The Rav's Description of the Mesorah Experience

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The Rav's Description of the Mesorah Experience

I have gained a lot - directly, and even more so, indirectly - from the Torah of the Rav (Rabbi Yosef Dov ha'Levi Soloveitchik). But one of the most impactful things I have heard from the Rav is his description of the experience of Mesorah (the Oral Tradition), as recorded in a shiur he gave in 1974. This description epitomizes my own experience in learning, and the experience I strive to bring about in my classroom. 

The Rav makes reference to what I wrote about in my post, Neglecting the Thinkers of the Past. What I referred to as "The Great Conversation" (borrowing Adler's terminology), the Rav referred to as "The Great Dialogue" and "The Great Mesorah Community." But his description is far more poetic and impassioned than anything I could ever write.

I will now present a transcript of the Rav's remarks. For the best experience, I suggest following along in the transcript while listening to the recording of the Rav's actual shiur (class), courtesy of YU Torah.

As a matter of fact, I want to tell you, and please don't, don’t misinterpret my words, I am not trying to brag or to boast, very far from it, but whatever I have said now is not just an idea. To me it's an experience. Let me say that the secret of mispar ha'doros (lit. "the number of the generations"), of combining, uniting, merging many generations into one community, where discrepancy of age disappears, where years play no role, centuries have no significance. Where generations, I mean, can, so to say communicate, commune with each other, I do experience every time I enter the classroom at the yeshiva. And I've been a teacher for the last, how many years? (other people speaking) Oy vey, I'm that old.

           

Whenever I enter the classroom which is crowded with boys, who could be as far as age is concerned, my grandchildren. I enter the classroom as an old man, I am old- with a wrinkled face and eyes reflecting fatigue and the sadness of old age. You have to be old in order to experience that sadness. It's a very strange sadness; it's the melancholy of remembering things, things which disappear, they don't exist. When I enter a classroom I sit down, and opposite me are rows of boys, young boys with beaming eyes, beaming faces, clear eyes, radiating the joy of being young.

           

Always when I enter, you know I enter in a very pessimistic mood, I always enter the class in despair. And I ask myself, I mean, every time I enter the classroom- can there be a dialogue between an old teacher and young students? Between a rebbe in his Indian summer and boys enjoying the spring of their lives?

           

I start the shiur, I don't know what the conclusion will be. Whenever I start the shiur, the door opens, another old man walks in and sits down. He is older than I am. All the talmidim (students) call me the Rav. He is older than the Rav. He is the great, the grandfather of the Rav; his name is Reb Chaim Brisker. And without whom no shiur can be delivered nowadays. Then, the door opens quietly again and another old man comes in, he is older than Reb Chaim, he lived in the 17^th century. What’s his name? Shabsai Kohen - the famous Shach - who must be present when dinei mamonos (monetary laws) are being discussed; when we study Bava Metziah, Bava Kamah. And then, more visitors show up. Some lived, some of the visitors lived in the 11^th century, some in the 12^th century, some in the 13^th century, some lived in antiquity - Rebbe Akiva, Rashi, Rabbeinu Tam, the Ra'avad, the Rashba, more and more come in, come in, come in.  Of course, what do I do? I introduce them to my pupils and the dialogue commences. The Rambam says something, the Ra'avad disagrees; and sometimes he's very nasty. Very sharp, harsh language he uses against the Rambam. A boy jumps up to defend the Rambam against the Ra'avad, and the boy is fresh - you know how young boys are fresh - so the language he uses is improper, he uses improper language. So, I correct him. And another jumps up with a new idea; the Rashba smiles gently. I try to analyze what the young boy meant, another boy intervenes, we call upon the Rabbeinu Tam to express his opinion, and suddenly a symposium of generations comes into existence.

           

Generations! Young boys - 22, 23, 24 years of age- there are boys who are just 18 years old that are in my class. One generation. then my generation, then the generation of Reb Chaim Brisker, then the generation of the Shach, then the generation of the Rashba, the Ramban, the generation of the Rambam, the generation of Rashi, the generation of the Rabbeinu Tam, and then, I mean there is no end! What about the Rav Hai Gaon? What about Rebbe Akiva, Rebbe Elazar, Rav Yochanan ben Zakai? All generations somehow…         

We all speak one language, “v'thi kol ha'aretz safah achas u'd'varim achadim” ("and the entire leand was of one language and unified principles" - Bereishis 11:1). We all chat, we all laugh, we all enjoy the company, and we all pursue one goal; we all are committed to a common vision, and we all operate in the same categories. There is mesorah collegiality, friendship, comradeship between old and young, between antiquity middle-ages and modern times, “v'hu ha'keitz” ("and that is the end/limit").

This unity of generations, this march of centuries, this conversation of generations, this dialogue between antiquity and present will finally bring the redemption of the Jew.

           

Let me tell you that at the conclusion of three and sometimes four hours, I mean I have here a witness, I emerge young and elated, younger than my pupils. They are tired, exhausted, some of them yawn. I feel happy. I have, I have defeated age; I have defeated oldness. I emerge young, less fatigued, less exhausted than my young pupils.

We belong to the same Mesorah community, where generations meet. Where hands, no matter how wrinkled and parchment dry one hand is and how soft and wan the other hand is, shake, unite, and in a community where The Great Dialogue continues. When I was looking at the baby who was redeemed this evening, I don’t know whether he will be in my class, whether I will live to have him. But someone will sit and teach the baby, and the baby is already a member of the community, of The Great Mesorah Community. And I feel as if I, it is possible to establish communication with this baby.

Neglecting the Thinkers of the Past

Yesterday's post on "the Academic Approach" reminded me of a piece I wrote in November, 2008, which hasn't yet been published on this blog. I had planned to write a sequel to that post, but never got a round to it. I figured that it was time to re-post and complete what I started then. 

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Artwork: Ancestral Vision, by Mark Poole

Neglecting the Thinkers of the Past

Part 1: Neglecting the Ancients in Western Thought

"The least initial deviation from the truth is multiplied later a thousandfold." This statement, made by Aristotle, is the basis of a book written by Mortimer J. Adler called Ten Philosophical Mistakes (1985). Adler’s thesis is that many of the philosophical problems, perplexities, and distortions of the modern era are the consequences of errors made by prominent post-16th-century philosophers. 

According to Adler, these errors "are extremely simple mistakes, capable of being stated in a single sentence or two. The truth that corrects them is correspondingly simple and similarly capable of a brief statement." Adler explains these errors were the philosophical consequences of subtle but mistaken premises: 

[T]hey are mistakes in a long train of thought, leading from erroneous premises through many steps to the false conclusions or consequences that those premises ultimately entail. At the very beginning, before the consequences are discerned, the mistake appears innocent and goes unnoticed. Only when we are confronted with the repugnant conclusions to which cogent reasoning carries us are we impelled to retrace our steps to find out where we went wrong. Only then is the erroneous premise that at first appeared innocent revealed as the culprit - a wolf in sheep's clothing. 

Adler writes that there is one guiding principle which might have saved them from their errors. That principle was stated by Aristotle, in more or less these terms: “It is necessary to call into council the views of our predecessors in order that we may profit by whatever is sound in their suggestions and avoid their errors.” According to Adler, if these modern philosophers had diligently studied the works of the ancients - whom I refer to here as "the Baalei Mesorah of Western Thought" - they would have realized that the questions which they believed that they had discovered anew had actually been asked, discussed, and answered (whether correctly or incorrectly) many centuries earlier: 

We cannot find in their writings the slightest evidence of their sharing Aristotle’s insight that no man by himself is able to attain the truth adequately, although collectively men do not fail to amass a considerable amount; nor do they ever manifest the slightest trace of a willingness to call into council the views of their predecessors in order to profit from whatever is sound in their thoughts and to avoid their errors. On the contrary, without anything like a careful, critical examination of the views of their predecessors, these modern thinkers issue blanket repudiations of the past as a repository of errors. The discovery of philosophical truth begins with themselves. 

Proceeding, therefore, in ignorance or misunderstanding of truths that could have been found in the funded tradition of almost two thousand years of Western thought, these modern philosophers made crucial mistakes in their points of departure and in their initial postulates. 

Adler maintains that if only these modern philosophers had made a concerted effort to learn from the questions, answers, and discussions of the ancients, they might have saved themselves from many philosophical embarrassments and problems which resulted from their misguided attempts to answer the philosophical questions which they believed they were the first ones to think of. 

If Adler is correct in his claim that the well-known post-16th-century philosophers did not study the works of their ancient predecessors, we are justified in asking the follow-up question: "Why not?" Surely these men were aware of the unparalleled intellectual reputations of men like Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle. Why wouldn't they make it their priority to learn as much as they could from these great minds before attempting to develop their own theories? 

Adler answers that "The commission of these errors can be explained in part by antagonism toward the past, and even contempt for it." He explains: 

The explanation of the antagonism lies in the character of the teachers under whom these modern philosophers studied in their youth. These teachers did not pass on the philosophical tradition as a living thing by recourse to the writings of the great philosophers of the past. They did not read and comment on the works of Aristotle, for example, as the great teachers of the thirteenth century did. 

Instead, the decadent scholastics who occupied teaching posts in the universities of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries fossilized the tradition by presenting it in a deadly, dogmatic fashion, using a jargon that concealed rather than conveyed the insights it contained. Their lectures must have been as wooden and uninspiring as most textbooks or manuals are; their examinations must have called for a verbal parroting of the letter of ancient doctrines rather than for an understanding of their spirit. 

It is no wonder that early modern thinkers, thus mistaught, recoiled. Their repugnance, though certainly explicable, may not be wholly pardonable, for they could have repaired the damage by turning to the texts of Aristotle or Aquinas in their mature years and by reading them perceptively and critically. 

That they did not do this can be ascertained from an examination of their major works and from their intellectual biographies. When they reject certain points of doctrine inherited from the past, it is perfectly clear that they do not properly understand them; in addition, they make mistakes that arise from ignorance of distinctions and insights highly relevant to problems they attempt to solve. 

With very few exceptions, such misunderstanding and ignorance of philosophical achievements made prior to the sixteenth century have been the besetting sin of modern thought. Its effects are not confined to philosophers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. They are evident in the work of nineteenth-century philosophers and in the writings of our day. We can find them, for example, in the works of Ludwig Wittgenstein, who, for all his native brilliance and philosophical fervor, stumbles in the dark in dealing with problems on which his premodern predecessors, unknown to him, have thrown great light. 

Modern philosophy has never recovered from its false starts. Like men floundering in quicksand who compound their difficulties by struggling to extricate themselves, Kant and his successors have multiplied the difficulties and perplexities of modern philosophy by the very strenuousness – and even ingenuity – of their efforts to extricate themselves from the muddle left in their path by Descartes, Locke, and Hume. 

The post-16th-century philosophers were exposed to the words of the ancients, but in a "fossilized," "dogmatic" fashion unilluminated by the light of understanding. While this doesn't entirely excuse these philosophers from their neglect of the wisdom of the ancients - since they should have returned to these works and examined them firsthand, rather than relying on the inadequate presentations of their teachers - it certainly explains why they viewed these works as repository of superficial explanations and simple errors.

What is the solution to this problem? Adler answers:

To make a fresh start, it is only necessary to open the great philosophical books of the past (especially those written by Aristotle and in his tradition) and to read them with the effort of understanding that they deserve. The recovery of basic truths, long hidden from view, would eradicate errors that have had such disastrous consequences in modern times. 

Part 2: Neglecting Our Predecessors in Jewish Thought

Unfortunately, the problem identified by Adler in the world of Western Thought has struck the Torah world with equal force and equally devastating consequences. Just as the modern secular philosophers have neglected their predecessors (i.e. the classical philosophers and thinkers of antiquity), the modern Jewish philosophers have neglected our predecessors (i.e. the Baalei Mesorah), and for similar reasons.

Before we go any further we must first define the vague term "Baalei Mesorah" as used in this context. My usage here is intended to be extremely broad. I am including in this category Chazal (i.e. the Tannaim and Amoraim), the "Kadmonim" (i.e. the Geonim, Rishonim, and early Achronim) [1], and many of the later Achronim and contemporary Jewish thinkers as well. 

If we left things there, this definition would be too broad. What unites the Baalei Mesorah of whom I speak? Who is excluded from this large group? How can we tell the difference between someone who is considered a Baal Mesorah by this definition and someone who is not? To answer this question, I'd like to borrow another concept from Adler - one refers to as "the Great Conversation": 

What binds the authors together in an intellectual community is the great conversation in which they are engaged. In the works that come later in the sequence of years, we find authors listening to what their predecessors have had to say about this idea or that, this topic or that. They not only hearken to the thought of their predecessors, they also respond to it by commenting on it in a variety of ways.

To my mind, the Baalei Mesorah are those who are united by their participation in the Great Conversation of Torah with each other. Throughout the ages these chachamim have been engaged in asking, answering, and debating the same fundamental questions, such as: Who is Hashem? What is avodah zarah? What is emunah? What is the soul? What are mitzvos? What is hashgachah and how does it work? How and to what extent can we understand God's justice? In other words, the Great Conversation of Torah revolves around yesodei ha'Torah (the foundations of Torah). 

But I would like to emphasize the key part of my definition which allows us to distinguish those who are Baalei Mesorah from those who are not: "the Baalei Mesorah are those who are united by their participation in the Great Conversation of Torah with each other." We do not maintain that the Mesorah is a rigid set of fixed teachings handed down from generation to generation. Rather, the Mesorah is a living dialogue between the great thinkers of the past, present, and future, united in their pursuit of truth, guided by the light of revelation and reason. Although the earlier thinkers cannot receive communications from the later thinkers, these later thinkers can join the Great Conversation of Torah by "calling into council the views of our predecessors in order that we may profit by whatever is sound in their suggestions and avoid their errors." 

Those thinkers who attempt to address these fundamental questions without consulting (or adequately consulting) the Baalei Mesorah have excluded themselves from the Great Conversation of Torah. They may discuss the same topics and questions, but their refusal to meet the great minds of the past precludes their inclusion in this conversation - just as two individuals cannot be involved in a conversation if one of them shuts his hears to the voice of the other. 

By this criterion it should be clear which types of people I would exclude from the group of Baalei Mesorah. Among them are:

• "Bad Academics" who do not look to the Torah, Chazal, and the Kadmonim as a source of wisdom, but approach these texts with other agendas - many of whom, like the post-16th-century philosophers criticized by Adler, harbor "antagonism toward the past, and even contempt for it"
• members of the Reform, Conservative, Karaite, Reconstructionist, or any of the deviant breakaway "Jewish" movements which have consciously decided to sever ideological ties with the Mesorah community of Rabbinic Judaism and reject its fundamental teachings
• mystics who claim to have received divine revelations and have sought to change or augment Judaism with new teachings that have no basis in the Mesorah
• neophyte "Jewish philosophers" who speculate on the yesodei ha'Torah without doing their intellectual due diligence; also in this category are intelligent laypeople who fancy themselves scholars but don't actually learn
• unqualified rabbis and educators who, like the "decadent scholastics" criticized by Adler, have "fossilized the tradition by presenting it in a deadly, dogmatic fashion, using a jargon that concealed rather than conveyed the insights it contained." 

The members of these groups might have valuable insights to offer - just as Adler would concede that the post-16th-century philosophers have what to offer. But since they have cut themselves off from the Great Conversation of Torah, then I cannot consider them to be Baalei Mesorah on par with Chazal, the Kadmonim, and those Achronim who form links in the Mesorah-chain. 

As a Jewish educator, the last group I mentioned causes me the most grief. I have had so many students who have asked their teachers good, powerful, important questions about Judaism, only to be given vapid off-the-cuff answers, answers laden with meaningless jargon, fluffy emotional answers with no substance, sound-byte summaries of real answers which warp their meaning - all because their teachers never bothered to seek out the answers to these questions in the writings of the Baalei Mesorah. After years of asking these questions and receiving poor answers, many students give up and conclude that there are no answers. In the worst case scenario, these students leave Judaism altogether, since they feel they must turn elsewhere for truth and guidance. 

I have spoken to students who have received this type of Jewish education. It brings to mind Adler's description of the poor education received by the post-16th-century philosophers is exactly how these students describe their formative years of education to me: "Their lectures must have been as wooden and uninspiring as most textbooks or manuals are; their examinations must have called for a verbal parroting of the letter of ancient doctrines rather than for an understanding of their spirit."

A student recently wrote the following thank you note at the end of her Chumash final - with my underlines for emphasis. I quote it here as an example of what students are looking for, and what I think teachers need to do in order to prevent the problems we've been discussing:

I really enjoyed this class this year. I love that you give us the opportunity to think for ourselves and come up with our own ideas and possible answers before telling us what the meforshim say. I also really like that you share your own ideas, knowledge, and stories. I also love that you have a strong focus on learning the pshat. I have been in so many classes where we just mindlessly read through the pesukim and they immediately told us the meforshim and dictated what we should write in our notes. I really appreciate the fact that you teach us for life instead of just teaching us for the final at the end of the year. 

Note the points that this student made. She feels (a) that I am enabling her to gain a real knowledge of the pshat, (b) that she feels connected to the Baalei Mesorah in a living, dynamic, intellectually exciting way, (c) that she is thrilled with the fact that she gets to think for herself before learning from the Baalei Mesorah, and (d) that her learning is "for life" - not merely "for the test."

If we hope to overcome this epidemic of Baalei Mesorah neglect, we must introduce our students to the Mesorah as a vibrant, living intellectual heritage which offers answers to their questions and guidance in their lives. We must train our students in the type of thinking that enables them to take part in The Great Conversation - not to be passive receptacles for dead words on dead parchment. Most importantly, we must inculcate in their minds and hearts - by guiding them through example after example after example - that the Baalei Mesorah were the greatest thinkers, and that if we hope to become thinkers ourselves, we must become their students and gain as much as we can from what they have to teach. 

[1] These Kadmonim include, but are not limited to: Rambam, R' Avraham ben ha'Rambam, Rav Hai Gaon, Saadia Gaon, Ramban, Ibn Ezra, Ralbag, Rabbeinu Bachya ibn Paquda, Rif, Sforno, Rashba, Rashi, Baalei Tosafos, Ritva, Radak, Rashbam, R' Yosef Albo, R' Yehudah ha'Levi, Meiri, Avudarham, Raavad, Ran, Rabbeinu Yonah, Sefer Ha'Chinuch, Abravanel, Chazkuni, Rabbeinu Bachye ben Asher, Rosh, Tur, and more.

Musings on "The Academic Approach"

I'm classifying this as a "musings" post because I do not feel that my own thoughts on this subject are developed enough to be presentation-worthy. However, since the centerpiece of this post consists of excerpts from another writer whose insights have clarified my own thoughts on the subject, I decided that it would be worthwhile sharing. 

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Artwork: Tolarian Academy, by Stephen Daniele

Musings on "The Academic Approach"

My Frame of Reference

When it comes to my own hashkafah (outlook on Judaism/life), I turn to the Geonim, Rishonim, and early Achronim - which I will henceforth refer to by the collective term "Kadmonim." [1] Practically speaking, this means:

• I learn Torah she'bi'Chsav (the Written Torah) and Torah she'baal Peh (the Oral Torah) using their commentaries
• I study their works on Jewish philosophy in developing my worldview
• I operate on the assumption that the writings of the Kadmonim contain everything necessary for understanding Judaism, and although later authorities have a lot to offer, they are - at most - building upon the foundations laid by the Kadmonim
• I evaluate recent (i.e. post-15th century) innovations in light of the works of these earlier authorities, assuming that if these "new developments" clash with the fundamentals of the Kadmonim, they ipso facto fall outside of the pale of authentic Judaism

To be clear: I do not have anything against the later Achronim and modern-day Jewish thinkers. Readers of this blog know how big of a fan I am of the Malbim (19th century), Rav Hirsch (19th century), Rav Soloveitchik (20th century), and other recent chachamim. Nevertheless, I give precedence to the views of the Kadmonim in my understanding of Judaism.

"Academics" Good and Bad

Until now I have been speaking about what we might call "traditional commentators." But over the past century or two there has arisen a new coterie of commentators: the so-called "academics." I won't even attempt to define the term "academic" here because I tend to use it in a loose sense, rather than as a technical designation.

Broadly speaking, I am referring to those who employ modern methods and techniques of research and analysis in their study of the traditional texts. Some rely on historical and archaeological findings as the basis for their theories. Some utilize contemporary methods of literary criticism. Others analyze traditional texts through the lenses of present-day theories of sociology, psychology, and culture. Others I classify as "academics" not because of the methods they use, but because they approach the texts without any consultation of the baalei Mesorah whatsoever - limiting their scholastic cross-referencing to works that were published within the past 100-150 years and neglecting the thousands of years of Jewish scholarship prior to the modern era.

Over the course of my learning I have found there to be "Good Academics" whose writings have enlightened me and enhanced my understanding of Torah, and I have found there to be "Bad Academics" whose scholarship I would characterize as drivel, wild speculation, and outright kefirah (heresy). Examples of "Good Academics" whose works I have used in my own teaching and learning include Menachem Kellner, David Berger, Rabbi David Fohrman, Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, and a handful of others. Examples of "Bad Academics" abound, but I'd rather not mention names for fear of needlessly alienating readers.

In recent years I have routinely asked myself: What is the difference between the Good Academics and Bad Academics? Is there some common denominator which unifies the former and differentiates them from the latter, or is this distinction to be made on a case-by-case basis? Is there a litmus test to determine which is which, or must I rely on my intuition?

In thinking about this question I arrived at the following basic distinction. Good Academics are interested in ideas, and use modern academic methods as tools in their pursuit of truth and knowledge of objective reality. In contrast, the Bad Academics are not interested in understanding ideas for their truth-value; they are interested in other things, such as cultural trends, historical patterns, ideological influences, and so on - not in order to understand objective reality, but merely to gain knowledge about particulars relative to other particulars.

I am aware that this definition is far from complete. It is lacking in both clarity and diagnostic utility. How can one tell whether the author of a particular work is "interested in objective truth"? Are there any signs by which one can distinguished the "idea-based" approach from its counterfeit counterpart? Is this criterion even objective, or is it inherently biased by one's personal standard for what constitutes "an idea"?

Kass's "Wisdom-seeking Approach"

Several years ago I came across a nice, clear, definitive statement on "the Good Academic Approach" written (ironically) by none other than a Good Academic! One of my academically-inclined friends recommended The Beginning of Wisdom: Reading Genesis, by Leon Kass. Here's some background information about the author from his Wikipedia page:

Leon Richard Kass (born February 12, 1939) is an American physician, scientist, educator, and public intellectual, best known as a proponent of liberal education via the "Great Books," as an opponent of human cloning, life extension and euthanasia, as a critic of certain areas of technological progress and embryo research, and for his controversial tenure as chairman of President's Council on Bioethics from 2001 to 2005. Although Kass is often referred to as a bioethicist, he eschews the term and refers to himself as "an old-fashioned humanist. A humanist is concerned broadly with all aspects of human life, not just the ethical."

At first I was skeptical about reading a commentary on Sefer Bereishis by a "secular humanist," but I trusted my friend's recommendation and decided to give it a try. I was pleasantly surprised! Kass did an extraordinary and fruitful job of analyzing Bereishis from a fresh perspective. In fact, his approach to the first chapter of Bereishis made such an impression on me that I adopted it as a basis for my unit on Maaseh Bereishis (the Creation Story) in my Chumash class.

In his introduction Kass writes about the method he will be using. He characterizes his approach as "philosophic." I will now share some excerpts from this section with my own emphases indicated by underlining:

What, you may well ask, do I mean by “philosophic” and “philosophic reading”? By “philosophic” I mean wisdom-seeking and wisdom-loving, after the literal meaning of the ancient Greek term philosophia, the love and pursuit of wisdom. Philosophy in this original sense refers not to some specialized academic subject matter (the field of philosophy) or to some finished doctrine (my philosophy of life) or to some method of reasoning and questioning practiced by card-carrying professional philosophers (the discipline of philosophy). Rather it denotes the activity of Socrates, Plato, Aristotle and any of their descendants who single-mindedly and wholeheartedly – yet thoughtfully and self-critically – seek to discover the truth about the world and our place within it and to find thereby guidance for how we are to live. This book results from my efforts to read the book of Genesis in this spirit, the same spirit in which I read Plato’s Republic or Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics – indeed, any great book – seeking wisdom regarding human life lived well in relation to the whole.

This is exactly what I meant by my statement that "Good Academics are interested in ideas." "Wisdom-seeking" is an even better term than "interested in ideas," since it encompasses more of what we value in our talmud Torah (Torah study). Moreover, Kass's goal ("to discover the truth about the world and our place within it and to find thereby guidance for how we are to live") is entirely consonant with my own goal in learning and teaching, which (according to my understanding) is in line with the purpose of talmud Torah according to Judaism.

Kass then contrasts his method with that of contemporary academics - the "Bad Academics" of whom I spoke - and provides the best description of their approach:

It is, I am well aware, unusual to read the Bible in this manner and with these aspirations, especially today. Contemporary academic prejudices tend to deny that the Bible can still serve as a vital source of human understanding and moral instruction. Since the nineteenth century most biblical scholars, interested less in the meaning and more in the sources of the text, have seen the Hebrew Bible not as a unified literary whole but as an aggregate of separate documents derived from diverse sources. They read it not as a possible source of wisdom regarding enduring human questions but as a documentary evidence of the sensibilities and prejudices of an ancient people. In their view, the truths to be learned from the book are not universal and enduring truths about God and man, but merely parochial and historical truths about the beliefs of the ancient children of Israel whose book it once was. This view of the source critics is perfectly compatible with the most recent approach of many literary critics who read the Bible as literature but who do not regard literature as an aid to wisdom. They tend to be interested, for example, in finding cross-cultural comparisons between the biblical myths of the ancient Hebrews and the myths of Gilgamesh and other literary works of the ancient world, but they rarely ponder which, if any, might be closer to the truth of things. Most recently, self-proclaimed politicized scholars, distressed over the continuing authority of the book in some quarters of American society, have not been content just to historicize and relativize the text. Instead, reading it under the influence of, say, Marxist or feminist or environmentalist ideologies, they attack its apparent teachings as racist, sexist, and anthropocentric. In their view the Bible, if taken seriously, turns out to be a source not of wisdom but of dangerous error and folly. 

This is a far better asessment of "the Bad Academic Approach" than I am currently capable of writing, and expresses most or all of the problems I have with that method.

Further on in his introduction Kass states the goals of his commentary on Bereishis. He also has a nice response to those religious (primarily Christian) readers who might object to his imposition of a "wisdom-seeking methodology" on the revealed word of God:

This book on Genesis, addressed to serious and thoughtful readers of whatever kind or degree of religious knowledge and practice, has three major purposes: First, to demonstrate by example a wisdom-seeking approach to the Bible that attempts to understand the text in its own terms yet tries to show how such an understanding may address us in our current situation of moral and spiritual neediness. Second, to recover in their full power the stories of Genesis as tales to live with, as stories illuminating some of the most important and enduring questions of human existence. Third, to make at least plausible the power of the Biblical approach and response to these questions, with its emphasis on righteousness, holiness, and reverence for the divine … An equally severe difficulty comes from the other side, from those who regard the Bible as the revealed word of God. For them it is definitely a book, but not a book that can be read and interrogated like any other. It seems rather to demand a certain prior commitment to the truth of the account, even in order to understand it. Faith, it is sometimes said, is the prerequisite to understanding. But the Hebrew Bible in fact suggests the contrary. In Deuteronomy, Moses asserts that observing the statutes and ordinances that God has commanded is Israel's "wisdom and understanding in the eyes of the people, that when they hear all these statutes shall say, 'Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people'" (4:6). The wisdom of the Torah is said by the Torah to be accessible to everyone, at least in part.

Lastly, Kass sets forth the four specific methodological assumptions he will be making in reading:

As a result of many readings and rereadings, I now make the following "methodological" assumptions in my efforts at interpretation: First, there is a coherent order and plan to the whole, and the order of the stories is of more than chronological significance. Second, every word counts. Third, juxtapositions are important; what precedes or what follows a given sentence or story may be crucial for discovering its meaning. (It matters, for example, that the Noahide code and covenant appear as the immediate sequel to Noah's animal sacrifice tendered at the end of the Flood. It matters, too, that there are two juxtaposed and very different stories of the creation of man or of the multiplication of nations and languages.) Fourth and finally, the teachings of the text are not utterly opaque to human reason, even if God and other matters remain veiled in mystery. Though, as we shall see, the text takes a dim view of the sufficiency of human reason, it presents this critical view to human reason in a most intelligible and powerful way. One can approach the text in a spirit of inquiry, even if one comes as a result to learn the limitations of such philosophic activity.

These four methodological assumptions are completely consistent with the unstated premises of our baalei Mesorah and traditional commentators. I can't think of a single fault that any of Kadmonim would find in any of these assumptions.

I have found no better example of a secular "professional academic" approaching Torah with a genuine wisdom-seeking attitude, an intellectually honest mind, and a solid methodology which attempts to understand the text on its own terms in order to understand and live in line with reality. His articulation of the difference between the Good Academic Approach and the Bad Academic Approach is the best I've seen, and I would be happy to learn from any Academics who follow in Kass's path.

[1] These Kadmonim include, but are not limited to: Rambam, R' Avraham ben ha'Rambam, Rav Hai Gaon, Saadia Gaon, Ramban, Ibn Ezra, Ralbag, Rabbeinu Bachya ibn Paquda, Rif, Sforno, Rashba, Rashi, Baalei Tosafos, Ritva, Radak, Rashbam, R' Yosef Albo, R' Yehudah ha'Levi, Meiri, Avudarham, Raavad, Ran, Rabbeinu Yonah, Sefer Ha'Chinuch, Abravanel, Chazkuni, Rabbeinu Bachye ben Asher, Rosh, Tur, and more.