Kabbalah, Jewish mysticism, grapples with this very question, and it all starts with the idea of a partition, a kind of veil or filter that allows creation to emerge from the undifferentiated light.
But it’s not just a simple on/off switch. Imagine light colliding with this partition – a process the text calls "fusion through collision." This collision isn't uniform; it has different intensities, different levels of… well, opacity (ovyut). And that’s where things get really interesting.
See, according to Petichah LeChokhmat HaKabbalah, a foundational text for understanding Kabbalistic wisdom, there are five levels of this opacity, and each one results in a different kind of "returning light." This returning light is crucial. It's like the echo of the divine, allowing the different sefirot – the emanations of God – to be clothed or manifested. What happens when the light smashes into a complete partition, one with all five levels of ovyut? Boom! The returning light is strong enough to encompass all ten sefirot, all the way up to Keter, the highest point, the very crown. Think of it as the full spectrum, the complete picture of divine expression.
But what if the partition isn’t complete? What if it's missing a layer, a crucial component of its opacity? Imagine a partition with only three levels of ovyut, lacking the fourth. What then?
Well, the collision still happens, but the resulting returning light is weaker. It can only reach up to Ḥokhma, the level of wisdom. It stops short of Keter. It’s a partial manifestation, an incomplete picture.
Why does this matter? Because it shows us the subtle, intricate dance between the Infinite and the finite. It highlights the idea that creation isn’t a single act, but a graduated process, a series of collisions and refractions that gradually reveal the divine will. Each level of opacity, each interaction with the partition, shapes the world we experience. It’s a reminder that even in what seems incomplete, there’s still a spark of the divine, a glimmer of the infinite striving to be known. And that, perhaps, is the most profound lesson of all.