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Book Review: Moshe Idel's "Kabbalah: New Perspectives"

Moshe Idel’s “Kabbalah: New Perspectives” may be the greatest academic book on kabbalah that has yet been written in the English language. I say this for a number of reasons. First, the book is both comprehensive and detailed. Idel analyzes both the theoretical views and spiritual practices of every major kabbalist tradition of the medieval and modern periods (though the contemporary period is largely neglected), and he pays a great deal of attention to the historical development of each tradition. Second, Idel advances a number of important theses concerning these traditions, and many of his theses are strongly supported by extensive textual citations (the book contains dozens – perhaps hundreds – of extended quotations from kabbalist texts, many of which have never been translated into English). Moreover, the level of Idel’s argumentation is often quite high, and I was frequently impressed by his acumen when reading the book. Third, Idel repeatedly engages with the work of other scholars of kabbalah (especially Gershom Scholem). Idel is often critical of these scholars, and I cannot be sure that he always presents their views accurately. However, if the book should contain some inaccuracies on that score, which I suspect it might, I would only attribute them to the lack of charity scholars often display when discussing the work of their peers, which is sadly common but not necessarily malicious. At any rate, Idel’s engagement with the work of other scholars is often interesting and instructive. These are not the only virtues of the book, but they are its main virtues, and they are more than enough to support a hearty recommendation.  

Unfortunately, despite its numerous virtues, the book also suffers from a number of problems. First, the book assumes that the reader is already familiar with the Hebrew Bible, rabbinic Judaism, ancient Jewish mysticism, ancient Gnosticism, medieval and modern kabbalah, ancient Greek philosophy, ancient Jewish philosophy (i.e., Philo), medieval Jewish philosophy (e.g., Maimonides and ha-Levi), and to some extent the New Testament. Names of thinkers, texts, and movements are often referenced with no explanation, and the book contains untranslated and unexplained terms from both Jewish and ancient Greek philosophical texts. In short, the book is written for experts, and while this may not be a fault in itself, I think that Idel could have easily included a glossary that would have helped to make the book much more accessible to non-experts. Frankly, despite the high praise the book has received from general readers on the internet, I cannot help but wonder whether many non-experts are able to follow its central arguments.

Second, while Idel’s argumentation is often quite good, as I mentioned above, I think that he does a rather poor job of defending some of his most important theses. In particular, his attempts to establish an ancient Jewish pedigree for many medieval kabbalist ideas are often weak and unconvincing. Indeed, these attempts often seem rather strained to me, and they mar what would have otherwise been a nearly flawless work. I’m surprised that other reviewers (at least on popular websites) have failed to criticize Idel on this score, though again I wonder how well many general readers have followed the arguments. At any rate, I don’t have the time or space to write a full critique here, and so I’ll have to confine myself to a few general observations about a limited number of cases.

At the beginning of chapter six, Idel writes as follows: “In the following discussion, I present the thesis that the motif of a divine anthropomorphical decad, instrumental in the creation process, was part of ancient Jewish thought; this decad was presumably the source of the ten Sefirot of Sefer Yezirah…” (112). In other words, Idel defends the thesis that the medieval kabbalist notion that God created the world through a divine decade – i.e., the sefirot, which are often depicted anthropomorphically in medieval kabbalah – was significantly influenced by ancient Jewish thought, and that ancient Judaism had already developed (or inherited?) the idea that God created the world through a “divine anthropomorhical decad.” (The Sefer Yezirah is not a kabbalist text, but it exerted a tremendous amount of influence on medieval kabbalah, as Idel himself notes.) This is a bold thesis, and, if correct, it would be quite significant. So, what evidence does Idel cite on its behalf? None that is very convincing. It would be impossible for me to examine Idel’s arguments in detail here, but I can say that he adduces a number of ancient Jewish and Gnostic texts that do not remotely support his thesis. On the one hand, there are rabbinic texts (e.g., Tractate Avot) that allude to God creating the world by ten divine attributes or ten “creative logoi,” but it is far from clear that these texts should be taken literally (for example, the texts from Tractate Avot seem to have an exclusively didactic purpose). However, even if the texts should be taken at face value, they contain no mention of a decad that is anthropomorphic in any way. On the other hand, there are ancient Gnostic texts that allude to a primordial or cosmic man that plays some role in creation and that is somehow associated with a decad, but there is no evidence of such an anthropomorphic decad playing any role in creation in the rabbinic texts. Apparently, Idel wants the reader to infer that there must have been ancient Jewish traditions to the effect that God created the world by means of a divine anthropomorphic decad on the grounds that (a) ancient Jewish mysticism influenced rabbinic thought, ancient Gnostic thought, and medieval kabbalah, (b) rabbinic texts contain allusions to God creating the world by means of a divine (albeit non-anthropomorphic) decad, and (c) there are ancient Gnostic texts that contain allusions to God creating the world by means of a divine (or primordial or cosmic) anthropomorphic decad. However, it is clear that any such inference is purely speculative and completely lacking in logical support. Thus, Idel has failed to provide evidence that supports the existence of such an ancient Jewish tradition.

In fact, there is strong reason for doubting the existence of such an ancient Jewish tradition. For suppose that Idel is right, and that there was an ancient Jewish tradition according to which God not only created the world by means of a divine decad, but that the decad was anthropomorphic. What then explains the fact that numerous rabbinic texts allude to creation by means of a divine decad while none of these texts mention anything about the decad being anthropomorphic? Are we to suppose that the rabbis were moved to embrace an older tradition but couldn't bring themselves to accept the part about the decad being anthropomorphic, or that they accepted this part of the tradition but consciously refused to comment on it in writing even though they were willing to comment in writing about the decad itself? Alternatively, should we suppose that the failure of the rabbis to comment on the anthropomorphic nature of the decad was purely accidental even though the decad itself is mentioned in several rabbinic texts? No such explanation seems terribly plausible, but the omission demands an explanation. Furthermore, the anthropomorphic nature of the Gnostics’ decad differs considerably from that of the medieval kabbalists’ sefirot, and there is no reason to think that both didn't greatly innovate in different ways on an ancient Jewish mystical or rabbinic decad that was thoroughly non-anthropomorphic.

Idel himself seems to appreciate the weakness of his own case, for he later remarks that “the Gnostic ideas of Creation by means of a decad recur in rabbinic sources that do not, however, explicitly mention the anthropomorphic nature of the ten creative logoi. We can nevertheless attempt to reconstruct such a presumably ancient Jewish perception from oblique references…” (121-22). So, after spending some ten pages defending his thesis, Idel admits that no clear textual evidence can be found. And while he asserts that his thesis can be vindicated by hypothesized reconstructions from admittedly oblique references, the evidence just isn’t there. (Would it help Idel to drop the thesis that ancient Jewish texts contain clear references to God creating the world by means of an anthropomorphical decade and content himself instead with the thesis that ancient Jewish texts contain clear references to God creating the world by means of a decad, whether anthropomorphic or not? No, because such references cannot always be taken literally, and at any rate there is no evidence whatsoever that the allusion to God creating the world by means of ten creative logoi in Tractate Avot, for example, exerted a substantial influence on medieval kabbalist thinking about the sefirot, as Idel himself would surely agree.) To be honest, I am somewhat astounded by Idel’s decision to posit a thesis with so little support and his subsequent refusal to withdraw the thesis even after admitting that the evidence is so weak. 

Perhaps the reader will feel that I am being unfair to Idel. After all, he acknowledges that there is no direct textual support for his thesis that rabbinic thought contained a tradition according to which God created the world by means of a divine anthropomorphic decad, and that the existence of such a tradition is hypothetical. Nonetheless, Idel clearly has great confidence in the existence of such a tradition, and his rhetoric often suggests that the evidence for the hypothesis is rather strong. Indeed, he describes the hypothesis as a “thesis” and says that the ancient Jewish tradition “was presumably the source of the ten Sefirot of Sefer Yezirah.” What matters is not whether Idel refers to his position as a “thesis” or “hypothesis” – what matters is how strongly he believes his position is supported by the evidence. And again, Idel believes that there is strong evidence for the existence of the ancient Jewish tradition in question. However, the evidence is non-existent, and it seems to me just as bad to assert a thesis with no evidence as to advance an hypothesis with no evidence, especially if one’s rhetoric suggests that one views the hypothesis as highly probable.

Unfortunately, Idel’s book contains many other examples of such problematic claims. For instance, consider Idel’s discussion of “augmentation theurgy” in chapter seven. At the end of the discussion, Idel writes: “There is no major difference between midrashic and kabbalistic theurgy. We can conclude that a certain stream of thought about the significance of the commandments, rooted in midrashic and Talmudic texts, was elaborated upon in the theosophical Kabbalah, which regarded theurgical activity as the main raison d’etre of the commandments.” (See p. 166.) As before, this claim is extremely bold, and Idel has utterly failed to vindicate it, as I believe a close study of his arguments will show. Idel has failed to make a decent case that theurgy played a significant role in rabbinic thought, and he has certainly failed to show that mainstream rabbinic thought recognized the possibility of exerting causal influence over the state of the divine essence through the performance of mitzvot, which is central to so much kabbalist theurgy. (Not all kabbalists viewed the sefirot as constituting the divine essence, hence the qualification “so much.”) His arguments for the rabbinic origins of kabbalist theurgy in chapter seven suffer from questionable reasoning, inadequate evidence, and a loose approach to the interpretation of texts. Moreover, I think that several attempts by Idel to trace strong forms of medieval and modern kabbalist theurgy to rabbinic literature in other chapters suffer from the same defects. (His discussion of Midrash Haskem in chapter eight seems especially problematic to me.) And there are other examples of poorly defended claims in the book that could be adduced.

I am persuaded by Idel’s arguments that ancient Gnosticism probably exerted a negligible influence on medieval kabbalah, and that many apparent cases of such influence are better explained by supposing that medieval kabbalah was influenced by ancient Jewish mysticism, and that the latter influenced Gnosticism without Gnosticism influencing much of ancient or medieval Jewish mysticism. Moreover, I am generally sympathetic with Idel’s claim that rabbinic thought was more mystical than the texts always suggest on their surface, and that it may be possible to find traces of “hidden” mystical ideas in rabbinic texts through a close comparison of them with medieval kabbalist texts. Still, any such reconstruction is fraught with peril, as Idel himself notes, and I am sorry to report that I think he has often failed to heed his own warning. I should mention that I am not an expert on kabbalah, and that I would welcome any challenge to my criticisms of Idel. Nonetheless, I have read the book carefully, and I must stand by my assessment for the time being.

There is one final complaint about the book that I want to register, though the complaint is not directed at Idel alone. Like other scholars of kabbalah such as Joseph Dan, Idel suggests at one point that the rise and success of medieval kabbalah can be explained at least in large part by the fact that kabbalist theurgy invested the faithful Jew’s performance of mitzvot with cosmic significance (something I do not dispute), and that this made dedication to the mitzvot more attractive than it otherwise might have been. Perhaps Idel and these other scholars are right. Perhaps the system of mitzvot as presented in rabbinic texts was simply too boring or burdensome to command the loyalty of many Jews over the centuries without the cosmic significance conferred on them by kabbalist theurgy. But I’m not convinced. I am a Christian, not a Jew, but I find the system of mitzvot expounded in the Talmud and other rabbinic texts to be incredibly beautiful and inspiring. Indeed, I would go so far as to say that I see the fingerprints of God all over the Talmud. I realize that this statement will likely concern Christians and Jews alike given my own religious convictions, but I cannot undertake a Christian theology of the Talmud here, and whatever I might write on the subject probably isn’t worth anyone’s time. Let me just say that I am not at all convinced that the Talmud needed any assistance from medieval kabbalah in order to recommend itself to faithful Jews. Granted, medieval kabbalist theurgy may have enhanced the status of the mitzvot for many Jews, but one should be very hesitant to claim that the Talmud needed the kabbalah. I could say more here, but I’ll move on.

Idel’s book contains so much that is excellent that I am perplexed by the existence of its failings. Still, I have said enough about the vices of the book, and I want to concentrate on its virtues in the remainder of this review. For, it is perfectly natural that a work as ambitious as Idel’s should contain some dross as well as much gold, especially in a field such as kabbalah, which in many ways is still so young. And even the dross here can be instructive. Thus, let me emphasize that Idel’s book is full of valuable insights into medieval and modern kabbalah. His handling of kabbalist traditions and texts is generally brilliant, he successfully clarifies a wide range of kabbalist concepts and themes (of which mystical union and symbolism are just two examples), and his views on kabbalist history and historiography are often quite rigorous. To cite just one example, Idel makes a convincing case that ancient Gnosticism exerted a negligible influence on medieval kabbalah, as I mentioned earlier. This is a significant result, and the book contains many more such results. Let me be clear: Idel is a great scholar, and he has written what is probably the most important book on kabbalah in English, whatever its shortcomings. If you have a serious interest in kabbalah, then you simply must read this book. 

Book Review: Adin Steinsaltz's "The Thirteen Petalled Rose"

Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz is one of the most influential thinkers in Judaism today, and “The Thirteen Petalled Rose” is one of his most widely read books. As the author himself notes in the preface, “The Thirteen Petalled Rose” is not a book about kabbalah, but rather a book of kabbalah. It is a positive statement of kabbalah itself, not an academic study of what kabbalists have believed. Thus, it reads like a manifesto, or perhaps more accurately, a traditional kabbalist text. And indeed the book is rather conservative in its views. Steinsaltz’s presentation of kabbalah is firmly rooted in kabbalist tradition, and the influence of kabbalist texts and authors such as the Zohar and Isaac Luria can be detected on nearly every page. At any rate, the history of kabbalah has been marked by extensive disagreement and innovation (though many orthodox and ultra-orthodox Jews may wish to deny or at least qualify this fact), and I would not object to novelty in a modern work of kabbalah.

There are some problems with the book. For example, Steinsaltz does not discuss the history of kabbalah, and he very rarely cites any sources. Moreover, Steinsaltz often states his views without providing any evidence on their behalf (in most cases such evidence would derive at least in part from the Bible, rabbinic texts, and kabbalist texts, which again he rarely cites). Complicating matters further, he often presents his views in a tendentious manner: when explaining a kabbalist concept or theory that has been analyzed in different ways by the great kabbalists of the past, Steinsaltz typically explains the concept or theory in a single way without even mentioning the history of opposing views on the subject. In an academic work, the lack of citations and the tendentious presentation of views would be very serious defects. However, given the fact that Steinsaltz’s book is written from the perspective of a practitioner and not that of a neutral scholar, these faults can be largely forgiven. After all, many of the greatest historical works of kabbalah are equally tendentious, if not more so, and many of Steinsaltz’s distinctively kabbalist ideas can be traced fairly easily.

Unfortunately, Steinsaltz’s explanation of kabbalist concepts and theories is often quite vague, and he neglects to provide clear explanations of several key kabbalist concepts, such as kabbalist theurgy. Steinsaltz discusses kabbalist theurgy, but only in very general terms, and I doubt that many readers who are new to kabbalah will come away with an adequate understanding of it. Moreover, Steinsaltz seems to deny the reality of kabbalist theurgy at several points in the last chapter of the book, though he strongly affirms it in earlier chapters. For example, compare pages 29-35 and 68-70 with pages 173 and 191-92. Thus, there may be issues of consistency as well as clarity. (Incidentally, I detect a potentially anti-theurgic statement even in the early chapters. On pages 34-35, Steinsaltz writes that “prayer, repentance, the cry of man to God, even though they are dependent upon and cut across a limited, deterministic system, neither work upon nor even address that system,” where the referent of “that system” seems to be the sefirot. Oddly, these remarks form the conclusion of an extended passage in which Steinsaltz affirms and describes the theurgical effects of human activity.)

So, there are some real problems with the book, but there is also much of value to be found in it. Paradoxically, one of the greatest virtues of the book is that it contains numerous analyses of mitzvot (i.e., commandments) in terms of the sefirot. (See, e.g., the chapter on the Kiddush ritual.) Such analyses constitute perhaps the most fundamental feature of the most historically significant kabbalist tradition, i.e., the so-called “theosophical-theurgical” tradition represented by the Bahir, the Zohar, and other such works. Despite the importance of such analyses to this tradition, many books on kabbalah fail to provide examples of them, preferring instead to discuss the principles underlying such analyses only in general terms. However, many books on kabbalah do an admirable job of explaining the theurgical significance of such analyses, which Steinsaltz fails to do. It is for this reason that I used the term “paradoxically” above: many books on kabbalah explain the theurgical significance of sefirotic analyses of mitzvot without providing examples of such analyses, while Steinsaltz provides good examples of such analyses without offering details about the precise theurgical effects (i.e., the impact on the sefirot and their alignment) that the performance of the respective mitzvot is supposed to achieve. Another great virtue of Steinsaltz’s book is that it contains one of the clearest descriptions of the individual sefirot that I have encountered in a modern book, though the descriptions of netzach and hod, and so that of yesod (which results from the interaction of netzach and hod), are still somewhat vague.

So far, I have largely focused on Steinsaltz’s treatment of distinctively kabbalist concepts and theories such as the sefirot and theurgy. However, Steinsaltz’s book also contains a number of chapters that are dedicated to traditional Jewish concepts such as the human soul, holiness, Torah, repentance, mitzvot, and prayer. Many of the ideas in these chapters will be familiar to religious Jews who haven’t studied kabbalah, though kabbalist ideas are often lurking in the background – and sometimes are standing in the foreground – even here. I must say, these chapters are full of wisdom, and I have learned a great deal about holiness, Torah, repentance, prayer, man, and God from Steinsaltz. I have read through “The Thirteen Petalled Rose” three times now, and there are several pages that I have often returned to during the past few months. I feel that I owe Steinsaltz a great debt, and I am grateful to have found his book.

In closing, let me say that the quality of the English translation (the book was originally written in Hebrew) is generally quite smooth, and some passages have a beautiful poetic quality. Moreover, the book is characterized by a strong intelligence and an abiding faith in God. I am usually cautious about inferring much about the personality of an author even from books on spirituality, but I find it difficult not to admire Steinsaltz. At any rate, I believe that both Jews and non-Jews can learn a great deal of value from this book. I should know – I am not a Jew, and I have benefitted tremendously from it.

Book Review: Joseph Dan's "Kabbalah: A Very Short Introduction"

Joseph Dan’s “Kabbalah: A Very Short Introduction” has a number of shortcomings. Nonetheless, it offers a good introduction to the subject. The book takes an approach that is largely historical, beginning with a chapter on key terms that presents some historical background, and then continuing with chapters on ancient Jewish mysticism, medieval Jewish kabbalah, modern Christian kabbalah, and several modern Jewish mystical and kabbalist movements (i.e., Safedian and Lurianic kabbalah, Sabbatianism, Hasidism, and contemporary kabbalah). Some of the chapters are excellent (especially chapters two, three, and six). But all the chapters are good, and the book contains a wealth of useful information. It is impossible to understand kabbalah without some knowledge of the Hebrew Bible and rabbinic Judaism, which unfortunately cannot be adequately explained in a short introduction. Still, much of Dan’s book will be accessible to readers with little previous exposure to the Hebrew Bible and rabbinic Judaism, and I would recommend Dan’s book to anyone who is new to kabbalah. Regardless, I have a few complaints, which I will now set forth.

First, Dan greatly minimizes the ecstatic tradition of kabbalah associated with Abraham Abulafia. Granted, the ecstatic tradition may not have dominated medieval and modern kabbalah as did the theosophical-theurgical tradition (represented by the Zohar etc.), but the ecstatic tradition nevertheless exerted a significant influence on Safedian kabbalists, Hasidism, and even medieval theosophical-theurgical kabbalah, as Moshe Idel makes clear in his book “Kabbalah: New Perspectives.” (See, e.g., Idel’s discussion of Moses Cordovero on p. 101 and his discussion of Joseph ben Shalom Ashkenazy on pp. 149-50.) Moreover, ecstatic kabbalah is intrinsically interesting apart from its historical importance, and should not be marginalized as Dan has done.

Second, although Dan spends a few pages on the subject, he fails to provide an adequate explanation of the theosophical-theurgical interpretation of the mitzvot in terms of the sefirot, which is arguably the heart of the theosophical-theurgical tradition (one of the two main kabbalist traditions, the other being the ecstatic tradition which Dan largely ignores). Some examples, such as those found in Adin Steinsaltz’s “The Thirteen Petalled Rose,” would have been helpful here.

Third, Dan’s discussion of the various theosophical-theurgical interpretations of the sefirot is extremely brief – too brief, I believe, for such an introductory text. (For details, see Idel, “Kabbalah: New Perspectives.”)

Fourth, Dan’s discussion of Hasidism is overly brief and confusing. For example, he says little to clarify the role of theurgy in Hasidism or Hasidism’s relationship with ecstatic kabbalah. On page 94, he describes the chief difference between the Hasidim and the mitnagdim (“the Opponents”) as follows: “While the Opponents are essentially loyal to the Lurianic kabbalistic concepts, the Hasidim introduced some new concepts, especially concerning mystical leadership and messianism, into their version of the kabbalah.” This is a badly inadequate summary of Hasidism, and Dan neglects to mention some of the most important aspects of Hasidism in the pages that follow, though he does provide a good explanation of the roles of the zaddik, dynastic leadership, and messianism in Hasidism. On page 103, Dan says that “Traditional kabbalah exists today mainly within the Hasidic communities.” What does he mean by “traditional kabbalah”? He doesn’t specify, but whatever he means, it’s problematic. Suppose that by “traditional kabbalah” he means Lurianic kabbalah. In this case, it should be pointed out that popular Hasidism rejected much of Lurianic kabbalah, at least initially. (I see Lurianic elements in some contemporary Chabad writings, but I wonder how recent or widely studied such ideas are in Chabad. At any rate, as I have already quoted, Dan himself says on page 94 that the Opponents were much more loyal to Lurianic kabbalah than the Hasidim.) Alternatively, suppose that by “traditional kabbalah” Dan means either the medieval theosophical-theurgical tradition or the medieval ecstatic tradition. In that case, it should be pointed out that Hasidism retained elements of both these traditions but rejected others, while Lurianic kabbalah (and so according to Dan the Opponents) did the same. In conclusion, I cannot make sense of Dan’s statement that “Traditional kabbalah exists today mainly within the Hasidic communities.”

Fifth, I think that Dan’s definition of mysticism on pages 10-12 is defective. For a definition that I believe is superior, see page xviii of Idel’s “Kabbalah: New Perspectives.”

Despite these complaints, Dan’s book is really quite a good introduction to kabbalah, and I strongly recommend it. Finally, I should mention that most of the shortcomings of the book are almost certainly due to the spatial limits imposed by Oxford’s Very Short Introduction series. I look forward to reading Dan’s monographs in the future.

Book Review: Daniel C. Matt's "The Essential Kabbalah"

Daniel C. Matt’s “The Essential Kabbalah” is an incredibly valuable book of spirituality, and it deserves a wide readership. Unfortunately, I doubt that many readers will find it accessible, but more on that in a moment.

The book consists almost entirely of passages taken from kabbalist texts. These passages have been selected, translated, and edited by Matt, and Matt has provided extensive notes on the passages at the end of the book. (There is also an introduction, which I will discuss below.) Students of kabbalah will recognize many of the kabbalist texts that Matt cites, but some of the texts may be new to them; I certainly learned a few new names. At any rate, the passages run the historical gamut of kabbalah: one will find citations from texts and authors such as the Bahir, the Zohar, Azriel of Gerona, Nahmanides, Joseph Gikatilla, Abraham Abulafia, Isaac of Akko, Moses Cordovero, Isaac Luria, Hayyim Vital, the Great Maggid, and even Rav Kook. These texts and authors represent some eight hundred years of thinking about kabbalah, and Matt has not only translated them beautifully – truly, this book contains some of the finest poetry I have read – but he has also woven them together into a seamless tapestry. Open the book at random, and there is a good chance that the passage(s) on the left page and the passage(s) on the right page are taken from texts that were composed centuries apart. And here is where the problems begin.

Readers who are familiar with kabbalah will recognize that the passages in Matt’s book come from texts that were written in different times and that have different views about the nature of kabbalah. However, readers who are new to kabbalah might not see this, and so they may be tempted to view kabbalists like Abraham Abulafia and Hayyim Vital as being birds of the same flock, which they most certainly are not. Thus, important differences in both theory and practice between texts may be lost on the reader who is new to kabbalah. More pressingly, such a reader will almost certainly be overwhelmed and confused by many passages which contain references to esoteric kabbalist concepts and practices. Matt provides a short introductory chapter on kabbalah, and he sketches some of the basic concepts and major historical developments therein, but I doubt that this chapter will be helpful to many readers. Kabbalah is simply too complicated to explain in twentysome pages. The notes at the end of the book supplement the introduction nicely, but again I fear that the subject of kabbalah is simply too vast for a beginner. Despite Matt’s notes, which are generally excellent, readers who are new to kabbalah will almost certainly be confused by references to the sefirot, theurgy, and ecstatic practices involving the divine names. Indeed, neither the primary texts that Matt cites nor Matt’s own notes provide much explanation of theurgy – surely one of the most important concepts of the tradition represented by the Zohar – or Luria’s account of creation. (The latter is crucial to Luria’s understanding of tikkun olam, itself a theurgical concept, and a very influential one too.) Readers who are familiar with kabbalah will find Matt’s book to be a precious gem. But readers who haven’t been previously exposed to kabbalah will almost certainly be lost and confused.

I don’t blame Matt for the difficulty that many readers will have with the book. Again, given the nature of kabbalah, such difficulty can scarcely be avoided. I suppose that Matt could have decided to write an introduction to kabbalah for the general reader instead, but others have already done this, and there is great need for a book such as Matt’s. Few historically important works of kabbalah have been translated in full, and those that have been translated are often long and difficult. Thus, it is incredibly valuable to have an anthology of kabbalist writings that represents kabbalists from every major tradition. Matt’s “The Essential Kabbalah” is such a book, and those who have the necessary background should find it rewarding. Indeed, I was quite amazed by the book, and I plan to re-read it again and the again in the future. I have been meditating on two passages from the book the last few days, and by God’s grace this has already brought me both wisdom and peace. Here are the passages:

Think of yourself as Ayin [i.e., nothingness] and forget yourself totally. Then you can transcend time, rising to the world of thought, where all is equal: life and death, ocean and dry land. Such is not the case if you are attached to the material status of this world. If you think of yourself as something, then God cannot clothe himself in you, for God is infinite. No vessel can contain God, unless you think of yourself as Ayin.

The essence of serving God and of all the mitsvot [i.e., commandments] is to attain the state of humility, that is, to understand that all your physical and mental powers and your essential being depend on the divine elements within. You are simply a channel for the divine attributes. You attain the humility through the awe of God’s vastness, through realizing that “there is no place empty of it.” Then you come to the state of Ayin, the state of humility. You have no independent self and are contained in the Creator. This is the meaning of the verse: “Moses hid his face, for he was in awe.” Through his experience of awe, Moses attained the hiding of his face, that is, he perceived no independent self. Everything was part of divinity.”

These passages are rich in wisdom, beauty, and truth. And they require no advanced knowledge of kabbalah or even Judaism, though many other passages in the book do require such knowledge. (Incidentally, the first passage was taken from Dov Baer, the Great Maggid, while the second passage was taken from Issachar Baer of Zlotshov.)

Matt’s book contains some of the greatest spiritual wisdom of kabbalah, and I believe that readers who study the book carefully and meditate upon it will likely grow in their relationship with God. Readers who are not familiar with kabbalah but who are interested in tackling Matt’s book are strongly advised to acquire the relevant background. As regards particular recommendations, I would suggest the following titles: the introductions to Judaism by Norman Solomon, Michael Fishbane, Christine Hayes, David Gelernter, and Wayne Dosick; the abridged Talmud editions by Norman Solomon and Ben Zion Bokser; Adin Steinsaltz’s “Essential Talmud” and perhaps Abraham Cohen’s “Everyman’s Talmud”; and, finally, Joseph Dan’s “Kabbalah: A Very Short Introduction,” Gershom Scholem’s “Kabbalah” and “Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism,” Daniel Matt’s abridged Zohar (published by Paulist Press), Moshe Idel’s “Kabbalah: New Perspectives,” and Adin Steinsaltz’s “The Thirteen Petalled Rose” (in that order). And, of course, one should be familiar with the Hebrew Bible and thinkers like Rashi and Maimonides (see, e.g., Benjamin Sommer’s “Jewish Conceptions of Scripture”). There’s really no other way to learn kabbalah. 

Finally, I should mention that I have a few complaints about Matt’s introduction (e.g., his dating of the Sefir Yezirah and his assertion that the centrality of numbers in Jewish mysticism was heavily influenced by Pythagorean mysticism), but most of these are quibbles. However, three issues are more serious. First, on the bottom of page 8, Matt writes “From a more radical perspective, evil originates in divine thought, which eliminates waste before emanating goodness. The demonic is rooted in the divine.” My complaint is this: while Matt’s description is accurate where Lurianic kabbalah is concerned, I’m not sure that such a view was held before Luria or that it circulated widely outside of the most dedicated circles of Lurianic kabbalists. Thus, as far as I know, the view is a decidedly minority opinion, something which Matt should have made clear but did not. Also, Matt refrains from explaining how Luria conceived the divine origin of evil, and so his description is exceedingly vague. Second, on page 11 Matt’s language suggests that psychological interpretations of the sefirot were common in kabbalah, but Idel (“Kabbalah: New Perspectives”) suggests that such interpretations were not popular before the rise of Hasidism. Third, and perhaps most importantly, Matt fails to clarify the widely divergent ways in which kabbalists understood the sefirot. (Again, see Idel, “Kabbalah: New Perspectives.”)

A Sermon by David Calhoun

I just heard a terrific sermon by David Calhoun that I would like to share. In case you don't know, David Calhoun is an emeritus professor of church history and theology at Covenant Theological Seminary in St. Louis, Mo. (CTS is the official seminary of the Presbyterian Church in America, and Calhoun's sermon was delivered as the commencement speech for the CTS graduating class of 2012.) Calhoun is the genuine article. He knows the Bible backwards and forwards, and he knows enough about church history and theology to fill Michigan Stadium. More importantly, he has a deep love for Jesus, one that is clearly evidenced in his lectures and sermons. I have had the fortune to hear many good preachers in my day, but there is something special about Calhoun. Here, listen for yourself:



This sermon was delivered to graduating seminarians, but it applies to all Christian believers.

I have learned a lot about Jesus, Christian discipleship, and the Bible from Calhoun the last few years. And I'm learning from him still.

Calvin on Christian Discipleship and Christian Living: Part One

Today, the name of John Calvin is often associated with abstract theological debates and heated polemics. To some extent, this image of Calvin is justified - Calvin wrote extensively on theology, and many of his writings are highly polemical.Yet Calvin was also a pastor, and he was deeply concerned about the practical dimension of Christian faith. In fact, Calvin believed that theological study is fruitless unless it draws us closer to Christ; and, though he was certainly capable of producing the kind of abstruse, systematic theology that characterized so much of medieval Catholic thought, Calvin had little patience with philosophical speculation, and he tried to stick as closely to the Bible as possible. Calvin produced one of the most insightful, powerful, and moving treatises on Christian discipleship in the history of the church. The treatise can be found in chapters VI-X of book three of the 1559 edition of the Institutes, and I highly recommend it to all Christians. Readers who do not own the Institutes can find the treatise here.

In the coming weeks, I plan to write a few posts on Calvin's treatise on Christian discipleship. I will proceed chapter by chapter, making some comments and quoting the occasional passage. I will begin in this post with chapter VI of book three, which is the first chapter of the treatise. Before proceeding, let me note that while I have described the subject of Calvin's treatise as Christian discipleship, many others have described it as Christian living. However, everything that Calvin says in the treatise about Christian living also applies to Christian discipleship, and in fact there is no true distinction between true Christian living and true Christian discipleship, as Calvin himself would agree.

Without further ado, Calvin begins his treatise on Christian discipleship by reminding the reader of the call to regeneration, or sanctification - God does not merely call the believer to faith, but to righteousness, obedience, and holiness. In fact, the latter are the same, for holiness is likeness to God, and God is righteous, and the call to obedience is none other than the call to righteousness. Man is so fallen that he cannot trust his own sense of God's righteousness, even after he has come to faith. But God gave man the Bible so that he might know the will of God. Above all, God sent Jesus to earth not just as a savior, but also as a teacher and an example. All Scripture is profitable for training in righteousness (2 Timothy 3:16), but Jesus alone was truly righteous, and he is the gold standard. Calvin writes:

"...But Scripture draws its exhortation from the true fountain. It not only enjoins us to refer our life to God, its author, to whom it is bound; but after it has taught that we have degenerated from the true origin and condition of our creation, it also adds that Christ, through whom we return into favor with God, has been set before us as an example, whose pattern we ought to express in our life." (3.VI.iii.)

Calvin is right about all of this. We are called not only to faith but to holiness. In particular, we are called to conform every single one of our actions, thoughts, and feelings to Christ, and to submit wholly and entirely to God. This is what it means to say that we are called to obedience, and Calvin wants his readers both to understand and to accept the call.

It is ironic that the Reformed tradition is often identified with Calvin's theology, and that many think of Calvin as an antinomian - i.e., as someone who denied the importance of Christian obedience. (The term 'antinomian' derives from the prefix 'anti-' and an English derivative of the Greek word nomos, which means law.) I admit that many Reformed Christians today are antinomian in spirit, if not in doctrine. Citing the fact that we are justified by faith alone through grace alone, these Christians reason that those who profess faith in Christ are under no moral obligation whatsoever.  But Calvin was certainly no antinomian. Nor was Luther, for that matter. To be sure, Calvin believed that we are justified by faith alone through grace alone. However, he also argued that

"...we have been adopted as sons by the Lord with this one condition: that our life express Christ, the bond of our adoption. Accordingly, unless we give and devote ourselves to righteousness, we not only revolt from our Creator but we also abjure our Savior himself." (3.VI.iii.)

Indeed, Calvin went so far as to suggest that Christians who espouse antinomianism are not even Christians, and that to deny the call to obedience is to deny Christ altogether:

"And this is the place to upbraid those who, having nothing but the name and badge of Christ, yet wish to call themselves "Christians." Yet, how shamelessly do they boast of his sacred name? Indeed, there is no intercourse with Christ save for those who have perceived the right understanding of Christ from the word of the gospel. Yet the apostle says that all those who were not taught that they must put on him have not rightly learned Christ, as they have not put off the old man, who is corrupt through deceptive desires [Eph. 4:22, 24]. Therefore, it is proved that they have falsely, and also unjustly, pretended the knowledge of Christ, whatever they meanwhile learnedly and volubly prate about the gospel. For it is a doctrine not of the tongue but of life. It is not apprehended by the understanding and memory alone, as other disciplines are, but it is received only when it possesses the whole soul, and finds a seat and resting place in the inmost affection of the heart." (3.VI.iv.)

I wish that Reformed Christians who tend toward antinomianism would see their mistake, and that non-Reformed Christians who accuse Calvin of antinomianism would see theirs. Unfortunately, I expect that many Reformed Christians will continue to tend toward antinomianism, and that many non-Reformed Christians will continue to attribute antinomianism to Calvin. At any rate, there can be no serious doubt that Calvin recognized the importance of obedience. In fact, Calvin saw obedience as an essential part - if not the whole - of Christian life. Given this, one might expect that Calvin held believers to a high standard of conduct, and so he did. But Calvin also wrote about the limitations of human morality in moving (though sober) terms:

"I do not insist that the moral life of a Christian man breathe nothing but the very gospel, yet this ought to be desired, and we must strive toward it. But I do not so strictly demand evangelical perfection that I would not acknowledge as a Christian one who has not yet attained it. For thus all would be excluded from the church, since no one is found is not far removed from it, while many have advanced a little toward it whom it would nevertheless be unjust to cast away..."
          "But no one in this earthly prison of the body has sufficient strength to press on with due eargerness, and weakness so weighs down the greater number that, with wavering and limping and even creeping along the ground, they move at a feeble rate. Let each one of us, then, proceed according to the measure of his puny capacity and set out upon the journey we have begun. No one shall set out so inauspiciously as not daily to make some headway, though it be slight. Therefore, let us not cease so to act that we may make some unceasing progress in the way of the Lord. And let us not despair at the slightness of our success; for even though attainment may not correspond to desire, when today outstrips yesterday the effort is not lost. Only let us look toward our mark with sincere simplicity and aspire to our goal; not fondly flattering ourselves, nor excusing our own evil deeds, but with continuous effort striving toward this end: that we may surpass ourselves in goodness until we attain to goodness itself. It is this, indeed, which through the whole course of life we seek and follow. But we shall attain it only when we have cast off the weakness of the body, and are received into full fellowship with him." (3.VI.v.)

I think that the ideas in this passage are sound, and that there is much in Calvin's statement of these ideas that is noble and inspiring. If we accept the call to obedience, we will still have bad days. We will stumble, and we will fall. Those who have received faith have also received the Holy Spirit, but the flesh is still corrupt, and we are still given to sin. Also, the world is still broken. We need words of encouragement when the road is rough. And, while the best words of encouragement are to be found in Scripture, I believe that Calvin has provided us with some excellent words of encouragement in the passage just cited. We should remember his words in times of trouble. But above all, we should remember that nothing can separate us from the love of God (Romans 8:38-39), that God has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavens in Christ  (Ephesians 1:3), and that we have received the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 2:12). Calvin would certainly want us to keep those things in mind.