Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

Jewish scholars and laypeople ought to be interested in Christian theological discussions regarding the “Historical Jesus.” Christians tend to think of Jesus in supernatural terms, as traditionally defined in the Catholic traditions. Judaism has no interest in Jesus “the Christ,” but only in “Jesus the Jew.” As a figure of 1st century Judaism, Jesus’s teaching has much to offer in terms of his ethical teachings, wisdom and parables.

The quest for understanding the historical Jesus has a long history that begins with the German philosopher Hermann Samuel Reimarus (1694-1768). According to him, one must discern what Jesus actually said vis-à-vis the Jesus of the Early Church creeds. He was the first thinker to express interest in a purely non-supernatural Jesus, whose message called upon Israel to repent so that God’s kingdom might be realized on earth. Reimarus suggested that over time, Jesus became preoccupied with the idea that he might be the Messiah and thought he could force God’s hand to transform the world by dying a martyr’s death. In the end, Jesus died disillusioned, for he felt God had forsaken him.[1]

The second important historical figure to extract the essential teachings of Jesus was Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826). Jefferson composed a marvelous little book, “The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth, extracted textually from the Gospels in Greek, Latin, French, and English” (1904). Being the deist that he was, Jefferson did not subscribe to a supernatural deity who micromanages human affairs. Jefferson reorganizes collections of parts from the gospels, while omitting any reference to miracles, angels and prophesies, would invite comparisons to those of the other famous ancient philosophers.

Later in the 19^th century, the German theologian David Freidrich Strauss (1808-1874) openly and categorically revolutionizes the study of the New Testament by arguing that only the “historical Jesus” was worthy of serious study. The boldness of this statement did not endear Strauss to many of his colleagues or the local Church. Strauss denied the miraculous and supernatural nature the Church had long attributed to Jesus. In his studies, he argues that the synoptic gospels present a much more realistic portrayal of Jesus in contrast to the Gospel of John, which completely spiritualizes Jesus as a hypostasis of God in the flesh. Unlike the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), the Gospel of John portrays a Jesus who is well aware of his identity and reflects the early Church’s portray of Jesus as a cosmic figure and the exclusive spiritual intermediary to God. All this points to the idea that early Christianity evolved over time and the traditions reflect this movement within the Church.

Strauss laments in his The Life of Jesus Critically Examined, how the study of New Testament has been viewed in solely supernatural and legendary terms. Strauss is the first thinker to argue that the New Testament must be interpreted in mythical terms. He correctly observes that the principle reason why the mythic approach was not used by the earlier studies of the NT was due to the mistaken notion that myth only pertained to the pagan religions. Moreover, the more time that elapsed, the more fantastic the supernatural claims became in Christianity. Nobody thought that myth might apply also be used as hermeneutical way of interpreting the Gospels.

Of course this begs the question: How did Strauss understand “myth”? Strauss defines myth as “the representation of an event or idea in a historical form but characterized by the pictorial and imaginative thought and expression of primitive ages” (Lawler, 42). Accordingly, there are three categories of myth: 1) the historical which reflects an actual event; 2) the philosophical in which a thought, precept, or idea of that time is presented in the guise of history; and 3) the poetic which refers to “historical and philosophical myth blended together, and partly embellished by the creations of the imagination, in which the original fact or idea is almost obscured by the veil which the fancy of the poet has woven around it” (Strauss, 53). Thus, Strauss held that the sundry gospel miracles ought to be understood as natural events, but due to the gospel narrators, these events later became misinterpreted and misrepresented. Strauss was far ahead of his time, but within the next two centuries, he would later find several advocates and champions who did not feel threatened by his controversial ideas.

It seems to me that there are numeous parallels to the wisdom expressed by Jesus that later appears in rabbinical literature. While there is a tendency of many Jewish scholars to minimize the original contributions expressed by Jesus, the fact remains that many of the rabbinical ethical teachings came after Jesus’ time. This might suggest a number of possible scenarios worth considering: Either the 1^st century Sages held Jesus’ moral teachings in high regard and even quoted or paraphrased his wisdom, or the Sages independently arrived at a similar conclusion.

In some instances, the similarity of nomenclature suggests the similarities are more than coincidental. One may surmise that once the Talmud became redacted, the latter rabbis wanted to distance themselves from the true source of some of their teachings! Given the aggressive behavior of the Catholic Church, the rabbis’ reticence is quite understandable. It is also important to note that many of Jesus’ teachings have numerous parallels in the writings of Ben Sira, Philo, The Letter of Aristeas, The Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs, and other works of the Pseudepigrapha. One thing we can say is that the ethical teachings of Jesus fit into a new ethical understanding of Judaism that placed the primacy of morality over ritual, as seen in the teachings of Ben Sira, Hillel, Rabbi Yochannan ben Zakkai and Philo of Alexandria. Continue Reading

The theme of birth and rebirth is not found only throughout Genesis, but is present in the other books of the Tanakh as well (see the pericopes[1] of Moses and Jonah). No human being is born perfect. In this sense, every saint has a past—every sinner has a future. Jewish folk-wisdom has always understood this great life-affirming spiritual intuition. Jungian psychology has much to say about the darker forces that lurk within the human soul yearning for conscious expression. As defined by Jung, the archetype of the “shadow” represents the hidden or unconscious aspects of oneself—both good and bad—which the ego either represses or never recognizes, as he notes: “The shadow is the thing a person has no wish to be.”[2] The more unaware we are about this darker and amoral side, the less likely we will mindfully confront and change our inner nature.[3] To become self-aware, it is imperative that each of us find a way to integrate our “shadow” nature. This spiritual and psychological task is not without its challenges and difficulties, as Jung explains further:

• The shadow is a moral problem that challenges the whole ego-personality, for no one can become conscious of the shadow without considerable moral effort. To become conscious of it involves recognizing the darker aspects of the personality as present and real. This act is the real existential condition for any kind of self-knowledge, and therefore, as a rule, meets with considerable resistance.[4]

Awareness of these internal psychological forces can enable a person to be deliberate in thought, word, and deed, while unawareness of the shadow can often lead to the scapegoating of others. Shadow projections are among some of the most pernicious attitudes evident in many social and racial biases. Misogyny, for example, is due to a man’s refusal to recognize his own inner feminine nature that yearns for a conscious expression. The same dynamic is present in any kind of social prejudice.

Conversely, it would be a mistake to identify the shadow with forces of evil; the shadow reflects the underdeveloped good that has yet to become fully realized and conscious. There is another element of the shadow that represents the repressed goodness each of us has which yearns to emerge into consciousness.[5] Jung refers to this presence of the psyche as the “Golden Shadow.” This manifestation of the psyche is always present in the heroes and heroines of the Genesis story. God refuses to give up on His chosen ones; Divine creativity turns inward, the human spirit is a work in progress. Jung explains further: “The shadow is not, however, only the dark underside of the personality. It also consists of instincts, abilities, and positive moral qualities that have either long been buried or have never been conscious. The shadow is merely somewhat inferior, primitive, unadapted, and awkward; not wholly bad. It even contains childish or primitive qualities which would in a way vitalize and embellish human existence, but—convention forbids!”[6]

Admitting that the shadow exists is a crucial step in breaking its compulsive hold on the individual. One of the best illustrations of this in the book of Genesis is the story of Jacob, a man who is in every sense a creature fashioned from the forces of Creation itself—light and darkness commingled as one. As a young man, Jacob feels spiritual yearnings within his heart, but acts ruthlessly in achieving his goals. Jacob’s transformation occurs once he becomes consciously aware of what he has been, and chooses to become something altogether different. By developing an awareness of his spiritual center, Jacob finally learns to shed the fears that commandeer his soul and discovers an inner center of peace. He discovers that blessings can only be obtained through just and honest means—without fanfare or manipulation (see Excursus 26 for more detail of the shadow archetype and its relation to the Fall).

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If you like this sampling, you may want to consider purchasing my new commentary on Genesis entitled, “Birth and Rebirth through Genesis: A Timeless Theological Conversation Genesis 1-3, which is available at:

http://www.amazon.com/Birth-Rebirth-through-Genesis-Conversation/dp/1456301713/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1309652244&sr=1-2.

Notes:

[1] The term pericope refers to an extract or selection from a book, especially a reading from Scripture.

[2]Carl Gustav Jung, “Aion: Researches into the Phenomenology of the Self” The Collective Works of C.G. Jung, Vol. 9 Part II [Princeton, NJ: Bollingen, 1959), 14.

[3] An extreme example of shadow archetype can be seen in Robert Louis Stevenson’s story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. In this classic narrative, Dr. Jekyll, considers himself to be a kind, loving, and accepting doctor; yet he remains dishonest in facing himself as he really is. Little does he realize that there are two men who inhabit the same body and personality. At first, he changes in order to indulge in all the forbidden pleasures that were off-limits to Dr. Jekyll, but as his evil side progressively grows stronger, it is Hyde who dominates, until he is totally transformed into the Hyde persona. Had Jekyll been aware of the contradictions in his inner self, he might have been more capable of domesticating his inner savage.

[4] Carl G. Jung, Aion: Researches into the Phenomenology of the Self, op. cit., par.14.

[5] Talmudic wisdom teaches that sometimes a good person will dream of doing bad deeds, while a bad person will occasionally dream of doing good deeds—depending on the thoughts each one has in the course of a day (BT Berakhot 55b).

[6] C. G. Jung, “The Shadow,” The Collective Works of C.G. Jung, 9 Vol. II, (Princeton, NJ: Bollingen, 1959), par.14.

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In Greek philosophical thought, the term γένεσις (genesis) connotes more the idea of origin and beginning. Perhaps the Sages of Alexandria consciously named this book Genesis in order to stress the idea of becoming. In theological terms, Genesis points to a process of creation that is ongoing, flowing, and continuous—each of these nuances is conveyed in the Greek word genesis.

Ancient teachers of Israel perceive the stories of Genesis as parabolic lessons that continue to unfold in the lives of future generations.[1] Genesis, as its Greek name implies, denotes an inner movement toward the highest possible degree of being that finds its decisive realization in God.

The personalities of Genesis undergo radical transformation and ultimately evolve morally and spiritually—despite their initial reluctance. Genesis stresses the idea that God and humankind co-create human evolution and spiritual growth. An analogy from the book of Jeremiah best captures the imagery of how God partners with mortals, shaping them much like a potter who struggles with second-rate clay.

• The word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD: “Come, go down to the potter’s house, and there I will let you hear my words.” So I went down to the potter’s house, and there he was working at his wheel. The vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter’s hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as seemed good to him. Then the word of the LORD came to me: “Can I not do with you, O house of Israel, just as this potter has done?” says the LORD. “Just like the clay in the potter’s hand, so are you in My hand, O house of Israel.”

Jeremiah 18:1-6

The potter metaphor is also reminiscent of the Genesis narratives (2:7) where God forms (וַיִּיצֶר = wayyîcer) humankind out of the dried mud and clay of the earth. In a homiletical sense (in the spirit of Hassidic parables), this may suggest that the formation of Adam is never something that is ever truly “complete.” In a manner of speaking, God’s participation in Adam’s spiritual development continues throughout his life. As is the case with Adam, it is no less the case with humanity.

The brilliant Christian thinker, Irenaeus (ca. 180 C.E.), arrives at one of the most important intuitions of Western spirituality, capturing the essence of this point by distinguishing between the “image” and the “likeness” of God in the creation of humanity. The term “image” denotes the raw substance which has the spiritual potential that can enable each human being to transform him/herself into a “likeness” of the Divine. Hopefully, each of us embarks on a life journey where we will ideally develop from being mere “creatures of God” to becoming true “children of God.”[2]

Jung refers to this moral evolutionary development leading to the wholeness of the psyche as “individuation.”[3] Spiritual growth is a lifelong process that seeks to bring about a whole and integrated personality. At the core of self-realization is the religious paradox of struggle and surrender to the Spirit of God that shapes us from within. Our souls inevitably surrender to the darkness and ambiguity of God who is portrayed as prodding the process of human individuation. This theme is very visible in every story of Genesis. In fact, all of these figures ultimately become something radically different from what they were at the start of their personal narrative. When we first meet Rachel, her best feature described is her beauty, but as a result of the struggles with her sister Leah, Jacob, and ultimately with God, she comes to a spiritual realization about her own quest for love and acceptance. Throughout every story in Genesis, birth and rebirth occur time and time again as each protagonist undergoes radical character transformation.

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If you like this sampling, you may want to consider purchasing my new commentary on Genesis entitled, “Birth and Rebirth through Genesis: A Timeless Theological Conversation Genesis 1-3, which is available at:

http://www.amazon.com/Birth-Rebirth-through-Genesis-Conversation/dp/1456301713/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1309652244&sr=1-2.

Notes:

[1] Cf. Ibn Ezra on Gen. 9:18; Ramban on Gen. 12ff. and Beth HaLevy on Gen. 26:29; Torah Temimah Gen. 22, note 26. Zohar 1:82a; 3:52a.

[2] Irenaeus writes in his tract: Against the Heresies 5.6.1:

For if anyone takes away the substance of flesh, that is, of the handiwork [of God], and understands that which is purely spiritual, such then would not be a spiritual man but would be the spirit of a man, or the Spirit of God. But when the spirit here blended with the soul is united to [God’s] handiwork, the man is rendered spiritual and perfect because of the outpouring of the Spirit, and this is he who was made in the image and likeness of God. But if the Spirit be wanting to the soul, he who is such is indeed of an animal nature, and being left carnal, shall be an imperfect being, possessing indeed the image [of God] in his formation (in plasmate), but not receiving the similitude through the Spirit; and thus is this being imperfect. Thus also, if any one takes away the image and sets aside the handiwork, he cannot then understand this as being a man, but as either some part of a man, as I have already said, or as something else than a man. For that flesh which has been molded is not a perfect man in itself, but the body of a man, and part of a man. Neither is the soul itself, considered apart by itself, the man; but it is the soul of a man, and part of a man. Neither is the spirit a man, for it is called the spirit, and not a man; but the commingling and union of all these constitutes the perfect man.

[3] Jung uses the term individuation to denote “the process by which a person becomes a psychological ‘in-dividual,’ that is, a separate indivisible unity of ‘whole’” (Consciousness, Unconscious, and Individuation [CW 9i. par. 489]). Individuation involves a lifelong process that seeks to bring about a whole, integrated human personality. The essence of this process is the establishment of a living relationship between the ego, as the center of the conscious personality, and the “Self,” i.e., the God-centered presence (Imago Dei–the “Image of God”) that is at the epicenter of the human personality. Jung states that God is responsible for prodding the “Self” to actualize one’s own greatest potential in the quest for meaning and purpose, as each person meets and overcomes the various challenges that s/he faces in a lifetime. This new appreciation of the reality and wholeness of the psyche, which in turn makes possible a new paradigm of unity, can however, only be achieved by one individual at a time. This is the process, referred to by Jung as individuation. Development of the individual to maturity and fulfillment is marked by the progress of the ego when it becomes increasingly aware of its origin out of the larger, archetypal psyche (the Self) and the nature of its relationship to that phenomenon.

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In his famous essay, Odysseus’s Scar, Erich Auerbach stresses the philosophical contrast between the Bible’s personalities with those of Homer.[1] Auerbach claims that Homer leaves little doubt in the reader’s imagination. Every hero’s thought is externalized for the benefit of his audience with complete clarity. The world of Homer is self-contained; his poems do not conceal anything, for the author provides all the background information needed to understand his story; “he can be analyzed, but he cannot be interpreted.”[2]

In contrast, the Bible seeks to create a μίμησις (mimesis), a Greek term that means “imitation,” but the term really connotes “a portrayal of reality,” which aims to transfix and transform the inner world of its reader, as a result of encountering the characters within its story. By such means, the biblical narrative makes an absolute claim regarding its truth—and it compels the reader to accept it. Nobody reading its story will walk away feeling quite the same as before. Auerbach contrasts these two narrative traditions:

• The world of the Scripture stories is not satisfied with claiming to be a historically true reality; it insists that it is only the real world, is destined for autocracy. All other scenes, issues, and ordinances have no right to appear independently of it. Far from seeking, like Homer, merely to make us forget our own reality for a few hours, it seeks to overcome our reality: we are to fit our own life into its world, feel ourselves to be elements in its structure of universal history. . . . We are to fit our own life into its world, feel ourselves to be elements in its structure of universal history. . . . Everything else that happens in the world can only be conceived as an element in this sequence; into it everything that is known about the world must be fitted as an ingredient of the divine plan.[3]

Auerbach’s insight is brilliantly stated. The Hebraic world of the Scriptures unfolds a worldview where the reader becomes more than just an observer; he becomes in an almost mystical sense—a silent participant. The French anthropologist, René Girard, adds that the process of mimesis is not always a conscious psychological process—it functions unconsciously as well. The characters of the Bible (or other works of world literature), often become role models to imitate, thus reinforcing cultural and social behavior by defining what is and what is not acceptable.[4]

Biblical personalities possess teleological complexity and psychological depth that leave its readers wondering about the main character’s inner thought processes. For example: What was the first conversation Adam and Eve had after their expulsion? How did Abel respond to his brother’s rejection? How did the first parents react to their son Abel’s death? How did Abraham psychologically respond to YHWH’s demand that he sacrifice his beloved Isaac? What was Isaac’s near-death experience psychologically like? The absence of detail always triangulates the reader directly into the narrative. Moral lessons gleaned from the stories of Genesis transcend the questions of historical factuality. Each biblical episode preserves not just the narrative’s experiential quality more cogently than most other formats, but bursts with profound existential energy pulsating throughout the narrative—from the ancient past to the immediate present.

The lives of these human beings, more often than not, are controlled by their gods, who are intricately involved in mortal life. According to Homer, when Achilles confronts Agamemnon for the crime of stealing his wife, Agamemnon offers an ingenious defense: “I was not to blame. It was Zeus and Fate and the Fury who walks in the dark that blinded my judgment that day at the meeting when I took Achilles’ prize . . .”[5] This concept was frequently enacted on the stages of ancient Greek theater, where the role of the powerful and intrusive god(s) was enhanced by means of a mechanical flying device known as deus ex machina. In reality, it was the gods who were the main actors here. In the Bible, one would never find the attitude that human beings are mere pawns of YHWH. When Cain kills Abel, he cannot blame YHWH for what he does to his brother. Although the hand of Providence is present in the sale of Joseph, nevertheless, it is the brothers who bear the moral responsibility for their brother’s disappearance. Even Pharaoh, whose freedom is curtailed, is still ultimately responsible for the misery he causes the Israelites.

There is another important distinction separating the biblical protagonists from their Greek counterparts as revealed in Homer’s Iliad. The mortal heroes of Greek mythology are not particularly noted for their self-reflectivity (except for Narcissus!). Psychologist Julian Jaynes adds an interpretation that complements Auerbach’s thesis:

• Characters of the Iliad do not sit down and think out what to do. They have no conscious minds such as, we say, we have, and certainly no introspections. It is impossible for us with our subjectivity to appreciate what it was like. When Agamemnon, king of men, robs Achilles of his mistress, it is a god that grasps Achilles by his yellow hair and warns him not to strike Agamemnon (I: 197ff.). It is a god who then rises out of the gray sea and consoles him in his tears of wrath on the beach by his black ships, a god who whispers low to Helen to sweep her heart with homesick longing. . . . The beginnings of action are not in conscious plans, reason, and motives; they are in the actions and speeches of gods. To another, a man seems to be the cause of his own behavior—but not to the man himself. When, toward the end of the war, Achilles reminds Agamemnon of how he robbed him of his mistress, the king of men declares, “Not I was the cause of this act, but Zeus, and my portion, and the Erinyes [furies] who walk in darkness: it was they in the assembly who put wildness upon me on that day when I arbitrarily took Achilles’ prize from him, so what could I do? Gods always have their way (19:86-90). [6]

There can be little doubt that the myths and plays of ancient Greece also reveal a tragic dimension of human life. Plato’s criticism of Greek tragedy and poetry is an important case in point. According to him, poets tend to imitate the most negative impulses of the soul, rather than its most noble features. For young people in particular, Plato believes that such mimetic behavior could only lead to developing bad habits, crude language, and inappropriate responses to crisis (395c-d). Young guardians would fare better by putting their attention to the dramatized positive role models who are portrayed as living by a principle of virtue. Secondly, by giving an outlet for such negative expression, the poet’s words give license to an audience for expressing emotions that ought to remain repressed.[7]

For the most part—with the exception of some stories, e.g., Moses, Samson, King Saul and Job—the biblical writers adopted a different and more hopeful attitude. As Auerbach writes:

• Humiliation and elevation go far deeper and far higher than in Homer, and they basically belong together. The poor beggar Odysseys is only masquerading, but Adam is really cast down, Jacob made a refugee, Joseph really in the pit and then a slave to be bought and sold. But their greatness, rising out of humiliation, is almost superhuman and an image of God’s greatness. The reader clearly feels how the extent of the pendulum’s swing is connected with the intensity of the personal history—precisely the most extreme circumstances in which we are immeasurably forsaken and in despair, or immeasurably joyous and exalted . . . [8]

And so the pendulum swings in reverse, as portrayed in the difficult life of King David, who after his great triumphs, begins a path of self-indulgence that nearly destroys him and his kingdom—only to find his spiritual center anew. Rather than focusing on the tragic dimension of earthly existence, Genesis (as well as the other books of the Tanakh[9] is concerned with the theme of personal redemption. Like the characters of Greek myths, each character is portrayed in Genesis as struggling with certain personality flaws. But unlike the Greek protagonist, the biblical counterpart is never the victim of circumstances beyond his or her control. Adam and Eve’s expulsion from Eden is the result of their decision to eat the forbidden fruit. Cain is not the victim of a capricious deity, but only of his own darker impulses and insecurities. The Jewish perspective is firmly rooted in the notion that every human being acts with complete freedom and is always morally accountable to God for one’s actions.

Like the Iliad and the Odyssey, the book of Genesis is the product of an oral age when the patriarchal and matriarchal stories were recounted or may have even been acted out or sung. Whole families might have gathered around a fire, and listened intently to the beautiful old stories about the dawn of the world or the dangerous exploits of the patriarchs, which they had heard so often, yet never tired of hearing. As these same stories were repeated, the story-tellers often developed new interpretive perspectives while embellishing the tales anew. And so Midrash was born.

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If you like this sampling, you may want to consider purchasing my new commentary on Genesis entitled, “Birth and Rebirth through Genesis: A Timeless Theological Conversation Genesis 1-3, which is available at:

Continue Reading