sherryll mleynek, abraham, aristotle, and god

8/11/2019 Sherryll Mleynek, Abraham, Aristotle, And God

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Iournal of the American Academy of Religion

LXII / l

Abraham, Aristotle, and God

The Poetics of Sacrifice

Sherryll Mleynek

The Pleasure th e [tragic] poet is to provide i s that which com es

from pity a n d fear.

Aristotle Poetics1

THE SECTION of the Poetics devoted to the art of arousing pity

and fear, Aristotle writes that when the tragic event occurs

within the sphere of the natural affections-when, for instance, a

brother kills or is on the point of killing his brother, or a son his

father, or a mother her son, or a son his mother, or something

equally drastic is done-that is the kind of event a poet must try

for (Hutton: 14.1453b). My attention was arrested by Aristotle's

advice that the poet should select an event of a particular kind, a

kind found not only in traditional Greek tragic sources, but found

as well in Genesis 22. In that passage, referred to as the Akedah or

the binding of Isaac, Abraham is asked by God to sacrifice his

son Isaac, and Abraham is about to do so when God's angel inter-

venes to halt the tragic action.

As a religious text, the Akedah's purpose is clearly not the same

as that of classical tragedy. But Genesis taken as a religious and a

literary document suggests theoretical as well as theological ques-

tions. By what criteria might the Akedah be interpreted as Aristote-

lian tragedy? If it

is literary tragedy, does this tragic stature

displace its moral authority in the Judaic canon? Below I review

certain important Aristotelian terms, consider the relationship of

Aristotelian tragedy to the structure and content of the Akedah, and

conclude that the Akedah's very nature as uncompleted Aristotelian

tragedy guarantees its religious authority.

Sherryll Mleynek is Assistant Professor of English at the University of Hawaii at Hilo, 200

W.

Kawili Street, Hilo, Hawaii 96720-4091.

Hutton 1982: 14.1453b. Future references to the

Poetics

will be given in the text and

identified by translator.


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In both Aristotelian tragedy and in the Akedah, the sanctity of

the familial bond is at stake. Responding to Aristotle's argument

that the ideal tragic actions-those most ethically odious and

socially destructive-abridge traditional taboos against family vio-

lence, Gerald Else remarks interestingly on the dramatic effect of

familial murder: Murders or intended murders involving close

blood kin evoke the tragic emotions most powerfully. What

[Aristotle] is talking about is one of the most primitive and

potent taboos in all human cultures, that against the shedding of

kindred blood. Such a killing brings on the doer a 'pollution'

almost too fearsome to bear (96n97).

In Section 14 of the

Poetics,

Aristotle discusses and ranks four

categories of tragic actions, each having the potential to evoke pity

and fear, and each occurring within the limits of close blood rela-

tionship (Else: 14.1453b):

l The action may be done consciously and with knowledge of

the persons, in the manner of the older poets. It is thus too that

Euripides makes Medea slay her children. [2] Or, again, the deed

of horror may be done, but done in ignorance, and the tie of kin-

ship or friendship be discovered afterwards. The Oedipus of Soph-

ocles is an example. [3] Again, there is a third case,

when some one is about to do an irreparable

deed through ignorance, and makes the discovery before it is done.

For the deed must either be done or not done,-and that wit-

tingly or unwittingly.

But of all these ways,

[ ]

to be about to act

knowing the persons, a n d then not to act, is the worst. It is shocking

without being tragic, for no disa ster follow^ ^ It is, therefore, never,

or very rarely, found in poetry. One instance, however, is in the

Antigone, where Haemon threatens to kill Creon. Butcher: 14.6-

8.1453b-1454a)

Else's translation uses stronger language to emphasize the ethical

nature of the uncompleted action: To know what one is doing but

hold off and not perform the act is worst: it has the morally

repulsive character and at the same time is not tragic; for there is

no tragic act (14.1453b-1454a).

My emphasis.

31x1 Else, 14.145313: (2) To refrain from performing the deed, with knowledge; and, of

these modes, to know what one is doing but hold off and not perform the act (no. 2) is

worst.

4My emphasis.


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109leynek: Abraham Aristotle and God

Aristotle's example of this kind of action is Haemon's unaccom-

plished attempt against his father, Creon, in the

Antigone:

The boy looked at him with his angry eyes,

spat in his face and spoke no further word.

He drew his sword,

but

as his father ran,

he missed his aim.5 Then the unhappy boy,

in anger at himself, leant on the blade.

It entered, half its length, into his side.

Sophocles: 11. 1230-1236 .

Though this particular form of action, to know what one is doing

but hold off and not perform the act, is formally unsatisfactory

because it lacks culmination, Aristotle includes it among the four

tragic actions suitable for poetic imitation because it has all of the

elements of tragedy

except

the culminating act. Its formal limita-

tions do not prevent its arousing pity and fear, for though the

threatened action is not ideally tragic because no disaster fol-

lows, it is nonetheless shocking or morally repulsive and it is

that point I wish to establish.

Pity and fear, central to Aristotle's conception of tragedy, are

defined in the

Rhetoric:

51t can be argued that there is a difference in the actions of Haemon and Abraham if one

assumes that Haemon decides not to act. I wish to stress the point that Haemon misses. The

definitive Loeb translation supports this interpretation:

But the son glared at him with tiger eyes,

Spat in his face, and then, without a word,

Drew his two-hilted sword and smote, but missed

His father flying backward. Then the boy,

Wroth with himself, poor wretch, incontinent

Fell on his sword and drove it through his side

Home, but yet breathing clasped in his lax arms

The maid, her pallid cheek incarnadined

With his expiring gasps. (1232-1240-my

emphasis)

The cases of Haemon and Abraham are, in fact, parallel. In both instances the tragic act is

aborted, not because the act is reconsidered, but because of an intervening event: Haemon

misses, and thus abandons his initial intent; Abraham abandons his initial intent because he

hears the Angel. Why Abraham desists is not a matter of great importance to my argument

that the Akedah represents a potentially tragic act, for my ultimate argument is that the

power of the text resides in is absence of closure through katharsis. It is the very fact that

Abraham desists that keeps alive the Akedah's power. In any event, the Akedah has the ele-

ments of Aristotle's third category of tragic action. To reiterate, if Abraham is stopped by

deus ex machina, as has been suggested, Haemon is stopped by coming short of' (Greek

hormomenou) the mark; in other words, Haemon doesn't reconsider, he fails. Just as Abra-

ham intended to do the deed, so did Haemon.


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jo ur na l of the Am er ican Academy of Religion

Let fear be defined as a painful or troubled feeling caused by the

impression of an imminent evil that causes destruction or pain.

2.5.1.1282a)

Let pity the n be a kin d of pain excited by the sight of evil, dead ly

or painful, which befalls one who does not deserve it; an evil

which one might expect to come upon himself or one of his

friend s, an d when it seems near. For it is evident that o ne who is

likely to feel pity must be such as to think that he, or one of his

friends, is liable to suffer som e evil. 2.8.1-2 .1285 b)

Certainly pity and fear are aroused as a consequence of the poten-

tial action of Haemon against Creon. Just as certainly, as I demon-

strate below, pity and fear are aroused by Abraham's potential

action against Isaac.

s

I established above, from Aristotle's perspective an uncom-

pleted tragic action is the weakest subject for imitation, but Gerald

Else observes that tragedy does not require that the tragic action be

completed: The pathos is the foundation stone of the tragic struc-

ture. Peripety and recognition are limited to complex plots,

[but] the

pathos

can equally well be embodied in a simple plot.

In fact it appears that the happening

or threatened happening

of

a

pathos

is the

sine qua non

of all tragedy (941184). Else correctly

understands that an action

threatened

is an action with tragic

implications not only as an instrument of the arousal of fear and

pity, but as a tragic act or

pathos

in itself. If suffering is the cate-

gory of judgment, then the event in which an action is contem-

plated or intended between blood relations must constitute a tragic

action, for although it may fail formally because it is incomplete, it

has the ethical effect of an intentional act. That intentionality is

itself sufficient to violate the taboo against violence directed

toward blood relations and sufficient as well to generate psychic if

not physical injury. Thus, if, with Else, one argues that

pathos

is

the

sine qua non

of all tragedy, and a threatened happening is as

much a

pathos

as a completed happening, one would be forced to

acknowledge in the

Akedah

the primary formal element of tragedy.

Pathos:

Else (80n4): The tragic

pathos

is an act. See also in Liddell and Scott 511):

anything that befalls one, a suffering, misfortune, calamity.


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leynek: Abraham , Aristotle, an d God

The final term I shall discuss is katharsis, ' the purgation of pity

and fear which, according to Aristotle's definition, is produced. by

tragedy. Gerald Else argues that

the catharsis is a purification of what is filthy or polluted in

the

pathos,

the tragic act. The filthiness inheres in a con-

scious intention to kill a person who is close kin (father, brother,

etc.).

An unconscious

intention to do so, i.e., an intention to do so

without being aware of the kinship would therefore be pure,

katharos.

But the purity must be established to our satisfaction.

Catharsis

would then be the process of proving that the act was

pure in that sense. How is such a thing proved? According to the

Nicomachean Ethics.

.,

by the remorse of the doer, which shows

that if he had known the facts he would not have done the deed.

In the Oedipus, the thing which establishes this to our satisfaction

is Oedipus' self-blinding. It, then, effects a purification of the

tragic deed and so makes Oedipus eligible for our pity (as well as

our fear .

. .

The usual interpretations of catharsis have in

common a focus on the pity and fear which are aroused in the

spectator. These are to be somehow purified or purged

by the play. The basic question is whether we are to think of

literature as a therapeutic device, and the spectator-or reader-as

a patient to be treated. (97-99, 9911101)

Abraham Edel acknowledges Else's argument, which locates

k a t h a r s i s in the tragic hero and not in the audience, bu t Edel bases

his own understanding of k a t h a r s i s on the dominant contempo-

rary interpretations, which locate the experience of k a t h a r s i s

within the audience (355). W riting that the distinctive impact of

Aristotle's treatment of catharsis is that it constitutes a justification

of tragedy (355), Edel tacitly follows the interpretive tradition tha t

the k a t h a r s i s arises from the purgation of pity and fear (353-356).

Taking either Else's definition of kathars i s as occurring in the

character, or the traditional definition of

it

as occurring in the

spectator, it is apparent tha t, whereas the threatened happen ing

of a pathos itself would arouse fear and pity in either the char-

acter or the audience, the absence o f a completed t ragic act ion w ould

prevent ka thars i s .

To clarify this poin t, if the pleasure to be produced by tragedy is

from the arousal of pity and fear, and the desired effect is as Aris-

For a fine discussion of katharsis in which it is pointed out that the term appears only

twice in the

Poetics

see Preminger

et al. (101-103).


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totle says, the proper purgation of these emotions (Butcher:

6.3.1449b) or katharsis, then the absence of katharsis, which

occurs in such an encounter as that between Creon and Haemon,

will be experienced by the spectator as a remnant of an incomplete

and yet potentially tragic action, and will be sufficiently felt as an

absence to undercut the desired purgative effect without restoring

the participants to their original feeling toward one another.

In his commentary on the Akedah,W Gunther Plaut writes that

few narrative sections of the Torah have been subjected to as

much comment and study as the binding [of Isaac] (145). The

extensive debate reflects the persistent desire of theologians and

philosophers to justify God's request and Abraham's response, that

is, to rescue the event ethically.8 But such resolution cannot occur,

for the text-that is, the story or myth-is and must be formally

and interpretively indeterminate: while the Akedah takes the shape

of tragedy, it is not definable as tragedy for there is no katharsis, no

purgation, no closure. There is, however, a saturation of pity and

fear sufficient to puzzle and trouble and inspire readers with the

mystery of the myth.

Below I explore the myth and responses to it and demonstrate

that it conforms to Aristotle's tragic model, in which someone is

about to act with knowledge of the persons and then [does] not

act (Butcher: 14.7.1453b). I argue that the didactic value of

the Akedah is sustained by the presence of all elements of Aristote-

lian tragedy except for katharsis; this structure insures the peculiar

force of the Akedah.

Erich Auerbach, comparing the Akedah with Homeric epic,

writes that detail and digression are used in Homer to prevent the

reader from concentrating exclusively on a present crisis. . . and to

prevent the establishment of an overwhelming suspense, whereas

in the story of Abraham's sacrifice, the overwhelming suspense is

present; what Schiller makes the goal of the tragic poet-to rob us

of our emotional freedom, to turn our intellectual and spiritual

powers . . . in one direction, to concentrate them there-is effected

in this Biblical narrative, which certainly deserves the epithet epic

8See Quinn for an excellent discussion of the philosophical nature of Abraham's choice.


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(11). Auerbach understands that the kedah also partakes of the

tragic.

The puzzle is that the same formal mythic structure in which a

tragic action is threatened but not achieved is thought by Aristotle

to represent an action which is "shocking," but by Judaic tradition

to represent an action which is inspiring, if troubling. In part it is

troubling because in its threatened violation of the taboo against

the shedding of kindred blood, a violation which constitutes the

essence of the tragic act, it explicitly and painfully demonstrates

Abraham's stronger bond with his "father" than with his

song

Should this conflict between competing familial ties occur in a

non-theological context, it would be fought on other, more "usual"

dramatic grounds, but in Genesis 22 the potential tragedy is com-

plicated because the "usual" ethical issues of classical tragedy are

replaced by an opposition between divine and mortal allegiance

which ought not, ips facto in the Judeo-Christian tradition, to be

opposed. That divine and mortal allegiance are opposed in the

kedah engenders persistent discomfort-for different reasons-in

skeptics and believers.

The standard interpretation of the "binding" is that God tests

Abraham's faith by commanding him to sacrifice Isaac, his son

who had been conceived by Sarah after much suffering: "God put

Abraham to the test. He said to him, 'Abraham,' and he answered,

'Here I am.' And He said, 'Take your son, your favored one, Isaac,

whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there

as a burnt offering on one of the heights which I will point out to

you" (Gen 22:l-2). Abraham proves his faith by obeying God's

commandment. After Abraham has followed God's instructions to

prepare Isaac for sacrifice, the following occurs: "Abraham picked

up the knife to slay his son. Then an angel of the Lord called to

him from Heaven: 'Abraham Abraham ' And he answered, 'Here I

am.' And he said, 'Do not raise your hand against the boy, or do

anything to him. For now I know that you fear God, since you have

not withheld your son, your favored one, from Me."' (Gen 22:lO-

12).

gBecause my discussion herein is focused on the formal relationship of a particular cate-

gory of Aristotelian tragedy to the Akedah I have not elaborated on the many other impor-

tant issues which the Akedah suggests.

Ssren Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling a

remarkable discussion of Abraham's choice, juxtaposes most eloquently and sensitively

Abraham's relationship to Isaac and duty to God.


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Abraham's fear establishes his faith. Yet surely this is fear in

the Aristotelian sense: "Let fear be defined as a painful or troubled

feeling caused by the impression of an imminent evil that causes

destruction or pain" (Aristotle: 2.5.1.1382a). What other than fear

of God would have motivated Abraham to sacrifice his son?1 It

has been pointed out to me that the Hebrew yere, which in the

passage from Genesis quoted above is translated as fear, can also

mean reverence. However, can we doubt that Abraham's reverence

was a response to his belief that failing to do God's will would

bring about an "imminent evil that causes destruction or pain"?

After all, the history of Genesis argues persuasively that those who

disobey God are not lightly dealt with. Thus, the translation of

yere is less important than the response yere would evoke from

Abraham. A father willing to kill his son must be motivated by

something which complicates or problematizes the nature of faith;

otherwise, the literary point of choosing the son as the sacrifice is

degraded: the very choice of Isaac suggests that Abraham must sac-

rifice something unquestionably dear to him, the parting with

which would be painful. Why would he do so if not to avoid the

consequences that follow not doing so? Whether his faith pro-

ceeds from fear or reverence, the motivating emotion is sufficient

to cause him to overcome filial feelings in favor of reverence for

God. And, certainly a threatened breach in Abraham's relationship

with God can be thought of as generating fear of "an imminent evil

that causes destruction or pain." How painful for the reverent

Abraham to lose his bond with God

Further, what other than pity and fear on the part of the

readerlbeliever would have caused such powerful identification

with Abraham and such puzzlement about the role of God? Cer-

tainly the reader of Genesis experiences feelings parallel to the

readerlspectator of Oedipus. Whether Abraham's fear of God is

thought to be like or unlike Oedipus' fear depends on one's inter-

pretive stance:

the rhetorical intent of the Akedah is that Abra-

ham's fear means "acknowledges God's supremacy," but a

suspension of that rhetorical perspective suggests the fear is of the

impending tragic action.

To summarize, Abraham's fear is generated by his certainty that

the consequences of his refusal must be greater than of his

'Osee Quinn's discussion of philosophical issues relating to Abraham's choice.


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Mleynek: Abraham Aristotle an d God

115

assent.ll Otherwise, why would he comply with God's command-

ment? For were he merely motivated by faith without consideration

of the consequences for refusal, one must conclude Abraham

would have protected his son, and not felt fear of God in so doing.

This is the heart of the dilemma that has so puzzled commentators,

for Abraham's motivation can never be seen as pure: fear of God is

a contaminated basis for faith.

Further, Abraham and Isaac are the unwitting participants in

what is not a real test of faith in which an action will be completed,

but a dramatization of an act of faith in which the director, God,

knows the play is a play and the action will not be completed,

whereas the actors, Abraham and Isaac, must live the action as if

it were to be completed. In other words, God generates Abraham's

fear, and that fear provides the dramatic energy of the Akedah and

the didactic vehicle the Elohistic author requires in order to pro-

duce the desired effect on the audiencelbeliever.

The actor Isaac is silent except to say to his father, Here are the

firestone and the wood; but where is the sheep for the burnt offer-

ing? (Gen 22:7). Perhaps he is reassured by Abraham's response

that God will see to the sheep for His burnt offering, my son

(Gen 22:8), but more probably the writer(s) of Genesis under-

stands that to dramatize through language Isaac's feelings at being

bound [and] laid on the alter, on top of the wood (Gen 22:9)

would generate an excess of pity and fear so intense that the

katharsis could never be suppressed, that the katharsis would be

inevitable as a response to Isaac's audible perception of the

impending act against him. The Elohistic author thus must employ

a tragic situation with delicacy, remaining just this side of produc-

ing katharsis through the dramatization of Isaac's response, for

that would confirm the Akedah as tragedy and further complicate

Abraham's moral stature.

To amplify this argument, in the tripartite relationship of Abra-

ham, God, and Isaac, the latter functions as the instrument of

proof, a metaphorical emblem of Abraham's faith, to be sacrificed

to God's judgment. But Isaac also functions as a suppressed yet

Kierkegaard, of course, sees the matter much differently, sees Abraham as a knight of

fa i th bound to God by duty which is the expression of faith. In Fear and Trembling he

writes about the paradox of faith, and observes that while the tragic hero renounces him-

self in order to express the universal [one might think here of Antigone] the knight of faith

renounces the universal in order to become the individual

(86).


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palpable presence in the text. He is the mime whose existence can-

not be forgotten, yet whose necessary silence prevents his active

assertion of existence. Thus, through his silence Isaac becomes the

psychological, even though not the physical sacrifice to faith. To

the extent Isaac is a psychological sacrifice to God, the tragic action

is completed, and thus the Akedah, like the Medea, exemplifies Aris-

totle's first category of tragic action in which a deed is done con-

sciously and with knowledge of the person (Butcher: 14.6.1453b).

Of course, it is apparent that textual acknowledgment of psycho-

logical sacrifice would undercut the rhetorical strategy of the

Akedah, yet the anguish of much of the commentary on the text

makes it undeniable that psychological sacrifice is the inevitable

accompaniment to the threatened, and unprotested, physical

action. Nevertheless, it is essential to the Elohistic project itself

that Isaac maintains silence. If he were audible, the unexpressed

and inexpressible tragedy of the text would be made manifest

through his suffering, through the pathos.

Because there is no resolution of the pathos in katharsis, we are

forced to ask what happens after the deed is aborted in a tragic

situation in which an act about to be done with knowledge is not

done. Surely there is no return to ordinary, trusting filial relations.

The relationship between Abraham and

Issac is now defective, con-

taminated by violence threatened, i not violence committed, just

as the relationship between God and Abraham is contaminated

because the instrument of Abraham's faith is his fear of God.

In summary, we do not hear from Isaac because we would have

to confront the dilemma that an attempted tragic action has tragic

implications even though it cannot constitute the best kind of Aris-

totelian tragedy. It generates neither resolution nor return; it is,

however, disruptive, and the extensive, even excessive commentary

on the Akedah confirms how philosophically, theologically, and

spiritually disruptive it is.

The paradox of God's commandment to Abraham to sacrifice

Isaac is overlaid with a further paradox, which constitutes the dra-

matic resolution of the event. God has earlier affirmed Abraham's

patriarchy, yet He reaffirms it as a response to Abraham's willing-

ness to sacrifice Isaac: By Myself I swear, the Lord declares:

because you have done this and have not withheld your son, your

favored one, I will bestow My blessing upon you and make your

descendants as numerous as the stars of heaven and the sands on

the seashore; and your descendants shall seize the gates of their


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foes. All the nations of the earth shall bless themselves by your

descendants, because you have obeyed My command (Gen 22:16-

18). God has already established a covenant with Abraham, having

dictated that through circumcision Abraham's descendants will

bear the mark of the covenant on their flesh (Gen 17). The reiter-

ated promise of Genesis 22 resonates with irony, for it emanates

from Abraham's willingness, as a father or patriarch, to sacrifice

his son; his readiness to commit filicide proves to God-the father,

as it were-Abraham's suitability to be the patriarch of the Jewish

nation. Is this to cast Abraham in the image of the Hebrew God

who has expelled Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden,

destroyed all of humanity except Noah and his family, executed

punishment at Sodom and Gomorrah, and now asks of his chosen

leader, Abraham, the same willingness to execute an act with

knowledge of the persons ?

Because the outcome of the threatened happening clarifies

neither the moral position of God nor of Abraham, philosophical

and theological explanations of the Akedah, and particularly of

Abraham's action, are riddled with uncertainty. Ssren Kierke-

gaard's response is as articulate as it is paradigmatic:

W hy then did Abraham d o it? For God s sake and [in complete

identity with this] for his own sake.

He di d it for God s sake

because God required this proof of his faith; for his own sake he

did it in order that he might furn ish proof. The unity of these two

po ints of view is perfectly exp ressed by the word which h as always

been used to characterize this situation: It is a trial, a temptation.

A temptation-but wha t does that mean? W hat ordinarily tempts

a m an is that which would keep him from do ing his du ty, bu t in

this case, the temptation is itself the ethical wh ich would keep

him from d oing God s will. Therefore, thoug h Abraham arou ses

my adm iration, he at the same time appals [sic] me. He wh o

ha s explained this riddle ha s explained my life. (12, 70-71)

The riddle is generated because Abraham expresses his faith in

God through his willingness to commit a tragic action, one which

is morally repulsive in the Aristotelian context. In Agamemnon

and Abraham: The Tragic Dilemma of Kierkegaard's Knight of

Faith, Philip Quinn considers the apparent moral paradox of Abra-

ham's choice to serve God or save Isaac, and concludes his essay


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with this powerful statement: Would the normal human duty not

to kill one's own innocent child be suspended or overridden in the

presence of a divine command to the contrary? If I read him

aright, Kierkegaard, like Aquinas, Kant and many others, is per-

suaded that it would be. I on the contrary, am convinced it would

not. Thus I find the story of Abraham emblematic of a horrible

possibility for religious tragedy

192).

Quinn understands that

Abraham exists in a tragic dilemma, and he properly confronts

Kierkegaard, whose reading rescues Abraham by making him a

knight of faith.

In summary, the Akedah has much in common with the cate-

gory of Aristotelian tragedy in which one is about to act with

knowledge of the persons, and then [does] not act (Butcher:

14.7.1453b). Although Abraham does not kill Isaac, he is nonethe-

less portrayed as capable of an intentional violation of the taboo

against kindred bloodshed; yet Abraham does not complete the

tragic action and there is, therefore, no opportunity for katharsis;

thus, although the threatened happening constitutes a pathos, it

does not effect a purgation. Without that purgation the tragic

action has neither the moral worth associated with katharsis in

Else's sense, nor in the traditional sense which treats katharsis as

the justification of the tragic action. Thus, just as his near-killing

of his father neither purges Haemon's anger nor the audience's pity

and fear, so Abraham's near-killing of Isaac neither purges the

reader's/believer's desire for proof of God's justice nor his/her pity

and fear. The purpose of the binding of Isaac thus far remains

unclear.

If the reader/believer is not satisfied in his wish for proof of

God's justice, and not relieved of pity and fear, what is accom-

plished by the Akedah? What makes this tragic act so central to

Judaic theological philosophy that it forms the core of the Rosh

Hashanah (New Year) service when it is retold every year? One

explanation comes from the contemporary Jewish philosopher

Emil L. Fackenheim: I revere Abraham who lived the human para-

dox to the extreme and yet had the faith that it was not fatal.

Abraham waits for us, as the potential father of every Jew aspiring

to be a good Jew: for he teaches us to live courageously the ethical

under the moral law, in an existence which requires divine love


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leynek: Abraham Aristotle and God

superseding the ethical if it is to be healed of its tragic tensions.

Hence we can confess with Kierkegaard: 'No one is so great as

Abraham Who is capable of understanding him?"'

64f).

In this

context the tragic tensions describe humankind's existential condi-

tion in a world created by God, and thus requiring an explanation

from God. For Fackenheim the answer resides in a distinction

between a

moral law, which is God's law, and an ethical law, which

is humankind's. By positing a moral law in which a breach of the

taboo against kindred bloodshed ceases to be unethical and

becomes an ethical response to a test of faith, both God and Abra-

ham are rescued. This is how the Akedah operates on the theologi-

cal level. On the rhetorical level

it

functions affectively, in that pity

and fear-as Schiller says of tragedy-"rob us of our emotional free-

dom" (Auerbach:

11).

These predictable human responses to a

potentially tragic action which is not completed serve the rhetori-

cal strategy of the text by engendering acquiescence to God's moral

law, which is ethically and purposely incomprehensible to

humans.

To look at the rhetorical strategy another way, setting aside the

theological implications, had the tragic act been brought to comple-

tion and thus generated katharsis it would have seemed that God's

power was diminished, for through katharsis would have occurred

an abatement, even temporarily, of pity and fear. During even a

momentary abatement of these emotions, what Fackenheim calls

the moral law-God's law-would yield in credibility to the ethical,

mortal law. It is only synchronous with the feelings of pity and

fear that humans can suspend ethical law in favor of moral law.

Further, had

katharsis

occurred, humans would then be purged of

pity and fear, and in the absence of these be free to act as if their

actions were dependent for their worth only on mortal knowledge

of good and evil.

The expulsion from Eden confirms, however, that God does not

want humankind to have moral knowledge equal to His own. After

Adam and Eve were transformed from ignorance to knowledge of

good and evil, God caused the Angel to guard the Tree of Life,

anticipating that

if

humans ate from the Tree of Life they would be

as God and the Angels, with both ethical knowledge and immortal-

ity. God is anxious to distinguish Himself from humanity. The

Akedah is, thus, a coda to the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden,

for in the story of Abraham and Isaac, God asserts a "higher" moral

knowledge which reasserts the distinction between God's

knowl-


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12

Journal of

the

merican cademy of Religion

edge and that of humanity. This very distinction between human-

ity's ethical behavior and God's moral behavior leads, of course, to

the argument that evil is only such in humanity's moral universe;

God's moral universe is governed by other laws, laws which

humankind cannot understand. This is one way in which Jewish

tradition can justify what Greek tradition impugns as a repulsive

act, simply by arguing that though inconsistent with humanity's

ethical law the actions of the Akedah are consistent with God's

moral law.

Finally, then, how can an act which in the Aristotelian canon is

morally repugnant not only be justified by Jewish tradition but

become in the Elohistic canon ethically noble? Erich Auerbach

offers one answer when he observes that, although the story of

Abraham and Isaac is not better established than the story of Odys-

seus, Penelope and Euryclea, the Biblical narrator, the Elohist,

had to believe in the objective truth of the story of Abraham's sacri-

fice-the existence of the sacred ordinances of life rested upon the

truth of this and similar stories. He had to believe in it passion-

ately; or else he had to be a conscious liar

.

a political liar

with a definite end in view, lying in the interest of a claim to abso-

lute authority 14). Parallel to the two possible stances Auerbach

posits for the writer are two other possible stances: the first is that

of the believer for whom the believing writer has written. The

believer responds as if the event were literal truth and is comforted

by belief in God's moral purpose. The motives behind the event

are unquestionable and the uncompleted tragic action is a vehicle

for Abraham's demonstration of faith.

The second stance is that of the reader who confronts the

Akedah as a rhetorical tragedy written, if not by a conscious liar,

then by a craftsperson who understood that the power of the

Akedah could be sustained by the intentional and effective absence

of katharsis. By the rhetorical strategy of God's intervention to pre-

vent katharsis, the author of Genesis inserted an eternal aporea

because of which the text can never have tragic closure, and thus

believers can never be liberated from pity and fear. Thus, the

didactic project endures.


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Artistotle

1982

1970

1982

1 9 5 1

Auerbach, Erich

1974

Edel, Abraham

1982

Facken heim, Emil

1968

Kierkegaard, Ssren

1954

Liddell and Scott

1974

Plaut,

W

Gunther

1 9 8 1

Pre minger, Alex, et

al.,

eds.

1974

Quinn, Philip L.

1990

Sophocles

1954

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sherryll mleynek, abraham, aristotle, and god

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