For millennia, the story of Abraham binding his son Isaac—known in the Jewish tradition as the Akedah—has stood as one of the most sublime and deeply troubling narratives in scripture. We often read Genesis 22 as the ultimate test of devotion, a story where blind obedience rightly triumphs over human ethics, but does this traditional reading overlook the profound trauma and the actual climax of the event? A fascinating new interview over at the Latter-day Saint history blog, From the Desk, features Jewish scholar Aaron Koller, author of Unbinding Isaac, who challenges our standard assumptions by reading the story not as a suspension of ethics, but as a divine rejection of human sacrifice that invites us to approach our scriptural heroes with “pious irreverence.”
At “Eyes’ Height”
Latter-day Saints often read the patriarchs hagiographically, viewing them as nearly flawless models of obedience whose every action is meant to be praised. Koller introduces a vibrant Jewish tradition of reading these figures be-govah ‘enayim, or “at eyes’ height”—as real people who sometimes stumble. This approach allows us to ask hard questions: Was Abraham’s silence when commanded to kill Isaac actually a missed opportunity for moral courage?
Furthermore, reading them as real people allows us to grapple with the actual, textual fallout of the event. Koller notes a devastating detail often missed when we focus solely on the happy ending: the sheer relational cost of the test.
After the story of the ‘Akedah, Abraham never has another conversation with Sarah, or Isaac, or God. The narrative wants us to realize that this great act of faith comes at an almost unimaginable cost.
For Abraham, his faith cost him all the relationships that were most important to him. Tragically, the “father of many nations” appears to die alone.
Reversing Kierkegaard
The modern lens for Genesis 22 was largely shaped by the philosopher Søren Kierkegaard, who argued that true faith requires a “teleological suspension of the ethical”—meaning faith sometimes demands we do what is otherwise wrong. Koller pushes back on this, focusing instead on the angel’s intervention as the true moral center of the story.
In my own reading, I follow Kierkegaard to some extent. However, I part ways with him in our understanding of the end.
For Kierkegaard, the whole point of the story is Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice Isaac, against his own ethical commitments. I think the whole point is that God steps in to say that, in fact, this is not allowed: a complete understanding of the divine will cannot demand something unethical.
By shifting the focus from the raising of the knife to the staying of the hand, Koller reframes the Akedah as a definitive, boundary-setting statement about the nature of God.
The Bilateral Covenant
Perhaps the most challenging and enriching insight for Latter-day Saint readers is Koller’s view on the nature of covenants. He points out that protesting to God isn‘t a lack of faith, but a feature of a truly covenantal relationship. He cites the biblical tradition of prophets and psalmists who passionately challenged God’s justice.
The key in all this is that it’s a protest to God about God. These are not doubts about whether God exists, but rather whether God is doing the best job possible.
The biblical concept of the covenant is, in this way, truly radical, because covenants are bilateral: we owe fealty to God, but God, in turn, owes us a great deal as well.
This perspective transforms how we read scripture, encouraging us to wrestle with God and our moral conscience rather than merely submitting in silence.
For more of Koller’s insights—including the linguistic roots of the word Akedah, how ancient Midrashic texts put words of protest into Abraham’s mouth, and the significance of Mount Moriah—head on over to the Latter-day Saint history blog, From the Desk, to read the full interview with Aaron Koller.
While you’re there, check out the updated Brigham Young page!
Comments
5 responses to “Unbinding Isaac: Aaron Koller on the Trauma and Theology of Genesis 22”
Yes, it was Abraham’s faith that justified him (counted as righteousness), not his deeds. God works in mysterious ways, and sees the end from the beginning. God had worked with Abraham for many years, but Abraham was still not perfect. Maybe the best answer would have been for Abraham to push back on God, as he had when the angels were on their way to Sodom — maybe Abraham should have known that human sacrifice was repugnant — but Abraham had faith in God and trusted God, and he set out. God intervened and provided an acceptable sacrifice, and we have used this story as hinting towards Jesus’ death, and thus God used this time to teach Abraham. But Abraham’s faith was counted as righteousness, even though his deeds could be seen as mistaken.
A covenant relationship does not mean mindless obedience, exact obedience — a covenant relationship means let’s engage, let’s talk. We read about not being a servant but being a son and an heir — a son and an heir can engage with his father, and can talk to his father. Abraham acted like a servant, but maybe should have acted like a son. Even so, Abraham’s faith was counted as righteousness.
I am troubled by calls for exact obedience, as I don’t think that is what God wants from us. God wants faith, and understanding, and purposeful obedience and the learning that occurs therewith. God wants a covenant relationship. God counts our faith (more than our deeds) as righteousness.
Thus, might a man-made call for exact obedience to God be misplaced? And if so, might a call for exact obedience to a man (a prophet?) or an institution (a church?) also be misplaced? A covenant relationship includes engagement and talking, and maybe even occasional mild pushback, and the learning that occurs therewith.
The mystery of Godliness how great it is. King Benjamin enjoins us to:
“Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things, both in heaven and in earth; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that man doth not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend.”
And with that basic understanding in place — that we cannot comprehend everything that the Lord comprehends — we must trust the Lord implicitly as he works with us through a process of growth and leaning that is calculated to make us fit for his Kingdom.
Three nuggets of truth from Joseph Smith come to mind: 1) If we want to go where God is we must become like him. 2) It will be a great while after we’ve passed through the veil before we will have learned all the principles of exaltation. And 3) Those principles are not all to be comprehended in this life.
And so we have a great deal of learning ahead of us–of many things that we do not comprehend at this time! Things that cannot be revealed to us at this time “lest [we] should look for that which [we] ought not and [we] should perish.”
President Nelson said (in so many words) that in this life we are like acorns that barely sprout–and that it is in the next life that we grow into a mighty oak. But it is while we are here in the “sprouting” stage that we must learn to trust the Lord implicitly–IMO. Otherwise we cannot receive all that God is willing to give us as he leads us from one grace to another and then another–and on and on into realms of unimaginable understanding.
If we allow our own ideas — our traditions, our ethics, our sociopolitical philosophies, even our religious sensibilities! — to get in the way of receiving greater light and knowledge then it will be there that we will block ourselves from further progression.
And so, even though is not required that we learn all things at this time, it is imperative that we at least get a sense of what it means to trust the Lord implicitly so that we can learn all things over time. I agree with Hugh Nibley who said (in so many words) that each one of us will have an opportunity to show that we’d be willing to do what Abraham did in offering up his son.
And my guess is that most folks here have gone through an ordeal or two that, while they may not have been as severe as Abraham’s ordeal, they were especially tailored to tug at our heartstrings. And though these little “tutorials” can be unpleasant for a time–they are the very means by which the Lord helps us to “put away [our] false traditions” as Joseph Smith said we must do in order to become a joint heir with the Savior.
I wanted to add: the sacrifice of Isaac was not only an ethical dilemma. It was also a matter of trusting that God would fulfill his promises to Abraham by some other means–which would have been beyond his understanding at the time.
The Lord had made specific promises to Abraham that were to be fulfilled through the lineage of Isaac. But if Isaac were slain then the whole plan that Abraham had in mind to establish faith in the earth and in the eternities would come to not.
That said, my purpose isn’t lessen the difficulty of losing Isaac. But if we consider everything that would’ve be lost by such a sacrifice–then it becomes a conundrum of cosmic proportions.
I wrote in an earlier comment that “[a] covenant relationship includes engagement and talking, and maybe even occasional mild pushback, and the learning that occurs therewith.” It was so with Abraham. It was also so with Jacob, who wrestled with God (and prevailed over God), and God changed his name to Israel.
Yes, I don’t think God wants exact obedience to himself, or to the church or the church’s president. I think God wants a covenant relationship includes engagement and talking, and maybe even occasional mild pushback, and the learning that occurs therewith. He wants us to be sons, not servants. At least, that’s how I see it. I realize that our current church culture might lead others to see it differently, and I appreciate the opportunity for this kind of conversation.
The Akedah starts with God’s command that Abraham sacrifice “thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest” and ends with God commending Abraham because “thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son from me.” It’s all about the potential loss of Isaac. There’s not a word about Abraham suspending his ethics or being willing to kill just because the Lord said so.
How can this not be about ethics or killing? In the culture of Abraham’s day, children were the property of their father (as was their mother) to be disposed of as the father saw fit. If he wants to send them out into the wilderness to die (i.e. Hagar and Ishmael), he can do that. If he wants to sacrifice them to his God, that’s his choice. It’s a waste of valuable resources, but it’s not particularly “wrong.”
We can and should find this abhorrent, but that shouldn’t prevent us from heeding the intended message of the Akedah, which is that we must be prepared to sacrifice even what is most precious to us if the Lord so commands.
We also shouldn’t read into it a message that wasn’t intended just because what Abraham was asked to do is completely unethical in our culture (and rightly so). If anyone thinks the Lord is asking them to do something that’s wrong, the relevant Abraham story is his conversation with the Lord about Sodom and Gomorrah, not the Akedah. In that story the Lord has absolutely no objection to Abraham insisting on his own ethical judgement, or to his claim that God himself must “do right.”
Similarly, we can and should be appalled that Lot was willing to sacrifice his daughters to protect the angels who were under his roof, but that should not prevent us from heeding the intended message: that we have a duty to protect strangers and foreigners even if our society turns on them. We also learn that dire consequences follow when a society turns on the foreigners among them.
(Yes, the duty to guests is part of the story of Lot, but the angels are not Lot’s guests when he pleads with them to shelter under his roof, perhaps hoping that giving them the status of guests would protect them.)