Back to the Akeidah

My earlier discussion of Abraham’s genius began with the Akeidah, mainly because it is the most familiar story about his life. But more than that, the Akeidah is the clearest suggestion of the novel and remarkable thinking of the father of our traditions. But only if we look at the Akeidah from a fresh perspective, because the traditional explanations of the Akeidah are for the most part, unsatisfactory. I’ve concluded that what really happened is far different from the story told in Genesis. To get to that point, however, let’s look more carefully at the conventional wisdom surrounding this troublesome story.

Traditional Judaism teaches that the Akeidah was Abraham’s ultimate test. After being told that he will father a great nation, after receiving the gift of Isaac late in life, the son through whom this nation will survive, after sending Ishmael off into the wilderness, Abraham is asked to slay his son, his only son, the son he loves, for no purpose other than to demonstrate his love of God.

But why was it necessary for God to test Abraham at this point in his life? Abraham had already done everything that God asked of him: he answered God’s call by leaving his family and his land; he circumcised himself and his sons; he banished Ishmael. What more could he be asked to do? Sarna claims that the Akeidah bookends Abraham’s life; it is the final act of obedience, similar to his early response to go forth from his own land and people. That’s not much of an answer, when you think about it. And then the fact that Abraham obeys God, and does so in silence, as contrasted to his vocal protests over the destruction of Sodom, persuades Sarna that Abraham understood that this sacrifice was “irreconcilable with his concept of God.” (Sarna 159) But if Abraham knew that God really wouldn’t allow him to kill Isaac, how did his ostensible obedience mean anything? What did that acquiescence prove? Lastly, Sarna somehow concludes that the Akeidah is proof of God’s non-capricious nature, despite the fact that up until this point in Genesis, God has been nothing but capricious. His solution for many of the world’s problems is to wipe the offenders from the face of the earth. The only traditional explanation that makes any sense is that God is demanding unconditional obedience from his one prophet, who seems perhaps to have outgrown the master in his understanding of ethical precepts. And that’s a pretty weird story when you think about it.

This conflict between obedience and ethics is the departure point for the more modern explanation of the Akeidah found in Segal’s book, Joseph’s Bones. Segal contends that God is testing Abraham anew, because after Sodom, where Abraham argued in favor of Sodom’s innocent residents, God isn’t sure whether Abraham will follow God’s command, or his own internal ethical compass. In other words, can God really count on Abraham? This interpretation paints a portrait of a petty, small-minded God, not the God of justice and compassion, and not even a God that would seem to merit Abraham’s faith and loyalty.

Then Segal suggests that Abraham goes along with God’s demand to slay Isaac, because he doesn’t really believe that God will, in the end, kill Isaac. Abraham wants to know if this is really the God of Justice. (Segal 79) In other words, according to Segal, the Akeidah is a story about Abraham testing God. Segal harkens back to the Sodom story, which he describes as the moral transformation of God. Abraham taught God about justice. While this interpretation might comport with the details of Genesis, it really makes no sense at all. Who is this character God, who has the power to wipe out all life on earth, but has to be taught justice by his first and most loyal disciple? In fact, if any of that were true, what would Abraham have found appealing in this God? What about this God would have caused Abraham to have answered his call in the first place?

Neither of these explanations has much to say for itself; neither explanation seems to make any sense, either in the context of the Genesis narrative, or in the larger, more philosophical context. The only way the story makes any sense is in an unquestioning manner. Just as God demanded that Abraham sacrifice Isaac, and Abraham seemed to obey, in silence and without any question, we are asked to accept the Akeidah at face value, in silence, and without asking questions.

I am persuaded, however, that the real explanation of the Akeidah lies in the originality of Abraham’s thought. If he is the first one to understand that there is only one God, not a pantheon of competing gods; if he is the first one to appreciate that justice should be meted out only against those who are actually culpable; if he is the one who decides that the savage world in which he lives is unacceptable; then he is certainly able to appreciate that human sacrifice is an abomination. J’s version of the Akeidah has been lost over time in the Bible’s editing and revision. The Akeidah story handed down to us was not written for at least 1500 years after Abraham had walked on earth. And by then, Abraham’s originality had been replaced by the dogma of an established religion. His remarkable insight had become a story meant to teach us about the virtue of unflinching obedience to God. By then it had ceased being an expression of the remarkable genius and insight of the patriarch. Too bad for that.