My Rejected Kiruv Article on the Purpose of Life

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My Rejected Kiruv Article on the Purpose of Life

Foreword                                                                                                                     

I was planning on just posting the article I wrote and leaving it at that. But the more I thought about it, the more I deemed it important to provide the background information about why and for whom I wrote this article, to tell you how it was received, and to share my thoughts on its rejection. I think it’s especially important to provide this context because I’d really like to hear your feedback on the article.

Here's the backstory. A few months ago, I was contacted by two editors from a kiruv (Jewish outreach) organization. After introducing themselves, they told me about their new project:

We are looking for credentialed philosophers to write one or two articles from the following seven themes (or another if you prefer):

Is there a God? Where did the Universe come from? What is the meaning of life? What happens to us after we die? What is consciousness? Is there free will? and What are good and evil?

They specified the following criteria, in this language:

1. Length: 800-1200 words
2. Audience: Mostly millennials but accessible to all who have never studied philosophy
3. Style: Deals directly with the issue in a universal way (no proofs from any scripture), must use examples from contemporary culture
4. Tone: Serious, but fun and a bit sassy (70/20/10)

Despite my personal stance on kiruv and my not being a “credentialed philosopher,” I told them with genuine excitement that this project sounds right up my alley, and that I’d be delighted to write an article or two in July. 

I chose “What is the meaning of life?” as the subject for my first article because it's a topic I’ve addressed on many occasions throughout my high school teaching career, but I hadn’t yet written it up in any form. I welcomed the somewhat restrictive assignment specifications because it would be way too easy to let an article like this to get out of hand if I had the freedom to write it as I saw fit.

Below is the final draft of the article. The only difference between this and the version I submitted is the presence of a single paragraph in brackets towards the end – a paragraph which they liked but felt would be better saved for the sequel. I chose to include that paragraph here because, as you might have inferred from the title of this blog post, a sequel will not likely be forthcoming.

After you read the article, I’ll tell you how it was received. I'll share my own thoughts on the feedback I received and then I'll ask you for your feedback.

The Purpose of Life (According to Maimonides)

Introduction

All religions are expected to answer the question: “What is the purpose of life?” It should come as no surprise that this question is taken up by Maimonides (a.k.a. Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon, or Rambam, 1138-1204 C.E.), in his Guide for the Perplexed. [1]

For those who have only heard the “traditional” Jewish answers to this question, Maimonides’s answer might come as a shock. Best to sit down and buckle up!

The Purpose of the Universe

Maimonides’s treatment of this topic takes place in the context of an even larger question: What is the purpose of the universe as a whole?

He begins by challenging the notion that the universe was created for the sake of human beings. He argues that the universe is far too vast to be necessary for the human species, which is like a mere drop in the sea. (See the recent images taken by the Webb telescope released by NASA in July 2022.) And if a person claimed that all the planets, stars, and galaxies in the universe aren’t necessary for humans but nonetheless benefit us, the burden of proof would be on that person to explain how. (If Maimonides were playing chess, this is the first place he’d say, “Check.”)

Next, he refutes the common religious answer to our initial question, namely, that the purpose of man is to serve God. He writes: “Even if the universe existed for man's sake and man existed for the purpose of serving God, as has been mentioned, the question remains: What is the purpose of serving God? God does not become more perfect if all His creatures serve Him and comprehend Him as far as possible, nor would He lose anything if nothing existed beside Him.” In other words, God is perfect and has no needs; therefore, the purpose of the universe and of man cannot possibly be for His sake. (“Check again.”)

At this point, it would seem there is only one move left for the religious individual to make: the universe exists for us, we exist to serve God, and our service of God is not for His sake, but for our sake. Maimonides serves this view up, then smacks it down: “It might perhaps be replied that the service of God is not intended for God's perfection, but for our own perfection; it is good for us and perfects us. But then the question might be repeated: What is the purpose of our perfection?” (“Check yet again.”)

And this is where he drops the M-bomb (short for “Maimonides bomb”). Ready for it? According to Maimonides, life has no purpose. (“Checkmate.” Mic drop.)

The Purpose of Life (or Lack Thereof)

Many of us were taught that each person was given a special mission to accomplish which is their purpose in life, but Maimonides doesn’t buy that. Nor does he buy the other common answers, such as “God created the universe because He wanted to bestow His kindness” or “God created us in order to reward our service,” both of which run into the problems mentioned above.

But before you tip over your king and careen into the nihilistic void, allow me to unpack Maimonides’s nuanced position.

Think about how we relate to the question, “What is the purpose of X?” We ask this question when the utility of an entity is not readily apparent. Consider the following scenario. You see me holding an unfamiliar gadget. You ask me, “What is that for?” and I answer: “Oh, this? This thing has no purpose.” You might reply, “Then what’s the point? What good is it?” In other words, you assume that if it has no purpose, then it is not good.

But that conclusion isn’t necessarily warranted. In truth, there are two possibilities for why (or how) something “has no purpose.” One possibility is that the entity is, indeed, useless. Its existence lacks justification. It is a means to no end whatsoever. The other possibility is that its existence is an end in and of itself. It doesn’t need any purpose outside of itself to justify its own existence because its existence is intrinsically good. 

That is the sense in which Maimonides would say that life has no purpose: because existence is good, in and of itself. 

The Basis in Torah

This view is borne out in the opening chapter of Genesis. The phrase “and God saw that it was good” appears six times in the account of creation. If the Torah had withheld this declaration of goodness until after the creation of man, one might be justified in concluding that man is the purpose of the universe. But that's not what the Torah says. God creates light and deems it "good." He separates the seas and dry land and deems this "good." He creates vegetation and trees and deems them "good." And the luminaries, and the fish, and the birds, and so on.

Maimonides understands this to mean that each and every component of the universe is good simply by virtue of its existence. And when the account of creation ends with “God saw everything that He had made and behold! it was exceedingly good” (Genesis 1:31), this means that the universe has no purpose outside of itself. According to Judaism, existence in accordance with the will and wisdom of the Creator is the only standard by which goodness is measured. [2]

Now we can rephrase the answer to our original question in a more uplifting way. What is the purpose of life? To exist! To live! Life is inherently good! You don’t need any special, personalized mission to imbue your life with value because your life has intrinsic value!

And that is the end of the story … almost.

The Anomaly of Humanity

On Day Six, God creates the land animals and declares them to be good. Then He creates man and woman but does not declare them to be good. Why not? The answer lies in the essential difference between humans and all other phenomena in the universe. What is that difference? Free will.

We are the only creations that have free will and who can choose to disobey God. The Sages express this in the Tamludic dictum: “Everything is in the hands of heaven except for the fear of heaven” (Berachos 33b), which Maimonides explains to be a reference to free will. All other creations in the universe are “programmed” to exist in line with the will and wisdom of the Creator, without any possibility of deviation, and are therefore good “by default.” We humans can deviate. We can choose to live like animals, neglecting our unique capacity for abstract intellection, or we can attempt to live like angels, neglecting our physical and psychological needs. Both paths run contrary to our design, and therefore lead to self-destruction.

Rather, we humans must choose to live in line with the will and wisdom of the Creator. God does not declare man and woman to be good because this goodness isn’t guaranteed. The sociologist, Eric Hoffer, wrote: “Animals can learn, but it is not by learning that they become dogs, cats, or horses. Only man has to learn to become what he is supposed to be.” We must learn what it means to be human, and to consciously align ourselves with that ideal to the greatest extent possible in order to thrive.

[This is where the Torah comes into the picture. Gersonides (a.k.a. Ralbag, 1288-1344 C.E.) defines Torah as “a God-given regimen that brings those who practice it properly to true success.” Perhaps it would be more accurate to translate “true success” as “true human flourishing” – to find fulfillment by living in line with our true nature as truth-seeking beings devoted to seeking knowledge and practicing kindness, righteousness, and justice on earth, in harmony with ourselves and our fellow human beings. How the Torah serves this function is a topic for another article …]

The Purpose of Your Life

And this is where the notion of individual purpose finds its place. According to Maimonides, there is no extrinsic purpose to any individual’s life as an individual. We all share a common mission: to live in a manner which actualizes the human potential inherent in our nature. However, this actualization will play out differently based on our strengths, weaknesses, and individual differences, as determined by nature and nurture.

For example, Moses, Rabbi Akiva, and I belong to the same species and aspire to the same standard of human “goodness,” but since each of us possesses a different set of potentialities and lives in a different set of circumstances, each of us will have a different path of “goodness” to follow.

Here the maxim “know thyself” takes on additional significance: to live a “good life” we must know ourselves as humans, but we must also know ourselves as individuals, so that we can actualize our individual potentialities in accordance with the blueprint of universal human nature. 

Conclusion

Let us conclude with a summary of the main points. What is the purpose of life? According to Maimonides, life has no purpose – not because it is pointless, but because existence in line with the will and wisdom of the Creator is inherently good. This is true for everything in the universe, including for us, but unlike the other creations, we must learn what it means to be human and deliberately choose to live that way in order to live good lives. And because each of us is different, we must acquire enough self-knowledge to actualize our individual human potentialities, thereby making each of our lives worth living.

[1] Although the main ideas presented in this article can be found in Maimonides’s Guide for the Perplexed 3:13, I have incorporated insights and examples gleaned from various other texts and teachers.

[2] Some might object to this entire line of reasoning, saying: “The whole notion of ‘intrinsically good’ is a cop-out! You can’t just say that something is good for no purpose. If a thing is good, then it must be good for something – not in and of itself!” To this objection I would reply by pointing out that ALL value systems, Jewish and non-Jewish, religious and secular, right and wrong, must have at their foundation something which is regarded as an intrinsic good. The alternative is an infinite regression of desire: a series of means with no end. For example, if you ask the average person, “Why is it good to go to school?” they might say, “So I can get a job.” “Why is getting a job good?” “So I can make money.” “Why is money good?” “So I can buy things.” “Why is buying things good?” and so on, until eventually, you will reach something which is regarded as good in and of itself. In some societies, that intrinsic value might be pleasure. In others, it might be accomplishment. In others, it might be status. No one answers these “Why?” questions with infinite “so that”s all the way down; everyone’s answer will have a terminus, and that terminus will be conceived of as an intrinsic good. Mortimer J.Adler observed that one of the most common answers in our society is “happiness,” which is deemed to be intrinsically good. Adler supported this observation by pointing out that it is impossible to complete the sentence: “I want to be happy because _____.” To sum it up: this answer is not a cop-out because everyone will have something which occupies the slot of intrinsic value. According to Maimonides’s understanding of Judaism, that intrinsic value is “existence in line with the will and wisdom of the Creator.”

Afterword

After sending in my rough draft, I received an email from one of the editors (who is a rabbi) saying, “Thank you very much for this excellent article.” I asked a few questions about matters of style, which he answered. The only suggestion he had about the substance of the article was to omit the paragraph about the role of Torah, saying that “a separate piece on ‘What is Judaism?’ would do very well.” I made these cosmetic changes and then submitted my final draft. 

After not hearing back from either of my contacts for a week, I emailed them to ask whether there are other changes I should make. The editor who initially contacted me apologized for the delay (explaining that her response had been sitting in her draft folder), and then went on to say:

Even though we personally enjoyed it, our editor in chief flagged it and shared the piece with the Rosh HaYeshiva and they got back to us and said that they feel the article is "confusing and misleading." Unfortunately the whole approach doesn't work for them.  We do sincerely thank you for your time and effort and will of course be remunerating you for it.

I would have appreciated it if the editor in chief and/or the Rosh HaYeshiva had elaborated on what they meant by “confusing and misleading,” but I wouldn’t expect them to take the time to provide detailed feedback to a total stranger about a piece they decided not to use. Of course, this left me with two options: (1) to speculate about what they might have meant, and (2) to solicit feedback from other people.

My speculations are straightforward: I suspect they deemed the article “misleading” because they fundamentally disagree with what I wrote, and they called it “confusing” because since they couldn’t openly denounce the Rambam for his views, they instead placed the blame on my presentation of his views.

What, exactly, do I think they found so disagreeable? It could be any of several points: that the universe wasn’t created for man, that man doesn’t exist to serve God, that God doesn't need us for anything, that God did not create the universe in order to bestow His kindness to man, that the Torah is “merely” a means of making us good rather than the standard by which goodness is measured, that Olam ha’Ba isn’t mentioned anywhere in the article, that no distinction is made between Jews and non-Jews, that I say nothing about spirituality, etc.

But if I had to bet money on which sentence they found to be the most objectionable, it would be this: “Many of us were taught that each person was given a special mission to accomplish which is their purpose in life, but Maimonides doesn’t buy that.” Since I was writing for an audience of laypeople, I didn’t refer to this notion by its commonly used Hebrew term “tafkid” or by the related term “tikkun.” I cannot definitively say how, from where, or when this belief originated, but I do know that it was popularized by the Hasidic movement to the point where it can now be described as “mainstream.” For example, here’s an excerpt from the book “The Garden of Emunah” (2006) by Rabbi Shalom Arush, a Breslov Hasid, translated into English by Rabbi Lazer Brody:

Each of us comes to this earth for the express purpose of fulfilling a mission. Longevity depends on the task we have to complete. One’s death – even in a sudden tragedy or accident – is always the result of Hashem’s personal decision. Some live for twenty years and others for one hundred years, but we all eventually leave this earth at the precise moment that Hashem decides. A mind-boggling set of Divine considerations influences the circumstances of a person’s life and longevity – the person’s deeds, former lives, public edicts, and other criteria that defy our understanding.

Some souls come to this earth for a short and specific tikkun, and then return to the upper worlds. Such souls are usually remarkably special people, with little or no evil inclination, gentle, kind, and pleasant. Therefore, don’t be surprised when you hear of young upright people that die suddenly; they’ve simply completed their tikkun – their soul correction and mission on earth. (p.44)

As you can see from just this short excerpt – and certainly from the rest of the book – the notion of a Divinely ordained mission in life is inextricably bound up with many other fundamental doctrines: hashgachah pratis (individual Divine providence), sachar v’onesh (reward and punishment), tzadik v’ra lo (“Why do bad things happen to good people?”), bitachon (trust in God), and more. To question, challenge, or deny the notion of an individual purpose in life is to threaten these foundational beliefs. And that’s essentially what I did by presenting the Rambam’s view in the manner that I did.

Of course, I knew I was doing this when I wrote the article. I knew that their readership would be unlikely to hear this idea from anyone else, and I know how powerful this idea can be. In fact, the first time I heard this answer given in this exact way was at a Q&A with high school students held by my Rosh ha’Yeshiva. I still remember the feeling that reverberated through the room when he said, “life has no purpose,” and then went on to explain the ideas in this article. (You can listen to the recording by clicking here and skipping to 24 minutes; note that my Rosh ha’Yeshiva had laryngitis at the time.) I wanted to replicate that experience as much as I could in my article because I know that it will resonate with others the same way it resonated with me and with all the other students who were present at that Q&A.

This is also why I left the reader “an out” by underscoring that this is the view of Maimonides. I did not claim that this view is unanimous. I included the phrase “according to Maimonides” in the title. I repeatedly stressed throughout the article that this is all “according to Maimonides.” I did this so that if someone felt threatened, they could dismiss it by saying, “That’s just the Rambam's view.”

And this is why I think it is misleading to call my article “misleading.” It would be misleading if I misrepresented the Rambam’s view. To my knowledge, I didn’t do that. I could be wrong, though, which is why I’m sharing this article and the feedback publicly. If I’ve misunderstood the Rambam’s position, then I’d like to know how – especially on such a fundamental issue as the purpose of life. 

To reiterate: I can see how a person might consider this article “misleading” if they felt it would lead the reader astray from (what they maintain is) the truth. But “confusing”? I thought I did a decent job of presenting this idea clearly, which is another reason I’d like feedback. I would especially like to hear feedback from someone who says: “I completely understand what you are saying and you presented these ideas very clearly, but I think you are 100% incorrect.” At least that way I’ll know that the reader isn’t biased by their agreement with what they've read. 

And so, my readers and listeners, what do you think? Do you find this article to be confusing and/or misleading? If so, why? What other thoughts, questions, and critiques do you have? I'm all ears.

___________________________________________________________________________________

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God's Preferred Pronoun

Disclaimer: I know it's bad form to apologize for what I write, but I feel I have to in this case. When I set out to write this post, it was going to be a simple question with a simple answer. However, once I started writing, I kind of got carried away with spelling out all of the premises and ramifications. The post ballooned into more fundamentals than I anticipated, and would have continued to do so had I not exercised restraint and brought the post to a close when I did. Suffice it to say, this is not my cleanest writing. I hope that the ideas are still enlightening and useful.

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God's Preferred Pronoun

The Pronoun Question 

Consider the following questions:

"Why don't we refer to God as 'she'?" 

"If God isn't male or female, why don't we use the pronoun 'It' instead of 'Him'?"  

"Shouldn't we avoid all gendered terms in relation to Hashem, since Hashem has no gender?"

These are all different formulations of the same question - a question that I am asked from time to time, usually by my 9th or 10th grade female students. [1] These students know that God has no gender.  They're not asking childish questions like, "What if God really IS female?" or "What if God has BOTH genders?" Their question is terminology - not metaphysics. They are bothered by the masculine terminology we use to describe our non-physical, non-anthropomorphic, unknowable Creator. 

My intention in this post is share the philosophical answer that I give my students when asked questions about why we use masculine terminology in reference to Hashem. But first I must dispel another answer.

The Linguistic Answer 

I say that I plan on giving a "philosophical answer" to distinguish this from the linguistic answer, which I have heard some people give to such questions. I will now summarize the linguistic answer and explain why I believe it to be inadequate.

The basis of the linguistic answer is the fact that, like it or not, Hebrew is a language with grammatical gender. Every noun in Hebrew is either masculine or feminine. For example: "sefer" (book) is masculine; "kenesset" (synagogue) is feminine; "shulchan" (table) is masculine; "simchah" (joy) is feminine. Many nouns can take on both forms. For example: "par" means bull (masculine), whereas "parah" means heifer (feminine); "ish" means man, whereas "ishah" means woman; "melech" means king, whereas "malkah" means queen.

This is the reality of the Hebrew language. As far as I know, these differences in grammatical gender for single-gender nouns do not stem from philosophical, psychological, biological, social, or sexual considerations. They are what they are, and nothing short of a reinvention of the entire Hebrew language will change that.

Similarly, all verbs and adjectives must conform to the gender of the noun they modify. For example: "sefer gadol" means "big book," whereas "kenesset gedolah" means "big synagogue." Again, "gender identity" has nothing to do with any of this. These are just the rules of the language.

How does Hebrew deal with situations which call for gender-neutral language? By using the gender-neutral mode in Hebrew, which is masculine. When referring to groups of objects or persons which include members of both genders, the masculine form is used as the gender-neutral default. For example, "ben" means "son" and "banim" means "sons"; "bas" means "daughter" and "banos" means "daughters." If you wanted to refer to a group which included sons and daughters, Hebrew doesn't offer a gender-neutral form of the pluralized noun (i.e. an equivalent to the English word "children" or "progeny"). Instead, you would say "banim," using the masculine pluralization as the gender-neutral form.

The same is true when the gender is unknown or otherwise inapplicable. If I were task someone, "Do you have a child?" I would say, "Yesh lecha yeled?" using the masculine form of the word "child" ("yeled" as opposed to "yaldah") even though my question was asked without any specific gender in mind.

There isn't even a word for "it" in Hebrew. If you're going to say "it," you'll have to either say "he" or "she." Similarly, there's no way to say "they" or "them." The only options are "they (masculine)" or "they (feminine)."

On this basis, the linguistic answer to the question, "Why do we use masculine terminology in reference to Hashem?" is: "We use masculine terminology because this is the only gender-neutral way we can refer to Hashem in the Hebrew language."

According to this answer, when we speak about Hashem, we should have in mind that we are speaking in a non-gendered way, despite the fact that we are using masculine verbs, adjectives, and pronouns. Just as we refer to a group of boys and girls with the masculine "banim" with full awareness that we intended this in a gender-neutral way, so too, when we make statements about Hashem such as "ve'hu Rachum" ("He is Merciful") and "Melech ha'olam" ("King of the universe"), we should really have in mind, "the genderless God is merciful" and "Monarch of the universe."

The Inadequacy of the Linguistic Answer

I believe that the linguistic answer is inadequate for several reasons. First and foremost, it's disingenuous. True, we don't think "masculine" when describing a group of five boys and five girls as "banim," but we do relate to the pronoun "He" and terms such as "melech," "shofet," "gibor," etc. as masculine in reference to Hashem. This is by design, as I will attempt to explain when I give the philosophical answer.

Secondly, there are dozens - if not hundreds - of anthropomorphic descriptions of Hashem in Tanach and in the words of Chazal which portray Him specifically as masculine - not as a non-gendered being. For example: "Hashem is a man of war" (Shemos 15:3), "Is He not your father?" (Devarim 32:6), "But like a woman who has been unfaithful to her male companion, you have been unfaithful to Me, O house of Israel - the word of Hashem" (Yirmiyahu 3:20). The entire Shir ha'Shirim is an allegorical love song, depicting Hashem as the man and the "beloved" seeking Him as the woman. To claim that all of these examples of vivid imagery and description are intended to be understood as "gender neutral" is, to my mind, dishonest and absurd. Chazal clearly followed this pattern with their numerous masculine allegorical depictions of Hashem.

Lastly, even if we were to explain the Hebrew use of masculine terminology in relation to Hashem, we still remain with the question of how we should speak of Him in English, and in other languages which do offer a gender-neutral alternative. To my knowledge there are no baalei Mesorah who have advocated for the use of gender-neutral terminology when speaking about Hashem in languages which allow for this. In other words, I do not know of any reputable Torah scholar who would suggest that we should refer to Hashem with the pronoun "It" in English. Everyone agrees that we should refer to Hashem as "He" - not "It," and not "She." I do not think that this is arbitrary.

By exploring the weaknesses of the linguistic answer, we have strengthened our original question. Not only must we answer why the Torah uses masculine terminology to describe Hashem, but we must also explain why He is depicted specifically using masculine imagery, and why we don't use non-gendered terminology when speaking about Hashem in languages that allow for it, such as English.

Predicating Attributes of God

Since gender is an attribute, the philosophical answer to our question requires an understanding of how we ascribe any attribute to God. Because this topic is exceedingly broad and deep, I will focus our discussion on a short excerpt from the Chovos ha'Levavos, by Rabbeinu Bachya Ibn Paquda. [2] He begins by making an important distinction between different types of Divine attributes:

The meanings of the Divine attributes are very many, just as the creatures – and the kindnesses upon them – are many. They can be divided into two classes: [attributes] of essence and [attributes] of action.  

The reason we call [the first class] “[attributes] of essence” is that they are abiding attributes of God, May He be exalted; [they were His] before [the existence of] all created things, and [they are His] afterwards. They are befitting of the Essence of His glory. These attributes are three: that He Exists, that He is One, and that He is Eternal and unpreceded.

The reason we describe Him with these attributes is to convey some conception of Him and of the true nature of His existence; to call attention to His glory; and to help men understand that they have a Creator Whom they are obligated to serve.

We find it necessary to describe Him as existing, since all evidence points to His existence: the signs of His handiwork in the universe testify to this, as it says: “Lift up your eyes on high and see! Who created these? He Who brings out their host by number, He calls them all by name; by His great might and strong power, not one is missing” (Yeshayahu 40:26). We must therefore attribute to Him existence, as it is clear to our minds that no action or work will issue from that which does not exist. Since His works and creations are evident, His Existence is evident to our minds.

We describe Him as Eternal, for all arguments led to the conclusion that this world had a beginning before which there was no other beginning, a first cause before which there was no other cause; it became clear that there cannot be an infinite series of causes [extending back]. It follows necessarily that the Creator, May He be exalted, is the Beginning before which there is no beginning. That is what is meant by [His] eternity, as it is said: “From eternity to eternity, You are God” (Tehilim 90:2); “Before Me no god was formed, nor will there be after Me” (Yeshayahu 43:10). 

Why we describe Him as One has already been explained in exhaustive fashion through solid arguments. It was proven by incontrovertible evidence that the notion of absolute Oneness is bound to the Essence of His Glory. The meaning of this oneness is the inapplicability of plurality to the Essence of His glory and the exclusion of change, metamorphosis, accident, creation and destruction, combination and separation, resemblance, association, transformation, and all other types of multiplicity from the true Essence of His glory.

It is vital that you understand that the meaning of these attributes [which we ascribe to God] is not to predicate of the Creator’s Essence change and diversity; rather, the meaning is to deem their opposites [i.e., the opposites of the three attributes of essence] inapplicable to Him, May He be exalted. What we have in mind by their attribution is that the Creator of the world, may He be exalted, is neither plural, nor nonexistent, nor created.

To summarize: when we ascribe these three "attributes of essence" to God - namely, Existence, Oneness, and Eternality - we are not attributing positive qualities to Him, since He has no qualities, and we cannot have any knowledge of His Essence. Rather, we are negating the opposite attributes (i.e. non-existence, plurality, and createdness).

All of this is in contrast to what Rabbeinu Bachya defines "attributes of action" as "those that are ascribed to the Creator as a result of His actions." Examples include: merciful, kind, righteous, jealous, awesome, gracious, slow to anger, mighty, etc. These attributes are intended to convey positive knowledge - not of God's Essence, but of His actions, His creations, and everything else that is involved in His governance of His world. In other words, when we say, "Hashem is merciful," we mean, "Hashem acts in a manner which, if a human acted that way, we would describe as 'merciful.'" When we say, "Hashem is jealous," we mean, "Hashem acts in a manner which, if a human acted this way, we would describe as 'jealous.'" And so on.

Rabbeinu Bachya emphasizes his point about negative "attributes of essence" one more time at the end of this section:

What you must understand in regard to the Creator is that nothing is like Him. When you ascribe attributes to the Creator, you should understand only that their opposites are inapplicable to Him. As Aristotle said, the negative attributes of God are truer than the positive ones; for all positive attributes ascribed to the Essence of His Glory cannot escape the characteristics of substantial or accidental properties, and the Creator of substance and accident is not subject to their properties. The negative attributes ascribed to God, however, are undoubtedly true and befitting of Him; for He is above all quality and description, resemblance or comparison. What you must therefore understand from the three attributes of which we have spoken is the inapplicability of their opposites to the Creator, may He be exalted. 

In other words, when we say "Hashem Exists," we really mean "Hashem doesn't NOT exist, but the nature of His Existence is unknowable to us." When we say "Hashem is One," we really mean "Hashem does not partake of plurality or multiplicity, but the nature of His Oneness is unknowable to us." When we say, "Hashem is Eternal," we really mean, "Hashem is not created, but the nature of His Eternality is unknowable to us."

One might ask: "If the nature of Hashem's Existence is unknowable to us, then what difference does it make if we describe Him as 'existent' or 'non-existent'? Strictly speaking, both are inaccurate, since the term 'exist' in relation to Hashem is completely different from what we mean when we say that anything else 'exists'!" The same goes for the statement that Hashem is "One" or "Eternal": since we cannot have any positive knowledge of what we mean by these terms, then why use them at all? What makes them superior to their opposites, or to using neither term?

The answer, to put it bluntly, is that we use these specific "attributes of essence" as the lesser of two evils, in that they are more conducive to developing a more accurate way of thinking about Hashem than their opposites. One can say that of any pair of "attributes of essence," we choose the lesser of two evils. We choose the term which conveys the least inaccurate conception of Him - or, if you prefer, the term which conveys a conception of Him which lends itself more to an accurate grasp of the truth than the alternative.

For example, although we cannot have any positive knowledge of the nature of Hashem's Existence, we nevertheless say that He "exists" because the term "existence" lends itself to a more accurate understanding of Hashem than "non-existence." If we did not ascribe "existence" to Hashem, then people would think of Him as non-existent, which would be extremely detrimental. The same is true of Oneness: although we do not have any positive knowledge of what we mean when we say Hashem "is One," that statement is more developmentally beneficial to our understanding than speaking of Him in terms of plurality or multiplicity. Similarly, saying that He "is Eternal" is more developmentally beneficial than if we didn't use this term, since the only alternative is to think of Him as "finite" or "created" or "existing in time" - all of which would do more harm than good to our understanding of Hashem.

The Rambam [3] applies this to other attributes as well. For example, he writes that Hashem "has neither death nor life like the life of a physical creature, neither foolishness nor wisdom like the wisdom of a wise man." Note how he negates one set of qualities in an absolute manner (i.e. death and foolishness), but he negates the other set of qualities in a qualified manner ("nor life like the life of a physical creature ... nor wisdom like the wisdom of a wise man"). This follows the same pattern as the attributes of essence mentioned by Rabbeinu Bachya (i.e. He has no plurality nor does He have Oneness like the oneness of any unities in the world, etc.).

The Philosophical Answer to the Pronoun Question

Now that we recognize Rabbeinu Bachya's distinction between attributes of essence and attributes of action, the question is: What about gender? When we describe Hashem as "He," or use masculine verbs or adjectives when speaking about Him, do we treat this gender-predication like an attribute of essence or an attribute of action?

I am of the opinion that we should treat gender as we would an attribute of essence - not to imply that it is on par with Existence, Oneness, and Eternality, but in the sense that we should view the attribution of gender to Hashem not as an affirmation of positive quality, but as a negation of its opposite. And what quality, exactly, are we negating when we describe Hashem in masculine terms and with masculine imagery? Objecthood. Allow me to explain.

In English we distinguish between an object and a person by our use of the pronoun "it" vs. the pronouns "he" or "she." In Hebrew, even though we don't have the option to express this distinction in language, we still mentally classify everything as either an object or a person. The human mind is simply wired that way. My dad is a person. The chair he's sitting on is an object. I am a person. My shoes are objects. The landlord is a person, and the apartment I'm renting is an object. The ship is an object when I am speaking literally, but is a person when I speak figuratively about "taking my ship out on her maiden voyage."

The Torah goes out of its way to anthropomorphize Hashem in order to ensure that we do not relate to Him as an object. If we avoided all anthropomorphic terminology, we would default into thinking of Hashem as an object - as a force, as a characteristic of the universe, or an abstraction like "existence" or "reality" or "truth" - all of which would be far more detrimental to our conception of Him than relating to Him as a person. [4]

Once we are referring to Hashem in anthropomorphic terminology, we have no choice but to characterize Him as either masculine or feminine (as explained above in the section about the linguistic answer). So why do we characterize God as masculine if He actually has no gender? Because of the two options, it is the most developmentally beneficial way of arriving at a less inaccurate conception of Him.

Masculinity is associated with qualities that are more accurate in relation to Hashem than their alternatives. For example, it is more accurate to think of Hashem as strong rather than weak, and masculinity is more associated with physical strength than femininity; it is more accurate to think of Hashem as active than passive, and masculinity is associated with the active role than the passive role; it is developmentally beneficial to think of Hashem as provider, protector, ruler, judge, etc. - roles which are more associated with masculinity than femininity.

This is not to suggest that these roles are intrinsically more masculine than feminine. It is certainly possible for women to be stronger, more active, and have greater leadership roles than men. It just happens to be that in most societies for most of human history, these qualities are more associated with men than with women.

By characterizing Hashem as masculine in our language and imagery, all of these associations automatically become attached to Him. Although they cannot be applied to Him in truth, since He is One and His Essence is unknowable, they are nevertheless more accurate than their opposites, which is why we ascribe masculine attributes to Him instead of feminine.

Summary

Allow me to summarize the answer in a single sentence:

Hashem has no gender, but we refer to Him in anthropomorphic terms in order to avoid characterizing Him as an object - and once we ascribe human qualities, we use masculine terminology and imagery because the qualities associated with masculinity are more developmentally beneficial to our conception of Him. 

Of course, one need not be aware of this explanation in order for this characterization to have its effect. Indeed, it is somewhat of a pity that we are forced to explicate the Torah's reasoning in this regard, since this might have the effect of diminishing the intended goal of these descriptions, rather than letting the effects of these terms occur naturally to our minds.

[1] While these questions have no doubt been raised and addressed by past generations of Torah educators, they have taken on a new degree of intensity and urgency in the milieu of 2018 America. Our culture is abuzz with LGBTQ+ issues, and gender identity is one of the "hot topics" which continuously generates both passion and controversy. 

I happen to live in a rather conservative bubble, but judging by what I see on the Internet, it has become an accepted - if not obligatory - practice on college campuses, when making a new acquaintance, to ask, "What is your preferred pronoun?" We now live in a world where someone who looks like a "he" insists on being called "she," where some individuals prefer the pronouns "they," "them," and "their" so as to avoid gender altogether, and where some have even gone so far as to try standardizing new pronouns, such as "ze," "zem," and "zir." 

I am not bringing up these social issues in order to voice an opinion about them. Regardless of what opinions you hold about politics, psychology, or medicine, the reality is that when Modern Orthodox teenagers ask questions about God and pronouns, this is where these questions are coming from, and if you are going to attempt to answer their questions, then it behooves you to know what premises they are operating with. 
[2] Rabbeinu Bachya ibn Paquda, Chovos ha'Levavos 1:10
[3] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer ha'Mada, Hilchos Yesodei ha'Torah  1:11
[4] If you're wondering why - that answer will have to wait until another time. I was originally going to address it in this post, but I realized that it deserves its own treatment.

Is Hashem "an Angry God"?

It wasn't until I was nearly done writing this dvar Torah that I realized it is more about Sefer Devarim than Parashas Eikev. Oh well. Since it's based on the Ralbag's commentary on Eikev, then I'm still counting it as a dvar Torah on the parashah. Enjoy!

 

Artwork: Wrath of God, by Kev Walker

Is Hashem "an Angry God"?

As a member of the nation charged with the mission of Kiddush Shemo ha'Gadol (Sanctifying the Great Name of God), I find myself perturbed whenever Hashem gets "a bad rap." One example of this is His portrayal as "the angry God of the Old Testament." 

Undoubtedly there are many factors which contribute to this stereotype, but let's face it: the Chumash does record quite a number of divine punishments - particularly in Sefer Bamidbar. One can certainly get the impression that Hashem is easily angered. Indeed, the first time I prepared to teach Sefer Bamidbar, I was advised by a veteran educator to make sure that students didn't walk away with an image of Hashem as a hot-tempered God Who is preoccupied with punishing His people. 

In his list of lessons at the end of the parashah, the Ralbag provides an interesting perspective on the divine wrath directed at Bnei Yisrael throughout their sojourn in the Midbar:

The seventh lesson [we learn from this parashah] teaches us the depth of Hashem's plans (exalted is He). Although Yisrael tarried in the Midbar for 40 years as a punishment, [Hashem] utilized this [time period for an additional] purpose, namely, to test whether [Bnei Yisrael] would keep the mitzvos of Hashem or not, so that they would be ready for the time when they would inherit the Land. For this reason, Hashem disciplined them immediately after they rebelled - in contrast to Hashem's minhag (customary practice) of being slow to anger. But He did this for the sake of hashgachah (providence) on all of Yisrael, so that they would refrain from sinning against Him. It is for this reason that He afflicted them and starved them in the Wilderness for 40 years, in order to demonstrate His wonders to Israel, in order to strengthen their observance of the mitzvos. 

According to the Ralbag, Hashem’s disciplinary approach during the 40 years in the Midbar was an anomaly. Ordinarily, Hashem is “slow to anger.” The Ralbag explains the term “slow to anger” in his commentary on Ki Tisa (Shemos 33-34):

The ra (“bad”) that occurs to existences will only occur infrequently and minutely, and is not intended for its own sake, due to the fact that Hashem is the One Who established the manner in which [the world] is governed. Hashem wisely arranged things so that only the smallest amount of ra occurs … and the ra which does occur is only a byproduct of the good, as is the case with [divine] rebuke via hashgachah pratis.*

Reading this Ralbag reminds us of an important lesson: one cannot simply infer universal principles from particular instances of hashgachas Hashem; it is entirely possible that Hashem utilized an anomalous mode of hashgachah, as warranted by those particular circumstances, and we would be mistake to assume that this was His general way of doing things.

This isn’t to say that we can never universalize from the cases of hashgachah in Tanach. Rather, it means that we must be sure that we are aware of all the factors at play in every case before we attempt to universalize. 

In short, it means that the task of understanding hashgachas Hashem is a whole lot harder than I once imagined. I used to think that you could just look at the facts from that story and infer a universal. This Ralbag reminded me that we can’t assume that all of the relevant facts (or factors) are spelled out explicitly in the story. There may be larger factors at play which the pesukim assume that we are aware of, and which must be taken into account when trying to understand the workings of the hashgachah.

I know this isn't a new idea or anything. I just think that we can always use an additional reminder of how difficult it is to grasp the ways of Hashem, and how arrogant we would be to assume that we can easily know how He operates. 

* If you’re interested in a detailed explanation of this, I refer you to Ralbag's commentary on Sefer Iyov and his magnum opus, Malchamos Hashem – both of which would take us far beyond the scope of this blog post. If you are interested in an overview of this idea from a different angle, see my post: Punishing Children for their Fathers' Sins.