Abraham Decided Not To Murder His Son
As he watched his neighbor’s child, bound and born by four priests to the altar at the top of the ziggurat[2], Terah’s mind recalled decades past. Long ago, his father, Nahor, had said, “I’ve seen enough collaboration between the king and the priests to know we’ll never get relief and don’t think I can accommodate another sacrifice to Nanna; the next child they’re partnership sacrifices could be our own. And necessity& justice causes me to suspect Nanna is not the-God.”
Nahor
died with an expressed vision but without the courage to act. But young Terah
felt courage.
As
Terah turned from the ceremony, he decided to call another meeting to urge
citizens to overthrow King Sargon and expel the priests from the city. He was
never able to excite indolent neighbors to change. He thought of his children,
and the whisper, “The horror”[3], reached Abram’s ears.
Abram,
still sweaty and frightened to think he could have been sacrificed to Nanna,
asked, “Did you say, ‘Horror’ Dad? I think you’re right, but there’s another
way to change. Let’s leave Ur and start a new city that excludes human
sacrifice: we don’t need these horrid priests and neighbors who
follow them.”
Terah
objected: “Leave our city and neighbors who count on us for protection
from other cities? Leave our inheritance? Expose ourselves to Bedouin tribes?
Adopt unknown traditions? I’m old, weak and not up to the task.”
Abram
quietly, confidently said, “You have vision and I have strength and foreign
contacts. We can travel safely; we travel continually trading merchandise.
Also, we have many friends in foreign lands. We can build a new house and
village on unoccupied land; we own enough camels to carry essentials. I’ll lead
the work and inspire many friends and servants.”
Terah
asked, “What about Nanna?”
Abram
answered, “I’m willing to follow what you imagined: sacrificing animals and
trusting the-God, unknown as that entity may be. We’ll kill people only to
defend ourselves or prevent murder. Dad, no god—mere human goodwill& justice-- might be
better than a God that demands human blood. I’ve never seen evidence that
priests beyond ours demand human sacrifices. I think our priests are
murderers.”
Inspired,
yet imagining he might join Nahor in death and miss his chance to create better
life, Terah left Ur[4], taking
his tribe. He was fearful and doubtful, but young Abram lent him courage and
compassion. They would go to fertile Canaan to start a city without
the practice of human sacrifice. But, in Haran, Terah died, leaving Abram with
the responsibility& accountability for the entire tribe.
Now shouldering the risks alone, Abram thought Terah’s death could be a sign he should return to Ur. But he decided to press on for Canaan. He reflected on the comfort he enjoyed by discussing major decisions with his son, Isaac. Abram suffered many hardships, including diversion into Egypt during a long draught; finally in Canaan, he suffered defeats in battle. Low in spirit, Abram doubted himself so much he became dispassionate: he vented fear& trembling on his family. When events threatened him he rejected his:
1)
Wife Sarai at the city gate in Egypt[5]
2)
Hagar and her son Ishmael, progenitor of the Arab nation[6], and
3) Sara’s son Isaac, progenitor of the Jewish nation[7].
Abram stopped
egocentricity short of murdering his son, as we shall see below. He adopted
fearless fidelity toward other humans including family members[8] and saved himself.
Abram
envisioned losing everything to the Canaanites. Faith, hope, and love were
failing him; he felt doomed and desperate. He decided to revert to
priestly tradition and sacrifice a young boy; to pursue a God’s
favor. Supernatural imagination dominated actual reality; in self-doubt,
Abram recalled faith in Nanna’s priests and doubted his faith in necessity&
justice. Yet, empathy and justice kept him from choosing a servant’s child: he
would sacrifice his son, Isaac.
Fearing
Sara’s judgment and resistance[9], Abram told her he was
going to Mt. Moriah to sacrifice an animal. Also, it was time for Isaac to
learn how to conduct a ceremony. She sensed foreboding, but imagined no
objections, beyond sharing, “I don’t feel secure.”
“Early
the next morning [Abram] got up and saddled his donkey. He took with
him two servants and his son Isaac.” He hugged Sara, and told Eliezer to take
care of her.
Sara kissed Isaac, telling him to be
careful. Envisioning the 7-day journey, she wondered if she would
see him again, as mothers do when their children travel. She didn’t
imagine Abram’s murder-plan or suspect him. Her last message was, "Isaac, you are
good. In any life-threatening circumstance, trust your own wisdom and fidelity
to your heritage. Follow your own thoughts."[10]
“When
Abram and the servants had enough wood for the burnt offering, they set out for
[Mt. Moriah].” Sara watched until they were out of sight. For three
days, the four travelers spoke only necessities.
Isaac
quietly reflected on how his family learned from mistakes. He
focused on hints of Abram’s past cruelties to Sara, his half brother, and
Hagar. He’d never heard the complete stories but knew the tension.
With pride that his great-grandfather, grandfather, and father had courageously
rejected human sacrifice, he felt a broad grin stretch his face: They would
sacrifice an animal.
Meanwhile,
Abram thought sadly about his love and respect for Isaac versus doubtable
obligation.[11] He
thought his son seemed more confident than him. The boy challenged
Abram any time Abram didn’t show appreciation in his relationships with other
people. Isaac had the courage to speak out, because he loved Abram and wanted
to maintain hope in justice.
“On
the third day Abram looked up and saw the place in the distance. He
said to his servants, ‘Stay here with the donkey while I and the boy go over
there. We will worship and then we will come back to you.’” He
didn’t tell the faithful servants the boy would die, but they wondered how
Abram would provide the sacrifice.
“Abram
took the wood for the burnt offering and placed it on his son . . . and he
himself carried the fire and the knife. As the two of them went on
together, the boy spoke up and said to his father Abram, ‘Father?’
Abram
replied, ‘Yes, my son?’
The
boy said, ‘The fire and wood are here but where is the lamb for the burnt
offering?’
Abram
answered, ‘God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my
son.’ And the two of them went on together.” Abram kindly
but necessarily spared the boy from hearing
Abram's plan. Nevertheless, Isaac thought he had always seen people provide birds or animals for sacrifice.
“When
they reached [Mt. Moriah], Abram built an altar there and arranged the wood on
it.” Then Abram faced the horror. He grabbed the boy saying Isaac was
the sacrifice and demanding him to understand. The boy screamed in
terror! He pleaded, saying that Abram was in a crisis that would
pass. He said he believed no God wants human
sacrifice. To murder him would be a dreadful mistake. There was no
evidence the sun and moon lighted believers more than nonbelievers. No family
in Ur had ever gained by sacrificing children. Arrogance against the obvious invites death.
Tensed
with conviction of the evil, Abram nevertheless subdued Isaac, and “bound his
son . . . and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood. Then he
reached out his hand and took the knife to slay his son.” Isaac
screamed, “Dad this will not be your sacrifice: it will be my
murder!”[12]
Reality
froze Abram. With the knife raised over Isaac, Abram, in horror, changed his
mind. He would spare Isaac and face whatever else threatened him!
Isaac, tensed with shock and remorse, was nevertheless relieved.
In the awakening, Abram had no heart for sacrifice--not even animal sacrifice. He burned the sticks. He and the boy sat in relief and humility.
After several minutes, the boy broke the silence, saying: Dad, this
is a great day, a day Granddad Terah and Great Granddad Nahor celebrate even
though they are dead. This is the day our family finally ended human or animal
sacrifice within our long-evolving culture.
Abram
wept in horror over what he had done. The boy tried to console Abram and after
a few hours managed to get Abram to stop crying. As they descended
the mountain, both of them brooded over their future relationship: always
recalling – never forgetting.
Forgiveness
does not erase memory, and for the first time, Abram realized that from then on
he would make certain he did not take actions that risked regret, let alone death. Isaac enjoyed
that commitment, yet regretted the horrible event from which Abram learned
it. Before reaching the servants, they agreed not to tell anyone
what had happened. The son never returned, but many times, Abram revisited Mt.
Moriah, always with a heavy heart. Alone, Abram would shake his head
and quietly recall, “The horror!”
Postscript
The
command, “Kill your son,” which is Biblical (Gen 22:2) but not covered in this
story--because I think it came from priests and would not represent it any
other way, is a command I would not abide. If I thought the command was coming
from a God, I would reject the God. I accept whatever judgment/consequences may
come to me because of my position. I do not want anyone to think as I do: let
each person think for themselves. Also, I do not want to disparage priests, but
do want them to reform to the-ineluctable-evidence, and reject the doctrine of
the supernatural, long-standing as it may be.
Believers would object that I
have trivialized the message of a God's sacrifice of his son to save humankind
from sin, or perhaps only those who accept the story. I have no problem with
private belief in the supernatural. However, civic-integrity cannot be based on
the supernatural. Belief in the supernatural is a private practice for
consenting adults (Peter Berger, reference lost for now). Attempts to impose
the supernatural on a people is civically immoral. Civic morality must come
from physics; for example, friends don't lie to each other so that they can
communicate.[13]
This
is an epic story of how a family, in four generations, ended their culture of
human sacrifice in the vain attempt to bargain with their God. It is reasonable
evidence for the idea that the generation to generation sharing of personal
knowledge and struggles with tradition enable a family to overcome injustice in
their culture. Each generation valued the wisdom and experiences of their
ancestors. In the end, if the son had not appreciated, trusted, and loved his
father, he could not have brought to bear the wisdom of his grandfather and
great-grandfather to aid his father and stop the patricide. (Perceived in
conversation with my daughter, Rebekah Leigh Beaver, on October 6, 2014.) The
story illustrates the importance of the hierarchy of monogamy, loyalty for life, in cultural
evolution.
Update on January 21, 2024: I learned of Why Abraham Murdered Isaac, 2021, by
Copyright Phillip R. Beaver, July 16, 2005, April 6, 2006, September 27, 2006, April 24, 2009, February 5, 2010, September 5, 2010, March 8, 2014, September 28, 2014 October 8, 2014, March 4, 2015, April 30, 2016, December 14, 2021, September 10, 2023, January 21, 2024.
[1]
Merriam-webster.com.
[2]
Traylor,
Ellen Gunderson, Song of Abraham, Tyndale House Publishers,
Wheaton, IL, 1973.
[3] Conrad, Joseph, Heart of
Darkness, Penguin Books, 1973.
[4] Genesis 11:31
[5] Genesis 12:13
[6] Genesis 21:14
[7] Genesis 22:10
[8] Discipleship as reason to hate
other humans helped me understand the New Testament does not represent God;
ancient “reporters” exercised dangerous license when they wrote Mark 10:29,
Matthew 10:34-36, 19:29, and Luke 12:51-53, 14:26.
[9]
Delaney,
Carol. “Abraham, Isaac, and Some Hidden Assumptions of Our Culture,” pp. 17-18.
[10] Kahlil Gibran, "On Children",
1923, online at poets.org/poem/children-1
[11]
Leonard Cohen, song, “Story of Isaac” recorded 1968; lyrics at google.com/search?q=leonard+cohen+isaac+lyrics&rlz.
[12] Dershowitz, Alan M., The
Genesis of Justice: Ten Stories of Biblical Injustice that Led to the Ten
Commandments and Modern Law, Warner Books, New York, 2000.
[13]
Albert Einstein, “The Laws of Science and the Laws of Ethics” 1941, online at samharris.org/blog/my-friend-einstein
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