Twentieth century man is a lonely creature. This startling realization seems, on the surface, to be contradicted by a multitude of facts. Let us look at some of these facts. For one thing, statistics seem to refute the notion of loneliness. Numerically, the human family is larger than ever before in history. There are in the world today some two and one-half billion people. How can man be lonely among so many of his kind? How? Because in the language of Bacon, “a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures.”For another, the vast increase in urban life would seem to eliminate a sense of loneliness. Does it? Do our huge cities with their teeming millions make neighbors of us? Are the jostling multitudes that are belched forth from the industrial neighborhoods companions on their way home? Does a packed subway train consist of fellow travelers or merely of fare–payers? Oh, how desperately alone man can feel even in a populous city!Someone must be thinking now how strange it is to regard our generation as lonely. Has not the world of men been contracted? Have we not gotten closer to each other? Is not one continent as near the other as once upon a time one avenue was to the next? Do we not sit side by side in the family of nations? Lonely in such a world? How preposterous!Think, my friends, on the other hand, of the iron curtains that separate us; of the suspicion and fear that are all about us; of the ominous detonations of atomic weapons that deafen our ears and scare our hearts. “Oh, how lonely we are in the world,” said Thackeray, “you and I are but a pair of infinite isolations with some fellow islands a little more or less near to us.”Has Scripture nothing to say on this matter? It most certainly has. Almost at the very beginning of the Bible – in the second chapter of Genesis – when God contemplates His supreme handiwork, Man, Scripture records the divine judgment: “It is not good that man should be alone.” Long before the psychiatrist foresaw…

Why did God create the world? I do not ask this question in an ultimate metaphysical sense. For despite the various agadic, philosophic, and Kabbalistic answers proposed in our tradition – for the sake of man, or Israel, or Torah, or "to create a dwelling place for Him in the lower worlds" the most convincing of all remains that of Maimonides in his Guide, namely, that the purpose of the creation and existence of the Universe is to fulfill the Will of the Creator. This, of course, is another way of saying that we have no access to an intelligible answer, that it is both vain and arrogant to attempt to capture the great Creator in the limited vessels of a teleology conceived by the creatures. My question, rather, relates to the character of God: which of His middot did He exercise in order to bring the cosmos into existence? The problem is not an innocuous and fruit- less theological speculation for, as Maimonides taught (Hil Deot 1:6, based on the Mekhilta), the purpose of describing God by attributes is to inform man how he must live. Imititio dei (or, in the language of the Torah, ve'halakhta bi'derakhav) cannot be achieved unless we know something about Him. When we ask, therefore, what is the source of the divine creation, we are in effect inquiring as to the sourceand hence meaning of human creativity.In the Yiddish manner, let us answer this question with yet another question. Throughout the account of the creation, after each major step such as the creation of light and waters and grass, the Torah tells us that va־yar Elohim hi toy, "and God saw that it was good." Now, taken literally, these passages strike one as grossly anthropomorphic: as if the Creator of the universe is a kind of cosmic artist who, after every significant addition to his composition, steps back to admire his painting or sculpture and cannot refrain from an expression of self-gratulation. But from the days of Onkelos and on, the Jewish tradition has assiduously attempted to reinterpret e…

Why did God create the world? I do not ask this question in an ultimate metaphysical sense. For despite the various aggadic, philosophic, and Kabbalistic answers proposed in our tradition – for the sake of man, or Israel, or Torah, or “to create a dwelling place for Him in the lower worlds” – the most convincing of all remains that of Maimonides in his Guide – namely, that the purpose of the creation and existence of the Universe is to fulfill the Will of the Creator. This, of course, is another way of saying that we have no access to an intelligible answer, that it is both vain and arrogant to attempt to capture the great Creator in the limited vessels of a teleology conceived by the creatures. My question, rather, relates to the character of God: which of His middot did He exercise in order to bring the cosmos into existence? The problem is not an innocuous and fruitless theological speculation for, as Maimonides taught (Hit. Deot 1:6, based on the Mekhilta), the purpose of describing God by attributes is to inform man how he must live. Imitatio dei (or, in the language of the Torah, ve’halakhta biderakhav) cannot be achieved unless we know something about Him. When we ask, therefore, what is the source of the divine creation, we are in effect inquiring as to the source and hence meaning of human creativity. In the Yiddish manner, let us answer this question with yet another question. Throughout the account of the creation, after each major step, such as the creation of light and water and grass, the Torah tells us that va-yar Elo-him ki tov, “and God saw that it was good.” Now, taken literally, these passages strike one as grossly anthropomorphic: as if the Creator of the universe is a kind of cosmic artist who, after every significant addition to his composition, steps back to admire his painting or sculpture and cannot refrain from an expression of self-gratulation. But from the days of Onkeles and on, the Jewish tradition has assiduously attempted to reinter…

It goes without saying that the current drive to restore the ecological balance to our environment is a good thing that has come none too soon. Surely there are few more worthy and urgent causes of the many that clamor for our limited attention in these tumultuous times. Human nature being what it is, unless some nasty, well-defined, and easily recognizable opposition materializes to hold attention and focus its activity, this energetic campaign may yet go the way of all fads. The ecology movement deserves all the support it can get. Hence this effort to show that the values and norms of a great religious tradition support and encourage a movement which affects the very survival of life on this planet. Unfortunately, we shall be somewhat deflected by a new pollution problem – a fall-out of silliness in the theological environment. The New York Times (May 1, 1970) reports an altogether as-pected theological conference on the subject. Most of the (Protestant) divines at the Claremont symposium were “with it,” from the crisp title (“Theology of Survival” – in an age when Portnoy's Complaint is elevated into a “Theology,” why not?) to the conventional self-flagellation. After all, having written the obituary for the Deity and debunked His best-seller, what is so terrible about theologians asserting that religion is responsible for our dirty planet, and that the solution requires another one of those “major modifications” of current religious values? Yet, some of the confessions were so extravagant that they deserve at least passing comment, particularly when they affect aspects of the Biblical tradition presumably shared by both Judaism and Christianity. The case for the ecological movement is obvious and beyond dispute. One point, of the many cogent ones made in the growing literature on the subject, is worth repeating here. Rene Dubos has reminded us that we still know precious little about pollution. Seventy percent of all the precipitate contaminants in urban air a…

The case for the ecological movement is be­yond dispute. One point, of the many co­gent ones made in the growing literature on the subject, is worth repeating here. Rene Dubos has reminded us that we still know precious little about pollution. Seventy per­cent of all the precipitate contaminants in urban air are still unidentified and twenty to thirty years hence those who are today below the age of three will undoubtedly show vary­ing signs of chronic and permanent malfunc­tion. Man is clever enough to conquer nature — and stupid enough to wreck it and thereby destroy himself.We have a concomitant danger in the theo­logical environment — a fall-out of silliness, if the reports of a theological conference on the subject are to be trusted. Most of the(Protestant) divines at the Claremont sym­posium were “with it,” from the crisp title (“Theology of Survival” — in an age when Portnoy’s Complaint is elevated into a “Theology,” why not?) to the conventional self-flagellation. After all, having written the obituary for the Diety and debunked His best-seller, what is so terrible about theo­logians asserting that religion is responsible for our dirty planet, and that the solution requires another one of those “major modi­fications” of current religious values?The starting point for a serious consideration of the religious view of man’s relations with his natural environment is the divine blessing to man in Genesis 1:28 — “be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the fowl of the air and over every creeping thing that creepeth on the earth.” For years the Bible had been iden­tified as the major impediment to the progress of science. Now that science and technology are ecological villians, the blame for them is placed — on the Bible. “And subdue it” has now been proclaimed by theologians at the Claremont symposium as the source of man’s insensitivity and bru­tality. “Dominion. . .over the fowl of the …

The Talmudic sage Rava compressed his understanding of the human condition into four Hebrew words: o havruta o mituta – “either companionship or death.” Without the possibility of human relatedness, man is empty. Without an outside world of human beings, there can be no inside world of meaningfulness. Personality, liberty, love, responsibility – all that makes life worth living – depend upon a community in which man can locate and realize himself. But man is more than the sum total of his connections with others. There must be a self in order for there to be communication; there must be an inner existence to relate to the outer world. If man is not an island, neither is he a switchboard, a maze of wires that transmits the messages of others but has nothing of its own to say. God created man out of the dust of the earth and blew into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became “a living soul” (Genesis 2:7). Onkelos, the Aramaic translator of the second century C.E., renders that phrase “a speaking soul.” Speech is the vehicle of relationship. Man is a composite of both soul and speech, of self and a society to whom that self relates. Without “soul” or self, he is no more than an elaborate cybernetic mechanism, lacking content or meaning. Without “speech” or social relations, he is only a species of protoplasm, so withdrawn he might as well be dead.For man to be man he must main- tain the delicate tension between self and society, between personal priva- cy and public relationships. Mediat- ing between them is the family. Juda- ism is concerned with all three as- pects of man's existence. It addresses itself to the question of his inner psychic and spiritual life, his dignity and destiny. But its major concern is with the quality of man's relation- ships to the world around him, and these are usually developed within the family.This emphasis on family and com- munity may best be understood in terms of the way Judaism treats the very beginnings of man. The Bible …

The Talmudic sage Rava compressed his understanding of the human condition into four Hebrew words: O havruta o mituta. "Either companionship or death." Without the possibility of human relatedness, man is empty. Without an outside world of human beings, there can be no inside world of meaningfulness. Personality, liberty, love, responsibility — all that makes life worth living — depend upon a community in which man can locate and realize himself. But man is more than the sum total of his connections with others. There must be a self in order for there to be communication; there must be an inner existence to relate to the outer world. If man is not an island, neither is he a switchboard, a maze of wires that transmits the messages of others but has nothing of its own to say. God created men out of the dust of the earth and blew into his nostrils the breath of life, man became "a living soul" (Genesis 2:7). Onkelos, the Aramaic translator of the second century C.E., renders that phrase "a speaking soul." Speech is the vehicle of relationship. Man is a composite of both soul and speech, of self and a society to whom that self relates. Without '"soul" or self, he is no more than an elaborate cybernetic mechanism, lacking content or meaning. Without "speech" or social relations, he is only a species of protoplasm, so withdrawn he might as well be dead.For man to be man he must maintain the delicate tension between self and society, between personal privacy and public relationships. Mediat-ing between them is the family. Juda-ism is concerned with all three as-pects of man's existence. It addresses itself to the question of his inner psychic and spiritual life, his dignity and destiny. But its major concern is with the quality of man's relation-ships to the world around him, and these are usually developed within the family.This emphasis on family and com-munity may best be understood in terms of the way Judaism treats the very beginnings of man. The Bible offers two acc…

The unprecedented growth of science and technology which has become one of the chief characteristics of Western civilization, is today the subject of profound and trenchant criticism. The very success of technology threatens to become its undoing. Students of ecology now alarm us to the dangers that an unrestrained technology poses for the delicate balance of nature on which the survival of the biosphere depends. Ever since the publication of Rachel Carson’s "The Silent Spring," the public has become more and more concerned about the possible consequences of man’s unthinking interference in and disruption of the natural processes which make life possible on earth. Polluted air, dirty water, littered landscape, an environment contaminated with impurities from radioactive strontium to waste detergents—all of these place in jeopardy not only the quality of life, but the very survival of many or all species, including the human. Sheer necessity has caused ecology to emerge from its ivory tower of pure science to pronounce a great moral imperative incumbent upon all mankind—to curb its arrogant and mindless devastation of nature.The case for the ecological movement is obvious and beyond dispute. One point, of the many cogent ones made in the growing literature on the subject, is worth repeating here. Rene Dubos has reminded us that we still know precious little about pollution. Seventy percent of all the precipitate contaminants in urban air are still unidentified and, twenty to thirty years hence, those who are today below the age of three will undoubtedly show varying signs of chronic and permanent malfunction. Man is clever enough to conquer nature—and stupid enough to wreck it and thereby destroy himself.The Theologians’ MasochismUnfortunately, the ecology issue has itself inspired a new pollution problem—a fall-out of silliness in the theological environment. It has now become almost a dogma of the avant-garde cognoscenti, who only a short while ago were telling us…

The meaning of טוב (tov, good) in the early chapters of Genesis – where at the end of every segment of the Creation we read, “And God saw כי טוב (ki tov), that it was good” – is tantalizingly obscure. What does goodness, a term usually associated with moral acts or psychological, even hedonic, satisfaction, have to do with the natural order? If, as some maintain (Maimonides, Guide for the Perplexed 2:30, 3:13), tov here denotes the production of an item whose existence conforms to its purpose, or the successful execution of the divine will, then why, on the final day of the Six Days of Creation – with the emergence of man (Gen. 1:31) – does God declare that the creation is טוב מאוד (tov me'od), very good? Is it at all relevant to speak of greater and lesser success in the implementation of the divine decision to create?The question becomes more acute when we turn to the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden (Paradise). Before the creation of Eve, we read that Adam's condition was not good: lo tov heyot ha-adam levado, "it is not good that man should be alone" (2:18). If tov is a moral or psychological quality, the verse is understandable; but then the ki tov repeated in the creation narrative in chapter 1 presents apparently insurmountable difficulties. And if the tov of the first chapter refers to the full execution of the divine will, then the phrase lo tov heyot ha-adam levado is problematical, although not insuperably so.The question becomes more acute, however, when we turn to the "Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil," etz ha-daat tov ve'ra. Man is warned not to eat of this tree, for "on the day that you eat thereof you will surely die" (2:17). After the creation of Eve, the serpent ensnares her and persuades her to violate the divine command. But the serpent persists, and informs Eve that "for God knows that on the day you eat thereof your eyes will be opened and you will be like the powerful ones who knowWhile one can dismiss the question by asserting t…