Summary of My Dissertation

My advisor asked me to write him a prospectus summarizing what my dissertation is about. This project has been taking up my writing time these past few years and I have been meaning to write about it on my blog. So here is what I sent him:

This dissertation seeks to elucidate the origins of Jewish messianism as it evolved out of the biblical and Second Temple era apocalyptic traditions and came into the inheritance of the rabbis. Following in the footsteps of Gershom Scholem and Norman Cohn, I divide messianism into the conflicting restorative political and spiritual apocalyptic versions. Most importantly, I see messianism as a means by which those on the margins of a religious community can attack and even conquer the establishment. To further develop an understanding of these conflicts at the heart of messianism, I place this discourse within the context of a particular theory, I propose, of how religions relate to community. This involves three models, military, missionary and esoteric. The military model relies on community and ritual to create a socially constructed reality in which the religion is so obviously true it never needs defending. The community is backed by a formal bureaucracy and sometimes even a state. Its rituals are backed by texts and traditions. Opposing the military model are the two anti-community models, esoteric and missionary. They rely on doctrine instead of ritual. The missionary model outright rejects the community and seeks to create a new religion by seeking even outside converts. It arms its followers with an all-encompassing faith that is strengthened by persecution and even martyrdom. The esoteric model remains more closely tied to the community and either seeks to take it over from within or form its own competing sect. The teachings of its charismatic leader counter the community’s texts and traditions. The esoteric model also uses doctrine to undermine ritual, and by extension the community, by means of antinomianism, the ritualized violation of the law. This allows the esoteric model to either give new, if subversive, meanings to already existing practices or to create new ones. Messianism is important to understanding how these models function because it provides the chief means by which a military model religion can bring its opposition into the fold. Messianism is a tool used by the anti-community models to take over a community, but it is also the means by which the community can absorb their opposition and render them relatively harmless.    

The struggle between the different models follows a cyclical narrative. You have a religious establishment sitting at the top of a military model community. Their focus is on the use of ritual as a means to create a social ideology. This makes the religion quite shallow and parochial, but also the sort of religion that can attract a mass following. This establishment will be under attack by various kinds of intellectual elites, who form the anti-community models. These intellectuals oppose the establishment because it fails to live up to their set of universalizing doctrines. Followers of the esoteric model will maintain themselves, at least outwardly, as members of the community and either attempt to subtly influence it as part of a symbiotic relationship, or reject the community by forming a secret sect. The missionary model will openly break with the community and attempt to form a new community of believers, either by taking over the existing community as reformers or by converting non-members.

Those believers who make up the anti-community models are usually simply the disenchanted and marginalized members of the religious establishment. Thus, they benefit from the success of the community. Success gives this opposition both material support and, by encouraging all the worst habits of military model thinking, intellectual ammunition. The big moment for the opposition, though, comes when the community undergoes a major setback, such as the defeat of an established religion’s state, causing the community’s masses to question whether or not they are on the right side of history and to seek alternatives. Either openly or secretly, our intellectual opposition, having existed on the margins all this time, but never truly distant from power, comes to the rescue with a reformist agenda. They become the new establishment and may even be able to carry out certain surface reforms. In the end, though, the former anti-community model reformers will be taken over by the same community and transformed into just another version of the establishment they claimed to oppose. Their doctrines will turn into rituals without any larger meaning. Even when doctrines are outwardly maintained they will be nothing more than a ritualized catechism.    

The messianic doctrine encapsulates that moment in the cycle when the anti-community opposition achieves its takeover and is, in turn, conquered. During the time of the military model community’s success, its members have no need to develop a messianic doctrine, because, as far as they are concerned, they are already living in a “messianic” age in which history moves as it is supposed to with them on top. The anti-community opposition, existing on the margins, by contrast, develops a form of spiritual messianism. It explains both why the world is in such a fallen state that all the “wrong” people are in power and why it does not matter, considering that God offers them a far greater salvation than mere earthly power. When the moment of disaster strikes the community, the masses will turn to these same marginalized anti-community intellectuals. This spiritual messianic doctrine of a fallen people keeping their faith and being redeemed in the end sounds like the perfect ideology to explain the community’s weakened position and offers hope that, if they just persevere in their belief in themselves and the community, they will be redeemed. The community accepts messianism and its anti-community advocates despite the fact that this messianism really means the hope for the community’s destruction. By extension, the community is agreeing to hand over control not to pious defenders of the community, but people that seek to replace it with a different one of their own design. The last joke, though, is on the anti-community opposition. Their doctrine of spiritual messianism, which was meant to deny the relevance of the military model’s politics, is transformed into a spiritualized version of the old military model hope for political power. This leaves messianism trapped by paradoxes, defending military model politics and supporting its anti-community denial of the relevance of politics. Ultimately, messianism allows for the marriage of two different and contradictory religious visions. These visions are brought together by the language of messianism, which means opposite things to each party. This allows both sides to speak past each other and never have to confront the essential conflict.

Over the main body of the dissertation, I explain how this narrative of the conflict between models and the cycle of community takeovers has played out in ancient Israel, the Second Temple period and with rabbinic Judaism. Ancient Israel saw a priestly and monarchial establishment in conflict with the prophets, who attacked the ritual based sacrificial cult and monarchial authority in the name of a monotheistic theology. The prophets turned the establishment’s concern with enemy invaders against them by transposing it into a populist polemic against the wealthy. What tied these nationalist and populist positions together was the prophetic belief in a supreme deity with a universalizing ethic that condemned the Israelite elite both for their lust for foreign gods and their greed for extorted wealth. The prophets won due to Israel’s political defeats, which culminated in the destruction of the First Temple. This led to the rise of the Deuteronomist theology and the birth of Judaism. The Deuteronomists combined prophetic monotheism with a ritual based covenant that promised both a spiritual redemption and a political return from exile. The prophetic tradition was captured by a Judaism that agreed to believe in one God in exchange for that belief being manifested in a set of rituals that would allow Jews to survive their lack of a political state as well as allow Jews to regain precisely the sort of political state and temple that the prophets had originally denounced.

The Deuteronomist compromise created a Jewish religion that, during the Second Temple period, was capable of surviving despite the fact that most Jews lived in the diaspora and, even in Israel, were relatively weak politically. Second Temple era Judaism combined a more limited state and temple with a monotheist theology that allowed it to intellectually go on the offensive and compete with Hellenism for not only the souls of Jews, but for the entire Mediterranean world. The possession of an ideology opened Judaism up to anti-community thinking. This made establishment Judaism particularly vulnerable to sectarian groups like the Dead Sea Sect and early Christianity. These groups simply took the belief-based attack on ritual and community developed by the prophets to the next level, openly challenging the covenantal status of the vast majority of Jews. One of the main manifestations of this attack on community was a radical apocalyptic vision that saw not just a new order to the world, but the complete overthrow of nature and politics. This implicitly also rendered Jewish community and ritual irrelevant. What meaning could they have in a world where such concepts ceased to exist?

The destruction of the Second Temple left Judaism in need of another reformist movement. Such a movement would offer Judaism an ideology that would allow them to survive the complete end of Jewish sovereignty in Israel and the loss of the Temple. This time, the rabbis, who likely emerged from an esoteric model sect, came to the rescue by offering the emerging body of oral and written traditions that eventually came to form the Talmud as a mobile community to which Jews could attach themselves. The Talmudic corpus offered an intellectual framework, but little in the way of hard doctrine. Similarly, it kept the ritual and sense of community so important to the military model, while avoiding actual politics. This kept Judaism as a military model ritual keeping community, while giving it a transcendental vision beyond ethnic chauvinism that allowed Judaism to survive the lack of a political state. This compromise did not grant rabbinic Judaism the Deuteronomist’s sense of world mission nor the polemical firepower to attempt to pursue the mass conversion of gentiles. What this compromise did do was give rabbinic Judaism both the internal stability to avoid breaking apart into sectarianism and a sense of identity to be able to withstand the outside pressure of Christianity and Islam, competing monotheistic religions that were, in many respects, far more dangerous than anything the Hellenistic world produced. The rabbinic attempt to maintain Judaism as a religion of ritual and community without the need for a formal political system explains a peculiarity of rabbinic messianism. The rabbis maintained the doctrine in theory but avoided putting it into practice. They inherited the radical apocalypticism of Second Temple era sectarianism but avoided the anti-community implications of this apocalypticism by pushing it off forever into the future and the realm of theory. While kept out of the realm of daily life, apocalypticism served to keep political messianism in check. If the Jews were to regain their state and temple in an eschatological age then there was no reason for any Jew to attempt to rebuild a physical state and temple through political means in the present. As esoteric model intellectuals, the rabbis may have developed a symbiotic relationship with the Jewish community, but, in the end, they still needed to reject both state and temple along with their competing forms of leadership. Like any esoteric model group, the rabbis saw what the military model might consider exile to be the messianic age as it allowed the rabbis the freedom to mold Judaism in its own image without the internal competition of kings or priests. In order to avoid ever having to either face up to these inconvenient elements within Judaism or openly attempt to get rid of them, the rabbis simply pushed messianism into the realm of the forever imminent but never to be arrived at future.            

The Turn toward Messianism (Part I)

One of the central elements of Jewish theology is the concept of a Messiah; that at the End of Days God would send a descendent from the house of King David to redeem the nation of Israel. This Messiah would restore the Jews to the land of Israel, rebuild the Temple in Jerusalem and inaugurate an era of peace and justice for all mankind. This belief is usually connected to an apocalyptic view of history that places history as a set drama organized by God, working toward a specific climax, which will bring about the manifested rule of God on earth. This view, in effect, postulates an end to history, where the natural order of the physical world shall forever be overturned and remade in the image of the spiritual world.


Messianism is particularly important to Judaism, because of Judaism's historical failures. Judaism failed to maintain itself as a political state. The Babylonians destroyed the first Jewish Commonwealth in 586 BCE and the Romans destroyed in the Second Commonwealth in 70 CE. Jews suffered not only physically under Christian and Islamic rule, but also existentially: how was it possible that God would allow his chosen people to undergo such humiliation. The only thing that could save the situation is a Messiah. Having a Messiah come would not only save the Jewish people from physical suffering, but it would also save Jewish history. No longer would Jews be a relic cast aside by history, they would finally be recognized, by all the world, as the chosen people of God, who kept the faith even when, to all appearances, the cause seemed lost. This would the entire narrative of Jewish suffering into one of triumph.


The contrast to Christianity and Islam is useful. Early Christianity arouse precisely as an apocalyptic Jewish messianic movement in the first century. Jesus and his followers, as Jews, stood against the Roman Empire. Jesus' crucifixion made Christianity both more and less apocalyptic. On the one hand, in classic apocalyptic fashion, Jesus dying made a second coming necessary in order to vindicate his first coming and prove that he did not die in vain. This can be most readily seen in the apocalyptic narrative of the Book of Revelation. On the other hand Christianity took an anti-apocalyptic turn particularly with Paul and the Gospel of John, which reinterpreted the Jewish tradition, in both its ritual content and messianic narrative, along "spiritual" other worldly lines. Jesus is no longer the physical redeemer of the Jewish people, but the Son of God coming to redeem the entire world from Sin. Physical redemption, like ritual law, becomes an object of polemical attack. Jews are the people of the flesh with a physical ritual law, who yearn after a redeemer of the flesh, while Christians are people of the spirit with a spiritual law, living safe in the knowledge that they have been spiritually redeemed.


This move away from apocalypticism is only strengthened in the fourth century by Christianity's takeover of the Roman Empire. Christianity changed from a religion of failed and persecuted political rebels to the established religion of an empire spanning much of the civilized world. Christianity thus, having gained its political victory, had no more need for a political redeemer. This can be seen in the historical narratives of Orosius and Augustine. The historian Orosius saw Christianity's victory over the Roman Empire as the vindication of Christianity and Christianity's ultimate victory over history. With a Christian Roman Empire, the point of all human history, both religious and secular, had been achieved. Augustine, living through the collapse of the Roman Empire at the beginning of the fifth century, took a less optimistic attitude toward the Roman Empire. He still, though, put forth one of the great anti-apocalyptic acts of Christian thought by reinterpreting Revelation as a non-apocalyptic text (An act that may be compared to Maimonides' systematic attempt to reinterpret all references in the Bible to God's physicality). Revelation was now to refer to the history of the Church. For Augustine, human history had also reached its end point. There was the political earthly city, with its rising and falling empires, and there was the city of God now established in the body of the Church. Now all that was left was to wait out the time until the second coming and the final judgment and destruction of the earth.


(To be continued …)

The Story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza: A Tisha B’Av Lesson on the Historical Method

Since today is the fast day of Tisha B’Av, the ninth day of the month of Av, when Jews mourn the destruction of the two temples and a host of other tragedies, I decided to offer a brief lesson in the historical method using the destruction of the second temple. To explain why the temple was destroyed the Talmud tells the following story of Kamtz and Bar Kamtza.

There was a man who had a friend named Kamtza and an enemy named Bar Kamtza. This man made a feast and told his servant to bring Kamtza. The servant made a mistake and brought Bar Kamtza. The man found Bar Kamtza sitting at the feast and asked him to leave. Bar Kamtza offered to pay for his meal. The man refused. Bar Kamtza offered to pay for half of the entire feast, but the man still refused. Bar Kamtza finally offered to pay for the entire feast. The men would not even consent to this and threw Bar Kamtza out. Bar Kamtza decided that since the Rabbis were sitting there and did not protest they must have supported it. He decided to take revenge by libeling them before Ceasar. He went and told Caesar that the Jews were rebelling. Caesar asked him how he knew this. Bar Kamtza suggested that he send the Jews a sacrifice and see if they bring it. Caesar sent, in Bar Kamtza’s hands, a calf. Bar Kamtza took a needle and pierced the calf’s lip, thus making a blemish. Upon examining the calf, rabbis were uncertain as to how to respond. Some wanted to bring it in order to preserve peace with Rome. Rabbi Zachariah ben Avkulos, though, argued against this saying that people would come to think that it is permissible to bring blemished animals. The rabbis then suggested that they kill Bar Kamtza in order to silence him. Rabbi Zachariah ben Avkulos would not allow this either lest people think that bringing blemished animals carries the death penalty. The sacrifice was not brought and because of this Rome attacked Judea and destroyed the temple. (See Talmud Bavli Gittin 55b-56a.)

As a historian I am required to follow the historical method of examining texts. Amongst many other things, this method requires that one privilege texts written close to a given historical event and treat texts written long afterwards with extreme caution. Closely connected to this is the notion that written texts are to be privileged over oral traditions. The rule of thumb when dealing with oral traditions is that they have a shelf life of seventy years, beyond that they become legends. Even more important than what texts you read, is how you read them. Amongst other things, the historian needs to have a good sense as to how a literary narrative is likely to sound and how it differs from a historical narrative. For example, having a war break out because the queen of one country fell in love with the prince of another country makes for an exciting romantic story, but does not confirm very well to real life experience. For this reason Herodotus, who was willing to accept a lot of strange claims, thought the Homer’s explanation as to why the Trojan War started, Helen of Sparta running off with Paris of Troy, was unlikely.

This is not to say that texts written close to the event are true and those written later are false. I do not claim that accurate oral traditions cannot be transmitted over hundreds of years. Also, I readily admit that truth is often stranger than fiction and stories that sound like fiction may in fact be true. All that this means is that, as a historian, one cannot grant much authority to such types of evidence. As a former teacher of mine once said: history is not about the search for truth, it is about verifiability. One can think of history as intellectual game that we play in which we follow the historical method of analyzing evidence, mainly texts, and see what sorts of directions this evidence points to. Whether or not what comes out is in some objective sense the Truth, is a separate issue that has nothing to do with history; let philosophers and theologians worry about such things.

I make no claim as to whether the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza actually happened or not. The historical method, though, does not allow me to give it much credence. The Talmud was written hundreds of years after the destruction of the Temple. Even more damning is the fact that this story has the ring of a fable to it. A man has a friend and an enemy whose names are almost identical and accidently invites the enemy instead of the friend. This enemy offers to pay the man a fortune in order to let him stay, but the man hates him so much that he refuses. This enemy becomes so bitter that he decides to take revenge against his entire people. To do this he travels from Judea to Rome, no small feat in the first century, and gets an audience with Caesar, also no small feat. Caesar, having nothing better to do than to listen to the ravings of a malcontent and conduct meaningless tests to discern the loyalty of a small province in the Middle East, decides to go along with what this man suggests. The plot works perfectly. The rabbis do not bring the sacrifice and Caesar, having nothing better to do with his legions, decides to launch a full scale invasion. A bunch of people decide to go to war and no one bothers to sit down, talk things over and negotiate. Is all of this quite possible? Certainly. But what does this story sound like? Does it sound like a real historical event or does it sound like the story that people, hundreds of years later, would tell about a historical event, dramatic with a nice moral lesson attached to it? As a historian, one must go with the later.

This has important implications as to how one looks at the history books put out by Haredi publishing houses such as Artscroll and Feldheim. When authors of Haredi history books report stories found in rabbinic literature as historical fact, such as the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza, they are not simply offering their own interpretation of history, to be put alongside academic history as a legitimate alternative. They are not following the historical method. As such what they write is not history and these authors cannot be viewed as historians.

A Confession of Personality

Over the Succot holiday I had a deep heart to heart conversation with my grandmother, who happens to be a reader of this blog. (So I think that brings the readership of this blog up to at least two.) My grandmother was critical of the fact that this blog tends to be about my feelings and that I expose too much of myself by doing this. She was also very concerned about a piece I had written earlier about the Temple in which I implied that I did not want the Temple to be rebuilt. As to the topic of the Temple, let me clarify. It is not that I do not want the Temple built it is simply the fact that I have no idea how I would integrate a sacrificial cult into my spiritual life. From my discussions with other people, I suspect that I am not alone in this. If you feel that you could integrate a sacrificial cult into your daily worship of God please enlighten me.
I must admit that my grandmother made a valid point when she pointed out how much my personality comes into play with what I write here. She urged me to take myself out of things and write from a more distant perspective. She also wondered what I would do in twenty years if my views change. Would I not potentially be embarrassed by some of the things I wrote? Upon rereading some of my posts I myself was surprised as to how much of this blog is about me as and not straight impersonal arguments. I like to view myself as a deeply rational and analytical individual so in theory I should be keeping my personality out of this.
Part of the problem lies within the very nature of blogging itself. It is both a personal and a public act. One agrees to put ones private thoughts out for the public to see. It is a 21st century version of the Enlightenment’s confessional autobiographies such as the ones written by Rousseau and Solomon Maimon. The personality of the blogger, particularly his status as a common man is paramount. I see this blog as an intellectual diary narrating the evolution of my thought. I expect my thoughts and interests to evolve and I have no intention of ever feeling ashamed of any past positions I have held. The original reason why I started writing this blog last December was, as with most things in this world, because of a girl. She asked me to start a blog as she was curious as to what I would sound like as a blogger. A few days later she decided that it would be best if she never spoke to me again. (This seems to be a pattern with the women who enter my life.) I miss talking to her. I guess she sort of became my Beatrice and this blog came to life as half of the conversation that I wish that I could have had with her.
I am not sure if I should take myself out of my writing and if I should how to go about it. If anyone has any words of enlightenment feel free to share them with me.

Mourning the Destruction of the Temple

The afternoon is ticking bye and, in a few hours, it will all be over. I have a difficult relationship with the fast of Tisha B’Av. We are mourning the destruction of the Temple but what do we wish to accomplish? Are we hoping to rebuild the Temple? I have not bothered to go watch the Chofetz Chaim video presentation as it is the same every year. If we work on our smirat ha-lashon and some other flavor of the week issue then this horrible golus will soon be over and we can go back to those good old days. This may sound heretical but I have no particular desire to restore the Temple and those good old days. For one thing, as anyone who has bothered to read the Bible, the book of Maccabees and Josephus knows, the Temple periods were a mess. So we have no good old days to go back to. Of course, Haredim have the advantage of being able to ignore the Bible, Jewish History along with any other inconvenient body of information.
It is funny how all the talk is focused on the destruction of the Second Temple in the year 70 C.E. We always hear how we have been in golus for two thousand years. But what about the First Temple? As someone who loves the work of Isaac Abarbanel, this is particularly disturbing. Abarbanel was constantly arguing that the important destruction was the First Temple and that the Second Temple was of little to no importance. As such, we have been in golus for over 2500 years. This was important to Abarbanel because he had to argue against Christians who claimed that the promise to redeem the Jews was fulfilled with the Second Temple. Our focus on the Second Temple makes no theological sense.
Above all that though is the fact that I have no interest in animal sacrifice. I cannot imagine getting any sort of spiritual fulfillment out of it. People in biblical times may have been able to appreciate animal sacrifices and felt closer to God by doing so. I find Tehillim, classical music, and Heschel to be spiritually fulfilling. Killing animals no. Imagine if next Thursday you were to come into shul and after the reading of the Torah they would bring in a bull, slaughter it, and sprinkle its blood over the bimah. I would have a much easier time imagining services with strippers dancing around a pole, a mosh pit, and kegs of beer making me feel closer to God. Maybe our idol-worshipping ancestors back in those “good old days” were on to something.
Truth is, as a Maimonidean, I am free to believe that sacrifice is a less than ideal way to serve God and that in the future we are going to get rid of it. Of course, this Maimonidean side to me makes it all the more difficult for me to stomach speeches about how Moshiach is going to solve all our problems and that everything is going to be wonderful. When Moshiach comes life is going to continue as normal with all the normal human problems. Call me cynical but I have complete faith in today’s Jewry to have all the necessary sinat hinam that made the Second Temple so much fun. If only God would give us a Temple. I just cannot wait.
I suspect that even the most rabid Haredim understand this. My proof is that we have not tried to rebuild the Temple. The notion that we need Moshiach to rebuild the Temple as a lie. If we could come to a halachic decision as to where the altar and the kodosh ha’kodoshim are supposed to be, found ourselves a red heifer and a pure kohen then we can rebuild the Temple tomorrow. The fact that the Temple Mount movement has failed to become mainstream within Orthodox Judaism shows us that most Orthodox Jews today have no real interest in bringing back a sacrificial cult. Jewish theology has restructured itself and moved on.
I am going to wake up tomorrow to study and do as many mitzvoth as I can. I am a soldier in Hashem’s army and I will do my duty. Let Hashem worry about Moshiach and the end of days.