Abraham, Isaac, and Some Hidden Assumptions of Our Culture - Abraham's impact on Judaism, Christianity and Islam

Humanist, May, 1999 by Carol Delaney

In the beginning of the last decade of the twentieth century, in the most modern of places--the United States of America--a tragedy of biblical proportions unfolded with the morning newspaper: "Father Sacrificed Child. God Told Him To."

So accustomed are we to horrendous tales of domestic violence that this headline might seem only a bizarre twist on the ordinary. People who read about the incident over their morning coffee noted it, registered a reaction, and turned the page, muttering, "The man must be crazy." In this way, the man was defined, the deed was labeled, and the whole thing could be put out of mind. A year later, when he came to trial, only one of the jurors remembered the newspaper story.

Yet once upon a time, God asked another father to sacrifice his child. For his willingness to obey God's command, Abraham became the model of faith at the foundation of the three monotheistic (Abrahamic) religions: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. His story has been inscribed on the hearts and minds of billions of people for millennia. Even today, Abraham's devotion is revered and his example extolled in countless sermons and in the secular media. With that cultural model readily available, it is not so surprising that a father in our time felt he must obey God's command. Yet for his willingness to comply with what he took to be God's request, he was brought to trial.

Perhaps, then, we should put the Abraham story on trial as well. Because, while the contemporary case helps bring the Abraham story emotionally closer and raises several issues, it cannot raise the most important question: why is the willingness to sacrifice one's child the quintessential model of faith; why not the passionate protection of the child? What would be the shape of our society had that been the supreme model of faith and commitment? By critically examining the Abraham story, I think we can catch a glimpse.

If it is true, as author Shalom Spiegel suggests, that the "story of Abraham renews itself in every time of crisis," then the time has come to take another look. The crisis of society today is about values, about the very values that, I think, are epitomized by the Abraham story--not just faith and sacrifice but also the nature of authority; the basis and structure of the family, its gender definitions and roles; and which children, under what circumstances, shall be deemed acceptable and be provided for. My purpose is not to reinvigorate these values but to challenge them at their foundation.

The story of Abraham, some will say, is just a story about something that happened (or might have happened) long ago. They feel it has little to do with their lives or their faith, and thus they do not usually imagine that it has any bearing on contemporary life. What they forget is that the story of Abraham, like that of Jesus, was powerful enough to change the course of human history. It is clear that the story of Abraham is not just one story among others; it is, as Judah Goldin writes, "central to the nervous system of Judaism and Christianity." It is also central to Islam. Insofar as it has shaped the three religious traditions, their ethical values, and their views of social relations, it has shaped the realities we live by. Even if we are not believers, any of us raised in a culture influenced by Judaism, Christianity, or Islam has been affected by the values, attitudes, and structures exemplified by the story.

It is therefore important to uncover the set of assumptions that make the story possible, to get behind the story. Traditional exegeses proceed out from the story and move quickly to conventional contexts for interpretation--namely, sacrifice and faith--contexts that predetermine possible lines of interpretation. For example, if the story is viewed in the context of the theories and meanings of sacrifice, then the questions put to it will be how and in what ways does it conform to, deviate from, or shed light on known sacrificial practices? Related, surely, is whether the story represents the end of the supposed practice of child sacrifice and the institution of animal sacrifice. But even if child sacrifice was practiced in the ancient Near East, such interpretations fail to recognize that Abraham is revered not for putting an end to the practice but for his willingness to go through with it. That is what establishes him as the father of faith. That is what I find so terrifying. The story is not about substitution, symbolic or otherwise, but about a new morality; it represents not the end of the practice of child sacrifice but the beginning of a new order.

Interpretations that focus on Abraham's faith argue that to demonstrate his absolute, unswerving faith he had to be willing to sacrifice the thing he loved most in the world: the son he waited so long to have, the very child his God had promised. The paradoxical aspect reveals, to some, the mystery of God and the power of faith; one must simply make a leap of faith and believe. I am suspicious of these types of interpretations and think there is another, less mysterious question that, perhaps because it is so simple, has been overlooked.