Block Logic
The use of what may be termed block logic is another important contour of Hebrew thought. Greek logic, which has to a large extent influenced the Western world, was different. The Greeks often used a tightly contained step logic whereby one would argue from premises to a conclusion, each step linked tightly to the next in coherent, rational, logical fashion. The conclusion, however, was usually limited to one point of view—the human being’s perception of reality.
By contrast, the Hebrews often made use of block logic. That is, concepts were expressed in self-contained units or blocks of thought. These blocks did not necessarily fit together in any obviously rational or harmonious pattern, particularly when one block represented the human perspective on truth and the other represented the divine. This way of thinking created a propensity for paradox, antinomy, or apparent contradiction, as one block stood in tension—and often illogical relation—to the other. Hence, polarity of thought or dialectic often characterized block logic.
It is particularly difficult for Westerners—those whose thought-patterns have been influenced more by the Greeks and Romans than by the Hebrews—to piece together the block logic of Scripture. When we open the Bible, therefore, since we are not Orientals, we are invited, as Robert Martin-Achard states, to “undergo a kind of intellectual conversion” to the Hebraic world of the East. 237
Let us turn, then, to some of the many examples of block logic found throughout Scripture. The book of Exodus says that Pharaoh hardened his heart, but it also says that God hardened it (Exod. 8:15; cf. 7:3). The prophets teach that God is both wrathful and merciful (Isa. 45:7; Hab. 3:2). The New Testament refers to Jesus as the “Lamb of God” and the “Lion of the tribe of Judah” (John 1:29, 36; Rev. 5:5). Hell is described as both “blackest darkness” and the “fiery lake” (Jude 13; Rev. 19:20). In terms of salvation, Jesus said, “whoever comes to me I will never drive away,” yet no one can come “unless the Father draws him” (John 6:37, 44). To find life you must lose it (Matt. 10:39). When you are weak, then you are strong (2 Cor. 12:10). The way up (exaltation) is the way down (humility) (Luke 14:11). “Jacob have I loved and Esau have I hated” (Rom. 9:13; cf. Mal. 1:3). More illustrations could easily be added.
Consideration of certain forms of block logic may give one the impression that divine sovereignty and human responsibility were incompatible. The Hebrews, however, sense no violation of their freedom as they accomplish God’s purposes. Upon a more careful reading of the biblical text one can often observe that the Bible views one block from the perspective of divine transcendence—God says, “I will harden Pharaoh’s heart”—and the other from a human point of view—“Pharaoh hardened his heart” (Exod. 4:21; 7:3, 13; 8:15). The same is often true of scriptures which deal with themes of predestination/election and free will/human freedom. Samuel Sandmel’s discussion is particularly helpful in comparing Greek and Jewish perspectives on this point. He states:
The view that the destiny of each man is predetermined by God is only superficially similar to the Greek view of fate. Fate was a blind force which dictated what was to happen to men and gods alike, and what was fated could not be altered. It is different too from the view known as predestination, which, in a sense, is kindred to fate except that it is God who fixes the unalterable fate. The Jewish view—we might call it providence—never concluded that a totally unalterable future lay ahead, for such a view contradicted God’s omnipotence and mercy. Nor did the view that God fixed a man’s destiny eliminate either man’s free will or his moral responsibility; if, philosophically, a doctrine of providence and a doctrine of free will and moral responsibility seem contradictory (as, when carried to extremes, they are), Jewish thought never so extended either doctrine so as to preclude the other. The dictum of Rabbi Akiba is in effect an affirmation of the two contradictory sentiments: “All is subject to providence [i.e., everything is foreseen], yet man possesses free will” [Mishnah, Abot 3:16]. Unless God’s proposed destiny for a man is subject to alteration, prayer to God to institute such alternation [sic] is nonsensical.238
In sum, the Hebrew mind could handle this dynamic tension of the language of paradox, confident that “all is in the hands of Heaven except the fear of Heaven” (Babylonian Talmud, Berakhot 33b). Divine sovereignty and human responsibility were not incompatible.
The Hebrew knew he did not know all the answers. His position was “under the sun” (Eccl. 8:17), so his words were few (5:2). He refused to oversystematize or force harmonization on the enigmas of God’s truth or the puzzles of the universe. He realized that no one could straighten what God has made crooked (7:13). All things, therefore, did not need to be fully rational. The Hebrew mind was willing to accept the truths taught on both sides of the paradox; it recognized that mystery and apparent contradictions are often signs of the divine. Stated succinctly, the Hebrews knew the wisdom of learning to trust in matters that they could not fully understand.
While philosophical and structural divisions of learning obviously have an important role to play in contemporary education, our Western culture—especially on most levels of secular and Christian instruction—has provided little understanding concerning the nature of Hebrew thought. Thus we have the natural tendency to impose more rational and systematic categories of thought on the Bible. The Bible, however, tends to reject most carefully worked-out charts and thoroughgoing attempts at schematization. Neither God nor his Word may be easily contained in a box for logical or scientific analysis. Both God and his Word have a sovereign unpredictability that defies rational, human explanation. The Christian dogmatic tradition has much to learn from the Jewish community at this point, particularly in its attempt to understand Jesus and Paul. In this connection, Jewish biblical scholar Pinchas Lapide writes this provocative word for Christians to ponder:
Jesus was certainly no theologian in any Western sense of the word, because he was a Jew. Like the prophets before him he gave concrete biblical answers to the pressing questions of daily life—poverty, payment of taxes, feuding between relatives or colleagues, and daily subsistence. He would certainly have detested as arrogant blasphemy any attempt to unravel and neatly systematize the mysteries of God. The same holds true for Paul ... whose letters addressed very concrete, contemporary, and local problems and whose style reveals unmistakably rabbinic thought forms and lets Pharisaic dialogue patterns shimmer through. All of his responses, even the most well-reasoned, seem curiously fragmentary, and remain, in truly Jewish manner, open-ended both vertically as well as horizontally.239
In a similar context, Lapide reinforces the above point by commenting on gentile Christians who try to squeeze Jesus and his paradoxes into a “logical straitjacket.” Says Lapide, “He [Jesus] is still protesting, ‘I am no cleverly-thought-out book; I am a human being, with all the inherent contradictions.’” 240 Lapide’s point is well taken. It drives the Christian back to the Gospels to consider anew such sayings as Matthew 10:34, in which the “Prince of Peace” (Matt. 5:9; cf. Isa. 9:6-7) says, “Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.”
The Semites of Bible times did not simply think truth—they experienced truth. As we have previously emphasized, truth is as much encounter as it is propositions. This experiential perspective on reality explains, in part, why Judaism never really developed vast systems of thought. It also allows us to understand how Judaism could live with the tensions and paradoxes surrounding block logic. To the Jew, the deed was always more important than the creed. He was not stymied by language that appeared contradictory from a human point of view. Neither did he feel compelled to reconcile what seemed irreconcilable. He believed that God ultimately was greater than any human attempt at systematizing truth. “Walking in the truth” (2 John 4) and “living the truth” (1 John 1:6) were a higher priority than rationally analyzing the truth. In the words of the renowned biblical scholar Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, “We [Jews] are practical. We are more interested in discovering what God wants man to do than we are in describing God’s essence.... As a teacher, I never try to solve questions because most questions are unsolvable.” He concludes, “Judaism is never afraid of contradictions ... it acknowledges that full reconciliation of the two is possible only in God. He is the coincidence of opposites.”241
It is our conclusion that the Church’s propensity for categorizing or methodologically organizing great theological systems of thought is at best risky business. Not that the Bible is a dumping ground or random repository for eclectic jottings about God and life—far from it! It is God’s inspired Word. If that divinely breathed message has cohesiveness and an overarching structure—and it does—this coherence and structure are not to be imposed upon the Bible. Rather, one must discover inductively this interrelatedness within Scripture, while at the same time giving free play to the loose ends and paradoxical language found therein.
237 Robert Martin-Achard, An Approach to the Old Testament, trans. J. C. G. Greig (Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1965), p. 46.
238 Samuel Sandmel, Judaism and Christian Beginnings (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978), p. 226. See also Josephus, Antiquities 18.1.3 (12-15).
239 Pinchas Lapide and Peter Stuhlmacher, Paul: Rabbi and Apostle, trans. Lawrence W. Denef (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1984), pp. 34-35.
240 Pinchas Lapide and Ulrich Luz, Jesus in Two Perspectives (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1985), pp. 18-19.
241 Quoted in Paul R. Carlson, 0 Christian! 0 Jew! (Elgin, IL: David C. Cook, 1974), pp. 142-43.
From Our Father Abraham: Jewish Roots of the Christian Faith by Marvin R. Wilson, Eerdmans Publishing Co (Kindle Edition), pp. 149-153.
