Grammar and Theology

Almost every religious culture considers its language divine in origin. Within Judaism alone, Hebrew, Aramaic - and even Yiddish! - are considered holy tongues. This might make the thinking Jew reconsider her definition of leshon ha-kodesh. But, beyond that, it may be worthwhile to investigate as to what motivates just about every religion and religious culture to attribute its language(s) to the Divine. Certainly in the case of those Jewish thinkers who define leshon ha-kodesh as divine, i they must think their language has certain qualities which make it unique, such as being imbued with holiness of some sort, ii or containing within it divine wisdom. ii i But, once again, many cultures think this of their languages. For example, Muslims think Arabic is lasaanu-l'malaaki, the language of angels. Many Arabic scholars find the beauty of the Arabic language found in the Quraan to be proof of its divinity. Other, more mystical scholars, find all sorts of esoteric significance within the shapes of the Arabic alphabet. iv If languages - and perhaps language itself v- are thought of as divine, perhaps more attention should be given to the theology of language, or, as boring as it may sound, a theology of grammar.

In my studies of English, Hebrew, and Arabic, I have noticed many parallels between the developments of those languages and that of Torah, particularly halakha. Moshe Koppel, in his Meta-Halakha, suggests that the writing down of Torah she-ba-al peh (TSBP) is similar to the codification of the grammar of any language. Nearly all languages developed as tools of verbal - that is, spoken and eventually written - communication. Only later did grammarians come around and try to describe the rules the languages obey. Similarly, TSBP initially was spoken, meaning, it was just done. Only when it began being concentrated into the the Mishna Rishona, and then the Mishna, et cetera, did general, overarching rules have to be created to describe its rules systematically.

Grammarians of any used language are alway going to be faced with the problem of exceptions. For any overarching rule that is true 60%, 70%, 80%, 90% - even 99% - of the time, it by definition will have exceptions. There is rarely ever a rule that is 100%. Grammarians must explain these exceptions just as they must explain the rules. In this regard, grammar is very much like the halakhic process. Sources for rules must be cited, their underlying logic in and of themselves must be worked out, as well as their logic as part of the larger system. And then, all of the exceptions and seeming exceptions must be documented and explained, either with equally authoritative sources, or other reasons.

These other reasons share interesting similarities with halakha. Haym Soloveitchik describes in his 'Rupture and Reconstruction' the mimetic (that is the way halakha was instinctively learned by mimicking parents at home) nature of halakha prior to the Holocaust. He suggests that that mimetic nature has been replaced by a return to textual analysis and not simply what is done (largely because it no longer is done). Language, too, prior to the rise of its grammarians, was just something that people spoke, learned from home and from one another. Then along came the grammarians, who tried making rules and making the language adhere to them. Suddenly, a tension was created. Grammarians would insist upon a certain syntax, a certain pronunciation and certain vocabulary. These were not based solely on what was being spoken, but what was spoken in the past and how certain texts were written, or, alternatively, based on abstract theories of how the language should be spoken. Sometimes the language would shift according to the grammarians, other times according to the masses. Similarly, with the writing down of the TSBP, and the return to textual authority experienced in our own day and by many Rishonim, such tension also existed.

Within any given sugya, numerous sorts of determinants factor into the pesak. These range from interpretation of pesukim, interpretations of their interpretation, and the interpretation of those interpretations; hermeneutical logic; abstract logic; historical factors; political factors; social factors; theology, philosophy, and the surrounding theologies and philosophies. Boiled down, halakha is produced from the constant struggle between a divine legal and ethical system and its human application. In other words, bashamayyim hi and lo bashamayyim hi. Languages, too, face this same tension, especially those which maintain that they are divine. They, perhaps more than others, must try to halt, or at least limit, the infiltration of human laziness, foreign words, et cetera, into their language. Yet, at the same time, they must be flexible enough to remain spoken by masses who are likely to at best only intuit the grammar upon which the language is built. Often, both language and halakha must succumb to human weaknesses. (For instance, when a gezeira is ignored by the people, it is not normative. There are deoraita examples as well...). The idea of Torah dibra bi-lshon bnei adam is relevant here. It applies aptly to the Quraan as well, though with more theological problems.

So far, I have touched upon some of the similarities Torah has to linguistics. The opposite is equally true. Linguistics has some interesting similarities to Torah. R. Soloveitchik's Halakhic Man talks about the importance of halakha in providing Jews with a system in which to understand the reality around them. One applies halakhic concepts to understand the essence of one's environs. The same is true of language. Vocabularies provide definitions of reality for their speakers. Accordingly, different speakers of different languages will understand the world differently. Two fascinating examples: In Pashtun, the word for 'cousin' is the same for the word 'enemy'. Clearly, a Pashtun speaker will have a different concept of family, even if she no longer lives in a warring tribe but instead in a Pakistani suburb.

A major focus in modern linguistics has centered upon a small Brazilian tribe called Piraha who have a totally different concept of time than any other culture in the world. Whereas we describe the past as 'behind us' and the future as 'in front of us', they do just the opposite. Their logic is as follows: Once something happens, they know what it is, they can see it, so it is in front of them, whereas, the future, which is something they cannot see, is behind them. This is not just a semantic issue. This has affected their culture and spirituality, their whole weltanschauung, profoundly.

Language in this regard seems to live up to the ideal of shaping one's conceptions far more than halakha. I wonder how Hebrew and Aramaic (and the little Persian, Greek, Latin, in Rabbinic Literature) affect halakha and whether that is better or worse? Does R. Lichtenstein's mastery of English, the language with the largest vocabulary, enable him to make sharper distinctions? Do his linguistic associations affect his hashkafic ones? For better or for worse?

The next time you speak leshon ha-kodesh, consider the theology involved.

Noah Greenfield is a senior in YC, majoring in English and Philosophy

i E.g. Kuzari 2:68

ii Maimonides, Guide 3:8

iii Abulafia, The Book of Letters

A basic Jewish parallel is the argument of R. Aqiva that the letters of the word 'sukka' serve to illustrate the halakhic parameters of sukka.

iv A prime example: Onqelos' understanding of 'vayipah beapav nishmat hayyim, vayehi ha'adam lenefesh hayya," namely, that 'man became a 'ruach memallela', a speaking spirit, equating speech as this divine quality breathed into man by God

v cf, for example, David Z. Hoffman, Mishna Rishona