Chapter 11 contains the words of Tzofar the Naamathite. We began by noting that Tzofar's first argument to Iyov is: when you come and claim that "a righteous person perishes," you do not even know who is truly righteous. Now we turn to the second part of his argument: you also do not know what it means to "perish."
When Iyov claims that "a righteous person perishes," what is he pointing to? Look, he is sick; look, he is afflicted; look, he is suffering. Tzofar asks: when we speak of affliction, illness, and suffering - who absorbs all of this? Who suffers? The body. And when we examine the true reality of the matter, what is the genuine, enduring, eternal, and essential part of a person? The soul. Thus, when you say "perishes," you are referring to the body, and the body is not the essence, but merely secondary.
Consider an example, perhaps somewhat extreme, but one that illustrates the point: a person falls into a raging fire, and all his clothes burn up - from his shoes to his yarmulke, including his glasses - but he himself escapes without a single burn. If someone were to recount this with horror, saying, "Listen to what happened, his entire suit was burned!" we would tell him: What are you talking about? What are clothes? The person himself survived! We understand this very well in this tangible form. And one must understand that this is precisely the relationship between the body and the soul: the body is merely a garment for the soul. The body is something temporary, fleeting, which by its very nature is destined for demise - for in the end, it decomposes. The true good, the eternal good, belongs to the soul.
If so, when you point to the afflictions of the body and call them "perishing," you are looking at the wrong thing. For if, through these afflictions, the righteous person attained spiritual perfection - should we call him "perishing," or has he in fact acquired an elevated level? He was built up, he was elevated, he attained a higher spiritual stature. This is comparable to a seed planted in the soil: at first, it rots. Would we say that the seed is lost? Look and see what grows from it! So too here: the body suffers, but the soul is elevated, refined, and acquires an elevation it did not possess before. And even if the body is what "perishes," the soul is alive, enduring, and eternal - and consequently, it makes no sense to claim that "a righteous person perishes" merely because of the afflictions we see.
To summarize his words: Tzofar the Naamathite argues that our perception is solely through the senses, and therefore it is limited. We do not perceive things in their essence, to understand their true nature, essence, and depth, but only as they appear to us - and this is not a true revelation of reality. The senses deceive us: there are mirages, there are illusions, and we interpret reality according to what the senses register.
Incidentally, it is well known that the eye does not capture images right side up, but upside down, and there is a "processor" in the brain that flips the image. Could the Holy One, Blessed be He, not have created us to see right side up directly? A striking thought suggests itself: the Holy One, Blessed be He, wanted to show us - realize that you naturally see things upside down. Even in your clearest sight, your vision is inherently inverted. And this is precisely what Tzofar is saying: we do not grasp things in their true essence; what we see is merely an external, sensory impression that does not perceive the essence of the matter. Therefore, when you argue that "a righteous person perishes" - you do not know who is righteous, and you do not know what is meant by perishing. Neither righteous nor perishing.
In this, Tzofar introduces a novel approach, different from that of his companions. His companions argued: it is impossible for a righteous person to perish, and therefore you must be wicked - and so they leveled blame against him. Or alternatively, that Hashem will ultimately repay him twofold. Tzofar, however, comes and says: there is no question at all from the fact that a righteous person perishes. It may be that he is righteous and that he appears to perish - because you must not determine who is righteous, nor should you determine that what happens to him is called "perishing." This is the foundation of Tzofar the Naamathite's arguments.
Iyov argued that if man possesses free will, it is impossible for the Holy One, blessed be He, to know in advance everything human beings will do in the future. We did not dwell at length on this argument, which is philosophical in nature, but let us recall that Tzofar responds with what the Rambam explains: there is no room to compare our knowledge to His knowledge, blessed be He.
Our knowledge is distinct from our very being: I am one thing, and when I learn something, that is additional information added to me. I could have known it or not known it, and once I know it - there is me, and there is the knowledge that was added. But with the Holy One, blessed be He, His knowledge and His essence are one. There is no added knowledge here, for He is absolute unity, complete and indivisible simplicity, and nothing can ever be added to Him. In the words of the Zohar: Ihu vechayohi vegarmohi chad - He, His life-force, and His emanations are one. With Him, blessed be He, all is of one unified reality.
Consequently, when you ask how it is possible for Hashem to know something that will happen in the future - you are asking based on concepts that share nothing in common other than an equivocal term. What is meant by an equivocal term? When I say "Hashem knows" and when I say "I know," the same word is used for both, which leads one to think they are the same thing. It is like saying: the table is round, the cup is round, the sun is round, the earth is round, the lens is round - are they all one and the same? They share only a common descriptor. So too here: the term "knows" is shared, but the essence of His knowledge and the essence of our knowledge are completely different, and one cannot extrapolate from our knowledge to His knowledge.
And how does Hashem know? That is beyond our grasp. As Rav Saadia Gaon already said: "Had I known Him - I would be Him." If I truly comprehended the Creator of the universe, I would be the Creator of the universe. We do not have the comprehension that the Creator has, nor is it within our power to grasp what His knowledge is.
Particularly based on what we explained: Where does our comprehension stem from? Through the senses - I saw, I heard, I tasted, I touched. By contrast, the knowledge of the Holy One, blessed be He, is not through senses at all; He has no senses. Rather, His knowledge stems from knowing the thing within His very essence. This is like an automobile manufacturer, who does not know the car because he went and observed it, but because he manufactured and assembled it. The Creator of the universe does not comprehend things as a result of observation, but through an entirely different perception of which we have no knowledge, grasp, or comprehension. And this is what Tzofar told him: "הַחֵקֶר אֱלוֹהַּ תִּמְצָא" - can you uncover the depths of God? Can you possibly understand how the Holy One, blessed be He, sees things?
It follows that the question does not even begin. Iyov's difficulty was: If Hashem knows that Reuven will desecrate Shabbat this coming Shabbat, where is Reuven's free choice? For if he does not desecrate it, it turns out that Hashem did not know, Heaven forbid; and if he did desecrate it and Hashem knew, it turns out that he could not escape his destiny, and Hashem's foreknowledge compelled him. Tzofar replies to him: You are speaking in concepts that you do not comprehend. Your knowledge bears no resemblance to Hashem's knowledge, and Hashem's knowledge is a knowledge that does not compel. How so? First comprehend His knowledge, and then you will understand. But if you do not understand His knowledge, how do you expect to understand the "how"?
This is the Rambam's answer to the dilemma of foreknowledge and free choice: your knowledge might mean that he will definitely desecrate Shabbat, but Hashem's knowledge does not compel - Hashem knows, and the potential of free choice remains entirely intact. How? The Rambam does not explain; rather, he says: If you wish to understand, first understand His knowledge. In truth, there is an additional answer to this from the Raavad, who addresses the issue in a more definitive manner, which we will mention at the end of the chapter. But at any rate, this is the Rambam's answer.
Tzofar further tells him: Free will cannot be denied, simply from a person's direct, personal experience. Everyone understands that if I decided to lift the cup - I lifted it, and if I decided to set it down - I set it down. And if I committed a forbidden act, I will be punished. And why punished? Because everyone understands that if you did something - you had free choice. For if there is no free choice, what is there to punish? A person steals and says, "I have no free will" - people who truly have no free will are not punished; they are hospitalized in psychiatric facilities.
Therefore, he tells him: Set aside proofs, set aside difficult questions - look inward. When you lifted the cup, did someone force you, or did you decide and lift it? None of us can deny the clear knowledge and personal feeling that we choose. Likewise, when someone wrongs us or acts inappropriately toward us - we become angry with him. And why? Because he could have refrained from doing so. It is clear that he had a choice and chose to do it, and that is why we are angry. This is the simple logic, the common sense innate in every human being: I decide whether to act or not, and if someone did something improper - he is wrong and at fault. No one says, "Listen, it was decreed from Heaven that way."
By contrast, if a dog relieves itself in an inconvenient place for us - do we truly get angry at it? We say: It is a dog, what do you want from it? We all sense that one cannot make moral demands of an animal; it has no free choice. This is its programming, this is how it was programmed, and this is how it operates. True, there are people who, when their computer does not work, take a hammer and smash it, but normally a person does not level moral complaints against something created in a certain way without the ability to change. Toward a person, however - we certainly get angry.
Rabbi Zvi Inbal once recounted that he went to board a bus, and as is often the local habit, the driver shut the door in his face. He said: I didn't give up either, and as is also the local habit, I shoved my foot between the two doors so he couldn't drive off. Through the narrow gap that opened, he said, I slipped him a question: "Tell me, do you know the difference between you and a cat?" The question intrigued him; he opened the door and asked, "Well, what's the difference?" I stepped inside and told him: "The difference is that a cat is compelled to be a cat, but you can also be a human being." Only of a human being can one say, "You are not acting like a human being"; no one would ever say of a cat, "What an un-catlike creature!" If it ate the cheese, that is because it is a cat, end of story. But a person can be a human being, or he can be a wild donkey's colt. Everyone agrees and everyone feels that man possesses the ability to decide whether to be good or to be bad.
What can be asked? Why did the Holy One, Blessed be He, create man in such a way that he cannot grasp, that he has no comprehension of Hashem's governance, unable to see where the fairness and justice lie in His deeds - why did He create me limited? To this he answers: this question is out of place, for the Holy One, Blessed be He, wanted a human being, not angels. Had He wanted angels, He would have created angels, but He created you because He wanted man. Just as there is no room to ask why a donkey does not understand - Hashem wanted there to be a donkey in the world, for otherwise there would be nothing upon which to load burdens; and if the donkey understood, it would no longer carry anything.
And why is this truly so? Because all free will stems precisely from the fact that we do not understand. If we knew how the apparent evil that Hashem brings upon a person is actually good - would we have any questions? Would there be trials? Would there be free choice? You would simply understand that this hardship is for the best. The great challenge is that right now it looks bad to me, and I say: Master of the Universe, why? And then I say, "Whatever the Merciful One does, He does for good," and surely it is for the best. Afterwards, whether I come to see it or not, I believe in Hashem that it is for the good - and thus you have stood the test. But if they showed you where it was for the good, what trial would there be? Therefore, the Holy One, Blessed be He, created man from the outset limited and unable to comprehend, so that he would have trials, so that he would have hardships, so that he would overcome them.
וַיַּעַן צֹפַר הַנַּעֲמָתִי וַיֹּאמַר. הֲרֹב דְּבָרִים לֹא יֵעָנֶה וְאִם אִישׁ שְׂפָתַיִם יִצְדָּק. - Tzofar the Na'amathite answered and said: Shall a multitude of words go unanswered, and shall a man full of talk be justified?
Tzofar says to him: I do not see in your response any proof or any argument that could vindicate you in this debate. What I see is that when a person has no solid arguments, he multiplies words. There are those who, in an oral exam, think that talking a lot will give the impression that they know something, and that it is better than staying silent; and there are teachers whom a concise answer does not satisfy, constantly demanding, "elaborate, elaborate." It is like a politician who gives an hour-long speech and says nothing at all. So too is a person who debates and thinks that speaking at length will persuade. Regarding this, he says to him: "Shall a multitude of words go unanswered?" - Do you think that if you multiply words our mouths will be stopped and we will have nothing to reply? After all, you have presented no logical arguments and brought no solid proofs.
"And shall a man full of talk be justified?" - Sometimes a person has eloquence, refined speech, and rhetorical flair; he weaves in flourishes and foreign words, and the listener is impressed: "Listen, I'm convinced." And what did he actually say? I didn't quite understand, but he managed to persuade me. This is an "ish sefatayim" (a man of lips) - mere lip service containing no substance. Tzofar says to him: Do you think that through flourishes, pleasant phrasing, and high language you will be proved right? In simple terms: true and valid arguments stated briefly in broken speech are far preferable to a flood of words and rich language with no substance or proof behind them.
בַּדֶּיךָ מְתִים יַחֲרִישׁוּ וַתִּלְעַג וְאֵין מַכְלִם. - Shall your musings silence men, and when you mock, will no one shame you?
"Badecha" - this refers to thoughts. Just as a tree has main boughs (badim) and branches (se'ipim): the badim are the thick boughs, and the se'ipim branch out from them. In this same way, thoughts are called se'ipim, as in "I hate wavering thoughts (se'afim)" (Tehillim 119:113), and as in "In the multitude of my anxious thoughts (sar'apai) within me" (Tehillim 94:19) - sar'apim are the secondary branches, the smaller thoughts branching off from the primary idea. If so, "badim" alludes to profound thought, deep contemplations, and grand ideas.
He says to him: "Your musings silence men" - your thoughts silence only the "men" (mesim), meaning the weak, those who do not know how to debate. Your arguments will convince them, but not the learned scholars who realize that there is no substance behind your words. "And when you mock, no one shames you" - and therefore you scoff and utter baseless words without anyone putting you to shame, meaning no one embarrasses you by saying: Iyov, you have spoken vanity. Why? Because all the listeners are feeble, dazzled by the lofty language, the rhetoric, and the flood of words, failing to notice that there is no substance. But we are not swayed by such things.
As is our practice, we are studying according to the Malbim, and here it is worth emphasizing that Rashi, Ibn Ezra, Ralbag, and the Metzudos interpret "badecha" differently: not from the language of thoughts, but from falsehoods - "your fabrications," tall tales, things concocted from one's imagination (hence "badai", a fabricator). According to this, "your fabrications silence men" means: only the weak will remain silent in the face of your falsehoods and your unfounded claims.
וַתֹּאמֶר זַךְ לִקְחִי וּבַר הָיִיתִי בְעֵינֶיךָ. - "For you say: 'My teaching is pure, and I am clean in Your eyes.'"
"My teaching" (likchi) is an expression of doctrine, as in "May my teaching drop as the rain" (Devarim 32:2) - referring to the proofs, evidence, and arguments you brought to deny Divine Providence and free will. And because those debating you are weak and overawed by what you say, you permit yourself to declare, "My teaching is pure" - that my words are lucid, crystal-clear, and self-evident. "And I am clean in Your eyes" - you also claim that you yourself are pure, completely free of blemish, and have not sinned. To this he responds: You can argue such a thing before "dead men", before weak individuals who are intimidated into silence by your claims and proofs, but not before a man of deep thought who can confront your flimsy arguments and counter them.
וְאוּלָם מִי יִתֵּן אֱלוֹהַּ דַּבֵּר וְיִפְתַּח שְׂפָתָיו עִמָּךְ. - "Yet if only God would speak, and open His lips against you."
One cannot imagine that God Himself would come and speak with you like a human being, with a physical mouth and lips, for Hashem does not speak in a corporeal manner. Furthermore, even if He were to speak, it is most improbable that He would choose to speak specifically with you. Yet if only it were so:
וְיַגֶּד לְךָ תַּעֲלֻמוֹת חָכְמָה כִּי כִפְלַיִם לְתוּשִׁיָּה וְדַע כִּי יַשֶּׁה לְךָ אֱלוֹהַּ מֵעֲוֺנֶךָ. - "And tell you the secrets of wisdom, for sound wisdom has two sides; and know that God exacts less of you than your guilt deserves."
If only the Holy One, blessed be He, would come and reveal to you the secrets of wisdom, "for sound wisdom has two sides" - meaning that you do not grasp matters according to their true depth and essence, but perceive them only partially, and it is from this limited view that your difficulties arise.
Tzofar the Naamathite introduces a third approach, distinct from that of his companions: There is no question whatsoever from the problem of "the righteous who suffers," for no human being can determine who is truly righteous, nor can he determine what it means to "perish." Suffering afflicts the body, which is merely a passing garment, while the soul - the eternal essence - is refined and elevated through it, like a seed that rots in the ground only to sprout. Our entire perception is derived from the senses, our vision is partial and even inverted, and His knowledge, blessed be He, resembles our knowledge only in name; therefore there is no room to question free will from God's foreknowledge, even as free choice is verified by the innate inner awareness of every human being. This very limitation is the will of the Creator, Who desired a human being rather than an angel, for it is precisely out of incomprehension that trial, adversity, and struggle are born. Tzofar therefore says to Iyov: A torrent of words and eloquent language do not constitute an argument, and they silence only the weak - "Shall a multitude of words go unanswered, and shall an eloquent man be justified?"