Originally posted by rwingett
One of the more interesting theodicies I've heard is that god is not all-loving, or is not wholly good. It's obviously clear that the tribal Jewish god was a capricious and wrathful fellow who falls far short of moral perfection. The early christians set themselves an impossible task by appropriating the Jewish texts and trying to reconcile them with a conc ...[text shortened]... de=love. The question that I have is how they managed to bamboozle so many people for so long.
One of the more interesting theodicies I've heard is that god is not all-loving, or is not wholly good.
I heard a story—and stories should be taken an examined as
stories!—that I can only recall as best I can from memory. A Hasidic Rebbe (the Rebbe of Berditchev, I think) asked a simple cobbler what he had done on Yom Kippur that year.
The cobbler said: “I said to God,
Ribbono shel Olam (“master of the universe” ), I know that I have done some things that I shouldn’t have, that I have dome some wrong things. But you! You have permitted genocide in your name, you have drowned young children, you have been responsible for horrible things. So, I think you should just forgive and forget my sins, and we’ll call it quits.”
The Rebbe bowed his head in contemplation for a moment, and then replied: “Why did you let God off so easy? With an argument like that, you could have redeemed the whole world.”
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It's obviously clear that the tribal Jewish god was a capricious and wrathful fellow who falls far short of moral perfection.
When people began personalizing the forces of nature into gods, the pantheons captured all of “capricious” nature—and assigned humanesque motivations, emotions, etc. During the henotheistic period, the tribe saw their tribal deity as both the baddest and the best.
At some point, some folks decided that there really was just “one of It”, and came to either monotheism or non-dualism (monism) of varying types. “I form light and create darkness, I make well-being [
shalom] and create woe [
ra: the bad]; I YHVH do all these things.” (Isaiah 45:7) And it should be noted that nondualists have often kept the aesthetic richness of relational pictures of the human-divine, without reading them otherwise than as rich aesthetic expressions)
The stories of the Torah are—
stories; what David S. Ariel calls “the sacred myths of Israel”. All the stories are included: the good, the bad and the ugly. But, by the time you have such high literature as the Yahwist strand of the Torah, or
Qohelet (“Ecclesiastes”; perhaps one of the earliest inquiries into existential philosophy), you are dealing with bright minds who raised the same questions that we do—albeit often in the form of myth, epic saga, symbol and allegory—and
story.
Now, although I have several hermeneutical principles that I apply (at least loosely) in reading these stories, I mainly take a literary-critical approach, coupled with a “post-modern”, existentialist approach to traditional midrash (following rabbi and scholar Marc-Alain Ouakinin). I also look for what I call “hermeneutical gems” that are embedded, sometimes almost hidden—and often overlooked—in the broader narrative fabric.
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Think of the
story of the slaughter of the Amalekites. Imagine it as a
story, of the kind that was once told around campfires. Think of the storyteller saying, near the end of the tale: “Then YHVH said to Moses, "Write this as a reminder in a book and recite it in the hearing of Joshua: I will utterly blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven." (Exodus 17:14)
The some brash teenager says: “Wait a minute! Then why do we keep re-telling this story?!”
The storyteller smiles, and says: “Good! Let me ask you: What do you think the point is of including
that line in the story—and repeating it down the generations?”
Another voice: “Maybe that we should be careful about what we think—or even what our ancestors thought or claimed—are commands of God? Like, if the folks in the story thought that’s what God wanted—well, then why contradict it by setting down that part of the story…”
Somebody else says: “Or maybe we’re not supposed to blindly obey even when God commands, if we think it is wrong. Like Abraham arguing with God over Sodom…”
And somebody else: “Or like Abraham failing to stand up to God instead of agreeing to kill Isaac…”
And a debate ensues… People start quoting from the Talmuds and the Midrashim… Some begin to spin new midrash… The storyteller has done his job.
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From the point of view of reading that story as
a story, that line about blotting out the remembrance of Amalek just leaps out. That is what I call a hermeneutical gem. One could say it is almost an example of deconstruction embedded in the seemingly simple structure of the story. And the rabbinical approach to reading Torah is often akin to post-modernist approaches. The reader is an active and creative force in the ongoing evolution of the story (“One must bring one’s own torah to the [written] Torah, and out of that engagement, new, real Torah is engendered.” ) There is really no such thing as the "one right interpreation".
If one reads this stuff as literal history, on the other hand…
I simply don’t, anymore than I would read the Gita as literal history.