approach was distinctive. As a true talmid chacham, he demanded that the halakic changes he supported be undertaken in a way consistent with the spirit of the halakic process as he understood it. In consequence, he was considered too conservative and traditional for many of his Conservative rabbinical (and other) contemporaries, while for the Orthodox (and certain members of the Jewish Theological Seminary hierarchy) he was too radical.
Agus was also distinctively modern in his openness to interreligious dialogue. Almost all major Jewish thinkers of the twentieth century—for example, Baeck, Rosenzweig, Buber, and Heschel—have significantly involved themselves in reevaluating the relationship of Judaism and Christianity. Jacob Agus did likewise. Given his universal ethical norms and broad humanistic concerns, this is in no way surprising. Agus assumed that all people shared certain basic values, which were then individually expressed in the world’s differing religious traditions. It was this dialectic between the universal and the particular that lay at the base of his deep, personal engagement in this area and that energized his theological conversation with such dialogue partners as Arnold Toynbee, Cardinal Bea, and Baltimore’s Catholic hierarchy. Then too, like many Jewish thinkers before him—Philo, Maimonides, Mendelssohn, Cohen, and Rosenzweig—his participation in ecumenical dialogue was not free of apologetic concerns; that is, he sought to defend Judaism against its detractors and to share its spiritual and intellectual resources with other’s on the assumption that non-Jews could benefit from its distinctive wisdom.
Taken altogether, Agus pursued his own unique, quite American modernizing vision, which ardently sought to remain in touch with the wellsprings of the rabbinical tradition while being open to the intellectual and moral currents of his own time.
CONCLUSION
The selections from R. Agus’ writings in this volume and the selectors’ original essays in the new companion volume titled American Rabbi: The Life and Thought of Jacob B. Agus (New York, 1996) consider the main aspects of Agus’ life and work in more detail. They flesh out the broad and repercussive themes adumbrated in a schematic way in this Introduction. And taken as a whole, they present a broad and substantial picture of a remarkable American rabbi and scholar. One does not have to agree with all of Agus’ views—I, for one, disagree with aspects of his writings on Zionism, nonpropositional revelation, the Torah, the vitality and future of Conservative Judaism, and the basis for revising (or not revising) the halakah in our time—but one has to admire his commitment to the Jewish people everywhere, his profound and unwavering spirituality, his continual reminders of the very real dangers of pseudomessianism and misplaced romantic zeal, his devotion to “Talmud Torah” in all of its guises, his personal piety, his willingness to take politically and religiously unpopular stands, his defense of such men as Owen Lattimore and Arnold Toynbee, his consistent faith in reason, his erudition in Western philosophy, and his tenacious ethical humanism, which knew no ethnic or racial boundaries. In sum, much of the best of Jewish and Western tradition was incarnated in a yeshiva bocher from Sislevitch. May his memory be for a blessing.
NOTES
1. William James, Varieties of Religious Experience (New York, 1958), 292–93.
2. Jacob B. Agus, High Priest of Rebirth (New York, 1972), 154–55; hereafter cited as High Priest. This book is the retitled second edition of Banner of Jerusalem.
SELECTIONS
Steven T. Katz
THE FOLLOWING SELECTIONS have been chosen by Steven T. Katz and are taken from The Vision and the Way (New York, 1966), 7393 and 321–60; and from The Jewish Quest (New York, 1983), 171–94.
2
THE IDEAL PERSONALITY
THE ÉLAN of a religious culture is frequently symbolized in the one or more hero-images that it produces. The hero is the incarnation of the ideal. Greater than life-size, he represents in perfect measure that which other’s must try to emulate in whole or in part. The saint and the knight are the two chief hero-images of medieval Europe, as the philosopher and the warrior were of the Greco-Roman age, the monk and the missionary of early Christendom, the many-sided artist of the Renaissance, the gentleman of Victorian England, and the captain of industry of the rapidly expanding American republic.
In Holy Scriptures, we recognize a deliberate design to avoid the exclusive adoration of one hero-image. Moses is by far the outstanding personality, but, we are told, he was ineffective by himself. He needed the help of Aaron and the support of the seventy-two elders. “Man of God” though he was, he was still liable to sin and to punishment. None of the beloved patriarchs, prophets, kings, or priests was either sinless or infallible, though they were “chosen” by the Lord as His elect. Actually, God alone is the hero, and all that man can achieve is to attempt “to walk in His ways.” But, God cannot serve as a hero-image, for man is not allowed to imitate Him in all ways; man may not be “jealous,” for instance, though the Lord is jealous, for in Him this quality derives from His uniqueness and His absoluteness. And only the Lord is Absolute.
Several hero-images reflect the diverse ideals of the Bible. To the end of the biblical period the priest remains a most revered authority. Abraham offers tithes to Melchizedek, “the priest of God Most High.”1 And Malachi, the last of the prophets, describes the priest in these glowing terms:
The Torah of truth was in his mouth, and no wrong was found on his lips. He walked with me in peace and uprightness, and he turned many from iniquity. For the lips of a priest should guard knowledge, and men should seek instruction from his mouth, for he is the messenger of the Lord of hosts.2
A priest is universally the guardian of the tradition. He performs the ritual in the ancient, wonted ways, without question and without deviation. His life is hedged about with special ordinances, which keep him undefiled. In Israel, only those born in priestly families, possessing authenticated pedigrees, could officiate. The priests formed a caste of their own, with secrets that were jealously kept from the eyes of the general public. In terms of religious needs, the priest responds to the emotional-mystical phases of piety. To the worshipper, the priest is the surrogate of the Deity. The ritual is mysteriously, magically effective—but only when the priest performs it. The more archaic and irrational the ritual is, the more it symbolizes and dramatizes the mystery of life itself. The priest ministers to the feelings of religion—anxiety, guilt, the need for lustration, the desire to express gratitude and to seek forgiveness. To priests, worshippers come, seeking solace and comfort, the blessing of sharing in the redemptive Grace that flows from above. And if they seek instruction, it is the hallowed precepts of tradition they look for, not original words of wisdom.
The priestly hero-image was included in the Bible, but it was also transcended. Moses announces his intention of founding a “Kingdom of priests and holy nation.”3 Every Jew is to share in the glory of priesthood, shunning “the unclean” and periodically cleansing himself from “all their defilements.” While the priestly prophet Ezekiel seems to say that the priest alone must not eat unclean and improperly slaughtered meat (nevelah uterefah),4 the Torah ordains this law for all Jews.
The prophet is probably the most distinctive hero-image of the biblical