God, Man and History
Nov. 21st, 2004 02:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
malenkiyscotНаш ответ пантеистам ;). Отсюда (замечательная книжка, надо сказать). Навеяно немножко обсуждениями смысла молитвы и немножко нервно ((C) ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amigofriend).
CHAPTER TWO
Where Religion Begins
The entire structure that was built around the identification of religion and reason must now be seen as lying in ruins. It was originally erected on the foundations of the classical proofs for the existence of God; it is doubtful whether these proofs ever convinced anyone apart from those who, for reasons independent of the proofs themselves, were already convinced. Since Kant, moreover, the whole issue of proofs for God's existence should really have been regarded as closed for good, for Kant showed conclusively that the existence of God cannot be proved by speculative reasoning. 1 In keeping with the gist of Kant's discussion of the subject, we may say that from the perspective of man's finite condition, no logical deductions may be made concerning the existence of a Supreme Being which, in its infinitude, transcends all boundaries of human experience. If a First Cause or Intellect is required as the original "ground" of the world, it is the world of man's finite experience that requires it. But the requirements of logical deduction do not demand that the ground of the limited universe of man's awareness be an Infinite Being. One might well imagine that logical necessity would be more effectively appeased by the Platonic demiurge. No doubt, the familiar proofs for God's existence may suggest a Supreme Being as a likely metaphysical hypothesis. But can a man pray to a hypothesis, let alone trust and have faith in it? The God of religion is clearly not a hypothesis. Our purpose here, however, is not to discuss the limits of man's rational faculty. Indeed, nothing could be further from our point than to suggest that religion begins beyond the frontiers of the intellect. Strictly speaking, the limitations of reason are the concern of reason, not of religion. Whether speculation is justified in reaching beyond the realm of possible experience is a purely epistemological problem. In this sense, the proofs for the existence of God have done more harm to religion than is usually realized: The treatment of a problem of epistemology as if it were a question of religion has for many centuries diverted attention from the genuine foundations of religion. It is a commonplace to say that biblical religion knows of no speculative proofs for God's existence. It is indeed one of the surprising features of the Bible that nowhere does it attempt to prove rationally that there is a God. This remarkable fact should be ascribed not to any naive piety on the part of the biblical narrative-the Bible is anything but naive-but to the very essence of religion. Whether God's existence may be proved is of little interest to religion.2 Even if such a proof were irrefutable, it still could not provide a basis for religion. Some of the predicaments of metaphysical religion, discussed earlier, offer amusing illustrations of this point. Medieval philosophy in particular labored heavily under the burden of the problem of divine providence. The cause of the trouble was the omnipresent Aristotle, who had taught that God, the pure and supreme intellect, knew only the purest of objects-that is, his own self The divine thought thinks only itself 3 This, of course, meant that the deity had no knowledge of the particular. Logically speaking, the idea implied the negation of providence, and its acceptance would have spelled the end of all religion. But Aristotle was the philosopher in the eyes of medieval thought; he could not be wrong. Therefore, an inordinate amount of intellectual acrobatics were performed in order to make Aristotle toe the line for Islam, Judaism, and Christianity, respectively. Medieval philosophy did not understand that the Stagirite's metaphysical First Cause was not the God of revelation. For while Aristotle's Unmoved Mover is the cause, it is not the creator. It may "move" matter, but matter is nonetheless coeval with it. It is unchangeable, and it "originates motion by being the primary object of desire." 4 It is apart from all sensible things; and with respect to intelligibles, being one in essence, it can think only itself. By its very nature, the Aristotelian First Cause is all by itself and for itself; it cannot, therefore, have any relationship at all to anything outside itself. But a god that cannot enter into some form of contact with that which is not itself need not concern man. Such a god is of no religious significance. What has been said of the Unmoved Mover also applies to the Neo-Platonic One, the Absolute. The One is all-comprising. It is incapable of relationship with anything outside itself. Indeed, there is nothing outside itself, because the One is the All. Notwithstanding all the differentiations that the One may undergo, it cannot be the God of anyone, for there is nothing besides itself. Far from being able to serve as the basis for religion, the Absolute One renders religion meaningless. The logical consequence of perceiving the One as the supreme metaphysical entity is, as I have already suggested, pantheism.5 Religion's indifference toward the rational or metaphysical proofs for God's existence is presented neatly in the opening pages of the Kuzari. There Judah Halevi, perhaps with tongue in cheek, lets the philosopher of the dialogue make the Khazar king "see reason." How could God care about the intentions or actions of man? the philosopher asks. God, being perfect, is incapable of desiring anything of man. Desire is a manifestation of want and establishes dependence, but God is complete and at rest within himself. He is not in need of anything and is above knowing individuals. Halevi's philosopher has such an elevated concept of the Godhead that he renders his God useless for the life of the religious. Judah Halevi shows us convincingly that it is possible for man to entertain extremely exalted philosophical opinions concerning God, and yet-precisely because of such opinions-reject religion proper. The foundation of religion is not the affirmation that God is, but that God is concerned with man and the world; that, having created this world, he has not abandoned it, leaving it to its own devices; that he cares about his creation.6 It is of the essence of biblical religion that God is sufficiently concerned about man to address him; and that God values man enough to render himself approachable by him. In the Bible, God and man face each other, as it were. God wants something of 0 man, and man may entreat God. We shall see further on how this is possible. It may, however, be stated at this point that, beyond any doubt, biblical religion bases itself on the possibility of a relationship between God and man. How do we know of this relationship? How do we know that God is concerned, that he requires something of us, that he is approachable? Obviously not by metaphysical proofs that God exists, but by the appropriate proof that he is concerned and may be approached. We may discern what might be considered adequate proof in such a case by means of an analogy. How do I ever know that another person cares for me? Surely not by logical deduction, but by actually experiencing his care and concern. Care that is not expressed, that is not shown, that cannot at all be experienced by the person toward whom it is directed, does not exist. Care is a bond of actual fellowship between two people. How do I know that my neighbor is accessible to me other than by having been able to reach him in fact? A man knows of any relationship in which he may be involved only by the realness of his involvement. Similarly, we can know of God's concern. A concern that is not experienced is a contradiction in terms. And thus we can know that God may be entreated by man by the actual experience of God's having allowed himself to be so entreated. We can be aware of the relationship between God and man only by having had a share in such a relationship. The foundation of biblical religion, therefore, is not an idea but an event-an event that may be called the encounter between God and man. Bearing this in mind, we are now in a better position to understand the radical indifference of the Bible toward speculative proofs of God's existence. Whatever else may be proved by such a method, the event upon which religion is founded cannot. If the encounter is experienced in reality, what need for proofs? If, however, the encounter is not part of possible human experience, what use all proof? Everything in the Bible is communication between God and man; everything is relationship. God spoke; God commanded; God called; God appeared-all reflect events that take place between God and man. In all these situations man experiences the presence of God, which seeks him out and addresses him. Some of our religious metaphysicians are at times disturbed by the intensely sensualistic terms which Moses employs in recalling the events at Mount Sinai in the book of Deuteronomy. Again and again, the children of Israel are admonished, "Take care, lest you forget what you have seen and heard, and what has been shown to you." There is a continual reference to sense perception. And it is too simple to play down these "materialistic" descriptions of revelation by pointing to other passages in the same context, in which Moses warns the people against forming for themselves any visible image of God: "For you saw no manner of form on the day that the Eternal spoke to you in Horeb out of the midst of the fire."7 This would be mere apologetics, and would miss the very meaning of the teaching. The text insists, of course, on the incorporeality of God; but it also stresses with equal fervor the importance of the sensory impressions at the revelation at Sinai. The full story is told by means of a paradox: That the invisible God revealed himself to the senses of man. This, indeed, is characteristic of biblical religion. The paradox is resolved in the great words: "It has been clearly demonstrated to you that the Eternal alone is God; there is none besides him."8 It is not God who is shown, for he is not made visible; it is rather the knowledge "that the Eternal, he is God" that is shown. Now, "the Eternal, he is God" is not a metaphysical form of adoration; as such, it would be tautological. In the Bible, "the Eternal shall be my God" means that he cares for man and is concerned about his handiwork.9 This knowledge that the Eternal is God cannot be gained by any intellectual insight. It must be shown to man. Moses was saying to Israel: At Sinai, you knew God-his presence, his word, and his command-by actual experience, in which all of your senses were involved. The knowledge that God was addressing himself to them was "shown" to them; it happened to them. The event itself brought the awareness of its own certitude. That "the Eternal, he is God" is revealed in an event, that this knowledge was experienced-and that it remains capable of being experienced-is, of course, what is meant by the "living God," Judaism's incomparable discovery. The living God is God invisible and yet encountered; it is God, unlike the metaphysical deity, in active relationship with the world. The reality of the encounter constitutes the independence of religion from any purely intellectual exercise. The encounter itself is revelation-in it God reveals his presence to man-but it is not teaching per se. Of course, it is hardly possible not to learn something of importance from the encounter. But its immediate significance lies not in what may be imparted to the mind, but in the event itself; namely, that it actually happens between God and this creature, man. The truly unexpected and overwhelming element in all of revelation is that God should address himself to man, that the two can "meet" at all. The fact that God speaks to man is the foundational religious concept, and is in itself of far greater significance than even the truth that God communicates. The most wonderful aspect of revelation, then, is not its content, but its possibility: Not the word of God, but the encounter itself 10 Once this is clearly understood, the age-old discussion of the relationship between rational insight and revelational truth becomes pointless. The encounter, being at the root of all revelation, is not a truth that is primarily communicated to man in the act of revelation, but a reality made manifest for him. Before anything else, it is not an idea conveyed, but a relationship formed. It is not a meditation on the Supreme Being that is taught, but a "fellowship" with God that is established Nor is the need for revelation a result of the infirmities of human nature. For even if man could grasp the very essence of the deity, he would still be without God. The finest theories about friendship are no substitute for a friend. Intellectual understanding does not constitute fellowship with the Supreme Being. Thinking about God philosophically or metaphysically is not encountering him. But without the encounter there can be no Judaism. Without it, there is no religion.
From CHAPTER 4 - The Paradox of the Encounter
It is important, however, to distinguish between our interpretation of the prophetic encounter as the basic religious experience and the way of the mystic. The encounter should not be confused with the mystical communion. The mystic's goal is the surrender of personal existence. His desire is to merge himself in the One, to pour himself into God, to be drawn into the All. The mystic finds his fulfillment in the extinction of his dignity through being consumed by the Absolute. For him individuality is a burden and a shame. Only the One or the All is real, and every form of separateness from it is an unworthy shadow existence. In the encounter, on the other hand, the original separateness is affirmed; in fact, it is granted its highest dignity by being sustained by God. The encounter may occur because the individual personality is safeguarded. Where there is encounter, there is fellowship; and fellowship is the very opposite of the mystical surrender of man's identity in an act of communion. Judaism is not a nonmystical religion; Judaism is essentially non-mystical because it is religion. The mystical communion is the end of all relationship and, therefore, also the end of all religion. Judaism is essentially non-mystical because, according to it, God addresses himself to man, and he awaits man's response to the address. God speaks and man listens; God commands and man obeys. Man searches, and God allows himself to be found; man entreats, and God answers. In the mystical union, however, there are no words and no law, no search and no recognition, because there is no separateness. 18 Judaism does not admit the idea that man may rise "beyond good and evil," as it were, by drowning himself in the Godhead. There is a natural affinity between mysticism and pantheism. All mysticism tends toward pantheism. Once the mystical union is completed, there is nothing left but the Absolute, in which all is contained. The appropriate worldview of the mystic is pantheism. It is his justification for devaluing individual existence, as well as for attempting to redeem it through return into the All. On the other hand, mysticism is the only available "religion" for the pantheist. His worship of the Absolute demands the denial of his own separateness from it. Thus, we are led to the Spinozistic amor dei; since nothing exists apart from the infinite, man's love for God "is the very love of God with which God loves himself" 19 One is inclined to agree with those who see in this the monstrous example of absolute self-love.2O The truth, of course, is that where there is no separateness, there is no love either. Where there is no encounter, there can be no care or concern. The mystic endeavors to overcome all separateness; the pantheist denies it from the very beginning. Judaism, on the other hand, through its concept of the encounter, affirms the reality as well as the worth of individual existence. Judaism is not only non-mystical, it is also essentially anti -pantheistic.
amigofriend).CHAPTER TWO
Where Religion Begins
The entire structure that was built around the identification of religion and reason must now be seen as lying in ruins. It was originally erected on the foundations of the classical proofs for the existence of God; it is doubtful whether these proofs ever convinced anyone apart from those who, for reasons independent of the proofs themselves, were already convinced. Since Kant, moreover, the whole issue of proofs for God's existence should really have been regarded as closed for good, for Kant showed conclusively that the existence of God cannot be proved by speculative reasoning. 1 In keeping with the gist of Kant's discussion of the subject, we may say that from the perspective of man's finite condition, no logical deductions may be made concerning the existence of a Supreme Being which, in its infinitude, transcends all boundaries of human experience. If a First Cause or Intellect is required as the original "ground" of the world, it is the world of man's finite experience that requires it. But the requirements of logical deduction do not demand that the ground of the limited universe of man's awareness be an Infinite Being. One might well imagine that logical necessity would be more effectively appeased by the Platonic demiurge. No doubt, the familiar proofs for God's existence may suggest a Supreme Being as a likely metaphysical hypothesis. But can a man pray to a hypothesis, let alone trust and have faith in it? The God of religion is clearly not a hypothesis. Our purpose here, however, is not to discuss the limits of man's rational faculty. Indeed, nothing could be further from our point than to suggest that religion begins beyond the frontiers of the intellect. Strictly speaking, the limitations of reason are the concern of reason, not of religion. Whether speculation is justified in reaching beyond the realm of possible experience is a purely epistemological problem. In this sense, the proofs for the existence of God have done more harm to religion than is usually realized: The treatment of a problem of epistemology as if it were a question of religion has for many centuries diverted attention from the genuine foundations of religion. It is a commonplace to say that biblical religion knows of no speculative proofs for God's existence. It is indeed one of the surprising features of the Bible that nowhere does it attempt to prove rationally that there is a God. This remarkable fact should be ascribed not to any naive piety on the part of the biblical narrative-the Bible is anything but naive-but to the very essence of religion. Whether God's existence may be proved is of little interest to religion.2 Even if such a proof were irrefutable, it still could not provide a basis for religion. Some of the predicaments of metaphysical religion, discussed earlier, offer amusing illustrations of this point. Medieval philosophy in particular labored heavily under the burden of the problem of divine providence. The cause of the trouble was the omnipresent Aristotle, who had taught that God, the pure and supreme intellect, knew only the purest of objects-that is, his own self The divine thought thinks only itself 3 This, of course, meant that the deity had no knowledge of the particular. Logically speaking, the idea implied the negation of providence, and its acceptance would have spelled the end of all religion. But Aristotle was the philosopher in the eyes of medieval thought; he could not be wrong. Therefore, an inordinate amount of intellectual acrobatics were performed in order to make Aristotle toe the line for Islam, Judaism, and Christianity, respectively. Medieval philosophy did not understand that the Stagirite's metaphysical First Cause was not the God of revelation. For while Aristotle's Unmoved Mover is the cause, it is not the creator. It may "move" matter, but matter is nonetheless coeval with it. It is unchangeable, and it "originates motion by being the primary object of desire." 4 It is apart from all sensible things; and with respect to intelligibles, being one in essence, it can think only itself. By its very nature, the Aristotelian First Cause is all by itself and for itself; it cannot, therefore, have any relationship at all to anything outside itself. But a god that cannot enter into some form of contact with that which is not itself need not concern man. Such a god is of no religious significance. What has been said of the Unmoved Mover also applies to the Neo-Platonic One, the Absolute. The One is all-comprising. It is incapable of relationship with anything outside itself. Indeed, there is nothing outside itself, because the One is the All. Notwithstanding all the differentiations that the One may undergo, it cannot be the God of anyone, for there is nothing besides itself. Far from being able to serve as the basis for religion, the Absolute One renders religion meaningless. The logical consequence of perceiving the One as the supreme metaphysical entity is, as I have already suggested, pantheism.5 Religion's indifference toward the rational or metaphysical proofs for God's existence is presented neatly in the opening pages of the Kuzari. There Judah Halevi, perhaps with tongue in cheek, lets the philosopher of the dialogue make the Khazar king "see reason." How could God care about the intentions or actions of man? the philosopher asks. God, being perfect, is incapable of desiring anything of man. Desire is a manifestation of want and establishes dependence, but God is complete and at rest within himself. He is not in need of anything and is above knowing individuals. Halevi's philosopher has such an elevated concept of the Godhead that he renders his God useless for the life of the religious. Judah Halevi shows us convincingly that it is possible for man to entertain extremely exalted philosophical opinions concerning God, and yet-precisely because of such opinions-reject religion proper. The foundation of religion is not the affirmation that God is, but that God is concerned with man and the world; that, having created this world, he has not abandoned it, leaving it to its own devices; that he cares about his creation.6 It is of the essence of biblical religion that God is sufficiently concerned about man to address him; and that God values man enough to render himself approachable by him. In the Bible, God and man face each other, as it were. God wants something of 0 man, and man may entreat God. We shall see further on how this is possible. It may, however, be stated at this point that, beyond any doubt, biblical religion bases itself on the possibility of a relationship between God and man. How do we know of this relationship? How do we know that God is concerned, that he requires something of us, that he is approachable? Obviously not by metaphysical proofs that God exists, but by the appropriate proof that he is concerned and may be approached. We may discern what might be considered adequate proof in such a case by means of an analogy. How do I ever know that another person cares for me? Surely not by logical deduction, but by actually experiencing his care and concern. Care that is not expressed, that is not shown, that cannot at all be experienced by the person toward whom it is directed, does not exist. Care is a bond of actual fellowship between two people. How do I know that my neighbor is accessible to me other than by having been able to reach him in fact? A man knows of any relationship in which he may be involved only by the realness of his involvement. Similarly, we can know of God's concern. A concern that is not experienced is a contradiction in terms. And thus we can know that God may be entreated by man by the actual experience of God's having allowed himself to be so entreated. We can be aware of the relationship between God and man only by having had a share in such a relationship. The foundation of biblical religion, therefore, is not an idea but an event-an event that may be called the encounter between God and man. Bearing this in mind, we are now in a better position to understand the radical indifference of the Bible toward speculative proofs of God's existence. Whatever else may be proved by such a method, the event upon which religion is founded cannot. If the encounter is experienced in reality, what need for proofs? If, however, the encounter is not part of possible human experience, what use all proof? Everything in the Bible is communication between God and man; everything is relationship. God spoke; God commanded; God called; God appeared-all reflect events that take place between God and man. In all these situations man experiences the presence of God, which seeks him out and addresses him. Some of our religious metaphysicians are at times disturbed by the intensely sensualistic terms which Moses employs in recalling the events at Mount Sinai in the book of Deuteronomy. Again and again, the children of Israel are admonished, "Take care, lest you forget what you have seen and heard, and what has been shown to you." There is a continual reference to sense perception. And it is too simple to play down these "materialistic" descriptions of revelation by pointing to other passages in the same context, in which Moses warns the people against forming for themselves any visible image of God: "For you saw no manner of form on the day that the Eternal spoke to you in Horeb out of the midst of the fire."7 This would be mere apologetics, and would miss the very meaning of the teaching. The text insists, of course, on the incorporeality of God; but it also stresses with equal fervor the importance of the sensory impressions at the revelation at Sinai. The full story is told by means of a paradox: That the invisible God revealed himself to the senses of man. This, indeed, is characteristic of biblical religion. The paradox is resolved in the great words: "It has been clearly demonstrated to you that the Eternal alone is God; there is none besides him."8 It is not God who is shown, for he is not made visible; it is rather the knowledge "that the Eternal, he is God" that is shown. Now, "the Eternal, he is God" is not a metaphysical form of adoration; as such, it would be tautological. In the Bible, "the Eternal shall be my God" means that he cares for man and is concerned about his handiwork.9 This knowledge that the Eternal is God cannot be gained by any intellectual insight. It must be shown to man. Moses was saying to Israel: At Sinai, you knew God-his presence, his word, and his command-by actual experience, in which all of your senses were involved. The knowledge that God was addressing himself to them was "shown" to them; it happened to them. The event itself brought the awareness of its own certitude. That "the Eternal, he is God" is revealed in an event, that this knowledge was experienced-and that it remains capable of being experienced-is, of course, what is meant by the "living God," Judaism's incomparable discovery. The living God is God invisible and yet encountered; it is God, unlike the metaphysical deity, in active relationship with the world. The reality of the encounter constitutes the independence of religion from any purely intellectual exercise. The encounter itself is revelation-in it God reveals his presence to man-but it is not teaching per se. Of course, it is hardly possible not to learn something of importance from the encounter. But its immediate significance lies not in what may be imparted to the mind, but in the event itself; namely, that it actually happens between God and this creature, man. The truly unexpected and overwhelming element in all of revelation is that God should address himself to man, that the two can "meet" at all. The fact that God speaks to man is the foundational religious concept, and is in itself of far greater significance than even the truth that God communicates. The most wonderful aspect of revelation, then, is not its content, but its possibility: Not the word of God, but the encounter itself 10 Once this is clearly understood, the age-old discussion of the relationship between rational insight and revelational truth becomes pointless. The encounter, being at the root of all revelation, is not a truth that is primarily communicated to man in the act of revelation, but a reality made manifest for him. Before anything else, it is not an idea conveyed, but a relationship formed. It is not a meditation on the Supreme Being that is taught, but a "fellowship" with God that is established Nor is the need for revelation a result of the infirmities of human nature. For even if man could grasp the very essence of the deity, he would still be without God. The finest theories about friendship are no substitute for a friend. Intellectual understanding does not constitute fellowship with the Supreme Being. Thinking about God philosophically or metaphysically is not encountering him. But without the encounter there can be no Judaism. Without it, there is no religion.
From CHAPTER 4 - The Paradox of the Encounter
It is important, however, to distinguish between our interpretation of the prophetic encounter as the basic religious experience and the way of the mystic. The encounter should not be confused with the mystical communion. The mystic's goal is the surrender of personal existence. His desire is to merge himself in the One, to pour himself into God, to be drawn into the All. The mystic finds his fulfillment in the extinction of his dignity through being consumed by the Absolute. For him individuality is a burden and a shame. Only the One or the All is real, and every form of separateness from it is an unworthy shadow existence. In the encounter, on the other hand, the original separateness is affirmed; in fact, it is granted its highest dignity by being sustained by God. The encounter may occur because the individual personality is safeguarded. Where there is encounter, there is fellowship; and fellowship is the very opposite of the mystical surrender of man's identity in an act of communion. Judaism is not a nonmystical religion; Judaism is essentially non-mystical because it is religion. The mystical communion is the end of all relationship and, therefore, also the end of all religion. Judaism is essentially non-mystical because, according to it, God addresses himself to man, and he awaits man's response to the address. God speaks and man listens; God commands and man obeys. Man searches, and God allows himself to be found; man entreats, and God answers. In the mystical union, however, there are no words and no law, no search and no recognition, because there is no separateness. 18 Judaism does not admit the idea that man may rise "beyond good and evil," as it were, by drowning himself in the Godhead. There is a natural affinity between mysticism and pantheism. All mysticism tends toward pantheism. Once the mystical union is completed, there is nothing left but the Absolute, in which all is contained. The appropriate worldview of the mystic is pantheism. It is his justification for devaluing individual existence, as well as for attempting to redeem it through return into the All. On the other hand, mysticism is the only available "religion" for the pantheist. His worship of the Absolute demands the denial of his own separateness from it. Thus, we are led to the Spinozistic amor dei; since nothing exists apart from the infinite, man's love for God "is the very love of God with which God loves himself" 19 One is inclined to agree with those who see in this the monstrous example of absolute self-love.2O The truth, of course, is that where there is no separateness, there is no love either. Where there is no encounter, there can be no care or concern. The mystic endeavors to overcome all separateness; the pantheist denies it from the very beginning. Judaism, on the other hand, through its concept of the encounter, affirms the reality as well as the worth of individual existence. Judaism is not only non-mystical, it is also essentially anti -pantheistic.
