The Beginning of Wisdom is Humility
Exodus's Critique of the Sage
Let us deal shrewdly (hava nitchachma) with [the Israelites], so that they may not increase; otherwise in the event of war they may join our enemies in fighting against us and rise from the ground. (Exodus 1:10)
Next morning, his spirit was agitated, and he sent for all the magician-priests of Egypt, and all its sages (chochmeha); and Pharaoh told them his dreams, but none could interpret them for Pharaoh. (Gen. 41:8)
“Accordingly, let Pharaoh find someone who’s discerning and wise (chacham), whom you can set over the land of Egypt. (Gen. 41:33)
So Pharaoh said to Joseph, “Since God has made all this known to you, there is none so discerning and wise (chacham) as you. (Gen. 41:39)
Then Pharaoh, for his part, summoned the sages (chachamim) and the sorcerers; and the Egyptian magician-priests, in turn, did the same with their spells: (Genesis 7:10)
What does it mean to be a sage? Ontologically defined, a sage is a wise person. Socially defined, a sage is someone who is sought after for advice. Professionally defined, a sage may have been someone with a salaried office whose job was to help the king administer justice, and oversee domestic and foreign policy. In the best of all possible worlds, a sage who is sought after actually has wisdom. But in some (perhaps many) cases, “wise” simply describes someone who is perceived as such. Wisdom in the abstract is an ideal; but in the world, wisdom is often contentious and subjective, relying on the judgments of the self-reportedly non-wise.
Another dimension to worldly wisdom is strategy. The wise person doesn’t simply say what is true, but also offers a playbook for how to apply it. This creates another ambiguity: at what point does wisdom simply become shrewdness or cleverness or expedience, so that the sage simply becomes a kind of Machiavelli? Is wisdom about aspiration or simply closing deals?
The ambiguity of wisdom is evident from the fact that Joseph is the first person whom the Torah calls wise. Joseph’s wisdom is thoroughly Egyptian—it is Pharaoh who gives him the social honor and professional role of sage. Thus, we see that wisdom is introduced to us not as as an Israelite, or even monotheistic, concept, but as a global one. The “wise man” is a politician, a member of the royal court. The sages of Egypt are unable to interpret Pharaoh’s dream. In Exodus they succeed in replicating some miracles, but they are no match for Aaron and Moses. Are the wise men of Egypt, in fact, wise? Perhaps they are on a relative basis. But the text is ironic for it presents their wisdom as insufficient to the task at hand.
At the core of our investigation into Biblical wisdom stands the fact that the verb “to be wise about,” or to “deal shrewdly with” (nitchachma) opens the book of Exodus and forecasts a new policy on “The Jewish Question” that involves enslaving the Israelites. This “wise” policy is only wise in the short-run, for it leads to Egypt’s undoing. But even if it is wise in some realpolitik sense, it is not morally wise. Now, we could view the term ironically—the regime claims wisdom for itself, when it is anything but wise. But we could also view the term straightforwardly—wisdom alone is not enough to ensure a good society. Wisdom qua Strategy is neutral and need not lead to justice.
Another point of convergence between Joseph and Pharaoh is their preference for top-down decision making. Wisdom is a directive from headquarters. Thus, even if Pharaoh did not issue a policy of enslavement there is a sense in which, perhaps, the very form of his directives points the way to enslavement. When everyone exists to serve the “wise” executive, subordination and coercion follow. One way to think about the conflict between Joseph and his brothers is as an archetypal battle between a single leader who gives commands and a group which acts as a collective and thus makes a claim to legitimacy through consensus. Joseph and Pharaoh do not institute policies by committee vote or poll-testing. Instead, they claim the mantle of a divine mandate.
In some ways, Joseph’s actions are right—he does save the Egyptian economy, and he does save his own family from starvation. But he also consolidates power for the Egyptian sovereign. That same power, when it falls into the wrong hands, leads to blowback. Meanwhile, by (wisely) indebting the Egyptian populace, Joseph sews their resentment, so that it is only a matter of time before the Israelites become their scapegoats. The very same mechanism (a strong central government engaged in economic mobilization) that saves everyone ends up becoming the mechanism through which the Israelites become slaves. In short, the formal wisdom of technocracy is the same in both the best case scenario and the worst case scenario. Wisdom itself is a dangerous game.
Exodus 1 has many parallels to Genesis 11 (the story of Babel). One parallel is between the language of “Let us deal shrewdly” (hava nitchachma) and “Let us build” (hava nivneh). The parallel suggests that a certain kind of wisdom can be directed to the wrong ends. One can, in the name of saving society, or “building” something grand, end up in a horrific place. The conclusion to this point should not be: don’t strive, or don't build, or don’t invest in infrastructure. But it should make us wary of political leaders who claim the mandate of heaven. Even when their plans are wise, and executed well, the consequences are hard to predict.
Socrates is purported to have said that, could he find a wise person, he would immediately enslave himself to that person. The problem, however, is that many who claim wisdom or are said to be wise are not, and thus any servitude to them becomes wrong.
The Torah’s critique of slavery isn’t just a critique of dehumanization. It’s a critique of the idea that any single person can claim a totally divine vantage point, and thus justify the mobilization of everyone under their rule. Human beings are fallible and thus good leaders seek good governance. Joseph’s ability to interpret dreams and craft novel policies may have been divinely inspired, but you can’t build a good society on the hope that Joseph will always get it right.
Yet it would be just as wrong to exile wisdom to the impractical. Proverbs tells us to pursue wisdom. But “the beginning of wisdom is awe of the Lord.” The King of Egypt who said “hava nitchachma” did not have this awe. Those who have awe of the Lord know that they often get it wrong. And still must act. But they must triangulate. And they must consider counter-arguments. And they must not simply do what is easy. Those who have awe of heaven do not need to make names for themselves by building towers into heaven. Nor do they need to make names of themselves by towering over others in domination. The beginning and end of wisdom is humility. Unsurprisingly, this trait is the one tradition associates with Moses, Pharaoh’s foil, and our redeemer.
Shabbat Shalom,
Zohar Atkins