God and the World – Lesson 2

Table of Contents

• Tension between infinity and reality, and the framework for discussing tzimtzum
• The Hasidic position versus the Mitnagdic position, and the claim about the default view
• The lecturer’s critique of “tzimtzum not literally” as a metaphor with no addressee and no referent
• A letter from the Lubavitcher Rebbe and a mapping of four approaches to tzimtzum
• Light, luminary, essence, and manifestation through Kant and Leibniz
• Filthy alleyways as a focal point of dispute, and the practical implications of tzimtzum
• Nefesh HaChayim, Gate 3: truth from His perspective versus conduct from our perspective, and the warning about the danger of contemplation
• Reconciling “fills all worlds” with levels, and the distinction between His perspective and ours
• The contradiction that still remains in the lecturer’s view, and setting up the continuation of the discussion

Summary

General Overview

The text presents the issue of tzimtzum as a framework for the tension between the infinity of the Holy One, blessed be He—according to which, seemingly, there is no room for an independent reality outside Him—and the immediate certainty that the world and the human being exist. It describes two basic positions: a Hasidic approach that sees tzimtzum as not literal and as metaphor only, versus a Mitnagdic approach that sees tzimtzum as literal in order to make room for reality. The lecturer argues that the position of “tzimtzum not literally” is an oxymoron and nonsense, because it denies existence, does not clarify to whom the metaphor is addressed and what its referent is, and empties language of meaning. Alongside that, he brings a letter from the Lubavitcher Rebbe and a discussion in Nefesh HaChayim that attempt to map out positions and derive from them halakhic and practical consequences, such as the law regarding filthy alleyways.

Tension Between Infinity and Reality, and the Framework for Discussing Tzimtzum

Tzimtzum is presented as a problem that arises from the claim that there is nothing besides Him, that He fills all worlds and surrounds all worlds, set against the simple fact that there is a world, a human being, and consciousness, and that experience itself testifies to the existence of the experiencer in accordance with Descartes’ cogito principle. Tosafot is brought as an example that sometimes a verse is cited as proof for a reality that can be seen with one’s eyes, and the lecturer states that there is no need for verses in order to prove that reality exists. This framework defines two basic positions: one that prefers the pole of infinity and interprets tzimtzum as a non-literal metaphor, and one that prefers the pole of reality and interprets tzimtzum literally.

The Hasidic Position Versus the Mitnagdic Position, and the Claim About the Default View

The position associated with Hasidism holds that tzimtzum is not literal and that there is not really anything outside the Holy One, blessed be He, and therefore every description of tzimtzum is a metaphor. The Mitnagdic position holds that tzimtzum is literal, because one cannot ignore the existence of things that are not the Holy One, blessed be He. From that comes the question how “there is nothing besides Him” and “fills all worlds” can be reconciled with a separate reality. The lecturer argues that in the literature it is common to regard the Hasidic position as the default and to present the Mitnagdic position as the one that requires justification, but he himself has difficulty understanding the possibility of “tzimtzum not literally” and argues that it has no coherent meaning at all.

The Lecturer’s Critique of “Tzimtzum Not Literally” as a Metaphor with No Addressee and No Referent

The lecturer argues that “tzimtzum not literally” denies the immediate perception of the existence of the world and of the human being, and therefore it is an oxymoron. He asks to whom the metaphor is addressed if there is nothing outside the Holy One, blessed be He, and what its referent is if after the metaphor “the infinite light fills all reality, and that’s it,” without any real change. He says that this discourse exists only because there are people who make this mistake, similar to a formulation he attributes to Maimonides about conducting a discussion only in the face of a widespread error.

A Letter from the Lubavitcher Rebbe and a Mapping of Four Approaches to Tzimtzum

The Lubavitcher Rebbe is quoted as expressing surprise at the possibility of saying that all the positions on tzimtzum “go to one place,” especially when the questioner defines his acquaintance as someone who studies the books of the kabbalists, and the lecturer notes that the marginal comment on the letter identifies that acquaintance as apparently Rabbi Dessler. The Rebbe formulates two main disputes: whether tzimtzum is literal or not (withdrawal or concealment), and whether tzimtzum applies only to the light or also to the luminary. He maps out four positions: literal tzimtzum, including in His very essence; literal tzimtzum only in the light; non-literal tzimtzum also in the luminary; and non-literal tzimtzum only in the light. He identifies the opponents in the days of the Alter Rebbe with position A, the author of Nefesh HaChayim with position C, and Chabad with position D, while urging the reader to examine Chabad writings in order to understand the whole tractate of tzimtzum.

Light, Luminary, Essence, and Manifestation Through Kant and Leibniz

The lecturer develops a distinction between the thing in itself and the way it appears to our cognition, in Kantian language, and argues that there is no essential difference between not grasping the table in itself and not grasping the Holy One, blessed be He, because perception always takes place through properties and phenomena. He rejects an interpretation that sees this as a human limitation, and argues that color, sound, and other properties are cognitive phenomena and not properties that exist “in the thing in itself.” He illustrates this with the example of a tree falling in the forest and the claim that “sound” is created in consciousness and not in the world itself. He presents Leibniz’s principle of the “identity of indiscernibles,” criticizes it as begging the question, and proposes a distinction between difference in properties and otherness in essence, with examples of drops of water and of bosons versus fermions as support for the possibility of otherness without difference. He adds that Borges, in “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius,” embodies in story form the absurdity of treating “bundles of properties” as objects without a bearer of properties. Within the kabbalistic context, he argues that the “properties” of the Holy One, blessed be He—such as sefirot and vessels—function as objects that were created or emanated, not as attributes of an object, and therefore they are not a grasp of His essence. He connects this to the phrase “thought cannot grasp Him at all” and to the Talmudic image in Berakhot 10a of the relation between the Holy One, blessed be He, and the world as like the relation of soul and body.

Filthy Alleyways as a Focal Point of Dispute, and the Practical Implications of Tzimtzum

The Lubavitcher Rebbe is quoted as describing the Mitnagdim’s interpretation of “there is no place devoid of Him” as divine providence alone and not presence, and as identifying the position that “the essence is present in every place” as contradicting the laws of filthy alleyways, as was publicized in broadsides and notices in the period of the Baal Shem Tov and the Alter Rebbe. The lecturer sharpens the point that the metaphysical discussion has practical implications for patterns of serving God and for attitudes toward halakhic distinctions between places and states. He argues that the Hasidic view produces a position according to which holiness is present throughout all realms of reality, and therefore there is a tendency to see the distinctions as metaphor only. He sets out an extreme principled conclusion according to which, if there is no real difference between places, then in principle one could study Torah even in the bathroom, even if “as a matter of Jewish law” one is told not to do so because we live according to the metaphor. In that way he marks how the question of “tzimtzum and providence” is connected to the question of actual conduct.

Nefesh HaChayim, Gate 3: Truth from His Perspective Versus Conduct from Our Perspective, and the Warning About the Danger of Contemplation

Passages from Nefesh HaChayim declare that “there is nothing besides Him” means exactly what it says, and that all created beings have no independent reality in relation to the simple unity of His essence, and they bring the idea that He is the place of the world and the world is not His place. The book warns that contemplating this matter is dangerous and suitable only for the wise in measure, and explains the need to deal with it by saying that in his generation “the Torah of every person” had become the slogan that “in every place and in every thing there is complete divinity,” and that young men were determining practical modes of conduct on the basis of this thought. It connects this to the concern that such thinking would permit Torah reflection in filthy alleyways, cites the severity with which the Sages in Berakhot speak about one who reflects there, and presents this as the destruction of the foundations of the Torah if practical conduct is determined according to the thought that everything is divinity.

Reconciling “Fills All Worlds” with Levels, and the Distinction Between His Perspective and Ours

Nefesh HaChayim formulates that the Holy One, blessed be He, fills all worlds in complete equality, but the reality of the worlds and the distinctions between them exist from the side of our perception and our modes of conduct in Torah and commandments. It defines the aspect of “fills all worlds” as a truth from His perspective, blessed be He, in which there is no change even after creation, and brings the prayer formula “You are He before the world was created; You are He after the world was created,” and the Song of Unity, “You surround everything and fill everything, and in everything that exists, You are in all,” as declarations of non-change and lack of separation. It defines the aspect of “surrounds all worlds” as an expression of concealment from our side, and explains that, as it were, the contraction of His glory enables us to experience a reality of distinctions among worlds and between holy and pure places as opposed to impure and filthy ones, on the basis of which the obligations of halakhic conduct are built. He compares this to the relation of soul and body, where the body is sensed directly and the soul is hidden, and declares that all the names, descriptions, and qualities in the Torah speak from this aspect of His connection to the worlds as they appear to us.

The Contradiction That Still Remains in the Lecturer’s View, and Setting Up the Continuation of the Discussion

The lecturer reads Nefesh HaChayim as an attempt to preserve a view of “tzimtzum not literally” together with absolute commitment to Jewish law and to distinctions between places, and he presents a difficulty: if the Hasidic view is correct, he asks, why not behave in accordance with it, and who is the addressee of the distinction “from our perspective” if everything is metaphor and not reality. He points out that Nefesh HaChayim was written as a response to concern over breaches in the boundaries of Jewish law and a possible connection to Sabbateanism, and concludes by saying that the solution is still not clear to him and that he will continue next week, while leaving room for comments and questions.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Last time I began this series on tzimtzum and providence, and after some introductions about the realm of thought in general, authority, and the definiteness or unambiguity of the various positions, I moved on to talk about tzimtzum. This whole topic of tzimtzum really takes place in the tension between two poles. On the one hand, the infinity of the Holy One, blessed be He, which seemingly ought to leave nothing outside Him. Meaning: “there is none besides Him,” and “He fills all worlds and surrounds all worlds,” and so on. Things apparently really cannot exist, because anything that exists independently pushes the Holy One, blessed be He, out of the way. In other words, that means it is not the Holy One, blessed be He, but something else. Put differently, the Holy One, blessed be He, would then have a limit; He would not truly fill everything, all of reality. And that contradicts our basic conception of the Holy One, blessed be He. The opposite pole is, of course, reality. Meaning, we know that there are things here that are not the Holy One, blessed be He—us, the world, all of creation. In the simple sense, creation means that the Holy One, blessed be He, made things that are not Him, things outside Him, beyond Him. I don’t need to bring proof-texts for the fact that things besides the Holy One, blessed be He, exist—our eyes see it. We simply see it. Not only do we see it, but if we see, that means we exist. The immediate experience itself—the very fact that we are thinking about this means there is someone thinking about it. That’s Descartes’ cogito principle; I spoke about it last time.

It reminds me that Tosafot says somewhere—I think in tractate Sukkah, I no longer remember exactly—that there are many stars in the sky. What’s the proof? Because look, it says explicitly in the verse, “Lift up your eyes and see,” in connection with Abraham our forefather’s descendants being as numerous as the stars of the heavens. Meaning, Tosafot brings proof that there are many stars from the fact that the verse explicitly says there are many stars. But of course there is another alternative: simply look. Look and see that there are many stars. In any case, here too it seems to me we don’t need verses to prove that reality exists. The verses saying that the Holy One, blessed be He, created something—that’s good evidence. But who needs that evidence? We know there is reality.

So in short, this tension between these two poles is really the framework for the discussion of tzimtzum. And here, in the simple presentation, two positions are set against one another. One position chooses, or prefers, the first pole, and basically says: there is none besides Him; the Holy One, blessed be He, is infinite, omnipotent; there cannot really be anything else that truly exists. Therefore all the talk about tzimtzum is some kind of metaphor. Tzimtzum is not literal. Meaning, no tzimtzum actually happened. There are not really things outside the Holy One, blessed be He. I skipped over the concept of tzimtzum itself, which I also presented—with the empty space and the line entering into it—and I’m not going to summarize everything we discussed last time. That is one approach, usually associated, by the way, with the Hasidic camp. Hasidic thought is generally identified with the position that tzimtzum is not literal, that the Holy One, blessed be He, is everywhere. We’ll come back to that.

The Mitnagdic approach, by contrast, holds that tzimtzum is indeed literal. You can’t ignore the fact that things exist outside the Holy One, blessed be He—that is, things that are not the Holy One, blessed be He. Then of course the question arises: what do you do with “there is none besides Him”? With “He fills all worlds”? With all these conceptions of the infinity of the Holy One, blessed be He? If things exist, that means He has an end. Here He is not present. Meaning, there is some place where His presence stops—here He is simply not present. So the question is how to understand this.

And I mentioned that usually, in the literature dealing with tzimtzum, the main discussion is an attempt to explain why the Mitnagdic position has some footing. Meaning, how can one say such a thing after all? As if the point of departure, the default, is the Hasidic position—that there is none besides Him and the Holy One, blessed be He, is everywhere—and therefore the simple reading is that tzimtzum is not literal. The Mitnagdic position, which says it is literal, requires explanation, and then people try to offer this explanation or that one. Most of them limp, but that’s what they try to do.

What I said last time is that, for me, before even getting to the question of what my own position is, the thing that troubles me more than this mistake or that mistake, this position or that position, is the very kind of discourse, the way the discussion is conducted. Because the discussion is carried on as though “tzimtzum is not literal” is the default, and explanations are needed in order to justify the view that tzimtzum is literal. I simply cannot understand the position that tzimtzum is not literal. I’m not talking about defending it, explaining it, explaining the other side, attacking it—there’s nothing even to attack. There is no such position. That position is an oxymoron. It cannot be that I say tzimtzum is not literal. First, because it denies our immediate perception that we exist, that the world exists. Not everything is the Holy One, blessed be He. Second, if all this talk of tzimtzum is a metaphor, to whom is the metaphor addressed? Is the Holy One, blessed be He, telling parables to Himself? A metaphor has an addressee, someone to whom it is directed in order to explain something. Who is that someone, if there is truly nothing but the Holy One, blessed be He?

And a third question: what is this metaphor a metaphor for? What is the referent? If tzimtzum is not literal, if the Holy One, blessed be He, fills everything and there is nothing besides Him, then what exactly is the metaphor illustrating? The metaphor says: think as if there are various things, even though the truth is that there aren’t. So what is this metaphor supposed to demonstrate? In the actual referent there is really nothing but the Holy One, blessed be He; things remain exactly as they were. The Infinite Light fills all reality, and that’s it. This whole story of non-literal tzimtzum is just—I don’t know—words without meaning, in my view. It has no meaning at all. It’s simply nonsense.

So I think there is no room for this discussion to begin with. This discussion goes on only because, as Maimonides writes in several places, I would never have discussed this at all had I not seen that various people make mistakes about it. I really don’t know what there is even to discuss here. It’s an absurd conception.

Now, look—in order to sharpen this further, I want to bring an interesting letter from the Lubavitcher Rebbe that I once found online. It seems to have somehow disappeared from there. I don’t know, maybe it still exists somewhere. In any case, the letter goes like this. It deals with the topic of tzimtzum; I’m sharing it here. It’s a letter dealing with the topic of tzimtzum. Right—the link I had no longer leads to the letter, it no longer exists there; I don’t know, maybe it can be found elsewhere.

And this is what he writes regarding tzimtzum: one of this man’s acquaintances says that all the different views here really come to the same thing. In other words, one of the questioner’s acquaintances—the questioner addressed his question to the Lubavitcher Rebbe—and the questioner says to him that one of my acquaintances claims that all the views lead to the same place. Or, in other words, this is all wordplay but everyone is saying the same thing. That’s basically the claim. Actually, I’d be happy to say that, except I don’t think it’s wordplay; I think the other side is simply nonsense. But that’s what this acquaintance claims. By the way, this acquaintance is apparently Rabbi Dessler. That’s what is written there at the bottom by those who published the letter or put it online or in print or wherever—they note that probably this man, “one of the questioner’s acquaintances,” is Rabbi Dessler.

Now the Lubavitcher Rebbe answers as follows: “I was utterly astonished even that such a notion could enter one’s mind.” Meaning, I can’t even understand how one could entertain such a possibility—not just that it’s false, but how one could even think that all the views lead to the same place. “Especially since your honor refers to him in your letter as one who studies the books of the Kabbalists.” In other words, this friend, this acquaintance of the questioner, is described by the questioner as someone who studies the books of the Kabbalists, meaning he is versed in Kabbalah. So the Lubavitcher Rebbe says: someone versed in Kabbalah can even imagine such a thing? “For it is obvious that this is not so at all. Already in the first generation after the Arizal, who revealed to us the secret of tzimtzum”—as I said, the Arizal was basically the one who first formulated or defined this concept of tzimtzum—“there were disagreements regarding tzimtzum among the great masters, from one extreme to the other, as is evident in their books, and the dispute continued afterward as well.” So there is an ancient dispute. From the very moment the Arizal established the concept of tzimtzum, a certain dispute among the masters immediately opened up.

And it concerns two main issues. One: whether tzimtzum is literal or not—removal or concealment, as he translates it. And two: whether tzimtzum applies only to the light or also to the luminary. There are really two questions this discussion deals with. The first is whether tzimtzum is literal or not. Literal tzimtzum means removal—the Infinite Light withdrew; tzimtzum, simply, really contracted. Concealment means that the Infinite Light is actually still here, it is only hidden from us; that is non-literal tzimtzum. And then, as I asked before: hidden from whose eyes? If the Infinite Light is fully here and there is nothing but Him, then before whom is He concealing Himself? Is there someone outside observing, before whom the Infinite Light is being hidden? But if you say that the Infinite Light is actually here, did not withdraw, and there is nothing besides the Holy One, blessed be He, then I really don’t understand before whom this concealment was created. But all right—that is the first question: removal or concealment, whether tzimtzum is literal or not.

The second question is whether tzimtzum is only in the light or also in the luminary. What does that mean? In the metaphor, think of the fire itself and the light it radiates. Okay? There is the source of the light—the fire—and then there is the light that the fire emits, which is basically the projection of the fire, its derivative. Now, according to the one who says there was tzimtzum, the question is whether the tzimtzum took place in the light itself—meaning the fire itself withdrew, that’s tzimtzum—or whether the fire itself remains, and only the radiance that the fire casts became contracted. Okay? That is basically the second question.

Now, the first question is understandable. I don’t think one can understand the opposite side—that it’s only concealment and not removal—but at least it’s clear what he means to ask. The second question sounds like, what exactly is “light” and what is “luminary”? These are just words. What does it mean that tzimtzum occurred in the light, or occurred in the luminary? What is the meaning of that? It is apparently connected to another ancient question, one discussed already by the early author of Shomer Emunim and in other early books. That question is whether the whole Kabbalistic description—the Infinite Light, and the line, and tzimtzum, and Adam Kadmon, and Atzilut, Beriah, Yetzirah, all these things, light and vessels, and so on—whether all of these describe the Holy One, blessed be He, Himself, or whether they describe modes of His revelation, while beyond all these things there is also the Holy One, blessed be He, Himself, who is not part of the game, not on the field, so to speak. About Him we do not speak. That is called His hidden essence. His essence—not how He appears, not His phenomenon, but His noumenon, not His phenomenon. Okay? He Himself. And perhaps that is what is meant here by “light” and “luminary.” Meaning, there is the source of light—the Holy One, blessed be He, the source of reality—and there is the radiance that this source emits, which is basically Atzilut, and the line, and tzimtzum, and Adam Kadmon, and all the Kabbalistic descriptions. Okay? So when we speak about the Holy One, blessed be He, one can understand it in two ways. When we say He did or did not contract, what do we mean? Do we mean His essence—and that is not He Himself—or some kind of appearance of His in the world that underwent contraction? Okay? That is probably what this distinction between light and luminary refers to.

Let me sharpen this point a bit more. We are used to thinking that the Holy One, blessed be He, is inconceivable. We cannot grasp Him, create any direct interaction with Him, sensory or perhaps even non-sensory. But in truth, if you think about it in Kantian terms, there is apparently nothing especially unique about the Holy One, blessed be He, in this regard compared to any other object. We also cannot establish immediate contact with the table in itself. What we grasp of the table is the ways in which it appears to us. For instance, we can speak about the properties of the table. The table is rectangular, white, has four legs, is made of wood, and so on. Those are all properties. But who—or what—is the table? Is the table just the collection of properties? The answer is no. The table is not the collection of properties. The table is the object whose properties these are.

Now what can I say about the table itself, beyond the question of how I describe it—what its properties are? What can I say about it itself, beyond its properties? Almost nothing. I can say that it exists, maybe that it is one and not two—and even that can be debated a bit. That’s more or less it. Anything else I say about the table is really a description of it, a property of it: that it is made of wood, has legs, is rectangular, all the things we mentioned. So Kant tells us that our perception or cognition cannot really grasp things as they are in themselves, their essence. What we can grasp are their modes of appearance to us: the phenomenon as distinct from the noumenon. The noumenon is the thing in itself, and the phenomenal is its appearance, the dimension of how it appears to us through all its properties. But there is something that possesses the properties, and that is the thing in itself.

Now, to sharpen this further, I’ll mention something I think I’ve already discussed more than once. Leibniz, the philosopher Leibniz, has a principle he calls the identity of indiscernibles. Meaning, if there are two objects with exactly the same set of properties, perfectly identical, then they are not two objects but one. That is Leibniz’s claim. In effect, Leibniz says there cannot be two different objects with exactly the same set of properties. If it’s exactly the same set of properties, then it is simply the same object, not two. Not just that they are not different—that’s obvious if they have the same properties—but that they are not two at all, they are one. There aren’t two objects here; there is one. That is his claim.

He even has a proof by contradiction. Let us assume the opposite: that there are two objects which really are two—they are other, distinct, meaning with different properties. “Other” means that A is not B. This “otherness” relates to the object itself. “Difference” relates to the properties of the objects. So I am saying: objects that are other, but not different. Suppose such a thing exists. Then what? Then object A has the property that it is not object B. But if so, then it differs from object B—not just that it is other, but it is also different—because it has a property that object B does not have. Object B is object B, while object A has the property that it is not object B. Since that is so, it contradicts the assumption that they have the same set of properties. And once we have contradicted the assumption, we have proven by contradiction that these two objects cannot be other. If they are not different, they are also not other; they are one object. That is his claim.

And as I have mentioned more than once, I think this proof simply does not hold water. It blatantly begs the question. The Achilles’ heel of this proof, or of this argument, is that Leibniz assumes—what exactly does he assume? He assumes that there is nothing in an object beyond its collection of properties. Therefore, if there are two objects with exactly the same collection of properties, then they are not two; they are simply the very same object. Whom is he arguing against? Against the conception that says: no, there is something in an object besides its collection of properties. That is the conception I described before. There is the object itself, the bearer of the properties. The object itself is not a property; it is an object, and it has properties. But there is also a dimension in the object that is called the essence, or the noumenon—not only the phenomenon, not only the collection of properties, but also the bearer of the properties, the object itself. That is what Leibniz is arguing against. He wants to prove that this conception is wrong.

But if you accept that conception, then his proof collapses. Because his proof assumes that “being not B” is a property. A has the property that it is not B. But I say no: if there is a dimension of otherness and a dimension of difference, and they are not the same dimension, then when I say A is not B, I am speaking about otherness, not about difference. Otherness is not a property. Difference deals with properties: if two objects are different, that means their properties are not identical. But if I assume that their properties are identical and yet they are still other, that means that being other is not a property. I have the same properties in B as in A, and still I can be other. That is my conception. I don’t know whether it is true or not, but it is my conception. And if you confront that conception with Leibniz’s argument, you will see that it falls apart. Because without noticing it, he assumes there is no such thing—that otherness is also a property. Well, if you assume that, then of course you’ll also manage to prove it. You’ve begged the question. But if that proof is directed at someone who does not assume that, you won’t succeed in convincing him he is wrong.

So what is the debate here? Where do I disagree with Leibniz? I disagree with him in that he thinks there is nothing in an object beyond the collection of its properties. I say that besides difference there is also otherness. And that means there can be two objects that are not different at all, and yet have exactly the same set of properties. They are still two. Not two different objects, but two other objects, with exactly the same set of properties. They are not different; they are other. Okay? For example, two drops of water that have exactly the same shape, the same mass, absolutely everything identical. They are also in the same place—location is also a property. I claim they are also in the same place at the same time. They are still two drops. You’ll say to me: two drops cannot be in the same place at the same time. I’d say: fine, but that’s a physical problem, not a logical problem. The physical problem is that a body with mass resists the existence of another body with mass in the same place. But if you think about bodies without mass, there is no impediment to their being in the same place and having exactly the same properties. Once the obstacle is physical and not logical, then it is no refutation at all.

We know in physics, in particle theory, that we distinguish between two types of particles: bosons, after the Indian physicist Bose—Bose-Einstein—and fermions, after the Italian-American physicist Enrico Fermi. And the difference between them is that fermions cannot be two particles with the same set of properties. That is the defining feature of fermions. But bosons do not have that feature. With bosons there can be very many particles all of which have exactly the same set of physical properties: charge, mass, everything the same, energy, momentum, whatever you like, all the same. That is basically what is called the Bose-Einstein effect. At very low temperatures all the particles collapse into the same physical state, meaning they have exactly the same set of properties. And still, we speak of numbers of particles: one, two, ten particles, a hundred particles, even though they all have exactly the same set of properties. That means there can be otherness even where there is no difference. Okay? So in my opinion modern physics shows clearly that Leibniz was wrong. But I think it is philosophically clear as well. You don’t need physics for that.

Anyway, back to our point. What I want to claim is this: what confuses Leibniz? What confuses Leibniz is that he looks at the table, and everything he can say about the table is connected to properties. So he says: fine, if that’s the case, then there is nothing in the table except its being the bearer of this collection of properties. That’s all. And my argument against that is that it cannot be correct, because I ask: why did you gather all these properties together and treat them as one object? Why not treat the whiteness of this table together with the darkness outside as one object? The only reason is that those properties belong to different entities, so there is no reason to combine them into one cluster of properties. So you are already assuming there are entities and not only bundles of properties. If there were only bundles of properties, then I could gather any bundle of properties and produce an object from it.

And as I mentioned previously when I discussed this, I referred to the brilliant story by Borges, the Argentine writer, called “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius.” It appears in the Hebrew translation by Yoram Bronowski. I strongly recommend reading it—and Borges generally, because he is an astonishing genius. But this story in particular is simply mandatory. It is a brilliant philosophical essay in the form of a story. There he basically raises this very argument, of course by way of fiction, but that is the argument he is making. He tells of a certain planet, Tlön—that’s the planet’s name—where idealists, led by Berkeley, who was an idealist, believed that there is no reality, only appearances, only properties. That reminds you of non-literal tzimtzum; it’s the same idea. And he says that on that planet every collection of properties created an object. For example, the darkness outside right now together with the whiteness of the table here together with the strength of the wind from the fan—that is an object. Because every collection of properties defines an object. Someone who does not recognize the existence of a thing that bears properties, but instead simply treats collections of properties as objects, can gather any collection of properties he likes. Every collection of properties is an object. But of course any sane person understands that this is nonsense.

We gather properties only when those properties describe the same object, belong to the same object. So now I ask: who is this object to which the properties belong? It is not the collection of properties itself. The collection of properties are the properties of the object. So what is the object? The object is some abstract something that exists in the world in itself, and when I look at it or grasp it, I grasp it through its properties. I cannot see the thing itself, because it has no appearance. Its appearance already belongs to the properties. Okay?

So in the same way—and now I return to this passage from the Lubavitcher Rebbe—in that same sense I want to claim that our inability to grasp the Holy One, blessed be He, is apparently not essentially different from our inability to grasp the table itself. Both with the table and with the Holy One, blessed be He, what we can grasp are the ways in which He or it appears to us, and not the thing itself. So in what sense is the Holy One, blessed be He, inconceivable? Why is He less graspable than the table, or the person sitting here, or this computer, or this phone, or any object whatsoever? What I can always grasp is only the properties of the thing, not the thing itself. So how is this any different?

There is another important point here. Some people interpret this Kantian distinction between the thing itself and the phenomenon, or its modes of appearance, its collection of properties, as a human limitation. Meaning, I am limited as a human being, and therefore I cannot grasp the table in itself. I grasp only its properties, the ways it appears in the world, but I cannot grasp the table in itself. That is a mistake. It is a mistake; there is no limitation here. This is what it means to grasp the table. To grasp the table means that when I look at the table, I say: this table is white. So what are you telling me? That I didn’t grasp the table itself, only the way it appears to my eyes? Then I ask: wait a second, so what is the color of the table in itself, not the color in which it appears to my eyes? And the answer is that there is no such thing as the color of the table in itself. The table in itself has no color. Color is defined as a phenomenon that occurs in my mind when I observe objects. The way I perceive them appears in my consciousness as color. There is no color in the thing itself.

Obviously, if I were to observe this in a different way, or if my brain were built differently, I could see it in a totally different color—or even hear the appearance of the table rather than see it at all. If you connected my eyes to the auditory center, I would hear visual appearances. I wouldn’t see them. The appearances are not out there in the world; they are only in my head. This is my favorite example of the tree that falls in the forest when no one is there to hear or see it. Does it make a sound? The answer is obviously no. Of course it does not make a sound. It moves air; there is a pressure wave. But as long as the pressure wave does not strike my eardrum, no sound is produced. Sound is a phenomenon of consciousness; there is no sound in the world itself. In the world itself there is a pressure wave. When the pressure wave strikes the eardrum of an ear, it produces in the consciousness of the ear’s owner a sound. Okay? But obviously the sound does not exist in the world; the sound exists only in the perceiving person. The same applies to color and visual appearance.

All the properties we speak about are not there because I fail to grasp the thing itself. This is what it means to grasp the thing itself. To grasp the thing itself means to insert the thing into my cognitive categories. To give it color and form and appearance and sound—audio and video—and smell and taste and touch and whatever else you want. That is what it means to grasp the thing itself. That is not a limitation. To grasp something always means to fit it into my conceptual system or my cognitive system. That is what grasping means. So what would it even mean to grasp the thing as it is in itself, not as it appears to my eyes? That is simply undefined. It’s nonsense. There is no such thing. To grasp the thing in itself means to experience the properties through which it appears to me. That is what grasping the thing in itself means. It is not a limitation; it is what grasping means. There is no creature that can grasp it better. That is irrelevant. There is no “better” here. This is the best grasp there is. There is no other kind of grasp. Okay? It is not a limitation, not an incapacity. It is the definition of perception. That is what perception is. Beyond that, you can only be the table itself. To grasp the table itself while being someone other than the table, all you can do is insert the table’s appearances into your cognitive tools. That is all you can do there.

Why am I saying this? Because it seems to me that the difference between the Holy One, blessed be He, and other objects lies precisely here. When I look at the appearances of the Holy One, blessed be He, in the world, there it really is not called grasping Him Himself. Or, to put it in the language of the Kabbalists—spheres and vessels and things like that—the claim is this: the color of the table is not an object; it is a property. The table is an object. Its color is a predicate: it is yellow, right? That is a predicate. When I say, “This table is yellow,” what is the subject of the sentence? The table. So that is the object. And what is the yellow color here? It is a predicate of the object, right? Meaning, the table’s yellow color is not an object; the object is the table. It has a property, namely that it is yellow.

The “properties,” so to speak, of the Holy One, blessed be He, are objects. That is the difference between Him and ordinary entities. The properties of the Holy One, blessed be He—whatever, not even speaking now of merciful and gracious, but of the sefirot for example: Keter, Chokhmah, Binah, and all those things—these are appearances of the Holy One, blessed be He, properties of the Holy One, blessed be He. But Kabbalah basically tells us: these are objects. The Holy One, blessed be He, created these things. They are not His properties. Properties are not things that need to be created. The properties are there; they characterize Him. If I say that the Holy One, blessed be He, emanated these things, created these things, then that means there is something here. In other words, the “color” of the Holy One, blessed be He, so to speak, is not one of His properties; it is an object separate from Him.

Therefore, when I understand, when I study the Kabbalistic world, I am not actually dealing with the properties of the Holy One, blessed be He, in the same sense that I deal with the properties of the table when I observe the table. I am dealing with objects that the Holy One, blessed be He, created as representations or implementations of His policy. Therefore this is not called grasping the Holy One, blessed be He, Himself. Okay? The difference between the Holy One, blessed be He, and other objects lies in the question of the relation between the property and the object that bears the properties. In ordinary objects, the properties are the properties of the object; the object is their bearer. With the Holy One, blessed be He, the properties are themselves objects, which have some connection to the Holy One, blessed be He, they represent Him in some way, but they are not Him. They are not His color. We are not grasping something in Him Himself.

I think that is the meaning of the statement that no thought can grasp Him at all. Okay? Thought is not able to take hold of Him. That is what it means: no thought can grasp Him at all. Often people quote this expression as if it means “thoughtful grasp,” but that is not it. In Aramaic, it means: there is no thought that succeeds in grasping Him whatsoever. Why? Because when I grasp His properties, I am not grasping Him Himself. The properties are not His color, through which I thereby grasp the object itself, but rather another object that He created, which represents Him in some fashion. The Infinite Light is within these vessels, within these objects, but these objects are not Him.

This is somewhat similar to the way the Talmud compares it to the relationship between the soul and the body in a human being. In tractate Berakhot 10, the Talmud says there that the relation between the Holy One, blessed be He, and the world is like the relation between the soul and the body. When you look at a person, you do not distinguish between the soul and the body. When you see his body, as far as you are concerned, you have seen the person himself. But the body is not a property of the soul. The body is another kind of object. The soul is—if you are a dualist, and I am a dualist—then the soul is something else. So what kind of relation is there between the soul and the body? In what sense do they become one object? Not in the same sense as the table and its color, or the material from which it is made. It is a different relation. The relation between body and soul is a very intimate union of two things that together create one totality. But it is not that one is a property of the other or an appearance of the other.

So too, the relation of the Holy One, blessed be He, to the world—or to the sefirot, if you like—is not that the sefirot are His colors, His properties, in the same sense as the color of the table. Rather, the Holy One, blessed be He, relates to the sefirot—or the Infinite Light relates to the sefirot—as the soul relates to the body. These are two objects that are somehow united together and create a totality that can be seen as one object. I said this in the previous lesson: the world of Atzilut is called Atzilut because the Infinite Light—in contrast to the worlds of Beriah, Yetzirah, and Asiyah—does not relate to them as the soul to the body. There, in those worlds, they are really two objects with a distance between them; they are not joined into one whole. Okay, so that is the difference between those worlds.

All right, so I return to the Lubavitcher Rebbe. The claim is that there are two questions around which this whole issue of tzimtzum revolves. First, is tzimtzum literal or not—removal or concealment? Second, is tzimtzum in the light or in the luminary? Everything I have done up to now was only to explain the difference between light and luminary: between the thing itself and its appearance, yes? Between the fire and the light emitted by the fire. For our purposes, between the Holy One, blessed be He, as it were in Himself—His hidden essence—and the sefirot, if you like, the light that represents His essence. The question is: in which of these did the tzimtzum occur?

Okay, and regarding this—now I continue reading—“there can be four views.” Four views. As is well known, when there are two questions and they are independent, then in principle there can be four views regarding the issue. A: tzimtzum is literal and also in His very essence. Meaning, the first view is that tzimtzum is literal. The Holy One, blessed be He, truly withdrew. It is removal, not concealment. Second, this withdrawal happened in His essence, not only in the luminary but also in the light—in the fire itself. The fire itself is now partial in extent; it is not only that the light it emits no longer fills all the empty space. Okay. So each view answers both questions. Is tzimtzum literal or not? In view A, the answer is: literal. And is tzimtzum in His essence or only in the emanation? In His essence.

“And the proof of those who hold this way”—this is the most Lithuanian view possible—“is: how can one say, God forbid, that the King is found in a place of filth?” We’ll return to this later. The dispute between Hasidim and Mitnagdim is often formulated through the question of what happens in filthy alleyways. One may not say words of Torah in filthy places; that is in tractate Berakhot. What does it mean? It means a bathroom, or a bathhouse, something like that. And the claim is basically that you cannot bring the Holy One, blessed be He, into such places. They are filthy alleyways in the sense that holiness does not belong there. Okay?

Now of course this is a metaphor. The point of the metaphor is that in every material place, every place where something tangible exists from our point of view, there is no Holy One, blessed be He. It is not filthy alleyways in the sense of toilets and bathhouses, but filthy in relation to refined spiritual light. Here we are dealing with physical things. In that sense these are somewhat like filthy alleyways, and the Holy One, blessed be He, is not present in the physical world. That is basically the Lithuanian conception. Their proof is: how can the Holy One, blessed be He, be present in a place of refuse? And “refuse” here does not mean only something disgusting like a toilet, but anything material. It is lowly relative to spiritual things. Okay? That is the proof of extreme Lithuanianism.

View B: tzimtzum is literal, but only in the light. All right? Tzimtzum is literal, meaning it really happened. Now I see that he means by “light” the light emitted by the fire, and by “luminary” the fire itself—not as I suggested earlier. It’s just terminology, not important. Tzimtzum is literal, but only in the light. Meaning, tzimtzum really happens; it is not concealment but actual withdrawal. But it does not happen in the thing itself, only in its effects, its properties, its appearances.

View C: tzimtzum is not literal—it is only metaphorical—but it applies also to the luminary. To both the light and the luminary, of course. And view D: tzimtzum is not literal, and only in the light. View D is the most Hasidic view. First of all, there is no tzimtzum at all, it is not literal, it is only concealment, not removal. Second, even that concealment, even the metaphor of tzimtzum, does not refer to the luminary but only to the light. Meaning, regarding the luminary one cannot say even metaphorically that it contracted. That is the extreme Hasidic conception. So if A is extreme Lithuanianism, or extreme Mitnagdism, then D is extreme Hasidism. Okay, and the other two are intermediate views.

Now he continues—fascinating letter, by the way—“And behold, the Mitnagdim in the days of the Alter Rebbe held view A above, as is known. The Gaon of Vilna and Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin interpreted ‘there is no place devoid of Him’ to mean: devoid of His providence.” In other words, when they interpreted “there is no place devoid of Him”—after all, according to them tzimtzum is literal both in the light and in the luminary—then there is no God in filthy alleyways, meaning in the material world, the created world. God truly is not there; He withdrew, and thus enabled reality to exist. So what does “there is no place devoid of Him” mean according to them? The Lubavitcher Rebbe says it means: devoid of His providence, not of His actual presence. He is not present there, but He watches from afar, as it were—He pays attention to what happens there.

“And they said that the view that the Essence is found in every place contradicts the laws of filthy alleyways, as is written in the broadsides and notices published in the time of the Baal Shem Tov and the Alter Rebbe. See also Sha’ar HaYichud VehaEmunah chapter 7, and Iggeret HaKodesh, etc. And it seems to me that in Beit Rebbe there was also printed a letter of the Alter Rebbe discussing this.” He is basically saying that the Alter Rebbe held view D—I’m saying this in advance; we’ll get there in a moment. But already in his own time, his opponents held view A. That is the dispute between the Mitnagdim and the Hasidim.

And the foundation on which the Mitnagdim stand is that we see that one may not pray and may not study Torah in filthy alleyways. That means there are places outside the bounds of holiness. And similarly, in the parable’s referent, the Infinite Light or the Holy One, blessed be He, is not found where there are vessels, where there are things that are more material—even perhaps the Kabbalistic vessels, which are not matter in the same sense we are talking about here, but still have some less-abstract dimension. Once there is some degree of thickness there, less abstraction, then God is no longer there. That is basically the claim. Therefore, the law of filthy alleyways shows us that it is not correct to attribute divinity to everything in the world. There are places outside the domain of divinity.

Now you understand why this is at the center of the dispute between Hasidim and Mitnagdim. The Hasidim claim that God is everywhere. You can play a flute on Rosh Hashanah and it can be a wonderful prayer. Why? Because these technical halakhic definitions are not really the external definitions of things. Deep down, it does not really matter. Whatever you do, if you do it for the sake of Heaven, it is holy. If you are a wagon-driver for the sake of Heaven, it is the same as the greatest scholar who devotes all his days to Torah study. From the perspective of pure Hasidism, a wagon-driver acting for the sake of Heaven performs the same service of God. Meaning, the Holy One, blessed be He, and holiness are present throughout all the expanses of reality. And the Lithuanians say: what are you talking about? Holiness does not enter filthy alleyways. The Holy One, blessed be He, is not in filthy alleyways. That is the theological, metaphysical, or Kabbalistic infrastructure of the dispute between Hasidism and Mitnagdism.

So beyond the question of what happens in the metaphysical dispute and who is right, one has to understand that this dispute has many practical consequences. People behave differently depending on whether they understand tzimtzum literally or non-literally. It sounds like one of those questions—who cares? Mere word games that don’t say anything. No. I am trying to persuade you that that is not true. This very abstract and spiritual theological dispute, whose two sides are hard even to understand, actually lies at the root of many disagreements and practical modes of behavior. We will see this later. That is why I call this series “Tzimtzum and Providence,” because the expression of your views about tzimtzum will also come out in your conception of providence.

So this was already the dispute in the time of the Alter Rebbe and the Baal Shem Tov, etc. “And the view of the author of Nefesh HaChayim, whom your honor mentions in your letter, is according to view C above.” Let us recall what view C is: tzimtzum is not literal, but also in the luminary. “And in this he differed from his teacher, the Gaon of Vilna,” because the Gaon of Vilna held view A. The Gaon of Vilna is the extreme opponent of the Alter Rebbe and the Baal Shem Tov, and he holds view A. Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin adopted some intermediate view and disagrees with the Gaon of Vilna.

“And in general it appears that Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin saw the Chabad books, especially the Tanya, and was influenced by them, though I do not know this with conclusive proofs.” By the way, regarding this assessment—even though I belong to Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin’s camp—on this assessment of the Lubavitcher Rebbe I am entirely in agreement. It is very clear from reading Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin’s books that they were written against Chabad, yet he was influenced by them to an unbelievable degree. The formulations in the Tanya and in Nefesh HaChayim are extremely similar. To understand what the real difference is between them, you need microscopes.

“But we”—continues the Lubavitcher Rebbe; I’ll explain later why I don’t agree with him about his interpretation of Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin—“we have only view D above: that tzimtzum is not literal, and even that is not in the luminary but in the light, and only in the lowest aspect of the light”—what that means, I don’t know—“as explained in the books and writings of Chabad. And in our time, when we have merited the illumination by which the subject of tzimtzum has been explained at length and appropriately and in many details in the books of Chabad Hasidic teaching, whether printed or manuscript, one who wishes to know the matter of tzimtzum, at least to some extent, with understanding and comprehension, has no other path than to study those works.” You see him here. In other words, anyone who wants to know what tzimtzum is has no choice; he must study Chabad books, because only there can one understand what tzimtzum is. Everyone else simply will not understand it.

“I do not know which books and writings your honor has in order to refer you to them”—he wants to direct him to sources, but he doesn’t know which books the questioner has. So he then gives him a whole list of sources, which isn’t important for us right now, and says they pertain to the matter of tzimtzum as explained in the Tanya, and so on. In short, that part is less important for our purposes.

You see here—this is written regarding tzimtzum—that one of his acquaintances, apparently our teacher Rabbi Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler, concluded after studying the Tanya and Nefesh HaChayim that there is no essential difference between them, that everything points to the same thing. Remember the question? That everything points to the same thing. And the truth is, it really does look very, very similar in the formulations. It’s fascinating.

Anyway, the Lubavitcher Rebbe claims that this is not correct. Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin is indeed close to the Hasidic conception, but he is in position C, not D. True, he is not the Gaon of Vilna, who is in position A. That is basically the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s claim.

So here we already begin to see the consequences of this debate. This dispute really has practical implications. It starts from a halakhic question about filthy alleyways, and in the final analysis, according to pure Hasidic thought, in principle one could study Torah in a bathroom. In principle one could study Torah anywhere, because there is no difference between places. The Holy One, blessed be He, is everywhere. All the distinctions between places are only metaphorical; they are not real, not actual reality. In terms of true reality, a bathroom and the Temple are the same thing. The Holy One, blessed be He, dwells here exactly as He dwells there. There is no difference at all. The differences are only formulations for the sake of our service of God. It is some kind of metaphor, but not truly so. Therefore, at the conceptual level one could study Torah in a bathroom. True, they say in Jewish law: don’t do it, because we need to live according to the metaphor. But in terms of the truth, there is no problem with it.

Now, he spoke about—as I said earlier, I think the main argument in favor of the Mitnagdic view is not the Talmudic passage about filthy alleyways and the Jewish law that one may not study Torah there. The problem is that the conception presented by the Lubavitcher Rebbe is simply nonsense. It is nonsense. What he is saying is that we do not really exist. We are a metaphor, and the sefirot are a metaphor, and everything is a metaphor. To whom is this metaphor addressed? What is it a metaphor for? These are just words; there is no understanding here. What would you say to someone who came and told you, “Look, neither I nor you really exist”? I’d recommend that he go see a professional; maybe it would help him. But that is about all I could say. What else can I do with such a claim?

And that is basically what the advocates of non-literal tzimtzum are saying. They are really saying: neither I nor you exists, and neither does the world; nothing exists. It is just some kind of metaphor. A metaphor directed to whom? A metaphor in whose mind? What is this metaphor a metaphor of? “I do not exist”—as I said before, this is Descartes’ cogito principle—it is self-contradictory. If I say I do not exist, then who is saying it? And the one who says it also does not exist? So whose statement is this? Is the Holy One, blessed be He, speaking to Himself? Do these words have any meaning at all? It’s a kind of word game…