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I had the pleasure of participating in a workshop entitled, “The Benefit of the Doubt. Between Scepticism and Godlessness, Critique or Indifference in Ancient Mediterranean Religious Traditions” in February.  Sponsored by Humboldt University and Leipzig University, it took place in Berlin.  A short description and the conference program is here.

The workshop, in a sense, picked up where Tim Whitmarsh’s book, Battling the God: Atheism in the Ancient World left off.   Whitmarsh (who was not at the workshop) actually plays a bit loose with what he means by “atheism,” lumping into it other manifestations of doubting not only the existence but also the power of the deities.  The workshop organizers, Dr. Nicole Hartmann and Dr. Franziska Naether, followed this productive ambiguity, encouraging the participants to think broadly about how and why those in antiquity, from across a wide geographical and temporal distance, expressed and discussed this larger issue of “doubt” of the divine.

Before this workshop, even after reading Whitmarsh’s book, I never thought much about atheism in antiquity.  If it existed at all, it was, I thought, a fringe phenomenon; after all, wasn’t atheism really a modern phenomenon?  Thus, in thinking about the classical rabbis, my mind did not go much past the famous locus classicus of heresy in early rabbinic texts, Mishnah Sanhedrin 10:1:

All Jews have a share in the World to Come, as it says, (Isaiah 60:21), “Thy people are all righteous; they shall inherit the land for ever, the branch of my planting, the work of my hands, that I may be glorified.” These have no share in the World to Come: One who says that [the belief of] resurrection of the dead is not from the Torah, [one who says that] that the Torah is not from Heaven, and an epicurios. Rabbi Akiva says: also one who reads outside books, and one who whispers [an incantation] over a wound, saying, (Exodus 15:26) “I will bring none of these diseases upon thee that I brought upon the Egyptians for I am the Lord that healeth thee.” Abba Shaul says, also one who utters the Divine Name as it is spelled. (Translation modified from Sefaria.org).

This passage has been discussed extensively.  It hints at issues of atheism and doubt (perhaps the meaning of epicurios) but never explicitly, and turns the issue to a presumably public act – “one who says” – rather than one of private belief.  Aside from this passage, though, it was difficult for think of much other rabbinic evidence for doubt.

Now, though, I see doubt everywhere.  While the term “atheist” is attested already most influentially in Plato, the concept of “atheism” as we usually mean it – the complete denial of the existence of supernatural beings or conscious forces – is very rare.  The label “atheist”, perhaps like the label epicurios in rabbinic texts, is only used as a term to insult others.  On the other hand, it turns out that within many ancient cultures there was much room to voice critiques of divine actions or doubt about their powers.  Hittites, for example, constructed an elaborate ritual procedure for oracular consultation of their gods because they were skeptical about the divine ability to communicate clearly.  They asked a series of questions that essentially badgered the gods: “Sure about that?  Let me rephrase it, just so that we know we’re on the same page.  So if I got you right, yes or now, you meant to say….”  In Byzantine Christian circles, an entire literature of “questions and answers” grew to largely concern issues of faith and doubt.  2 Peter 3:4 acknowledges (or rhetorically creates) the existence of those who doubted that Christ had come, and treats that skepticism quite seriously.

The workshop had only one (excellent) paper on rabbinic texts (by Reuven Kipperwasser), but it is clear that rabbinic literature can yield many of its own examples.  There are multiple discussions, for example, of God’s role in theodicy and doubts about God’s own justice, some of which have been nicely explored by Dov Weiss in his book, Pious Irreverence: Confronting God in Rabbinic Judaism (which, previously, I had never thought of quite in the context of “doubt”).  Messages from God are tested and God’s power is often questioned, even if only to be upheld on most occasions.  There is little if any evidence of true “atheists,” but there was certainly room enough in rabbinic culture for questioning much else about the divine.

There are plans to publish the revised papers and I anticipate an excellent volume.

An article that I prepared in connection with the research group “Jewish Ritual Dynamics” run out of Erfurt just appeared in in Historia Religionum 10 (2018): 41-52.  I am not allowed to post the offprint, but the abstract is below:

This article re-examines both the ancient rabbinic constructions of the ḥasidim ha-rishonim, sometimes translated “the pious ones of old,” and their modern interpretations.  Modern scholars have often portrayed the ḥasidim ha-rishonim as uniformly positive exemplars of piety whereas the rabbinic evidence upon which these arguments are based is at best ambivalent.  This paper argues that both the rabbis and modern scholars used the concept of the ḥasidim ha-rishonim to do cultural work that illustrated the shared ritual dynamics in which each group functioned. The rabbis used the ḥasidim ha-rishonim mostly to counter visible expressions of supererogatory piety against the backdrops of Christian holy men and Jewish “people of the land,” or amē ha-aretz. Modern scholars, particularly those working after the Holocaust, interpreted the ḥasidim ha-rishonim at least partially through the nostalgic lens of contemporary Hasidim.

Keywords : rabbis, piety, late antiquity, Hasidism, historiography.

At the Association for Jewish Studies Annual Meeting, we presented an edited volume to my mentor, Professor Shaye Cohen (Harvard University): Strength to Strength: Essays in Honor of Shaye J. D. Cohen (Brown Judaic Studies).  It was a warm and wonderful event.  Isaiah Gafni and I each spoke briefly and then Shaye offered his own funny and touching reflections.  Below are the remarks that I gave.  As the editor I am of course biased, but it really is a great volume that can be ordered here.

It was really a great privilege for me to work on this volume.  Although weighing in at over 700 pages – which probably could have doubled if we openly solicited articles, and thus ruined the surprise – this was the easiest volume that I ever edited.  I don’t fully know why the all the contributors were so cooperative and timely – not a small thing – although I suspect it is due to the high regard in which they all hold Shaye.  So let me begin with my thanks to all of the contributors, both those who are here and the many who sent their regrets, and to Shaye, whose reputation made my work so easy.

I am sure that many of you have noticed that I have chosen not to use the term Festschrift for this volume.  That was a deliberate choice, made for two reasons.  The first is that outside of a tiny, really tiny, sliver of people, nobody actually knows what a Festschrift is.  Why take a fantastic volume and prominently label it with a weird, off-putting German word?  Second, the “Festschrift” originated as a way not just to honor an academic colleague, but to do so on the occasion of some celebratory event.  This is usually a retirement or aged birthday, capping the end of a glorious career.  In Shaye’s case, I felt, neither fits. While we all join in celebrating Shaye’s accomplishments to date, we also look forward to continuing to enjoy them for many years to come.

This also relates to another word missing from the volume’s title, “From.”  Obviously, the well-known phrase is “From strength to strength,” and I do realize that leaving off that “From” makes the title seem a bit naked.  But I also felt that there was something too linear to the phrase, as if one jumps from one strength to the next, leaving the first in the past.  To my mind, that is very much not Shaye.  One of Shaye’s great strengths is his ability to weave in and out not just of personal strengths but also dialogue.  Shaye’s writings – rigorous, clear, and provocative – have always seemed to me to be intended not to set the record straight, although perhaps some have, as they do make us reconsider what we thought we knew, and to draw us into a deeper dialogue.  I remember a colleague once commenting to me that he was astounded, and jealous, by the number of articles that Shaye had written that remain foundational, igniting a series of scholarly conversations in multiple areas.  The title cannot capture the degree to which Shaye’s work inspires interactivity, dialogue, and even the formation of intellectual communities – something that in his administrative roles he has always been concerned to foster – but it is at least an attempt to gesture toward it.

Let me now say a few words directly to Shaye.  You have been, and continue to be, an exemplar – mostly positive – to more than one generation of scholars and students.  You have taught us to treat the work that we do, as well as each other, with respect and professionalism.  You have taught us that there is little excuse for scholarly sloppiness; that our thinking needs to sharp and critical; and that even a brilliant idea withers if it is not expressed clearly.  You have taught us to take our responsibilities as mentors seriously; to respond to their budding ideas with engagement in a timely manner.  You have taught us that we all have responsibilities, to our colleagues, our teachers, and the profession.  You have taught us to stay playful even when serious, and to learn from each other even when we disagree.  And, most visibly, you have taught us something about the power of a whimsical tie to spice up our often drab sartorial choices.  We – or now it is better for me to speak only for myself – I, do not always take these lessons to heart – particularly but not only the one about the ties – but do know that this is do more to my own failings than your example.  You have inspired and challenged us, and we look forward to many, many more years of you continuing to do so.

So with that, it is my great honor, on behalf of your many admiring colleagues, to present you with two copies of your non-Festschrift.