judaism, 254–255. Isaac Breuer adds there: “The Torah of the spoken word contains the constitutive rules [the 13 hermeneutical principles], according to the application of which the Torah-in-itself can be “perceived.” Without these rules, without these laws which preform reason, a conceptual Torah comes into being which relates to the perceived Torah in the same way that the world of dreams relates to the world of reality. Again, the Torah which is perceived along with the Torah of the spoken word and its rules relates to Torah-in-itself as the world of conception we have perceived relates to the world-in-­itself.” (Breuer, Hakuzari Hehadash, 298-299 [ 337]; translation based on Breuer, A Path of Judaism, 254–255). 56 Rosenberg, Torah Umadda, 40–41. Rosenberg described the approaches of the two Breuers in another article which he entitled “Shnei Mishorim.” See Rosenberg, “Heqer Hamiqra,” 113-116 (reprinted 242–243). He explains there that Mordechai supplemented the approach of his uncle by introducing a dialectical process into his reading of Scripture. I show here that synthetic reconciliation through the medium of the Oral Torah can be found in Isaac’s thought as well.

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine

conclusions of this process when contradictions between the Torah and science emerge: The Torah warns us not to stray after “your hearts and your eyes.” For when we follow after our hearts and eyes, it is as if we commit adultery against God. It seems that the Torah itself has already considered the possibility of a contradiction between it and the conclusions of research conducted by our hearts and eyes. Know, that “our eyes” [refers] to our comprehension of the external world. “Our hearts” symbolizes the source of comprehending our inner world. Our outer and inner worlds are the subjects of science. The heart and the eyes are the scouts of intellect. The intellect processes that which is presented to it, for without such materials it is empty. The intellect processes its materials according to its own laws. And the processed material is called experience. The goal of science is to provide us with correct experience. And the human talent is to acquire correct experience which is the foundation of his dominion over the handiwork of God.

Now, when we find a contradiction between Torah and science, we must ask ourselves if this represents a true contradiction or perhaps one originating in intellect trespassing into domains where it has no place. Breuer’s answer is that in most cases, it is the second option. There are two worlds, the world of nature and science and the world of supernatural will. In the world of science and history, intellect is superior. However, in the world beyond history, the supernatural world of miracles and revelation, it is the commanding voice of God which rules; intellect disappears and falls silent: Therefore, in any contradiction between Torah and science, we must, before anything else, critique with faith [to determine] if the subject of the contradiction is between Torah and science or if intellect has been used to transgress a prohibition. Know that most “contradictions” are of this type. Take for example, the issue of free will. It is one of the foundations of Judaism. [...] Now, let us assume that science denies free will. [Would this be a] contradiction? No! [...] The doctrine of free will does not oppose intellect. Rather it was never handed over to intellect in the first place— just like the smell of a flower was not handed over to the ear, and does not oppose the ear, even though the ear screams out that it feels nothing. Were the ear to claim that smell does not exist, all would agree that this is ridiculous. The doctrine of free will belongs to human will and not to human

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Between Religion and Reason intellect. Human will must know that God gave it the power to free itself and overcome all those forces that seek to dominate it. Human will must know that if it does well it shall be accepted and if not not. And if hunger and poverty knock on its door, it must rule over them [and not steal] [even though] this is their desire. [...] The natural sciences deny the possibility of miracles. [Is this a] contradiction? [...] The true miracle is creation. And the Creator can strip nature of the sabbath robe given to it, suspending the laws of intellect. The natural sciences have no share in miracles. The natural sciences are correct when they say simply that according to their own methods of comprehension, miracles cannot be found. If the intellect sensed the ground open its mouth, it would find this astonishing. And indeed, it would not cease to study and investigate the cause of this phenomenon, for that is its purpose in life. The human intellect cannot bear hearing the voice of God saying, “let it be”—“and then it was.” Only if God gives humans a new tool to perceive His voice, can they see it. Whoever “sees” the voice of God proclaiming “let it be”—“and then it was” is, at that point, a prophet. [...] But as far as the natural sciences are concerned, the voice of God is silent. “Seek the Lord where he may be found” —he can be found in creation, in the Torah, and in the books of the prophets. He can be found in meta-history as well.57

In his book Hakuzari Hehadash, Isaac Breuer continues to discuss the contradictions between Torah and science. First, he asserts that in his view, finding a contradiction between these two disciplines is a challenge not to Torah but to science. The Torah is the thing itself, whereas science only deals with phenomena. Nevertheless, as a neo-fundamentalist,58 Breuer deemed it important to resolve the contradiction—to preserve the achievements of reason and science so that the Torah can be construed to reign over them: I do not consider Torah and science two equitable sources of knowledge. I believe that science must justify itself to the Torah and not the reverse. The supremacy of Torah over science is based on the fact that the starting point of the Torah is the things themselves, whereas science only presents their appearance. Therefore, faced by a possible contradiction between 57 Breuer, Moriyah, 167–172. The processing of phenomenon involving senses, emotion and intellect is taken from S. R. Hirsch, The Collected Writings, vol. 2, trans. I. Grunfeld, J. Miller et al. (New York, 1997), 141–142. See Chamiel, The Middle Way, vol. 1, 399–401. 58 On neo-fundamentalism in Hirsch’s thought, see ibid., vol. 1, 418–422.

Rabbi Mordechai Breuer and his Uncle Rabbi Dr. Isaac Breuer     Chapter Nine Torah and science, no problem is made for the Torah—only for science. Nevertheless, I am careful not to assume, without need, prematurely as it were, that there really is such a contradiction. I am certainly careful not to carve out a chasm between Torah and science for no reason. Human intellect, which is a tool of science, is the very same tool we use to extend the Oral Torah into the world of phenomena, which it is meant to dominate. [...] Furthermore, how can we turn the Torah into the fundamental principle of the world if we do not allow the Torah and our knowledge of the world to have a relationship with each other? We should not erect the royal throne of the Torah upon the shattered ruins of our understanding of the world. Domination assumes a relationship, it presupposes a dominated life. I approve of science just as I approve of life—because, neither in theory nor in practice, can I rob the Torah of its kingdom. But indeed: both life and science must be incorporated into the kingdom of Torah. In this kingdom, only the Torah truly rules, and the Torah does not tolerate, neither in theory or in practice, any other ruler.59

How then can we resolve the contradiction? Breuer answers as follows: the events that took place during the six days of creation belong to a realm into which intellect and science cannot tread. The world of phenomena (subject to the laws of nature as perceived by the intellect and science) began only on the first sabbath. The world of phenomena includes archaeological testimonies of God’s actions during the first six days of creation—including divine processes unbound by time or the familiar laws of nature: The Sabbath of God is the presupposition for man’s days of labor. However, by virtue of its right to rule, the Torah does not allow intellect to disturb the Sabbath of God. The Sabbath of God is the realm of intellect and its sciences. If [the sciences] leave this realm they will fail. Before the Sabbath of God were the six days of God’s labor. These six days lie beyond the realm of science. They do not concern the world of phenomena but rather the world in itself. The Torah demands that science remain cognizant of the limitations of its validity; it is only valid in reference to the Sabbath of God. If one accepts the Sabbath of God as a constant, then science is correct. If in truth the Sabbath of God was the only thing that had ever existed, without being 59 Breuer, Hakuzari Hehadash, 353. Hirsch by contrast believed that Torah and Derekh Eretz are equally important. See Chamiel, The Middle Way, vol. 1, 438–439.

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Between Religion and Reason preceded by the six days of God’s activity, I would have no objection to science’s conclusions regarding time. However, those six days of God’s labor not only created a primeval fog, from which evolved all things on the Sabbath of God, but also led to creation according to the careful premediated and eternal plan of God. [This continued] until its completion (“And [the heavens and earth] were finished”). Only in this state of “they were finished” according to God’s will, did creation enter into the Sabbath of God. No matter what efforts it exerts, science cannot locate and reveal the revolutions that God’s creation had to undergo according to the plan of God’s six days of labor. No conclusion of science can measure the revolutions that took place outside the framework of human time with the yardstick of human time. When the seventh day dawned, when creation assumed its sabbath-like manifestation, only then was that which has no beginning, end, or boundaries subjected to these laws, only then did creation—after the labor of the six days was completed, including God’s implementation of planned revolutions—arrive at its relative state of “they were finished.” However, for the researcher, from whom the things in themselves are hidden, these testimonies no longer show the revolutions of creation separated from human time. They are rather testimonies to the natural and organized revolutions of nature—and they must be organized. [However, in reality] these testimonies are insufficient to refute the six days of creation.60

Isaac Breuer it seems is correct about one thing: intellect has no place or status here. And indeed, his theory fails to stand up to the critique of human reason. The claim that the world that we know did not evolve or change ever since the beginning of its history (six thousand years ago), and that all developments took place as “revolutions” outside of our intellect and prior to history, fossils and the like being mere remnants of that world, is an unreasonable position. This is how Isaac and Mordechai Breuer built their transcendental approach—based on a Judaicized version of Kant and a distorted version of Hirsch—all with the goal of resolving the tension between religion and science. They also adopted the resolvable dialectical approach, drawing it from Jewish mysticism, using it to contend with the contradictions within the text of the Torah itself. This same transcendental approach is the basis of Rabbi Shagar’s method for resolving the contradictions between rational secularism and religious faith and he too relied on Kabbalah. I will discuss his view in Chapter Eleven. 60 Breuer, Hakuzari Hehadash, 354.

CHAPTER TEN

Professor Tamar Ross

T

amar Ross was born in 1938 in Detroit to an Orthodox Jewish family. Her father Elimelech Yerachmiel Itamar was a local community rabbi. She studied in a secular American high school and received her Jewish education from private tutors. In 1956 she immigrated with her family to Jerusalem. In 1960 she completed her bachelor’s degree in Hebrew Literature and Jewish History at the Hebrew University. In 1978 she completed her master’s degree under Isaiah Tishby. In 1987 she received her doctorate for her study “Moral Philosophy in the Writings of Rabbi Salanter’s Disciples in the Musar Movement” with Joseph Dan as her supervisor. She began teaching at Mikhlelet Bruria (Midreshet Lindenbaum) in Jerusalem. In 1990 she joined the teaching staff of Bar Ilan University. In 2005 she received a professorship at Bar Ilan University. Ross has published several books and articles on a variety of subjects: Hasidism, Mitnagdism, the Mussar Movement and the philosophy of Rav Kook. From a young age, Ross began to discern Orthodoxy’s exclusion of women from the synagogue and from Torah study, as well as the dissonance between the passive role played by women in religious-Jewish life as opposed to the equal status they enjoyed in the secular sphere. Despite these issues, her love and devotion to her Jewish heritage remained unscathed. During her university studies, she was further exposed to the confrontation between tradition and modernity, between Torah study and historical-philological analysis, and between religious and science, as well as the feasibility of revelation in light of modernist and post-modernist philosophies. In Rav Kook’s philosophy, Ross found a reasonable response that did not resort to apologetics. Later, Ross would once again discuss feminism’s confrontation with Jewish Orthodoxy, delivering two lectures on the subject, one in 1996 and the other in 1997. The first lecture was delivered at a feminist convention dedicated to the tension between Orthodoxy and feminism; it was later published as an article.

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The second lecture addressed modernity’s influence on halakhic approaches to women. This lecture, delivered at Yeshiva University, was bold, immediately elicited disapproval from the rabbis who attended, and was not accepted as an article. It was only published later.1 Ross’ book, Expanding the Palace of Torah: Orthodoxy and Feminism, emerged from these articles. It is a summary of her ideas regarding the conflict between these two domains and includes her suggestion for a solution. Ross penned a later, updated article on the subject, contributing it to a volume published by Beit Morasha in 2015 on the subject of the relationship between religiosity and biblical scholarship.2

The Dialectical Contradiction As mentioned, already as a young girl, Ross was aware of the contradiction prevailing between revelation and reason—at least as far as feminism was concerned. Later, as a university student, she realized that this dissonance extended to other domains as well. She concluded that a comprehensive approach was necessary. That being said, Ross dedicates the majority of her focus to the contradiction between feminism on the one hand and Orthodox Judaism and its belief in revelation on the other. Her words evince her dedication and loyalty to religious tradition. This is precisely what impelled her to find a solution that would preserve both poles while not resorting to apologetics—the practice of rabbis who preceded her in their attempts to resolve this conflict. Ross expressed doubts as to whether Soloveitchik’s approach should be regarded apologetic; Rav Kook, however, was certainly not. This is how she summarizes the issue in her most recent article: Beyond the usual difficulties: erroneous or fallible content {(do the Creation accounts really correspond to what we know about the Origin of Species?; how can we respond to the portrayals of empires, cities and other realia featured in biblical chronology that contradict the [findings of] archaeology and history in our time?) What about questionable morality? (the death sentence for the rebellious child; exclusion of women from the   1 T. Ross, “Modern Orthodoxy and the Challenge of Feminism,” in Jews and Gender: The Challenge to Hierarchy, ed. J. Frankel (New York, 2000), 3–39.   2 T. Ross, “Ortodoqsia Veetgar Biqoret Hamiqra,” Beeinei Elohim Veadam: Haadam Hamaamin Umehqar Hamiqra, ed. Y. Brandes, T. Ganzel, H. Deutsch ( Jerusalem, 2015), 242–288. This introduction is based on Ross, Expanding the Palace of Torah: Orthodoxy and Feminism (Waltham, MA, 2004), ix-xiii.

Professor Tamar Ross    Chapter Ten Temple service) or the evidence of external influences molding the text (early parallels to the biblical flood story in the Epic of Gilgamesh; the correspondence between the [biblical] commandments and the Code of Hammurabi). The final, and perhaps most damaging blow has appeared in the last decade in the form of hermeneutic theory and even computer science. [...] Feminist readings reveal that the Torah’s male bias is not limited to terminology but rather pervades the entire text. These issues} have problematized the very notion of divine revelation as verbal communication: —given that language itself now appears so pervasively rooted in a particular perspective and cultural bias, {can any verbal message, even one claiming the status of revelation, overcome limited cultural contexts and be defined as divine? Furthermore, the very notions of “speech” and “language” are rooted in the human condition and their unique mental processes and modes of expression.}3

Solutions Offered Ross notes the several heterodoxical solutions that have been proposed i.e., those that have forsaken, partially or completely, the notion of revelation. Mordecai Kaplan prefers to view revelation as a symbol for humanity’s discovery of religious lifestyles stemming from a religious impulse permeating man’s very being. Buber (and others who followed his approach such as Rosenzweig, Heschel, and Jacobs) proposed that the Pentateuch’s statements about God represent a human aspiration to restore and recover—as much as possible— true encounters with the divine. In other words, for Buber revelation is a dialogical encounter, comprised of elements both human and divine, the product of divine inspiration but not divine dictation. The traditional approach obviously   3 T. Ross, “Ortodoqsia Veetgar Biqoret Hamiqra,” 243. Ross’ Hebrew article appeared in an English version that same year: “Orthodoxy and the Challenge of Biblical Criticism: Some Reflections on the Importance of Asking the Right Question,” Journal of Modern Jewish Studies 14, no. 1 (March 2015): 6-26. Excerpts brought here are based on the English version. However, because in some places the Hebrew includes crucial insights absent from the English, I have translated these and incorporated them as well. They are marked by curly braces. It should be noted that Ross raises a similar question, albeit in different terms, in her discussion of James Kugel’s approach: “There is no denying that there are grave philosophical difficulties in claiming that the voice of a transcendent God erupted into the natural world. Any such claim would render the hearing of such a voice an empirical observation, independent of how it is represented in the human mind” (“Challenge of Bible Criticism,” 11).

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rejects such solutions and thus the problem remains unresolved: “Can traditionalists develop an approach to the Torah that acknowledges the naturalist explanations of Mordecai Kaplan without his reductionism on the one hand, while simultaneously appropriating the metaphysical claims of dialectical theology without succumbing to its selectivity, on the other?”4 Ross also broaches some of the proposals offered by Orthodox thinkers. She, however, rejects all of them as apologetics, attempts to avoid contending with the problem head on. These include the approaches of figures such as Rabbi David Zvi Hoffman, who subscribed to a form of “Torah Umadda,” fundamentalist Rabbi Mordechai Breuer who maintained that Scripture’s internal tensions were planted within the biblical text by God Himself; Professor David Weiss Halivni, who maintains that the Torah was transmitted in a complete state but its particular formulations were corrupted and destroyed during the First Temple era, only its laws being restored in the time of Ezra; as well as followers of Maimonides’ approach who maintain that anything problematic in Scripture is to be resolved through allegorical exegesis. Ross expresses doubt as to whether Rabbi Soloveitchik’s approach is more similar to that of Breuer or if it can be seen as a step forward into more daring territory. She tends to believe, in accordance with Soloveitchik’s general religious approach, that the second option is very unlikely, and I agree with her assessment. Another type of approach is that of Yeshayahu Leibowitz and his followers. They have adopted an Orthodox lifestyle. However, they maintain that the belief in the Torah’s divinity can be reduced to acceding to a single rabbinic insight: that the proper way to approach God is by accepting the yoke of the commandments as dictated by the Oral Torah. This approach does not speak to most believers and amounts to formalistic semantics and circular reasoning; it is not a real solution.5 Ross moves on to discuss the modernistic and post-modernist opinions of James Kugel, Norman Solomon and others who construe revelation either in minimalistic fashion or as a foundational myth that describes an event “as if ” it truly happened. Ross believes that these also fail to resolve the crux of the matter (or simply ignore the issue altogether). Needless to say, a religious life led according to such insights would be problematic.6   4 Ibid., 7. See Also Ross, Expanding the Palace, 187-189.   5 Ross, “Ortodoqsia Veetagar,” 245-255; idem, “Orthodoxy and the Challenges,” 7-10. See also Ross, Expanding the Palace, 190-192.   6 Ross, “Ortodoqsia Veetagar,” 255-270; idem, “Orthodoxy and the Challenges,” 10-16. As I said, I agree with Ross on Breuer and Soloveitchik insofar as their approach to the way

Professor Tamar Ross    Chapter Ten

Ross’ Suggestion Ross now turns to her own solution to resolve the dialectical tension between revelation, feminism, and Bible studies, as well as the broader tension between revelation and reason. Her words speak for themselves: A few years ago, I undertook an interpretive project that might be regarded as a first step in this direction. On the surface, my book [Expanding the Palace of Torah] was devoted to the challenge of feminism to belief in the divinity of the Torah. For me, however, feminism was merely an excuse and extreme case in point for addressing the larger issue of divine revelation altogether. Ultimately, my suggestion was that it is possible to maintain belief in the divinity of the Torah despite the feminist critique and other marks of human imprint, by breaking down the strict dichotomy between divine speech and natural historic processes. This task was facilitated by re-­appropriating three assumptions that already have their basis in tradition. The first assumption I drew upon was that if the Torah bears a message for all generations, its revelation must be a cumulative process: a dynamic unfolding that reveals its ultimate significance only through time. The second assumption was that God’s message is not expressed through the reverberation of vocal chords [...] but rather through the rabbinical interpretation of the texts, which may or may not be accompanied by an evolution in human understanding, and through the mouthpiece of history. History, and particularly what happens to the Jewish people—the ideas and forms they accept as well as the process of determining those they reject—is essentially another form of ongoing revelation, a surrogate prophecy. {As the Talmud states: if they are not prophets they are sons of prophets}.7 The third assumption (supported by contemporary hermeneutic theory) was that although successive hearings of God’s Torah sometimes appear to contradict His original message, that message is never totally replaced. On a the Torah was written and how to explain contradictions within the text. However, when it comes to the contradiction between religion and reason, Soloveitchik maintains the irresolvable dialectic approach while Breuer maintains the transcendental approach. I, therefore, consider Soloveitchik more daring in that regard. For a discussion of the differences between these two scholars see the previous chapter.   7 BT Pesahim 66a.

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Between Religion and Reason formal level Sinaitic revelation always remains the primary cultural-linguistic filter through which new deviations are received and understood. By blurring distinctions between the natural and the supernatural, the finite and the infinite, I contended that it is possible to relate to the Torah as a divine document without being bound to untenable notions regarding the nature of God and God’s methods of communication or denying the role of human involvement and of historical process in the Torah’s formulation. Such a view allows the religiously committed to understand that the Torah can be totally human {historically speaking} and totally divine {in terms of its origin, value and significance} at one and the same time. In my book, I applied the concept of cumulative revelation to the issue in question, suggesting that even the phenomenon of feminism—to the extent that it takes hold and informs the life of the halakhically committed, and that the community’s authoritative bodies manage to find what they believe to be genuine support for this emerging worldview in a new reading of Torah—might be regarded by traditionalists as another vehicle for the transmission of God’s word. Despite the new interpretation, the formal status of the original patriarchal model as an immutable element of the foundational Jewish canon is not supplanted or devalued, and its residual effects continue to function as a necessary prism for the achievement of greater moral sensibilities. {At the same time, however, we see in the revolutionary changes in the status of women, divine catalysts for a reinterpretation or definition of residual negative elements, catalysts that at times invert completely that which we could consider the original message of the text}. Similarly, our current brush with the profound challenges of biblical criticism might also be regarded as expression of the divine will, perhaps indicating that we have outgrown more primitive forms of spirituality—{the divine imperative borne of a status of small-mindedness [qatnut vezeirut] and are ready for a more sublime stage— {“wider pastures of knowledge and clarified emotion”}.8

Ross maintains that this idea of cumulative revelation, or more specifically the systematic way in which she has presented it, is essentially unprecedented in Jewish sources.9 However, when I first encountered her approach it struck me   8 Ross, “Biqoret Hamiqra,” 270–271. The quote is from Rav A.I. Kook, Orot Haemunah, ed. M. Gorvitz (Jerusalem, 1985), 74–75. See Ross, Expanding the Palace, 197–200; 210–212.   9 See Ross, Expanding the Palace, 200–201. Later in her article, Ross finds echoes of her approach in the writings of Rav Kook. Ross maintains that Kook’s view of the Lurianic

Professor Tamar Ross    Chapter Ten

as reminiscent of the philosophy of Nahman Krochmal (who was followed, with some changes in emphasis, by Rabbi Tzvi Hirsch Chajes). Krochmal also offered a solution to the dialectic between revelation and reason by proposing that revelation was not a single event taking place in the time of Moses. Revelation is an ongoing process that is manifest in the development of Halakhah by the Sages and their reason; they actualize those elements that were only revealed in potencia. However, upon a second reading, I began to doubt my initial assumption that the two approaches are so similar. According to Krochmal, who followed his understanding of Hegel, contradictions are resolved by deeper understanding, purifying both philosophy and Torah, and adhering to a middle path that eschews fanatical fundamentalism to its right and destructive and heretical criticism to its left. Such behavior will lead to the understanding that the contents of revelation and the statements of philosophy and science indeed represent two opposing poles—thesis and antithesis respectively. However, they are part of a greater truth (a synthesis) that one can reach if the two poles are sublated to a higher plane where they can be united. Thus, the contradiction is resolved.10 As I showed previously in Chapter 2, Rav Kook attempted this and failed.11 Ross’ proposal, can, it is true, be seen as an explanation of how Krochmal’s unification can be achieved: that is, how the tension can be resolved in practice. However, her text raises a problem. On the one hand, one can understand Ross as follows: the nature of the first revelation at Mount Sinai remains unchanged. However, subsequent revelations sometimes contradict it, and thus stand alongside it, comprising a contradictory, alternative truth. In other words, Ross views the dialectic as essentially irresolvable. We must live with two truths, that of traditional revelation and that of a revelation developing throughout history and manifest in the reasoning of the sages in each era. On a practical level, Halakhah must concord with the new message.

doctrine of tsimsum (divine contraction) represents a fusion of the kabbalistic system of Habad founder Rabbi Solomon Zalman of Ladi with that of Lithuanian mitnaged Rav Haim Volozhin: tsimsum does not denote emptying of the divine presence, a real space completely empty of divine presence, but rather the gradual concealment of divine presence from man. Kook thus bridged the gap between the world of God and the world of man and combined divine and human dialectically in his notion of cumulative revelation. It seems that Ross, who is otherwise a rationalist, also felt it necessary to use kabbalistic theories to contend with the contradiction. 10 See Chamiel, The Middle Way, vol. 1, 192–205; idem, The Dual Truth, vol. 2, 542–544. 11 Ibid., 493–498.

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On the other hand, one can also understand Ross’ approach as follows: she is including in her doctrine of human history all revelations, those of Sinai and those of the Sages. In other words, all revelations over the course of history may contradict their predecessors. We must accept and act upon the newest revelations, without abrogating the holiness of the earlier ones which will now be reinterpreted in a new light. Rabbis must strive to find allusions of the later, sometimes contradictory revelations in earlier texts; the halakhic community must accept these new approaches. In other words, the reforms Ross expects of halakhists are similar to the innovative rulings of the Sages when they read Scripture against the grain of its simple meaning—depriving earlier readings of any validity. This is a daring stance, pervaded by no small amount of optimism regarding rabbis. According to my first reading, the midrashim of the Sages originate from Sinai. They belong to the original traditional revelation, and thus we remain within the Orthodox camp. However according to my second reading, the midrashim, like Sinai itself, are but one stage in a process of historical, cumulative revelation and thus we have moved into the Conservative camp.12 12 In my earlier books, I have argued that Orthodoxy is more than just the public, organized struggle against modern secularism, enlightenment, and Reform led by believers in the Torah and the commandments; it also entails loyalty to the principle that the Written and Oral Torah are literally divine. I have used this insight to organize different figures into the different trends of Judaism that began to emerge at the dawn of the nineteenth century. Otherwise, we would need to include among the Orthodox: Nahman Krochmal, Samuel David Luzzatto, Zecharias Frankel, Heinrich Graetz, Yeshayahu Leibowitz, Eliezer Berkovits, Umberto Cassuto and several other Orthoprax figures. These figures, who were assiduous in their religious observance and struggled against secularism and reformation, nevertheless cannot in my opinion be considered Orthodox. None of them believed that the laws of the Sages recorded in the Mishnah and Talmud are divine. Cassuto did not even believe the Pentateuch was divine. It is important to note that after the Holocaust and the establishment of the State of Israel, the struggle between these different approaches was concentrated between Ultra-Orthodox circles versus all other trends, and the criteria of the struggle became far less relevant. By contrast, today there is a preponderance of religiously observant Jews who do not deem the principle of the Torah’s divinity a pressing priority. It does not guide their faith, to put it lightly. In my opinion, these people cannot be viewed as Orthodox in the classical sense. I include among their ranks, Abraham Joshua Heschel, Akiva Ernst Simon, Tamar Ross, Moshe Meir, Micah Goodman, myself and many others – primarily “enlightened” rabbis belonging to what is called Open Orthodoxy such as Avi Weiss and Benny Lau as well as Jewish studies academics. I greatly admire Ross’ attempt. However, it is not surprising to me that Modern Orthodox Jews in America were completely dissatisfied with her daring approach to the relationship between Halakhah and feminism. See Chamiel, The Middle Way, vol. 1, 6-13; idem, The Dual Truth, vol. 2, 446–447; Ross, Expanding the Palace, xiv-xvii.

Professor Tamar Ross    Chapter Ten

The fundamental difference between these two readings can be explained as follows: if revelation unfolds in a series of stages in different eras, then the contradiction is not permanent (an irresolvable dialectic) but rather ephemeral (a resolvable dialectic). The dialectic will be resolved when rabbinic rulings begin to correspond, guided by the hand of providence, to new views. In other words, the change in approach is foreseen and orchestrated by God through the medium of sages in each generation, in stride with human developments and public perceptions. By contrast, if the activity of the Sages belonged to the ancient and traditional revelation, then we have before us a dual truth—revelation versus reason—as I have explained.13

13 In her most recent article, “Dat Vehilun Beidan Post-Moderni: Hebetim Politiyim Veteologiyim,” Deot 79 (2017), 7, Ross writes as follows: “there is a new, interesting trend rising to prominence in the Israeli context that seeks to adopt religious and secular existence as two total systems without attempting to compartmentalize or reconcile them.” Ross presents the dual truth using terms such as “dual mentality,” “hybrid mentality,” and “post-­ secularism,” and pigeonholes Orthodox rabbis such as Rav Shagar and Rav Fruman into this approach. She does not, however, provide a clear answer to the questions I have raised here.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg (Shagar)

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av Shagar (1949-2007) was born in Jerusalem to a religious-Zionist   family. He received his education in the high-school yeshiva Netiv Meir headed by Rav Aryeh Binah and the hesder-Yeshiva Kerem Beyavneh headed by Rav Haim Yaakov Goldwicht. He served as the dean of Yeshivat Hakotel and afterwards participated in the founding and management of four educational institutions: Rav Adin Steinsaltz’s Yeshivat Mekor Haim founded in 1987, Beit Midrash Maale founded in 1989, and Prof, Binyamin Ish Shalom’s Beit Morasha founded in 1990. In 1997 Rav Shagar, in collaboration with Rav Yair Dreifus, established Yeshivat Siah Yitshak. There he developed an educational framework that corresponded to his own beliefs. His books were edited by his friends and colleagues. Six were published in his lifetime, among them the important Kelim Shvurim: Torah Vetsiyonut Datit Biseviva Post-Modernit, Derashot Lemoadei Zmanenu published in Efrat in 2005 and edited by A. Tzurieli. Of his other books, I will discuss here Luhot Veshivrei Luhot: Hagut Yehudit nohah Hapost-modernizm, Tel Aviv, 2013, which includes revised versions of chapters appearing in Kelim Shvurim. In his writings, Shagar sharply critiques religious Zionism for its contemptuous paternalism of secular Jews, treating them like ignorant children and claiming to understand their culture better than they do themselves. He also believed that religious Zionist and Ultra-Orthodox education systems fail to win the hearts of religious youths who cannot be divorced from the reality of the modern and post-modern world. These religious-educational frameworks fail to offer competent solutions to the contradictions between secular Zionism and religious Zionism as well as to the general conflict between science and religious faith. Shagar opposed radical and uncompromising forms of post-modernism but, unlike other Orthodox thinkers, did not fear embracing

Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg (Shagar)    Chapter Eleven

its more moderate counterparts. Moderate post-modernism does not deny the existence of truth and good per se. It merely states that these values do not exist a priori and are established by humans. Thus, these values are relativistic and not exclusive. Shagar adopts certain views of post-modernism but with a critical eye. He enlists elements of Kantian philosophy, mystical ideas (from Rabbi Judah Loew [Maharal] and Rav Kook), and Kabbalah and Hasidism (Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, and many others). Ultimately, he advocates a model akin to that which Shalom Rosenberg dubbed the “transcendentalist approach.” According to this approach—which has a Kantian basis but draws inspiration from post-modernism as well—our reality (metsiut) is paralleled by the spiritual world of the Real (mamashi). In this world, there is objective truth—as determined by the divine Torah and Halakah. This is the world of things in themselves, the world of providence and miracles. In our world, however, truth is subjective. It is determined by science, a discipline predicated on the perceptions of the human senses. We must live in both worlds concurrently despite the contradictions that prevail between them. This approach is similar to the classic dual truth approach in many senses albeit with some important differences. According to the “dual truth” approach there is only one world: the world of reality. In this world we must live with two contradictory truths to the best of our ability, realizing that only in a supernatural world—the world of God, a world in which we cannot live—can these truths be united In his book Luhot Veshivrei Luhot, Shagar dedicated a chapter to discussing the state of religious Zionism in a postmodern world. He introduces there the irresolvable contradiction, which the contemporary ideology of religious Zionism has failed to address. Its attempt to create harmony between conflicting realms is, in Shagar’s view, misguided. Moreover, in his opinion it has proven itself to be a resounding failure. The ideological harmony that religious-Zionists have tried to construct simply ignores contradictions; it essentially alienates people from experiencing the world. In some circles it even leads to forms of inauthentic messianism: We are presented once again with that same irresolvable dilemma faced by the national-religious believer in his quest for harmony. On the one hand, he feels, or would feel, empathy to large portions of the secular moral value-­ system; furthermore, he finds that [these values already] exist within himself. On the other hand, do not such values, and secularism itself, diametrically oppose his own beliefs? Is there no contradiction between the traditional

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Between Religion and Reason Jewish conception of redemption and that of Zionism which removes God from the picture? And this is but one example, and not even the most extreme. The national-religious solution is to provide a religious interpretation of secular values—to include the secularist within the religious discourse against his will. However, this interpretation does not allow for true openness. The national-religious person imbues universal values with religious dogma. In doing so, he prevents himself from understanding these values and is unable to accept them literally. [...] Ideology mends the rifts created by various contradictions. But there is a fly in the ointment. Quite often this comes at the expense of experience—of unmediated contact with existence. It is this sense of alienation that allows one to ignore internal contradictions. As Gershom Scholem used to claim, messianism is by its very nature anti-existentialist. It is therefore no wonder that messianism has grown more pronounced in certain sections of the religious community [in Israel]. It is a belief (in most cases, unfortunately, an insincere one) in the appearance of an ideal existence in which contradictions will vanish and the sought-after harmony will appear. In my opinion, the key to the rejuvenation of religious-Zionism, to extricating it from the straits in which it currently finds itself, lies in a comprehensive shift to its path—abandonment of its ideologies as well as its quest for harmony. In this sense, it is actually post-modernism, that approach that seems so threatening to us, that can open up before us new and exciting paths.1

Shagar goes on to explain that the ideological predecessor to this approach was Rav Kook—a theologian of the modern period, a time when many sought a unifying meta-narrative that would embrace all of existence and its contradictions. Rav Kook’s harmonious statements are met with incredulity in our time. They do not accord with the spirit of the age, the post-modern era, a time in which neither science nor philosophy believe in the existence of meta-narratives capable of uniting all oppositions. Instead of Rav Kook’s approach, Rav Shagar proposes turning to that of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov (as he understands it): Facing the contradictions that emerge from our lives as religious people in a modern secularized world, Rabbi Nachman offers not the quest for harmony from Rav Kook’s school,2 which very often leads, as we have seen,   1 S.G. Rosenberg, Luhot Veshivrei Luhot: Hagut Yehudit Nokhah Hapost-modernizm, ed. M. Zohar (Tel Aviv, 2013), 151-152.   2 Shagar, like many other interpreters of Rav Kook, understands his final position as one of successful reconciliation—despite Rav Kook’s claims in his writings that such reconciliation

Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg (Shagar)    Chapter Eleven to intransigence and [attempts to] coerce the contradictory poles [into unity]—but rather the spiritual ability to live in many worlds. It must be emphasized that this solution is not identical with the Orthodox solution prevalent among American Jewry: the complete compartmentalization of the poles of modernity and religiosity. Such compartmentalization comes at a heavy price: It creates a shallow and superficial religious personality. Rabbi Nachman could flourish within disputes and contradictions because he lived in a world of providence, a world of miracles, a world that could spiritualize the world of factual, uncompromising, causal nature and incorporate it into the softness of prayer. This, for him, is the meaning of the Land of Israel. The divine infinity can be realized in this world through life within multiple worlds. This, in my opinion, is fundamentally different from the compartmentalization which I oppose. Rabbi Nachman does not respond to contradictions by defining and delimiting the boundaries of each side—rather he creates a larger personality that can live in multiple worlds at once, allowing for dialogue between polarizing tendencies. This was what Michel Foucault described as heterotopias—the simultaneous existence of modern man within different and separate spaces.3

In other words, Shagar rejects the compartmental approach, identified here with American Neo-Orthodoxy, characterizing it as an invalid means of overcoming contradictions (and as we will see below, this is also how he understands Leibowitz’s approach). Instead, Shagar proposes, on the basis of the teachings of Rabbi Nachman, a “parallel worlds” approach. According to this, one must acknowledge contradictions but try to live in both worlds simultaneously. This is the transcendental approach as I will explain below. At the end of this chapter, Shagar explains the significance of adopting such a post-Zionist approach to contend with pressing contemporary issues: In a heterotopic world, one can identify with the Other of the left without losing one’s loyalty and sense of belonging to the right. The post-Zionist religious Jew can protect the beautiful and good Land of Israel, not only is impossible. See ibid., 153-154. I try to show (in the present book above and in a chapter dedicated to the issue in my book, The Dual Truth) that Rav Kook’s final position was the irresolvable dialectical approach. This was despite the fact that he spent his entire life trying to unite oppositions to no avail. See above Ch. 2 and Chamiel, The Dual Truth, vol. 2, 493–497.  3 Rosenberg, Luhot Veshivrei Luhot, 156.

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Between Religion and Reason as a “nature reserve” or a nostalgic tune. Alongside it will be preserved the Judaism of the shtetl, described well by Agnon in several of his stories. [...] One will be able to translate Judaism into a universal language while also affording it an internal and closed Jewish robe. The foundation of post-­ Zionist religiosity is not [a desire] to return to Haredism—although this is at least part of it. Its foundation is changing [the meaning of a] homeland: It is no longer a land, but rather the Torah. We are, however, referring to the supernal Torah, which transcends by far this Torah [of ours]—the latter being a specific and finite discourse. In this infinite Torah, the simple-understanding of the Land of Israel will retain its place of honor—there will be room to love the land—but room will also be made for the Diaspora. In such a world, one need not arrive at coherence. We can fulfill both worlds within ourselves, one alongside the other, without agonizing over our inability to unite them. This existence pertains not only to cultural and personal life but also to society and institutions. Thus, for example, in the case of the state [of Israel], the solution to the pressing issues, such as the treatment of Reform Judaism and the issue of civil marriage, lies in the separation of the political sphere, in which the principles of equality and freedom must reign, from the spheres of society and community which must be more Jewish and halakhic. The necessary conclusion is some separation between religion and state, accomplished in such a way that one can bridge the gap between certain moral values and Halakhah—a gap that cannot be traversed in the current climate. [...] This separation can allow a religious person to realize certain values in which he believes (such as feminism) within the political sphere—while recognizing that they cannot be completely fulfilled in the religious world, at least not without undermining the observance of Halakhah.4

In other words, according to Shagar, one can use his system of parallel but non-intersecting worlds to resolve problems and oppositions in the world of the modern-religious Jew—between left-wing politics and right-wing politics, between the Land of Israel and the Diasporic shtetl, between universalism and particularism, between Reform Judaism and Orthodoxy, between Halakhah and the principles of freedom, equality and feminism, and between religion and state. I believe that here Shagar is not being entirely coherent. He is proposing a barrier within reality itself, not one between parallel worlds. The division he   4 Ibid., 157-158.

Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg (Shagar)    Chapter Eleven

proposes is also not satisfactory. Do we not wish for full equality for women, LGBTs, Reform Jews and non-Jews even within the community? Are we not interested in a state that is both Jewish and not only democratic? It seems to me that fully implementing his system is not truly possible. One final question: Is it really possible to live in a parallel, supernatural, and miraculous world? At the end of his book, Luhot Veshivrei Luhot, in a chapter entitled: “My Faith: Faith in a Post-Modern World,”5 Shagar further fleshes out his approach: He begins by once again explaining in detail the contradiction between faith and science in the world of the modern believer: Our view of the world, as modern human beings, is dominated by science, which has created one of the most profound conflicts with Jewish faith. More accurately, the main problem is not the scientific worldview itself, but its hidden underpinnings which are steeped in values and basic premises that are at odds with, and fundamentally different from, religion. One example is the belief in a set of [causative] laws [of nature] that contradicts the belief in divine providence; another is science’s sense of dominating the world, which is fundamentally opposed to the sense of dependency that the believer is meant to experience.6

Because the conflict pertains to the very values and underpinnings of Judaism, Leibowitz’s proposed solution—the compartmental approach, the approach most commonly advocated by Modern Orthodoxy—cannot be accepted. Shagar describes Leibowitz’s view, referring to it as “the two-world approach,” explaining the price paid by its advocates, a price that he considers overly exorbitant: Thus, science cannot be presented as a neutral worldview with no bearing on the religious outlook, as Leibowitz tried to do. […] I like to refer to the prevailing modernist method of maintaining religious faith—in the face of the deep chasm between it and the world in which the modern believer lives—as the two-world approach. This approach establishes a boundary between the internal and the external, between one’s faith and the world in which one resides. On the face of it, the Torah belongs to a different   5 Ibid., 407–426. This chapter was recently published in English in S.G. Rosenberg, Faith Shattered and Restored: Judaism in the Postmodern Age, trans. E. Leshem, ed. Z. Maor ( Jerusalem, 2017), 21-39. The excerpts below are from this translation.  6 Rosenberg, Luhot Veshivrei Haluhot, 411; (idem, Faith Shattered and Restored, 25).

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Between Religion and Reason world, a world of values, and has no bearing on this one, where science reigns supreme. This is the mainstream Orthodox position. [...] At its core it is an attempt to fend off modernism’s criticism by isolating faith from the world and its values. It is an extremely dualistic approach. Leibowitz’s faith in a world that conducts itself according to the laws of nature, as described by science, was no less powerful than his religious belief. […] This is certainly a striking point of view, in that it accepts the yoke of the kingdom of heaven for the sake of heaven, while forgoing all the benefits and promises vouchsafed by religion. […] Yet the price of his dichotomous path is unbearably high. It pulls the rug out from under basic articles of faith—or, at the very least, strips them of their traditional interpretations — such as belief in providence and in the immortality of the soul, and even in the value of prayer. Since these beliefs contradict the scientific outlook, they are designated as norms of halakhic conduct and nothing more. For example, according to the traditional Jewish outlook, calamities are cue for repentance; however, the two-world approach is almost entirely divorced from the belief that calamities are caused by sin and that repentance can bring salvation, for neither sin nor repentance has the power to affect the natural order.7

Shagar goes on to explain his own view: two alternate worlds, both belonging to the realm of the Real (mamashi), exist. They parallel each other, lying on different planes and conflicting with one another. On the one plane is the world of faith, on the other the world of reality (metsiut). The modern believer chooses to live in both; only within God Himself can they be united. Post-modernism and mysticism lay the groundwork for such an approach and even advocate it: How then do I believe? How can my belief exist against a backdrop of modernity, and despite my criticism of a two-world approach? The truth is that I, too, favor a two-world approach. But I do not pit a world of phenomena against a world of ethics and practical reason; nor do I posit a scientific world and one of halakhic or moral norms. Rather, I speak of two worlds that are both ontologically real, even if each possesses a competing definition of reality. Moreover, as in the thought of Immanuel Kant, only God can unite them. One could divide the two worlds into the world of duality, in which we reside, and which science seeks to explain, and the world of unity,  7 Rosenberg, Luhot Veshivrei Haluhot, 411-413; (idem, Faith Shattered and Restore, 27-28).

Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg (Shagar)    Chapter Eleven which sustains faith. To my mind, these are parallel worlds, not unlike the parallel universes described in science fiction. Here we require a mysticism centered on various worlds existing side-by-side in multiple dimensions. Indeed, Rabbi Kook writes that mysticism is the heart of the religious world. Postmodernism, which also speaks of multiple worlds, may enable and perhaps even encourage such an outlook [...] The believers I wish to describe exist within a scientific causal system and are fully aware of their personal and historical conditioning, as well as of the evolution of the idea of faith over the centuries. In other words, they are cognizant of external— historical, sociological, and psychological critiques of religion; nor do they rule them out. Yet they choose to lead a stringent halakhic lifestyle. They do not ignore the contradictions; that would constitute willful ignorance. Rather they resolve to remain in both contradictory worlds that of reality and that of faith. [...] The world of faith, like the world of miracles, and like God Himself, is a different stratum of reality, [as Maimonides describes it:] “He exists but not through an existence [other than his essence].”8

Using this approach, Shagar goes on to explain his notion of providence which, while rejected on the real-scientific-causal plane, can be said to exist on the religious one—one that is just as concrete and important to the person living within it: My contention is that providence is evident not in everyday reality, but rather on the level of the Real. Instead of offering a competing model of cause and effect, providence operates on the hermeneutical level, requiring me to ascribe meanings to the things that happen to me. However, what removes any vestige of subjective interpretation from it is the level of the Real, where there is no external reality that I, as a subject, interpret, where reality and I are one. Everything that occurs in the world is a revelation of God that expresses something. God is not only an external supervisor, about whom we ask, “Why?” Rather, He is the vitality of all things, and the question we must ask is “What is He saying to me?” By facilitating a plurality of languages and perspectives, postmodernism can enable us in this context too, to exist in two worlds: the scientific causal world, on the one hand, and the world of meaning, which is also the world of faith and providence, on the other.9  8 Rosenberg, Luhot Veshivrei Haluhot, 414-416; (idem, Faith Shattered and Restored, 28-30).  9 Rosenberg, Luhot Veshivrei Haluhot, 421; (idem, Faith Shattered and Restored, 35).

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Shagar concludes by explaining why, in his opinion, one must continue to observe Halakhah, down to its finest practical details, even within our day-today reality: Despite all of the above, my faith is Orthodox. I believe in Halakhah and the halakhic lifestyle. Orthodoxy is a condition for maintaining the Absolute and its representation in our lives, bringing the Shekhina down into the lower realms, and elevating matter itself. Faith must manifest in one’s dayto-day existence. A genuinely religious life is predicated on a connection with tradition, on a sense of obligation to tradition that, to my mind, is the essence of Orthodoxy. In this context, I identify with the approach of Rabbi Kook, who, while asserting that Judaism is founded on esotericism, fully acknowledged that the word for the Jewish mystical canon, Kabbalah, literally means “receiving” and “tradition.”10

10 Rosenberg, Luhot Veshivrei Haluhot, 424; (idem, Faith Shattered and Restored, 38).

CHAPTER TWELVE

Dr. Moshe Meir

M

oshe Meir, writer, poet, educator and philosopher, was born in   Jerusalem in 1961. He wrote his doctorate at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem on the subject of Hermann Cohen. He has served as a Jewish educator in several institutions in Israel. His main area of interest is contemporary Jewish identity. His primary book on Jewish thought, Shnayim Yahdav, was published in 2012 in Jerusalem. Toward the end of the book, Meir portrays what he considers to be the ideal Jewish identity—one that he represents and which he dubs “secular-religious” (datit-hilonit) embodied by a secular believer (dati-hiloni). He explains that religiosity and secularism are world views of equal weight; neither one can fully prove its own veracity or refute that of the other. This is due to the boundaries of human reason and intellect. Given these circumstances, one could think that a wager is necessary, i.e., that one must choose between the two approaches based on personal leanings or according to one’s own traditions and heritage. Regardless, having decided, one must wholeheartedly adhere to a single stance despite the contradictions and uncertainties doing so may entail. However, as opposed to the accepted approach in epistemology that discusses a rift or vacillation between two poles in cases of uncertainty, Meir proposes a new approach: calm accommodation of both sides of the contradiction—religiosity and secularism—without making a determination one way or another: In my world view, religiosity and secularism are completely equal. They both seek to grasp being as it is. Both are aware of the limits of our perception that prevent us from achieving a certain picture [of the world]. Both are aware of the possibility of arriving at some boundary, from which one can advance only by making a gamble, a leap of faith. The wager is made according to one’s personal inclinations or based on the tradition in which the gambler finds himself. The consequence of this assumption is that both

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Between Religion and Reason pictures—religious and secular—are equal. Neither one has any advantage over the other. Yet despite both being equal in weight, the advocates of each view seize hold of their respective pictures absolutely. It is not a weak grasp, full of tremble-inducing doubt and uncertainty—even if at first glance this is precisely the case. This claim is one of the main methodological innovations of my book—one that does not correspond to the regular methods of apprehension. Therefore, I will reiterate: According to the accepted view, if there are two contradictory statements and a determination between them is impossible, one’s mind is thrown into a state of doubt. This situation includes an epistemological dimension alongside an existential and emotional one. One’s apprehension is cast to and fro between the two poles. It is torn; it trembles. It either remains in this state or extricates itself through the gamble, the leap of faith. This is not the case here. Here I have developed tools that will allow a calm existential disposition—as opposed to one that is tortured, torn, or stretched—a consciousness that accommodates both sides of the contradiction—in this case, both religiosity and secularism.1

Meir goes on to emphasize that the inability to weigh in favor of either religious or secular truth is an essential-existential problem. The answer lies beyond the bounds of our cognition and thus doubt is not merely a temporary state of affairs. Uncertainty is, in other words, objectively irresolvable. However, certainty can be found subjectively, and therefore secularist and religious believer alike can cast their hand and choose between (religious) secularism or (secular) religiosity. Afterwards they can live their lives to their fullest, unperturbed by vacillation, understanding that their world is a partial one that requires supplementation from the other side of the divide: The knowledge of whether the true picture is religious or secular, lies beyond the bounds of cognition. Not only do I not know, and not only will I never know—it is inherently impossible to know with certainty in relation to such a subject. Such circumstances justify a different set of playing rules. Here I determine and make the gamble of my life. I throw my entire identity behind it; my identity is the source and forge of my determination. I know that I will never know—I will never know if I was right or if I erred. I will never know if I lived my life in the light of a true determination, or if   1 M. Meir, Shnayim Yahdav ( Jerusalem, 2012), 166-167.

Dr. Moshe Meir    Chapter Twelve I wasted it for naught due to an erroneous one. The bounds of our consciousness rule out the idea that the riddle will be solved in the world to come. In such circumstances, in which knowledge lies beyond us, a fundamental shift takes place. The person learns to live with the conditions of uncertainty—not as a temporary state of affairs that is likely to change but rather as a permanent-existential state. This insight mitigates subjective doubt. [...] In this picture there is equality between religiosity and secularism, emerging from the existential uncertainty of our minds regarding the foundational questions of religiosity and secularism. The state of uncertainty results from [the fact] that man’s determination between religiosity and secularism is based on methods of determination in states of uncertainty—choice and wager. It emerges that both religiosity and secularism contain objective uncertainty. Nevertheless, because these states of uncertainty are irresolvable, they do not entail subjective uncertainty. Secularist and religious believer alike can live their lives to their fullest with a sense of subjective certainty. [...] Recognition of this boundary and [the fact that some] things lie beyond it, gives rise to a mentality of reconciliation. This mental compromise represents the internalization of the requisite incompleteness needed to allow the Other to serve as a source of supplementation. In the context of our present discussion, the religious believer in his religiosity and the secularist in his secularism are each aware of the imperfection of their own world as well as its boundaries. The religious believer understands that the secularist completes him. The secularist understands that the religious believer completes him. This insight contains pro­ found and unique layers of consciousness and far-reaching, practical implications.2

It is interesting that Meir so calmly accepts the boundaries of knowledge and our essential inability to unravel the riddle of which of the two options, religiosity or secularism, is true—yet at the same time refuses to accept the boundaries of human consciousness and does not agree that in another world, a divine world (“the world to come” as he puts it), the riddle can indeed be resolved. This kind of approach ignores the religious-supernatural elements of the secular believer. Regardless, Meir goes on to stress that, as far as he is concerned, religiosity and secularism are the only candidates for completing one’s world view.   2 Ibid., 168-171.

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He claims that these two ideological channels (rationalism vs. romanticism, intellect vs. emotion, secular vs. sacred) should be used to complement each other in the context of all human-cultures—not only within Judaism. This combination will foster mutual learning and a sense of comradery between the two truths: In our case, religiosity and secularism are the two main branches that constitute human consciousness, and which contend with each other over primacy. For this reason, they are the two primary candidates, and in my opinion the only candidates, for establishing this relationship of mutual complementariness. Their connection is neither temporary nor random. Their life stories endure and are intertwined. In real-life, religiosity and secularism are bound together. Therefore, learning of the other world and comradery between the advocates of each world-view is something that already happens and should, regardless, happen. [...] It is proper that the Jewish collective be comprised of Jewish religiosity and Jewish secularism, for these two groups complement each other. And more broadly speaking, for any human group—beyond the boundaries of the Jewish people—it is also befitting that it be comprised of religiosity and secularism. Such a picture of perfection fundamentally changes the “building”: the picture of being, the picture of man, and the picture of the Jewish person.3

Meir, however, does not simply seek to understand the circumstances of an irresolvable dual truth and to make peace with it. He is still bothered by the existence of two comprehensive yet contradictory world views and the issue of finding a place for both in a single person’s consciousness. Therefore, he tries to identify a means of reconciliation. His solution is to fall back on the mathematical principle that the laws of contradiction apply only to a finite series but not to an infinite one. In his view, religiosity and secularism are to be understood as infinite fields: It is only in the modern era that a simple solution has been found: The axioms are only valid in reference to finite series but not infinite ones. Using this methodological tool, we can propose the doctrine of two contradictory identities. The law of contradiction applies only to closed and finite definitions. If [the words] “religious” or the word “secular” were finite   3 Ibid., 171-173.

Dr. Moshe Meir    Chapter Twelve and closed, then there would be no way of extricating oneself from the law of contradiction. However, if we define “religious” and “secular” as open and infinite fields that move towards their intended Idea—then the situation is different. The law of contradiction does not apply to infinite fields; they can cohere with one another. This definition is not merely a game of formal-logic. It is rather a tool for accommodating a new type of life.4

From here Meir goes on to describe this new figure, the person who can accommodate both truths and overcome the conflict between them. On the one hand, this person is completely religious. In his emotions and actions, he is fully loyal to Halakhah. On the other hand, he is also entirely secular; he is free, and he creates his own values. This primary, archetypal identity can be subdivided into several secondary personality types: This personality type overcomes the law of contradiction in his real life. He breaches accepted mental boundaries. He is dati in the fullest sense of the word, both in terms of his religiosity as well as his being a man of Halakhah. His life is aflame with a love of God; he trembles in fear before Him. He aspires to implement halakhic concepts in both his private and communal life. Nevertheless, he is secular in the fullest sense of the word, both in terms the life he leads vis-à-vis Being as well as his formulation of his [own] values. He experiences the loneliness of humanity and the freedom it entails. He yearns to form and create his own values. [...] Within this personality type—the secular believer—two identities, religiosity and secularism, cohere together. Under this one archetype, exist a number of secondary types. There are many shades of full religiosity just as there are many shades of full secularism. Combining the two together yields even more primary and secondary colors.

How can one be fully loyal to Halakhah but at the same time freely create one’s own values? Meir offers the following surprising answer: The secular-believer has no Shulhan Arukh, and when his religiosity and secularism clash, he must make a determination using his own powers. For this reason, the [categories of] possible determinations can be further divided and subdivided. One secular believer faced by a dilemma, may   4 Ibid., 175.

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Between Religion and Reason determine one way, while his friend, who is likewise a secular believer, will choose another. It is clear that his detractors will criticize him for this. In their minds, bifurcation is a blemish; they think that it is the Shulhan Arukh of the classically religious person that represents their advantage over secular believers. But the secular believer himself does not fear multiplicity. It is enough for him that he and those with his identity share a common field. He is happy for the room that is made for his individuality. 5

In my opinion, this answer is insufficient and ultimately forces us to once again contend with the law of contradiction. Instances of conflict between religiosity and secularism (which are not few in number) are the test of Meir’s new personality type—a figure that is meant to overcome them. The idea of “gambling” in general but here specifically, is somewhat dangerous and even insulting. If, during moments of doubt, there is no Shulhan Arukh, then to which Halakhah is the secular believer fully beholden to? Upon what basis does he decide—and when does he does he decide to make free decisions (beherut) about his actions? How can one claim that this new personality-type is completely loyal to Halakha, yet at the same time claim that it is situated within an infinitely wide and open field? Does infinity lie within the grasp of our cognition or within the realm of God? These are, in my opinion, the weak points of Meir’s proposed solution, and they strengthen my assertion that no full solution for such contradictions exists in our world. The religious believer can certainly think that polar oppositions unite within a divine sphere—even if he knows that it lies beyond mortal reach, and even if humans are left without any practical solution. I prefer to humbly accept the limitations of human reason over attempts to offer solutions that are ultimately problematic. In private conversations, Moshe has explained to me that only in extreme circumstances does the Shulhan Arukh not dictate his actions. In all other cases, he is loyal to Halakhah and identifies as an Orthodox Jew who believes in a dual truth—in both secularism and religiosity. The problem is that Meir gets to decide which circumstances are extreme or exceptional; he reaches these decisions freely and creatively and I believe that such occurrences are not rare. Such moments of doubt are touchstones, not only for distinguishing heteronomous-religious morality from rational-autonomous morality, but also for the construction of a world   5 Ibid., 177-178.

Dr. Moshe Meir    Chapter Twelve

view on the basis of God, divine providence, the afterlife, and the triad of creation, revelation, and redemption. It is precisely what separates believer from atheist. I believe that Meir is the only one who would define such freedom as “loyalty to Halakhah,” a loyalty, which according to his own worldview, represents the backbone of his secular-religiosity. It is certainly not Orthodox Judaism as I and others define it. Meir has informed me that in his next book he will improve and simplify his system. In this revised approach the concept of Ein-Sof will no longer constitute an integral part of the solution. He wishes to claim that when one discusses identities, the law of contradiction does not apply. One can, therefore, be both secular and religious. Likewise, he admits that his religiosity (which he refers to as Orthodoxy) is indeed not the accepted one. It is rather a Kantian approach based on that of Hermann Cohen (who, according to all views, was not Orthodox). In my opinion, those who claim no contradiction exists, can no longer be considered advocates of the dual truth approach. Theirs is the compartmental approach—i.e., the view that the two realms represent two separate components of a single greater truth. Alternatively, it can be viewed as the resolvable dialectical approach in which a temporary or illusory tension is diffused, and, one way or another, united into a single truth. Regardless, from what we have said above, it seems that Meir accepts the dialectical approach. Whether it is resolvable or not, remains, as far as I am concerned, an open question. In Meir’s novel Qotz Vedardar, published in 2003, he seeks to contend with the attempts to mix religious believer with secularist. Yuval is a secular-believer, Idit purely secular. They entertain the possibility of starting a relationship and discuss with their friends its feasibility. As the discussion ensues, Yuval and Idit, who initially thought that there would be no problems, realize the challenges are far from simple. In fact, the possibilities of them forging a successful relationship are next to none. Their friend Yair, a lapsed religious Jew, forces them to face reality. Towards the end of their discussion, he turns to Yuval: “Will you get rid of your kippa?” Yair asked emphatically. “Of course not!” “Great. You’ve come up with a Zen contradiction. You’ll both eat from the same plate, but Yuval will eat from a separate one. You’ll sleep together, while Idit goes to the mikva, and doesn’t go, at the same time.”6  6 Meir, Qots Vedardar (Or-Yehuda, 2013), 82. The full discussion is on pp.77-83.

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As the discussion draws to a close, the full gravity of the tension becomes evident. Idit grabs a book of Psalms and begins to rip out its pages, throwing them to the air, claiming that she considers the book “spiritual,” not “holy.” Laughing, she turns to Yuval and asks – can it work? Yuval gives her a long stare and says nothing. Apparently, the reconciliation which can perhaps, in theory, be achieved in the realm of the infinite, cannot be implemented in practice without one of the sides giving up on his or her full ideology.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dr. Micah Goodman

M

icah Goodman was born in Jerusalem in 1974. He is a scholar of   Jewish thought, a Jewish educator, and serving head of Beit Midrash Yisraeli-Ein Prat. He wrote his doctoral dissertation at Hebrew University in 2005, dedicating it to the historiography and historiosophy of Maimonides and Nachmanides. To date he has written four books: Sodotav Shel Moreh HaNevukhim 2010; Halomo shel HaKuzari, 2012; Haneum Haaharon shel Moshe, 2014; and Milkud 67, 2017. My impression is that when it comes to the relationship between reason and revelation, Goodman identifies with Maimonides—that is, according to his own, unique interpretation of the Guide of the Perplexed. He attempts to demonstrate the book’s relevance for our own day and age. Goodman opposes the accepted portrayal of Maimonides as a rationalist in the strictest sense of the word, a philosopher who consistently used reason as the criterion by which revelation was to be understood (the interpretative identicality approach). As Goodman understands it, while the Guide of the Perplexed does critique accepted religious tradition, it attempts to undermine the authority of reason as well. Because true “knowledge” is unattainable, Maimonides seeks to teach the quality of “perplexity.” One who understands perplexity as a virtue, has a chance to live a good and proper life in one of three ways: ecstatic mysticism, political action, or via philosophy predicated on lack-of-knowledge: Maimonides, leaving man with nothing but reason, had a secret that he buried deep within his “Guide”: he did not, in fact, believe in reason. Or put differently, while he trusted in the power of reason far more than anything else, this trust was very limited. As mentioned, one can neither know God, nor the separate intellects nor even the spheres. We find in the Guide of the Perplexed an assault on the absolute authority of tradition and, alongside it, an attempt to undermine uncompromising belief in reason. The Guide leaves its readers detached; it deprives them of a solid theological foundation

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Between Religion and Reason upon which to stand. [...] Maimonides sees in the failure of knowledge an impetus for a series of higher, therapeutic insights about life and humanity. In other words, the goal of the Guide of the Perplexed is perplexity itself. The purpose of this perplexity is the perplexed person. The objective of this book is to free the perplexed person from his mental habits and to instill within him a fresh new mindset. [...] Acting as a guide, Maimonides leads his readers to the point of perplexity, molds the perplexity into an impetus for a better life, and points to various paths that his readers and students can pursue. We have discussed the path of ecstatic mysticism and that of political action, but there is also a third path: that which turns intellectual perplexity into spiritual liberation.1

Goodman proceeds to explain this third (and in his view, preferable) path. Perplexity leads to the realization that intellectual knowledge is not a redemptive force—it is, to the contrary, lack-of-knowledge that plays this role. The realization that human understanding is limited, leads one to realize that existence is far larger than reason. There are realms and existences beyond our senses, cognition, and imagination—realms that we can never understand. The perplexed person understands the greatness of God and achieves the pinnacle of religious ecstasy beyond all reason—an experience belonging to the realm of mystery: From the earliest days of philosophy, there were those who believed that philosophical knowledge could serve a redemptive function. But according to Maimonides it is not the knowledge per se that redeems but rather the knowledge that we do not know. Maimonides does not place this possibility at the end of the Guide of the Perplexed; he does not offer it as a meta-solution, as an option revealed to all. Rather he weaves the idea into all of his philosophy and writings. The therapeutic role played by intellectual perplexity is what makes the Guide of the Perplexed relevant to skeptics and questioners in the twenty first century. [...] A person experiences awe in the face of a reality that is immeasurably greater than him, a reality whose dimensions are far larger than those of reason. He only experiences this gulf when he  1 Goodman, Sodotav shel Moreh HaNevukhim, 315–321. See also the translation idem, Maimonides and the Book that Changed Judaism: Secrets of the Guide of the Perplexed (Philadelphia, 2015). As my argument is based on the Hebrew edition, and because the translation sometimes paraphrases the Hebrew source, I chose to translate the passages cited in this chapter directly from the source, instead of relying on the existing edition.

Dr. Micah Goodman    Chapter Thirteen understands that he does not understand. This is an insight that does not sate the desire for knowledge but rather awakens it; it is an insight that leads to an understanding of the smallness of human consciousness, not its expansion, a knowledge of no-knowledge. Love and fear are products of failure, the human failure to understand. The perplexity of the Guide of the Perplexed, that leads some readers to lives of ecstatic mysticism and others to lives of political action, leads all readers to religious excitement, to fear and love of God. The philosophical life is one in which a person goes forth to search for God and ends up rejuvenating himself; he seeks to know God but encounters the boundaries of [his own] cognition. This is the great revelation of the lover of God or the philosopher. When he runs into a metaphysical wall, a wall that reason cannot breach, he experiences the boundaries of his own humanity, the smallness of mankind juxtaposed to the vastness of existence. Then he feels love and fear. [...] The rationalist believes that the boundaries of reason are the boundaries of existence. Maimonides in his Guide of the Perplexed tries to free his readers from this conception. He teaches that existence is greater than reason; reality does not end at the same point as human understanding. Beyond man, beyond his senses, imagination, and reason are other beings that he is incapable of understanding. The encounter with the boundaries of reason creates a life containing mystery. This is a new metaphysics, one that emerges from perplexity.2

Meir believes that the boundaries of human consciousness are the boundaries of existence. He refuses to believe in a world of mystery and therefore attempts to correct the state of perplexity in the here and now. By contrast, Goodman (and Maimonides according to his understanding) believes that existence is greater than reason and that perplexity itself plays a liberating role. At the end of the book, Goodman summarizes his interpretation of Maimonides. He admits that his reading is “midrashic,” but nevertheless treats it quite seriously—reflecting, perhaps more than anything else, his own views. A person lives in the world of knowledge and reason, represented by philosophy, but in like fashion, seeks also to live in a world that is beyond knowledge, a world of wonder, of divine mystery—represented by romanticism, religiosity, and emotion. Like Soloveitchik and Strauss, Goodman emphasizes the immensely important role played by perplexity. Each extreme on its own prevents human progress. The rationalist extreme assumes that the truth has already been found;   2 Ibid., 321–328.

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the skeptical extreme has already given up looking for it. Only a search for truth in the world of uncertainty allows for continued creativity: In this chapter, I have presented my midrash of the Guide of the Perplexed, a midrash borne of a desire to perpetuate the internal logic of the Guide which is, in short, as follows: The purpose of knowledge is the encounter with the boundaries of knowledge and the integration of the mystical principle into man’s mental life. The purified realization of intellectual life leads to a life of wonderment, a life in which a person does not experience himself standing at the center of the universe, a life in which one is constantly aware of mystery. [...] The two extremes, dogmatism and skepticism, extinguish the desire to know. Dogmatism extinguishes the desire for knowledge because it leads to the assumption that the truth has already been found; skepticism extinguishes the desire for knowledge because it assumes that if truth does not exist there is no purpose in looking for it. The reading of great books and the discussion of sublime ideas have lost their erotic foundations. Therefore, two conditions are necessary for the existence of a true dialogue: the first—a belief that there is truth; the second— the lack of certainty regarding what it is.3

It bears mentioning that Goodman’s interpretation of Maimonidean prophecy is similar to that of Strauss. As is well known, Maimonides interprets the prophecies in the Torah as dreams or as an inner vision taking place within a person’s soul. Basing himself on the Guide of the Perplexed 2:33, Goodman asserts the following about the theophany at Sinai: According to Maimonides, the Nation of Israel experienced a moment of philosophical illumination, but not prophecy. The revelation at Sinai was the discovery of logical proofs for God’s existence, incorporeality, and unity. [...] His interpretation of the theophany at Sinai teaches his belief in the possibility of democratizing philosophy —this alongside the impossibility of democratizing prophecy.4

Goodman further maintains, on the basis of internal contradictions within the Guide of the Perplexed, that the prophecy of the Maimonidean Moses, while   3 M. Goodman, Sodotav shel Moreh HaNevukhim ( Jerusalem, 2010), 331–335.   4 Ibid., 84.

Dr. Micah Goodman    Chapter Thirteen

superior to that of other prophets (because it is legislative), nevertheless belongs to the realm of intellect: According to Maimonides, the uniqueness of Moses’ prophecy is that Moses’ intellect was conjoined with the cosmic intellect—the Active Intellect—without mediation by the imaginative faculty. This is the greatest intellectual accomplishment in human history. [...] According to Maimonides, the Torah is the product of intellectual achievement. [...] If Saadia Gaon believed that the Torah lives in harmony with reason, Maimonides considers it a revelation via reason.5

However, because reason, even in its most exalted form, is limited to the realm of human knowledge, whereas the realm of the divine mystery is barred from him (“no man can see Me and live”) man is left, both according to Strauss and according to Goodman, in an eternal dialectical state, a state of tension, perplexity, and of constant uncertainty in the present world. This is what impels humanity into creative endeavors until the end of history. Having presented in this book the approaches of both Heschel and Goodman, it is interesting to explore Goodman’s own views about Heschel’s understanding of the dialectical tension within Judaism. In his forward to a Hebrew anthology of Heschel’s articles published in 2012 (Elohim Maamin Baadam), Goodman explains his own understanding of Heschel’s importance. He begins by presenting the modern-religious dilemma within the State of Israel in the twenty first century: More and more Jews feel an opposition between the values of human rights and the Jewish tradition. Public outcries that relate to this opposition fill them with great confusion and the unsettling feeling that our tradition, in contrast to Western enlightenment, has become degenerate— for example when they are forced to contend with the burning questions related to the position of women within Judaism and the way in which Judaism treats the Other. For such Jews—many of them religious but also those who are secular but feel some connection to Judaism—it is difficult to reconcile their continuing affinity to Jewish tradition with their support of Western values.

  5 Ibid., 88. This is also the view of Halbertal, Harambam, 271-278. See Chamiel, The Dual Truth, vol. 1, 244 n. 51.

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Goodman continues to explain the solution offered by Heschel for such perplexed individuals: Heschel proposes a new option and a new life without contradiction. Instead of clunky attempts to “subjugate” Jewish Halakah, to make it correspond to liberal values, Heschel proposes a life in which one can critique Judaism from a Western perspective yet, at the same time, challenge Westernism from a Jewish perspective. It is a two-way street. One who feels at home in Jewish culture, can use it to identify everything that is sick in Western civilization. Heschel, a man of the West, is one of the West’s greatest critics. He suggests to his readers that they identify everything that is sick in the west and heal it using the hidden cultural cures hidden in the Jewish communal tradition. Heschel belonged to a group that critiqued Judaism using Western categories. However, his main project was the critique of the West using the categories of Judaism.6

Goodman does not explain precisely how Heschel “critiques” Judaism or how he sought to heal its shortcomings. He primarily focuses on the medicine Judaism can offer the anthropocentric West: Through the experience of wonder, a person removes himself from center stage. Nature ceases to respond to man and begins to be conceived as an environment that responds to God. It is an elusive experience, a flash in the pan, but it is nevertheless important. [...] [Mankind] emerges from the animalistic battle and enters the realm of humanity. This is the realm that produces wonder. Wonder melts Western alienation. This is precisely the role that Rav Joshua [sic] Heschel can play in Israeli society, a society in which many secularists are overly skeptical, and many religious believers so dogmatic that they are unable to feel mystery or the demands of morality.7

  6 M. Goodman, “Petah Davar: Avraham Yehoshua Heschel: Moreh Lenevukhim Rabim,” in Elohim Maamin Baadam: Hayahadut Hatsiyonut Vehatsedek Hahevrati shel Avraham Yehoshua Heschel, ed. and trans. D. Bundy (Or-Yehuda, 2012), 22-23.   7 Ibid., 24.

Dr. Micah Goodman    Chapter Thirteen

Goodman portrays a life devoid of contradictions based on the views of Heschel. In my opinion, he fails. He opens with the modern-religious problem—the sense that there is a conflict between the morality of tradition and the morality of the West. Basing himself on Heschel, Goodman proposes that Judaism be reinforced by healing Western diseases using mystery, the sublime encounter with the divine, and the godly ethics offered by Judaism. The diseases of the West are clear enough, and therefore the proposed cure may be effective. Once again, we see Goodman’s attraction to the mysterious elements of Judaism and what they have to offer. But what about the diseases of Judaism which Goodman presents at the beginning of the excerpt—the dilemma of the modern religious believer? Has the alienating approach of tradition towards women, LGBTs, and the Other been solved? Has the tension and perplexity in which the modern-religious believer finds himself been removed? As I have shown above, Goodman believes, basing himself on Maimonides, that perplexity and doubt are the essence of Judaism and that Judaism does not offer a single solution to every problem. I propose looking at what Heschel himself writes in the book to which Goodman appended his forward: It is clear that Heschel himself was not certain that the contradiction could truly be resolved.

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Dr. Elhanan Shilo

E

lhanan Shilo (born in 1972) is a scholar of modern Jewish philosophy  and Kabbalah as well as an original thinker in his own right. He studied at Yeshivat Har Etzion and afterwards studied Jewish Thought, philosophy, and Bible Studies at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. He wrote his doctoral dissertation in the department of Hebrew Literature at Bar Ilan University on the subject of Kabbalah in the writings of Shai Agnon. The study was adapted into a book and published in 2011. Shilo has taught at Mikhlelet Orot and currently teaches at Mikhlelet Sapir. His second book, Yahadut Qiyumit, was published in 2017. Already at the beginning of Yahadut Qiyumit, Shilo introduces the dialectical tension between reason and revelation, referring to it as a dichotomy between religiosity and secularism. He explains that he wishes to present his own thoughts on the issue, describing a way to eliminate this duality and create a new path. Of all the other thinkers discussed in this book, Shilo is the only one who does not accept each one of the two competing sources of authority as a full truth in its own right, but rather seeks an alternative to rigid halakhic Judaism. In the first chapters of his book, he proposes two approaches. The first is what he terms “practical Judaism.” This calls for the creation of less demanding and less rigid religious models, including non-halakhic ones, allowing unification with the secular truth – which is also not self-sufficient, seeking as it does a new form of spirituality as well as closeness to Judaism and its sources. Thus, it is possible to recreate a unified nation with a broad, shared basis of Jewish identity. The second approach is what Shilo calls “existential Judaism.” According to this approach secular Jews should also obligate themselves to perform the commandments, not out of a sense of obligation to Halakha, but rather on the basis of existential criteria—identification with the contents of Halakhah and the belief that it has relevance to our lives. Using the first approach it is possible to unite a community around a single idea and set of actions. However, according to the second approach, the collective will

Dr. Elhanan Shilo     Chapter Fourteen

be multifarious and pluralistic, a group of individuals, each member choosing the Judaism that best fits him and the commandments he wishes to observe. In Chapter Two of his book, Shilo seeks to undermine the notion that Jewish-religious observance is dependent on the existence of a commanding God—an assumption that has produced a dichotomy between the religious and secular segments of Israeli society. He presents the following possibility: One can choose to fulfill commandments due to a sense of affinity towards their contents, a recognition of their value, or a nationalistic/religious desire to connect oneself to Jewish tradition. This is as opposed to religious observance on the basis of traditional theological beliefs—that one must fulfill the commandments due to a heteronomous fiat, historically connected to the theophany at Sinai. On the one hand, accepting this proposal strengthens the commandments by imbuing them with autonomous status; on the other hand, it leaves leeway for a less demanding observance—one far more lenient than that demanded by intransigent Halakhah. According to this possibility, one can bridge the dialectical tension and close the chasm between atheists and lapsed Orthodox on the one hand and the commandments of the Jewish religion on the other. The religious experience and the sphere of sanctity are not necessarily connected to or dependent upon belief in the existence of a higher being. Up to this point, Shilo seems to be advocating the resolvable dialectical approach. However, he later seems to express a clear preference for the dual truth approach: Faith and atheism derive on the one hand from the character of the soul and on the other hand from observation of the world. The earthly-­rational soul arrives at atheism, the religious-emotional soul at monotheism. The truth is that most people are neither pure believers nor pure atheists. Rather they tend to vacillate back and forth between these mindsets to different degrees. There are atheists who call out to God in times of distress and there are believers whose hearts are filled with thoughts of heresy. Instead of trying to reject one part of myself and to arrive at a coherent philosophical stance—to define myself either as a believer or an atheist—we must leave room for the different emotions that run about within us. We should not try to dispense with the one while granting hegemony and primacy to the other. [...] The reason people are expected to make a determination is related to the mindset of the culture in which we live. People are expected to subscribe to one approach, whether it be towards others or toward themselves. They are expected to adhere it at any given

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Between Religion and Reason moment. However, the moment a person frees himself from this type of thinking, he can experience a far richer world. What is needed is a flexible mindset and of an openness to contradictory experiences—religious experiences and atheistic experiences—in tandem with the mental state and place in which one finds oneself. One must recognize that the world is divided into faith and atheism. This division is not merely between the worldviews of different people, but rather one that inheres within reality itself. A person who looks at reality with eyes wide open sees that there is a God and sees that there isn’t one. From certain perspectives, he can identify the traces of God within this world; from other perspectives, it seems that God does not exist. Most people observe [the world] through only one perspective or remain suspended in a state of doubt. However, a comprehensive person can live both experiences at once. [...] When he prays, he is a believer. He gives expression to a faith that he finds within himself, within the wonders of creation, within the secret of man’s existence, within the experience of prophetic revelation, and within the secrets of the Jewish people’s existence—both in terms of its survival as well as the ideas that it bequeathed to the world. By contrast, when a person observes evil, blindness, the Holocaust, suffering, disasters, earthquakes, diseases, and death, he enters into an atheistic experience that does not “buy” theological solace and religious apologetics, the attempts to resolve the cognitive dissonance between faith and evil. Rather he stands upright before a reality devoid of God. [...] This method of coping with internal contradictions is a new stage within the history of human thought. One can point to three stages in the [attempts] to contend with these contradictions in general. In the first stage, in Antiquity and in the Middle Ages, each stance assailed the other; each tried to prove that it [alone] was correct. In the second stage, the modern period, there was an attempt to unify all things using the dialectical approaches of Hegel and Rav Kook, and to arrive at a totality. In the third stage, mankind realized that the unificatory approaches were illusory; they adopted the opposing position in part, corrupting it within a single religious totality. A person becomes familiar with the contradictions, between the perspective of religion and that of secularism, and lives with both sides of the contradiction, even though it is a conflict which cannot be settled and even though it generates cognitive dissonance. [...] All of these new modes of thinking must be brought into religious conceptions as well. Twenty first century theology must also undergo this process. The belief in God is supported by reality but, at the very same time, is refuted

Dr. Elhanan Shilo     Chapter Fourteen by it. Nevertheless, these contradictions need not prevent a person from living with opposing and unbridgeable mindsets and experiences. Even if, in reference to the thing-itself, the question of God’s existence must, objectively, be one truth out of the two (either He exists, or He does not), within the human consciousness and experience, there will always be two truths. [...] The boundaries of cognition [as established by Kant] allow one to live with both sides of the contradiction. Both believer and atheist rely on certain elements of reality; each one can bring us into his world; each one can prompt us to experience his experience.1

How can we understand Shilo’s lack of consistency regarding the possibility of reconciliation? Here Shilo introduces his innovative approach: Even the believer who is whole with his faith, must recognize that many others are not. Instead of advocating a single system of beliefs and actions—an “either you’re in or you’re out” approach—a range of alternatives should be offered, allowing those that are outside of the world of religious-Zionist beliefs to nevertheless join with it and strengthen tradition—not in the manner of intransigent Orthodoxy, which seeks to benefit a specific group, but rather in a more flexible and tolerant fashion. Thus, the Jewish tradition can widen its horizons and incorporate different and diverse populations into its ranks, breaking the religious-secular dichotomy which is tearing our nation apart.2

In other words, recognizing that the religious and secular perspectives cannot be reconciled leads to the conclusion that two contradictory truths (a dual truth) exist. In our world, we must live with them and the many positions lying between them. It is in fact the moderate-pluralistic perspective of the dual truth approach that allows one to paradoxically break the dichotomy and to offer instead a solution that bridges poles by accommodating a large range of   1 E. Shilo, Yahadut Qiyumit ( Jerusalem-Tel Aviv, 2017), 37-41. Shilo’s description of these three stages is overly simplistic. My entire book is dedicated to showing that dialectical approaches existed in the past as well—from the biblical era through the Middle Ages and to Samuel David Luzzatto. There were also many approaches that claimed that the two spheres were identical—from Saadia Gaon, through Maimonides and Judah Halevi, and up to Rav Hirsch. In the Middle Ages, attacks were leveled primarily against other religions and not against philosophy and science; atheism was a marginal phenomenon. My thanks to Moshe Meir who directed me to Shilo’s thought.   2 Ibid., 48.

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alternatives, thus preventing rifts. The dialectical tension between secularism and religiosity, two contradictory truths, cannot be reconciled. However, this fact allows one to grant legitimacy to and to accommodate all the approaches on the religious-secular spectrum, thus uniting a divided Jewish people. The religious-secularist of Moshe Meir will appear on this spectrum—albeit he will not be defined as Orthodox. Likewise, it will include the religious-­secularist, whom Moshe Meir talks about far less due to his minimal observance. In Chapter 3 of his book, Shilo broaches the contradiction between the conclusions of Bible Criticism about the human origins of the biblical text versus the religious tradition of a text emerging from revelation. This conflict also pertains to contradictions in content—the Bible contains instructions that oppose our Western sense of morality. Shilo rejects Mordechai Breuer’s aspects approach and rightfully notes that it fails to stand up to criticism.3 A more reasonable approach in his opinion is that of Heschel—that the revelation to Moses, which only included the legal portions of the Torah—was transmitted orally. The writers of the Torah’s composite documents committed this revelation to writing from memory, transmitting what they had received in turn from the memories of earlier generations. In Shilo’s opinion this can account for the contradictions between different texts, albeit not the immorality that they sometimes contain. This approach can be refuted, in my opinion, by raising the following question: If the divine messages ultimately reached us in the form of contradictory approaches, how are we to know which messages were intended by God Himself? In terms of the ethical question, Heschel maintains that revelation is partly pure divinity but also partly human—i.e., it is a product of the world and culture of the prophet. Based on Heschel’s assertion, Shilo suggests that the texts contain not only divine and human content but also elements of good and evil. It is our duty to separate these from each other, and to adopt only those human or divine elements which are good and moral. We must ignore the evil and unethical parts of the Torah and ascribe these to the human failings of the prophet, the result of his cultural-temporal context. This is the basis for the “soft” approach to observance proposed by Shilo. In my opinion, this approach is problematic—if it is true, it essentially represents a failure on God’s part in transmitting His message. Summing up the question of Bible Criticism, as well as the religious-secular issue, Shilo proposes some solutions for compromise   3 Ibid., 51–57. In his efforts to promote his position as superior to that of Breuer, Shilo focuses on specific detailed examples. In Chapter 9, dedicated to Breuer, I discuss in detail the principles of his aspects theory, showing why it is an unreasonable position.

Dr. Elhanan Shilo     Chapter Fourteen

using a new approach to the text—one that is neither traditional nor atheistic. That being said, it should be stressed that Shilo deals primarily with what I regard the less pressing question—Who wrote the Torah and when?—but less with the more urgent issue: the fact that secular reason categorically rejects the possibility of God connecting with humans, Moses or otherwise. That an impassable barrier separates the infinite God from finite humanity contradicts the approach of revelation. Reconciliation is thus rendered impossible. In Chapter 4, Shilo discusses the chosenness of the Jewish people. To resolve the contradiction between Israel’s chosenness (an idea with potentially racist connotations) and the humanistic values of equality, Shilo turns to the moral contents of Judaism and proposes that the cultural achievements of the Jewish people in the past, as well as their exceptional historical experiences past and present, are what constitute the meaning of Jewish chosenness. In the past Jewish morality was unique—it was far more advanced than the systems formulated by other human cultures.4 In the present, we have experienced survival, the revival of our language, the ingathering of exiles, and the renewal of Jewish sovereignty in the Land of Israel. These are all exceptional and rare occurrences. I have my doubts whether these experiences can justify a feeling of chosenness. If Shilo agrees that today, the Jewish people has no advantage over other national-cultural entities—especially given the fact that the Jewish people, in many senses, lags behind others—then the purpose of a feeling of chosenness is unclear. But we will leave aside this marginal issue which does not directly impact the points about which Shilo and I agree. In Chapter Five, Shilo discusses the question of evil in this world—a reality that challenges the belief in God who allows this evil to take place. Human evil and its outcome can certainly be explained in the vein of Bergman and Eliezer Berkovits: It is the consequence of necessary free will. However, evil as a result of natural disasters cannot be reconciled with the existence of the Jewish God—a deity who is good and actively intervenes in our affairs. Shilo returns here to the dual truth approach and explains in his beautiful prose that   4 Shilo does not point to the famous thinkers from whom his approach emerges. In my opinion, Rabbi Hirsch and Samuel David Luzzatto held similar universalistic views. They believed that the Nation of Israel lacks any immanent-uniqueness or superiority (the view of Rabbi Judah Halevi) but rather that they have been chosen—for the time being—in order to lead mankind as first among equals, a consequence of their superior moral potential and behavior. This morality is manifest in the Torah which they are entrusted with bequeathing to humanity, eventually leading to full equality between all nations. See Chamiel, The Middle Way, vol. 2, 38–43; 75–89, 99–103, 111–114.

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indeed there is no way to affect such a reconciliation. Nevertheless, living with two contradictory truths allows for a more complete life: The atheist can live a life of rationality and consistency. By contrast, in order to believe one must adopt an a-rational approach that entails an internal contradiction. Faith is a mental state that exists even when the existence of evil leads to atheism; it also is part of us. [...] Despite this weakness, i.e., that lack of rationality and coherence, it does come with an advantage: It [allows] one to live in two worlds contemporaneously. It is, therefore, more complete, leaving room for all facets of reality: on the one hand, for the wonders of the world and Jewish history, the hidden thoughts of human hearts, on the other hand, for the revelation of the blind [hand of nature]. It makes room for every world and does not reduce the world of faith to the atheistic perspective. This mental state may seem strange because in our society’s way of thinking a person is required to take a stance. However, humans are complex beings, far more complex than the single stances that society expects them to adopt [...] Personally, I am besotted with both faith and atheism and am drawn strongly to both, sustaining myself from their great powers and from the great light that can be found in both of them. I am unwilling to give up one for the other. Belief in God leads to ascent and holiness, whereas atheism contains a heroic might—confrontation with the truth and blindness in the world without attempting to beautify or idealize it. A great light burst forth both from the philosophies of faith, such as Rav Abraham Isaac Kook and Rav Shagar, as well as from the philosophies of denial, such as the piercing and defiant atheisms of Nietzsche and Brenner. Instead of making a determination between [these two approaches] and fleeing from ourselves, we must let go, listen to different perspectives, and live them. [...] The price is indeed a lack of rational coherence. The pay-off, however, is the ability to live within multiple worlds. We can never solve the contradictions within ourselves, but we can draw close to a more perfect life that leaves room for the different facets within ourselves.5

In Chapter Six, Shilo takes a different direction altogether, adding another layer to his argument which allows, in his opinion, the modern believer to live in peace with different and even contradictory truths—the kabbalistic-­mystical dimension. He uses the approach of Rav Kook: that all things, even the profane,   5 Ibid., 88-89.

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are in fact holy. All of reality is infused with the unity of the infinite [Ein Sof], unbound and unfettered, and thus humanity is freed from its sense of subjugation to God. Adding to Rav Kook’s approach, Shilo wishes to include everything positive in world-culture within the category of sanctity. They are all part of the divine light—even those things lying beyond the bounds of Halakhah and Judaism, and even those that oppose Judaism. In my opinion, this is not merely an additional layer, but rather a transition from the dual truth approach to the resolvable dialectical approach. In a mystical-kabbalistic realm, all contradictions are united, and all things are imbued with a divine light. In my view, this addition is unclear and puzzling; it cannot be used as the basis for leading a real life. I do not think that Rav Kook succeeded in this endeavor either.6 I prefer the dual truth approach to which Shilo adhered to at least until this final chapter. In Chapter Seven, Shilo discusses marriage and conversion in the State of Israel, and while fascinating it is not relevant to my discussion. Chapter Eight contends with the advantages and disadvantages of modernism and post-­ modernism respectively—which is also fascinating but also not directly connected to my discussion here.

  6 See Chamiel, The Dual Truth, vol. 2, 493–497 and above Chapter 2. For a similar critique of Shilo’s shift in direction see Moshe Meir’s book review of Yahadut Qiyumit: “Hagut im Tsalaqot Maavak,” Hashiloah 7, (2018), 195-202.

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Summary and Conclusions

I

n this book, I have discussed several thinkers active in the twentieth   century and the first decades of the twenty first, whose approaches to the world of Judaism, to the experience of the modern religious believer, and the relationship between human knowledge and divine revelation, between religion and reason—can be characterized as dialectic. Studying a figure’s writings in chronological order of their order of composition enables one to better understand the shifts and contradictions between different works, allowing one to interpret these differences as signs of intellectual development. This is what I did in my discussions of Samuel David Luzzatto and Rabbi Kook in my previous books, and this is what I have done here for Rav Soloveitchik. Of the thinkers I have presented over the course of this book, five offer a solution that they believe bridges the tension between the two poles of the dialectic. Heschel is the only one of these five who vacillates (unintentionally, I believe) between the compartmental approach and the dialectical approach. He makes do with the assertion that the two domains complement each other and that the tension is thereby resolved. The four others are Mordechai Breuer, Isaac Breuer, Rav Shagar, and Moshe Meir. Isaac and Mordechai Breuer propose using the transcendentalist Kantian approach to reach a solution—two parallel worlds exist on two separate planes: the world of nature governed by the laws of nature and intellect, and the world of miracles and prophecy ruled by divine will and fiat. According to their approach, the poles of the Hegelian dialectic mainly pertain to the different layers with God Himself as well as the different strata of the Torah. Both God and Torah contain contradictory attributes and aspects. The midrashic exegesis of the Sages provides a divine compromise, a synthesis. I consider this proposal fantastical, mystical, and fundamentalist and have trouble accepting it. Rav Shagar also proposes the adoption of a transcendentalist stance. To use his terminology, there exist two parallel worlds, that of reality and that of the Real. A person can live in both. In his opinion, such an

Summary and Conclusions    Chapter Fifteen

approach allows one to overcome the existential tensions of our time. In my opinion, because the “Real-spiritual” world is not part of our everyday reality, it is, a difficult one to truly live in. Shagar’s solutions—which propose a separation between political and communal spheres—are only possible in everyday reality, and while they may be enough to ease the tension, they do not truly resolve it. Meir proposes a form of secular-religiosity. One who accepts this approach is placed in an open world with unbounded freedom. The secular-believer almost always picks the halakhic path, except in extreme cases, that is, those cases where Halakah contradicts the path of reason and intellect. In such instances the secular-believer falls back on his own “Shulhan Arukh”—one based on the criteria of Western morality. In my opinion, one who grants himself such privileges is deluding himself into thinking that he has adopted a stance that can be termed “halakhic.” Meir is aware of the contradiction and for all intents and purposes, chooses the pole of reason while remaining in the warm and familiar embrace of Orthodox Halakah as much as possible—when there is a contradiction, he chooses the rational-morality of contemporary Western culture. All the other figures discussed in this book are cognizant of the rift and live with it; they thus accept the “dual truth” approach. In my opinion, all of them understand that the rift is cosmic in scale and cannot be bridged within man’s present existence. Many disagree with my approach to these thinkers. Bin-Nun, Shagar, Luz, Sherlo, Rosenak, and Shilo believe that Rav Kook managed to find the path to reconciliation (according to some, a permanent solution, according to others a temporary one). They base this on the fact that, Rav Kook often writes about a comprehensive unity within holiness. In my opinion, however, Rav Kook knew, and even professed, that a mere mortal cannot affect such a reconciliation. This is despite the immense efforts he dedicated towards this end and his dismay over his own lack of success. Ravitzky, Schwartz, Sherlo and Kaplan believe, as opposed to my opinion, that Soloveitchik found the path to reconciliation in Ish Hahalakhah Galui Venistar, be it the pure introverted halakhic man or the involved extroverted one. They disagree however, if he identified himself as the quintessential halakhic man. I do not find their explanations of the contradictions between different texts penned by Soloveitchik convincing and for that reason I have proposed my own explanations. I agree with Michael Rosenak, Schweid, Ish-Shalom, Sagi and Luz, that Soloveitchik does not offer a solution that can completely overcome the dialectical tension (though among these scholars, Schweid is the only one who discusses texts which suggest differently). Bergman, in his earlier writings, clearly presented the unbridgeable contradiction, describing it in philosophical terms. In his later

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writings, however, he proposed a solution: Jewish art, mystical philosophy, and service of God enable a person to create a synthesis between the seemingly contradictory poles of revelation and reason. Strauss also presented the tension between Jerusalem and Athens as an unambiguous contradiction; he concluded that for the time being, the tension has not been resolved. Rechnitzer agrees and therefore proposes that the solution, according to Strauss , will only arrive in the future. It will be the work of the Übermensch, in a super-historical time, on a super-historical level. In my opinion, Strauss neutralizes the possibility of reconciliation by essentiality admitting that it must be deferred to a utopian era at the End of Days. I do not know what Rechnitzer thought about the timing of Strauss’ resolution—whether it refers to history or post-history— but regardless, I believe that he identifies with Strauss. Simon writes about religious humanism and “second innocence.” Those who have attained these traits can be likened to an ellipsis with two centers—separated from each other by a perpetual tension. Fackenheim writes about the contradictions between rational study and unmediated belief in God’s presence within history. He adds that the Holocaust created new internal contradictions and pushed the existing tension to the its most extreme, leaving no solution in sight. Ross (according to one interpretation of her approach) describes the contradiction between the original traditional revelation and subsequent revelations that take place within human history and within the reason of the sages in every generation. She maintains that the contradictions are persistent, and that we should adhere to the rulings of the latest revelation. According to Goodman’s “midrashic” reading of Maimonides, which seems to represent his own view as well, the tension cannot be resolved: Perplexity and doubt are the qualities of the ideal human mentality. Shilo’s system is also identical with the irresolvable dialectical approach—that is, until he reaches the realm of the mystical and kabbalistic; in these he identifies a means of affecting resolution. It is worthy of note that four of the thinkers—Soloveitchik, Bergman in his earlier thought, Strauss, and Goodman—-all maintain that the state of contradiction is something vital and even positive. Humans were created with these tensions as part of the divine plan. Contradiction, perplexity, and doubt are the vital driving forces behind the rational person’s creativity. They allow mankind to evolve and progress. This argument is completely at odds with the identicality approach—the idea that the Torah and reason are two gifts that man has received from God, and that their respective conclusions cannot in any way contradict each other. Likewise, I have found that all of these thinkers, some more than others, postulate the existence of a supernatural mysterious, spiritual, sacred world

Summary and Conclusions    Chapter Fifteen

that lies beyond rational apprehension, one that cannot be described but only felt. This goes without saying for thinkers who use Kabbalah as their guide, but it also appears in the thought of those who do not. The basis for this similarity is the claim that every monotheist-believer, even if he is the most radical of rationalists, recognizes the existence of God, and thus must, by definition, believe in supernatural realms that lie beyond our ken. However, the dialectical believer must also believe that within the world of God, if He is indeed one and unified as proposed by monotheism, everything separate in our world must be reconciled and united within His. That being said, some thinkers—even though they are rationalistic or neo-romantic and otherwise quite far from the mystical theosophy of Kabbalah—are forced into this mystical type of thinking, drawing from it the solution that they seek. Among these we can mention, Mordechai Breuer, Hugo Bergman in his later writings, Tamar Ross, and Elhanan Shiloh. Another matter worth mentioning is that Schelling’s genius, the artist-­ creator—features within the thoughts of many of these Jewish thinkers. This is a special person who is capable of creating the desired synthesis—either in our time or in a historical or messianic future. For Rav Kook and Rav Soloveitchik this is the halakhic man, for Strauss, the Nietzschean Übermensch, and for Simon, the person of second-innocence who is also an artist-creator.

203

Afterword

M

y philosophical inquiry as a man of faith in the post-modern age, and   my study of those who have, in the last two decades, adopted the irresolvable dialectical stance or the dual truth approach have all led me to my own views on this issue. The modern-believer has two sources of authority at his disposal, two gifts given by God to man—reason and revelation. Each one produces true statements which at times contradict those of the other. One type of truth, tipping towards the religious right, is that of heart, emotion, religious belief, and halakhah, the revelation touted by religion. It is guided by a romanticist mindset and it uses reason to buttress faith. The second type of truth tips towards the rationalistic-left, the truth of intellect, logic, science, and philosophy leading to a rational mindset; it uses faith to buttress reason. I prefer approaches that are not steeped in delusions or apologetics—those that acknowledge that there are sometimes contradictions and tensions between the claims of revelation and reason, but that one should not attempt to mend this rift. Rather we should make peace with this reality while still embracing both contradictory realms, giving up neither one of them. This approach allows for completeness, accommodation of other opinions and overflowing creativity. While it is true that this approach does not correspond to standard Orthodox belief, and is at its basis paradoxical, for the rational-modern religious believer there is no solution for mending this rift except in the inaccessible world of God. Any other harmonistic approach, any attempt to turn the two truths into one, in the here and now, is apologetic, delusional, and ultimately doomed to failure. Therefore, when I must decide on some matter of ideology or practice, I must weigh my choices with an awareness of both sources of authority, and both of the contradictory truths that emerge from them. I am also aware that the two truths are only equal in theory. Different people have different personalities, with different inclinations towards the two ends of the spectrum. I per-

Afterword

sonally lean more towards the rational-left, a fact I take into account when I am tasked with making a decision. I am at peace with every determination I make, yet I am aware that a contradictory truth may exist—and that one who chooses this other truth has neither committed error nor embraced a falsehood. This is all on the condition, that the contradictory view is linked to either revelation or to reason and does not in any way harm others. I refer to this as the dual truth approach linked to the superior conception of pluralism.1

1 On the superior conception of pluralism, see Chamiel, The Dual Truth, vol. 2, 427–428, 539–540.

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211

Index of Subjects A

Absolute, the, 5, 8, 11, 38, 56-58, 95, 176 academic studies – see secular studies accommodation – see totality aesthetics, 26, 30 afterlife, 183 Aggada, Midrash Aggada, 152-153 alienation, 54, 170, 190 alternative, 84-85, 88, 93, 165, 192, 195-196 anachronism, 114, 134 anthropocentrism, 88, 99, 190 anticipation, xi, 91, 102, 104, 110, 134, 140 antithesis – see thesis apologetics, xii, 105, 116, 159-160, 162, 194, 204 archaeology, 3, 157, 160 art, 21, 25, 65, 68, 104, 202 artist – see genius aspects theory, 29, 31, 119-120, 146, 196n3 atheism, 4, 65, 91, 96, 99, 114-115, 183, 193195, 197-198 Athens, Athens and Jerusalem, Greek culture, 71, 80-96, 112, 202 attribute of judgment (Gevurah), 21, 125-127, 132-133, 136-138, 140, 142, 145-146 attribute of mercy (Hesed), 21, 126-127, 132133, 136-138, 140-142, 145-146 Auschwitz, 116-118 authority, 1-2, 4-5, 29, 60, 62-64, 70, 99-100, 103, 143, 185, 192, 204 autonomy – see freedom axiom, 112, 121-123, 128, 150, 180

B

back and forth, 1, 22-23, 40, 76, 193 believing science, 59n2, 62 Bible Criticism, 3, 29-30, 121-122, 124, 128130, 132, 134, 148-154, 161n3, 196 binding of Isaac, 50, 66

bird’s eye view, 96

C

capitalism, 3 causality, xi, 65, 112, 122-123, 171, 175 certainty, uncertainty, 28, 177-179, 188-189 chosenness of the Jewish people, 197 Christianity, ix, 10, 15, 17n2, 27, 34, 49, 60, 62, 67, 80, 111, 113-114 chronology, ix, 13, 54, 160, 200 civilization – see culture civilization – see Western Civilization cleaving (to God), 9, 23-24, 50 cognitive dissonance, 194 cognitive man, viii, 17-19, 36 coherence, 172, 198 commandments, 3, 38, 65, 87, 96, 102, 104, 117, 130, 146n46, 161-162, 166, 192-193 compartmental approach, x, 39n29, 59, 70-71, 73, 78, 171, 173, 183, 200 compartmentalization, 171 computer science, 161 concealment (of God), 165n9, 40, 69, 133 conflict, antagonism, x, 1-2, 13, 19-20, 27-29, 32, 34, 39, 43-44, 49-50, 59, 70, 72, 74, 84, 87-88, 89-90, 92-94, 96, 103n6, 111, 118, 126, 145, 160, 168-169, 173-174, 181, 182, 191, 194, 196 conquest, victory, 3, 25-27, 30, 36, 38, 40, 52, 106, 117-118, 133-134, 151, consciousness (awareness), i, 8, 10, 18, 20-22, 24-26, 29n16, 30, 40, 42-43, 88, 178-180, 187, 195 conscious (moral), 105n2 Conservative Judaism, 68, 82, 166 consistency, 25, 73, 85, 153, 195, 198 constructivism, 33 contradiction (antimony) – most pages

Index of Subjects correlation, 58, 76, 100-101 cosmology, 85, 129 covenantal community, 31-33, 40, 44, 53 covenantal man, 32 creation, 1, 20-21, 25, 27-28, 30, 33, 40, 43, 72-73, 85, 101, 121-123, 126, 128-129, 132-133, 137, 139-142, 147, 150, 152, 156-158, 160, 183, 192, 194 creationism, 3 creative power, 12 creativity, vitality, 12, 24, 31, 32-34, 50-51, 54, 56-58, 65, 89-90, 94-96, 97, 127, 175, 182, 188-189, 202, 204 criticism, 47, 65, 76, 80-81, 89, 95n31, 101, 104, 112, 143n42, 165, 174 culture, civilization, 2-3, 12-13, 23, 25, 28-30, 37-38, 43, 45, 60, 65-66, 71, 86, 89-93, 96-97, 99-100, 120, 152, 168, 180, 190, 193, 196-197, 199, 201 cumulative revelation, 164-166 curiosity, 111-112

D

death, 22, 54, 99, 116-117, 128, 149, 160, 194 death of God, 114, 116 defeat (retreat, withdrawal, surrender), 22-23, 26-27, 32, 40, 49-53, 64, 103, 112 deism, 1, 4, 99 delusion, 105, 204 democracy, 188 democratic state, Jewish state, 3, 173 denial, 11, 23, 60-61, 71, 84, 86, 92, 99, 114115, 118, 122-123, 128, 151, 153, 155156, 161n3, 164, 169, 198 Derekh Erets, 16 desire, 13, 18-23, 35-36, 49, 70-71, 78, 88, 93, 116, 133, 139, 142, 147, 156, 172, 187188, 193, 203 despair, 28, 31, 54, 78, 117-118 destruction, 12, 18, 30, 54, 57, 101, 103, 109, 112, 114-115, 117-118, 162, 165 determination (making of), ix, 9-10, 75, 82-83, 94, 103n6, 147, 177-179, 181, 193, 198, 205 determinism, fate, xi, 1, 27, 35, 123 development, x-xi, 3, 13-14, 54, 59, 61n5, 73, 82, 121, 129, 135, 158, 165, 167, 200 dialectic, resolvable dialectic – most pages dialogue, vii, 36, 171, 188 dichotomy, 28, 30, 34, 163, 174, 192-193, 195 divine Torah, 123, 127, 130, 136, 152-153, 169 Documentary Hypothesis, documents, 30, 120, 148, 196

doubt, skepticism, ix, 6, 18, 77-78, 81-83, 104, 178-179, 182, 186, 188, 190-191, 194, 202 dual truth, irresolvable dialectic – most pages of book duality, dualism, viii, 5, 19-20, 24, 30, 32, 40, 62, 88-89, 174, 192 dynamism, 1, 11-12, 56-58, 61n5, 63, 163

E

eclipse, 116 ecstasy, 9, 22, 26-27, 54, 185-187 education, 16, 35, 66, 79, 98-99, 101-103, 105, 119, 149, 159, 168, 177, 185 emancipation, 2, 88 emotion, 17, 25-26, 28-29, 33, 74, 109, 111112, 156, 164, 178, 180-181, 187, 193, 204 encounter, 25, 31-32, 57, 63, 161, 187-188, 191 End of Days, eschaton, 22-23, 35-37, 48-49, 51, 54, 90, 104, 110, 132, 202 Enlightenment – see Haskalah enlightenment, light, 58, 66, 78, 83, 130, 132, 140, 198-199 equality, 2, 172-173, 179, 197n4 eschatology, 23, 28, 33-34, 49, 145 Eschaton – see End of Days esoteric, esotericism, 19, 63n10, 77, 80-82, 125, 130-131, 136, 176 eternity, 1, 24-26, 31, 36, 69, 94, 96, 105-106, 125, 128, 132, 150, 158, 189 European Civilization – see Western Civilization evil, evil impulse – see good evolution, xii, 2-3, 11, 13, 28, 48, 120, 123, 127, 150, 163, 175 exclusion (of women), 159-160 exegesis, hermeneutics, 85, 93, 107n10, 119120, 124, 129-130, 132-133, 135, 137, 143, 145, 150, 152-154, 162, 200 existentialism, x, 9, 26, 29-30, 34-35, 39-40, 43-45, 50-51, 132, 170, 178-179, 192, 201 experience, 17, 21, 25-30, 33, 46-48, 50-51, 53, 56, 63-64, 69, 92, 97-98, 101, 103, 107, 109-112, 155, 170, 173, 181, 186-188, 190, 193-195, 197, 200 experience (empirical), 9, 40 exposure (to secularism), 113 expression (of divine attributes), 126, 140, 161, 164 eye for an eye, 146

213

214

Index of Subjects F

faith – most pages of book, 5, 12, 18-19, 25, 27-28, 30-31, 33, 36, fantastical, 120, 124, 144-145, 200 fate – see determinism fear, 19, 21, 23-24, 40, 69, 86, 114, 118, 124, 131n19, 168, 181-182, 187 feminism, 3, 159-161, 163-164, 166n12, 172 free will, free choice, xi, 1, 123, 132-133, 155, 197 freedom, independence, autonomy, 2, 40, 45, 47-48, 51, 59-60, 66, 69-70, 85, 88, 109110, 112, 114-115, 125, 132, 150n49, 161n3, 172, 181, 183, 201 French Revolution, 2 friendship, 36 full identicality, 4 fundamentalism, ix, 2, 100, 165

G

gamble, wager, 177-179 Garden of Eden, 126, 132-133, 137 genius, artist, 9, 21, 203 geology, 151 good, evil, evil impulse, 4, 12, 25, 33, 69, 83, 85, 88, 109-110, 118, 133, 140, 169, 185, 194, 196-198 Greek culture – see Athens

H

Halakhah, midrash halakhah, 10, 16-17, 19-20, 22-24, 26, 29, 31-32, 35-44, 49, 53, 55, 75, 103, 106-107, 144, 147-148, 152153, 165-166, 172, 176, 181-183, 193, 199, 201, 204 halakhic man, viii, 17-22, 25, 37-38, 40-45, 47-48, 51, 44, 201, 203 halakhic ruling, 9, 40, 76, 146n46, 166-167, 202 harmony, harmonization, vii, x, vii, 5, 10, 14-15, 23, 29, 33-35, 42, 46, 49-50, 52, 69, 76, 78, 80, 84, 87, 93-94, 96, 127n13, 129, 131, 169-170, 189, 204 Hasidism, xi, 1, 13-14, 68, 136, 159, 169 Haskalah, Enlightenment, x, 93-94, 111, 166n12, 189 heresy, 12, 60, 122, 145, 165, 193 hermeneutics – see exegesis heterodoxy, 161 heteronomy, 1, 60, 182, 193 history, viii, ix-x, xii, 1-3, 5, 11-12, 14-15, 28-29, 33-35, 37-39, 54, 56, 60-61, 64-65, 68, 71, 73, 76, 79, 83-84, 86-88, 90-92, 95, 97-98, 103-105, 107-116, 118-119, 121-122, 128, 134, 148-149, 152n50,

155-156, 158-160, 163-166, 175, 185, 189, 193-194, 197-198, 202-203 Holocaust, 54, 108, 110-111, 115-118, 166n12, 194, 202 homo religious, viii, 18-20, 22, 36, 43, 45 homosexuality, sexual identity, 3 hope, vii, 3, 23, 37, 64, 78, 104, 111, 118 human rights, 189 human Torah, 130, 136 humanism, Jewish humanism, humaneness, 79, 98-100, 105-107, 114, 197, 202 humanities, 121, 123 humility, 17, 31, 33-35, 40-42, 50-53, 55, 60, 66, 87-88

I

I, the, 150n49 ideal, 14-15, 19, 37-39, 43-44, 51, 62, 65, 95, 102, 146n46, 170, 177, 202 image of God, 110 immigrants – see refugees independence – see freedom individuality, 9, 23-25, 46, 89, 103, 132, 142 infinite, 21, 40, 56, 59, 110, 114, 164, 172, 180-181, 184, 197, 199 influence (divine), 1, 65, 130 ingathering of exiles, 197 integration, 9, 82n8, 188 intellect – see reason interpretative identicality, ix, 185 intimacy, 24, 31, 33, 50, 51 intuition, 12, 128 irresolvable dialectic – most pages Islam, 62, 80

J

Jewish sovereignty, State of Israel, 3, 29, 37-38, 63, 107-108, 118, 166n12, 172, 189, 197, 199 Jewish thought, viii, xi, 16, 38n29, 70, 74, 76, 110, 177, 185, 192

K

Kabbalah, 1, 9, 13, 63n10, 68, 125, 130, 136, 148, 158, 169, 176, 192, 203 knowledge, viii, 1, 12, 26, 29, 60, 66, 71-72, 83-85, 88, 103n6, 118, 156-157, 164, 178179, 185-186-189, 200

L

language, vii, x, 5, 24, 49, 56-57, 76, 87, 103, 125-126, 135-137, 142, 144, 161, 172, 197

Index of Subjects language of man, 130-131, 135-137, 141, 143, 145 law of contradiction, 180-183 laws of nature, 127-128, 157, 174, 200 layers – see sefirot left, 115, 165, 172, 204-205 life, 3, 12, 19, 23, 34-37, 49, 72, 84-85, 87-90, 93-94, 117-118, 132, 153, 156-157, 164, 171, 181, 186-188, 190-191, 198-199 light – see enlightenment logic, 10n5, 12, 25, 35n24, 40, 56-57, 67, 74, 109, 116, 128, 150, 181, 188, 204 loneliness, 17-18, 27, 30, 36-38, 41-42, 50-55, 181 love, 19, 21-24, 40, 69, 73, 84, 87, 159, 172, 181, 187

M

majestic community, 30-32, 40, 53 majestic man, 18-19, 30, 33, 38, 41-42, 45-46, 48n38, 50-51 Malkhut, Shekhinah, 1, 23, 126, 132-133 man of God, 19-20, 22-24, 42, 54 materialism, 1 mathematics, 16, 24-25, 28, 180 memory, 111, 117, 133, 196 messianism, 13-14, 49, 104, 107, 110, 115, 149, 169-170, 203 metahistory, 156 meta-narrative, 170 metaphor, allegory, 21, 29, 32, 39, 87, 100, 112, 125, 144, 148, metaphysics, 25, 29-30, 34n23, 61-63, 66, 71, 111, 129, 162, 187 Midrash Aggada – see Aggada Midrash Halakhah – see Halakhah miracle, 122-124, 128, 148-149, 155-156, 169, 171, 175, 200 modern believer – see modernity modernity, modernism, modern believer, vii-viii, x-xi, 1-6, 17, 25-31, 35-39, 42-43, 45-49, 52-53, 56-57, 61n5, 65, 67, 79-81, 86, 88, 92-94, 96, 103, 106, 108, 110-116, 129, 131132, 148, 159-160, 162, 166n12, 168, 170174, 180, 189, 191-192, 194, 198-200, 204 morality, ethics – most pages of the book mystery, 25, 27-28, 72-74, 186-191 mysticism, 1, 7, 12-13, 22-23, 64-65, 74, 125, 127, 131, 158, 169, 174-176, 185-188, 198-200, 202-203

N

natural sciences, 121-123, 139, 150-151, 156

Nazism, 86 neo-fundamentalism, ix neo-Kantianism, 16, 79 neo-Orthodoxy, 13, 16, 38n29, 171 neo-romanticism, 131n19

O

obedience, 52, 69, 85, 87 objectivity, 4, 19, 24, 40, 43, 72, 75, 102, 112, 122, 150n49, 169, 178-179, 186, 195 ongoing revelation, 163 ontology, 21, 25, 34, 174 opposites, x, 5-12, 14-15, 19, 22-23, 34, 74-76, 88 oppositions, 8-9, 12-15, 18, 25, 28, 32-33, 35, 39, 44, 61, 66, 69, 74, 76, 107n10, 125126, 139-140, 145n44, 170-172, 182 Oral Torah, viii, 35n24, 119, 128, 138, 142, 144-146, 152-154, 157, 162, 166 Orthodoxy, 13, 16-17, 38n29, 49, 82, 92-93, 95, 106-107, 120, 131n19, 152n50, 159162, 166-168, 171-174, 176, 182-183, 193, 195-196, 201, 204 orthopraxy, 166n12

P

pantheism, 1, 14, 49 paradox, xii, 10, 26, 28, 31, 49, 64, 73, 96, 195, 204 parallel worlds (see also: two worlds) participation, 132-133, 137-138 particularism, 3, 46, 105, 172 patriarchy, 164 peace, 10, 15, 42, 52, 102, 104, 106, 126, 137, 140, 180, 198, 204-205 perspective, 2-3, 8, 14, 20, 29, 42-43, 45-46, 72, 91n27, 94-96, 105, 133n23, 150n49, 161, 175, 190, 194-195, 198 peshat, simple meaning, xi, 77, 105, 124-125, 134-139, 142-148, 152-154 phenomena, viii, 5, 8, 122-123, 148-151, 156157, 164, 174, 195n1 philology, 3, 68, 152n50, 159 philosophy – most pages pluralism, 45-46, 63, 193, 195, 205 poetry, 104n7, 135, 147, 177 polarization, 9-10, 40, 49, 69-70, 72, 76, 171 politics, 38, 79, 85, 94, 106, 172, 185-187, 201 postmodernism, 3, 34n23, 159, 162, 167-170, 174-175, 199 prayer, 1, 35, 50, 52, 63, 65, 73, 98, 102-104, 128, 171, 174 presence, 53-54, 72, 108-116, 118, 165n9, 202

215

216

Index of Subjects prism, 27, 164 progress, x, 2, 49, 60, 65, 86, 89, 118, 187, 202 proof, 48, 54, 89, 122, 127-128, 188 prophecy, 5, 10, 12, 15, 19, 21, 23, 25, 50-51, 55, 60, 68, 71, 86, 92-97, 104-106, 119, 121-123, 127, 129, 134, 148, 156, 163, 188-189, 194, 196, 200 providence (divine), xi, 69, 95, 124, 126, 131132, 139, 143-144, 148, 167, 169, 171, 173-175, 183 psychology, 16, 40, 45, 47, 91n27, 111-112, 175

R

rabbis, vii, 4, 16-17, 68, 75, 106, 108, 111, 113, 149, 160, 162, 166-167 racism, 106, 197 radicalism, 80-81, 95, 168, 203 rationalism, ix, 1, 4, 12-13, 19, 25, 29, 33, 60, 63n10, 73-74, 79, 91, 97, 114, 165n9, 180, 185, 187, 198, 203-204 reason, intellect – most pages rebellion, 34, 87-88 rebellious child, 160 recognition, 26, 42, 47-48, 53, 70, 90, 107, 172, 179, 193-195, 203 reconciliation (of contradictions), 9, 13, 33-35, 41, 61, 70-71, 91, 97, 104, 137, 139, 154, 170n2, 179-180, 184, 195, 197198, 201-202 Red Sea (splitting of), 109-110, 128 redemption, x, 13-14, 19, 30-33, 41-43, 48-49, 51, 72-73, 86, 102-104, 115, 170, 183 reduction, 112-115, 162 reflection, 13, 109-114, 161n3 Reform Judaism, 172 refugees, immigrants, 3 refutation, 85, 89, 128 repentance, 12, 88, 102, 174 restrictive identicality, ix, 5, 77n11 resurrection of the dead, 128 revelation – most pages revelation at Sinai, see Sinai revolution, 49, 65, 117, 124, 158, 164 reward and punishment, xi riddle, 25, 84, 179 rift, xi, 5, 22, 43-45, 48-50, 54, 63n10, 92, 104, 170, 177, 196, 201, 204 right, 171-172, 204 romanticism, 1, 9, 11, 29, 33, 62n8, 180, 187, 204 Rosenberg model, xn8, 4

S

Sabbath, 68, 102, 104, 156-158 sacred and profane, xi, 7, 11, 13-15, 34n23, 37, 64, 66, 91, 180, 198, 202 scholarship, ix, 3, 6-7, 13, 26, 35, 39, 44-45, 81-83, 93, 95, 102, 106, 109n1, 124-125, 127, 129, 135-136, 145, 147, 153, 160, 163n6, 185, 192, 201 science – most pages Scripture, ix, 28-29, 82n8, 87, 105, 107, 133, 135-136, 138-139, 142-143, 145, 148, 152-154, 162, 166 second innocence, 99, 101-105, 107, 111, 114, 202-203 secular studies, academic studies, , 3, 16, 103, 124, 166n12 secularism, secularization, 3, 13-14, 16-17, 29-30, 32-34, 45-48, 84, 96-97, 109-118, 129-130, 149, 151-152, 158-159, 166170, 177-183, 189-190, 192-197, 201 secular-religiosity, secular believer, 177-179, 181-183, 201 sefirot, attributes, layers, 1, 5, 21, 82n8, 121, 123, 125-127, 132-133, 136-144, 146148, 179, 199-200 separate intellects, 185 separation, 23, 60-61, 69-70, 201 separation of religion and state, 172 service of God, 88, 202 settlers (in Israel), 105 sexual identity – see homosexuality Shekhinah – see Malkhut Shulhan Arukh, 63, 181-182, 201 silence, 72-73, 107 simple meaning – see peshat sin, 12, 25, 27, 49, 69, 102-104, 117, 174 Sinai, revelation at Sinai, theophany at Sinai, 25, 27, 107, 109-111, 117, 128, 141, 148, 165-166, 188, 193 Six Day War, 3, 105, 118 six days of creation, six days of God’s labor, 157-158 skepticism – see doubt socialism, sociology, 3, 30, 115 softness (of prayer), 171 spheres (astronomical), 38, 56, 74, 172, 185, 195n1, 201 spiritualism, spirituality, 1-3, 9-13, 15, 18-20, 25, 28-30, 39, 41-42, 44-45, 65, 71, 90, 129, 131, 133, 164, 169, 171, 184, 186, 192, 201-202 State of Israel – see Jewish sovereignty

Index of Subjects stubbornness, 92, 109-110, 114, 116, 118 subjectivity, 15, 40, 43, 64, 103, 112-115, 112, 169, 175, 178-179 subjugation, 21, 58, 99-100, 190, 199 sublation, 5, 165 suffering, 10, 18-20, 22, 77-78, 110, 117, 194 super-historical, 95, 202 super-human, 91, 95, 99-100 supernatural, 22, 29, 62, 65, 103, 121, 149152, 155, 164, 169, 173, 179, 202-203 superstition, 114 surrender – see defeat survival, 116-117, 194 sweetening (of judgment) synthesis, vii, x, 2, 5, 8, 10, 18, 34-35, 40, 42, 44, 47, 49, 52-53, 55, 60, 66-67, 71, 75-76, 84-87, 89-90, 94-95, 103, 126, 132, 136, 138-139, 144, 152, 165, 200, 202-203

tsimsum (divine contraction), 165n9 two worlds, 1, 82n8, 122, 127n13, 137, 144145, 155, 171-172, 174-175, 190, 198, 200

T

V

technology, 24-25, 38, 62 Ten Commandments, 102, 104 tension – most pages of book testimony, 30, 114, 157-158 theism, 1 theology, vii, 9, 11, 17, 34-35, 79, 84, 89-90, 93-96, 99-100, 108-110, 139, 162, 170, 185, 193-194 Theophany at Sinai, see Sinai theosophy, xi, 133, 144, 148, 203 thesis, antithesis, , x, 2, 5, 8, 22, 34, 49, 103, 136, 139, 152, 165 theurgy, 1 thing itself (philosophy), 156 thirteen hermeneutical principles, 144 Tiferet, 1, 125, 127, 132, 136 tolerance, 46, 106, 195 Torah – most pages Torah scholar, 44, 106 Torah studies, religious studies, 3, 14n13, 159 Torah study for its own sake, 38, 65 totality, 14n13, 38, 177, 194, 204 tradition, heritage, vii-ix, 3, 17, 30, 43, 64, 72, 92-93, 113, 120-121, 124, 128, 131-132, 146n46, 159-167, 169, 174, 176-177, 185, 189-191, 193, 195-197, 202 transcendence, 5, 9, 19, 109-110, 130, 161n3 transcendentalism, 1, 122, 149, 169, 200

U

Übermensch, philosopher of the future, 90-91, 95-96, 114, 202-203 ultra-Orthodox, 152n50, 160n12, 168 uncertainty – see certainty uniqueness (of the Jewish people), 109, 197n4 unity of opposites, unification of opposites, 7-10, 12, 15 unity, unification, reconciliation – most pages of the book universalism, 3, 46, 172, 197n4 universe, 20, 30, 72, 175, 188 utopia, 14-15, 33, 48-49, 54, 128, 202 values, 2-3, 30, 42-43, 45-48, 62, 65-66, 71, 95, 105, 151, 153, 164, 169-170, 172-174, 181, 189-190, 193, 197 variety, vii, xi, 11, 35, 70, 76-77, 91, 113-114, 121, 132, 140, 143-144, 159, 170, 175, 186 victory – see conquest vitality – see creativity voice of God, voice of Auschwitz, 106, 117118, 155-156

W

wager – see gamble Western Civilization, European Civilization, civilization, 38, 86, 90, 190 will, xi, 1, 19, 21, 24, 31, 34-36, 40, 49, 52, 59, 71-72, 94-95, 102, 107, 117, 123, 132133, 151, 156, 158, 164, 170, 192, 197, 200 women (status of), 3, 159-160, 164, 173, 189, 191 wonder, 86, 109, 111-112, 118, 124, 128, 187188, 190, 194, 198 World to Come, 69, 179 Written Torah, 65, 67, 120, 138, 145n44, 148

Z

zealotry, 106 Zionism, 38, 46, 49, 98, 149, 168-172, 195

217

Index of Names A

Abravanel, 79 Abraham (biblical), 28, 34, 50, 52, 63, 66, 86, 107n10, 134, 136-137 Agnon, Shai, 172, 192 Albalag, Isaac, ix, 6 al-Farabi, ix Aristotle, ix, 71, 94-95

B

Barr, James, ix Bazak, Amnon, 133n23, 145-147 Bergman, Hugo, xii, 56-67, 101, 127, 197, 201203 Berkovits, Eliezer, 115, 166n12, 197 Bloch, Ernst, 115, Brenner, Yosef Haim, 13-14, 198 Breuer, Isaac, xii, 5, 119-158, 200 Breuer, Mordechai, xii, 29n16, 31n19, 38n29, 119-158, 162-163, 196, 200, 203 Brill, Alan, 17n2 Buber, Martin, 62n9, 96, 98-99, 112, 116, 161

C

F

Fackenheim, Emil, xii, 2, 108-118, 202 Feuerbach, Ludwig, 115 Fichte, Johannes, x, 2, 5, 7, 62n8, 122

G

Goodman, Micah, xii, 81-83, 166n12, 185191, 202 Graetz, Heinrich, 166n12

H

Halbertal, Moshe, 81-83, 189n5 Hartman, David, 35n24, 47-48, 52-53, 81 Hegel, Friedrich/Hegelian, x, 2, 5, 7-8, 10-11, 13, 15, 17, 34-35, 49, 60-61, 95, 98, 108, 115, 122, 152, 165, 194, 200 Heinemann, Isaac, 127 Heschel, Abraham, xii, 68-78, 161, 166n12, 189-191, 196, 200 Hirsch, Samson, viii-x, 16, 29, 38-39, 59, 119120, 123n7, 130-131, 139, 145n44, 149150, 152-158, 195n1, 197n4 Hobbes, Thomas, 79 Hoffmann, David, 149

Cassirer, Ernst, 79 Cassuto, Umberto, xi, 124, 166n12 Chajes, Zvi, viii, ix, 77n11, 165 Cherlow, Yuval, 10n5, 50-52, 54, 201 Cohen, Hermann, 16-17, 58-61, 64, 79, 86, 94-96, 100-101, 177, 183 Cohen, Yonatan, 82 Crescas, Hasdai, 4-5

I

D

K

Darwin, Charles, 2 Delmedigo, Elijah, ix, 6 Dreifus, Yair, 168

Ibn Rushd (Averroes), x Ibn Sina, ix Isaac (biblical), 50, 63, 66, 86, 136-137 Ish Shalom, Binyamin, 34n23, 42-43, 48, 168, 201

J

Jacobi, Heinrich, 61-62, 79 Kant, Immanuel, 5, 16-17, 58-59, 62n8, 79, 108, 111, 122, 149-150, 154, 158, 169, 174, 183, 195, 200

Index of Names Kaplan, Lawrence, viii, 52-54, 201 Katz, Jacob, 127 Klein-Braslavy, Sara, 81 Kook, Abraham, xi-xii, 2, 7-15, 29, 32-34, 48-50, 60, 63-64, 66, 159-160, 164-165, 169-171, 175-176, 194, 198-201, 203 Krochmal, Nahman, x, 2, 5, 77n11, 165-166 Kugel, James, 161-162

L

Leibowitz, Yeshayahu, x, 5, 29, 39n29, 81, 99-100, 162, 166n12, 171, 173-174 Lessing, Gotthold, 61n5, 66-67 Levinger, Jacob, 146n46 Loew, Judah (see Maharal) Luz, Ehud, 14n12, 48-49, 82-83, 103-104, 201 Luzzatto, Samuel, viii-xi, 5-6, 29, 33, 39n29, 131, 166n12, 195n1, 197n4, 200

Rechnitzer, Haim Otto, xii, 79, 82, 92-97, 202 Rosenak, Avinoam, xii, 7-15, 201 Rosenak, Michael, 35-37, 201 Rosenberg, Shalom, ix-x, 4-5, 29n16, 83, 100, 150n49, 154, 169 Rosenberg, Shimshon (Shagar), xii, 168-176 Rosenzweig, Franz, 5, 58-59, 61-62, 96, 98, 161 Ross, Tamar, xii, 159-167, 202-203

S

Maharal, xi, 7, 9, 11, 131, 169 Maimonides, Moses, ix-x, 5, 16, 57, 60, 79-83, 87, 92-93, 96, 146n46, 162, 175, 185-189, 191, 195n1, 202 Marx, Karl, 115 Meir, Moshe, xii, 166n12, 177-184, 187, 195196, 200-201 Mendelssohn, Moses, x, 5, 59, 62n8 Moses (biblical), 28, 52, 94, 120-123, 128, 130-131, 134, 141, 144-146, 165, 189190, 196-197 Munitz, Meir, 63n10

Saadia Gaon, 4, 67, 189, 195n1 Sagi, Avi, 9, 45-48, 201 Schelling, Friedrich, x, 2, 7-11, 61n5 Schopenhauer, Arthur, 65, 149 Schwartz, Dov, 43-45, 48n38, 201 Schweid, Eliezer, 37-39, 201 Shiloh, Elhanan, 203 Simon, Akiva Ernst, xii, 98-107, 111, 114n5, 166n12, 202-203 Simon, Uriel, 127, 134, 139 Solomon, Norman, 162 Soloveitchik, Haim, 16 Soloveitchik, Joseph, viii, xi, 10n5, 15-55, 60, 132-133, 162n6, 187, 200-203 Soloveitchik, Moses, 16 Spinoza, Benedict, 79-80 Steinsaltz, Adin, 168 Strauss, Leo, x, xii, 79-97, 112, 187-189, 202203 Strauss, Ludwig, 104

N

W

M

Nachman of Breslov, 169-171 Nachmanides, 121, 185 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 79, 90-91, 95-96, 114115, 198, 203 Nobel, Nehemiah, 98

P

Weinberg, Yehiel, 16 Weiss, Avi, 166n12 Weiss, Meir, 127 Weiss-Halivni, David, 162 Werblowsky, Tzvi, 127 Wessely, Naphtali, 5

Pines, Shlomo, 80-81 Plato, 11, 65, 71, 79, 81, 85-86, 94, 96, 101

Y

R

Z

Rabinowitz, Alexander Susskind, 15 Rabinowitz, Zadok Hakohen, 7 Ravitzky, Aviezer, 13-14, 39-42, 44, 80-81, 201

Yovel, Yirmiyahu, 91n27 Zechariah (biblical), 33 Ziegler, 65 Zivan, Gili, 39n29

219