The Not-Wicked Son

The Jewish holiday of Passover is coming up. (It begins at sundown on April 5.) The first two nights are spent at family or community gatherings called seders (seder is Hebrew for order), the ritual meals where the story of the exodus from Egypt is recounted. The book containing the story and the steps in the ritual is called the Haggadah, which is believed to have been first assembled in 1000 CE. I don't wish here to explore the reasons we can be confident that this story is a mere fable. Suffice it to say that archaeologists have yet to find evidence that the Israelites were enslaved in Egypt or that 2-3 million Israelites spent 40 years crossing the Sinai wilderness before invading Canaan and slaughtering its inhabitants because Yahweh had promised the land of "milk and honey" to the chosen tribe.

Here I want only to draw attention to one important aspect of the seder, namely, the description of four sons, or types of children. The "wise" child wants to know what personal obligations flow from the exodus story. The "simple" child doesn't understand what they're doing at the seder. The last child hasn't yet achieved the capacity to ask questions. But there's a fourth one: he is called wicked? 

Wicked? How so? He's branded as wicked because he asks his elders why this story is important to you? His sin, then, is not to include himself in the question, or more importantly, in the tribe. The repercussions -- remember, this is a child we're talking about -- are severe. As Miriam Krule wrote in Slate: "The wicked son is told that had he been in Egypt he wouldn’t have been redeemed, and participants are instructed to 'blunt his teeth,' a funny translation of a Hebrew idiom that has always felt a bit more violent than necessary, especially for a question that strikes me as thoughtful and important." (See Krule's "The Wicked Son Is Actually the Best One!)

This is illustrative of how religion treats those who ask questions, much less have doubts. The child could hardly ask, "Why is this important to me?," because it's not yet important to him. He wants to know why he ought to regard the story as important. But merely to ask is to invite a metaphorical busting of the chops. 

The Abrahamic religions exalt revelation, commandments, and obedience. In contrast, ancient Greek philosophy commends reason, persuasion, and discretion. Give me Athens over Jerusalem any day.