NOTES for Deu 4:1-49

The Book of Deuteronomy did not receive its name by accident. To be fair, it should be noted that it was named this by the translators who translated the Hebrew text of the Pentateuch into Greek in the second century BC, but the name proved very successful: it is a matter of a second law, a new version of the Torah that appeared later than the first, earlier one that we find in the Book of Exodus. Biblical scholars speak of the late origin of the Book of Deuteronomy, while its author himself places his text in the time of Moses; but, whatever the case, it is at least understood that the laws we find in the Book of Deuteronomy appear later than those contained in the Book of Exodus.

Law develops: this is the main thing, and everything else is only historical detail that does not change the essence of the matter. If the Torah can change over time, it is no longer so important whether forty years or six centuries pass from one change to another; what matters is the very fact that the Torah changes, develops, and takes shape in the process of history. The Book of Deuteronomy, its first introductory chapters containing a historical survey of the path the people have traveled, bears witness precisely to this development of the Torah. Here the legislation is preceded by a description of the path that has been traveled, and it is on the basis of that path that the legislation is given.

The Torah changes in accordance with this path, and at the same time it defines the path, giving it meaning, without which the whole path traveled by the people would have been worth nothing. One could say that, in a certain sense, the Torah itself becomes the path: the path of the people before God, for which the external, geographical, and historical path proves to be the outward form. The path of the Torah cannot exist without that outward path, but the outward path itself, without the Torah as its spiritual core, remains only an empty shell. There is no history without the Torah, at least no history of the people of God precisely as the people of God.

Yet there is no Torah outside history either. For even if the Torah is viewed only as legislation or only as a moral code, it is unthinkable without the people who will fulfill it, outside the context of their history and their spiritual and life journey. The Torah is embodied in history, above all in the history of the people of God, and at the same time it becomes the power that gives history its spiritual form and quality, filling it with meaning: not passing human meanings, but God's meaning, eternal and unfading, the meaning that links earthly history with the Kingdom.

Readers of the Bible often ask: what makes the Jewish people better than others, that God chose them in particular? Meanwhile the Torah gives a clear and unambiguous answer: it is not about the people as such, but about that Torah, those commandments and laws that God gave to this people. In this lies both the strength of God's people and the very meaning of its existence. And in it, in the Torah, lies its superiority over all other peoples. The point here is not that knowledge of the Torah in itself makes a person or an entire people better. The point is to follow these laws and commandments.

Of course, if such following turns into religious formalism, nothing good will come of it. It will simply produce one more more-or-less religious people. With its own religion, which in all likelihood will be interesting only to itself. But if following the Torah, following the laws and commandments given by God, becomes genuine spiritual work, God's people will become the spiritual leaven that leavens all humanity.

After all, the commandments are not simply rules written by God for human beings. Not simply a moral code, even one given from above. The commandments are God's intentions addressed to human beings. Intentions that, if a person wants it, can determine his whole life. They can make a person a vessel of God's breath and an instrument of God's action. And for a people that accepts the commandments as concrete manifestations of God's will, they can make that people God's people in the full sense of the word: a people spiritually gathered around God's presence, in the Tabernacle, in the Temple, in every place that God will choose. A people-community. A completely unique people, unlike any other.

And in this difference, in becoming and being a people-community, lies the strength of the Jewish people. It is what gives them an advantage over any of the peoples who lived before them on the land God gave them. And it is what in due time will make them the beacon that lights the way for other peoples. But not at once. Later, when the Messiah comes and brings the Kingdom to the world. He will have someone to come to. And God's people will have something to live for. For this goal is the most worthy of all.

These words are timely whenever something ends for us forever and a new stage of life begins. For us believers, the chief enemy is perhaps despondency. Despondency drains strength and kills hope.

But here is what Scripture tells us: keep the memory of the good within you, seeing in it the glorious works of God. Then gratitude will be in the heart, driving out despondency, and hope will come alive. And it is very important that this passage speaks of our witness to our children and grandchildren. There is nothing worse than infecting them with our despondency, poisoning their young souls with the venom of distrust toward God.

These words are always opportune, when something ends for us forever and begins a new stage of life. For us, believers, sadness is probably the greatest enemy. Sadness take away strengths, kills hope. But here is what the Holy Scriptures says to us: keep in you the memory of good, seeing in it the glorious deeds of God. Then there will be in the heart gratitude, expelling sadness, so hope will revive. And it is very important that it is spoken here about our witness to the children and grandsons. There is nothing worst, than contaminating them with our sadness, poisoning their young souls with the poison of the incredulity towards God.

What is communion with God? What forms does it take? One thing is clear: no matter how hard a person tries, whatever efforts he applies, he can do nothing to draw near to God. Therefore a person cannot imagine God. Of course, human language can find words to describe the One in some way, but all these descriptions will only be a human perception of qualities that human beings themselves attribute to the One. What He is in reality can be told only by Him Himself, if, of course, He wills to do so. It is no accident that the highest achievement of pagan mysticism was apophaticism, the refusal of any definitions or descriptions of the One.

But can God Himself not tell a person what He is like? Yes and no. Of course, God can reveal Himself to a person, and He truly does reveal Himself when He considers it necessary. But how can He reveal Himself to him? No human being, nor anyone else among those created by Him, will ever see or know Him as God sees and knows Himself. We can know God only as He reveals Himself to us.

At first glance there is no problem here: symbols exist in human culture precisely in order to express something ambiguous, something in which form and content stand in complex, dynamic relations. The trouble, however, is that fallen humanity is inclined to absolutize form, often at the expense of content, especially when religious forms are involved, since they are most often used to express and embody revelation. In that case it is better to do without form altogether, at least without visual form: it is the image that most easily turns into something self-sufficient, obscuring and pushing into the background what it was meant to symbolize.

But communication is necessary, and words too can be emptied out, losing their meaning. Yes, of course; but it is simpler for God to communicate with us precisely through the word, for speech is a deeply personal process, inseparable from the expression and embodiment of meanings that a person has received and experienced as his own. Speech communication can even be beyond words; nothing prevents God from communicating with a person directly at the level of meanings, which the person himself will embody in words. In this way the dangerous absolutizing of form at the expense of meaning can be avoided.

And God does this above all for the sake of the human person, so that revelation may reach those to whom it is addressed in the greatest possible purity and fullness.

What is communion with God? How does it happen? One thing is obvious: no matter how hard a person, no matter the efforts displayed, he can do nothing to approach God. And that is why man cannot imagine God. Certainly, one can find in human language words to somehow characterize the Only, but all these characteristics will be only a human perception of those properties, which man attributes to the Only. But who He is really, can be said only by Him Himself, If He will want to do that of course. It is not by chance the highest achievement of heathen mysticism became apophatic, the refusal of whatever definitions and characteristics of the Only. But can’t God Himself tell man, who He is? And yes, and no. Of course, God can reveal Himself to man and indeed reveals Himself when He finds necessary.

But how can He reveal Himself to him? The way God sees and knows Himself, will never see and know Him either man, or somebody else created by Him. We can know God only as He reveals Himself to us. It would seem there is no problem here: that’s why symbols exist in the human culture, in order to express something ambiguous, something where form and content are under dynamic complex relationship. The problem however consists of fact that the fallen man is inclined to make absolute the form, often to the detriment of the content, particularly when it is about religious forms, which are mostly used for the expression and the realization of revelations.

And in such a case it is really better in general not to use the form, at least, the visual: because, it is in particular the image that is most easily transformed into something self-sufficient, darkening and relegating in the second plan what it was intended to symbolize. But isn’t necessary communication, and the words can also be emasculated, by losing their meaning? Yes, of course; but it is easier for God to communicate with us in particular through the word: because the word is a process deeply personal, it is inseparable of the expression and the realization of the meanings that man perceived and experienced, as his own.

Verbal communication can in general be over the words, nothing prevents God from communicating with man directly at the level of meanings, which man himself will materialize in words. Like this we can avoid to make absolute the form to the detriment of the meaning, dangerous for man. And God makes it, above all for the sake of man. So that the revelation arrives to those, to whom it is addressed, in maximum purity and fullness.

The Torah gives us several grounds for the second commandment of the Decalogue, which forbids every kind of sacred image, not only pagan images but also Yahwistic ones. One of these grounds comes down to the fact that God never revealed Himself to anyone among His people in any concrete image with which He could be identified. At first glance, such a statement can look strange: after all, it was near Horeb, where Moses first met God, that He revealed Himself to him in the shining cloud that Moses took from a distance for fire.

But by this radiance God only marked the place of His presence, and it has no relation to His essence. The mystery of God's inner, as we would say, personal life remains a mystery to us in any case. It is open only to the Savior; but in order to understand it, we would have to contain within ourselves, as He does, all the fullness of God, and such containing is, of course, impossible for us. That is why the Torah forbids not only pagan sacred images, but also Yahwistic ones. Every sacred image in antiquity claimed precisely to reveal to the worshiper the essence of the deity he worshiped, so that the worshiper could share in that essence. But in the case of Yahweh this was impossible: His essence remained hidden from the human being by definition. Here what theologians call the transcendence of God manifested itself.

One might think that theophanies could give an idea of God's essence. This was so in the case of pagan gods and cults, but not in the case of the God of Israel, because here theophany did not imply the full overcoming of the abyss that separates God from the human being. A partial overcoming made communion with God possible, but not knowledge of the essence. That is why identifying the theophany with God in this case would be like identifying a person you are speaking with on the phone with the handset from which his voice is heard.

The situation changed radically only with the coming into the world of Christ, who brought the Kingdom with Him. Of course, even there, in the Kingdom, the distinction between God and the human being does not disappear; but there, at least, the abyss that completely separates them disappears. It disappears, of course, not because the human being becomes equal to God, but because the Kingdom is wholly permeated by the breath of God and His love. But there is no image here either. Instead, a relationship appears here, replacing that image. It is a relationship guaranteed by the One who brought the Kingdom into the world.

The Torah proposes us some justifications of the second commandment of the Decalogue forbidding any sacred images, not only pagan, but also yahvistes. And one of them let know that God never showed Himself to anyone of His people in any concrete image, with which He could be identified. At first sight, such an assertion may sound strange: because it is particularly near Khoreba, where Moses met for the first time with God, He revealed Himself to him in a shining cloud, which Moses took from far for fire.

But indeed, with this brilliance, God only indicated the place of His presence, and it has no relation with His essence. The internal secret, as we would say, God's private life in any case remains a mystery for us. It is opened only to the Savior, but we have, as Him, to contain in ourselves the whole fullness of God in order to understand it, and such containment is in itself of course impossible for us.

That is why there is in the Torah a ban not only on the pagan, but also yahvistes sacred images. Any sacred image in the antiquity claimed exactly in particular to open to the worshiper the essence of this divinity, which he adores, so that the worshiper could join this essence. But in the case with Yahweh such thing was impossible: His essence remained by definition hidden from man, appeared here what the theologians call the transcendence of God. It would have seemed, the Epiphanies could give the representation of God's essence.

It was so in the case of the heathen gods and the cults, but not in the case of the God of Israel: because here the Epiphany did not assume the full overcome of this abyss, which separates God from man. And overcoming made partially possible the communion with God, but not the knowledge of the essence. That is why to identify the Epiphany with God in this case would be similar to the assimilation of the man with whom you speak on the phone to the telephone receiver from which his voice is heard.

The situation fundamentally changed only with the coming into the world of Christ, Who brought with Him the Kingdom. Of course, and there, in the Kingdom, the difference between God and man does not disappear, but there, at least, disappears completely the abyss separating them. Disappears of course not because man becomes equal to God, but because the Kingdom is completely penetrated by the breath of God and His love. But there are also no images here. On the other hand appears here the relation, replacing this image. Relation, which the guarantor becomes the One, Who brought the Kingdom to the world.

The Torah devotes considerable space to the theme of depicting God, or more precisely, to the prohibition of such depictions. It should be noted that this kind of requirement looked somewhat strange against the background of the religious ideas and religious practice generally widespread in antiquity in the Near East, and not only there. Indeed, for a pagan a god exists only insofar as he has his altar and sacred image to which one can bow down. A god who had neither one nor the other was considered gone or even dead; no communion with such a god could be in question. But the God of Israel, on the contrary, requires the absence of any sacred images whatever as an indispensable condition of communion with God. Any depiction of God, even a symbolic one, becomes an obstacle to communion with Him. Why?

Of course, any image, even a symbolic one, potentially has the chance to become an object of worship itself, which in the history of very different religions, including monotheistic ones, has happened more than once. But this is still an anomaly of spiritual life, a consequence of the spiritual degeneration of a tradition: after all, even pagans, educated ones of course, understood perfectly well that a sacred statue or sacred image is not a god, but only his symbol and a means for communicating with him. The matter, as is evident, was still something else. What?

It lay in those image-based associations that any symbols, even those most saturated with spiritual meanings, inevitably generate. Even the image of the sacred bull, the calf, cast from gold by the Jews at Sinai, for all its symbolic character, for the fact that it was supposed simply to signify the power of God, the power God used to lead His people out of Egypt, still could not help tying Yahweh to the image of the Egyptian Apis. And no symbolism could help here. Yahweh is not Apis, and even His power is not the power of Apis. There was only one way out: to avoid any images, any associations, any symbolism. It is no accident that in the Tabernacle, from the beginning, only one sacred relic was kept: the text of the Decalogue carved on small stone tablets. No symbols, no associations. Only the will of God, clearly expressed by God Himself.

The Torah devotes considerable space to the theme of the image of God, more exactly, the prohibition of such images. It is advisable to note that this type of request in the context of the religious representations and the religious practice widely spread in the antiquity in the Middle East (and not only there) was a little bit strange. In fact, for the gentiles god exists only as much as he has his altar and his sacred image, which can be worshiped.

The god who has neither one, nor the other, is considered going or even dead, it could not even be question to communicate with such a god. But here is, the God of Israel asks on the contrary for the absence of all the sacred images, as the indispensable condition of communion with God. Any image of God, even symbolic, becomes an obstacle for the relationship with Him. But why it is so? Of course, any image, even symbolic, has potential chance to be itself transformed into object of worship, what happened several times in the history of various religions (including the monotheist also).

But it is all the same an anomaly of the spiritual life, the consequence of the spiritual degeneration of the tradition: because even the heathen (of course educated) understood perfectly that the sacred statue or the sacred image is not a god, but only its symbol and a means to communicate with Him. The problem, as we see, was all the same in something else. In what? Probably still in these figurative associations, which engender inevitably any symbols, even the most saturated by spiritual senses.

Even the image of the sacred bull (calf) cast by gold by the Jews on Sinai, with all its symbolism, despite the fact that it simply had to indicate God's power, this power that God used to bring His people out of Egypt, couldn’t all the same bind Yahweh to the image of the Egyptian Apis. And no symbolism could help here. But indeed, Yahweh is not Apis, and even His power is not the power of Apis. There was only one solution: to avoid any image, any association, any symbolism. It is not accidentally in the Tabernacle was initially only a sacred relic: the text of the Decalogue stamped on small tables of stone. No symbol, no association. Only the will of God, clearly expressed by Himself.

The Torah often says that God's covenant with His people remains unbreakable in any case, that God will never leave His people and will not forget the covenant once concluded, which, however, by no means guarantees the people of God against punishment in case of violating the Torah as the condition of this covenant. What is this: special treatment for favorites? Indulgence? And does such an attitude mean that God is ready to close His eyes to the sins of His people merely because they are His people? Surely not. The matter, as is evident, is different.

In what, then? Perhaps in the very essence of the covenant? Indeed, a covenant is not simply a contract, like those business agreements we make among ourselves in our fallen world, where everything is simple: you have concluded a contract, so keep it; if you cannot or do not want to, pay the penalty and you may forget about the contract. You have violated it and are no longer bound by it, and no one owes you anything anymore. For God, the covenant is not a formal contract, but a union presupposing deep and stable relationships. More than that: with this union God has connected an entire plan, presupposing both the coming of the Messiah and the salvation of all humanity, its liberation from the power of that evil into whose captivity the world fell after the fall.

And if one looks more broadly, one can see an even more grandiose plan: the complete transformation of all creation, a qualitative change in the nature of the universe with its own participation, in which the decisive role belongs to humanity. Then everything falls into place. Indeed, if God has connected so large-scale a plan with the covenant, He will of course do everything possible to preserve this covenant at any cost.

Of course, He will take measures to correct His people, and His measures can be very, very severe. But to destroy His people and break the union once concluded would mean the collapse of God's whole plan, and this, of course, God cannot and does not want to allow. Besides, the situation in the fallen world is such that even if God decided to stop carrying out His plan in its present form and begin everything anew, there are no guarantees that His new people would be better than the present one. To change the situation radically, the world would simply have to be recreated anew. But that would already be another story of another world and another humanity.

The Torah often says that God's covenant with His people remains in every case unbreakable, that God will never forsake His people and will not forget the covenant once concluded (which, moreover, doesn’t guarantee at all the people of God from punishment in case of violation of the Torah, as condition of this covenant). What it is: a special relationship to the loved ones? Connivance? And does such a relationship mean that God is ready to close eyes over the sins of His people just because it is His people? Probably, no. The problem as seen is somewhere else.

But where then? Maybe, in the very sense of the covenant? In fact, the covenant is not simply a contract, following the example of these business agreements, which we conclude between ourselves in our fallen world, where everything is easy: concluded a contract – please observe, you can’t or don’t want – pay the revocation and you can forget about the contract: you violated it and are no more related to it, nothing and nobody obliges you any more.

For God the covenant is not a formal contract, but a union supposing deep and stable relationships. Besides: for God, with this union is connected a whole plan, supposing the coming of the Messiah, and the salvation of the entire humanity, its liberation from the power of this evil, in which the world was in captivity after the fall. And if one took a broader view, one can see the plan even more grandiose: the total transformation of all the creation, the qualitative change of the nature of the universe with its own participation, the decisive role of which belongs to man. And then everything comes in place.

In fact, for God, if is connected with the covenant a so ambitious plan, He will then do everything in order to preserve this covenant at all costs. Of course, He will take the measures to correct His people, and His measures can be very, very tough, but to destroy His people and to break the covenant once concluded would mean the failure of God's plan, and God cannot and does not want of course to allow that.

Besides, the situation in the fallen world is formed such as, even if God decided to stop the realization of His plan in its current aspect and begin again everything newly, there is no guarantee that His new people would be better that the current. In order to change the situation cardinally, it would have simply been necessary to recreate the world again. But that would already be another history of another world and another humanity.