A REPRINT PROM CONSERVATIVE JUDAISM Vol. XXVIII, No. 1, Fall Issue, 1973
In Honor of Rabbi Heschel In the Year of His Death
Edmond La B. Cherbonnier
Dr. Edmond La B. Cherbonnier is Professor of Religion at Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut.
Of all the tributes paid to Abraham Joshua Heschel, few take account of what he himself regarded as potentially his most important contribution. In most of his writings he called it “a philosophy of Judaism.” Its significance, however, extends beyond Judaism, not only to its two derivative religions, Christianity and Islam, but also to the entire field of religious thought. The following remarks consider it in this larger context, and for that purpose call it by a name which Heschel himself began to use before the end of his life: “Biblical philosophy.”
Creative thinkers often misjudge the relative importance of their own accomplishments; Newton, for example, valued his theological writings far above the laws of motion. Is “Biblical philosophy” a similar eccentricity on Heschel’s part? Or is it rather one of those seminal ideas whose impact is felt only gradually, because conventional wisdom cannot digest it all at once? In support of the latter view, I borrow from Arthur O. Lovejoy the concept of “unconscious mental habit,” developed in his brilliant study, The Great Chain of Being. The course of human thought, he shows, can be obstructed for centuries by the preconceived ideas which society instills into its members, not so much by overt indoctrination as by tacit assumption and example. These inbred ideas become inseparable from the individual’s thought processes so that, like the axioms of geometry, they appear not subject to proof or disproof, but as the definition of the context within which all reasoning occurs. To question them invites ridicule, as when Columbus suggested that the world was round, or when the Chinese first commended acupuncture to Western doctors.
There is too much in Heschel’s life and thought to evoke anything but respect and admiration. But theologians of every persuasion regard as a “self-evident truth” of religious thought that the Bible and philosophy belong to completely different realms of human experience. We must do as Heschel did and break the habit of regarding the Bible and philosophy as mutually exclusive.
But that is easier said than done. Habits, whether mental or otherwise, short-circuit the process of rational choice. They can be overcome, if at all, only when logical argument is reinforced by the pressure of brute
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fact or practical necessity, as when Columbus discovered America, or patients were actually cured by pins and needles. The following pages therefore proceed, first, to show that resistance to the idea of a Biblical philosophy is irrational, and second, to show the application of the theory to help solve some of the problems of contemporary religious thought.
defining the issue
The issue can be clarified by recalling that philosophy has two aspects, the one having to do with subject matter, the other with method. Philosophy and religion overlap at many points regarding subject matter. Both deal with “the meaning or life,” under such subheadings as: what endures throughout change, and is therefore worth betting one’s life on? How is such a wager expressed in practice? How can one be sure of the answers? Obviously, these issues are central to the Bible as well. Though not couched in technical language, and though distinctly at odds with most academic thinkers, the Bible, too, advises men where to put their trust, and why; it, too, develops the life style which such a commitment entails. Where subject matter is concerned, therefore, the Bible definitely qualifies as philosophy.
When it comes to method, however, the two do appear to part company. The philosopher refuses to accept any answer without first subjecting it to stringent testing. The issues at stake are too momentous to be left to sentiment or dogmatism, superstition or caprice. He insists upon precision, clarity, consistency, systematic rigor. He requires of any world-view that it comprehend the whole range of human experience, leaving nothing out of account. Obviously, the Bible does not measure up to these standards. It is indifferent to systematic rigor, careless of logical niceties, and frustratingly inconsistent in its use of terms.
Is the Bible, therefore, intrinsically incapable of satisfying philosophical criteria? Or is it only that its authors were not interested in academic ratiocination? Like James Watt, who developed the steam engine before anyone understood the theory behind it, might they not have left it to others to work their message into philosophical form? The message of the Bible was too important to wait until every logician had had his say. The Biblical authors appealed directly to the historical experience of the Jewish people, and drew the practical conclusions. The result, admittedly, was a philosopher’s nightmare.
Heschel, however, raised an entirely different question: not whether the Bible already met the philosopher’s standards, but whether it could do so; whether its present state of chaos might yet be reduced to order. His question is hardly unphilosophical; for part of the business of philosophers
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is to elucidate the metaphysical implications of documents which are not self-consciously philosophical at all. Since the time of Socrates, philosophers have been picking up the pieces after poet and statesman, orator and scientist, and fitting these pieces into a coherent picture.
Among recent practitioners of the art, an outstanding example was R. G. Collingwood, who made a specialty of inferring the tacit presuppositions behind any statement, and spelling out its logical consequences. In the light of this tradition, the wonder is that the search for a Biblical philosophy had not been undertaken long since.
One reason may have to do with the question of authority. Since the philosopher accepts nothing without putting it to the test, he may have considered it a waste of time to bother with a book allegedly based on divine fiat. If so, he labors under a double misconception. In the first place, as Heschel amply demonstrates, the Bible is not nearly so dogmatic as well-meaning Jews and Christians have supposed. The “thou shalt’s” and “thou shalt not’s” do have a decidedly authoritarian ring. Taken in context, however, these phrases express the terms of a covenant freely entered into. Compared with the benefits to be received in return, they surely represent the best bargain ever struck. Leaving that point aside, however, and assuming, for the sake of argument only, that the Bible is as authoritarian as it is reputed to be, that still does not remove it from philosophical examination. Many a truth has first been uttered as dogma or superstition, only to be subsequently vindicated on rational grounds. Tribal taboos against poisonous herbs belong in this category as do the primitive association of the tides with the moon.
The truth of a proposition is independent of who says it, or of the reasons given. Had Western science acknowledged this, instead of refusing to entertain the claims of Chinese medicine, for example, or of psychical research, it would not now be in the embarrassing position of having to eat its words. Heschel suggests that a similar embarrassment awaits philosophers, once Biblical ideas have been given a fair hearing.
de facto censorship
In theory, there can be no justification for labeling ideas “unphilosophical” until they have been tested and found wanting. In practice, however, Biblical ideas run afoul of what amounts to a kind of philosophers’ “union shop,” which discriminates against concepts which cannot be traced to some official academic philosophy. The philosophical establishment regards with condescension and contempt ideas that lack a precedent in Plato, or Aristotle, or some other recognized thinker. Biblical thought can produce no such credentials. In fact, it flatly contradicts “professional” philosophers’
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at many crucial points. The most crucial difference of all, from which all else follows, concerns the nature of God. The Bible conceives of Him as Someone, a Person with a proper name, whereas for philosophers, however much they differ among themselves, ultimate reality is always impersonal and neuter from Parmenides’ being-itself to Bergson’s élan vital. This distinction marks the watershed between Biblical and other philosophies. On the one side, personal categories enjoy an ontological priority; on the other, impersonal. The Bible thus stands alone against the field.
From a strictly logical point of view, however, there is no strength in numbers. As Socrates said, the philosopher ( like the prophet) is prepared to find himself a minority of one. He asks only for his day in court. If Biblical ideas are philosophically untenable, let this be openly demonstrated. Mental habit, however, has proven stronger than logic. Because of their formal shortcomings, and because they do not fit the usual textbook specifications, Biblical ideas have, in effect, been subjected to a kind of censorship. Heschel’s proposal is essentially a plea for fair play and a contention that Biblical thought cannot be justly evaluated until it is equipped with the sophisticated tools of the philosopher’s trade.
cross fire
Heschel tries to supply the tools-only to find scant encouragement from those who might have been expected to support him: the theologians. His proposal finds favor with neither of the two camps into which theology has historically been divided: the apologists, who want to reconcile faith and reason, and the fideists, who insist that faith is exempt from the laws of logic.
Consider first the apologist. Dedicated as he is to intellectual integrity, he is concerned about earning the respect of philosophers. In deference to them, he becomes a party to the professional bias against ideas of amateur origin. Having once made that concession, however unconsciously, the apologist has only one way of making the Bible appear rational: he must harmonize it with some secular philosophy. That has been the standard procedure of apologists from Philo to Tillich. In this apologetic context, the possibility of a Biblical philosophy cannot arise. The apologist consequently perceives Heschel’s proposal as a kind of crypto-fundamentalism, or a pseudo-rational front for religious propaganda.
Nor is Heschel’s approach any more acceptable to the other school of theology, the fideists. From Tertullian to Barth, they inveigh against any suggestion that human reason might sit in judgment on the Word of God. To clear themselves of any such blasphemy, they go out of their
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way to flout rational argument, making a virtue of self-contradiction by re-naming it “profound paradox.” Hence their opposition in principle to any kind of apologetics, of which Biblical philosophy is only a special case. For it too, in their eyes, subjects the faith to man-made criteria, and so reduces it to one philosophical alternative among others. Far better, they hold, to leave the Bible in its present, chaotic form. Any attempt to philosophize it is hubris in subtle guise.
Heschel’s proposal thus comes under a cross fire from both sides of the ancient controversy between faith and reason. It is as though the two factions had agreed to suspend their own differences in order to make common cause against the idea of a Biblical philosophy. The apologists join the philosophers in assuming that there could not be such a thing, while the fideists insist that there should not. Through force of habit, neither side can entertain the possibility that in fact there is. Nor are they likely to do so, unless, in Heschel’s words, they are prepared to “unthink many thoughts.”1
two half-truths
The thoughts in question, however, die hard. Like any prejudice, they will disappear, if at all, only when rational arguments are reinforced by practical ones. Of what use, then, is Biblical philosophy? Heschel himself was convinced that it holds the clue to the survival of the values of Judaeo-Christian civilization:
Civilization is on trial . . . The task of Jewish philosophy today is not only to describe the essence, but also to set forth the universal relevance of Judaism, the bearing of its demands upon the chance to remain human.2
It should be borne in mind, therefore, that for Heschel, as for the Bible itself, living is more important than thinking, and Biblical thought is significant only to the extent that it issues in a way of life.
Briefly stated, Biblical philosophy could resolve the ancient feud between apologist and fideist, which has bled both sides white, thereby reducing theology to such a state of exhaustion that most thinking people have left it for dead. Heschel declares that theology is not defunct, but only paralyzed by its tedious family quarrel. Resolve the dispute, break out of the vicious circle of habitual responses, and it will gain a new lease on life. Theologians of both camps have habitually seen themselves as tragic figures, whose incurable antagonism, like the wound of Philoctetes,
1God in Search of Man, New York: Farrar, Straus and Cudahy, 1955, p. 251. All page references are taken from this book.
2Pp. 418, 421.
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is a kind of occupational status symbol, testifying to the human predicament in the face of divine transcendence.
If Heschel is right, however, the proper word is not tragedy but pathos. The schism between faith and reason reflects, not “the human condition,” but the artificial divorce between the Bible and philosophy, which splits the truth in two. Each side, though defective in itself, can then justify its own half-truth by dwelling upon the short-comings of the other - a classic prescription for a stalemate. The apologist’s attempt to harmonize the Bible with some academic philosophy is like trying to compose a single picture from the pieces of two different jigsaw puzzles. Since their respective premises conflict, the two will never fit. Traditional apologetics, despite its dedication to reason, is inherently illogical. The fideist can justly charge it not merely with subordinating Biblical ideas to an alien system, but with failing even to practice the rationality it preaches. Why not frankly recognize that the word of God shatters every human preconception, including the criteria of reason itself? Why not humble the prideful intellect and submit to the higher truth of paradox?
Heschel never succumbed to such blandishments, and for the best of reasons: without logic, the fideist can be neither humble nor Biblical. Not humble, because that requires self-criticism, whereas to flout logic is in effect to declare oneself beyond the reach of refutation. In practice, therefore, illogic is always accompanied, not by humility, but by its twin bodyguards, intolerance and dogmatism.
Nor can the fideist succeed in his main aim, which is to preserve Biblical ideas from adulteration. Without the help of logic, it is impossible to make distinctions. The ironic result is a matter of history: fideist theology is shot through with concepts which flatly contradict the Bible. Consider Luther and Pascal, for example, as well as Kierkegaard and Barth. They all subscribe to the notion of “an infinite, qualitative difference” between God and man. Having renounced logic, they cannot perceive that this notion is, as Heschel points out, “part of our pagan heritage.”3
Like fighting stags, the two seem not to care that they will die in combat, unless a third party intervenes to unlock their antlers. Both imagine themselves to have a vested interest in continuing hostilities, like generals who fear the end of war. Rather than resolve their debilitating conflict, they have persuaded themselves that it is not a stigma but a kind of stigmata, the trademark of their heroic attempt to express the inexpressible. The rest of the world, however, remains unimpressed. What it sees are Tweedledum and Tweedledee going through the motions of charge
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and counter-charge with ritual monotony, and with the tacit understanding that neither side will win. A Biblical philosophy, however, could break the deadlock between apologist and fideist, while still safeguarding the interests of both parties. Apologists could at last be rational without betraying the Bible, and fideists could be even more Biblical, without sacrificing their intellect. A Biblical philosophy, should there prove to be one, could make the two half-truths whole.
symbolism
The mainspring of Biblical philosophy, however, its conception of God, conflicts with one of the “self-evident truths” of the twentieth century. Nothing appears more certain than that “a world come of age” can no longer believe in a personal God with a proper name. On every side it is taken for granted that the Biblical God must be a symbolic representative of something else. As long as this habit of thought prevails, a Biblical philosophy is out of the question ( and Biblical religion will be progressively watered down).
Heschel challenges the conventional wisdom. Where, he asks, are the solid arguments against the living God? “Why should we a priori exclude life and freedom from the ultimate being ?”4 Echoing Isaiah, he demands, “Bring forth your reasons.” For the fact is that the stock objections are not logical at all. Where they are not circular, they consists of clichés like “crude anthropomorphism,” “the pathetic fallacy,” “wishful thinking,” “literalism,” and so on. Such emotive epithets do not settle the issue, they prejudge it. Could it be that objections to “anthropomorphism” are after all not logical but psychological, the product of a long and dubious process of mental conditioning?
In the absence of convincing evidence to the contrary, Heschel goes over to the offensive, and argues that the Biblical conception of God is actually a philosophical asset. For one thing, as Jeremiah, Isaiah, and all the prophets pointed out, if a man is going to worship at all, a personal God is the only one that makes any sense. Nothing is sillier than for a human being, endowed with the power of free choice, to give his allegiance to something less free than himself. Yet that is what he is asked to do by advocates of “the ground of being,” or “the life force,” or “the ultimate concretion,” or any other impersonal candidate for deity. The work of men’s minds no more merits their worship than the work of their hands. As Jeremiah says, “These are not gods at all Yet my people have exchanged their Glory for what has no power in it.” The point is as cogent logically
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as it is religiously. Heschel meant it in both respects when he said, “A being that lacks the attributes of personal existence is not our problem.”5
The greatest source of confusion on this issue has been the sophisticated technique known as symbolic interpretation. According to it, the Bible does not really mean what it says, but uses personalistic language for dramatic effect, as a poet might speak of wind whispering in the trees. As a diplomatic formula, the theory is attractive. By leaving open the question of what the Bible really does mean, it allows everyone to read into it whatever he wants it to say-or at least, it appears to do so. In fact, however, there is one view which it excludes: the Bible’s own! Instead of taking the Bible at its word, as an alternative deserving philosophical examination, the symbolist treats it as a kind of Rorschach test, which can mean all things to all men. The plain implication is that its real meaning, if any, is not worth bothering about. Its personal categories are assumed to be symbolic expressions of impersonal concepts, having a certain validity for the primitive mentality that produced them, but on no account to be transposed as they stand into the arena of philosophical debate, where they would only become ridiculous.
Should the student of the Bible have any misgivings, the symbolist patiently explains that there is nothing to worry about, since, to use the currently fashionable jargon, “the personal element is not left out, but is included in being itself.” Like most formulae which offer something for everybody, this one conceals fuzzy thinking. For the noun “person” is logically prior to the adjective “personal:” The former is primary, the latter derivative. Unless there is first a person, nothing can be personal. It is therefore playing with words to say that “the personal” is included in something else. Hence Heschel’s unequivocal conclusion, “Symbolism is quackery.”
The Bible, like any other book, is sometimes intended literally, and sometimes metaphorically, depending upon the context. When it calls God a rock, it is speaking figuratively of his steadfast trustworthiness. But if the conception of God as Someone is taken figuratively, the whole Bible becomes unintelligible. What gives it unity, for example, is the idea of a continuous divine purpose, from beginning to end. But purpose presupposes a Purposer. Without Him, the Bible disintegrates into a welter of disconnected fragments. Moreover, unless they are firmly anchored in their anthropomorphic matrix, the Bible’s key terms metamorphose into completely different concepts. Biblical love becomes platonic eros, a kind of urge to merge with the infinite; faith as trust becomes mystic intuition; eternal life becomes reabsorption into the primordial unity; creation be-
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comes emanation; and so on. The actual words may remain, but they have been filled with alien content. More important still, the attributes of God likewise lose their meaning. To love, to create, to judge, to choose - these are all verbs, with God as subject. Subtract the Subject and they become meaningless. From the paint of view of understanding what the Bible actually says (regardless of whether it is true or not), there thus seems to be more intellectual rigor in maintaining, with Heschel, “The clear, unambiguous will of God is not lower but higher than the mystery.”6
To many people an anthropomorphic God suggests a heavenly tyrant, a Zeus hurling thunderbolts to enforce his arbitrary whim upon helpless mankind. That the God of Israel could ever have become confused with such a caricature is a measure of the extent to which the Bible has been deprived of its plain meaning and buried beneath layers of hearsay. For its central message repudiates the idea of an Olympian despot as a human construct, whose only merit is to reveal how men might behave if they could get their hands on divine power. It is true that the Biblical God is not to be swayed from his unalterable purpose. But that purpose is to humanize men by re-creating them in the image of a God who is not arbitrary but trustworthy, not vindictive but merciful, not implacable but tender; in short, a God vulnerable to human betrayal, whose outstanding characteristic, in Heschel’s memorable phrase, is “divine pathos.” Elijah asked a confused and hesitant generation, how long will you go limping between two opinions? Heschel updates the question: If God is Someone, then follow Him. But if God is only an “it,” do not bother.
Can such a conception of God hold its own in competition with the giants of philosophy? That, at least (and at last), is the right question. For an answer, Heschel would have recalled that when the Israelites first approached the land of Canaan, they too were frightened of the giants that lived there. But the Biblical life style is not based upon the counsels of prudence. Would any bookmaker have bet on David against Goliath? The Bible is a call to risk-taking, to a “leap of action,” in Heschel’s phrase. He himself took a leap of action in the realm of philosophy - but not a leap in the dark. If God is the God of truth, he reasoned, then the Bible has nothing to fear from rational scrutiny. God will vindicate himself in the realm of thought, just as he did in the course of human events for Heschel’s namesakes, Abraham and Joshua. In that case, the theory of symbolism would have to be reversed. Secular philosophy would be seen as a kind of groping, laudable but defective, after Biblical truth, its various gods but inadequate symbols for the God of Abraham Joshua Heschel.
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CONSERVATIVE JUDAISM