To speak of G‑d is to speak in parables. The Kabbalists spoke in such parables, the most sublime of which is their supreme appellation for the Divine: the Infinite Light, Ohr Ain Sof. Of course, G‑d does not consist of photons. And it is only true to say G‑d is infinite to the degree it is true to say G‑d is also finite, and—at the very same time—neither finite nor infinite.

But if to speak of G‑d is to speak in parables, perhaps we can never really speak of G‑d at all?

In the early days of the Hasidic movement, parables played an especially important role. Here’s one that was recorded in the name of the Baal Shem Tov:

A king once sent his only son to a faraway place, so that afterwards he would experience greater pleasure. Over the course of many years, the prince forgot all the pleasures of the king. The king sent for him and he didn’t want to return to his father. For all that the king sent ever more exalted ministers, nothing helped at all. Eventually, one wise minister changed his clothing and language to be like that of the far-off prince. After becoming close with the prince as his peer, he successfully returned him to his father. Likewise the Torah is clothed in earthly stories.1

This is a parable about parables: The Divine wisdom of the Torah masquerades as mere stories, much as the wise minister masqueraded as a foreigner in order to build a relationship with the far-off prince. The Torah’s stories not only bring the Divine King’s sublime message into this physical world, but also make it legible, attractive, even intriguing. They reawaken embodied souls to Divine delights long forgotten. The Baal Shem Tov’s parable illustrates how the distance between G‑d and humanity can successfully be bridged. The parabolic masquerade paves the way for the return of the prince, his rapturous reunion with the king, and the experience of pleasure greater than any previously experienced even by the king himself.

So this is also a parable about pleasure: The king’s palace is a place of pleasure, and the most sublime among the king’s pleasures is that provided by the presence of his only son. Yet there is an even greater pleasure that the king can only attain through a process of rupture and reunion. The pleasure of reunion, of the closing of an unbridgeable gap, is a pleasure that ascends beyond the apex of all hierarchies of pleasure.2 This, it seems, is the sort of gap that can only be closed with a parable.

Not everyone, however, shared the Baal Shem Tov’s belief in the power of parable. Rabbi Eliyahu of Vilna, the most authoritative critic of the nascent Chassidic movement, insisted that whenever kabbalistic terms are used to speak of G‑d, “we speak by way of parable and do not understand at all.” For him, the parables of the prophets and the Kabbalists should rightly be regarded as enigmas, which even the greatest seers could only partially decipher.3

Rabbi Eliyahu’s insistence on the indecipherability of kabbalistic parables is aligned with his insistence that G‑d literally withdrew Himself from the realm of cosmic being. It is precisely because Rabbi Eliyahu took tzimtzum literally, as a withholding of G‑d from the cosmos, that he reduced all kabbalistic language to mere symbolism that can never make G‑d’s true self accessible to any created being.4 For the Baal Shem Tov and his successors, by contrast, tzimtzum is regarded as a figurative removal of G‑d rather than a literal one. Their insistence that G‑d remains concealed within the world aligns with their emphasis of the real possibility of a relationship with G‑d, not only for great prophets and pious scholars, but for anyone susceptible to the power of parable.5

Among the Baal Shem Tov’s successors, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi’s teachings uniquely integrate Chassidism’s ethos of accessibility with Kabbalah’s esoteric theological and cosmological language. This integration was facilitated by a third element, the philosophical rigor usually associated with the Maimonidean school. Take, for example, his extensive analyses of Kabbalah’s most supreme appellation for the Divine:

“The Infinite Light,” the Zohar tells us, “ascends ever upward without limit, and descends ever downward without end.”6

Philosophically speaking, Rabbi Schneur Zalman asked, what are we to make of this statement? After all, the terms “upward” and “downward” are necessarily relative terms. They depend on a finite spectrum stretching between an upper limit and a lower limit. But to speak of an infinite entity is to speak of an entity that exceeds all such limits. By definition, infinite light cannot be conceived of in spatial terms at all. Surely, to speak of upward ascent “without limit” and downward descent “without end,” is to abandon the fundamental meaning of “upward” and “downward” altogether!7

Here’s one of the answers provided by Rabbi Schneur Zalman and his successors:

The term “Infinite Light” does not refer to G‑d’s essential self at all. G‑d’s essential self truly does evade description by any terminology, whether spatial or temporal, quantitative or qualitative. Instead, “Infinite Light” refers to G‑d’s manifestation in relation to the cosmos. This is parabolically likened to “light” emanating from the Divine luminary, from the very source of being. It is “infinite” in the sense that it manifests G‑d’s infinite power to create infinite iterations of being, infinitely differentiated. But the “Infinite Light” does have an upper “beginning,” namely the source from which it emanates. It likewise has a downward “end,” namely the lowest of all the created realms—this physical earth—which it must ultimately illuminate. The “Infinite Light,” in other words, extends across the infinite gap between G‑d and this world.8

Going even deeper, Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s successors explained that the Zohar can be read as identifying two distinct elements, or two distinct orientations, within the Infinite Light. On the one hand, it “descends ever downward without end,” exhibiting the revelation of Divine infinitude even in the creation of the lowest creature. On the other hand, it “ascends ever upward without limit,” radiating the esoteric mystery of Divine infinitude, which transcends the grasp of even the most exalted being.9

In a discourse delivered in 1965, the Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneersohn, of righteous memory—explained that G‑d’s infinitely mysterious ascent is just as accessible as G‑d’s infinitely revelatory descent, and even more intense. For a more detailed exploration of that discourse, see my earlier article, “Upward Without Limit.”

For the purposes of my current musing on the follow-up discourse, from 1966, the following point is crucial: The distinction between the downward and upward orientations of the Infinite Light can be likened to the distinction between knowledge straightforwardly explicated and knowledge parabolically implied. Downward revelation is a straightforward and transparent revelation of Divinity. Upward ascent is an oblique masquerade; the wise minister disguised as the prince’s peer, Divine presence hiding in plain sight.

At this point a disclaimer is in order. The Rebbe’s discussion in this discourse is wide-ranging and complex. I cannot attempt to clarify all of its threads and how they illuminate one another. Instead, I will go directly to the crux of the issue as I understand it:

The Infinite Light is meant to cross the infinite gap between G‑d and the world, between essential being and ordinary mortals, much as the “exalted ministers” were meant to convey the king’s message to the far-off prince. But can the Infinite Light ever be anything more than a superficial projection of Divine being? This is certainly true in the case of the Infinite Light’s downward descent; from the outset it leaves the true transcendence of G‑d behind to manifest G‑d in the narrow role of Cosmic Creator. It seems all the more true in the case of the Infinite Light’s upward ascent; surely it only manifests G‑d’s transcendent mystery by cloaking it in an incandescent veil of secrecy? After all is said and done, something hidden in plain sight is not necessarily something found.

To sharpen the question, let’s recall that the upward orientation of the Infinite Light is likened to knowledge parabolically implied. Ordinarily, we think of a parable as a sort of crutch. If we want to explain a complex idea to a child, or to a non-expert, we use a parable. The parable is used precisely because the knowledge itself, in all its abstraction and sophistication, is far beyond the grasp of the child or the student. The parable doesn’t so much explain the concept as gesture in its direction, standing as a placeholder for an understanding that remains unavailable.

So perhaps Rabbi Eliyahu of Vilna was right? Perhaps the parables of Kabbalah are ultimately undecipherable? Perhaps the essential self of G‑d is indeed fundamentally withheld from the grasp of any creature?

Not so fast.

A parable, the Rebbe argues, is not a mere crutch. Actually, a parable is the preferred medium for an alternate kind of knowledge, for the sort of intimate and experiential knowledge that can never be externalized.

Forms of knowledge that can easily be made public, that lend themselves to transparent communication via ordinary language, belong to a category of information that is fundamentally superficial to begin with. Only within that category is the parable a mere placeholder, extrinsic to real knowledge. But in the inner world of profound meaning and personal delight, knowledge is too sublime to be prosaically shared. Such intimacies can only be shared indirectly, via parabolic hints and mysteries that leave intact their inherent profundity, their delightful secrecy.10

Such parables, which we might call “intrinsic parables,” do not originate in the need to explain things to others. They originate in our desire to understand ourselves. Such parables are capable of holding deep truths within their folds; truths of the sort that are liable to collapse into flat cliches if ever anyone attempts to plainly unpack them.

Here’s how the Rebbe put it:

The most profound of concepts can become disclosed exclusively through parables and riddles, wherein the light is concealed. One does not understand the concept at all through the parable. Rather, its essence is enclosed within the parable. This is precisely the advantage of the parable over a direct revelation, which is a mere radiance of the concept. But here, in the parable, one grasps its entire essence.11

The esoteric structure of this sort of “intrinsic parable,” the Rebbe continues, parallels the experience of pleasure. As earlier Chabad masters taught, a pleasure is most sublimely experienced when it isn’t bound up with any extraneous object of pleasure. Such a pleasure is experienced in the intimate “essence of one’s soul, which is not in the category of revelation and expression at all. On the contrary, the stance of the essence is one of ascent and upward withdrawal specifically. Hence it is without movement, being a radiance reflected within its own self alone, entirely without revelation or expression. This is also the case with the most profound of concepts, which is hidden from any thought; it isn’t in the category of revelation, even to itself, but specifically in a stance of upward withdrawal, of hiding and concealment within itself.”12

The pleasure of an intrinsic parable lies not in its interpretation, but in the access it provides to a conceptual wholeness that is as utterly self-contained. Its sublimity increases only as it becomes all the more unarticulated, intimate, and essential. Like a good joke, such a parable is best enjoyed when left unexplained.

G‑d’s Infinite Light, you will remember, “descends ever downward without end,” but also “ascends ever upward without limit.” This upward ascent, the Rebbe explained, is a gesture of essentiality; in other words, an inherently parabolic gesture, a sublime delight, a secret treasure. “Just as a treasure is sealed and hidden from all eyes,” he continued, “so the essence is sealed and hidden. It isn’t merely hidden from would-be recipients of Divine revelation. Rather, it is sealed on its own part too, more hidden than all hidden things.”13

Accordingly, G‑d’s “treasure” is synonymous with the Infinite Light’s ascendence “ever upward without limit.” As in the case of the wise minister’s masquerade, it is precisely through such ascendant concealment that an otherwise unbridgeable gap can ultimately be closed. Like an intrinsically mysterious parable, this ascendence is a function of G‑d’s own self-knowledge, rather than the result of any attempt to “reveal” Divinity within the created cosmos. Precisely due to this “essential” secrecy, however, it can close up the infinite gap between G‑d and the world. G‑d’s treasure, in other words, is the possibility of rapturous reunion in the wake of rupture.

Rupture is a fundamental condition of our present reality. Only with the ultimate Messianic reunion between the King and the prince—between G‑d and the Jewish people, between Heaven and earth—will this rupture be fully healed. But those who seek reunion, those who wage the battle for Divine illumination within this dark world, have already been equipped with the wherewithal to achieve their goal. The “wise minister” is already in our midst. In the Rebbe’s own words: “The supernal treasure is synonymous with the loftiest revelations of the Torah’s interiority, which will be revealed in the Messianic future … And, in the last era of exile too, a taste of this flows forth in the disclosure of Torah’s interiority within Chassidism’s teachings.”14

It is precisely through our own participation in the Baal Shem Tov’s parable that we can partake of G‑d’s most ascendent delight.