No decent person can fail to be appalled by the various attempts to blame hurricate Katrina on its victims. At the same time, we must acknowledge that this line of thinking is a direct outcome of the concept of a just God, which we Jews are so proud have introduced to the world.
Thankfully, several thousand years of religious civilization did yield at least a few people who noticed that life isn't always fair. The first known sustained attempt to grapple with this problem from within the monotheistic tradition appears, of course, in the book of Job. To be strictly accurate, Job actually offers two approaches to the problem: one in the folktale framework of the book, and one in the poetic portion. The folktale offers what may seem like a throwback to the idea of an amoral deity, who treats his creations callously for the sake of his own ego. The poem, on the other hand, depicts a Supreme Being Whose nature and actions are so far beyond human understanding that, while they may ultimately be just in some cosmic sense, we can never hope to reckon with them. Rabbinic theology later introduced the concept of an afterlife that would even all scores, and the idea of "afflictions of love" imposed upon the good in this world, to lessen their suffering in the next. These ideas were developed by many thinkers throughout the centuries, yielding varied results. Yet one common thread runs through all of them, namely, an acknowledgement that the notion of a just deity giving each of us what we deserve within our lifetimes simply does not accord with observed reality.
There have always been those among us who have attempted to correlate particular "punishments" with particular "sins," and in so doing, they were not out of keeping with Jewish tradition. Yet they were also not fully in keeping with that tradition, and it is the responsibility of those of us who identify as religious Jews to emphasize that point. This sort of reasoning cannot be tolerated -- particularly since there are so many alternatives.
Ba' al HaRahamim - God of Compassion:
Mikolot mayim rabim - Above the voice of vast waters;
Mishberei yam - The breakers of the sea;
Adir bamarom Adonai -Awesome is Adonai our God.
In the path of Katrina's destruction, let the good in humanity rise to the top of the flood.
Give us strength to console those who have lost family, friends and neighbors.
Give us the courage to provide hope to those who despair.
Provide us with the guidance to heal those who ail, both in body and in spirit.
~ excerpt from A Prayer for Guidance and Understanding by Richard S. Moline and Rabbi Elyse R. Winick
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Showing posts with label theology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label theology. Show all posts
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Monday, August 01, 2005
The Dragon's Fine, Thank You.
I've avoided discussing my theological struggle on this blog until recently, for various reasons. At this point, I think it would be best to articulate one of those reasons, even though it's kind of silly. You see, for whatever reason, most of my readers are to the right of me on the religious spectrum. As a result, I often find myself defending liberal Judaism. (This is somewhat ironic, given that my religious practice is to the "right" of the vast majority of American Jewry, but never mind.) I've often thought: what would it say about liberal Judaism, if its defender turned out not to be a believer at all?
The truth, I've come to realize, is that it doesn't say anything about liberal Judaism. All it says anything about is me. I've met Orthodox Jews who seriously doubt God's existence, and I've met Reform Jews with deep, unquestioning faith. And, while it's true that my doubts were partly responsible for my shift toward a more liberal interpretation of halakhah, I know others who have moved in a similar direction for entirely different reasons. Movements are made up of many individuals, each with his or her own distinct spiritual history, convictions, and doubts.
It should be clear by now that, notwithstanding my doubts about God, I am, in my own way, still deeply committed to Judaism. I've never questioned that fundamental commitment, any more than I'd question my love for and commitment to my husband and family.
So, about that dragon: It may be invisible. It may not even exist. That won't stop me from putting out milk and cookies, and otherwise making sure that my garage remains a comfortable place for an invisible, heatless fire-breathing dragon to live.
(Please, spare me the observation that I don't have a garage.)
The truth, I've come to realize, is that it doesn't say anything about liberal Judaism. All it says anything about is me. I've met Orthodox Jews who seriously doubt God's existence, and I've met Reform Jews with deep, unquestioning faith. And, while it's true that my doubts were partly responsible for my shift toward a more liberal interpretation of halakhah, I know others who have moved in a similar direction for entirely different reasons. Movements are made up of many individuals, each with his or her own distinct spiritual history, convictions, and doubts.
It should be clear by now that, notwithstanding my doubts about God, I am, in my own way, still deeply committed to Judaism. I've never questioned that fundamental commitment, any more than I'd question my love for and commitment to my husband and family.
So, about that dragon: It may be invisible. It may not even exist. That won't stop me from putting out milk and cookies, and otherwise making sure that my garage remains a comfortable place for an invisible, heatless fire-breathing dragon to live.
(Please, spare me the observation that I don't have a garage.)
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Responses To Tanya, Sefer Shel Benonim, chs. 1-5
Do people have souls?
The problems posed by the concept of a transcendent soul that interacts with the physical body are similar to those posed by the concept of a transcendent deity who interacts with the physical universe. Neuroscience has a long way to go, but we do seem to be making strides in the direction of understanding -- and, to an extent, being able to control -- many aspects of emotion and cognition, including matters as fundamental as decision-making, empathy, and impulse control. The better these matters are understood, the less room there seems to be for a non-physical human "spirit."
Most religious people seem convinced that we do have souls independent of our bodies, but I wonder whether this doctrine is truly vital to religious belief. It is undeniable that people have the capacity for thought and emotion. We can contemplate God, choose ethical conduct, and find joy in religious activity. If these are the elements necessary for religious devotion, and if we believe that these traits are, in one way or another, given to us by God, what difference does it make whether they are ultimately physical or not?
I raise this question now because it relates to the nature of the truth that may be embodied in such mystical works as Tanya. The author of Tanya, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, divides the transcendental aspect of human beings into various parts. We have two souls (neshamot), as well as spirit (ruach) and life (nefesh). In addition, our souls (the sum of the three) have ten manifestations, corresponding to the ten Sefirot, or Divine spheres. For the Ba'al Ha-Tanya (the author), this is all quite literal. The base, wicked soul resides in the blood, and the evil inclinations within it emanate from the four elements (Fire, Water, Air, and Earth). The second soul, meanwhile, resides in human breath. The external nefesh, surrounding the internal neshamot, ruach, and nefesh, is comprised of the essences of the individual's mother and father, and so on.
But are these physical connections necessary? In a very different context, Sigmund Freud divided the human psyche into Ego, Superego, and Id. Freud never claimed that these were directly related to the physical brain, or that they existed on some transcendental plane separate from it; they simply described the various human inclinations as they seemed to manifest themselves in his observations. Presumably, he could have divided the psyche into four parts, or ten (if he were a kabbalist), and the analysis would be no less accurate, provided that it corresponded to human nature as we experience it.
Is Tanya less valuable because it claims more for its assertions than this? Because, frankly, the Aristotelian science doesn't do it for me. . .
The problems posed by the concept of a transcendent soul that interacts with the physical body are similar to those posed by the concept of a transcendent deity who interacts with the physical universe. Neuroscience has a long way to go, but we do seem to be making strides in the direction of understanding -- and, to an extent, being able to control -- many aspects of emotion and cognition, including matters as fundamental as decision-making, empathy, and impulse control. The better these matters are understood, the less room there seems to be for a non-physical human "spirit."
Most religious people seem convinced that we do have souls independent of our bodies, but I wonder whether this doctrine is truly vital to religious belief. It is undeniable that people have the capacity for thought and emotion. We can contemplate God, choose ethical conduct, and find joy in religious activity. If these are the elements necessary for religious devotion, and if we believe that these traits are, in one way or another, given to us by God, what difference does it make whether they are ultimately physical or not?
I raise this question now because it relates to the nature of the truth that may be embodied in such mystical works as Tanya. The author of Tanya, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, divides the transcendental aspect of human beings into various parts. We have two souls (neshamot), as well as spirit (ruach) and life (nefesh). In addition, our souls (the sum of the three) have ten manifestations, corresponding to the ten Sefirot, or Divine spheres. For the Ba'al Ha-Tanya (the author), this is all quite literal. The base, wicked soul resides in the blood, and the evil inclinations within it emanate from the four elements (Fire, Water, Air, and Earth). The second soul, meanwhile, resides in human breath. The external nefesh, surrounding the internal neshamot, ruach, and nefesh, is comprised of the essences of the individual's mother and father, and so on.
But are these physical connections necessary? In a very different context, Sigmund Freud divided the human psyche into Ego, Superego, and Id. Freud never claimed that these were directly related to the physical brain, or that they existed on some transcendental plane separate from it; they simply described the various human inclinations as they seemed to manifest themselves in his observations. Presumably, he could have divided the psyche into four parts, or ten (if he were a kabbalist), and the analysis would be no less accurate, provided that it corresponded to human nature as we experience it.
Is Tanya less valuable because it claims more for its assertions than this? Because, frankly, the Aristotelian science doesn't do it for me. . .
Thursday, July 28, 2005
The Dragon in My Garage
Whether your name is Meredith or not, be forewarned: this post contains deeply heretical ideas, along with some gross stuff about my love life.
DH has known about my spiritual struggle since we were in high school. This was, in part, because we were both socially inept. I asked him to senior prom (not because I was particularly interested in him, mind you, but because I knew he'd be available), and on the way, in the limosine, I started rambling on about God.
I was in the midst of a massive crisis of faith. All my life, I'd been deeply religious, which is to say that I did my utmost to behave in accordance with halakha as I understood it and to believe the religious dogma that I was taught. This had become increasingly difficult, however, and lately, even the most basic tenets of religion had begun to seem irrational.
Everyone else seemed to think that I was a model Jew (notwithstanding my strange decision to go to prom), and I didn't know how my date would respond to this sudden admission of agnosticism. To my surprise, it didn't seem to affect him at all. He responded matter-of-factly that of course there was no way to prove or disprove the existence of a Supreme Being. Then, with a grin, he concluded:
"God is a postulate."
Strangely enough, that was the moment when I realized that this incredibly nerdy boy, who couldn't assemble an English sentence without including a world like "postulate," was someone I'd actually like to befriend.
Several years later, when we became romantically involved (in spite of a distance of approximately 400 miles), I began what became a lengthy e-mail exchange debating the God Postulate.
Some excerpts:
Love,
...
God is only a useful concept. . . if He interacts with the universe in some way. Can't one assert, then, according to a law that seems to hold true within the universe, that a system including a superfluous entity is less likely to accurately describe the way things work?
Dearest,
...
If you get the same results from one line of math that you would get from 7 pages of algebra, chances are, you want to use the one line, and all that it implies about the physics, as the basis of your theory. On the other hand, if there are some phenomena that can only be explained by the theory that would require 7 pages of algebra to do, you know that while the one line works in a limiting case, it can't be the entire truth.
Motek,
...
Quantum theory is valuable because there are cases that Newtonian physics can't explain. Find me an aspect of the universe that can't be explained except through theism.
Dearest Pathetically Devoted One,
...
I'm glad that you finally responded to my e-mail. I was starting to worry that I might have actually destroyed your faith, which would suck, because then we'd have to switch positions.
And so on.
One of the things that most attracted me to DH was his willingness to confront these issues. I also liked the fact that they didn't seem to interfere with his religious commitment. Still, I have to admit, I was also kind of hoping that he'd eventually formulate an argument that would make religion seem reasonable again. Perhaps that was too much to hope for from anyone.
I've found myself thinking about these issues a good deal lately, mainly as a result of the proliferation of blogs by Orthodox and formerly Orthodox sceptics. Of course, I've dragged DH back into the conversation. The outcome of our last debate (if you can call me whining while my husband tries to sleep a "debate") is encapsulated in this post on DH's blog. In response, some obviously intelligent and thoughtful people contributed these (forgive me) entirely pathetic arguments in favor of theism:
1. "Cognitive closure:" The "wiring" of the human brain prevents us from grasping God's function in the universe.* Possible? Certainly. It is also possible that we are "wired" to think that the world around us is real, when it is actually a "matrix" designed by giant robots who are farming us for energy. In fact, a movie based on that premise was wildly popular. Still, I don't see people restructuring their lives on the basis of The Matrix. That's because, not only is there no reason to think that it's true, but it undermines everything we're able to deduce based on our senses and our capacity for logical reasoning.
If this doesn't trouble you, think about your daily life. Pretty much everything you do is based on the assumption that your senses and capacity for basic reasoning will not fail you. Everything. . . except religion.
2. God could "shift some quantums one way, and balance it out by shifting others the other way."** Also possible. But realize that this is the logical eqivalent of the argument that God fabricated the fossil record in order to fool us. Tell me again why I should believe in a God who's done everything possible to ensure that I can't detect his existence?
Sorry to be so shrill, but I know that there are many intelligent religious people in the world. Can't anyone do better than this?
* From respondingtojblogs
**From Godol Hador
DH has known about my spiritual struggle since we were in high school. This was, in part, because we were both socially inept. I asked him to senior prom (not because I was particularly interested in him, mind you, but because I knew he'd be available), and on the way, in the limosine, I started rambling on about God.
I was in the midst of a massive crisis of faith. All my life, I'd been deeply religious, which is to say that I did my utmost to behave in accordance with halakha as I understood it and to believe the religious dogma that I was taught. This had become increasingly difficult, however, and lately, even the most basic tenets of religion had begun to seem irrational.
Everyone else seemed to think that I was a model Jew (notwithstanding my strange decision to go to prom), and I didn't know how my date would respond to this sudden admission of agnosticism. To my surprise, it didn't seem to affect him at all. He responded matter-of-factly that of course there was no way to prove or disprove the existence of a Supreme Being. Then, with a grin, he concluded:
"God is a postulate."
Strangely enough, that was the moment when I realized that this incredibly nerdy boy, who couldn't assemble an English sentence without including a world like "postulate," was someone I'd actually like to befriend.
Several years later, when we became romantically involved (in spite of a distance of approximately 400 miles), I began what became a lengthy e-mail exchange debating the God Postulate.
Some excerpts:
Love,
...
God is only a useful concept. . . if He interacts with the universe in some way. Can't one assert, then, according to a law that seems to hold true within the universe, that a system including a superfluous entity is less likely to accurately describe the way things work?
Dearest,
...
If you get the same results from one line of math that you would get from 7 pages of algebra, chances are, you want to use the one line, and all that it implies about the physics, as the basis of your theory. On the other hand, if there are some phenomena that can only be explained by the theory that would require 7 pages of algebra to do, you know that while the one line works in a limiting case, it can't be the entire truth.
Motek,
...
Quantum theory is valuable because there are cases that Newtonian physics can't explain. Find me an aspect of the universe that can't be explained except through theism.
Dearest Pathetically Devoted One,
...
I'm glad that you finally responded to my e-mail. I was starting to worry that I might have actually destroyed your faith, which would suck, because then we'd have to switch positions.
And so on.
One of the things that most attracted me to DH was his willingness to confront these issues. I also liked the fact that they didn't seem to interfere with his religious commitment. Still, I have to admit, I was also kind of hoping that he'd eventually formulate an argument that would make religion seem reasonable again. Perhaps that was too much to hope for from anyone.
I've found myself thinking about these issues a good deal lately, mainly as a result of the proliferation of blogs by Orthodox and formerly Orthodox sceptics. Of course, I've dragged DH back into the conversation. The outcome of our last debate (if you can call me whining while my husband tries to sleep a "debate") is encapsulated in this post on DH's blog. In response, some obviously intelligent and thoughtful people contributed these (forgive me) entirely pathetic arguments in favor of theism:
1. "Cognitive closure:" The "wiring" of the human brain prevents us from grasping God's function in the universe.* Possible? Certainly. It is also possible that we are "wired" to think that the world around us is real, when it is actually a "matrix" designed by giant robots who are farming us for energy. In fact, a movie based on that premise was wildly popular. Still, I don't see people restructuring their lives on the basis of The Matrix. That's because, not only is there no reason to think that it's true, but it undermines everything we're able to deduce based on our senses and our capacity for logical reasoning.
If this doesn't trouble you, think about your daily life. Pretty much everything you do is based on the assumption that your senses and capacity for basic reasoning will not fail you. Everything. . . except religion.
2. God could "shift some quantums one way, and balance it out by shifting others the other way."** Also possible. But realize that this is the logical eqivalent of the argument that God fabricated the fossil record in order to fool us. Tell me again why I should believe in a God who's done everything possible to ensure that I can't detect his existence?
Sorry to be so shrill, but I know that there are many intelligent religious people in the world. Can't anyone do better than this?
* From respondingtojblogs
**From Godol Hador
Monday, July 11, 2005
ELF Experiments with New-Age Avoda Zara
I attended my first yoga class on Thursday. It was enjoyable. Most of the exercises were physically intensive, but at the end of the class, the instructor asked us to lie on our backs and try to get in touch with the "energy in everything" and "experience it as joy." Eventually, he said, we would learn to channel and "radiate" that joy to the people around us.
I'm a good sport, so I gave it a shot. For five minutes or so, I lay on my mat, not thinking too much, just breathing and feeling. As soon as the class was over, though, the analytical side of my mind kicked back into gear. The first thing I thought was, "what the hell??"
I don't know much about the philosophy behind yoga (or Eastern religion in general), but it seems to me that the notion of a "spirit" or "energy" inhabiting all physical things has attained much of its current popularity in the West as a response to the challenge that science poses to religion. The fundamental problem is this: the more we understand about the workings of the universe, the more it appears to be a causally closed system. Thoughtful people who believe in an active, independent God must imagine Him to be increasingly limited, not a direct force behind the weather, or the growth of plants, or the birth of babies, but a remote force, lurking behind some distant, primordial event that scientists have yet to fully explain. It is difficult to imagine such a God being truly relevant to our daily existence, even if, as some assert, He planned the entire course of history from the outset.
An alternative to this approach is to expand God rather than contracting Him, imagining a divine spirit inhabiting all that exists. But what does it mean for God to be part and parcel of a causally closed system? Can one pray to a god who is indistinguishable from a fruit fly, or the force of gravity? Can such a deity command ethical behavior?* I'm all for feeling at one with the universe and radiating joy to the rest of humanity, but why get in touch with God when I could accomplish the same thing by eating a bowl of ice cream? Can this sort of theology provide an adequate substitute for theism in the modern world? Many liberal Jews and Christians seem to think so. But I have my doubts.
* I realize that classical yoga includes prayer and ethical conduct. It also usually includes theism (I think). But I'm not really talking about classical yoga, which I clearly don't know much about . . .
I'm a good sport, so I gave it a shot. For five minutes or so, I lay on my mat, not thinking too much, just breathing and feeling. As soon as the class was over, though, the analytical side of my mind kicked back into gear. The first thing I thought was, "what the hell??"
I don't know much about the philosophy behind yoga (or Eastern religion in general), but it seems to me that the notion of a "spirit" or "energy" inhabiting all physical things has attained much of its current popularity in the West as a response to the challenge that science poses to religion. The fundamental problem is this: the more we understand about the workings of the universe, the more it appears to be a causally closed system. Thoughtful people who believe in an active, independent God must imagine Him to be increasingly limited, not a direct force behind the weather, or the growth of plants, or the birth of babies, but a remote force, lurking behind some distant, primordial event that scientists have yet to fully explain. It is difficult to imagine such a God being truly relevant to our daily existence, even if, as some assert, He planned the entire course of history from the outset.
An alternative to this approach is to expand God rather than contracting Him, imagining a divine spirit inhabiting all that exists. But what does it mean for God to be part and parcel of a causally closed system? Can one pray to a god who is indistinguishable from a fruit fly, or the force of gravity? Can such a deity command ethical behavior?* I'm all for feeling at one with the universe and radiating joy to the rest of humanity, but why get in touch with God when I could accomplish the same thing by eating a bowl of ice cream? Can this sort of theology provide an adequate substitute for theism in the modern world? Many liberal Jews and Christians seem to think so. But I have my doubts.
* I realize that classical yoga includes prayer and ethical conduct. It also usually includes theism (I think). But I'm not really talking about classical yoga, which I clearly don't know much about . . .
Monday, January 03, 2005
From a Grieving Father
This is from Seraphic Secret:
I lurk on Jewish websites for grieving parents and everyone seems to ask the same question about this massive tragedy: what did God have in mind? And anyone who is foolish enough to answer looks, well, foolish. All answers are simplistic and reductive and leave only larger questions that are all but unanswerable. I have no patience for the pat answers that some people propose: It's a test, it's an accounting, ultimately it's all for the good... These truly dumb answers bring out a kind of maniacal fury in me.
I lurk on Jewish websites for grieving parents and everyone seems to ask the same question about this massive tragedy: what did God have in mind? And anyone who is foolish enough to answer looks, well, foolish. All answers are simplistic and reductive and leave only larger questions that are all but unanswerable. I have no patience for the pat answers that some people propose: It's a test, it's an accounting, ultimately it's all for the good... These truly dumb answers bring out a kind of maniacal fury in me.
When Ariel was sick, I stopped looking for answers because, I quickly discovered, it was a waste of energy. As Job (42:3) says to HaShem: I can understand nothing. It is beyond me. I shall never know.
I think I'm finished cataloguing responses to the tsunamis. There's nothing of value left to say.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Miscellaneous
I don't know how to respond to the recent catastrophe, so I am going to pass the buck. Below is a list of links to posts on the subject by Jewish bloggers. (Feel free to mention any that I missed in the comments.)
The Fourth Rabbi has a story from a relative in Thailand and some reflections on the fragility of human life.
Strange_Selkie has a characteristically moving theological post.
Chayyei Sarah shares some thoughts on hester panim (God "hiding his face") and tikkun olam ("repairing the world"), as well as a poem by a friend.
Out of Step Jew muses on monotheism and natural disasters and references a collection of responses by other religious bloggers.
Allison Kaplan Sommer reports on Israelis vacationing in Sri Lanka, shares an incredible personal account of the disaster, and gives us the depressing (though unsurprising) news that Sri Lanka has refused to accept an Israeli aid delegation. She also reminds us that donations to help the victims can be directed to the American Jewish World Service.
Rachel Barenblat has some more details on the AJWS emergency appeal, as well as other organizations offering aid.
Reb Yudel has a post on the same topic.
Miriam Shavit reports on a telling error in the Vatican newspaper.
In case that isn't enough for you, Judith at Kesher Talk has a few more links.
And now for something completely different...
The Christian Science Monitor is running a poll on whether U.S. based churches should divest from companies that do business with Israel. The anti-Israel position currently has a significant lead. Companies' overall perception of public opinion is likely to affect their decision-making, so your vote may make a difference. (All right, so it probably won't, but it only takes a minute to vote. What's the harm?)
For the sake of the technologically illiterate, I'll make this simple: Click here to vote.
(I realize that I'm making an assumption about the opinions of my readers. Needless to say, which side to vote for is up to you.)
UPDATE: One more post from Allison Kaplan Sommer on Israeli aid to South Asia. This one's more lighthearted. (Very funny, actually. And sad.)
IMPORTANT CORRECTION: The Vatican's rebuke was not directed at Israel but at Sri Lanka, for refusing to accept Israeli aid. I've read bad translations before, but this is ridiculous.
UPDATE 2: Bloghead discusses responses to the disaster by religious Jews. Gil Student cites Psalm 46. Allison Kaplan Sommer has an update on Israeli aid efforts. Hatshepsut bashes the media for failing to notice.
UPDATE 3: Andrew Silow-Carroll has an excerpt of a fax from the Sri Lankan government, apparently distributed by the Israeli Consulate. The government of Sri Lanka thanks the "government and people of Israel" for their assistance and explains that their earlier rejection of an Israeli rescue team was "due to the lack of accomodation available in the country at this point and skilled manpower required for medical attention becoming adequate for the present in many areas." I think that means that they didn't need or have room for any more helpers. I'll believe that when I hear about the rejection of rescue teams from other countries.
Be that as it may, the Sri Lankan government is clearly trying to undo its earlier decision, and that sounds like good news to me.
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
In Defense of Agnosticism
While browsing Kol Nidrei sermons on the web, I came across this very unusual drash, delivered by Rabbi Ethan Seidel in 2002. 2001 was a difficult year for Rabbi Seigel, as it was for most of us. Aside from the September 11th attack, he endured the death of a friend, and this precipitated what he describes as "theological depression."
I don't mean to make light of clinical depression - that's serious business, and my condition was just not that serious. But for a Rabbi, at least, a theological depression is a problem. I'm paid to believe in God. If I'm suddenly convinced that all is chaos, how is that helpful to my congregation?
Rabbi Seidel relates some of the thoughts that plagued him during this period, thoughts that are very familiar to me. Then he gives us his reason for self-disclosure, and it's one of those simple truths, the kind that is as shocking as it is obvious:
I don't mean to make light of clinical depression - that's serious business, and my condition was just not that serious. But for a Rabbi, at least, a theological depression is a problem. I'm paid to believe in God. If I'm suddenly convinced that all is chaos, how is that helpful to my congregation?
Rabbi Seidel relates some of the thoughts that plagued him during this period, thoughts that are very familiar to me. Then he gives us his reason for self-disclosure, and it's one of those simple truths, the kind that is as shocking as it is obvious:
I wonder if you all realize how common such a theological crisis is, even among us Rabbis? Maybe you think that there are some people who have perfect faith, and that you with your imperfect faith are somehow a defective Jew. I'm here to tell you not to think that.
It gets even more outrageous:
I think that there is something pareve, even unhealthy about both the atheist and the fundamentalist. How can they be so sure of themselves? They live in a world where everything is known. But is that 2-dimensional world reality? I ask the atheist: is goodness really just a human invention, just a matter of opinion? And how can the fundamentalist ignore the chaos that seems to permeate the world? Reality is incomprehensible. And I mistrust . . . those who claim to understand life.
There is, admittedly, a certain arrogance to this approach. How can he be so sure of himself? How can he declare something that others claim to know to be fundametally unknowable?
But I understand. I think that way, too.
Anyway, it's a good read. Somewhat comforting, if you're one of those Jews who struggles privately with the fundamentals.
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Why I "Do Halakha"
This started as a Live Journal meme (originally from Smartphil, via debka_notion), but the topic seemed blogworthy.
Smartphil presents a number of possible answers to the question, "why do you do halakha*?" The reasons come from Rabbi David Golinkin's "Halakhah of Our Time," and are summarized here. The following are my current thoughts on why I choose to lead a (more or less) halakhik lifestyle. I've used the summary of Golinkin's work as a guide. (Note: These are today's thoughts. My reasons may be different tomorrow.)
A. Theocentric Reasons
In my understanding, there can be no halakha without the presumption that (1) God exists, (2) God cares about human behavior, and (3) human beings can, at least to a certain extent, discern God's will. Without these presumptions (we can call them "postulates," for DH's sake), you might have something that looks like halakha, but the essence of halakha is missing. (We call that something "tradition.")
I do not believe that the entire Torah, let alone the Babylonian Talmud, was dictated to Moses at Sinai. I do, however, like to think that the Torah, the Talmud, and the expressions of Judaism that came after them contain some element of divinity. I would rather not be any more specific than that. This is all speculation.
As Naomi Chana once said somewhat more articulately, I don't think God really cares whether or not I mix meat and dairy, but I do think He cares that I care. (Sorry, I'm old fashioned. My God is a He.) Halakha offers a means to demonstrate my commitment to God's will, even if I can't be sure exactly what it is that He wants.
B. Ethnocentric Reasons
To be honest, I don't quite understand the argument that Jews should adhere to Jewish law simply in order to preserve Judaism or the Jewish people. There's no sense in trying to preserve something unless it has inherent value. And I don't buy the argument that Judaism is worth preserving simply on account of the ethical principles that it imparts. Certainly, Judaism has contributed certain ethical values to the world (or, at least, certain expressions of those values), but there can be ethics without Jews or Judaism, and, sadly, there are nominally religious Jews with little regard for ethics.
That said, the specific ways in which I observe halakha have a lot to do with tradition and community. I want to strive to live in accordance with God's will, but I don't want to do it alone. I want to be a part of the "evolving religious civilization of the Jewish people" (as the Reconstructionists put it), and I want to be a part of a living community.
C. Anthropocentric Reasons
Golinkin offers two very different anthropocentric reasons to observe halakha:
(1) It encourages self-discipline, and
(2) It brings joy.
With regard to (1), I would say that self-discipline is only valuable insofar as it is applied to inherently valuable pursuits. It is quite possible that if I prayed more regularly I would also exercise more regularly, study more diligently, arrive on time for appointments, and be more cautious about my diet. I was once better at all these things, and I daresay they were connected. It wasn't so pleasant, though. People were always telling me to "loosen up." Maybe instead of loosening up I should have learned to hide my stress. (Something to think about over this season of repentance.)
As for (2), well, this seems like a good opportunity to plug Naomi Chana's recent posts on prayer. For my own part, I admit that one of my primary reasons for observing Shabbat as I do is that it makes me happy. I like having a chance to rest, take a break from what I normally do, wear nice clothes, eat good food, and chat with friends. I attend synagogue partly out of a sense of religious obligation, but also because I genuinely enjoy it. Missing services puts me in a lousy mood.
I certainly don't enjoy all mitsvot. Waking up early to pray is pretty unpleasant (unless I'm joining the wonderful egal minyan, in which case it's not too bad), and when I'm not in a religious setting, restrictions on eating and movement can be very awkward. I suppose the true test of my commitment to halakha is the extent to which I observe the mitsvot that I don't enjoy. But I don't think that getting pleasure out of mitsvot** is inherently bad. Like the Chassidim, I like to think that God wants us to be happy.
* Jewish law/ religious observance
** Commandments.
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
H is for Heresy
I have no idea who "H" is, but he (or she) has posted some interesting comments to OOSJ's blog.
OOSJ has been arguing that Judaism ought to be more of a "moral force" in Israel:
"The concern of many of our religious leaders (haredi and religious-Zionist alike) is so dedicated to the minutiae of the Halakhic observance of their often closed communities that religion is only used as an argument in the public square when it concerns the "mitzvah performance" of those communities.... [B]y concentrating on the material aspect of Jewish life that is halakhic performance they are ignoring the rich moral and ethical tradition that our non-halakhic literature and history has produced."
H contends that religion is "never a 'moral force:'"
"Morality is independent of religion, since religion can be so easily interpreted to fit your own morality."
In a later comment, H elaborates:
"[W]hen religion goes wrong, as it was (largely) wrong 50 years ago about women's rights and is (largely) wrong now about gay marriage, it's secular thought and basic human empathy which leads the way.... Empathy and religion both say "Love thy neighbor," but halakha for example says that gay sex is an abomination and that marrying a non-Jew is sinful."
H has a point. There are at least as many people for whom religion serves as an incentive for callousness and hatred as people for whom it serves as an inspiration for compassion and ethical behavior. However, based on my limited experience, it doesn't seem that "freethinkers" (as they were once called) are any more apt to be compassionate and ethical than their religious counterparts. Not everyone is empathetic by nature, and secular thought is as often cruel as religious thought(think of Social Darwinism).
In the end, I think, each of us is on his or her own when it comes to morality. (This is not a comforting thought.) However, I also think that those of us who lead religious lives can find positive moral guidance in our religious traditions, or in the simple belief in a just and merciful God. And I think that that can have a positive impact on the way we approach the world.
Take a look at the Heretic. Would she be ministering to the sick right now if she didn't believe in God?
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
OOSJ has been arguing that Judaism ought to be more of a "moral force" in Israel:
"The concern of many of our religious leaders (haredi and religious-Zionist alike) is so dedicated to the minutiae of the Halakhic observance of their often closed communities that religion is only used as an argument in the public square when it concerns the "mitzvah performance" of those communities.... [B]y concentrating on the material aspect of Jewish life that is halakhic performance they are ignoring the rich moral and ethical tradition that our non-halakhic literature and history has produced."
H contends that religion is "never a 'moral force:'"
"Morality is independent of religion, since religion can be so easily interpreted to fit your own morality."
In a later comment, H elaborates:
"[W]hen religion goes wrong, as it was (largely) wrong 50 years ago about women's rights and is (largely) wrong now about gay marriage, it's secular thought and basic human empathy which leads the way.... Empathy and religion both say "Love thy neighbor," but halakha for example says that gay sex is an abomination and that marrying a non-Jew is sinful."
H has a point. There are at least as many people for whom religion serves as an incentive for callousness and hatred as people for whom it serves as an inspiration for compassion and ethical behavior. However, based on my limited experience, it doesn't seem that "freethinkers" (as they were once called) are any more apt to be compassionate and ethical than their religious counterparts. Not everyone is empathetic by nature, and secular thought is as often cruel as religious thought(think of Social Darwinism).
In the end, I think, each of us is on his or her own when it comes to morality. (This is not a comforting thought.) However, I also think that those of us who lead religious lives can find positive moral guidance in our religious traditions, or in the simple belief in a just and merciful God. And I think that that can have a positive impact on the way we approach the world.
Take a look at the Heretic. Would she be ministering to the sick right now if she didn't believe in God?
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
Monday, May 10, 2004
Wrinkle Treatment
It seems that everyone has found this delightful interview with Madeline L'Engle via Protocols. I'll probably alienate a number of people by saying this, but I agree with L'Engle's assessment of Harry Potter as well as with most of her thoughts on religion.
If you're still thinking of watching tomorrow's TV adaptation of A Wrinkle In Time after reading the interview, read this review.
If you're still thinking of watching tomorrow's TV adaptation of A Wrinkle In Time after reading the interview, read this review.
Thursday, March 18, 2004
Berger has posted a response to Simcha's response to Berger's response to Simcha's response to Roth's teshuva. Berger states:
"I reject the (ostensible) compromise of 'only written under Divine inspiration and not dictated by God,' since this formulation is (a) banal, (b) inexact, and (c) lacking in any recognition of the mysterium tremendum which must accompany any discussion of the relationship between God and Torah. Matter-of-fact catechisms must not be the stuff of modern Jewish theology."
This is absolutely correct. I somewhat regret my attempt to reduce these complex ideas to simple statements in last Wednesday's post. Mostly, I was trying to convey that there is a middle ground between regarding the written Torah as "omniscient" and unassailable, and rejecting its authority entirely.
I am going to visit my family this weekend, so I won't be blogging for a while. When I return, I hope to move on to another topic. This discussion has been very interesting, but I don't think that anyone has or will change his or her mind. Also, I'm not the best person to be defending the Conservative approach to halakha. I don't want my ideas confused with the movement's ideology.
Of course, everyone should feel free to continue the discussion in the "comments." I may even respond :-).
"I reject the (ostensible) compromise of 'only written under Divine inspiration and not dictated by God,' since this formulation is (a) banal, (b) inexact, and (c) lacking in any recognition of the mysterium tremendum which must accompany any discussion of the relationship between God and Torah. Matter-of-fact catechisms must not be the stuff of modern Jewish theology."
This is absolutely correct. I somewhat regret my attempt to reduce these complex ideas to simple statements in last Wednesday's post. Mostly, I was trying to convey that there is a middle ground between regarding the written Torah as "omniscient" and unassailable, and rejecting its authority entirely.
I am going to visit my family this weekend, so I won't be blogging for a while. When I return, I hope to move on to another topic. This discussion has been very interesting, but I don't think that anyone has or will change his or her mind. Also, I'm not the best person to be defending the Conservative approach to halakha. I don't want my ideas confused with the movement's ideology.
Of course, everyone should feel free to continue the discussion in the "comments." I may even respond :-).
Monday, March 15, 2004
One of the reasons I've been putting off the follow-up to last Wednesday's post is that a proper discussion of halakhic innovation would require actual, serious research. Instead of going the route of academic integrity (this is, after all, a blog), I've decided to sketch out my ideas without citations and without all the relevant examples. I hope that some of you can help me fill in the missing information over the next few days.
Okay, here goes:
I have an unfortunate tendency to express misgivings about my opinions before fully articulating them to begin with. Change and "manipulation" have been integral aspects of the halakhic process from the start. A number of aggadot reveal that the Rabbis understood their role to be innovative, not simply transmission or recovery of Sinaitic Oral Law. This does not mean, however, that there is no risk involved in innovation. Many proponents of halakhic change strike me as far too sanguine. At some point, one is faced with fundamental questions: Is there anything that cannot be changed? What is it that makes Judaism Judaism?
I'm going to set these abstract questions aside for a moment and focus on Rabbi Roth's teshuva. Two analogous Talmudic cases come to mind. One is the case of the ben sorer u'more, the rebellious son whose parents sentence him to stoning. The other is the case of the Hebrew slave, whose treatment is regulated by numerous biblical and rabbinic laws. In neither case do the rabbis of the Talmud eliminate the biblical rulings. What they do is introduce so many limitations on their application that they become completely unrealistic. The case of the rebellious son becomes so limited that the Rabbis ultimately state that such a case never occurred and never will. In the case of the Hebrew slave, they assert that "one who acquires a slave acquires for himself a master." A traditionalist might claim that the Rabbis were simply interpreting the text according to Divinely sanctioned methods. Their conclusions therefore reveal its true meaning. A more objective observer, however, would likely conclude that the Rabbis' interpretations were motivated by an internal sense of justice.
Similarly, Rabbi Roth does not eliminate the prohibition of homosexual intercourse. Instead, he limits it to anal intercourse between men, rendering other types of homosexual relationships permissible. There is support for this position in the halakhic sources. Rabbi Roth is "manipulative" only in that he chooses to favor certain sources over others.
But this is merely a justification based on precedent. A philosophical problem remains. Changing the law out of a sense of justice suggests that the Written Torah is morally deficient. Did the Rabbis believe this? Not likely. Frankly, I don't know how they dealt with these issues on an abstract level, and I don't see much point in speculating on the matter. Instead, I'd like to mention a few untraditional approaches taken by contemporary Jews.
Conservative, Reconstructionist, and Reform leaders, as well as a handful of people who call themselves "Orthodox," have come to accept the basic tenets of modern biblical criticism. This does not entail rejection of the Torah's Divine character, but it does call the nature of the Torah's Godliness into question. Some, believing that God is intimately involved in all human affairs, assert that the redacted Torah is no less complete and authoritative than it would have been had it fallen from heaven. Others view the creation of the Torah as one stage in a Divinely guided process, leaving room for improvement at later stages. More liberal thinkers assert that the Torah is simply one important manifestation of the human quest for holiness.
These are gross oversimplifications, but the general idea should be clear. I don't know exactly how Rabbi Roth understands revelation, but his approach to halakha is in keeping with the idea that the Torah is an unfinished human work. Ideally, the halakhic system should provide a framework for reinterpreting the old in light of the new.
If the Torah is viewed as the direct articulation of God's will for all time, our changed understanding of sexual orientation is irrelevant. If, however, it is viewed as the product of human beings in different contexts (albeit with some sort of divine influence), modern ideas and realities become significant. Until very recently, sex between men necessarily involved deviation from the norm of family life. Today, we recognize that certain people are not constitutionally suited for heterosexual marriage, but that those people can still form families. A homosexual relationship that doesn't involve abandonment of family life is indeed a new phenomenon.
Okay, here goes:
I have an unfortunate tendency to express misgivings about my opinions before fully articulating them to begin with. Change and "manipulation" have been integral aspects of the halakhic process from the start. A number of aggadot reveal that the Rabbis understood their role to be innovative, not simply transmission or recovery of Sinaitic Oral Law. This does not mean, however, that there is no risk involved in innovation. Many proponents of halakhic change strike me as far too sanguine. At some point, one is faced with fundamental questions: Is there anything that cannot be changed? What is it that makes Judaism Judaism?
I'm going to set these abstract questions aside for a moment and focus on Rabbi Roth's teshuva. Two analogous Talmudic cases come to mind. One is the case of the ben sorer u'more, the rebellious son whose parents sentence him to stoning. The other is the case of the Hebrew slave, whose treatment is regulated by numerous biblical and rabbinic laws. In neither case do the rabbis of the Talmud eliminate the biblical rulings. What they do is introduce so many limitations on their application that they become completely unrealistic. The case of the rebellious son becomes so limited that the Rabbis ultimately state that such a case never occurred and never will. In the case of the Hebrew slave, they assert that "one who acquires a slave acquires for himself a master." A traditionalist might claim that the Rabbis were simply interpreting the text according to Divinely sanctioned methods. Their conclusions therefore reveal its true meaning. A more objective observer, however, would likely conclude that the Rabbis' interpretations were motivated by an internal sense of justice.
Similarly, Rabbi Roth does not eliminate the prohibition of homosexual intercourse. Instead, he limits it to anal intercourse between men, rendering other types of homosexual relationships permissible. There is support for this position in the halakhic sources. Rabbi Roth is "manipulative" only in that he chooses to favor certain sources over others.
But this is merely a justification based on precedent. A philosophical problem remains. Changing the law out of a sense of justice suggests that the Written Torah is morally deficient. Did the Rabbis believe this? Not likely. Frankly, I don't know how they dealt with these issues on an abstract level, and I don't see much point in speculating on the matter. Instead, I'd like to mention a few untraditional approaches taken by contemporary Jews.
Conservative, Reconstructionist, and Reform leaders, as well as a handful of people who call themselves "Orthodox," have come to accept the basic tenets of modern biblical criticism. This does not entail rejection of the Torah's Divine character, but it does call the nature of the Torah's Godliness into question. Some, believing that God is intimately involved in all human affairs, assert that the redacted Torah is no less complete and authoritative than it would have been had it fallen from heaven. Others view the creation of the Torah as one stage in a Divinely guided process, leaving room for improvement at later stages. More liberal thinkers assert that the Torah is simply one important manifestation of the human quest for holiness.
These are gross oversimplifications, but the general idea should be clear. I don't know exactly how Rabbi Roth understands revelation, but his approach to halakha is in keeping with the idea that the Torah is an unfinished human work. Ideally, the halakhic system should provide a framework for reinterpreting the old in light of the new.
If the Torah is viewed as the direct articulation of God's will for all time, our changed understanding of sexual orientation is irrelevant. If, however, it is viewed as the product of human beings in different contexts (albeit with some sort of divine influence), modern ideas and realities become significant. Until very recently, sex between men necessarily involved deviation from the norm of family life. Today, we recognize that certain people are not constitutionally suited for heterosexual marriage, but that those people can still form families. A homosexual relationship that doesn't involve abandonment of family life is indeed a new phenomenon.
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