Recently, I was looking at Genesis 22 with a Bible Study that I’ve been leading for a while now. For about seven months we’ve been walking through Genesis, chapter-by-chapter and verse-by-verse. I would be lying if I said that I hadn’t been looking forward to Genesis 22 as it is my favorite chapter in that particular book.
We read the text together, and then I began talking about what the text has meant to me. This spurred quite a bit of conversation. You can check out our group’s (primitive) blog for my thoughts on that.
Of the many things that we discussed, I was most intrigued by the psychology of Abraham. God (Elohim) comes to him and commands that he sacrifice Isaac. Now, Isaac, of course, was the fulfillment of God’s promise. Through Isaac and his offspring Abraham was supposed to become a great nation.1 After so many years of waiting and hoping, he and Sarah finally have this promised child. Now God is asking that Abraham trust him in a rather insane way.
“Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I shall tell you” (Gen 22:2 ESV).
We had a great discussion about what might have been going through Abraham’s head the evening before he and Isaac embarked on this journey to Moriah.
Some folks in the group felt that Abraham had become so in tune with God that he didn’t even question it. No longer do we see Abraham bargaining with God as we did in the Sodom episode in chapter 18. By this time Abraham has learned that God is faithful and will fulfill his promises. Therefore, he doesn’t question it. He gets up, makes everything ready, and off they go.
Others, however, decided to make Abraham a lot more human, and a little less superhero. They imagined that the evening before the journey was perhaps the worst night of Abraham’s life. Surely, he tossed and turned all night long, unable to sleep as he agonized over his decision. Would he trust the voice and do as it commanded? Or would he turn his back on all of that and give in to his preservation instinct?
Both of these interpretations are interesting in their own right. I don’t think that either can be proven right or wrong, but both say equally true things about God and Abraham. The former interpretation makes Abraham out to be the Knight of Faith that Kierkegaard loves2 and Hebrews extols. The latter interpretation helps us to understand how difficult the way of God can be, and how even our greatest heroes are irreducibly human.
I tend to humanize Abraham. I think this was no easy task for him, and I’d like to draw some additional evidence to support this: Genesis 22:5.
| BHS | Hebert Translation |
|---|---|
| וַיֹּאמֶר אַבְרָהָם אֶל־נְעָרָיו שְׁבוּ־לָכֶם פֹּה עִם־הַחֲמוֹר וַאֲנִי וְהַנַּעַר נֵלְכָה עַד־כֹּה וְנִשְׁתַּחֲוֶה וְנָשׁוּבָה אֲלֵיכֶם׃ | Abraham said to his servants, “Remain here with the donkey. The boy and I will go as far as there, worship, and return to you.” |
Mostly, I would like to draw your attention to the word that Abraham uses to refer to Isaac: נַעַר (transliteration: na’ar).
This particular word is not at all uncommon in the Old Testament (256 occurrences), nor is it uncommon in Genesis (27 occurrences; mostly in Genesis 21 and 22). נַעַר has two primary meanings: (a) boy or young man and (b) servant. Definition (b) is featured, for example, in this verse; they are the two male servants that Abraham commands to stay with the donkey. Definition (a) is also featured in this verse; this is the word that Abraham uses for Isaac.
What I find so painfully interesting about this is that Abraham chooses not to use the word “son” (בֵּן) when talking about Isaac. Instead, he merely refers to him as “boy.” Why is that? I would think that Abraham, after waiting so long for Isaac, after going through all of the trials that he had gone through, would be so proud to refer to his son as such. Instead, he refers to him with the same word that is used to refer to his servants.
I propose that Abraham is attempting to distance himself from Isaac. He has agonized over this decision. He has thought about it all night long and all three days of the journey. The only way that he can part with this child, the only way that he can jeopardize the promise that God has made to him, is to cope — he must stop thinking of Isaac as “son.” Once he removes that relationship, he can pile the wood on Isaac’s back and begin the hike up the mountain where he will bring the knife to Isaac’s throat and spill his blood (were it not for the angel of the Lord, of course).
If you think about it, this is an extremely common coping mechanism. When we lose something or are in danger of losing something, we often downplay its significance for us. We do this not only to make a great external show to put up a façade of strength, but also to put a wall around our hearts and preserve them from the pain and horror of loss.
I think Abraham had to stop thinking of Isaac as his son. If he had continued to think of Isaac as a son, then he would never have climbed the mountain and the Lord may never have provided.3
Then where would we be?
Footnotes
- See Genesis 21:12 — “…through Isaac shall your offspring be named.” ↩
- In reading about the Knight of Faith for this particular post, I ran across this fun blog post: “Charlie Brown: A Kierkegaardian Knight of Faith” — how true! ↩
- I find Hebrews 11:17–19 very interesting — especially with respect to the Kierkegaard discussion. Here’s the ESV:
By faith Abraham, when he was tested, offered up Isaac, and he who had received the promises was in the act of offering up his only son, of whom it was said, “Through Isaac shall your offspring be named.” He considered that God was able even to raise him from the dead, from which, figuratively speaking, he did receive him back.
The Knight of Faith believed that it was a moral imperative to follow the command of God even when it seemed morally reprehensible. For Hebrews, the coping mechanism is an intense faith in the notion that God would fulfill his promise through whatever means was necessary — even if that meant bringing Isaac back from the dead. ↩
(I appreciate this post and only hope to contribute to the discussion…)
While I agree it’s profitable to “humanize” Abraham (and all Biblical figures, really)–for example, as the birth of Isaac may have been the pinnacle of Abraham’s joy, the night before Moriah must have been the depth of his anguish–I hesitate to read too much into the text for indications of Abraham’s psychology. If anything, it reveals more the psychology of the author (be that of Moses, as is traditionally believed, or of another) than of Abraham.
While generally it may be true (psychologically) for humans to distance themselves from an object of affection in the face of loss, and whether Abraham did in fact feel this way, I consider it contrary to God’s purpose in this episode. If anything, God wanted Abraham now more than ever to recognize Isaac as his SON. I believe God wanted Abraham to learn something about Abraham–namely, that Abraham loved his son–not just some boy, but his son. This process of of Abraham coming to terms with his deep love toward his son, and the sheer anguish in offering him up as a sacrifice, regardless of his willing obedience to God’s command, served to demonstrate (and what an effective demonstration!) to Abraham, at least in some relative way, the love God has for His Only Begotten Son who one day would be offered up as the ultimate sacrifice.
As horrifying as the experience was for Abraham as a father, he only had a small taste of what the Father of us all had to do in allowing his Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, to take our sins upon him and die that we all might live.
Abraham, as the patriarch of the covenant God had established with him and his descendants, needed this knowledge and “type-of-Christ” experience to point the minds of his posterity to the fulfillment of the covenant and their ultimate salvation: the literal Son of God who would come in the meridian of time, who, by taking our stripes upon himself, would make us whole.
Hey Jared,
Thanks for the response. I agree with much of what you have written. However, I do want to push back on a couple of ideas.
First, I agree that this episode shows us more about the author (whoever that may be) than about the “real” Abraham. That is the nature of all literature, I am afraid. At some point, we must get past that and say: “Well, it is what it is.” Here we have a story about Abraham, God, and Isaac that exists with very little context and with practically no information about the author — only the information that we find within the text itself. Consequently, when I refer to “what was going through Abraham’s mind,” I am really only talking about a story about Abraham, and not about the actual Abraham. The real Abraham is a referent who has long since passed. What we have are these collected stories about him. To what extent they represent “historical fact” is a matter of great debate.
Second, at this juncture in the episode (i.e., Gen 22:5), I don’t see God’s desire for Abraham to recognize Isaac as his son “now more than ever.” To me that just doesn’t make much sense. If God wanted to strengthen the bond between Abraham and Isaac, why would he ask Abraham to kill him? To me, that has the opposite effect. In order to kill, I think we generally need to de-humanize. We have a need for the person we’re killing to be a monster. When soldiers at war look in the whites of the enemies eyes and realize that they are the same, that they have families and mortgages and white picket fences too, killing becomes different. Now imagine that it’s your own son, and you’ve been asked to slice his throat with a knife, pour out his blood upon an altar, and offer him up in flames to the God that promised you that this was the person through whom your inheritance would pass.
I don’t have any children (and maybe that’s the problem), but I can’t imagine that God asking me to do such a thing would make me want to get closer — I think my natural (if anything can be called “natural” in this situation) reaction would be to move away. That is assuming, of course, that I intend to go along with what God has to say, assuming that I am actually going to sacrifice this son.
Moreover, Jesus’ sacrifice demonstrates how this particular act (i.e., a father sacrificing his son) destroys, at least temporarily, the bond between the two: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” The child is abandoned by the father, thus destroying the filial bond. (My examination of textual variants in Hebrews 2:9 that I’ve begun posting here will show that the author of Hebrews probably understood Jesus to have died “separated” from God.)
I thank you for responding, and very much agree with your understanding of this episode as pointing toward the Cross. That’s, of course, the key. I further thank you for helping me to sharpen my thinking/writing in terms of making a distinction between author, text, context, and “reality.”
Good points. Thank you for your thoughtful reply.
I agree (or rather, imagine, having not been in the situation myself) that a certain degree of de-humanizing, as you put it, would be required to commit the act of killing/murder/sacrifice. I also agree about the inherent difficulties in extrapolating from the text concrete indications of these referents’ character.
In response to your comment:
“…at this juncture in the episode (i.e., Gen 22:5), I don’t see God’s desire for Abraham to recognize Isaac as his son “now more than ever.” To me that just doesn’t make much sense. If God wanted to strengthen the bond between Abraham and Isaac, why would he ask Abraham to kill him? To me, that has the opposite effect.”
I suppose I could be more clear. Certainly, as you point out, in order to raise the dagger, as it were, Abraham for at least a moment had to “forsake” his son (reference also to the cross). But image the relief Abraham experienced when the angel stayed his hand; the exquisite joy that ensued upon realizing his son would ever be his; that he had passed the test and that through Isaac would all the nations of the earth be blessed. Like recovering the lost sheep, the lost coin, or the prodigal son, the act of recovering what you had supposed to be lost has the affect of enhancing your appreciation for the person or thing lost…in this case, Isaac.
I believe Abraham’s joy surrounding his son Isaac was greater after this experience than ever before–and we know how much he wanted the son God promised. Thus, the episode in its totality served to bring Abraham closer to Isaac (and by extension, to the whole posterity of Abraham that God had promised).
And, if Abraham understood this foreshadowing, as I believe he did, then he had gained some insight into the Father’s eventual gift of His own Son–both of the Father’s momentary anguish as well as enduring love.
To that point, although (by divine design) there was no angel to stay the hand of the Romans who crucified the Savior, I have to believe that after being forsaken “temporarily” by the Father, the sentiment of his subsequent reunion with the Father (with focus on the supernal love and approbation of the Father toward His Son) must surpass all possible description of resplendent joy.
The obvious difference in this case is that the Father had to endured the brief, but actual, loss of His Son (Abraham was spared this). In both cases however I believe the filial bonds were only strengthened.
Such is the paradoxical nature of God’s wisdom, I suppose.
As I think about it, two interesting questions arise: (1) How did Isaac take all this? When did it begin to make sense, if ever, for Isaac? and, (2) Why was it necessary for the Father to withdraw at the end? For example, we know that Christ had to tread the wine press alone (Isaiah 63:3), but why was that so? Was the act of temporarily forsaking the Son (so that he could complete his passion/atonement) perhaps the greatest expression of the love of God toward mankind (and also the most difficult)?
For another day, perhaps.
Jared,
I’m loving your responses. All good stuff — definitely adding to the conversation.
With respect to Genesis 22, I think that we were talking past each other when we were speaking of filial bonds and dehumanizing and whatnot. I am looking at the story as a narrative, and trying to figure out what is going on with Abraham at verse 5. I totally agree that, in the end, Abraham’s love for Isaac is strengthened by this whole episode.
Looking at the thoughts you posed at the end:
(1) I think this question about Isaac is an excellent one. First, we have to decide how old this kid is. He is old enough to walk and talk. That’s all we really have. It’s interesting that most artistic interpreters of this story seem to think Isaac is at least a teenager. Further, many early interpreters seem to think that Isaac was a willing victim who should be commended (e.g., 4 Maccabees 13:12; 1 Clement 31:2–4; Judith 8:26–27). One in particular stands out:
Pleased! “Dad, I’m extraordinarily pleased by this turn of events!”
What is going on in Isaac’s mind when he is being bound is quite the conundrum.
(2) In order for Christ’s sacrifice to be a true sacrifice, he had to take the Sin of the world onto himself. This is part of expiatory sacrifice (cf. Leviticus 16:8–10). Since Christ for a moment became Sin, became the scapegoat, it was only natural that the Father must be separated from it. That’s how I’ve constructed it in my mind anyway.
Again, thanks so much for your great comments. Thought provoking!
http://bit.ly/mQYP8
this guy’s stuff already covers it.
@Wil — Hahahaha…You and your love of Søren.
Nice, Wil. Isaac says you’ll name one of your kids “Søren.” True?
Good stuff, Stephen. As I think about it, the ultimate penalty for unresolved sin is separation from the presence of God–or the inability to enter his presence. If Christ truly was to pay the “full” price of sin, then this separation–temporary though it was–was crucial. The eternal nature and weight of his suffering in such a relatively short period is overwhelming and perplexing, to say the least.
So, in summary, Christ’s expiation serves to help mankind overcome two kinds of death: (1) physical death (which came with the Fall of Adam, and ostensibly was overcome with the resurrection of Christ), and (2) spiritual death (or separation from the presence of God, which, again, first came upon man with the Fall of Adam, but was overcome through the atonement of Christ, based on his conditions of our repentance). In order to overcome these two deaths, Christ himself first had to suffer them.
Jared: It is true. Soren Isaac actually, because I love this story and Kierkegaard’s explanation of it so much. You’re brother, of course, was an influence as well.
My take on Abraham is this. He did it with no guarantee. We don’t see him sitting up all night begging for a deal. In fact, I don’t think he lost that much sleep over because he got up early the next day (although, this could very well mean he didn’t sleep at all). Abraham first took the plunge and later realized what Hebrews says of him, that he knew God could raise Isaac from the dead. It seems to me that if he knew all along God couldn’t say “You didn’t with hold your son” because killing him knowing he would rise again is more like lending then giving.
I talked with my parents about this story the other day and my mom pointed out that this is the day Christ referred to when he said “Abraham rejoiced to see my day.” This story isn’t just a foreshadowing we can interpret with hindsight. Abraham knew from this experience what God would go through later, I think this gives him the knowledge that God can raise the dead. But first he had to trust God.
[...] does things directly which cause pain. ↩ I wrote a post on this story last week. See “The Psychology of Abraham (Genesis 22)” for some more thoughts on this episode. [...]