Poetics of Inhabitance
Inhabit, from the Latin inhabitare, from in - ‘in’ + habitare ‘dwell’ (from habere ‘have’), and its synonyms: occupy, reside, indwell, also to populate, possess, to live, settle, perch, roost and squat. What distinguishes the words of this verb group from one another? Are they distinguished in the measurement of time, by the days or generations a person or people inhabits a place? Or by the claim of possession, on account of indigeneity, or purchase, or divine bestowal, by which one justifies one’s inhabitance of a place. Or the words might be differentiated by the state of mind of the one who inhabits? Aren’t we all descendants of birds fearfully guarding our nests? Are not residence and dwelling more tranquil postures than inhabitance?
The common Hebrew word for inhabitance (ישב) derives from the literal act of sitting, “And he appeared to him at the Terebinths of Mamre, he was sitting (ישב) by the entrance of the tent in the heat of the day” (Genesis 18:1). Two generations later Abraham’s grandson has moved into metaphor, from the opening of the tent to the space within it. He is called (ישב אוהלים) inhabiter of tents, comfortable within the hearth where his strange brother has no need for a residence, he is a man of the field (איש שדה).
But the Hebrew (ישב) is wide in meaning. (ישוב) is a settlement of any kind, ancient or modern. And (תשובה) repentance, is the prime movement of this holy day spiritual cycle, that is going back, returning to one’s residence in/with god. Or better, (והשבת אל לבבך) returning to dwell in one’s heart. This is the act of prayer, to settle the heart (מיישבים את הלב) or inhabit oneself for prayer (ישב עצמו בתפילה).
But there is another poetics that emphasizes the unease of inhabitance. The subject of the most repeated verse of the Torah, “Be kind to the stranger (גר) for you were strangers in Egypt,” is also a verb for inhabitance, as in, “when a stranger inhabits your land with you (יגור אתך גר), you shall not wrong her” (Leviticus 19:33). To inhabit is to inhabit alongside creatures human, animal and angelic that are other, unknown, and mysterious. Here we think of Eric Santner’s Psychotheology of Everyday Life:
“To put it in the most basic terms, I want to propose that the ethics at the core of both psychoanalysis and the Judeo-Christian tradition (as interpreted by Rosenzweig) is an ethics pertaining to my answerability to my neighbor-with-an-unconscious. What makes the Other other is not his or her spatial exteriority with respect to my being but the fact that he or she is strange, is a stranger, and not only to me but also to him- or herself, is the bearer of an internal alterity, an enigmatic density of desire calling for response beyond any rule-governed reciprocity; against this background, the very opposition between “neighbor” and “stranger” begins to lose its force. I furthermore want to propose that it is precisely this sort of answerability that is at the heart of our very aliveness to the world.”
Inhabitance is accompanied by a natural fear whose acquaintance is key to our vibrancy in the world. But the strangeness of inhabitance need not be an eternal torment. By acknowledging the fear rooted in all inhabitance, we can transform its power into the fuel of an eternal flame. As in, “Might I inhabit (אגורה) your tent forever, take refuge in the hiddenness of your wings … Might he dwell (ישב) forever with god, let love and truth be his guardians (Psalm 61:5,8). The Talmud asks, when is the world settled (ישב עולם) before god? When love and truth are her guardians. (Talmud Eruvin 86a)