Abraham: From Philosopher to Prophet
The Torah's Case for Self-Discovery
The Lord said to Abram, “Go forth from your native land and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” (Genesis 12:1)
Why is there no explicit mention in the Torah of Abraham’s earlier deeds? Because Abraham was initially motivated to spread his views regarding God by his own philosophical investigations, not by prophetic revelation…the Torah records only the words of the prophets of God and the deeds of the righteous…— Abarbanel
God’s directive to Abraham is also a command issued to every soul: depart from your “land,” “birthplace,” and “father’s house” in the supernal realms, and descend to the physical world to fulfill your mission in life. — Zohar
All prophecy occurs in the Holy Land, or for its sake. Thus, the first time that God communicates to Abraham, it is to instruct him to journey to the land. —The Kuzari
According to Maimonides, Abraham was a philosophical monotheist who discovered the concept of a Prime Mover and engaged in regular debate with his contemporaries. He had the independence of mind needed to disagree with consensus as well as the clarity of mind needed to overcome bias and convention. Abraham is a philosophical hero, a Jewish Socrates. Eventually, Abraham is forced to leave Ur Kasdim because he is too much of a rabble-rouser. He goes to Charan to continue his mission of winning people over with arguments for the existence of God. But the reasons for departure are largely situational. There is no great turn in his “Lech l’cha” moment. It’s worth pointing out, too, the distinction between Socrates who regards himself as duty-bound to his state even when it accuses him of impiety and Abraham who simply leaves his society behind.
In Abarbanel’s telling, Abraham’s distinction rests not on his philosophical understanding but on his prophetic personality. Lech l’cha marks a radical transition point from Abraham the thinker to Abraham the prophet. Thinkers are a dime a dozen and merit no mention in the Torah, he says, even when their thinking is monotheistic. What distinguishes Abraham is his relationship to God, not simply his understanding of God’s abstract existence.
If we combine Abarbanel’s point with the Kuzari’s Abraham is not yet a prophet when he hears the call from God to “go to the land that I will show you.” Rather, he is an ur-prophet. His journey is the journey towards prophecy. His journey is the journey from philosopher to prophet. The Zohar offers yet another frame that may be mapped on to the philosopher/prophet dialectic: Abraham’s journey is likened to the journey of the soul from the supernal realm to life. Philosophy corresponds to the supernal realm while prophecy corresponds to life. Philosophy is universal, prophecy singular. Philosophy is objective, prophecy personal and subjective. Philosophy is disinterested, prophecy is attached. Philosophy is rational, prophecy is a vibe. In the critical moment marked by “Lech l’cha,” Abraham discovers the question of Being not as a question of logic but as a question of ethics. He discovers the fact of his existence not just as something explicable but as something awesome. Monotheism is not Abraham’s defining discovery. Rather, Abraham is defined by his willingness to go to the place that I will show you. That place is called prophecy.
Prophecy, in Judaism, is not the ability to predict the future. Prophecy is not epistemological certainty. Prophecy is a worldly relationship to that which is other-worldly. It transcends logic. Prophecy is a synonym for conviction, that which moves us to go all-in on the decisions that make us who we are. Philosophy may help us understand the right decision to make. But only prophecy provides us with the motivation and oomph to make the decision. Philosophy tells us what trade to put on. Prophecy determines the magnitude of our bet, veering us away from diversification towards concentration. Philosophers seek a margin of safety. Prophets don’t need one, because they have deep conviction. Philosophers have s’vara, a cohesive way of accounting from first principles; prophets live beyond s’vara. In Lech L’cha Abraham appears not as the rational man, but the post-rational one. He is called not to be all people: not the reasonable man of American law or the transcendental ego of German Idealism or the ego cogito of Cartesian thought, but Abraham. The call to be Abraham and nobody else—the call to do that which nobody else can do—the call to your specific mission on earth: that is prophecy.
Prophecy is not taught in school, because it is non-standard. Prophecy is not sold in stores because each person’s prophetic powers are a unique SKU. Lech l’cha is not just about hearing God, but hearing God uniquely, hearing God calling out to you personally to be an individual. Philosophers say what is true; prophets make truth their own. The Torah celebrates prophets but omits philosophers, suggests Abarbanel, because the point of Torah is not disinterested truth but existential devotion to truth.
According to the Talmud, the destruction of the Temple entailed the end of prophecy. In the famous story of Tanur shel Akhnai, prophetic knowledge is degraded in place of more practical consideration. But it is more accurate to say that prophecy is weakened than ended. “A dream is a 60th of prophecy.” We can touch the prophetic place, but we can’t have the conviction we once did. The loss of our Temple and what it represents means that we live in a world of greater uncertainty and greater doubt and greater self-doubt. And that means that in this world logic and s’vara rule. The Amoraic rabbis’ bequeath us debates rooted in principles. The Talmud doesn’t let the apodictic and oracular statements of the Mishna stand without asking “From where did it derive X?” The prophet doesn’t need to answer this question, because the place from which X is derived is a higher plane. But revelation and epiphany are not stable or and so as an insurance policy we revert back to logical explanation. Society — and the needs of transmission—requires that we reign in the Lech L’cha impulse by codifying the steps of the thinking process.
But here’s the rub: AI can do s’vara (reason) but not n’vuah (prophecy). AI can provide answers, but it can’t provide conviction. As knowledge becomes commodified what matters is not the ability to produce answers, but the ability to produce questions. What matters is not the ability to prove God’s existence, but the ability to “go to yourself, to the place that I will show you.” The sages maintained and transmitted tradition for thousands of years in Exile, but Abraham’s example reminds us that we cannot just be transmitters; we must all become founders. While prophecy was for many years at best a bonus and at worst a de-stabilizing force, increasingly it is the only way to avoid becoming commoditized. Said provocatively, Abarbanel teaches that philosophy is a commodity while prophecy is a differentiated offering. Even if Abraham is not yet a prophet but only on the way to prophecy, he knows something is missing in his philosophy. Philosophical monotheism, while an important moment in the history of ideas, was not unique to Abraham. But prophetic monotheism was a unique discovery. Abraham gives us not just an argument for God, but a willingness to “go to yourself.” If we are not prophets, we are the children of prophets. May we, too, merit to go to ourselves, to the place that only divine conviction, divine prophecy, can reveal.
Shabbat Shalom,
Zohar Atkins
P.S.—If you enjoy these blasts you may enjoy Lightning, a social network for meaning seekers. Lightning publishes daily meditations, cultivate a global discussion group, and publishes a weekly podcast. You can follow us on Instagram and Twitter.
On a different note, here’s my rough attempt to think out loud about October 7th and its aftermath with Ari Lamm on ChinaTalk.