The Kabbalists grappled with this very question, and their answers are, well, illuminating.
The Kalach Pitchei Chokhmah, a foundational text of Kabbalah, gives us a beautiful image: that the divine took something – an entity or a structure – as its vessel. What does this mean? It paints a picture of a carefully constructed system.
Imagine a stained-glass window. The light shining through is beautiful, radiant. But it needs the glass, the vessel, to give it form, to make it visible. This, in essence, is what the Kabbalists are describing.
The universe, according to this view, is built on a principle of pnimiyut (interiority) and chitzoniyut (exteriority). We have the lights, the pure divine energy, and the vessels, the forms and structures that contain and channel that energy. Each light, each spark of divinity, radiates within its vessel, working to purify it, to elevate it. This connection is so essential, we are told, that the law was instituted to ensure that there should be an interior of lights and an exterior of vessels. : We, ourselves, are vessels. Our bodies, our minds, even our souls, are containers for the divine spark within us.
Now, when light emerges through our senses – when we see beauty, hear wisdom, or experience love – that light is already joined with a vessel. It’s not just pure, unadulterated light. It’s light that has been filtered, shaped, and colored by the vessel through which it passes.
But here’s a crucial point: don’t think that this emerging light is simple light. The Kalach Pitchei Chokhmah emphasizes this. It's the result of a pre-existing connection, an inherent relationship between light and vessel. Nothing new can emerge without this fundamental connection.
Even when we perceive light seemingly without a vessel, like a sudden flash of insight or inspiration, the text assures us that something of the vessel is still present. Even if we can’t see it.
The text even uses the example of Adam Kadmon, the primordial human. Even light emerging from Adam Kadmon's sense organs, though seemingly pure, contains something of the vessel.
Why can’t we always perceive the "vessel" component? Because the light is so overwhelming! It's like staring at the sun – the intensity blinds us to the subtle details. The vessels are there, but they're overshadowed by the sheer brilliance of the divine energy. They cannot be discerned at all.
So what does this all mean for us? It means that everything we experience, every moment of insight, every flicker of beauty, is a dance between the divine light and the vessels that contain it. It reminds us that even in the most mundane aspects of our lives, there is a spark of the infinite. And it challenges us to become better vessels, to purify ourselves so that the light can shine through us more clearly, more brightly, and more fully. What would happen if we were able to discern the hidden vessel within the overpowering light?