Some Benefits That Can Be Derived from Serving God (Column 559)

Several times in the past I’ve been asked why one should serve God at all. The question becomes especially sharp in light of my view that this should be done only because it is the truth, and not for secondary reasons. Many people feel that this is not sufficient grounds for doing so. So what if it’s true? Why should I do anything about it if it doesn’t benefit me, or if not in order to obtain such benefits?

Again and again I say that I do not see how the claim that a given act is the truth and what ought to be done is not sufficient to justify a commitment to it. You have no greater justification than this. It seems that what they mean is that such a direction does not give them the motivation to do it. In other words, the problem is psychological rather than philosophical. True, it’s justified, but it is still unclear why I should do it with no reason or interest. This past Friday I concluded the Faith series (Lesson 47), where I addressed the subject of the benefit one derives from serving God (the points appear at the end of my book The First Being). In a broader view, it seems to me this is also related to the approaching Passover holiday, for—as we shall see—the benefits I will discuss here are in some sense an expansion of the believer’s freedom. I thought that the eve of Passover provides a good opportunity to touch on the matter.

The Basis for Religious Commitment

I have discussed this subject more than once in the past (see, for example, Column 395 and many more), and I bring it here only as necessary background for the discussion. When we come to ground our commitment to some normative system, we assume that there are principles more basic than it on which it can itself be grounded. But it is easy to see that we end up in an infinite regress. Any principle that grounds what I wish to ground will itself require grounding on something else. Where does this chain of reasoning stop? If we wish to avoid regress, we must stop at the most basic principles (that is, principles that are self-evident).

In several places I explained that commitment to the divine command is the most fundamental principle, and therefore it requires no further grounding. Moreover, I showed that serving for any other reason—such as the rationales of the commandments or the improvement of the world that comes from them—lacks religious value (see Maimonides, end of Kings). The same holds for service out of love and fear of the Holy One; this too is “not for its own sake” (see Laws of Idolatry 3:6), and likewise service for the sake of satisfaction or reward and punishment (Maimonides, Repentance ch. 10). Maimonides there in Laws of Idolatry, following the Talmud, calls the proper basis for religious service “accepting Him as God.” A “God” is one whose commands we must obey by virtue of His being God and His commanding them, without any further rationale. This is why judges are called “elohim” in the Torah, for there is an obligation to obey them by virtue of their being judges. This is the closest human analogue to God. Service of the Holy One is founded on our having accepted Him upon ourselves as God (i.e., recognizing that He is God), and nothing more.

In other words, when someone asks me why serve God, the correct answer is: Because—because He is God.[1] A parallel is George Mallory, the British mountaineer, who was asked why he climbs Everest and replied: “Because it’s there.” To understand this better, consider moral commitment. Think of a person who asks you: I understand well that murder is immoral, yet I still don’t understand why I shouldn’t murder. What can one answer him? Essentially nothing. If he asks this, he simply does not truly understand that murder is immoral. The claim that murder is immoral means that we must not murder. This follows from the very “factual” claim that it is forbidden to murder (in this context I have often spoken of “ethical facts” and noted that Hume’s is–ought gap does not apply to them).

So too regarding religious commitment. A person cannot say: I know that God commanded not to eat pork, but why shouldn’t I eat it? If he asks this, he likely does not truly know that God commanded it, or does not understand what it means to be God. A divine command contains within it the commitment to obey. Attempts to ground religious or moral obligation on other, more basic principles are doomed to fail. They do not hold water.

The clearest expression of this picture appears in chapter ten of Maimonides’ Laws of Repentance:

1. A person should not say: I will fulfill the mitzvot of the Torah and engage in its wisdom so that I receive all the blessings written in it, or so that I merit life in the World to Come; and I will separate from the transgressions the Torah warns against so that I am saved from the curses written in the Torah or so that I am not cut off from life in the World to Come. It is not fitting to serve the Lord in this way, for one who serves in this manner serves out of fear; this is not the level of the prophets nor of the sages. None serve the Lord in this way except the common folk, women, and children, whom one educates to serve out of fear until their knowledge increases, and they serve out of love.

2. One who serves out of love occupies himself with Torah and mitzvot and walks in the paths of wisdom not because of anything in the world, and not out of fear of harm, and not in order to inherit the good; rather, he does the truth because it is the truth, and ultimately the good will come on its account. This level is exceedingly great, and not every sage merits it. It was the level of Abraham our father, whom the Holy One called “My beloved,” because he served only out of love. And it is the level that the Holy One commanded us through Moses, as it is said: “And you shall love the Lord your God”; and when a person loves the Lord with the proper love, he will immediately do all the commandments out of love.

3. And what is this proper love? That one love the Lord with an exceedingly great, intense love, such that his soul is bound up in the love of the Lord, and he is obsessed with it constantly, like one who is lovesick and whose mind is never free from the love of that woman—he is preoccupied with her always, when he sits and when he rises, when he eats and when he drinks. Even more than this must be the love of the Lord in the hearts of those who love Him—they are constantly preoccupied with it, as we were commanded: “with all your heart and with all your soul.” And it is what Solomon said by way of parable: “for I am lovesick”; and the entire Song of Songs is a parable for this matter.

4. The early sages said: Lest you say, I will study Torah in order to become wealthy, in order to be called “rabbi,” in order to receive reward in the World to Come—Scripture therefore says: “to love the Lord”—whatever you do, do only out of love. And they further said: “In His commandments he takes great delight”—not in the reward for His commandments. And so the great sages would urge their discerning and intelligent students specifically: “Do not be like servants who serve the master in order to receive a reward… but because He is the Master, He is worthy to be served,” meaning: serve out of love.

5. Anyone who engages in Torah in order to receive reward or in order to avoid misfortune—this is engaging “not for its own sake.” But whoever engages in it not out of fear and not to receive reward, but out of love for the Master of all the earth who commanded it—this is engaging “for its own sake.” And the sages said: “A person should always engage in Torah even not for its own sake, for from not for its own sake one comes to for its own sake.” Therefore, when teaching children, women, and the general populace, we teach them only to serve out of fear and to receive reward, until their knowledge increases and they grow exceedingly wise; then we reveal this secret to them little by little and accustom them to this matter gently until they grasp and know it and serve out of love.

In Column 22 (and in my essay here) I argued that the “love” spoken of here is not a feeling but “doing the truth because it is the truth” (as he writes in 10:2). He comes to reject serving God for the sake of reward and avoiding punishment, but also any other motive (as above). So why are reward and punishment given for commandments and transgressions? Are they meant only for “women and children” (as he writes at the end of 10:1)?

In that very sentence in 10:2 there is an addendum:

One who serves out of love occupies himself with Torah and mitzvot and walks in the paths of wisdom not because of anything in the world, and not out of fear of harm, and not in order to inherit the good, but does the truth because it is the truth, and ultimately the good will come on its account.

He adds a statement that although it is not fitting to serve for the sake of interest, there is an interest. We do not serve for the sake of the good, but in the end the good comes. At first glance, he is merely excluding the view that we serve for the sake of the good, while adding that it remains true that there is good. But I suspect there is something more here.

It may be that Maimonides here comes to address exactly the difficulty I described above. Even if I concluded that serving God is the truth, I still lack motivation to do so—and perhaps even to search and think so as to arrive at the insight that this is what ought to be done. If I know that good comes from this (to me or to the world), this spurs me to search, think, and arrive at this commitment, and ultimately to act in accordance with it. On the philosophical plane, when I act I am supposed to do so lishmah—that is, not for those goals, but because this is the truth (see Columns 120 and 122 on actions done not for the sake of self-interest). My claim is that even if a person serves lishmah, still for him too there is significance in knowing that benefit will come of this service.

Summary of the Column

In what follows I will try to spell out the different benefits that can be derived from serving God. I will address five benefits: a valid basis for morality; rationality; self-expression; meaning; Jewish identity. My aim here is mainly to summarize, and therefore I will not elaborate on them. I have discussed them all in the past and will, in each, point to the main relevant places here on the site. The overall picture is what matters to me here.

Let me stress again that one who serves God for any one of these five reasons is serving Him not for His sake. These are only motivations that help one serve Him lishmah. As for someone who does not believe in the Holy One at all, the problem is much greater. Clearly none of these benefits is relevant for such a person. A non-believer cannot observe commandments because they give him self-expression or a basis for morality or any other benefit. Not only because such service has no religious value, as explained thus far, but because these are not sufficient reasons to serve God. Can a non-believer believe and observe commandments in order to gain self-expression or meaning? Certainly not (see Column 408 on Pascal’s wager). His mitzvot are also worthless (they have no religious value). Not for nothing did I dedicate the final chapter of my book The First Being to this subject—after surveying the philosophical arguments for the existence of God and the basis for religious commitment. After all that I added these benefits too, for the reasons I detailed above.

My words regarding these benefits are directed to believing people who know that this is what ought to be done and that it is the truth. The benefits can help them find the motivation to shape their stance on religious commitment and, even more, to engage with this truth in practice in their lives. I know well that many will disagree with the concise descriptions I present here (which may seem counter-intuitive and even infuriating, especially with respect to a secular person), but I do not intend here to argue these claims. They are presented in greater detail in the columns to which I refer, where those debates already took place. And in general, outrage is not an argument. Insult is sometimes the way a person lacking arguments defends himself against opposing views. In any case, my goal here is only to summarize the overall picture, and I am addressing primarily those committed to Torah and mitzvot.

A. A Valid Basis for Morality

In Column 456 I argued that without belief in God and commitment to Him there is no valid basis for morality and moral obligation. Morally proper behavior, of course, exists in an atheistic world as well. Moreover, I am not even sure that the behavior of believers in practice is more moral than that of atheists. Faith is no guarantee of morality (and in these turbulent days it is very easy to notice this; sometimes the opposite appears true). My claim is that an atheist’s morality, even if he acts according to it, lacks validity and foundation. If he behaves properly it is only because that’s how he feels, or he is simply inconsistent, or alternatively because he is a covert believer (even from himself).

This, then, is the first benefit that can be derived from faith: it gives the believer a valid basis for his moral obligations and values.

B. Rational Conduct

Rational conduct means making decisions and living in light of a system of principles that I have resolved to adopt. The greater the portion of my life that runs this way, the more rationally I conduct myself. One who conducts himself by feelings and reacts to circumstances through emotions and instincts conducts himself less rationally. It is important to clarify that I am not entering here the question of what is better, or whether it is good to be rational (in this sense). Let each decide for himself. My claim is that religious commitment enables us to live rationally. If that works for you, then here is another benefit. I personally write from the perspective of a typical Litvak, for whom rational conduct is an irreplaceable advantage.

It is commonly thought that a sprawling system of norms imposed on me actually prevents me from making decisions and being rational. Rationality, they say, is the result of a personal decision about one’s principles and values (therefore machines cannot be considered rational; see Column 175), and a religious person ostensibly does not himself decide his principles. I have often pointed out the common mistake whereby the sovereign, rational person legislates his own values. This is, of course, nonsense. A rational person decides to commit himself to an existing value system—halakhah or morality—but does not determine it. Otherwise it is mere whim. I illustrated this in Column 72 and in the series of columns 126–131, where I distinguished between freedom (=the absence of external constraints) and liberty (=autonomous action within external constraints). In this language, rational conduct is the mode of action of a free person.

In Column 31 I argued that faith can provide a framework that enables rational conduct in life—something usually impossible without it. We are speaking of commitment to a very detailed system that addresses every aspect of our lives. A believer has more decision-points and more principles by which he acts (morality and halakhah). Almost every step he takes is examined in light of this system of forbidden, permitted, and obligatory. He forges for himself a way of conduct and interpretation of those principles, and of course he also builds a hierarchy that arranges the relations between these norms.

By contrast, a person not halakhically committed has in his world very few binding principles, and so in most of his life he behaves naturally (and to a great extent emotionally). His morality is usually a product of feeling. Moreover, even the principles that bind him he legislates for himself (I already spoke about morality in the previous section; even if he has it, its source is an implicit faith or it reflects inconsistency), and therefore they lack validity.

On the experiential level too, a believer lives his entire life before his system of principles. He examines them and his actions, and makes decisions about how and whether to implement them, and in what way. I do not know of any other normative system that allows a person to begin with the most abstract principles—indeed, philosophical principles—and derive from them practical conclusions that guide him at every step of his concrete life: how to tie shoes, what to do first, if I missed something what I should do instead, monetary law, relations to others, and so on and so forth. In my eyes this is one of the chief bonuses of a religious (Jewish) life.

I have often noted that this is one of the central points that a secular person does not grasp about religious life. He does not understand or accept rational, cool conduct that seems to him alienated from natural feeling. These are principles that do not speak to his heart; beyond his not accepting them (which is a debate on the rational plane), he does not even understand the very phenomenon of acting in light of such principles (that is, such cool rationality). See more on this in Column 31.

C. Originality and Self-Expression

This point truly surprises many, and I think it is important to consider it. Here I will only explain it briefly. In Columns 130–131 I presented Amos Oz’s claim that the Sinai revelation was a kind of Big Bang that created a Jewish void, and since then we keep filling it with more and more furniture without removing anything. Thus, in his view, halakhic Judaism fossilizes and fails to cope with changing times and circumstances, in contrast to the new Hebrew literature that replaced it in handling such change.

There I explained that his fundamental mistake is mathematical. Think of a chessboard of 64 squares. Now I give you a single pawn and ask you to place it on the board. How many possibilities are there? 64, of course. Now I add a knight. How many possibilities are there to arrange a pawn and a knight on a chessboard? 64×63, of course—about sixty times more. And if I add a bishop? The number of possibilities increases by about another factor of sixty (64×63×62). Surprisingly, the more pieces I have, the greater the number of ways to arrange them on the board.[2] Each person can choose the arrangement that seems right to him and thereby express his personality and views. By contrast, a person tasked with arranging a chessboard with no pieces at all has exactly one possibility. One equipped with only a small number of pieces has few possibilities for arranging them. Paradoxically, absolute freedom creates a situation in which the result is more forced upon us. And a person who can put chess pieces on a random surface with no squares and no constraints may create many possibilities, but it is not very interesting.

I explained there that this is the role of genre conventions in art. Specifically when one operates within the rules of a genre is there room for the creator’s self-expression. A creation with no rules and no framework is insignificant. It says nothing to others, and therefore there is no true self-expression of the creator. Self-expression is achieved when a person creates within a given framework of constraints just like all the other creators in that genre, and yet succeeds in creating something personal and unique that expresses him. When there are no binding principles, there are no conventions and thus no uniqueness and outliers. To stand out, one needs a background.

For our purposes, precisely like the chess example, the greater the number of principles that bind you, the greater the number of possibilities to interpret them and arrange them in different orders. Within the halakhic-Torah system the number of ways to arrange and interpret its principles is enormous. Moreover, precisely because we are dealing with a complex system of binding norms, there are debates and disagreements, and each person gives expression to his stance and personality different from all others. This is made possible precisely because everything is done within the same framework accepted by all. In a world without binding principles everyone can act as he wishes, but it means little, and there is no genuine self-expression. In a world where anything goes and there are no rules, there is no possibility of meaningful self-expression in any mode of conduct we choose. Choice gets its meaning from the fact that the chooser must act within the very system of principles in which he operates.

It is no wonder that disputes within the religious world are far more numerous, larger, and fiercer than what occurs outside it. These label those as heretics, and those openly oppose transgressors, Reform, and others. Sometimes it is frustrating and infuriating, and many feel more comfortable in a secular pluralistic world that ostensibly allows everything (not really; the need for self-expression is strong there too, so principles to fight for are invented). The multiplicity of disputes expresses the fact that there are principles important to each person and group, and they are prepared to fight for them. It is not really worth living in a world where there is nothing worth dying for.

One indication of this is that there are many more shades and colors of religiosity than of secularity. In the religious world a person can identify himself as Maimonidean or as holding a kabbalistic worldview, Hasidic, Mitnagdic, religious-Zionist, anti-Zionist, liberal, modern, conservative, and more—each divided into myriad personal and group hues (with different halakhic interpretations and approaches)—and from each such approach many decisions flow every day and at every step of life. He must shape this view in light of binding sources, which he interprets—at times in his own way—and set up for himself a normative system that guides his life and his decisions. In a world devoid of commitment such a thing hardly exists. There, in very specific points, one’s being a socialist or capitalist, determinist or libertarian, democrat or republican, may be expressed. It is expressed mainly on election day, but hardly in day-to-day life.

Of course there are different shades of secular people, but not of secularity (thus, for example, socialism or capitalism is not necessarily tied to secularity). In the religious world the different shades are shades of religiosity itself. The reason is that secularity is the absence of faith and of religious principles (and in my view, usually the absence of valid principles altogether). In a world of a single principle there is only a single shade (roughly like placing a single pawn on a one-square “board”). The greater the number of constraints, the more ways there are to deal with them. Therefore, the greater the number of values you are bound to, the greater the number of unique ways you have to live by them and express yourself and your personality. Incidentally, this is why “lite” religiosity—those who in fact live as they please—does not enjoy this benefit. If you arbitrarily choose your rules, your choices carry no personal significance. For this reason I also rejected Amos Oz’s claim that modern Hebrew literature is what deals with Judaism’s confrontation with changing circumstances. This is nonsense, of course. When there is no commitment to anything, there is nothing to confront. One who believes in a good God must confront phenomena like the Holocaust and find an answer to them, or decide how to live with them. But one who does not believe in God cannot and need not “confront” the Holocaust (other than as a human phenomenon; that is a different sort of confrontation from the one missing in the religious world). It is a distressing and despair-inducing human event, but still a fact and nothing more.

I repeat that self-expression is not necessarily a value (there is room to discuss this). I bring it here as a benefit that a person can derive, not as a value. For a person interested in self-expression, this is a good motivation to enter into religious commitment (again, this cannot be the basis for such commitment).

D. Meaning and a Sense of Meaning

Another existential bonus, similar but not identical to the previous, is a sense of meaning. Many psychologists and philosophers have noted that human happiness is based on two components: pleasure and meaning. Moreover, various studies show that the component of meaning is far more important than that of pleasure. In Column 159 I distinguished two senses of “meaning”: psychological-subjective and philosophical-objective. Psychological meaning is meaning that a person finds for himself without any external anchor. This can certainly have a therapeutic role (Viktor Frankl). Meaning in its philosophical sense is meaning that a person’s actions and values have in an objective sense. In sections A (the validity of morality) and B (rationality) above I dealt with the latter sense of meaning. In a religious world there is an external source that gives validity to values, and therefore meaning to actions. Psychological meaning can exist for any person regardless of his views, but without an external source it is essentially a façade. A person creates meaning ex nihilo for himself to fill the void left by the lack of objective meaning. Communism created such a framework for itself, and it is clear that its members’ experience was very authentic. But it had no real cover. It was a religion without God, and it is no wonder it fell apart of its own accord.

If there is no yardstick against which a person can examine his actions and conduct—if he himself is the yardstick for his actions—then, of course, he will readily come out righteous and justified, but for precisely that reason it also lacks real value. A person who lives in a world empty of a framework with an external source of validity lives in a world in which he creates his values for himself. “The mouth that forbade is the mouth that can also permit.” Loyalty to such values does not grant a genuine sense of meaning (unless there is an underlying faith, even if unacknowledged). It is no wonder that many people in our world feel difficulty regarding the meaning of their lives, for meaning is created chiefly when one lives against binding yardsticks. When one serves something greater than oneself, one knows that one’s life has a goal and that one must realize it, perfect it, and pass it on to future generations. Therefore a believer does not truly need to create such a façade of meaning.

E. Jewish Identity

Religious commitment contributes to forging a link to tradition and to previous generations—that is, to shaping personal and national identity. Everyone today sees the relentless search for all this among secular groups. They return to the Jewish bookshelf (which is almost entirely religious) and attempt to create circular identities that don’t hold water (“A Jew is one who feels himself to be a Jew”). They arrive at definitions devoid of logical content—for example, identifying “Jewish identity” with a set of universal values held by any reasonable person in the world. Their Judaism is “being a good person,” preferably also the child of parents murdered in the Holocaust. Such an identity hardly holds water; it is a fig leaf that allows people to live with the feeling that they are still connected to Judaism. I am not speaking here about identity in its ethnic-cultural sense. Defining such identity is amorphous and vague in every nation and culture, and at bottom it is a kind of racism (albeit a fairly legitimate kind). It is an ethnic and cultural fact, not a value. I am speaking of Jewish identity or Judaism as a value. Attempts to define Jewish values within secular frameworks fail again and again. The most salient example is the discussion of a “Jewish and democratic” state. There it is clear that “democratic” is responsible for the values, and “Jewish” for a folklore lacking real content. It is no wonder this remains a live landmine in Israel’s internal debates between religious and secular people, especially these days (when I am truly ashamed to belong to the religious camp in Israel).

In contrast, go and see how many among the religious public engage in the question of their Jewish identity. It is almost nonexistent there. This reminds me of my sister’s (secular) mythic story: she studied criminology and told me that almost every course began with a discussion of what “science” is. I told her that in physics none of us dealt with that. So too with the preoccupation with “Jewish identity.” Incidentally, in the secular public few addressed it until the last few decades. So long as there were other values that filled the void (Zionism, establishing the state, survival, etc.), they covered over the vacuum that was always there. Now we have reached a less urgent reality in which the vacuum returns and reveals itself.

In several places in the past (see my essays here and here; in the series of columns 336–339, and more) I have already discussed the paradoxes and the great void that prevail in debates about Judaism and secular Jewish identity, and I will not return to that here. For our purposes, Jewish identity is the fifth benefit that can be derived from religious commitment. Like the previous ones, by itself it is of course not a reason to enter religious commitment. And for one to whom Jewish identity is of no interest, this benefit is not significant. But like its predecessors it points to the fact that if Jewish identity matters to you, it is worth examining the issue and forming a stance on it.

To my repeated surprise I observe the obsessive preoccupation with defining secular Judaism and the search for ties to the past and cultural roots, which testifies to a very deep need for Jewish identity. I think the tsunami of debates about Jewish identity following Rabbi Shach’s “Rabbits and Pigs” speech, and the flood of returnees to observance that I myself encountered in Bnei Brak in its wake, testify most strongly that this need exists—alive and kicking.

Conclusion: The Link to Liberty and to Passover

In the series of columns 126–131 I discussed the liberty that faith and religious commitment grant us, and this is the connection to Passover that I mentioned at the beginning. All five benefits I described here are, in a certain sense, different components of the concept of liberty that I described in that series. A free person is one who acts according to valid values, shapes his way rationally, with unique self-expression of his views—one for whom there is true meaning to his life (and not only a psychological façade). And if he is a Jew, then a real Jewish identity won’t hurt here either (beyond the ethnic fact of his origin and culture).

At the margins I will only note that there is another side to the coin: religious commitment enables liberty in all the components described here, but holding on to such commitment does not mean you are free. Part of the matter is forming an independent stance and not automatically joining the usual current just to gain a sense of belonging and meaning. A free person must forge his own path and be sufficiently honest and courageous to stand by his views and values even if they are not appreciated by his peers in the religious group. Mere belonging to that group is not essentially different from belonging to any other group. It indeed enables liberty, but one must not identify the two.

On the eve of Passover it is worth contemplating this overall picture and its implications, as Jews and as free people. May we all have a kosher, happy, and cheerful Passover. I hope that in its wake there will be some improvement in our depressing situation here in the country.

[1] I have often noted a distinction between two kinds of “because.” There is a “because” in the sense of arbitrariness (“because I feel like it”), and a “because” in the sense of self-evidence (“because it is plainly correct and needs no further argument”).

[2] If it is a checkers board where the pieces are identical, the maximum is attained with 32 pieces.