Sunday, November 9, 2008

Mourning as a Method for Provoking Empathy in Ancient Israelite Religion

Upon reading Christian’s “The Function of Ritual Weeping Revisited: Affective Expression and Moral Discourse” and Wolfson’s “Weeping, Death, and Spiritual Ascent in Sixteenth-century Jewish Mysticism” I began to think about mourning rituals in Ancient Israelite religion and how “the interweaving of emotional life with morality, especially on the manner in which emotionality expresses, reinforces, is shaped by, and challenges social and moral orders” (Corrigan 20) would be an interesting way of considering these ancient rituals.

In Christian’s paper, he argues that weeping was an important penitential Catholic practice in Early Modern Spain. He states “Without it God would not be moved. Weeping was not, as Huizinga would have it, the expression of a childlike sensibility that we have largely outgrown. Emotions were serious business; provoked, collective, weeping could be effective.” (46). Christian explains that Early Modern Catholic Spaniards believed that the eyes were a powerful way of knowing and recognizing the disposition of the heart; thus, tears were an important outward sign (42-3). Moreover, “tears were considered a favorable sign of contrition.” (43).

On the other hand, Wolfson explains how weeping is connected to spiritual ascent in sixteenth-century Kabbalah. In particular, Wolfson discusses two different mystical functions of weeping for sixteenth-century Kabbalists using R. Hayyim Vital (conceived of as an exemplary) as his primary example. The first function of weeping is thought to be a powerful spiritual method for the mystic to receive “mystical gnosis (hassagat ha-hokhmah)” (278). The second was the ascent of the soul, and the goal of these two functions was to result “in a spiritual vision” (292).

I found the functions of weeping – the first as penitential and the second as a means for spiritual vision – rather insightful, and I began to reflect on various mourning traditions in the Hebrew Bible and wondered if analyzing the notion of mourning might yield similar results. Although to my knowledge there are not any explicit instructions for the proper period of time or way people are to mourn, there are definitely several hints within various texts that imply a commonly understood mourning code. For example, after Job loses all of his possessions and children, he mourns for seven days before his friends Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar, who have come to comfort him, speak.

In Hebrew, the word for heart is lēbāb. However, the word has a very broad meaning in Hebrew and refers not only to the heart but it is also the center of one’s emotions. Furthermore, the same word refers to the mind, the will, and the inner self. It is the center of a person so to speak. One might even speak of it as one’s disposition. It reflects the core or what is most central to the individual. In other words, if one wishes to really know a person one must know their lēbāb.

I think that understanding this Hebraic concept of the lēbāb is a very important starting point for properly understanding the self in ancient Israelite religion. Furthermore, it is important to understand that the ancient Israelite community thought of themselves collectively. In other words, the ramifications of sin were felt throughout the community. Similarly, penance might be made on behalf of the entire nation, such as the Day of Atonement. Furthermore, I want to point out that it was a common practice for ancient Israelites to mourn the death of a loved one in a communal setting. Indeed, it was widely believed that, for example, the people assembled and mourned terribly for the death of their archetypal prophet Moses: “The Israelites wept for Moses in the plains of Moab thirty days; then the period of mourning for Moses was ended.” (Deuteronomy 34:8).

What I thought was particularly interesting is that mourning, or mourning-like practices are used in very diverse circumstances in ancient Israelite religion. For example, in Genesis 37, Joseph, the favored son of the Hebrew patriarch Jacob, is sold into slavery by his brothers, but when the brothers return home to their father Jacob they lie to him and tell him that Joseph has been killed by a “wild animal”. In response, “Jacob tore his garments, and put sackcloth on his loins, and mourned for his son many days.” (37:34). In another instance in a quite different story, a missing Book of the Law is found while the Temple is undergoing repairs and is read to King Josiah. “When the king heard the words of the Book of the Law, he tore his robes.” (2 Kings 22:11). Finally, in another instance related to mourning, the seer Daniel who is in exile in Babylon performs mourning rituals and wears sackcloth in order to gain divine binah (understanding) “Then I turned to the Lord God, to seek an answer by prayer and supplication with fasting and sackcloth and ashes” (9:3).

It seems to me that mourning rituals have a very diverse range of functions in the Hebrew Bible. They are used for mourning proper (as is the case for Job and Jacob), they are used to show remorse as in the case of King Josiah (2 Kings), and they are also used to invoke empathy from God to answer prayer (as in Daniel). Hence, to me, a broader understanding of mourning in the Hebrew Bible appears to me to be that it conveys one’s lēbāb in an attempt to bring about a change in another’s lēbāb. In Job mourning might be thought of as a tool to demonstrate the great suffering Job endures and, hence, to receive a divine response and insight from the LORD; in 2 Kings, King Josiah mourns to show his penitence to God that the deity might have mercy on them despite their failing to uphold these laws prior to rediscovering them. Daniel, similarly, seeks a sort of mercy that he may receive binah whilst he remains in exile. Thus, mourning appears to be used as an attempt to bring about moral empathy or mercy from others and often from God in Ancient Israelite religion.

2 comments:

Adam Asgarali said...

Hi Andrew,

I think it is really interesting how mourning rituals have very different functions and purposes, particularly in the Old Testament. I agree that one important way of understanding the diversity of mourning is as a process through which a heart attempts to bring about a change in another heart. You mention that the word for heart in Hebrew, lēbāb, has a very broad meaning and that it can denote the center of emotions as well as the mind, the will, the inner self, etc. This is very similar to the notion of the heart in Islam, particularly mystical traditions within Islam. The heart (qulb in Arabic, del in Persian) is understood in mystical traditions as the center of pure, Divine love, as well as being the seat of the intellect (aql). In this way, it can be understood as both the center of “true” emotion and intellect, capable of “feeling” and reasoning. It makes sense that you say that the heart is the center of the person, since it would seem that in this understanding, it exhausts the spectrum of human behaviour (emotion and intellect being understood as the prime motivators).

I particularly find the notion of mind within the heart very interesting. I am not well versed in the Jewish understanding of mind, but in the mystical traditions of Islam, the concept of the aql or intellect being located in the heart actually renders the act of love for the Divine the highest form of “intelligence.” Thus for many Sufis and other Islamic mystics, exercising true reason is equal to selflessly loving the Divine. Also, the knowledge that occurs within the heart as a result of love for the Divine is understood as inspiration, a form of esoteric knowledge very similar to that spoken of by Wolfson in his article regarding sixteenth-century Spanish Kabbalists. Hence, for many Islamic mystics, the true exercise of reason and intellect is directly connected to inspiration and intuition! I would really like to know more about the notion of heart and mind in Jewish mysticism, as I may find many more connections with other mystical views of the heart. Just some thoughts! :)

- Adam

Anonymous said...

Hi Andrew,

I enjoyed reading your post this week. As I mentioned in my comment to Adam’s blog, I’ve been fascinated by the act of mourning for some time now. Why, for example, does mourning have a “period,” why is it made to be finite? The need to end it would seem to signal that it does not itself want to end, that he who is mourning does not see it as a finite or limited task. In the passage you quote from Deuteronomy (34:8) there is a violent break both in the language and in the act it signifies. I felt it deeply. Can one ever ‘end’ or break with mourning, if memory still remains? An ‘end’ is ‘final’, yet doesn’t the memory, even if they’re mere traces, of the event which gives rise to mourning remain, seep through, escape and once again lead to mourning?

When Jacob “tore his garments” (Genesis 37:34) or King Josiah “tore his robes” (2 Kings 22:11), weren’t they, as you say, attempting to open up their lēbāb, to reveal their singularity through mourning? What then does it mean to break with this revelation, with this opening by breaking with the act of mourning, by ending mourning, by violating its task, which seems to be infinite? It’s not just the Hebrew tradition that makes this break, that violates the infinitude of the act of mourning. During the same historical period, if we’re looking at the ancient world, you can find parallel examples among the Greeks. At the end of the famous funeral oration of Pericles in book II of Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War, Pericles closes by saying that once the relatives of the dead Athenian soldiers have mourned or lamented (interestingly the same word in Greek: olophoromesthai), they should depart, that there is a “proper” (proseke) mourning period (II.47).

This ‘proper’ or ‘correct’ period of mourning seems to have far less to do with the task of mourning than with the need, an external, violent need, to end a task which seem infinite, which dwells within the inexhaustible chambers of memory. The act of mourning desires infinitude, desires freedom to reveal itself, to reveal the mourner and perhaps to reveal the true heart of the mourner, the Divine core of the heart’s being.

Babak