The purpose of this paper is to show that in its
negative theology, modern Orthodoxy[1]has gone far beyond anything we find in
classical Jewish thought, and that its versions of this theology threaten to
empty the commandments of meaning. I start with a brief explication of
Maimonides’ negative theology and give two of its main interpretations. I then
turn to Yeshayahu Leibowitz and I point to the great difference between his view
and that of Maimonides. After a critical discussion of Leibowitz’s view in which
I show the religious price entailed by his assumptions, I conclude by indicating
a striking similarity between Leibowitz’s philosophy and Haym Soloveitchik’s
insight into contemporary Orthodoxy.
I. NEGATIVE THEOLOGY IN MAIMONIDES
The expression “negative theology” refers to
theologies which regard negative statements as primary in expressing our
knowledge of God, contrasted with “positive theologies” giving primary emphasis
to positive statements. One widespread version of negative theology starts with
the claim that nothing can be known about God Himself. While we might have
knowledge about His actions, such as creation, and while we might have knowledge
about properties that cannot be ascribed to God, such as death or
stupidity, we have no knowledge of God Himself or His positive properties. Such
a theology has been prevalent in the history of religious thought. In Jewish
philosophy, Maimonides is known for holding it, though the exact nature of his
view on this matter (like his view on many other matters) has been under dispute
from the 13th century until today. In this section, I wish to briefly present
Maimonides’ view and to introduce one main exegetic point of disagreement. I
will then look into the question of what the meaning of the commandments might
be on each of these different readings of Maimonides. In the next section, I
turn to examine whether and to what extent Maimonides’ formulation of the
relationship between negative theology and the meaning of the commandments is
accepted by contemporary Jewish thinkers. If it is, then their frequent reliance
on Maimonides as their guide is warranted. If it is not, then a disturbing
discontinuity might exist between these thinkers and classical Jewish
philosophy.
According to a well-known doctrine of Maimonides,
the attributes we might meaningfully ascribe to God are of two kinds: attributes
of action and negative attributes. When the Torah ascribes anger to God, this
ascription cannot sensibly refer to God Himself who has no affection and who
undergoes no change; hence it must be taken as referring to God’s actions (see
Guide of the Perplexed [hereafter, Guide] I:53), e.g., His
punishment of sinners. So when attributed to God, the term “angry” really refers
to His actions, not to any property of God Himself. What is meant by “negative
attributes” are attributes that refer to what God is not (Guide
I:58). When we say that God is one, His oneness bears no resemblance to the
unity of non-divine entities, and therefore, all we might mean by ascribing this
property to God is to imply that God is not many. We say that He is eternal to
indicate that He is not limited in time, and we say that He exists to indicate
that He is not non-existent.[2]
Yet in spite of the human limitations in
apprehending God’s true nature, at times Maimonides’ Guide does give the
impression that true knowledge of God is possible, and, moreover, that the
attainment of such knowledge constitutes human perfection. These ideas are
developed in the last chapters of the Guide in which Maimonides argues
that the ultimate religious ideal is not a momentary intellectual grasp of God,
but a constant effort to perpetuate this grasp, to dwell in this contemplation.
“This,” says Maimonides, “is the worship peculiar to those who have apprehended
the true realities; the more they think of Him and of being with Him, the more
their worship increases” (Guide III:51). This kind of worship is possible
only after intensive philosophical training which guarantees that one has a true
perception of God. Without such training, one would be contemplating a product
of one’s imagination and would thus come close to idolatry.
According to this chapter, then, the theology at
play is not altogether negative. The intellectual elite enjoying the benefit of
a good philosophical upbringing can achieve true metaphysical and theological
knowledge, thereby ensuring for themselves a kind of immortality. Much more
needs to be said here by way of clarification, but for the present purpose I
will limit myself to the role of the commandments in this view. As Maimonides
makes clear in the Guide (III:27), the Torah has two aims: the welfare of
the soul, i.e., intellectual perfection, and the welfare of the body, i.e.,
social-political flourishing. The former is more valuable and constitutes the
supreme religious aim, but it cannot be achieved without the latter, i.e.,
without a healthy and just society. Philosophers need food, shelter, and peace
of mind, among other things, and they need a political entity to provide for
them. Most of the commandments aim at the welfare of the body which, if
realized, would make possible the welfare of the soul. Thus, on this
interpretation, a clear connection obtains between the rationality of the
commandments and the ultimate religious (and human) perfection.
Although this interpretation of Maimonides is
supported by many sources in the Guide and other writings, it seems
inconsistent with the claims we started with concerning the essential limits of
human knowledge about God and, indeed, about all entities above the sub-lunar
world. These claims imply that philosophy is essentially a critical enterprise,
seeking to delineate the boundaries of human knowledge. They lead to a different
interpretation of human and religious perfection, one developed by Shlomo Pines,
translator of the Guide into English and a leading scholar of medieval
philosophy. According to Pines, notwithstanding the last chapters of the
Guide and other sources, Maimonides’ real view was that the human
mind cannot transcend the knowledge of physics and cannot presume to gain
knowledge of entities like God.[3]Pines believes that in developing this view,
Maimonides was influenced by al-Farabi, a Muslim philosopher whose views
Maimonides very much valued. According to al-Farabi, as intellectual perfection
is impossible, human perfection lies in the practical realm, i.e., in the
moral-political sphere. Understood in this light, Maimonides denied the
possibility of metaphysical knowledge and with it, the possibility of the
immortality of the soul. This interpretation fits with well the closing
paragraph of the Guide, where Maimonides refers to the verses in Jeremiah
(9:23-24):
Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom . . . but let
him glory in this, that he understands and knows that I am the Lord who
exercises loving-kindness, judgment, and righteousness in the earth, for in
these things I delight.
On Pines’s reading of Maimonides’
interpretation of this text, one cannot glory in the knowledge of God, since
such knowledge is impossible. What one can glory in is the imitation of
God’s moral-political attributes, namely, by carrying out hesed,
mishpat, u-tsedaka; acts of lovingkindness, judgment, and
righteousness.
Within an interpretation such as that of Pines,
what is the relationship between negative theology and the meaning of the
commandments? On the other interpretation I mentioned, the commandments are a
means to achieving a positive religious goal, i.e., true knowledge of God
followed by a constant effort of contemplation. But on the latter
interpretation, that of Pines, no such positive goal is allowed. Moreover,
agnosticism about God entails agnosticism about the divine origin of the Torah;
meaning that the Torah must be conceived as a human project, not one
which stems from some kind of divine revelation. What, then, is its purpose? The
answer is not so far from that offered by the former view. The Torah provides us
with the best possible legal system, a system which—if followed—would guarantee
social stability and prosperity, and also enable a tiny fortunate minority to
reach an accurate understanding of the limits of human knowledge. So while
Pines’s Rambam holds an extreme negative theology and is at best agnostic about
the divine origin of the Torah, he nonetheless believes that the Torah provides
the best legal system, one which would be irrational to reject.
Let me sum up the conclusions of this section. One
of the central debates on Maimonides concerns the question of whether or not he
thought that metaphysical knowledge was possible, or, to put it in other words,
how radical his negative theology was. Some commentators argue that Rambam’s
theology was not altogether negative; others, that it was. Yet on both
interpretations, distinct as they are in terms of epistemology, metaphysics, and
the ideal of human perfection, the Torah essentially has the same aim and the
same rational justification, namely to create a successful and flourishing
society. Moreover, on both views, the rationality of the commandments is
connected to the perceived religious ideal: contemplation of God, on the one
hand, and political activity on the other. Thus, even the most radical
understanding of Maimonides’ negative theology does not deny the rationality of
the commandments. Agnosticism about God does not entail agnosticism about the
rationality of the Torah.
II. NEGATIVE THEOLOGY IN THE PHILOSOPHY OF
YESHAYAHU LEIBOWITZ
With this historical background in mind, I turn now
to examine the kind of negative theology which we find in contemporary Orthodox
thought. Though I limit the title of my paper to “modern” Orthodoxy, nothing of
much importance hangs on this limitation. My main purpose is to point to a
significant stream in contemporary religious thought, a stream characterized by
a radical negative theology. I believe that such a theology is especially
prevalent in modern Orthodox circles,[4]but if I’m wrong, then all the better (or all
the worse—depending how one evaluates this stream of thought).
The central figure in the stream I am referring to
is Yeshayahu Leibowitz, who passed away ten years ago at the age of 93. While
relatively unknown outside of Israel, in Israel, for the last forty years,
Leibowitz has been a leading intellectual and moral voice, often described as
the “conscience of Israel.” His enormous influence on public discourse had to do
not only with the clarity and sharpness of his ideas, but with his exceptional
commitment to spreading these ideas in lectures, interviews, and letters to the
press. His home was always open to anyone who wanted to talk to him about
democracy, God, or science, and he replied to thousands of letters on
philosophical and religious questions. He was a “public figure” in the fullest
and most positive sense of the term. Leibowitz was Orthodox, strongly committed
to the observance of Jewish law, and throughout the years he wrote dozens of
articles explicating his views on the meaning of halakha and the meaning of
Jewish religiosity in general. These views influenced many Orthodox Jews in
Israel, especially among the intelligentsia and among the members of the
religious kibbutzim, and also expressed the worldview of many believers. Among
his prominent followers one could mention Eliezer Goldman[5]and Asa Kasher.[6]
What, then, is Leibowitz’s theology? In his article
“On History and Miracles,” Leibowitz criticizes those who consider miracles the
basis for religious belief and who contend that human history is where God
reveals Himself. Among other things, he says:
The concept of the “God of history” endorsed by
believers who regard human history as “he finger of God,” entails a terrible
devaluation of religious faith. Such believers do not worship God qua
God, who is beyond the contingent existence of the world and of humanity,
but rather worship Him qua manager of human affairs.[7]
Superficially, this argument might be taken
merely as a warning against a religious attitude that sees God as a servant of
man (and woman) instead of seeing man as a servant of God. But Leibowitz has a
much more radical view in mind here. On his view, believers who interpret
historical events as divine acts manifest not only a kind of religious
hutspa, but also make a grave theological mistake. They assume that God
is revealed in history, while the truth of the matter is that, as Leibowitz puts
it, “God did not reveal Himself, neither in nature, nor in history.”[8]One cannot exaggerate the radicality of this
claim and its departure from the biblical and talmudic traditions. It amounts to
no less that a denial of divine revelation, because if God does not reveal
Himself in nature or in history, then He does not reveal Himself in the actual
world, which has nothing else but nature and history. The fact that God does not
reveal Himself in the world means that the world is void of all divine elements.
Hence, “the world we grasp by scientific knowledge does not make any difference
for faith and tells us nothing in regard to values.”[9]No natural happening, nor any historical event,
can be seen as the finger of God, even if the event is very impressive or
moving, like the conquest of the holy places in the Six Day War. Such conquest
is a human act, and to understand it we would need to refer to human,
psychological, sociological, or military explanations. God is not and cannot be
part of such an explanation.
This theology is accepted by Eliezer Goldman too,
who says,
Common to Leibowitz and myself is a radical conception
of divine transcendence, that denies all kinds of immanence, or of immanent
holiness. The world is determined by its internal causal structure.[10]
The radical implication is that, in Goldman’s
words, “the world and human beings, as they exist for themselves, have been
emptied of any religious meaning.”[11]
If knowledge of God is impossible and if the world
is void of any divine presence, the conclusion is that religious faith has no
cognitive content. As Leibowitz repeats again and again, “For Judaism, faith is
nothing but its system of Mitsvoth.”[12]This view has significant consequences for
believers. It means that qua believers, they do not have a special view
regarding any scientific question about the world, be it in cosmology,
astronomy, history, biology, or what have you. There are no doctrines or claims
about the world that believers are committed to accepting, or even have
any special reason to accept, just because they are believers. The only
difference between the believers and the nonbelievers is that the former accept
the yoke of God, which the latter reject or deny.
If theological propositions have no cognitive
content, if they tell us nothing about God or about the world, what is their
meaning? Leibowitz’s answer is that although such propositions appear by their
structure to express statements which have truth-value, they really do not.
Replying to a question of mine on this matter in 1980, he says:
In the world of the religious thought of Judaism,
the religious [emunit] meaning of propositions “about God” is not
information on God (who is transcendent and has no attributes). Such
propositions express, in the specific theological language, man’s consciousness
regarding the imperative he acknowledges: the worship of God. In other words, by
their meaning, not by their formulation, propositions “about God” express man’s
recognition of his status vis-à-vis God.
For example, the first verse in the Bible—“In the
beginning God created the heaven and the earth”—seems at first sight to say
something about God and about the world; namely, that God created the world.
But, argues Leibowitz, the readers of this verse are unable to derive from it
any factual data which their minds are capable of grasping. Hence, this verse
ought not to be taken as conveying scientific knowledge of some kind, but as
teaching us a religious lesson: “What I learn from this verse is the great
principle of faith, that the world is not God the negation of atheism and
pantheism.”[13]
Clearly, on this view, no conflict or even tension
can arise between religion and science. As religion teaches nothing about the
world, it cannot conflict with what science teaches. The believer has no
cognitions, qua believer, that might conflict with Darwinism,
psychoanalysis, or any other scientific theory. Religion is about how to live in
the world, not about what to believe about it.
So far, Leibowitz’s negative theology seems
reminiscent of that of Maimonides, especially on the more radical reading of the
latter. Nothing meaningful can be said about God Himself, and propositions that
seem to do so must be interpreted as claims about the world, about man’s
consciousness, or better, as disguised religious-normative claims. Leibowitz’s
interpretation of the first verse in the Torah and of other verses is not more
radical than the allegorical interpretations offered by medieval philosophers to
most theological propositions in the Bible. It is no surprise that Leibowitz,
like the other thinkers in the group under discussion, are all devout admirers
of Maimonides who was praised repeatedly by Leibowitz as “the greatest believer”
(gedol ha-ma’aminim). Maimonides for them is the example of how to
be both totally committed to science and philosophy, while at the same time
totally committed to the worship of God. However, when one turns to the meaning
of the commandments, one sees in Leibowitz and his followers a profound
departure from Rambam, as I hope to demonstrate in the next section.
III. THE MEANING OF THE COMMANDMENTS IN MODERN
ORTHODOXY
I start this section with an idea developed by
Evelyn Underhill, according to which “the character of worship is always decided
by the worshipper’s conception of God. . . . It always has a theological
basis.”[14]This makes perfect sense: since religious
practices are directed in some sense toward God—serving Him, imitating His
perfect ways, expressing admiration, getting close to Him—the nature of these
practices must reflect the nature of God. If, for instance, God is pure
intellect, then appropriate worship of Him would have to do with some kind of
intellectual perfection or contemplation. The religious justification of laws or
rituals must refer to the way they aim at (or serve, imitate, etc.) God, which
in turn necessitates some account of this God: a theology.
We have already seen an example of this
connection between theology and the meaning of religious practices in Section I,
where I outlined the views of Maimonides. According to one interpretation of his
philosophy, God is intellect, hence human and religious perfection consist of
intellectual perfection. “The intellect,” says the Guide, “which
overflowed from Him toward us, is the bond between us and Him” (III:51).
Accordingly, the role of most of the commandments is instrumental; they are
educational and social means to creating a society in which true perfection can
be realized. On this interpretation of Maimonides, a clear connection obtains
between the nature of God, the nature of worship, and the rationality of the
commandments.
What about the other interpretation of Maimonides
we considered, according to which theological knowledge is impossible and no
ontological connection between human and divine intellect can exist? Though,
within such a view, the laws of religious observance cannot be seen as means for
getting close to God, they still have an essential political role to play in
facilitating a stable and just society. In a sense, this is a religious ideal
too, because according to the last page of the Guide, religious
perfection rests in the imitation of God’s attributes of action. God reveals
Himself to us as a ruler whose ways are those of hesed, mishpat,
u-tsedaka (loving-kindness, judgment, and righteousness) in the earth.
Hence, the ultimate perfection for human beings is to imitate these attributes
by seeking excellence in the political sphere.
By now most readers can see the next move in my
argument. While Leibowitz and his followers share with Maimonides his radical
negative theology, they depart from him, indeed from any thinker of classical
Jewish philosophy, in their perception of the meaning and the rationality of the
commandments. This departure marks a sharp discontinuity between contemporary
Orthodox thought and classical thought, the significance of which is rarely
fully noticed.
On Leibowitz’s view, conceiving the
commandments as serving any kind of human interest is a grave religious mistake:
Any attempt to ground the mitzvot in human
needs—cognitive, moral, social, and national—deprives them from their religious
meaning. If the commandments were expressions of philosophical cognition, had a
moral function, or were directed at the perfection of the social order or the
conservation of the people of Israel, the observant Jew would be doing service
to himself, to society, or to the nation. Instead of serving God he would be
utilizing God’s Torah for his own benefit as an instrument for satisfying his
needs.[15]
Thus, contrary to classical Jewish thought, the
Torah is not the ideal legal system or the best way to establish a healthy
society, nor do its commandments prepare the believer for the attainment of
ultimate human perfection. The only purpose or meaning that can be ascribed to
them is religious. But the religious aim achieved by observance is not getting
close to God in any metaphysical meaning, as in the more moderate interpretation
of Maimonides, nor is it purifying one’s soul to enable some kind of an
ontological contact, or union, with the divine presence. On Leibowitz’s view,
the religious achievement is nothing separate of the observance itself:
Performance of the mitzvot is man’s path to God, an
infinite path, the end of which is never attained and is, in effect,
unattainable. A man is bound to know that this path never terminates. One
follows it without advancing beyond the point of departure.[16]
If, after years of observance, the observant
individual stands at the same point at which he or she stood when he or she
embarked on this voyage, what meaning can this voyage have? It is bad enough if
the commandments do not lead to any earthly achievement, such as harmony of the
soul, stability of society, or intellectual perfection. But if they do not even
realize a religious goal, what is the point—the religious point—in
observing them? To this Leibowitz replies as follows:
The aim of proximity to God is unattainable. . . .
What, then, is the substance and import of the performance of the mitzvot? It is
man’s striving to attain the religious goal.[17]
At this point, one naturally asks: why is
keeping the laws of kashrut or of Shabbat the right way to “strive to attain the
religious goal?” To this Leibowitz would presumably reply by saying that these
laws are God’s commandments, hence observing them is the only way to express
one’s effort to attain the religious aim. Yet, this answer is not easy to
reconcile with Leibowitz’s claim that “God revealed Himself neither in nature,
nor in history.” If nothing positive can be said about God, in particular if it
cannot be said that at some time and place He delivered His law to some human
beings, then the divine origin of the Torah becomes somewhat problematic.
Furthermore, I mentioned above that on Leibowitz’s view, religious believers,
qua believers, are committed to no special propositional beliefs, hence
they can accept any scientific theory without religious reservation. Now let us
imagine that historians of ancient Israel discover new and overwhelming evidence
that the book of Leviticus was edited by a person who utilized extracts of the
local laws of his society and other familiar traditions in creating that book.
According to Leibowitz, there would be no religious impediment for believers to
fully accept this scientific discovery. But if they did, could they still
maintain that by observing the laws of Leviticus they are worshipping
God, or striving to attain a religious aim?
Once again, note how radical this view is in
comparison to even the most radical interpretation of Maimonides. On Pines’s
interpretation, Maimonides held an extreme negative theology, implying total
agnosticism about God. This agnosticism about God necessarily entails
agnosticism about the divine origin of the Torah. So the Torah must be conceived
as a human project, not one stemming from any kind of divine revelation.
But on Pines’s reading of Maimonides, this human nature of the Torah does not
undermine its status as the ideal legal-political system. Its genius legislator,
Moses, constructed it to guarantee the best conditions for social stability and
prosperity, conditions which would also enable a tiny minority to reach
intellectual perfection. But on Leibowitz’s view, this last part of the argument
is missing. While he is forced to concede the possibility of the Torah being
man-made, he denies that it might achieve any kind of social, political, or
intellectual purpose. How problematic the religious meaning of the mitsvot
becomes within this view is easy to realize. Religiously speaking, one might
say, the mitsvot come from nowhere and go to nowhere: They come
from nowhere, because one cannot say that they originate in God and express
His will. They go to nowhere, because one cannot say that by observing
them—regardless of their origin—any religious (or indeed any other) aim is
achieved.
To this critical analysis, Leibowitz might respond
by saying that it fails to appreciate the importance of the fact that our
fundamental value judgments are a matter of decisions which logically never
follow from any facts. As David Hume presumably taught us, no “is,” namely, no
descriptive proposition, entails an “ought,” a normative proposition. Thus,
one’s decision to worship God does not depend on the truth of any claims about
the world or about God. Yet while such claims might not logically entail a duty
to observe the mitsvot, they do seem necessary to ground the
meaningfulness of such observance. The very fact that God created the world and
issued a set of commandments to His people does not logically entail that one
ought to obey these commandments. But the religious basis for such obedience
does seem rather shaky if God cannot be said to have created the world, nor to
have given the Torah.
By way of summarizing my argument, let me offer
the following observation. According to Leibowitz and other contemporary
Orthodox thinkers, (a) theological knowledge is impossible; (b) the believer’s
knowledge of the world is no different than that of the non-believer’s; hence ©
religious faith has no cognitive content; and (d) religious faith is merely a
matter of decision, or, as it is so often referred to nowadays, a matter of
“personal decision.” This view brings with it good news and bad news. The good
news is twofold. First, religious commitment becomes totally immune to any kind
of empirical, scientific refutation. As religion makes no claims about the age
of the world, the history of ancient Israel, or the psychology of the prophets,
no scientific discoveries can undermine it. This assumed irrelevance of science
to religion enables believers to be full participants in the scientific
community, often making significant contributions in fields that were considered
in the past a threat to religion. Second, the view under discussion coincides
very well with the liberal ideas of tolerance and pluralism. According to
Leibowitz, observance of the mitsvot achieves no social, moral, or
intellectual aim; hence refraining from such observance cannot, in itself, be
seen as damaging or harmful to the individual or to society. It is also not the
case that believers—and not heretics—hold the true view about the world,
because, as we saw, religious belief has no cognitive content. The assumed
compatibility of religion with both science and liberalism is thus a great
source of attraction of the view under discussion for modern Orthodoxy, because
the term “modern” in the expression “modern Orthodoxy” refers primarily to a
positive attitude toward science and liberalism.
So far for the good news. The bad news is that the
above compatibility is achieved at the price of emptying religion from theology,
indeed from any kind of propositional beliefs, which has the consequence of
making the very religious meaning of the mitsvot problematic. As
formulated earlier, they come from nowhere and go to nowhere. Whether or not the
good news is good enough to compensate for the losses incurred by the bad news
is a question I will not go into here. Let me, instead, turn to the last part of
my paper where I seek to connect the conclusions of this philosophical analysis
with a well-known sociological observation.
IV. LEIBOWITZ AS EXPRESSING THE ZEITGEIST OF
MODERN ORTHODOXY
In a 1994 article in this journal, which has become
a classic by now, Professor Haym Soloveitchik offers a comprehensive analysis of
contemporary Orthodoxy in America, or, as the title of his article indicates, of
the transformation of contemporary Orthodoxy.[18]The article is one of the deepest and original
analyses of its topic, written by a man who is at the same time an insider—a
member of the Orthodox camp and son of one of its eminent leaders—as well as an
outsider—a trained social historian applying his professional skills to
understanding the society in which he lives. According to Soloveitchik, the
uprooting of Jews from the shtetls and communities in Eastern Europe to
liberal, scientific, and capitalist America caused a deep crisis, a “rupture” as
he puts it, in Orthodox beliefs, sensibilities, and practices. One central
aspect of this rupture concerns the sense of divine presence. In the old world,
Jews had a deep and immediate sense of God’s presence, and they took His
involvement in human affairs for granted. But the world to which the uprooted
came was one of modern science, a world which had reduced nature to an immutable
nexus of cause and effect, and which left little room for divine intervention.
The absorption of this new outlook, argues Soloveitchik, has been momentous. At
the end of the 20th century, he makes the following claim:
I think it safe to say that the perception of God as a
daily, natural force is no longer present to a significant degree in any sector
of modern Jewry, even the most religious. Indeed, I would go so far as to
suggest that individual Divine Providence . . . is no longer experienced as a
simple reality. . . . It is this rupture in the traditional religious
sensibilities that underlies much of the transformation of contemporary
Orthodoxy. [19]
This is a rather amazing observation about the
nature of contemporary Orthodoxy. But there is still more to come. The loss of
the perception of God as a “daily, natural force” must somehow be compensated.
The breach opened up by the loss of the sense of divine providence must be
closed up by some other religious element to make possible the continuation of
religious life. On Soloveitchik’s view, what closes this breach is an
increasingly strict loyalty to the laws of halakha. In the closing sentence of
his article, he makes the point succinctly, beautifully, and powerfully: “Having
lost the touch of His presence, they seek now solace in the pressure of His
yoke.”[20]
This view, which I find deep and accurate, must
sound familiar to you by now. In fact, it seems very close to what Leibowitz
argues about the nature of Judaism. How interesting it is that the philosopher
and the social historian have come up here with more or less the same picture,
each from his own angle! As a philosopher of Judaism, Leibowitz argues that no
knowledge of God is possible, hence—in principle—no “touch” of divine presence
is possible; hence Orthodoxy is nothing other than the acceptance of the yoke
(ol mitsvot). As a historian of Jewish Orthodoxy of the last century,
Soloveitchik maintains that most Jews have lost the touch of His presence and,
as a result, what constitutes their religious world is the pressure of His yoke.
If all this is correct, then far from being an eccentric philosopher with
radical views, Leibowitz seems to express, in philosophical terms, the true
zeitgeist of contemporary Orthodoxy. The discontinuity between his views
and those of classical medieval Jewish philosophers to which I alluded in the
earlier parts of my paper is just another aspect of the general “rupture and
transformation” of contemporary Orthodoxy.
Can Orthodoxy survive this rupture? In particular,
can it survive it without a rejection of modernity? A proper examination of
these questions lies beyond the limits of the present paper and, most probably,
beyond the capabilities of the present writer.
[1]I’ll be using the expression “modern Orthodoxy” in quite a
loose and undefined manner. I realize that my characterizations of this group do
not fit all of those who identify themselves, or are identified by others, as
belonging to it. How large the stream I’m describing is, and how influential the
ideas I ascribe to it are, is something that only a thorough empirical survey
could assess.
[2]For a brief presentation of Rambam’s views on divine
attributes, see Kenneth Seeskin, Maimonides: A Guide for Today’s Perplexed
(New Jersey: Behrman House, 1991), ch. 2.
[3]Shlomo Pines, “Translator’s Introduction: The Philosophical
Sources of the Guide of the Perplexed,” The Guide of the
Perplexed, trans. S. Pines (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963).
[4]Cf. supra, note 1.
[5]For a collection of his main essays, see Eliezer Goldman,
Mehkarim ve-Iyyunim, ed. Avi Sagi and Daniel Statman (Jerusalem: The
Magnes Press, 1997).
[6]See his recent Yahadut ve-Elilut (Tel Aviv: Ministry of
Defense Press, 2004).
[7]Yeshayahu Leibowitz, Emuna, Historiya va-Arakhim
(Jerusalem: Akademon, 1982), 166-167 (the translation from the Hebrew
sources is mine—D.S.).
[8]Yeshayahu Leibowitz, Yahadut, Am Yehudi u-Medinat Yisrael
(Tel-Aviv:Shocken, 1975), 240.
[9]Yeshayahu Leibowitz, Judaism, Human Values, and the State
of Israel, trans. and ed. Eliezer Goldman (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard
University Press, 1992), 137.
[10]Interview with Eliezer Goldman, Gilayon (1995).
[11]Goldman (supra note 5), 311.
[12]Judaism, Human Values, and the State of Israel, 38.
[13]Ibid., 140.
[14]EvelynUnderhill, Worship (New York: Harper, 1957),
60.
[15]Judaism, Human Values, and the State of Israel, 17-18.
[16]Ibid., 15-16 (italics added).
[17]Ibid., 16.
[18]Haym Soloveitchik, “Rupture and Reconstruction: The
Transformation of Contemporary Orthodoxy,” Tradition 28:4 (1994), 64-130.
[19]Ibid., 102-3.
[20]Ibid., 103.