Genesis 1:6 to 1:8
Chapter 6, pp. 127-137, I:17b-18a
-Genesis 1:6 וַיֹּ֣אמֶר אֱלֹהִ֔ים יְהִ֥י רָקִ֖יעַ בְּת֣וֹךְ הַמָּ֑יִם וִיהִ֣י מַבְדִּ֔יל בֵּ֥ין מַ֖יִם לָמָֽיִם Va-yomer Elohim yehi raqia b’tok ha-mayim vihi mavdil beyn mayim la-mayim. God said, “Let there be an expanse in the midst of the water, that it may separate water from water.
-Genesis 1:7 וַיַּ֣עַשׂ אֱלֹהִים֮ אֶת־הָרָקִ֒יעַ֒ וַיַּבְדֵּ֗ל בֵּ֤ין הַמַּ֙יִם֙ אֲשֶׁר֙ מִתַּ֣חַת לָרָקִ֔יעַ וּבֵ֣ין הַמַּ֔יִם אֲשֶׁ֖ר מֵעַ֣ל לָרָקִ֑יעַ וַֽיְהִי־כֵֽן Va-ya’as Elohim et ha-raqia va-yavdel beyn ha-mayim asher mitakhat la-raqia uveyn ha-mayim asher me-al la-raqia vay-hi ken. God made the expanse in the midst of the water, and it separated the water that was below the expanse from the water that was above the expanse. And it was so.
-Genesis 1:8 וַיִּקְרָ֧א אֱלֹהִ֛ים לָֽרָקִ֖יעַ שָׁמָ֑יִם וַֽיְהִי־עֶ֥רֶב וַֽיְהִי־בֹ֖קֶר י֥וֹם שֵׁנִֽי Va-yiqra Elohim la-raqia shamayim vay-hi erev vay-hi voker yom sheni. God called the expanse Sky. And there was evening and there was morning, a second day.
In the Zohar’s account, the second day of Creation described in these verses brought “conflict” into the world. The upper three sefirot (Keter, Hokhmah, and Binah) are entirely without form; and these all emanate on the first day of Creation. But then the process opens into the material world, starting with Hesed, represented on the right side of the schematic, followed by Gevurah, on the left. It is here, with the emergence of Gevurah–the second of the lower sefirot, and now on the left side of the schematic–that darkness, evil, and the movement toward Hell enters the world. This account analogizes the disruptive emergence of Gevurah with the figure of Korah from the book of Numbers (Chapter 16). Korah was a member of the Levite tribe, designated to take care of the tabernacle, the holy site where God was said literally to dwell, and assist the priest, Aaron, son of Moses. But Korah objected to the leadership of Moses and Aaron and so aroused 250 others to join his rebellion against their rule. In the end, Korah, his family, and all his belongings were swallowed by the earth which opened up with God’s wrath. And, moreover, the 250 followers of Korah were swiftly burnt to ash. Gevurah, the “second” emanation of God (that is, of the lower sefirot) is thus equated with this upstart Korah. In some mystical way, however, this rebellious aspect is also quickly swallowed up by Hell (also called Sheol) so that what remains on the left can “harmonize” with the right. This harmonization occurs through Tif’eret, who sits in the center of the schematic and emerges on the third day.
There is every indication that the Zohar is really wrestling with the emergence of duality. Prefigured perhaps by the darkness and light of the previous verses–but then only in implicit form–the world is now materially, or explicitly, divided, “water from water” on the second sefirah, no less. The dualities quickly accumulate: water and “expanse”; above and below; upper and lower; left and right, one and two; and, we might add, implicit and explicit. In the Korah story they further multiply: with God and against it; blessed and cursed; allowed to live and made to die. The presence of dualities of course is a necessary prerequisite of conflict and, in the fullness of time, conflicts do arise. So it is not wrong to equate duality with conflict. The Infinitist, however, is reluctant to bring Hell or evil into the picture so readily. It requires an additional step, perhaps, to get all the way to Hell–to move from difference to annihilation.
The Zohar suggests Gevurah would annihilate Creation and this is what binds him–causes him to “cling”–to hell. And it is significant that this (annihilate) is the very word used in Numbers to describe God’s intent with Korah and his band (see Numbers 16:21). Duality breeds conflict which ends in annihilation. This is often so, as the Korah story illustrates. But the Infinitist would rush to clarify that duality, or difference, can lead to conflict but also to many other states, like learning, growth, fascination, and joy. And conflict does not necessarily lead to annihilation. Indeed, we might even posit that this could only happen (perhaps granting some rare exceptions) as a result of some kind of tragic and avoidable mistake! Indeed, how about this: Our closeness to God can be measured by how gracefully we resolve conflicts. Annihilation–or violence, which is the means by which annihilation is accomplished–is thus the measure of our distance from God.
Another fascinating twist is the connection that the Zohar makes between conflict and “judgment,” which is specifically associated with the sefirah Gevurah. This suggests that it requires judgment to separate the world into dualities; and further that judgments lead inexorably to conflict; and perhaps, even further still, that judgments tend to culminate in the idea that the Other should live or die. We see this here in the judgment made by Korah that Moses and Aaron should be overthrown (and presumably killed) and by God that, au contraire, it is Korah and his band who should die. Judgment-as-discernment illuminates difference and exposes dualities; judgment-as-sentence, surely a very different thing, instigates violence and enacts annihilation. The Zohar conflates these senses of the word. Infinitism wants to be careful not to.
The Zohar says, “Good and evil diverge–cultivation of the world” (p. 137). And, “Were it not for this conflict, harmonized by the middle, they would not merge or be at peace with one another” (pp. 135-136). Matt’s footnote (225, p. 137) reads: “The world is maintained through a rhythm of lightness and darkness, good and evil. Human choice and action determine which power will manifest on earth: the divine or the demonic. The demonic forces, too, serve a sacred function by punishing human evil.” This is Judaism’s way to make sense of a readily apparent struggle in human beings between their positive and negative impulses. As interpolated here into the very creation of the world, this struggle becomes part of the emanation of God itself. Infinitism, however, finds this a misallocation of the struggle which it sees as belonging exclusively to humankind, not God. This distinction is quite important from an Infinitistic point of view.
The Zoharian perspective, which is representative of the greater part of Judaism as a whole, sees evil as a property of the universe and humans as perpetually vulnerable to its seductions. Infinitism, on the other hand, rejects the category of evil altogether–particularly in reference to the cosmos as a whole. Outside of humankind (and perhaps some other species but this is debatable) no evil whatsoever can be detected in the universe. It just goes; it functions exactly as it does. It is purely divine in that specifically Infinitistic sense. The theodical problem becomes not how to reconcile God with evil in the universe but how humans could have become evil in a world otherwise entirely free of it. In our reading, the serpent we will soon encounter in the Garden of Eden does not represent evil at all. And the actions of Eve and Adam therefore cannot be evil either. The story plainly reads more like naive children being confused by conflicting information from figures much smarter than they, largely unaware of the real consequences of their actions. Indeed, how could they have been expected to make mature moral judgments fresh out of the gate, with no experience whatsoever with choices and their sometimes painful consequences?
This problem exists not only for the biblical story but for humankind in their real development across evolutionary time. What is called “evil” could only have been born the moment humans became capable of knowing that their actions were sometimes likely to cause suffering that could have been avoided. It is only when a creature possesses moral understanding that the possibility of evil can arise. But then, is that “evil,” properly speaking? Or are poor and destructive choices made by humans rather quite like the tragic story of Adam and Eve: endowed with powerful drives and urges, constrained by imperfect moral knowledge, humans will err; and then they will feel shame; and then they will hide their error or, perhaps, stubbornly insist that they have made no error at all? In this narrative the linchpin is not the presence of evil but the presence of shame. Perhaps everything that reads as evil in human behavior is better understood either as mere error or as shame (wherein error compounds upon error).
I will say very little here about another issue that comes up for the Infinitist, only this: The footnote quoted above speaks of “human choice and action,” a reference to the Judeo-Christian assertion that God gave humankind free will, almost as if the material world were a great moral test (that humans fail with disheartening regularity). But what if this is not the case at all? What if humans do not possess free will (at least anything resembling the conventional idea of free will)? What if humans have just as much free will as the cells, molecules, atoms, and sub-atomic particles of which we are comprised? What if our “choices and actions” are generated by the evev just like any other occurring in the universe? What if, at one and the same time, our behavior is run through with the divine and also (therefore) not our own? If all this were true, whither evil? I cannot leave this brief remark about the problem of free will, however, without adding an essential caveat: the Infinitist does not believe that the absence of free will means that our choices don’t matter, or that we should not be held accountable for them. We should! This is a paradox that I will have occasion to develop more fully in future discussions.
All that said, the Zohar is correct to identify a dualism in all this, though one embedded in human behavior rather than the universe as a whole. Humans can be kind, empathetic, and full of love and grace. And humans can be cruel, selfish, brutal, and murderous. Nevertheless, the Infinitist refuses to essentialize the former as ‘good’ and the latter as ‘evil.’ It seems more accurate to point to a dualism between two strategies for survival that are both embedded within our genetic endowment. We are shaped both by the forces of individual selection, which prioritize the survival of each gene carrier, and group selection, which prioritize the survival of the collective. While the end goal remains the same, the replication of genes into future generations, the former will sacrifice others for the carrier’s direct benefit, and the latter assumes that the carrier’s genes are more likely to survive if the group remains viable. The former uses group membership as an optional strategy among others; the latter identifies with the group and strongly associates membership with survival itself. To be sure, humans possess a volatile mix of these two strategies which emerged together out of the evolutionary past, very likely with group selection developing on top of the neurobiology of individualistic strategies. It is newer, less established, and somewhat precarious, and comparatively easily overwhelmed by the egotistic impulses of individual selection.
Infinitism proposes that religion evolved alongside group selection, especially as our cognitive capacity to collaborate accelerated, bringing us language, art, and other skills. In this reading, religion evolved to help humans stay connected to their less selfish and more altruistic nature. This is the dualism that Infinitism prefers over that offered here in the Zohar. We prefer to think that good and evil are neither needed to “cultivate the world” nor are they actually present anywhere. But humans do struggle between their selfish and altruistic urges, ideally “harmonized by the middle.” As the Zohar implies, both are of God. Everything is God. Divinity runs through the whole gamut and, specifically, through us even as we struggle and often fail to achieve our goal: to live in deep connection, collectively, not only to survive but to thrive together.