Galgal ha-sekhel (“The Orb of the Intellect”)

Galgal ha-sekhel plays a pivotal role in the cosmology of Doresh Reshumoth. In fact, this structure is mentioned by quite a number of Jewish thinkers of the medieval period; however, the peculiar functions assigned to it by the commentator are unlike those given to it by any other writer known to me. Moshe Idel, Adena Tannenbaum, and Dov Schwartz have all collected important information concerning galgal ha-sekhel; the picture, however, is still far from clear.⁴

Moshe Idel, “A Speculative Fragment by R. Asher ben Meshullam of Lunel” (in Hebrew), Kiryat Sefer 50 (1975) 149–53, esp. 150 n. 10; idem, Language, Torah, and Hermeneutics in Abraham Abulafia (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1989) 38–41, 165–66 (in Hebrew); Dov Schwartz, The Philosophy of a Jewish Fourteenth-Century Neoplatonic Circle (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1996) 170–71 n. 36; and Adena Tanenbaum, “Nine Spheres or Ten? A Medieval Gloss on Moses Ibn Ezra's ‘Be-Shem El Asher Amar,’” Journal of Jewish Studies 47 (1996) 294–310, at 307–8, and esp. n. 64. Moses ibn Ezra employs the Arabic term falak al-

aql, but Paul Fenton, who reports this important piece of information, suggests that Ibn Ezra is probably following Ibn Gabirol; see his Philosophie et exégèse dans le Jardin de la Métaphore de Moïse Ibn

Ezra (Leiden: Brill, 1997) 67.

The earliest attestation of the term in Hebrew is in Keter Malkhut, the famous liturgical poem by Solomon ibn Gabirol (c. 1020–c. 1057). According to Ibn Gabirol, galgal ha-sekhel is the tenth of the celestial spheres, surrounding the ninth sphere, the primum mobile.⁵

If Ibn Gabirol has imported the term from Arabic, as one might expect, its original would have been falak al-

aql. I have found only one instance of this term in the Arabic literature written before Ibn Gabirol's time, but it is very instructive for our purposes. It occurs in the astronomical treatise of Qāsim ibn Mutarrif of Cordova (d. 931): “The tenth orb is the orb of the intellect; it marks the limit of the knowledge of those who know (al-

ulamā

). Then, below it, is the orb of the ecliptic, and it is the orb of the ecliptic [!]. Then, below it, is the orb of the fixed stars, which is the orb of the soul (falak al-nafs). Then, below it, are the seven orbs [of the planets], and it is the element of nature (

unṣur al-tabī

a); then below it are the four natures [i.e., sublunar elements].”

Qāsim is identifying the major astronomical components of the universe with the hypostases or emanations commonly employed in Islamic and Jewish neoplatonism: intellect, soul, nature, and the elements.⁷

In the present discussion, it is crucial to bear in mind that galgal ha-sekhel is in fact for Ibn Gabirol and Qāsim an astronomical structure, even though it contains no stars and does not fulfill any astronomical function. There are many schemes in which intellect stands as the first of a series of emanations or hypostases that are not directly relevant to the specific developments I am investigating here. This holds true even if the realm of the intellect is called a “circle,” as it is, for example, in the writings of the Ikhwān al-Ṣafā

. Their discussion of dā

irat al-

aql (dā

irat al-nafs and al-dā

ira al-ilāhiyya are also described in the same essay) has no connection to the stellar orbs and, therefore, is only distantly related to the line of thought under consideration here.

Rasa

il Ikhwān al-Ṣafā (4 vols.; Beirut: Dar Sadr, 1957) 4:199.

The term next occurs in an anonymous Hebrew abrégé of Dunash ibn Tamim's commentary on Sefer Yeṣira, tentatively dated to 1092. Dunash (ca. 885–after 955) flourished in North Africa; he was a student of Isaac Israeli, the first major Jewish neoplatonist of the medieval period. He was also a contemporary of Qāsim. The Judaeo-Arabic original of Dunash's commentary is not fully extant, and the various Hebrew versions have been the subject of much scholarly debate. If this were not enough, this difficult text is connected to another conundrum. A number of Jewish writers of the fourteenth century cite a commentary on Sefer Yeṣira which they attribute to the twelfth-century polymath and exegete Abraham ibn Ezra. No copy of the commentary itself has been identified. Recently, however, Paul Fenton has argued that the commentary attributed to Abraham ibn Ezra is, in fact, the aforementioned Hebrew abrégé of Ibn Tamim's commentary on Sefer Yeṣira.¹⁰

The references that these materials contain to galgal ha-sekhel are important precisely for further refining the specific development I have been tracking: namely, the conjoining of astronomical and emanative structures. I shall make my point as briefly as possible, despite the complicated textual problems. The term galgal ha-da

at, which is equivalent to galgal ha-sekhel—sekhel and da

at were both used to translated the Arabic

aql, intellect—is certainly mentioned in the final passage of the abrégé. But a comparison between the final passage in the abrégé and the corresponding passage in the full text of Dunash's commentary (on Sefer Yeṣira 6.1) reveals an important difference.

olam ha-sekhel), not a celestial (or metacelestial) sphere; and the distinction is not merely one of terminology. Dunash is trying to establish that each of the three souls—vegetative, animal, and rational—has three aspects to it, so that the total number of souls plus their aspects is twelve; the numerical correspondence is important for the numerology of Sefer Yeṣira. The three aspects of the rational soul consist of its two adjuncts—the “world of intellect” (above) and the animal soul (below)—and wisdom, which is the rational soul's “horizon.” Nowhere in this passage does Dunash lay out the ordered scheme of nested celestial spheres.

The presentation in the abrégé is significantly different. At the beginning of the passage, mention is made of the seven planets; it is further noted that the eighth orb (raqi

a) contains the twelve zodiacal signs.

at replaces Dunash's “world of the soul.” Here, however, the citations attributed to Ibn Ezra have a significant difference. Ibn Motot writes, “He [Ibn Ezra] said that beyond the raqi

a, there is the galgal ha-nefesh (orb of the soul), and it is in two parts: a part that is of intellect (sekhel we-de

ah), and a part that is essentially the rational soul (nefesh midabberet bi-

aṣmah).” There is obviously some confusion here: Dunash's three aspects of the rational soul have been transformed into an orb of the soul, which is in turn divided into intellect and the essential rational soul (Dunash's “horizon”). One thing, however, is clear. Ibn Motot's “Ibn Ezra” (unlike the abrégé) has specified that the orb of the soul lies outside the raqi

a; that term must refer here to the outermost orb of the astronomers.

In his (authentic) Bible commentary, Ibn Ezra stridently maintains that raqi

a refers to the earth's atmosphere; see Y. Tzvi Langermann, “ ‘The Making of the Firmament’: R. Hayyim Israeli, R. Isaac Israeli, and Maimonides” (in Hebrew), in Shlomo Pines Jubilee Volume, Part I (ed. Moshe Idel, Warren Zev Harvey, and Eliezer Schweid; Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought 7; Jerusalem: Hebrew University, 1988) 461–76.

the orb of

Arevot is according to him [Ibn Ezra] not a body. It is called the Orb of the Soul, and the tenth is the Orb of the Intellect (galgal ha-sekhel). For thus has he explained when commenting upon Sefer Yeṣira: he said, “Beyond the firmament (raqi

a), which is the eighth, there is the Orb of the Soul. It comprises two parts: the part of intellect and knowledge (ha-sekhel we-ha-da

at), and the part that is essentially the rational [soul] (ha-midabberet bi-

aṣmah).”

¹⁴

Hayyim of Briviesca,

Eṣ Ḥayyim (supercommentary on Ibn Ezra's Torah commentary), MS Leeuwarden B.A. Fr 22, f. 16b. Da

at may be synonymous with sekhel; see Gad Freudenthal, “ Ktav ha-Da

at or Sefer ha-Sekhel we-ha-Muskalot: The Medieval Hebrew Translations of al-Fārāb's Risālah fl-

aql,” JQR 93 (2002) 29–115, esp. 40–50; note in particular the use of the term by Abraham ibn Ezra, cited at 42. Does the last phrase (midabberet bi-

aṣmah) mean that the rational soul contemplates itself, as the deity does according to Aristotle? Or is it a homonym for the Arabic yudabbir, meaning that this orb governs the cosmos?

In brief, then, I suggest that Fenton's characterization of the text be modified thus: it is not merely a short version, but a reworked version, into which some significant changes have been introduced. The term galgal ha-da

at, as it appears in the abrégé, seems to be another name for “world of the intellect”; it is perhaps not a sphere superimposed upon the heavens. But if the versions attributed to Ibn Ezra are intimately related to the abrégé, then two important transformations have occurred: the commentary has adopted the set of nested spheres (missing in this context in Dunash) and, at least in some versions, the discussion of the soul's three aspects has become completely garbled.

According to some of the manuscripts, this revamping of Dunash's commentary may be dated to 1092. (This falls neatly into the lifetime of Abraham ibn Ezra; Fenton suggests that he may have translated an Arabic paraphrase.) If this date is correct, then the changes were introduced into the text about half a century after Ibn Gabirol's demise. Despite the patchy state of our understanding, I would still like to propose an explanation. The redactor of Dunash's text may well have wished to reconcile the commentary's older notions of a “world of intellect” with the new, Gabirolian, conception of metaphysical orbs that surround or enclose the nested spheres of the astronomers.

The employment of falak al-

aql and galgal ha-sekhel in the writings of Judah ibn Malka must also be registered. Recent scholarship dates this North African thinker to the middle of the thirteenth century, roughly contemporaneous with Doresh Reshumoth.

M. Idel, “The Beginning of Kabbala in North Africa?—A Forgotten Document by R. Yehuda ben Nissim ibn Malka” (in Hebrew), Pe

amim 43 (1990) 4–15.

aql (galgal ha-sekhel), followed by falak al-nafs (galgal ha-nefesh, “orb of the soul”), the orb of the zodiac, and the seven planetary orbs;

or qadmon (primordial light), an important concept that I shall elaborate upon below. Immediately after setting out the arrangement summarized above, Ibn Malka writes: “If you ask about hyle and form, which are in compounds, the adherent of this opinion will say that they are in this third world, and it is called in our language the primordial light (ha-

or ha-qadmon) or the primordial substance (ha-

eṣem ha-qadmon).”

It is very significant for the present study to observe that in the Judaeo-Arabic original of Ibn Malka's treatise, the Hebrew terms ha-

or ha-qadmon and ha-

ṣe

em ha-qadmon are both used.

Jacob ben Sheshet, an early Kabbalist of Gerona, an exact contemporary of Doresh Reshumoth, and a forceful opponent of philosophy—at least, of that interpretation of Maimonides' philosophy advanced by Samuel ibn Tibbon—includes galgal ha-sekhel in his unusual enumeration of the orbs. Ben Sheshet wishes the sun to be counted as the seventh orb, and this in fact can be done, if one counts inwards, starting with galgal ha-sekhel, and moving on to the orbs of the zodiac, the fixed stars, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, and then the sun.¹⁹

Ya

aqov ben Sheshet, Sefer Meshiv Devarim Nekhoḥim (ed. Georges Vajda; Jerusalem: Israeli National Academy, 1968) 127 lines 400–2.

Unlike Qāsim, who may have been his source for galgal ha-sekhel, Ibn Gabirol does not identify any celestial structure with “soul.” Instead, his galgal ha-sekhel is given responsibility for that domain: despite its appellation, “intellect,” it is the source of souls, both human and angelic. Long ago, Ignaz Goldziher noted that Jewish neoplatonists—specifically, those who flourished in the western Mediterranean—agreed that the soul emanates directly from the intellect.²⁰

Ignaz Goldziher, Kitab Ma

ani al-Nafs (Berlin: Weidmannsche, 1907) 43–44.

Some writers identified galgal ha-sekhel with the divine throne (a biblical image; see, for example, Isa 66:1; Jer 17:12) or with

arevot, a celestial structure mentioned in the Talmud.

Peirush Abravanel

al ha-Torah (in Hebrew) (Warsaw, 1862) 9b col. 1. Moses Narboni, in his commentary on Guide of the Perplexed 3.7 ([ed. J. Goldenthal; Vienna, 1852] 48b), reports that many suppose that the divine throne, which is shmei ha-haṣlaḥa, is found above (

al)

arevot.

Indeed, there is compelling evidence that the identification of galgal ha-sekhel as the wellspring of souls (human in particular) had, by the thirteenth century, become very much the dominant view among philosophizing Jews in the western Mediterranean. Rabbi Moses Naḥmanides, in a strident defense of the traditional Jewish theory of the soul (as he understood it, of course), attacks those who presume to delve into the divine secrets, when “they do not know the structure of the human body through all of their investigations, let alone the soul.” Naḥmanides continues: “for we have seen it [the soul's origin] assigned only to the galgal ha-sekhel in their writings; or, with regard to the speculative thinkers (ba

alei ha-

iyyun) among them, to the group (kat) of angels.”

Naḥmanides takes up the same issue with a vengeance in a critique of Zerahia ha-Levy who, in the introduction to a halakhic work, endorsed the identification of galgal ha-sekhel as the source of human souls.²⁵

A. Goldreich, “ Sefer Me

irat

Einayim by R. Isaac of Acre: A Critical Edition” (Ph.D. diss.; Hebrew University, 1981) 206. This exchange is studied in great detail by Georges Vajda, Recherches sur la philosophie et la kabbale dans la pensée juive du Moyen Age (Paris: Mouton, 1962) 371–84.

This discussion of galgal ha-sekhel should suffice in order to establish just how different is the employment of the concept in Doresh Reshumoth. First, it is noteworthy that our author, for all his attraction to ideas that are generally characterized as neoplatonic, evinces hardly any interest at all—at least in the extant portion of his work—in the origin or ultimate destiny of human souls. As it seems to me, the origin of the human soul and, perhaps more importantly, the development of a spiritual program that will allow the individual to retrace the path of descent and thus, by continual purification and refinement, ultimately return to its spiritual source, are necessary concerns of any philosophy that deserves to be classified as neoplatonic. By this criterion, at least, it would not be quite correct to pin the tag “neoplatonic” on Doresh Reshumoth.

What, then, is the role of galgal ha-sekhel in Doresh Reshumoth? Galgal ha-sekhel receives light from beyond and transmits it downwards, specifically to the sun. It thus functions as a transcelestial sun, shining directly onto the celestial sun. Galgal ha-sekhel may also be thought of as the node between the supernal, angelic world, and the celestial world. At one point it is called “the true head of the throne” (p. 83); elsewhere, the “main thing” or “root” (

iqar) of the throne is said to be “the supernal world, the world of the unattached intellects” (p. 43). This indicates that galgal ha-sekhel is very much the same as the hypostasis known as the “world of the intellect.” When speaking of the transmission of light by galgal ha-sekhel, I introduce the term “hypobasis of light,” which designates a light (or lights) descending from beyond the cosmos, mediated by the sun, and bearing special properties.

The Greek word

(“descent”) is used by neoplatonic authors to describe the movement of entities downward through the cosmic spheres; thus Damascius (In Parm. §205) attributes to the teletarchs “a hebdomadic descent (

) which advances through the seven firmaments” (cited and translated by Ruth Majercik, “Chaldean Triads in Neoplatonic Exegesis: Some Reconsiderations,” CQ 51 [2001] 265–96, at 272). I thus adopt “hypobasis” as a term for the downward movement of light that is, according to Doresh Reshumoth, mediated by successive nodes in its progress earthward. “Hypobasis” conveys the sense of movement downward from beyond the spheres, through the spheres, and reaching to the earth; by contrast, hypostases are, as the term indicates, static, and are associated with the various cosmic spheres themselves.

As I will show, Jerusalem plays a similar nodal role; it is the point of contact between the celestial and terrestrial realms.²⁸

Finally, it may be noted that Doresh Reshumoth reports a somewhat different usage of galgal ha-sekhel by an unnamed scholar (p. 195). This occurs in the course of a very lengthy discussion of the rabbinic dictum, “Israel has no astral destiny.” Galgal ha-sekhel, we recall, is located outside the orbs of the stars. “Thus,” argues this authority, “when Israel upholds the Torah, which is from the galgal ha-sekhel on high, they will coerce the orb of the zodiac that is below it” to nullify the astral decree. The theory readily calls to mind Abraham ibn Ezra's explanation of how Jews may escape the fate decreed by the stars; the latter, however, draws no connection between Torah and galgal ha-sekhel. Interestingly enough, Abraham Abulafia, who makes frequent reference to galgal ha-sekhel, identified Torah with the tenth sphere.²⁹

Light

Light and its transmission are the pivotal components of Doresh Reshumoth's cosmology. The highest world, the world of the angels and the unattached intellects, is the world of emanated light (ha-

or ha-ne

eṣal); it was created by God, and it is also called the divine throne (p. 143). Light is transmitted from this world via galgal ha-sekhel to the sun, and from the sun down to the privileged locale on earth, Jerusalem. Refining this system was the main purpose of the creation, as depicted in the Genesis narratives; the special pathway by which light reached Jerusalem from the highest world was designed to secure for the holy city its status as spiritual center.

Unlike some other commentators, Doresh Reshumoth makes no explicit distinction between spiritual and visible light, or, to put it differently, between light as metaphor and light as natural phenomenon.³⁰

One medieval Jewish philosopher who saw fit to devote an entire chapter to light and its various meanings in the Bible, rabbinic literature, philosophy, and science was Joseph Albo (Sefer ha-

Iqqarim, 2.29). That chapter is clearly modeled upon the chapters that discuss equivocal terms in the first part of Maimonides' Guide; and this dependency prompts me to wonder why Maimonides himself did not write a chapter on the term. Indeed, a study on the role of light in Maimonides' thought may prove to be a rewarding undertaking. Note that the very popular Midrash ha-Nagid, attributed to Maimonides' grandson, asserts that the deity is “pure light”; see Y. Tzvi Langermann, Yemenite Midrash (New York: HarperCollins, 1997) 295. The notion that God is light is accepted by a number of Islamic thinkers, most notably by al-Ghazali; see Franz Rosenthal, Knowledge Triumphant: The Concept of Knowledge in Medieval Islam (Leiden: Brill, 1970) 159–60.

All of the visible light that fills the universe comes from the sun, whose own light derives from galgal ha-sekhel (p. 72). To corroborate this point, our author notes that scientists have asserted that all the stars shine with the reflected light of the sun.³¹

Zerahia ha-Levi of Gerona, as we have seen, assigns an important role to galgal ha-sekhel. His remarks concerning light also bear some resemblance to the teachings of Doresh Reshumoth. Reporting on the doctrine of the philosophers, Zerahiah notes that “when its [ galgal ha-sekhel's] light, which is the light of life, shines upon the limpid, living soul that was taken from it, it [the soul] then shines with the brightness of the sky.” He is later cited (by Naḥmanides) as asserting that the “light of the orbs is the light of life.” We must be cautious: “to shine with the brightness of the sky” appears to be metaphorical. Nonetheless, on the basis of the second citation, one may suspect that Zerahia, like Doresh Reshumoth, thought that the light of all of the orbs derived from that of the sun; hence, the light of all of the orbs shares in the spiritual properties of solar light. A line from Zerahia's own poem, Ma tehemi nafshi, draws a clear connection between the soul's supernal source and its luminous quality, if not nature: “You [the soul] were quarried from the supernal glory, and you shine with limpid light over all the luminaries.”³³

The author of Doresh Reshumoth also speaks of primordial light (

or qadmoni). The light of the sun, he writes, receives the power (koaḥ) of the

or qadmoni (pp. 125–26). The Hebrew word qadmon most often means primordial in the sense of “already present at the beginning” or, put more simply, uncreated and eternal; as such it is applied to the deity. I have found only one instance of the term's application to light; it is found in a writing attributed to Hai or Ḥamai Gaon, and frequently cited by Kabbalists. In the epistle attributed to that gaon,

or qadmon is one of three kinds of light making up the realm above the ten sephiroth. This pseudepigraphon is perhaps the most important extant writing of the so-called

Iyyun circle of early Kabbalists, working, so it seems, in Spain or Provence in the early thirteenth century.

A detailed study of the

Iyyun circle is available in the monograph of Marc Verman, The Books of Contemplation (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992). Verman argues that the group originated in Spain, rather than in Provence, as Scholem had taught. The materials displayed in the present study seem to corroborate Verman's thesis.

or qadmoni is a significant link between Doresh Reshumoth and the

Iyyun circle.

Another significant link is the question of the sun's light. Is it substantively different from that light that bears spiritual properties? I have already suggested that Doresh Reshumoth answers this question in the negative. The letter attributed to the gaon, on the other hand, insists that they are totally dissimilar. I detect, however, an argumentative tone in its remarks, indicating that the author knows, and wishes to distance himself from, the other view. This rejection of the view endorsed by Doresh Reshumoth is another, albeit polemical, connection between the two documents. Here is the passage: “And when the mystics say that the sephiroth are like lights, they do not mean that they are anything like the light of the sun, the moon, and the stars, but spiritual, subtle, clear, and internal, a splendor that irradiates the souls.”³⁶

Our author declares repeatedly his belief in creation, and I have no reason to doubt the sincerity of his belief. Like some other Spanish exegetes—Moses Naḥmanides and Jacob ben Sheshet are examples—the author of Doresh Reshumoth determined that the original creatio ex nihilo was an emanation of some subtle substance, finer than any matter now present in the universe.

or ha-qadmoni ha-nivra

, “created primordial light,” an odd combination of terms in medieval Hebrew. This usage suggests to me that

or qadmoni, in its original context, does in fact mean “eternal, uncreated light”; and our author, for his own theological reasons, has added at least this once the adjective “created” in a transparent attempt to neutralize the clear and apparent meaning of the adjective qadmoni.

The notion of uncreated light—light that is coeternal with the deity—is found in a famous passage from the midrashic “chapters” attributed to Rabbi Eliezer: “From where were the heavens created? From the light of His garment.” Maimonides cites this passage in his Guide of the Perplexed, strongly suggesting that the text endorses the existence of a primordial matter, coeternal with the deity, for which the midrash employs the metaphor “light of the garment.”³⁸

Written shortly after one of the major outbreaks of Maimonidean controversy, Doresh Reshumoth displays a peculiar attitude towards the great master. Maimonides is cited several times as the author of both Mishneh Torah and a commentary on the Mishnah. His Guide of the Perplexed, in contrast, is never mentioned by name. On numerous occasions, however, our author refers to the views of kelal ha-ḥakhamim (“the generality of scholars”), and the opinions referred to are almost always those of the Guide. It seems to be the case, then, that the author of Doresh Reshumoth wished to conceal, however thinly, his great respect for Maimonides' Guide.

In the passage that I am about to discuss, the allusion to Maimonides' Guide is quite transparent, though the book is not cited by name. The author of Doresh Reshumoth expends considerable exegetical energies in an explicit and unabashed attempt to defuse the statement about “the light of His garment” and thereby rescue Rabbi Eliezer from the charge of disbelief. He writes,

According to the author of Doresh Reshumoth, Rabbi Eliezer's question was not a true inquiry, to which he replied that the heavens could only have been fashioned from an uncreated garment of light—this is obviously how he understands Maimonides' reading of the passage—but rather a rhetorical preface to a positive statement. Rabbi Eliezer simply wished to tell us that light has its source in galgal ha-sekhel, which is also identical with the light of the intellect. “Garment” is a figure of speech; it is applied to galgal ha-sekhel (which comprises ten rankings of unattached intellects) in order to indicate their great glory. The intellects, however, were created; hence Rabbi Eliezer does not deny creatio ex nihilo. “Garment” is not to be understood as a metaphor for something that always accompanies its wearer; this is apparently how it was understood by Maimonides, and by some others as well.⁴¹

The problematic passage from the midrash attributed to Rabbi Eliezer and, perhaps, some difficulties in the Genesis narrative describing the creation of light, together comprise the theme of the first line of a liturgical poem by Isaac Girondi, Yah

or mi-sut

or bera

o.

The poem has recently been published by my colleague, Binyamin Bar-Tikva, “Two Qedushtaoth for the Four Pericopes by R. Isaac ben Zerahiah” (in Hebrew), Qovets

al yad 16:26 (2002) 141–85, at 169. I thank Professor Bar-Tikva for sharing a preprint of his article with me.

, Gerondi's verse also dogmatically maintains a belief in creation while maintaining in its very formulation the opposite position.

The verse by Isaac Girondi is cited by the author of Doresh Reshumoth (p. 32), who adds the following explanation: “It is reversed, as if he said, ‘from the light of His garment He created it.’ For the light of the luminaries is from the effusion (shefa

) of galgal ha-sekhel.” According to our author, the poet refers to the fact that the light created on Day One derives from galgal ha-sekhel. Thus, “the light of His garment” is none other than galgal ha-sekhel. But Doresh Reshumoth leaves unanswered the basic difficulty that Maimonides had pointed out: is “the light of the garment” uncreated?

Finally, let us note that Girondi's verse is cited by Jacob Anatoli, in the course of his discussion of Rabbi Eliezer's statement; indeed, the author of Doresh Reshumoth refers to Anatoli in connection with his own discussion of the verse.⁴⁵

I would tentatively suggest the existence of an as-yet-unidentified source which taught that the cosmos is irradiated with an uncreated light mediated by the sun and bearing special properties. Philosophers and early Kabbalists alike were familiar with this teaching. Although I cannot prove it, I tend to think that the author of Doresh Reshumoth, along with his predecessor Ibn Gabirol and his near contemporary Zerahia Girondi, are more faithful to the assumed Vorlage; it is the Kabbalists who have suppressed the role of the sun and the sun's light, perhaps as part of their effort to integrate a metaphysic of light into their particular theosophy. Finally, it is noteworthy that the Hebrew phrase rendered as “mystics” in the passage from Rabbi Hai (or Ḥamai) cited above (and translated by Vajda as “allégoristes”) is ba

alei reshumoth. That term, as well as dorshei reshumoth, is a common epithet for mystics of the

Iyyun circle. In his polemical remarks regarding light, the writer of the epistle attributed to Hai Gaon cannot have been referring to our text, which makes no mention of sephiroth. Given the correspondences listed in the preceding paragraphs, however, it seems likely that the choice of the title Doresh Reshumoth was not entirely fortuitous. Just like the

Iyyun writers, our author was seeking (doresh) to discover the traces (reshumoth) of the divine. I shall have some additional remarks concerning the place of Doresh Reshumoth in the history of Jewish thought, with special reference to the development of the Kabbalah, in the final section of this study.

Paired with

or qadmoni and, if I am correct, also deriving from some non-creationist tradition, is the term

ofel qadmoni (“primordial gloom”). To be sure, the Bible speaks of darkness (ḥoshekh) that was present before the first act of creation, namely the creation of light. According to the author of Doresh Reshumoth,

ofel is not the absence of light. Then again, it is not utter nonbeing either, as one might expect a creationist to say. The term appears only once, in this passage:

The phrase “Creator of Darkness” [Isa 45:7] also refers to creatio ex nihilo. Before light was formed, the primordial gloom was not worthy of being called darkness. For the world had not yet been created, and there was no light, which is its opposite; its very name would be vanity [?!].⁴⁶

Does this mean that it would have been vain to give a name to

ofel qadmoni, since it is nothing, and therefore there is nothing to name? If so, the author might have stated this more explicitly.

However, when He formed light from the light of galgal ha-sekhel, which [ galgal ha-sekhel ?] was created ex nihilo, then immediately the absence of light would be called darkness wherever there was darkness. (p. 64)

Doresh Reshumoth also speaks of primordial darkness (ḥoshekh qadmon, ḥoshekh qadmoni) in his attempt to rescue the midrashic reference to seder zemanim from its apparent endorsement of the eternity of the universe (p. 19). I shall take up his treatment of that problem at the end of the next section. For the present discussion, it suffices to say that the author of Doresh Reshumoth readily acknowledges that his interpretation of seder zemanim is a forced attempt to reconcile the midrash with the doctrine of creation.

A similar term is employed by the

Iyyun writers. For example, the tract Ma

ayan Ḥokhma remarks that “primordial darkness” (ḥoshekh qadmon) is not included among the emanationist series of ten colors. Indeed, both primordial light and primordial darkness figure prominently in that text. The contexts in which these terms appear, however, differ significantly from their context in Doresh Reshumoth. I would therefore hesitate to infer any close connection between the two texts.

J. D. Eisenstein,

Otsar Midrashim (New York: 1915) 309b–310a. Verman notes some other employments of “primal darkness” in

Iyyun texts (see his index, s.v. “Darkness”), but he does not give the Hebrew terms. Verman further refers to pseudo-Baḥya in this context. See, however, Goldziher's edition (p. 6), where the distinction is drawn between “the original (aṣaī) darkness found at the beginning of creation” and the “accidental (

arḍī) darkness,” which is the absence of the light of the sun.

The author of Doresh Reshumoth is very interested in the transmission of light downwards to Jerusalem, because this transmission is of central importance for human spirituality. The further transmission of light downwards on the cosmic scale, below the level of humans, is of relatively little interest to him. In the course of his discussion, however, he reports a certain theory, clearly consistent with his own, that the “dregs” of the light emitted by the orb of intellect reached the animals and plants:

Some of the investigative scholars say that the rest

⁴⁸

Perhaps “all” is a better translation of the Hebrew she

ar, as the usage of this word seems to reflect the usage of the Arabic sā

ir.

of the animals and plants received some of the residuum (tamtzit) and dregs (shemarim) of the force of the light of the orb of intellect, each according to its level… . Therefore some animals have more capacity for sensation, and some have less. So also [does this account for] the height of trees, the goodness and odor of their fruit, as well as the types of spices; and so also herbs (

asavim), with their good smell and taste, and their stature with regard to healing. (pp. 112–13)

Just as he did with regard to Jerusalem, the author of Doresh Reshumoth does not exclude other causes for the qualities of fruits, namely the locale where they are grown and a related astral configuration.

This explanation is a highly idiosyncratic feature of Doresh Reshumoth's theory of light, and as such it promises to be of value in identifying possible sources. One of the few texts that speak of “dregs” in the context of a cosmological theory is a passage in Abraham bar Ḥiyya's Higgayon ha-Nefesh ha-

Aṣuva. The author of Doresh Reshumoth does indeed refer to this very passage, though not in conjunction with his report of the theory discussed in the preceding paragraph. Oddly enough, however, he chooses to keep his source anonymous, even though on another occasion Higgayon ha-Nefesh is mentioned by name and, throughout Doresh Reshumoth, Bar Ḥiyya is accorded a great deal of respect. In the passage that alludes to Bar Ḥiyya's “dregs,” the author of Doresh Reshumoth explores one of several possible figurative or symbolic readings of the story of Abraham's encounter with the three angels (Genesis 18), focusing on the detail that Abraham provided his guests with butter, milk, and meat (v. 8). These three foodstuffs may stand for the three worlds, with butter symbolizing the lowest, sublunar realm. The text reads: “Butter is the residuum of the two of them, and their dregs. Similarly, the low[est] world is the residuum, dregs, and slough of the two [higher] worlds, as the scholars have said. They called it ‘the dregs of creation and its filth (ṭinuf)’” (p. 115). The last phrase is a clear reference to the bipartite division of hyle described at the beginning of Higgayon ha-Nefesh, one part being pure and clean, the other—that found in the sublunar world—being “filth (ṭinofet) and dregs.”

Higgayon ha-Nefesh (ed. J. L. Rapoport; Leipzig: 1860)

. The reference in Jacob ben Sheshet (p. 120, line 207) clearly derives from Bar Ḥiyya, as Vajda notes in his edition, ad loc.

To be sure, light plays an important role in the cosmologies endorsed by Bar Ḥiyya, both in Higayon ha-Nefesh and in other writings.⁵⁰

Sa

adya Gaon, towards the end of his commentary to Sefer Yeṣira, describes the creation of elemental earth in this fashion: “He gathered its [water's] dregs (ṭuflahu) into one place, and they became earth.”

Sefer Yeṣira (Kitāb al-Mabādi), with the commentary of Sa

adya Gaon (ed. J. Kafih; Jerusalem: Mosad ha-Rav, 1972) 124.

Light plays a key role in the cosmogony of Isaac Israeli. In his Book on the Spirit and the Soul, he implies that the plants and animals have a small share in the splendor of intellect. Intellect manifests itself in plants in their avoidance of foul water.⁵³

On the other hand, some of the commentator's ideas concerning light and its transmission, just like his notion of galgal ha-sekhel, show some affinity to the thought of Ibn Gabirol. In general, it is clear that in Ibn Gabirol's metaphysics, light is no metaphor; real light, in its different manifestations, plays a key role.⁵⁵

Their theories may, however, converge with respect to the role of the sun. The biblical commentary of Abraham ibn Ezra provides a glimpse of Ibn Gabirol's opinion. Among the explications of biblical verses that Ibn Ezra reports in Ibn Gabirol's name is an allegorical reading of the story of Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden. Ibn Ezra cites this in his “short commentary” on Gen 3:21, adding that it is the only “secret” behind the story—that is, the only acceptable allegorical reading.⁵⁶

Jerusalem

The heavenly bodies and earth were all created on Day One. The sun was then aligned on the meridian of Jerusalem, which bisects the semicircle of the equator spanning the inhabited part of the world. This, at any rate, is the view endorsed by our author, and it locates Jerusalem at the center of the inhabited world: “Then the sun faced straight and directly the place where the holy city of Jerusalem was to be built” (p. 21). In order for the divine plan to be realized, however, light—again, the author does not distinguish between visible and intellectual light—had to have a clear path to Jerusalem. Elemental, atmospheric fire and air, therefore, had to undergo a process of “refinement” (tiqqun) from their primordial state of turbidity, until they became transparent (p. 19). In order to illustrate the original turbidity of the atmosphere, Doresh Reshumoth draws upon contemporary accounts of the sky over the Atlantic Ocean, which was reported to be always dark.⁵⁸

On Day Four, when its light could finally reach the earth's surface, the sun began its first circuit from an epochal position of 0° Aries, on the meridian of Jerusalem. Thus the sun began and finished its first circuit with its full force, or a “great light” (

or gadol), shining directly over Jerusalem.

eṣem) of the light of the sun be created facing the holy city of Jerusalem” (p. 121).

One of the guiding principles of Doresh Reshumoth's exegesis is that creation is designed with the recipient in mind. The selection of Jerusalem offers a concrete example of this principle in practice. One might have expected that the holy place would be on the equator, where the sun could shine down vertically at its zenith; however, the intended beneficiary of the sun's light was “the human species, which receives the power [or “potential”] of the light of prophecy” (p. 121). The equatorial regions are only sparsely inhabited; were they to receive the spiritual bounty, few would benefit. Moreover, Jerusalem possesses the most temperate climate in the world, and Doresh Reshumoth is willing to admit climate, as well as a propitious astral configuration (whose details are not revealed), as secondary causes for Jerusalem's special properties. It is the linkage to galgal ha-sekhel, however, by way of the sun, that is the really significant factor: “The sum and substance of the matter (takhlit ha-

inyan) is that it is due to the sun's light, which receives the light of the orb of intellect” (p. 122).

Biblical and rabbinic sources are brought into the discussion. Our author opines that his explanation squares well with the biblical phrase sha

ar ha-shamayim (“gate of heaven,” Gen 26:18), often identified with Jerusalem (though this identification is not to be found in the biblical text). I have already suggested that Jerusalem, like the sun and galgal ha-sekhel, functions as a node or gateway for the hypobasis of light. Our author employs a similar approach in his explanation of the aggadic declaration that the Temple was created before the world.

Considerable energies are invested in an attempt—which, the author admits, is only partially successful—to harmonize the selection of Jerusalem, as it is read into the Genesis story, with the epoch value of the Jewish calendar. Bar Ḥiyya's book on the calendar and the treatise of al-Farghānī are among the sources utilized in this effort. Nonetheless, the computation cannot be resolved with any precision. The author cannot decide which of the two equinoxes was the epoch; and either way, the sun was not precisely at the equinox, though its distance from that point was negligible (p. 91).

Jerusalem figures as well in Doresh Reshumoth's attempt to defuse the midrashic statement about a seder zemanim of its eternalist implications (pp. 18–19).⁶¹

After experiencing a considerable period of discomfort over this finding, however, the author of Doresh Reshumoth decided that none of the holy rabbis could have rejected creation. In this case, just as with the midrash attributed to Rabbi Eliezer, Doresh Reshumoth frankly announces that it is his intention to rectify the midrashic statement and to remove its authors from the list of heretics. Allegorists usually assert that they are revealing the true intent of the text, which the authors had deliberately disguised. In the present case, however, the commentator will manufacture a meaning that he knows to be different from its original (and hence, by standards untarnished by postmodernist worries, true) import. The explanation that he proposes is somewhat involved, but its thrust may be summarized as follows. The heavenly bodies were created on Day One, and performed an unspecified number of revolutions before their light penetrated the atmosphere. In particular, the purpose of the sun's revolutions, in the period spanning from the promulgation of the divine command, “Let there be light,” until Day Four, was to refine elemental fire and air, which require tiqqun, as noted above. However many these revolutions may have been—and the commentator is willing to concede that they may even have preceded the command, “Let there be light”—they too had a beginning. The times marked by these revolutions are the seder zemanim; the revolution that began over Jerusalem on Day Four marks the beginning of what may anachronistically be called historical time.

Postscript

While this article was in the final stages of copyediting, I happened to read James L. Kugel's “Some Instances of Biblical Interpretation in the Hymns and Wisdom Writings of Qumran,” in Studies in Ancient Midrash (ed. idem; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001) 155–69. Some of the texts treated by Kugel express notions that are strongly evocative of themes discussed in the present study: the “eternal light” mentioned in a sapiential text from Qumran (ibid., 162) and, most intriguingly, some quotations from Philo of Alexandria and Ephrem of Syria stating that visible starlight has its source in some higher light (ibid., 159). I hope to pursue these promising leads in a future study.