Showing posts with label Language. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Language. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 28, 2021

Help! I've Fallen Into Sufi Poetry and I Have No Idea What I'm Doing!

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a haiku by 12th grade Matt Schneeweiss


Help! I've Fallen Into Sufi Poetry and I Have No Idea What I'm Doing!

Throughout my childhood and teenage years, I hated poetry. I hated reading it, I hated discussing it, I hated writing it. I recently stumbled upon a trove of poetry assignments that I was “forced” to write in high school, and this haiku (or “haiku”) perfectly captures my stubbornly resentful attitude at the time:

“I hate poetry,”
he said. “No, you really don’t.”
“Yes, I really do.”

This attitude remained staunchly in place for many years after high school. Then I discovered Thoreau. This was the first time I encountered a thinker writing in poetry in prose. That blew my mind. I was reading ideas, but they weren’t expressed in the way I thought ideas had to be expressed. At first, I thought this was just Thoreau, but after seeing examples of this in Bruce Lee, Emerson, Rav Soloveitchik, and others, I identified the quality I enjoyed: being immersed in the world of ideas as perceived by the mind of a poet.

Fast forward to May 2021, when I started reading Tara Brach’s books, and June 2021 when I started listening to her lectures and meditations – all of which are interwoven with excerpts of poetry. Of the several poets whose works are quoted more frequently than others, one has stood out to me: Rumi.

Jalāl ad-Dīn Mohammad Rūmī (1207 – 1273 C.E.) was a Persian Islamic teacher, scholar, and philosopher-poet. He was also a Sufi mystic. What does that mean? I have very little idea, other than what I’ve gleaned from the internet (against my own better judgment). But as the Rambam said, “accept the truth from whoever says it,” and I have found truths in these poems. There’s a lot of other stuff in these poems as well – non-truths, mystical flights of fancy, lexical paroxysms – but it’s the truths which interest me.

I am fascinated by Rumi’s cryptic style. Take, for example, such stanzas as “Be empty of worrying. Think of Who created thought!” “Why do you stay in prison when the door is wide open?” “Darkness is your candle. Your boundaries are your quest.” “Your old life was a frantic running from silence.” Such lines strike me in an entirely different way than the prose I typically read. They stay with me throughout the day, repeatedly calling back my thoughts. The feeling is akin to what Morpheus said to Neo:

What you know, you can’t explain, but you feel it. You’ve felt it your entire life … You don’t know what it is, but it’s there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad.

What do I hope to get out of my Rumi reading other than truth? Well, for years I’ve learned and taught Tehilim (Psalms), Kinnos (liturgical lamentations), and Selichos (supplicatory penitential prayers). I’ve become more and more in touch with the poetry of these texts, but I often feel like I’m missing something essential. But when I read Rumi’s poetry, I feel like I’m expanding my intellectual imagination. I’m not entirely sure what I mean by that, but that’s what it feels like. My hope is that reading such poetry not in the context of learning will help me unlock the poetry in learning.

I also sense that by exploring these new and unusual forms of thought-in-language, I am familiarizing myself with the boundaries and limitations of language as a medium of thought. Rumi would conclude his poems with statements like: “Let that musician finish this poem.” David ha’Melech ended Tehilim with a chapter about praising Hashem with musical instruments, alluding to the inadequacy of praising Hashem with words. Language is limited, but perhaps by recognizing and striving to transcend these limitations through poetry, we can catch just a fleeting glimpse of the sublime. "Your boundaries are your quest."
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Friday, July 27, 2018

Parashas Vaeschanan: Methodology Battle - Ibn Ezra vs. Malbim

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Artwork: Battle of Wits, by Edward Beard Jr.
Also, depiction of Ibn Ezra vs. the Malbim


Parashas Vaeschanan: Methodology Battle - Ibn Ezra vs. Malbim

The Battleground

In Parashas Vaeschanan, Moshe Rabbeinu reviews the Aseres ha'Devarim (Decalogue) for the generation that will enter the Land after his passing. The Ibn Ezra, in his introduction to the Torah's original presentation of the Aseres ha'Devarim in Parashas Yisro, acknowledges the glaring problem which confronts any student who carefully reads both parshiyos: the two versions of the Aseres ha'Devarim contain differences in wording! Some of these differences are major, such as:
Shemos 20:8-11 (Yisro)Remember the Shabbos day to sanctify it. Six days shall you work and accomplish all of your work; but the seventh day is Shabbos to Hashem, your God; you shall not do any work - you, your son, your daughter, your slave, your maidservant, your animal, and your convert within your gates - for in six days Hashem made the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in them, and He rested on the seventh day. Therefore, Hashem blessed the Shabbos day and sanctified it. 

Devarim 5:12-15 (Vaeschanan)Safeguard the Shabbos day to sanctify it, as Hashem, your God, has commanded you. Six days shall you do labor and do all of your work; but the seventh day is Shabbos to Hashem, your God; you shall not do any work - you, your son, your daughter, your slave, your maidservant, your ox, your donkey, and your every animal, and your convert within your gates, in order that your slave and your maidservant may rest like you. And you shall remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and Hashem, your God, has taken you out from there with a strong hand and an outstretched arm; therefore, Hashem, your God, has commanded you to make the Shabbos day.
In other cases, the differences are more subtle, such as:
Shemos 20:13: You shall not murder; you shall not commit adultery; you shall not steal; you shall not bear false witness against your fellow. 
Devarim 5:17You shall not murder; and you shall not commit adultery; and you shall not steal; and you shall not bear vain witness against your fellow.
Also subtle:
Shemos 20:14You shall not covet your fellow's house; you shall not covet your fellow's wife, his manservant, his maidservant, his ox, his donkey, nor anything that belongs to your fellow. 
Devarim 5:18And you shall not covet your fellow's wife; you shall not desire your fellow's house, his field, his manservant, his maidservant, his ox, his donkey, nor anything that belongs to your fellow.
The Ibn Ezra notes the difficulties raised by these changes and addresses them. If you are interested in his answers, see his lengthy treatise at the beginning of Shemos Chapter 20. 

I'm not going to present any answers of any meforshim (commentators) to these difficulties in this post. Instead, I'd like to focus on a major methodological divide between the meforshim. I've wanted to write about this for a while, and since the Ibn Ezra states his shitah (position) in his introduction to the Aseres ha'Devarim, I decided to use this blog post as a springboard for the discussion.

Ibn Ezra's View: Meanings Matter Most

The Ibn Ezra [1] introduces his shitah prior to explaining the discrepancies between the Aseres ha'Devarim in Yisro and Vaeschanan:
As a general rule, the masters of the Holy Language will sometimes explain their words very clearly, and other times they will say what is necessary in a few concise words from which the listener can derive their meaning. Know that words are like bodies and meanings are like souls, and the body is like a vessel for the soul. Therefore, the general rule of all chachamim (wise men) in any language is to preserve the meanings without any concern about a change of words, so long as the meanings remain the same
In other words (ha! get it?), the words are merely the vessels for conveying meaning, and as long as the meaning is preserved, it doesn't matter if the words change. Therefore, when learning Tanach - even the text of the Torah itself - one need not obsess over the nuanced variations in wording which occur when the Torah repeats material. Instead, just focus on getting the main idea, and don't worry be nitpicky about the words.   

The Ibn Ezra then provides some examples:
Hashem said to Kayin: "You are cursed from the ground ... When you will work the ground, it will no longer give forth its strength to you. You shall become a vagrant and a wanderer upon the earth" (Bereishis 4:11-12). Kayin replied: "Behold! You have driven me out this day from upon the face of the ground!" (ibid. 4:14). Now who is so mindless as to think that the meaning [of these two descriptions of Kayin's punishment] isn't the same on account of the change in words! 
Behold! Eliezer said: "Let me sip, if you please, [a little water from your jug]" (ibid. 24:17). However, he [subsequently] quoted himself as saying: "Please give me a drink" (ibid. 24:45). 
Moshe said: "the firstborn of the captive that was in the dungeon" (Shemos 12:29). However, it is written earlier: "the firstborn of the maidservant that is behind the mill" (ibid. 11:5).  
In Devarim, Moshe quoted the prayer which he offered on behalf of Israel because of the Golden Calf (Devarim 9:26-29). Now to the person who lacks a mind capable of understanding, this prayer appears totally different from the one recorded in the Torah portion Ki Sisa (Shemos 32:11-14). 
The general rule is: any change in the wording - such as in the dreams of Paroh (Bereishis 41:1-17, 17-24) and Nevuchadnetzar (Daniel 4), and many other things - you will find the meaning to be the same, even if the words are different
The Ibn Ezra goes on to mention other types of cases which fall into this category. Sometimes a word will be lengthened or shortened, or a prefix will be added or taken away, or the spelling of the word will change - all without changing the meaning. 

On the basis of this approach, the Ibn Ezra explains - or brushes away - the differences between the two versions of the Aseres ha'Devarim. According to him, even Moshe Rabbeinu didn't care about changing Hashem's wording in the original Aseres ha'Devarim, so long as he successfully conveyed the Divine intent. (The Ibn Ezra does, however, admit that the radically different presentations of Shabbos requires an actual explanation.)


This approach may seem radical to a student who was raised hearing the standard premise that "there are no extra words in the Torah" and "every letter has a meaning." The Ramban takes the Ibn Ezra to task for his answer here. Apparently, the Maharal devoted an entire chapter of his book, Tiferes Yisrael (chapter 43), to challenging the Ibn Ezra's view. 

On the surface it might seem that Ibn Ezra lacks the reverence for the Torah's use of hebrew. However, one must remember that the Ibn Ezra is considered to be one of the leading authorities in the Hebrew language among the Rishonim, and was an ardent defender of a strictly textual approach to Biblical exegesis. In his introduction to his Torah commentary, [2] he characterizes his approach to Scriptural interpretation as "the grammatical approach," which focuses on the rules of the Hebrew language and the definitions of its words:
The fifth method [of Torah interpretation] is the one upon which I will base my commentary. It appears to me to be correct in the presence of God whom alone I fear. I will not show favoritism to anyone when it comes to interpreting the Torah. I will, to the utmost of my ability, try to understand grammatically every word and then to do my best to explain it. Every word whose meaning the reader desires to know will be found explained the first time the word is encountered. For example, the meaning of "shamayim" will be given in the first verse of Bereishis. This will apply to all terms.
When Ibn Ezra made the statement about "masters of the language" playing fast and loose with their wording, he was speaking as a "master of the language." 

We'll return to the Ibn Ezra's shitah in a moment. For now, let's look at his strongest opposition.

Malbim's View: Words Matter Most


It is safe to say that the Malbim was one of the most creative meforshim in recent times. Like the Ibn Ezra, the Malbim wrote a commentary on almost all of Nach which is grounded in a thorough understanding of the Hebrew language. Unlike the Ibn Ezra, the Malbim is not keen on the idea of glossing over any linguistic nuances in the Torah's repetition of material. Indeed, he holds that the Torah contains no repetitions or synonyms or anything extra whatsoever. 

The clearest summary of the Malbim's approach that I know of can be found in the introduction to his commentary on Sefer Yeshayahu. The Malbim introduces his own method by articulating its three foundational principles:
My commentary rests upon three central pillars: 
(1) Nowhere in the eloquent speech [4] of the neviim is there to be found any repetition of the same idea in different words, nor is there a repetition of ideas, statements, or allegories, nor are there two sentences with the same content, nor are there two mashalim (metaphors) with the same nimshal (interpretation), nor are there even two repeated words.

(2) Nowhere in the eloquent speech of the neviim – neither in their simple nor compound sentences – is there to be found words or verbs which are placed by chance without a specific intent, to the extent that all words, nouns, and verbs which constitute every sentence – not only is it necessary that they occur in that sentence, but it would not have been possible for a divine messenger to use another word in its place, for all of the words in the divine eloquent speech have been weighed on the scales of wisdom and knowledge, evaluated, preserved, counted, and recounted by the metric of Supreme Wisdom which alone is sublime enough to utter it.

(3) Nowhere in the eloquent speech of the neviim is there to be found a husk without content, a body without a soul, a garment without a wearer, a statement devoid of sublime thought, a statement in which understanding doesn’t dwell – for the living God resides in all statements of the living God, with the breath of life in their nostrils, the spirit of the Dreaded, Mighty, Glorious, and Awesome One.
In short, the Malbim maintains that every sentence, every word, and every nuance in the text of Tanach was chosen to convey a specific meaning. There is no repetition, there are no textual features which are there for purely stylistic reasons, and there is no room for multiple possibilities of what the pesukim could have said. According to the Malbim, every single pasuk had to say exactly what it said, in exactly the manner it said it - otherwise, the meaning would be lost. 

Perhaps the most salient feature of the Malbim's approach is his firm instance that there are no true synonyms in Hebrew. Every word means something different. Any two terms which appear to have the same meaning will, upon careful study of their usage throughout Tanach, reveal that they have different definitions. The Malbim's commentary on Tanach is comprised of two parts. One part of his commentary is a "beur ha'devarim" (commentary on the meaning of the pesukim, in context), and the other part is a "beur ha'milos" (glossary of terms). Even a casual glance through the Malbim's beur ha'milos will reveal that his favorite phrase is: "yesh hevdel bein ____ u'bein ____" (there is a difference between [this word] and [this synonym]), which he uses hundreds of times throughout his commentary to elucidate the definitions of these so-called "synonyms."

The Malbim writes that he labored intensively to figure out the definition of each and every Hebrew word in based on exhaustive research. He criticizes other chachamim who have arrived at speculative distinctions between these apparent synonyms by inferring universal definitions from isolated cases, instead of conducting a thorough analysis of every instance of every word in all of Tanach, as he did:
Before I approached this precious work – the holy work of explaining and elucidating the books of Hashem – I first set out to investigate, to explore, and to search for the definitions of the words and verbs that occur in the holy Scriptures until their essential definitions became clear to me with a clear knowledge … 
This path has been followed by all of the later chachamim, who have expounded and clarified the synonyms, and have been satisfied with themselves if they found one distinction in the entire sentence, and thought that the other different words in the two sentences are for beautifying the poetic speech [of the navi] or came about by happenstance; consequently, even the universal principles which [these chachamim] have produced and the distinctions they have made, they are unable to substantiate with proofs, since their words are nothing but guesswork rooted in imagination
I, however, have set a law not to be overstepped, for no words have entered into the counsel of Hashem by way of chance, but only with intelligent choice; therefore, the labor which I have taken upon myself is great and difficult, and I have surpassed the work of all others who have endeavored in this manner …
Here the Malbim warns those who attempt to emulate his approach. Unless one is prepared to undertake a complete survey of Biblical Hebrew, one risks falling into "guesswork rooted in imagination," which will inevitably lead to error and falsehood.

The Malbim also makes it clear that he was not relying on anyone else in developing his approach:
You should also know that even though I have been preceded by many chachamim who have distinguished between synonyms – some of whose books I own, such as Sefer Gan Naul and Sefer Yerios Shelomo – despite all of this, I have not relied upon the words of any man, but I have tested everything myself, whether all pesukim can be explained based on the path that I, myself, have paved. Therefore, [my work] has nothing to do with that of another person: I have neither built nor destroyed the words of anyone other than myself, because I analyzed every rule and universal principle myself and committed my own intuition to writing. And if you find that someone else established a universal principle which accords with my own statement, this is an indicator that anyone who possess intelligence will arrive at the same path regarding any matter which is simple and upright.
Suffice it to say, the Malbim would not - and does not - accept the Ibn Ezra's assertion that "the general rule of all chachamim in any language is to preserve the meanings without any concern about a change of words, so long as the meanings remain the same." The Malbim would certainly never accept the Ibn Ezra's general approach to explaining the differences in the Torah's two statements of the Aseres ha'Devarim. If Moshe reversed "you shall not covet your neighbor's wife" and "you shall not covet your neighbor's house" in his restatement, there must be a reason. If the Torah says "eidus sheker" (false testimony) in Yisro but "eidus shav" (vain testimony) in Vaeschanan, there must be a reason. The same goes for all other changes in wording and textual nuances throughout all of Tanach.


"Team Ibn Ezra" 

I view the Ibn Ezra and Malbim as existing along a spectrum, each at one end. The other meforshim throughout the ages - both Rishonim (medieval) and Achronim (post-medieval) - tend to fall on one side of the spectrum or another in this battle of methodology. 

I would argue that most of the classical Rishonim fall closer to the Ibn Ezra's side in their commentaries. This is indicated by their decision not to take up the types of questions about textual nuances which are the focus of the Malbim's commentary. If you compare the commentary of the Malbim side by side with the traditional meforshim, you'll find that many of the linguistic questions which bother him are completely ignored by them. This suggests that they had a different approach.

Granted, I am aware that absence of evidence doesn't always equal evidence of absence. One could argue that they did hold like the Malbim, but assumed that their audience was familiar enough with Hebrew that such questions didn't need to be addressed in their commentaries. One could also argue that they held like the Malbim, but didn't prioritize this type of explanation in their commentaries for some unstated reason. Personally, I don't buy such arguments. In the Malbim's introduction to Sefer Yeshayahu, he makes it pretty clear that the approach in his commentary is unprecedented among the commentators. That, combined with the drastically different content in their commentaries, has me convinced that most classical commentators did not share the Malbim's views on Biblical interpretation.

Moreover, we see a number of mainstream meforshim take stances which directly oppose the  three pillars of the Malbim's method. For example, when confronted with synonyms or repetitions in the pesukim, many meforshim will simply say: "kafal ha'davar b'milos shonos" (the pasuk repeated the same statement in different words) or "kafal ha'inyan b'milos shonos" (the pasuk repeated the same idea in different words). One of my favorite meforshim on Nach, the Radak, uses these phrases over 200 times in his Nach commentary. Metzudas David makes recourse to "kafal ha'davar" over 400 times. The Malbim wouldn't accept this even once.

Similarly, when the classical meforshim explain obscure words in the pesukim, they'll do so by making reference to more common synonyms - and they will do so without explaining the differences, suggesting that they believe the terms to be genuinely synonymous, and not just apparently so. In contrast, the Malbim will point out a synonym, and will then go on to explain how the two terms have subtly different meanings. To me this is a clear indication of a divergence in methodology. It would be a stretch to say that these other meforshim hold that there are no synonyms or repetitions in Tanach, but simultaneously feel so comfortable saying "the pasuk is repeating the same idea" or "this word means basically the same thing as this word." If they hold that the terms are different, they should explain how. And if, like the Malbim, they held that this difference in meaning is critical for understanding the main idea of the pasuk, they would be negligent not to give a full explanation.

Another category of opposition to the Malbim's approach can be seen in the classical commentators' treatment of the numerous allegories, parables and instances of figurative speech in Nach. The Malbim explicitly criticized chachamim who explain extra words and  phrases by claiming that these words serve only "in order to beautify the poetic speech" or that "they came about by happenstance," and serve no real purpose. And yet we find many classical meforshim who take precisely this approach. The Rambam [5] goes so far as to make this into an interpretive rule:
Know that the prophetic parables are of two kinds. In some of these parables each word has a meaning, while others the parable as a whole indicates the whole of the intended meaning. In such a parable very many words are to be found, not every one of which adds to the intended meaning. They serve rather to embellish the parable and to render it more coherent or to conceal further the intended meaning; hence, the speech proceeds in such a way as to accord with everything required by the parable's external meaning.
An example of the first kind of prophetic parable is the following text: "And behold - a ladder set up on the earth etc." (Bereishis 28:12-13). In this text, the word "ladder" indicates one subject; the words "set up on the earth" indicate a second subject; the words "and the top of it reached to the heaven" indicate a third subject; the words "and behold the angels of God" indicate a fourth subject; the word "ascending" indicates a fifth subject; the words "and descending" indicate a sixth subject; and the words "and behold - Hashem stood above it" indicate a seventh subject. Thus, every word occurring in this parable refers to an additional subject in the complex of subjects represented by the parable as a whole." 
An example of the second kind of prophetic parable is the following text: For I have looked out from the window of my house through my lattice, and I saw among the fools, I discerned among the youths, a lad who lacked [an understanding] heart passing through the marketplace near her corner, and he strode toward her house, in the twilight, as daylight wanes, in the blackness of night and darkness. Then behold, a woman approached him, bedecked as a harlot and with siege in [her] heart. She coos and she entices, her feet do not dwell at home. Sometimes in the courtyard, sometimes in the streets, she lurks at every corner. She seized him and kissed him; she thrust forth her face and said to him: "I had vowed to bring peace-offerings, and today I have fulfilled my vow. That is why I went out toward you, to seek your countenance, and I have found you! I have decked my bed with spreads; carved bed poles are hung with Egyptian linen. I have perfumed my bed with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon. Come, let us sate ourselves with love until the morning; let us rejoice with acts of love, for [my] husband is not at home; he has gone on a distant journey. He has taken the money-pouch with him; he will come home at the appointed time." She sways him with her abundant sophistication; she thrusts him with the glibness of her lips. He follows her unsuspectingly, like an ox to the slaughter; rushing like a venomous snake to discipline the foolish one, until the arrow splits his liver; he is like a bird hurrying to the trap, unaware that its life will be lost" (Mishlei 7:5-20). The outcome of all this is a warning against the pursuit of bodily pleasures and desires. Accordingly he [Shlomo] likens matter, which is the cause of all these bodily pleasures, to a harlot who is also a married woman. In fact his entire book is based on this allegory. And we shall explain in various chapters of this treatise his wisdom in likening matter to a married harlot, and we shall explain how he concluded this book with a eulogy of the woman who is not a harlot but confines herself to attending to the welfare of her household and husband. For all the hindrances keeping man from his ultimate perfection, every deficiency affecting him and every disobedience, come to him from his matter alone, as we shall explain in this treatise. This is the proposition that can be understood from this parable as a whole. I mean that man should not follow his bestial nature; I mean his matter, for the proximate matter of man is identical with the proximate matter of other living beings. And as I have explained this to you and disclosed the secret of this parable, you should not hope to find some signification corresponding to every subject occurring in this parable] so that you could say: what can be submitted for the words, "I had vowed to bring peace-offerings, and today I have fulfilled my vow"? What subject is indicated by the words, "I have decked my bed with spreads"? And what subject is added to this general proposition by the words, "for my husband is not at home"?The same holds good for the other details in this chapter. For all of them only figure in the consistent development of the parable's external meaning, the circumstances described in it being of a kind typical for adulterers. Also the spoken words and other such details are of a kind typical of words spoken among adulterers. Understand this well from what I have said, for it is a great and important principle with regard to matters that I wish to explain.
The Rambam and the Malbim clearly disagree on this point! The Malbim would criticize the Rambam for saying that all of these details were included by Shlomo solely for the purpose of developing the external allegory, and convey no ideational content or significance. The Rambam, in turn, would criticize the Malbim for seeking an interpretation of these details and descriptions when no such interpretation exists. In fact, the Rambam goes on to voice just such a criticism:
When, therefore, you find that in some chapter of this treatise I have explained the meaning of a parable and have drawn your attention to the general proposition signified by it, you should not inquire into all the details occurring in the parable, nor should you wish to find significations corresponding to them. For doing so would lead you into one of two ways: either into turning aside from the parable's intended subject, or into assuming an obligation to interpret things not susceptible to interpretation and that have not been inserted with a view to interpretation. The assumption of such an obligation would result in extravagant fantasies such as are entertained and written about in our time by most of the sects of the world, since each of these sects desires to find certain significations for words whose author in no way had in mind the significations wished by them. Your purpose, rather, should always be to know, regarding most parables, the main idea that was intended to be known. 
Basically, the Rambam is warning us that if we follow the Malbim's approach, looking for deep significance in every detail, we'll end up missing out on major ideas and projecting our own fantasies onto the pesukim which have nothing to do with the meaning that the authors (or Author) intended to convey. 

To my mind it is clear that the Malbim's approach was not shared by many of the classical meforshim among the Rishonim and Achronim. This conclusion is supported by the lack of Malbim-esque explanations in their commentaries, and the abundant interpretations they do provide which violate the three pillars of the Malbim's approach.

"Team Malbim"

And yet, the Malbim is not alone in his methods. First and foremost, his approach - or at least, something like his approach - was shared by none other than Chazal (i.e. the Tannaim and Amoraim). In his book, Ayeles ha'Shachar, the Malbim [6] writes: 
Chazal strove to figure out the essential definitions of all borrowed terms … Similarly, they showed the relationship between homonyms … And each synonym has a unique definition on which they build their many drashos. The same is true of parallel expressions: after much study, [one can understand] when one expression is used and when another is used …
In other words, the approach that Chazal took in their drashos parallels the Malbim's own approach - so much so that the Malbim attempted to fuse the two in Ayeles ha'Shachar, and in his commentary on Torah. Anyone who has learned Gemara and the various collections of midreshei aggadah and midreshei halacha will be able to see that Chazal's approach to Tanach is far more similar to the Malbim's than the Ibn Ezra's. They clearly cared about textual nuances, apparent repetitions, and anomalous words and phrases. They clearly held that every feature of the text was there for a specific reason, to convey specific Torah content. They would never say, "The Torah repeated the same thing in different words" or "this description is just here to develop the allegory, and has no significance beyond that." (Of course, the Rambam would say that they actually held this, but just didn't say it.)

And since Chazal followed this approach, the meforshim who regularly integrate Chazal's explanations can also be included on "Team Malbim." Rashi would definitely be part of the group. So would the Torah Temimah and the Baal ha'Turim. Other commentaries accept this approach, even if they supplement it with other approaches, such as the Ramban, Rabbeinu Bachya, and even the Ralbag, in his own way 

But the Malbim's true kindred spirit was Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch, who was a contemporary of his. Like the Malbim, Rav Hirsch set out on an ambitious linguistic project to understand all the nuances of Hebrew, based on his own analysis and his own theories on etymology. Rav Hirsch would certainly agree with the Malbim that synonyms should be scrutinized for subtler shades of meaning, and he would also agree that the subtleties in the text are important. When reading Rav Hirsch's commentary one gets the feeling that he and the Malbim would make a great chavrusa (learning pair), having different ideas - owing to the differences in their creativity - but fundamentally sharing the same outlook in their interpretive methodology and linguistic framework.

Another group of people who would be in good company with the Malbim are those who are inclined to apply modern methods of literary analysis to Tanach. Like the Malbim, they strive to be in tune with the textual landscape, in all of its particularity. They also care about intertextuality, parallel phrasing, organizational schemes, and a bunch of other fancy shmancy literary devices - which I imagine the Malbim would appreciate (judging by my experience with his style).

Concluding Thoughts

Obviously I am in no position to decide which approach is “better” or “more correct.” There are advantages and disadvantages to each. 

If I had to choose, though, I would side with the Ibn Ezra. Our priority in learning must be to get the main idea, even if we don’t appreciate all of the details of how that idea is expressed in the pesukim. Furthermore, even the Malbim would admit that we cannot expect to do what he did, and that if we tried, we would be engaging in speculative guesswork. The only way to truly learn Tanach on the level of the Malbim would be to study the text with his commentary as the infallible (for all practical purposes) guide to Biblical Hebrew. The advantage of this approach is that we’d get to see all of the amazing insights that the Malbim’s approach draws out of the text. The disadvantage is that we’d be totally dependent on him for our learning. 

As a teacher, I default to the Ibn Ezra side. However, that doesn’t stop me from sharing with my students the ingenious, creative, nuanced interpretations offered by the Malbim in his monumental commentary.

[1] Rabbeinu Avraham ibn Ezra, Commentary on Sefer Shemos (Long Version) 20:1
[2] ibid. Commentary on Sefer Bereishis: end of Introduction
[3] Rav Meir ben Yechiel Michel (Malbim), Commentary on Sefer Yeshayahu: Introduction
[4] The term used here is "מליצות" which can mean "allegories," "figurative speech, "flowery speech," "poetic speech," "rhetoric," and the like. I've translated it as "eloquent speech," since I believe that the Malbim intends this to cover all the words of the prophets - not just select sections.
[5] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Moreh ha'Nevuchim: Introduction
[6] Rav Meir ben Yechiel Michel (Malbim), Ayeles ha'Shachar 30:248

Monday, June 25, 2018

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.

Monday, July 10, 2017

Rambam: On the Art of Translation

Originally published in May 2012. Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Artwork: Tome Scour, by Steve Belledin


Rambam: On the Art of Translation

One of my neurotic trends in teaching and writing is the need to use my own translations of primary source texts. When I'm lazy I'll type out another translator's translation and then just go through and change the parts I find objectionable. When I have more time, I'll translate the entire thing myself. I will only rely fully on another translator when there is no other option.

Having practiced this habit for a number of years, I have become very familiar with the challenges of translation. I am often faced with difficult decisions about how to translate a certain phrase: how literal I should be, how much liberty I can take, how to preserve the spirit of the author's words, how to balance denotation with connotation, how to handle idioms and subtle references, how to render the text in a manner that is accessible to the layman without sacrificing precision and accuracy, and so on.

Thankfully, I was guided early on by an important translation tip from none other than the Rambam himself to Shmuel ibn Tibbon, who translated the Rambam's Moreh ha'Nevuchim (Guide for the Perplexed) from Arabic into Hebrew, among other works. On September 30th, 1199, Rambam wrote a letter to Shmuel ibn Tibbon advising him on matters of translation and philosophy. In the middle of the letter he gives the following piece of advice, with the main point underlined by me:
I will mention to you one general principle. Whoever wishes to translate a text from one language to another, intending to translate word for word but, at the same time, to preserve the order of the words and sentences of the original - he will face tremendous difficulty, and his translation will be exceedingly ambiguous and faulty ... 
It is not proper to do this. Rather, one who translates a text from one language to another must first understand the idea, and only afterwards should he formulate what he understood into the other language. It is impossible to do this without changing the order of the words, using many words in the place of one word, using one word in place of many words, subtracting words, or adding words until the idea is formulated and rendered intelligible in the language into which he translates. 
[In case you were wondering, that was my translation of Shmuel ibn Tibbon's translation of the Rambam's Arabic. I found another English translation of most of the letter on a weird site, but I don't know who the translator is, and preferred to use my own translation anyway. This translation was difficult because it felt like the Rambam was looking over my shoulder whenever I deviated from his advice.]

I decided to write this post this week because I recently came across a Wikipedia article which expresses the Rambam's distinction. According to the article, a linguist named Eugene Nida coined a set of terms for this distinction: dynamic equivalence and formal equivalence: 
Dynamic equivalence (also known as functional equivalence) attempts to convey the thought expressed in a source text (if necessary, at the expense of literalness, original word order, the source text's grammatical voice, etc.), while formal equivalence attempts to render the text word-for-word (if necessary, at the expense of natural expression in the target language). The two approaches represent emphasis, respectively, on readability and on literal fidelity to the source text. There is no sharp boundary between dynamic and formal equivalence. Broadly, the two represent a spectrum of translation approaches. 
The terms "dynamic equivalence" and "formal equivalence" are associated with the translator Eugene Nida, and were originally coined to describe ways of translating the Bible, but the two approaches are applicable to any translation.
Someone should edit the Wikipedia article and give Rambam his due credit.

Monday, July 3, 2017

בס"ד vs. בג"ה

Originally published in May 2013. Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.



בס"ד vs. בג"ה

It is a fairly widespread practice among Orthodox Jews to write the acronym בס"ד in the upper right-hand corner of their cover pages. בס"ד stands for the Aramaic phrase בסיעתא דשמיא (b'siyata di'shmaya) meaning "with the help of heaven." Another variation is ב"ה which stands for the Hebrew phrase בעזרת השם (b'ezras Hashem) meaning "with Hashem's help."

To my knowledge, there is no halachic source for this specific practice. It's just something that people do to acknowledge Hashem's role in their endeavors (whatever they understand that to mean). Generally speaking, this seems to be a good practice. Philosophically (though probably not halachically), it is fulfillment of the what the Rambam writes in Hilchos Berachos 10:26:
The sum of the matter: a person should always cry out in prayer about the future and ask for mercy, and express gratitude for the past, and give thanks and praise according to his ability. The more a person thanks and praises Hashem continually, the more praiseworthy.
As readers of this blog are probably aware, I'm a big fan of the Ralbag's commentary on Chumash. Early on I noticed the Ralbag's use of a mysterious acronym: בג"ה. He seemed to use it in the same way that other people use בס"ד, but I couldn't figure out what the letters stood for. Finally, while using an edition of the Ralbag with expanded acronyms, I realized that בג"ה stands for בגזירת הצור (b'gezeiras ha'Tzur) meaning "with the decree of the Rock."

I'll admit right up front that I don't know why the Ralbag prefers בג"ה over בס"ד. I don't know of any explanation he offers for this practice. I'd venture to guess that his preference for this phrase can be traced back to his metaphysical premises, and I wouldn't be surprised if this decision reflects some controversial view about the relationship between God and the universe of which I am unaware. Frankly, none of that really interests me for the purpose of this post.

The reason I am writing this post is to explain why I prefer בג"ה over בס"ד. It is possible that my reasons apply only to myself, but I want to share them, for whatever value they're worth. 

Reason #1: Connotation of "Gzeirah"

My first reason has to do with the use of the term "gezeirah" (decree) as opposed to "siyata" (assistance). The metaphor of gezeirah brings to mind the idea of Malchus Hashem (God's Kingship). It also highlights the lawful, objective, and just manner of Hashem's governance of His world: "ki kol derachav mishpat" - "for all of His ways are justice" (Devarim 32:4)

The term "siyata," on the other hand, caters to a more ego-gratifying way of viewing Hashem's role in our lives. Instead of conceptualizing Hashem as "The Melech Whose decree governs the entire universe, of which I am but a small part," the term "siyata" frames Hashem as "The One Who helps me." 

In other words, "gezeirah" emphasizes our acceptance of and submission to Hashem's universal Malchus, whereas "siyata" emphasizes His role in servicing my specific needs.

(To reiterate: this post expresses my views about why I prefer בג"ה to בס"ד. I'm not claiming that the associations I have to these terms reflect their only meaning, nor am I suggesting that everyone else thinks the same way I do. I'm just telling you what I think about when I encounter these terms. The ideas to which I am referring are objective truths, but the aim of this post is to express my subjective relation to those objective truths.)

Reason #2: Denotation of "Siyata"

My second reason for preferring בג"ה over בס"ד is that to my mind, siyata denotes hashgachah pratis specifically, whereas gezeirah includes both hashgachah pratis (individual providence) and hashgachah klalis (general providence – i.e. natural law).

In other words, the notions of "help" and "assistance" imply intervention in a natural order. From this perspective, בס"ד focuses on Hashem's role as the One Who intervenes in the natural order. "Gezeirah," on the other hand, refers equally to general decrees of hashgachah klalis - the laws of nature, which Hashem created and maintains - as well as the particular decrees of hashgachah pratis. As such, בג"ה is more all-encompassing than בס"ד. 

Is it possible to interpret "siyata" as referring to the laws of nature? Yes - but in the framework of dibra Torah ki'lshon bnei adam ("The Torah speaks in the language of man"), the term "help" typically refers to intervention, rather than an underlying system of lawfulness. 

(For the third time, I want to stress the point that I am only speaking about my own subjective thoughts which are triggered by these two acronyms. I feel the need to underscore this point because if I didn't, I know that some reader is going to jump down my throat and accuse me of projecting my own thoughts onto my fellow Jews.)

Reason #3: Use of Tzur (Creator) vs. Shmaya (Creation)

My final reason for preferring בג"ה over בס"ד is the use of Tzur (Rock) in the former over the use of shmaya (heaven) in the latter. The Rambam explains the meaning of the "Rock" mashal in the Moreh ha'Nevuchim 1:16. For the sake of brevity, I have omitted many of the proof-texts cited by the Rambam:
Tzur is an equivocal term. It is a term denoting a mountain. It is also a term denoting a hard stone like flint. It is further a term denoting the quarry from which quarry-stones are hewn. Subsequently, in derivation from the last meaning, the term was used figuratively to designate the root and principle of every thing ... On account of the last meaning, God, may He be exalted, is designated as the Rock, as He is the principle and the efficient cause of all things other than Himself ... The verse, "you may stand firmly on the Rock" (Shemos 33:21) means: rely upon, and be firm in considering, God, may He be exalted, as the first principle. This is the entryway through which you shall come to Him, as we have made clear when speaking of His saying [to Moshe], "Behold, there is a place by Me; [you may stand firmly on the Rock]" (ibid.) 
Thus, when we frame Hashem as Tzur in בג"ה, we remind ourselves that all occurrences are decrees emanating from the Cause of all causes - the Foundation of all existence. In contrast, the phrase בס"ד stops short at shamayim - a reference to Hashem's creation or governance, as opposed to Hashem, Himself. Sure, we imply that we are really referring to the Creator of shamayim - but why not go the full distance and make explicit reference to Hashem as such?

Conclusion

For these three reasons, I prefer the Ralbag's בג"ה over the conventional בס"ד. While both phrases accomplish their intended goal, בג"ה brings me closer to ahavas Hashem (love of God) and yiras Hashem (fear of God) than בס"ד.

The only catch is that nobody but the Ralbag uses בג"ה! I guess we'll have to see what we can do about changing that.

Addendum (6/2/17)

I realized that there is a fourth reason why I prefer בג"ה over בס"ד: because, according to my limited understanding of hashgachah pratis, “gezeirah” is a more accurate description than “siyata.” This especially true according to the Ralbag, as he explains in his commentary on Ki Sisa (Shemos 33:19). I have chosen not to write about this reason here, (a) because I do not currently have access to my Ralbag on Shemos, (b) I think this point deserves its own post, and (c) because even if it does deserve its own post, I don’t know whether it would be appropriate to write about, since I think it’s the type of idea that might be detrimental to those who aren’t ready to hear it.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Richard Mitchell: On Knowing vs. Knowing About

Last week's post from Richard Mitchell's The Gift of Fire reminded me of another of my many favorite ideas from that book. This one is from Mitchell's introduction. Since his introduction is so short and rich with ideas, I have decided to post the entire thing. I would like to call special attention to the three passages I've emphasized in bold towards the end. 

Originally posted in June, 2009.

Artwork: Ancestral Recall, by Ryan Pancoast


Richard Mitchell: On Knowing vs. Knowing About
- Introduction to The Gift of Fire

I SUSPECT THAT THOSE WHO have read some of my other works will be a little surprised by this one. I am a little surprised by this one.

That, in itself, is nothing new. I have never yet written anything, long or short, that did not surprise me. That is, for me at least, the greatest worth of writing, which is only incidentally a way of telling others what you think. Its first use is for the making of what you think, for the discovery of understanding, an act that happens only in language.

I have habitually found it convenient, and perhaps just a little too easy, to look for understanding by paying close attention to failures of understanding, which always take the form of bad language. Just as there is nothing but language in which to make sense, there is nothing but language in which to make nonsense. So, in my works, at least, the examination of sense and nonsense has ordinarily been a sometimes clever and amusing castigation of fools, who can be shown to imagine that they make sense when they don't.

The castigation of fools is, of course, an ancient and honorable task of writers and, unless very poorly done, an enterprise that will usually entertain those who behold it. No matter what else we imagine that we believe about the propriety of compassion for the unfortunate, we do like to see fools exposed. It's funny. And it is not only funny; it is the great theme of Comedy, and a mild, domestic counterpart of the great theme of Tragedy, in which we rejoice, however sadly, to see villains brought down.

So it is that the habitual contemplation of folly, which does not seem to be the worst thing in the world, leads little by little to some consideration of vice, which does seem to be the worst thing in the world. It is troubling to notice that when we are foolish or "only foolish," as we easily deem it, we find ourselves all the more likely to do bad things. And when we can see, as I think I have so often managed to demonstrate, that some very foolish people are in a position to bring the consequences of their folly not only on themselves but on others, we do have the suspicion that something bad is going on. Surely, if we could certainly pronounce certain persons wise, we would think it a good thing to fall under their influence, and it seems only natural and inescapably right to expect some badness from the influence of fools. So it was that I gradually found, in my own considerations of nonsense, less play and more brooding, less glee and more melancholy, and the growing conviction that the silly mind, just as much as the wicked mind, if there is such a thing, makes bad things happen. And my meditations on foolish language, my own included, grew somber and satirical.

Satire is a cunning, landless opportunist who poaches along the borders of the two great realms of Tragedy and Comedy. The hunting is good, no doubt, for the satirist is nourished by folly and vice, of which there is said to be never any shortage. But, perhaps because I was reared in Comedy's fair land, I am not convinced of that. Folly is thick on the ground, no doubt, but where is vice? I know, I truly do know and can demonstrate, just as surely as one can provide a proof in geometry, that certain influential persons, especially in the schools, do bad things to other people. But they are not villains. They do not will badness. On the contrary, probably far more than most of us, they deliberately intend to do good things. And I am certain that they would do good things, if only they could make sense.

But all of that, obviously, could be said of any one of us. Outside of the pages of fantastic fiction, there is no one who says in the heart, I will do evil. We all intend the good, and would, at least often, do it if we could. But we don't always understand what the good is.

That is hardly a new idea. But, while I have known about it for a long time, heard it with the hearing of the ear, as it were, I haven't truly known it. Between those conditions -- knowing about, and knowing -- I think there is a very big difference. The point of this book was, for me, the discovery of that understanding. True education is not knowing about, but knowing. It is the cure of folly and the curb of vice, and our only hope of escaping what Socrates once called "the greatest peril of this our life" -- not sickness or death, as most of us would say, but the failure to make sense about the better and the worse, and thus to choose the wrong one, thinking it the other.

This is, I'm afraid, a presumptuous book. It is a book about how to live by a man who doesn't know how to live, but who has begun to learn that he doesn't know how.