In his beautiful work, The Sabbath, A.J. Heschel imagines Jewish sacred time in palatial terms:
"The seventh day is a palace in time in which we build."
If you have been reading my earlier posts, you'd see the likeness of this metaphor to that of St. Theresa of Avila's castle of the soul. I like architectural metaphors in conveying religious ideas...clearly! BUT that's not the connection I am interested in making here.
Heschel argues that the Sabbath, a palace in time, is built by non-action. This is a palace that you can only build by non-being/non-doing. Building by not-building sounds a little paradoxical, no? And this is why it becomes a very interesting idea. He writes,
"Indeed, the splendor of the day is expressed in terms of abstentions, just as the mystery of God is conveyed via negationis, in the categories of negative theology which claims that we can never say what He is, we can only say what He is not."
Those familiar with observing Shabbat according to Jewish law know well all the things that are prohibited on that day, including kindling a fire or electrical spark, driving, carrying bags or children out of the house (unless there is a ritually kosher eruv in place), etc. Given how we depend so much on electricity, the internet, riding in vehicles or mass transit in our daily lives, Shabbat is essentially an anti-day. It is the emptiness in time where no other emptiness exists.
What really attracts me to Heschel's discussion of Shabbat as a time for non-action is that it resonates with the Chinese concept of wu-wei, non-action, expressed in Taoism and in Zen Buddhism. Heschel's paradox of how to build a building would be well received in these contexts.
Consider these passages from the Tao te Ching:
"Practice not-doing,
and everything will fall into place."
*
"We join spokes together in a wheel,
but it is the center hole
that makes the wagon move.
We shape clay into a pot,
but it is the emptiness inside
that holds whatever we want.
We hammer wood for a house,
but it is the inner space
that makes it livable."
Heschel would agree that Shabbat is very much like the hole in the middle of the wagon, or the emptiness inside of the pot -- it is the part of the week that makes the rest of the week useful.
Like Taoists and Zen Buddhists, Heschel advocates that it is in the abstaining from performing rituals and other outward displays of worship that leads one to the doors of the most glorious time-place in Jewish life: Shabbat, a place in which the egotistical self and attachment to worldly concerns no longer exists, and one finds renewal and love. He writes,
"Six days a week we try to dominate the world; on the seventh day, we try to dominate the self."
He also writes,
"Much of its spirit can only be understood as an example of love carried to the extreme."
The goal of zazen, seated meditation in Zen Buddhism, is just to sit -- and deeply be, without "doing" anything, achieving a state of total awareness of the present moment with a calm mind. In such a meditation, the self no longer exists and one is able to glimpse with loving eyes at the interconnectedness of all things.
Re: my previous post on Zen poems - I would like to cite another poem that illustrates Heschel's palace in time:
Stillness
十方同聚會 The ten directions converging,
個個學無爲 Each learning to do nothing,
此是選佛場 This is the hall of Buddha's training
心空及第歸 Mind's empty, all's finished.
Pretty cool connection, huh? Shabbat shalom!
