Ian Gonsher
Discourse is sacred. Every conversation can be taken to be an aspect of the Divine. Every discussion is a part of a holy dialectic, in every time and every place. Torah — in the broadest sense — is a conversation. And every conversation, from the nested commentaries of the Talmud to the quotidian interactions we all have with each other in the course of a day, are all part of a sacred discourse, a holy dialectic.
Martin Buber says in I and Thou that, ‘Spirit is not in the I, but between I and Thou.’ It is that space between souls (neshamot) where spirit manifests.[1] Social media and related technologies have amplified this space, but not without distortion. And still, every comment and every post can be understood as a thought in the mind of God. Every interaction we have with each other, the stories we tell, all the love and all the anxiety, and all the ordinariness of everyday life that falls in between, are sacred. And as natural intelligence evolves with artificial intelligence into a new spiritual intelligence, a changing consciousness is emerging. Language is evolving. Language — our only practical medium between the isolated islands of the self and the other — is the meta-technology that makes all other technologies possible.
Innovations in language have always advanced the tradition (masorah). These evolving technologies are what make that long conversation — discourse itself — possible from generation to generation; from the first Proto-Sinaitic scribbles that came up from Egypt like the Israelites who would adopt them and make them holy, to the computer code that generates AI, language, in all its manifestations, is holy because it is an extension of the mind and spirit (lashon ha-kodesh). Every question is an opportunity to participate in and contribute to that conversation.
There is a well-known Jewish proverb: “Ask two Jews a question, and you’ll get three opinions.” With a touch of humor, this adage reflects the Jewish penchant for vigorous debate, not as a barrier to truth, but as a means of pursuing it. By making room for disagreement and multiple, conflicting, and contradicting interpretations, the conversation itself becomes a way of uncovering deeper meaning and offering greater possibilities. This is an exercise in both divergent and convergent thinking. It is precisely the tensions that emerge from the rub of perspectives against each other that give force and shape to the creative spirit. This proverb gives us permission to hold more than one opinion at the same time. Individual creative minds think divergently. A creative community aggregates these diverse ideas, and produces a synthesis that is greater than the sum of its parts. This can be seen and celebrated in the push and pull of perspectives that are found in traditional Jewish dialectical methods of study. The process by which Torah is understood, in the broadest possible sense, is a creative dialectic.
This is argued against that, producing divergent thought, and expressing the value of machloket, the Hebrew term for “dispute” or “argument.” This is a creative tension, “an argument for the sake of heaven” (mahloket le-sheim Shamayim), because when people discuss ideas, new perspectives emerge, and those perspectives have the potential to widen everyone’s understanding. Agonistic, but not necessarily antagonistic, this process allows for insights to accrue. This creative dialectic is evidenced in the diversity of thought manifested throughout Jewish history. Creativity in general, and Jewish creativity in particular, is a process that can only move in two directions, either in opposition or synthesis.
For the sake of this conversation, we might call this creative spirit the “Yiddengeist,” taken to mean something like the creative spirit of the Jewish people as a whole and in the aggregate, manifesting itself in history as an aspect of a holy process. It is derived from the Yiddish word for “Jews” and the German word for “spirit,” as introduced and applied by Hegel, and drawing on his conception of the dialectical process that moves history forward. It draws on his concepts of the Volksgeist, or the “spirit of a people.” It also derives from Hegel’s notion of the Weltgeist, or “World Spirit,” which can be understood as the process of all discourse guiding history toward freedom and self-realization.
It is through engaging in dialogue with others, both within the Jewish community and, importantly, outside of it, that this spirit can emerge. In some sense, the boundary between interior and exterior is insignificant in so far as all dialogue, all discourse, and the entire dialectical process being described, emerges from the same divine source. There is nothing exclusively “Jewish” about this project, although it is sacred to Jews. It is manifest anywhere where the technology of language transcends the gap between the alienated Self and the alienated Other. It is in dialogue with others that we encounter both ourselves (Yehidah) and the Divine spirit (Shekhinah).
This insight is an offering to both our enemies and our friends. We are offered, and we offer, an opportunity to discover an image of ourselves, and therefore the image of God (be-tzelem Elohim) in the reflection of the other. Both philosemites and antisemites alike participate in this dialectical process. Our sages tell us that baseless hatred (sinat hinam) was the cause of the destruction of the Beit ha-Mikdash, but baseless hatred was also a consequence of its destruction; baseless hatred projected onto generations of Jews during the centuries of antisemitism that followed. Let us remember this dialectic. Let the mirror be our shield. When they look into it, let it remind them of who they are. When we look into it, let it remind us of who we are. Let the mirror teach us all. Let it remind everyone that we are all part of that same Divine spirit and creative dialectic.
If we are all to heal from intergenerational traumas, both Jews and non-Jews, we must recognize the ways these anxieties are projected and reflected onto each other as they are amplified and distorted. It is only then that we might have any chance of finding a cure for the pathological, baseless hatred that seems to be increasingly prevalent in the world today. We are all part of the same dialectical process that moves from brokenness and alienation towards repair and healing.
As we look into the mirror, we might consider another way to read the aforementioned proverb. “Two Jews, three opinions” can also be read as a description of the dialectical process herein described. In this interpretation, the first two opinions are those of the two Jews, as thesis and antithesis. However, the third “opinion” is elevated. It is a shared consensus, resolving the initial tension of opposition into a more harmonious synthesis and a new level of holiness. Perhaps it is in that unity of opposites that we might more fully encounter the Spirit of God (Ru’ah ha-Kodesh).
[1] Martin Buber, I and Thou, translated by Walter Kaufmann (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1970).
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