The Midrash of Philo dives into this very question, exploring the human soul's capacity for growth and its resistance to it. It suggests that not every soul possesses the ability to truly respect and submit to beneficial discipline. Think about it. We all know people who seem to thrive on feedback, constantly seeking ways to improve. These are the souls, Philo argues, that are gentle, good-tempered, and consistent. They actually love reproof! And they grow closer to those who offer it.
But then there's the flip side. The stubborn soul. Ouch. Philo doesn't pull any punches here. He says the stubborn soul becomes malignant, hating those who try to correct them. They turn away, fleeing from anything that might challenge their perspective, preferring instead the easy comfort of agreeable words, even if those words lead them astray. It’s a powerful image, isn't it? The idea of actively running away from what's good for you.
And that brings us to a fascinating question posed in the Midrash: "Hagar, the handmaid of Sarah, whence comest thou, and whither goest thou?" (Genesis 16:8). Why did the angel single her out with this question?
Let’s unpack this for a moment. In the biblical narrative, Hagar is fleeing from Sarah's harsh treatment. She's vulnerable, scared, and likely feeling lost. So, why does the angel choose this moment to essentially ask, "Where have you been and where are you going?"
Perhaps the angel's question isn't just about Hagar's physical location, but about her inner state. Is she running towards something, or simply away from something? Is she open to guidance, or is she determined to follow her own path, regardless of the consequences? The angel's words become a gentle nudge, a moment of reflection offered in the midst of her flight.
The Zohar, the foundational work of Jewish mysticism, often emphasizes the importance of self-reflection and the constant need to evaluate our motivations. It's not enough to simply react to our circumstances, we must also understand the underlying forces that drive our actions.
As we find in Midrash Rabbah, stories are not just narratives; they are opportunities for us to see ourselves in the characters and learn from their experiences. Hagar's story becomes a mirror, reflecting our own tendencies to embrace or reject correction, to seek truth or to settle for comfort.
So, the next time you find yourself bristling at someone's advice, or perhaps offering it to someone who isn't receptive, remember Hagar. Remember the stubborn soul and the gentle one. Ask yourself, "Where am I coming from, and where am I going?" The answer might just surprise you.