Babylonian Talmud: Bava Batra 10b
In the second chapter of Mishneh Torah,
Maimonides' classic compendium of Jewish Law and
Belief, the author begins a discussion of
"matters exceedingly deep, beyond the grasp
of the average person . . . matters that the
mouth cannot utter, the ear cannot hear, nor the
heart clearly understand." Having previously
discussed G-d's Oneness and Transcendence, the
great sage now turns to a discussion of G-d's way
of knowing, and the vast difference between that
and our own: "The Holy One does not know
with a knowledge outside of Himself, as do we,
for we and our knowledge are not one. Rather, the
Creator, His Knowledge and His Life are One . . .
Therefore, He does not know creatures as we know
them, rather, He knows them because of Himself.
He knows Himself, and therefore knows all. . .
."
It has always seemed to me that these words
are more significant for what they say about us
than what they say about G-d, for they suggest to
us an alternative way of knowing. As though this
present moment holds within it two perspectives,
from below and from above, and that it is
possible to change the direction of our thought.
For if human existence is somehow swept up in
G-d's act of self-knowledge, then the true nature
of our consciousness is very different than we
presently experience it. Maimonides' words
contain a subtle challenge -- to overturn our
perception and know ourselves not as we do now,
but as beings known by G-d.
In the writings of later commentators, this
idea from Mishneh Torah is expanded upon:
"We and our knowledge are not one."
That is, there is an essential difference between
what we are and what we know. Knowledge is not
intrinsic to us, but received from without. It is
gathered one detail at a time, each point we
learn adding information that was not there
before, until a complete picture is formed.
However, the opposite must be said of G-d. Since
there is nothing outside of Him, knowledge cannot
add anything to His essence. His knowledge of
creation is therefore not acquired, but part of
His knowledge of Himself. In Maimonides' words:
"He is the knower, the known and the act of
knowing."
But there is a deeper allusion in these words.
To say that our knowledge of reality is collected
over time means that it is the individual's
consciousness that is constantly assembling
reality into an intelligible whole. The world
becomes meaningful to me as I construct it
within, and precisely because of my perception,
life is invested with value and importance. To
put it more simply, in the very act of knowing, I
create the universe -- with myself at its center.
This generates a moral problem, and also a
cognitive one. It means that wherever we look, we
see only ourselves; that we are boxed in by our
own mode of perception. For in judging the world,
we naturally favor those things that strengthen
our ego, and reject those things that challenge
it. In the Guide for the Perplexed, Maimonides
writes that before the Fall, Adam and Eve
perceived creation in the objective terms of
truth and falsehood. After the sin they perceived
it in terms of good and bad, as though the fall
of man can be understood as a fall into
subjectivity.
This is not only how we relate to the world,
even spiritual growth can become defined in terms
of personal goals. The constant desire for
"higher" realization can also be an
expression of the ego. What has been termed
"spiritual materialism" is really a
result of the self assigning meaning to reality
-- even to G-d! We live in an upside-down world,
in which even the Creator becomes subsidiary to
our will and desires. To switch perspectives and
see the world from the true viewpoint is the real
goal of spiritual work. If not, then all of our
knowledge, including that of the spirit, will be
interpreted through the criteria of the self.
Practically speaking, the importance of
religious traditions lies in their ability to
diminish our self-attachment and establish the
proper relationship between G-d and the world. It
is said of the revelation at Sinai that G-d had
to force the Israelites to accept the Torah; its
demands were so much beyond their ability to
comprehend. It forced them into a new mode of
thinking; it forced them into a new order of
relationship. Yet, by placing G-d at the center
of reality, the Torah breathes life into
creation. It presents the seeker with a body of
laws and ethics that can radically transform his
world view.
Ultimately, spiritual growth is not about the
self at all. The real work begins when we step
out of the center and define ourselves within a
larger framework of meaning. As Rabbi Israel of
Salant, one of the great ethical teachers of the
last century said, "Caring for the other
fellow's physical needs fulfills my spiritual
ones." Life then becomes defined in terms of
others: family, community, humanity and
ultimately, the Oneness and Presence of the
Divine.
But in order to reach this final stage -- the
transcendence of the self as final mediator of
truth -- one must be ready to die for it. If
spiritual practice does not tear down one's
conception of the world, if it does not uproot
the foundations of one's perception and rebuild
them from the top down, if it does not change in
the most fundamental way the nature of how a
person thinks, then one is quite literally doing
it backwards. "The Torah only lives in one
who kills himself over it," says the Talmud.
For the Torah's goal is to stand reality on its
head, to destroy the world and rebuild it in the
Divine image. "Behold, I have put My words
in your mouth . . . to root out and to pull down,
to destroy and to overthrow -- in order to build
and to plant" (Jeremiah 1).
Only in the moment when everything that we
know is overturned, can we see the world from a
true perspective, in a context of Oneness and as
a manifestation of the Divine will. In the moment
when self-preoccupation ceases, we become vessels
for something much greater. "As clay in the
potter's hand, so are you in My hand, O house of
Israel" (Jeremiah 18:6). From this higher
vantagepoint, life's purpose is to invest all
creation with G-d's Glory, and to promote unity
among all its components. This knowledge is not
separate from G-d, but Divinity itself, it is the
very life of creation.
And so, Rabbi Yosef, the son of Rabbi Yehoshua
ben Levi, saw an upside-down world -- a clear
world -- from a perspective very different than
our own. But only when he died to the fiction of
this present reality as the center of existence.
Only when we can die to this world, as did R.
Yosef, can we behold a true picture of reality.
Then, one is freed from the self as dictator of
meaning, to become a vessel for the Holy One --
knowing ourselves as we are known from Above. As
the verse says, "Every one that is called by
My Name; I have created him for My Glory; I have
formed him, yea I have made him" (Isaiah
43:7).
(C) Eliezer Shore, Bas Ayin
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