The Lonely Man of Faith

by Joseph B. Soloveitchik

Rather, his project is religious phenomenology, the description of religious experience; or, alternatively worded, religious anthropology, the study of what a religious personality is like. Rabbi Soloveitchik wants to discern whether, existentially, a person of faith can live and function in a modern technological society enamored of quantitative methods and bent on material triumphs. The challenge the Rav confronts is not secular knowledge but secular man and secular society.2 The person of faith feels lonely, estranged, alienated. What is the precise source of this loneliness, and can the feeling be overcome?

Who are these two Adams, signifying two opposing aspects of the human personality?3 The first Adam seeks to “fill the earth and subdue it” (Gen. 1:28); that is, to conquer, to create, to dominate, to control. He seeks “majesty” and “dignity.” The goal is to “harness and dominate the elemental natural forces and to put them at his disposal.” He seeks to vanquish disease, conquer space, forge political structures, create things of beauty, and legislate norms. Adam the First’s endeavors are legitimate, indeed mandated; for God wills that he create and that he master his environment. Adam’s creativity manifests the “image of God” within him.

But Adam the Second has different goals. To begin with, he is interested not in how things work but in why the cosmos exists at all and what message it carries. In his inner life, furthermore, he experiences loneliness, by which Rabbi Soloveitchik means an awareness of his differentness and uniqueness, which entail an inability to communicate his experience. One can be lonely (in this sense) even while not alone. Adam the First never sensed loneliness; for him, having coworkers in assembly-line fashion was enough to create a community. Adam the Second seeks not the functional utilitarian community of Adam the First, dedicated to the production and distribution of goods, but a covenantal faith community that involves a deep and intimate relationship with other human beings—and with God. He thirsts for redemption—discipline, control over one’s self—and even wishes to be overpowered by God. Because both personality types are willed by God, the human being must attempt the seemingly impossible—to be part of both communities, the utilitarian and the covenantal. Thus, God bids the human being to live in a dialectical fashion, oscillating between creative, victory-bent man and humble, submissive man. A person cannot throw off either part of his or her personality. “In every one of us abide the two personae.” And here is the rub: the need for oscillation means that the man of faith has no single home. He is a wanderer, striking roots in one community, only to then uproot himself a...

indeed expand the scope of those responsibilities (for example, only if you can cure a disease do you have the responsibility to cure it).

By ratifying Adam the First’s labors, Rabbi Soloveitchik blunts a widespread criticism of religion, that it takes no interest in or even opposes “secular” endeavors; and by the same token he rejects views held by religious thinkers who see no religious significance in cultural developments.

AND YET, NOTWITHSTANDING his praise for Adam the First, Rabbi Soloveitchik believes that in contemporary times Adam the First is to blame for a new type of loneliness afflicting the man of faith. This type of loneliness is due not to the permanent nature of the human condition (“ontological” loneliness), which requires oscillation between two communities, but to specific man-made historical circumstances, the circumstances of modernity. Contemporary Adam the First rejects his dialectical nature.

But in Rabbi Soloveitchik’s analysis, he seeks a religion that caters to his interests; “he is searching not for a faith in all its singularity and otherness, but for religious culture.” He wants from his religion serenity, not sacrifice; comfort, not commitment; an aesthetic experience, not a covenantal one.

Adam the Second “finds himself lonely, forsaken, misunderstood, at times even ridiculed.” He withdraws from society, lonely and solitary. Thus, in modern times, Adam the Second, covenantal man, finds it especially difficult to fulfill the divine edict that he belong to two communities. Even so, the man of faith continues to try to communicate to Adam the First. Perhaps, in fact, The Lonely Man of Faith is an attempt at such communication. And even if Adam the First does not comprehend the message, speaking brings relief to the tormented soul of covenantal man, and defining this dilemma “will yield a better understanding of ourselves and our commitment.”

Religion is now a mighty, seemingly ubiquitous force in the world. But it is often dominated by motifs like political power that evoke Adam the First. We find as well inventions of new religions—often, to be sure, for the sake of transcendence and spiritual meaning, but often, too, for the sake of pleasure, comfort, and aggrandizement. There is also even more tawdry commercialism in the selling of religion than when the Rav lodged

his complaint. Faith communities, furthermore—so essential to the existence of Adam the Second—are being supplanted by highly individualistic and idiosyncratic forms of belief and practice. Finally, the man of faith’s alienation from contemporary society, his loneliness, is today a function not of society’s technological pursuits but of its morality. The gap between religious and secular moralities today is far wider than in 1965. Withdrawal becomes attractive to some as a strategy for spiritual and ethical survival.

But the overall dilemma—that retreat from the world is opposed to the divine will and yet today’s man of faith feels impelled to withdraw—defines the modern religious predicament forcefully.

“I will speak that I may find relief”; for there is a redemptive quality for an agitated mind in the spoken word, and a tormented soul finds peace in confessing.

Therefore, it is my intent to analyze this experience at both levels: at the ontological, at which it is a root awareness, and at the historical, at which a highly sensitized and agitated heart, overwhelmed by the impact of social and cultural forces, filters this root awareness through the medium of painful, frustrating emotions.

He looks upon himself as a stranger in modern society, which is technically minded, self-centered, and self-loving, almost in a sickly narcissistic fashion, scoring honor upon honor, piling up victory upon victory, reaching for the distant galaxies, and seeing in the here-and-now sensible world the only manifestation of being. What can a man of faith like myself, living by a doctrine which has no technical potential, by a law which cannot be tested in the laboratory, steadfast in his loyalty to an eschatological vision whose fulfillment cannot be predicted with any degree of probability, let alone certainty, even by the most complex, advanced mathematical calculations—what can such a man say to a functional, utilitarian society which is saeculum-oriented and whose practical reasons of the mind have long ago supplanted the sensitive reasons of the heart?

Knowledge in general and self-knowledge in particular are gained not only from discovering logical answers but also from formulating logical, even though unanswerable, questions.

to the man of faith, self-knowledge has one connotation only—to understand one’s place and role within the scheme of events and things willed and approved by God, when He ordered finitude to emerge out of infinity and the Universe, including man, to unfold itself.

However, the answer lies not in an alleged dual tradition but in dual man, not in an imaginary contradiction between two versions but in a real contradiction in the nature of man. The two accounts deal with two Adams, two men, two fathers of mankind, two types, two representatives of humanity, and it is no wonder that they are not identical. Let us just read these two accounts. In Genesis 1 we read: “So God created man in His own image, in the image of God created He him, male and female created He them. And God blessed them and God said unto them, be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea, over the fowl of the heaven, and over the beasts, and all over the earth.” In Genesis 2, the account differs substantially from the one we just read: “And the eternal God formed the man of the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life and man became a living soul. And the eternal God planted a garden eastward in Eden.… And the eternal God took the man and placed him in the Garden of Eden to serve it and to keep it.” I want to point out four major discrepancies between these two accounts:

1. In the story of the creation of Adam the first, it is told that the latter was created in the image of God, , while nothing is said about how his body was formed. In the account of the creation of Adam the second, it is stated that he was fashioned from the dust of the ground and God breathed into his nostrils the breath of life. 2. Adam the first received the mandate from the Almighty to fill the earth and subdue it, . Adam the second was charged with the duty to cultivate the garden and to keep it, . 3. In the story of Adam the first, both male and female were created concurrently, while Adam the second emerged alone, with Eve appearing subsequently as his helpmate and complement. 4. Finally, and this is a discrepancy of which Biblical criticism has made so much, while in the first account only the name of E-lohim appears, in the second, Elohim is used in conjunction with the Tetragrammaton.

There is no doubt that the term “image of God” in the first account refers to man’s inner charismatic endowment as a creative being. Man’s likeness to God expresses itself in man’s striving and ability to become a creator.

Therefore, Adam the first is interested in just a single aspect of reality and asks one question only—“How does the cosmos function?” He is not fascinated by the question, “Why does the cosmos function at all?” nor is he interested in the question, “What is its essence?” He is only curious to know how it works.

Adam the first is overwhelmed by one quest, namely, to harness and dominate the elemental natural forces and to put them at his disposal. This practical interest arouses his will to learn the secrets of nature. He is completely utilitarian as far as motivation, teleology, design, and methodology are concerned.

Man is an honorable being. In other words, man is a dignified being and to be human means to live with dignity.

In other words, dignity was equated by the Psalmist with man’s capability of dominating his environment and exercising control over it.

The brute’s existence is an undignified one because it is a helpless existence. Human existence is a dignified one because it is a glorious, majestic, powerful existence.

There is no dignity without responsibility, and one cannot assume responsibility as long as he is not capable of living up to his commitments. Only when man rises to the heights of freedom of action and creativity of mind does he begin to implement the mandate of dignified responsibility entrusted to him by his Maker.

Dignity of man expressing itself in the awareness of being responsible and of being capable of discharging his responsibility cannot be realized as long as he has not gained mastery over his environment. For life in bondage to insensate elemental forces is a non-responsible and hence an undignified affair.*

Civilized man has gained limited control of nature and has become, in certain respects, her master, and with his mastery he has attained dignity as well. His mastery has made it possible for him to act in accordance with his responsibility. Hence, Adam the first is aggressive, bold, and victory-minded. His motto is success, triumph over the cosmic forces. He engages in creative work, trying to imitate his Maker (imitatio Dei).

he legislates for himself norms and laws because a dignified existence is an orderly one.

His conscience is energized not by the idea of the good, but by that of the beautiful. His mind is questing not for the true, but for the pleasant and functional, which are rooted in the aesthetical, not the noetic-ethical, sphere.*

It is God who decreed that the story of Adam the first be the great saga of freedom of man-slave who gradually transforms himself into man-master.

Man reaching for the distant stars is acting in harmony with his nature which was created, willed, and directed by his Maker. It is a manifestation of obedience to rather than rebellion against God. Thus, in sum, we have obtained the following triple equation: humanity = dignity = responsibility = majesty.

ADAM THE SECOND is, like Adam the first, also intrigued by the cosmos. Intellectual curiosity drives them both to confront courageously the mysterium magnum of Being. However, while the cosmos provokes Adam the first to quest for power and control, thus making him ask the functional “how” question, Adam the second responds to the call of the cosmos by engaging in a different kind of cognitive gesture. He does not ask a single functional question. Instead his inquiry is of a metaphysical nature and a threefold one. He wants to know: “Why is it?” “What is it?” “Who is it?” (1) He wonders: “Why did the world in its totality come into existence? Why is man confronted by this stupendous and indifferent order of things and events?” (2) He asks: “What is the purpose of all this? What is the message that is embedded in organic and inorganic matter, and what does the great challenge reaching me from beyond the fringes of the universe as well as from the depths of my tormented soul mean?” (3) Adam the second keeps on wondering: “Who is He who trails me steadily, uninvited and unwanted, like an everlasting shadow, and vanishes into the recesses of transcendence the very instant I turn around to confront this numinous, awesome, and mysterious ‘He’? Who is He who fills Adam with awe and bliss, humility and a sense of greatness, concurrently? Who is He to whom Adam clings in passionate,

all-consuming love and from whom he flees in mortal fear and dread? Who is He who fascinates Adam irresistibly and at the same time rejects him irrevocably? Who is He whom Adam experiences both as the mysterium tremendum and as the most elementary, most obvious, and most understandable truth? Who is He who is deus revelatus and deus absconditus simultaneously? Who is He whose life-giving and life-warming breath Adam feels constantly and who at the same time remains distant and remote from all?”

In a word, Adam the second explores not the scientific abstract universe but the irresistibly

fascinating qualitative world where he establishes an intimate relation with God. The Biblical metaphor referring to God breathing life into Adam alludes to the actual preoccupation of the latter with God, to his genuine living experience of God rather than to some divine potential or endowment in Adam symbolized by imago Dei.*

Both Adams want to be human. Both strive to be themselves, to be what God commanded them to be, namely, man.

The two Adams do not concur in their interpretations of this objective. The idea of humanity, the great challenge summoning man to action and movement, is placed by them in two incommensurate perspectives. While Adam the first wants to reclaim himself from a closed-in, non-reflective, natural existence by setting himself up as a dignified majestic being capable of ruling his environment, Adam the second sees his separateness from nature and his existential uniqueness not in dignity or majesty but in something else. There is, in his opinion, another mode of existence through which man can find his own self, namely, the redemptive, which is not necessarily identical with the dignified. Quite often, an existence might be replete with dignity and mastery, and yet remain unredeemed. An atheist cosmonaut circling the earth, advising his superiors who placed him in orbit that he did not encounter any angels, might lay claim to dignity because he courageously mastered space; he is, however, very far from experiencing a redeemed existence.

The man of dignity is a weighty person. The people who surround him feel his impact. Hence, dignity is measured not by the inner worth of the in-depth personality, but by the accomplishments of the surface personality. No matter how fine, noble, and gifted one may be, he cannot command respect or be appreciated by others if he has not succeeded in realizing his talents and communicating his message to society through the medium of the creative majestic gesture.

Therefore, Adam the first was created not alone, but together with Eve—male and female emerged simultaneously. Adam the first exists in society, in community with others. He is a social being, gregarious, communicative, emphasizing

the artistic aspect in life and giving priority to form over content, to literary expression over the eidos, to practical accomplishments over inner motivation. He is blessed with the gift of rhetoric, with the faculty of communication, be it the beautiful word, the efficacious machine, the socially acceptable ethic-etiquette, or the hush of the solemn memorial assembly. The visible, perceptible public image of the personality is fraught with majesty and dignity. Adam the first is never alone. Man in solitude has no opportunity to display his dignity and majesty, since both are behavioral social traits. Adam the first was not left alone even on the day of creation. He emerged into the world together with Eve and God addressed himself to both of them as inseparable members of one community.

Adam the first is challenged by a hostile environment and hence summoned to perform many tasks which he alone cannot master. Consequently, he is impelled to take joint action. Helpless individuals, cognizant of the difficulties they encounter when they act separately, congregate, make arrangements, enter into treaties of mutual assistance, sign contracts, form partnerships, etc.* The natural community is born of a feeling of individual helplessness. Whenever Adam the first wants to work, to produce, and to succeed in his undertakings, he must unite with others. The whole theory of the social contract, brought to perfection by the philosophers of the Age of Reason, reflects the thinking of Adam the first, identifying man with his intellectual nature and creative technological will and finding in human existence coherence, legitimacy, and reasonableness exclusively.

If the individual is ontologically complete, even perfect, then the experience of loneliness must be alien to him, since loneliness is nothing but the act of questioning one’s own ontological legitimacy, worth, and reasonableness.

world view of Adam the first, even if they had been addressed to him, would have been related not to loneliness, an existential in-depth experience, but to aloneness, a practical surface experience.

“The two are better than the one because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow; but woe to him that is alone when he falleth, and hath not another to help him out.”

There are two basic distinctions between dignity and cathartic redemptiveness: 1. Being redeemed is, unlike being dignified, an ontological awareness. It is not just an extraneous, accidental attribute—among other attributes—of being, but a definitive mode of being itself. A redeemed existence is intrinsically different from an unredeemed. Redemptiveness does not have to be acted out vis-á-vis the outside world.* Even a hermit, while not having the opportunity to manifest dignity, can live a redeemed life. Cathartic redemptiveness is experienced in the privacy of one’s in-depth personality, and it cuts below the relationship between the “I” and the “thou” (to use an existentialist term) and reaches into the very hidden strata of the isolated “I” who knows himself as a singular being. When objectified in personal and emotional categories, cathartic redemptiveness expresses itself in the feeling of axiological security. The individual intuits his existence as worthwhile, legitimate, and adequate, anchored in something stable and unchangeable.