Religion without Control
“The man, who has equipped himself with many things for his journey, spends everything, no matter how valuable, to win over the gatekeeper. The latter takes it all but, as he does so, says, “I am taking this only so that you do not think you have failed to do anything.” (Kafka, “Before The Law”)
You shall not judge unfairly: you shall show no partiality; you shall not take bribes, for bribes blind the eyes of the discerning and upset the plea of the just. Justice, justice shall you pursue, that you may thrive and occupy the land that your God the Lord is giving you. You shall not set up a sacred post (asheira)—any kind of pole beside the altar of your God that you may make or erect a stone pillar (matzebah); for such your God the Lord detests. (Deuteronomy 16:19-22)
What does judging fairly and impartially have to do with the prohibition against setting up sacred posts, poles, pillars, by the altar? The Torah suggests through a literary parallel that one might be tempted to think of divine worship as a form of bribery. By giving God a gift, God is forced to respond favorably.
We know that the asheira and matzebah were commonly worshipped—and/or used to worship—in the ancient Near East. In Genesis, Jacob sets up a matzebah: “Early in the morning, Jacob took the stone that he had put under his head and set it up as a pillar (matzebah) and poured oil on the top of it” (Genesis 28:18). The Torah does not chastise Jacob for engaging in an action apparently forbidden by Deuteronomy, but endorses his religious instinct: “I am the God of Bethel, where you anointed a pillar (matzebah) and where you made a vow to Me. Now, arise and leave this land and return to your native land.’” (Genesis 31:13) Moses, also sets up a matzebah. “Moses then wrote down all the commands of the Lord. Early in the morning, he set up an altar at the foot of the mountain, with twelve pillars for the twelve tribes of Israel.” (Exodus 24:4)
Both matzebot and asheirot are associated in Tanakh with the worship of Baal. Upon entering the Promised land, the Israelites are commanded to destroy them. And yet the theological significance of both may have less to do with their pagan undertones and more to do with the idea—perfectly compatible with monotheism—that God can be manipulated.
A perfectly just God can’t accept gifts. But is God perfectly just? Herein lies the challenge: a God who seeks relationship with humanity, and with a particular people in general, has a vested interest in their survival even when strict justice rules against them. We shouldn’t think that God is manipulable, nor should we relate to prayer as the equivalent of holding God hostage, but nor should we think of God as indifferent, purely analytical. Justice, paradoxically, requires care, and care requires partiality, even bias.
How can justice be at odds with itself? How can justice as fairness co-exist with justice as favoritism? How can a judge who eschews bribery nonetheless respond with mercy to sacrificial acts? To appreciate the nuanced approach the Torah takes to these questions let us remember that demanding mercy and asking for mercy are not the same. By definition, mercy cannot be an entitlement, a right. Worship that involves an asheira and matzebah is problematic because it takes grace as a given. God may be gracious, but the best we can hope for is influence. Prophets walk the line as their influence is so strong that it appears to be a form of pressure. But God invites this pressure, as it were, hires the prophets to elicit mercy.
Does repentance guarantee forgiveness? Does petition guarantee an answer? No. God is not obliged to answer us. But we are not exempt from trying to get God’s attention. We are permitted to give gifts—the offerings of our heart—not to control God’s response, but to seek it. One can worship the wrong gods in the right way, and one can worship the right God in the wrong way. The wrong way to worship the right god is to seek to control God. The matzebot and asheirot can be understood as deities in their own right, but are most powerfully understood as magical supplements in the monotheistic Temple.
On the most foundational things we are not in control. This is a hard truth to accept, especially for moderns, for whom technology puts so much—hitherto inaccessible—in reach. We can track our progress on space exploration, gene editing, longevity studies, but we will never be in total control. Prayer and sacrifice, piety and devotion, honor and acknowledge this profound truth. But even they can become warped by neuroticism.
We should not turn the altar into a tool for making contact with God. But nor are we free to walk away from it. Mature religion begins with the realization that our moral and spiritual responsibility do not hinge on our metaphysical efficacy.
Shabbat Shalom and Chodesh Tov,
Zohar Atkins