It is to this sense which Rudolf Otto refers in his classic book The Idea of the Holy, where he shows how the representations of the “void” in Asian art—through darkness, silence and wide empty space—are the most effective instruments for instilling a sense of holiness. Otto then draws a similar lesson from Western liturgical music:

Even the most consummate Mass-music can only give utterance to the holiest, most numinous moment in the Mass—the moment of transubstantiation—by sinking into stillness: No mere momentary pause, but an absolute cessation of sound long enough for us to “hear the silence” itself; and no devotional moment in the whole Mass approximates in impressiveness to this “keeping silence before the Lord.”⁶⁵

It is this sensation upon which the unique experience of sanctity of the Sabbath is based, made possible only by cutting off the torrential activity of the six preceding days. The sublime is revealed in the apparent void, in the void into which every action or thought is absorbed. This is not, however, meant simply to freeze the dynamic flow of life, but to raise it to a higher plane. This is the critical moment within the rhythm of the Jewish week, for it is here that the human creative process is fashioned in true imitation of the divine Creation, the foundation of existence.

V

Thus the theology embodied in the Sabbath is based on an integration between the active and the passive, between will and restraint, in which a rhythmic balance is preserved between the two. Through the will, man acts as one created in the divine image, capable of reaching beyond his natural abilities and fashioning the world according to his own lofty designs. Through the counterpoise of restraint, man learns to recognize the consequence of his creation, to renew his appreciation for the sublime, and to adjust his designs accordingly. Judaism stresses the necessity of a balance between these two elements, attained through their proper integration in time, in imitation of the primordial model of creative effort. Without such a balance, man becomes alienated from himself and from the world in which he lives, and, consequently, also from the God who has assigned him a role on earth.

To understand what may happen to a culture lacking the proper balance between will and restraint, one need look no farther than the work-culture of the modern West, on the one hand, or of the Taoist and Buddhist East, on the other. Following Judaism, Western culture (particularly secular Western culture) recognized the power of the will to fashion the world, but largely excluded the moderating idea of restraint; the will, therefore, took on excessive and even grotesque dimensions, transforming man’s desire to rule nature into an obsession that knows few bounds. Much of Eastern culture, on the other hand, suffered from the opposite problem, building upon the idea of restraint while rejecting the idea of human willfulness; the result was a culture that often left man passive and inert.

One of the foundations of modern Western thought is the mechanistic view of nature. Descartes, for example, described the natural world as a machine lacking spirit and soul, as opposed to the human subject who thinks and feels.⁶⁶ Inspired by this conception of his surroundings, Western man’s attitude toward the world became in the modern era disrespectful and exploitative, thereby inverting the ideal of the classical world: Not only did nature cease to be the object of imitation; it was reduced to the level of a resource that may be totally subordinated to man’s unbridled will.⁶⁷

This change was reflected in the way work came to be viewed in contemporary culture. As opposed to the pre-modern view, which saw production as a dialogue between the craftsman and nature, modern civilization offered an approach to production in which nature played a purely functional role. This exploitative ethos eventually came to characterize not only man’s relationship with nature, but also his perception of himself. Instead of taking the time now and again to halt creative activity and thereby lend it more profound meaning, Western man set for himself an often all-consuming ideal of achievement—the boundless attainment of goals, sometimes even at the expense of their careful selection. This was accompanied by the emergence in the industrialized West of what has been called “instrumental rationalism,” which judges achievement mainly through utilitarian and economic standards.⁶⁸ As a result of this approach, man has frequently found himself a slave to his own will to achieve—a development which has been devastating in its effects on his creative abilities, which actually require restraint as much as they require exercise of the will for their fruition.

The transformation of Western man into a kind of self-exploiting machine finds expression in many areas of Western life, even in its notion of leisure. Free time, and particularly the weekend, is widely seen as a means of “recharging” after a laborious week, in preparation for the next. In the process, the spiritual dimension of the Sabbath is mostly lost in favor of a utilitarian approach that defines the “success” of leisure along lines of cost and benefit just like anything else. As the sociologist Chris Rojek has put it, “the primary purpose of rest and relaxation in leisure is to renew or increase the market value of individuals by replenishing their energies for more work or extending their capacity for more demanding labor tasks.”⁶⁹ Western man has become addicted to the heady power of the unrestrained will, and as a consequence has become to a certain degree alienated from his surroundings, and even from his own self, with all its forgotten but ever-present limitations.⁷⁰

If much of Western culture is characterized by an imbalance in favor of the will, in Eastern civilizations we are likely to find the reverse. The philosophies of Taoism and Buddhism extol not the will but restraint, or, more precisely, the defeat of the will. Broadly speaking, these cultures idealize attentiveness to and harmony with nature. They encourage man to bridge the gulf between himself and existence, and to unite with it through passive submission. “To yield,” says Lao-Tzu, “is to be preserved whole.”⁷¹

These belief systems do not see the will as valuable in its own right. They instead seek harmony between man and nature in every aspect of his worldly activity. Man must “lose himself” in the harmonious flow of nature; the ego’s desire for success is but a stumbling block on the path to negation.⁷² According to this view, man’s contact with nature must resemble nature; it must be without purposefulness, without even thought. The secret to Eastern art and craft lies in its belief that excessive thoughts, plans or desires run counter to natural reality and must therefore be overcome. This nullification of the ego finds expression, for example, in the beautiful Chinese artwork that was the envy of European artists, especially in the late nineteenth century. The greatness of this art lies primarily in its imitation of nature; this is achieved, however, not through the artist’s own personalized reaction to nature, but through the very suppression of that reaction, so as not to disrupt the flawless representation of nature.

One Eastern teaching which places particular emphasis on emptying the consciousness of aspiration and will is Zen, one of the most widespread forms of Buddhism. In Zen this is achieved primarily through meditation, an exercise in physical and mental concentration that brings about a negation of man’s will and unique personality. Instead, emphasis is placed on the minutiae of human praxis, which are seen as an integral part of the unchanging natural environment to which man must conform. In those elements of Japanese tradition influenced by Zen Buddhism (which, since its beginnings in twelfth-century Japan, has wielded long-term influence on Japanese culture), overwhelming importance is ascribed to the meticulous observance of ritual in a wide range of areas, from mundane activities such as cooking, bathing, wrapping gifts and serving tea, to the martial arts. According to the Zen approach, creative activity that expresses an individual’s personality only distances him from his true goal of unification with nature. True harmony is achieved through the recurring occupation with insignificant details, which are devoid of any expression of the individual will.⁷³

The severance of the self from the content of one’s labor brought these activities to a remarkable esthetic and technical level. But it also produced a culture characterized by a delegitimization of individual aspirations, the necessary result of which was cultural stagnation. The daring of the creative will, which so stirred Western civilization, languished under the traditional societies of the Far East. The stark conservatism of these societies allowed for little innovation or originality, which were seen as undermining the harmony of the natural order.