Does Halachic Ruling Reflect the Truth? Dr. Michael Avraham, the Advanced Torah Institute at Bar-Ilan University

Table of Contents

• [0:05] Introduction: the relationship between Jewish law and truth
• [1:40] Following the majority — determining reality
• [3:04] Different kinds of majority — three models
• [4:40] The difficulty of determining wisdom and choosing a sage
• [10:30] The three goals of majority rule in Jewish law
• [12:54] The dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel — background
• [15:01] Heads or feet? Counting the majority among sages
• [31:50] Differences in responsibility in halakhic treatment and in thought
• [33:01] An example of a halakhic debate: may one cause another person to stumble?
• [34:35] The innovation in the Ritva and the laws of “do not place a stumbling block”
• [35:59] The purpose of a halakhic majority: to reveal what the public thinks

Summary

General Overview

The text raises the question of the relationship between halakhic ruling and truth in the halakhic sense, and suggests three possible ways of understanding following the majority: as a tool for clarifying the truth, as a mechanism for creating peace and making a technical decision, or as an algorithm for representing the will of the group. The author argues that in democracy the majority is not meant to reach the most correct decision but to reflect what the public wants, by virtue of a conception of rights and autonomy, and he asks whether the same is true of halakhic majority rule. Through the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel and a reading of the heavenly voice, he presents one reading according to which Jewish law does not strive for a single truth but for an ordering decision, as against Rabbi Yosef Karo’s interpretation, which sees the ruling in favor of Beit Hillel as a striving for truth because of a superior methodology. Finally, he sharpens the distinction between pluralism and tolerance and proposes a halakhic test case through the laws of “do not place a stumbling block” and the Ritva in Sukkah, concluding with the view that the purpose of halakhic majority rule is fundamentally similar to democratic majority rule — namely, representing the will of the group by virtue of autonomy, even when there is no certainty that this is the truth.

Factual Truth and Halakhic Truth

The text distinguishes between the use of facts in halakhic ruling and the question of halakhic truth, and states that sometimes halakhic decisors build constructions and represent facts in a tendentious way that does not always reflect reality. The text focuses on the question whether in halakhic ruling there is one correct answer at which we aim, or whether halakhic ruling is a technical tool for creating uniformity, peace, and preventing disputes without commitment to truth. The text emphasizes that the question is about halakhic truth, not factual truth.

Three Models of Following the Majority

The text presents following the majority as a tool for clarifying reality, as in the example of a piece of meat in relation to nine kosher shops and one non-kosher one, where the majority seems to provide a higher probability for identifying the source. The text notes that Rabbi Shimon Shkop discusses this at length, and that not everyone agrees that the majority is a tool for clarifying reality, but that this is the straightforward view. The text sets out a second model in which the majority provides a way to decide in order to prevent disputes and create peace, and a third model of democratic majority rule whose purpose is not truth or peace but representing the will of the public.

Democratic Majority, Rights, and Rejecting Rule by Philosophers

The text presents Plato’s proposal for rule by philosophers and two common responses to it: the difficulty of defining who is wise, and the danger that a small group will act out of self-interest, while arguing that these responses are unnecessary because the question itself is mistaken. The text states that the erroneous basic assumption is that democracy seeks the best decision, whereas in reality the purpose of voting is to arrive at what the public wants. It grounds this in a conception of rights according to which every citizen has an equal right to influence matters, whether he is foolish or wise, and adds that a public has the right to act incorrectly so long as that is what it wants to do. The text explains that the majority is the simplest algorithm for producing a final answer to the question, “What does the public want?” and quotes that “the clear-minded people of Jerusalem would check who sat with them at a meal” in order to stress that one should not join a society if one is not willing to accept majority decisions when one is in the minority.

What Majority Means in a Halakhic Dispute

The text asks what it means to follow the majority in a religious court or in the Sanhedrin, when there is already “rule by philosophers” because those sitting there are sages, and it presents the common approach according to which the majority is meant to bring us closer to the truth. The text attributes to the author of Sefer HaChinukh the claim that if the majority thinks something, there is a greater chance that it is close to the truth than the minority view, and it notes that the author himself tends to think that the minority is usually right. The text sharpens the point that this question becomes especially acute in the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel and in the ruling of the heavenly voice.

Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel, Majority of “Feet or Heads,” and the Heavenly Voice

The text cites the Talmud in Eruvin: “These and those are the words of the living God, but the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel,” and notes that Tosafot asks, “But is it not ‘It is not in heaven’?” The text uses an earlier Tosafot in Eruvin that says the question was why they did not vote based on “incline after the majority,” and explains that they tried, but disagreed about how to count: Beit Hillel were more numerous, but Beit Shammai were “sharper,” and therefore the question arose whether we follow the majority of people or the majority of wisdom — “the majority of feet or the majority of heads.” The text states that when the dispute is about the methods of decision themselves, one cannot use a method of decision that is not agreed upon, and therefore they needed a heavenly voice because there was no internal halakhic way to decide in such a situation.

The Continuation of the Debate: Rav Hai Gaon and Maimonides, and the Acceptance of the “Feet” Method

The text notes that Sefer HaChinukh brings a dispute between Rav Hai Gaon and Maimonides regarding a religious court of three, where one is “learned and understands” or is “an expert recognized by the many,” and two less wise judges disagree with him. The question is whether we follow the majority of wisdom or the majority of people. The text states that in the end it was accepted in Jewish law, “in one way or another,” like Maimonides’ view that we count feet, and that this fits the conclusion of the Talmud in Eruvin that the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel.

“These and Those” as Pluralism and as an Educational Reading of the Ruling

The text proposes a simple reading according to which the heavenly voice’s decision in favor of Beit Hillel means that Jewish law does not necessarily strive for one truth, and therefore one can say, “These and those are the words of the living God,” and nevertheless rule like Beit Hillel for other reasons. The text interprets the Talmud’s reason — “because they were pleasant and humble, and they stated the words of Beit Shammai before their own” — as a reward for good behavior and as a use of halakhic ruling for educational purposes, not as a criterion for halakhic truth. The text presents this as a “pluralistic” line of reading, in which there are several possible halakhic truths and the ruling does not identify the truth but creates an agreed bottom line.

Rabbi Yosef Karo’s Interpretation: The Reason as a Criterion for Truth

The text cites Rabbi Yosef Karo in his book Kelalei HaGemara, where he argues that the reason “pleasant and humble” is not a reward but a measure of truth, because a methodology of hearing the other side and giving precedence to its arguments makes it possible to come closer to the truth even if Beit Shammai were “sharper.” The text states that according to Rabbi Yosef Karo, the ruling like Beit Hillel is because that is the truth, or closer to the truth, and the passage is reread as a genuine striving for truth rather than as a preference for peace or education. The text notes that according to this reading, one still has to explain anew what “These and those are the words of the living God” means.

Pluralism versus Tolerance and the Limits of the Legitimacy of Error

The text distinguishes between pluralism as a multiplicity of truths and tolerance as a moral attitude that allows room for a position that is not correct in my eyes, and states that these are concepts belonging to different spheres: pluralism is logical-philosophical, while tolerance is ethical-moral. The text argues that the reading of “These and those are the words of the living God” can be tolerant rather than pluralistic, so that both sides are legitimate within certain limits even if one is mistaken, while still saying that “the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel” because they are closer to the truth. The text adds that there are “legitimate errors and illegitimate errors,” without going into the boundaries.

Testing with Halakhic Tools: “Do Not Place a Stumbling Block” and the Ritva in Sukkah

The text rejects a method that looks mainly for answers in the literature of philosophy and aggadic literature, and brings as an anecdote the Pnei Yehoshua, who in the introduction to his book tells of an earthquake in which his wife and daughter were killed, and of his vow “not to engage in aggadic literature,” because there “they are not so exact about the truth.” The text proposes a halakhic “laboratory”: a situation of personal dispute in which one person forbids and another permits, and asks whether one may cause the other to stumble in something that according to my view is not a transgression but according to his view is, as against the prohibition of “do not place a stumbling block before the blind.” The text states that if the approach is pluralistic then it is forbidden, and if it is monistic then it is permitted, and cites the Ritva in Sukkah, who says that it is permitted “provided that you tell him that this is the situation.” The text explains that this is an innovation, because even if the other person sins intentionally there is still an issue of “do not place a stumbling block,” as in the Talmud in Avodah Zarah about “handing a cup of wine to a nazirite.” The text concludes from the Ritva’s words a model of “tolerant monism,” in which there is no issue of “do not place a stumbling block” because according to my view there is no transgression, but one is still obligated to disclose the situation in order to respect the other person’s autonomy to make his own decisions even when they are mistaken.

Conclusion: The Purpose of Halakhic Majority Rule

The text returns to the question of the purpose of halakhic majority rule and suggests that in the author’s view the answer is the third possibility, similar to democratic majority rule — namely, to discover “what the public thinks is what we are supposed to do,” because autonomy requires us to do what we think, even if it is not the truth. The text notes that this is a subtle point and that there is no possibility of going into it further.

Hello everyone. I want to talk a bit about the relationship between Jewish law and truth—or halakhic ruling and truth—because this question, of course, can be understood in a few different ways. Two main ways. One can talk about the use of facts in halakhic ruling: whether those always have to be the correct facts. We know that sometimes halakhic decisors make certain constructions, represent the facts in a tendentious way, not always really reflecting actual reality. That’s one meaning. The meaning I want to focus on more—and I assume I won’t get to the first—is the meaning of halakhic truth, not factual truth. In other words, the question is whether, when we issue a halakhic ruling, we are aiming at some truth. Is there a correct answer that we either hit or miss? Or really not? Is halakhic ruling a technical matter—maybe to establish uniformity, peace, prevent disputes, things of that sort—but in essence halakhic ruling does not reflect truth?

Maybe to sharpen the question a bit, I’ll present a few meanings that following the majority can have as an example. In Jewish law, when we follow the majority, usually—at least from the simple perspective; there are discussions about this among the commentators, but the simple perspective is—that the majority serves us to clarify reality. Meaning, when you find a piece of meat lying around and there are nine kosher stores and one non-kosher one, and I ask myself where the piece of meat came from, I say: we follow the majority. I think most people would look at such a situation and say, yes, the higher probability is that the piece of meat came from one of the kosher stores. So as I already mentioned, among the commentators, Rabbi Shimon Shkop discusses this at length and others do too—not everyone agrees that this really is a tool for clarifying reality—but it seems to me that the simple way of looking at it is like that. So that’s one type of following the majority.

Another type of following the majority is what I mentioned earlier: giving the majority the power to determine what has to be determined in order to prevent disputes, in order to achieve peace. You need to establish some method of decision-making, and it’s reasonable to say that we follow the majority. That’s the second option.

There is a third type—maybe a third type—of following the majority, and this is a very interesting one, because I think it’s very easy not to grasp it correctly. I’m talking about a democratic majority. When I want to make a decision within a society, a community, some group that is supposed to decide something together, very often—or in most cases—the accepted rule is that we follow the majority. In a state too, usually, in one way or another, the majority is what is supposed to decide. What type is that? What kind of following the majority do we have here? Is this following the majority in order to establish peace? Is it following the majority in order to discover or get as close as possible to the truth?

There is the famous Platonic question—not question, the famous Platonic proposal—of rule by philosophers. Plato basically says: what do you mean? Why give every citizen equal weight? It makes more sense to take the wise people and let them determine how society should be run. Various answers have been given to this perhaps somewhat troubling question—certainly to modern ears. Usually, when discussions are held about this question, they talk about the difficulty of determining who is wise. Maybe wisdom in the political context—say if we’re talking about political laws—is not academic wisdom or wisdom of those other kinds, and it’s hard to characterize exactly how to weigh each person’s wisdom in that context. So basically it’s hard to do that. Notice that this answer really assumes that ideally one ought to do that, but it’s difficult, because how exactly do we determine who is wise and who isn’t for this purpose?

Another type of answer talks about the danger. If we let philosophers rule, then philosophers may make decisions that are not for the public good, not objective, self-interested. We’re giving a small group power to make decisions for all of us. And because of that, there is concern that they will use it for their own personal benefit or not for the public good. And again, the assumption is that the proposal is correct, the Platonic proposal. The wise really ought to make the decisions about how society should be run—but there are dangers here. Earlier there were difficulties; now there are dangers. But the basic structure of the question remains. In other words, we still need an explanation for why we don’t let the wise run things.

As I said before, “the wise running things” can of course mean all kinds of models. You could give everyone the right to vote and weigh it by IQ, or weigh it by this or that index of wisdom. It doesn’t have to mean choosing some council of sages, five people in a closed room, who make decisions for all of us. I think both of these answers contain something true, but they are unnecessary. They are unnecessary because the question is based on a mistake. The question is based on a mistake because it assumes that the goal of a democratic majority is to arrive at the best decision. Or that the majority is the method democracy has found in order to get as close as possible to the correct decision. And then the question immediately arises: fine, so let’s take the wise people; they’ll get closer to the correct decision—why give everyone an equal vote?

I want to deny that assumption. The decisions of a society in a democratic state, for example—but in other contexts too, in a community—are decisions that do not necessarily aim to be true, to be the most correct. They are not measured in terms of right and wrong. Not because there necessarily is no right and wrong, and not because it is necessarily impossible to reach right and wrong, but simply because that is not the goal. So what is the goal? When we are in a situation of public disagreement about how a state should be run—over a peace agreement, or whatever, some diplomatic decision or some social decision—the goal of voting is to reach what the public wants. In other words, the assumption is that what we ought to do is not necessarily the correct thing. What we ought to do is what the public wants to do. What ought to be done is what the public wants.

The basis of these things comes from some conception of rights. That is, every citizen has a right to influence the decisions of the society of which he is a part. It doesn’t matter whether he is foolish or wise, and it doesn’t matter what his worldview is; the assumption is that every citizen has an equal right to influence what society does, how society is run. And because of that, the purpose of the democratic process—say in the example of democratic government—is not to arrive at the most correct decision, and not to establish peace and prevent disputes. The purpose is to arrive at what the public wants.

Now, how do we know what the public wants? Every part of the public wants something else. There are disagreements. How do we know? What does “what the public wants” mean? Every part wants something different. We have no choice; we have to find some algorithm that will give us a final answer about which we can say, with some degree of reliability, that this is what the public wants. The simplest model—and by the way it isn’t the only one, there’s a lot of work on this in mathematical economics and in other contexts—but the simplest model is the majority. If there is a majority and a minority, then it is more reasonable, if I’m looking for the correct answer to the question “what does the public want,” that the majority reflects it better than the minority. And because of that, we follow the majority.

And therefore the question of rule by philosophers doesn’t require an answer at all; it never arises. That’s why there is no need to get into dangers and concerns and the difficulty of determining who is wise and who isn’t. The question doesn’t arise because it was based on the assumption that the majority was striving for truth, for the correct answer or whatever is closest to the correct answer. That assumption is false. A public has the right to act in an incorrect way as long as that is what it wants to do. If that’s what it wants to do, and it loses because of it—that’s its decision. Someone who doesn’t want to be part of the public—about that the Talmud says, “The clear-minded people of Jerusalem would check who sat with them at a meal.” In other words, don’t be a member of a society if you are not prepared to accept majority decisions when you are in the minority. There it’s talking about a religious court, but it is equally true of any group that makes decisions together.

So if that’s the case, we arrive at three models, or three goals, that the majority serves to achieve: either truth, or peace—solving disputes or preventing disputes—or reflecting or representing what the public wants. In some senses, this can also be connected to different halakhic concepts. “Its majority is like its entirety,” I think that’s something pretty close to the third concept. Or other kinds of majority—you can discuss whether they are of the first type or the second. I’m talking about majority in the halakhic sense of “we follow the majority.”

All right, that was just an introduction in order to sharpen the issue, and now I want to ask: what is the meaning of following the majority in a halakhic dispute? Which of the three meanings is it? Does it mean that the majority leads us as close as possible to the truth? Or does it mean that majority rule is a way to establish peace? Or does it mean that the majority is the way to discover what the group wants? And here I’m no longer talking about a majority in democratic contexts or community contexts, but majority in the sense of, say, a dispute in a religious court or in the Sanhedrin. A halakhic dispute among sages. Here you already have rule by philosophers. The Sanhedrin is made up of sages. The question is: why is the majority followed there?

The accepted approach is that this majority—as the author of Sefer HaChinukh, for example, writes—is basically intended to achieve the truth or get as close as possible to the truth. That usually, leaving aside one difference or another that is accidental, in general if most people think something, says Sefer HaChinukh, there is a greater chance that it is closer to the truth than what the minority thinks. I somewhat belong to the second camp, but I’m in the minority on this issue. I think that if there is a minority and a majority, usually the minority is right—but in that too I’m in the minority. In any case, that’s what Sefer HaChinukh says.

The place where this question perhaps comes up most forcefully is the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel disagreed on very many matters, and the Talmud in tractate Eruvin brings the famous midrash that for three years Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel disagreed and did not manage to reach a decision. Then a heavenly voice came forth and said: “These and these are the words of the living God, but the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel.” What was the argument? Why did they need a heavenly voice? Tosafot there already asks: “But ‘it is not in heaven.’” So why in the world is a heavenly voice needed here?

To understand the dispute, it seems to me—and here I incline somewhat away from the path of Tosafot, though I use another Tosafot—Tosafot earlier, a few pages before in Eruvin, writes that the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel was particularly difficult because everyone… He actually begins with the question: why didn’t they simply hold a vote and follow the majority? “Incline after the many”—all the laws of majority are learned from the verse “incline after the many.” Then he says that they tried to hold a vote, but there was a dispute about what to do with the results of the vote, because Beit Shammai were sharper; they were more incisive, wiser. And Beit Hillel were more numerous—more people. So the question was: okay, we’ll follow the majority—but which majority? Majority of legs or majority of heads? What do we count? In other words, Beit Hillel said: count legs. Beit Shammai said: count heads. Well, then how do we decide that question? Hold a vote? You can’t, right? When the dispute is over the methods of decision themselves, what do you do? You can’t use a method of decision when that very method is itself disputed, when that very method is not agreed upon. A society that has no agreed-upon methods of decision cannot make decisions.

And therefore a question arose here, a question that touched on the methods of decision: do we follow the majority of people or do we follow the majority of wisdom? By the way, this issue didn’t end with Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. Again I go back to Sefer HaChinukh elsewhere. Sefer HaChinukh brings that there is a dispute between Rav Hai Gaon and Maimonides in a religious court of three. Say, in certain contexts the Talmud in tractate Sanhedrin says that there can be one who is learned and understands, or an expert recognized by the public—one who is clearly a Torah scholar—and two others who are less wise, less learned than he is. The question is what happens when a dispute arises among them. The sage says one thing and the two sitting beside him disagree. Maimonides and Rav Hai Gaon disagree about whether, once again, we follow the majority of wisdom or the majority of people—legs or heads. In other words, this argument continues into the period of the Geonim and then the medieval authorities (Rishonim).

In the end, what was accepted in Jewish law in one way or another is the view of Maimonides: we count legs. This, of course, also fits the conclusion of the Talmud in tractate Eruvin that I mentioned earlier. What does the heavenly voice say? “These and these are the words of the living God, but the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel.” Count legs. What does that mean? Seemingly, the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel is a dispute over the question with which I began. Because Beit Hillel say we follow the majority of people. What do they assume? That we are not striving for truth. Rather what? Presumably we are striving for an agreed solution, or the second path, or the third path, what I said at the beginning.

So Beit Hillel are basically saying: if we were striving for truth, then the proposal of rule by philosophers would be obvious. We too would agree that the Jewish law ought to be ruled like Beit Shammai, since it was apparently agreed that Beit Shammai were sharper. They were more incisive, greater Torah scholars. So if the goal is truth, then Beit Hillel would admit that Jewish law should be ruled like Beit Shammai. They would accept the proposal of rule by philosophers. But Beit Hillel do not accept that. Beit Hillel say: that is not the goal of halakhic decision. And because of that, we argue that legs should be counted. Beit Shammai, on the other hand, of course say: what do you mean? We need to get as close as possible to the truth. To get close to the truth—we are sharper, and even you admit it. So give us extra weight. Count us differently. Rule Jewish law in accordance with us.

So the argument that lies behind the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel is really the question of what the goal of halakhic decision is: is the goal of halakhic decision to get close to the truth? Or is the goal of halakhic decision to create peace, to represent what the body of sages thinks, say in the democratic sense of majority?

Before I continue, I’ll just repeat the point I made earlier: why did they need a heavenly voice here? They needed a heavenly voice for a very simple reason—simply because there was no other way to manage. Usually when we say “it is not in heaven,” we are talking about a situation in which there is an ordinary halakhic method of decision, as in the oven of Akhnai, where that is the Talmudic passage of “it is not in heaven.” There was a normal way to decide—the majority determines—and therefore when a heavenly voice comes out and tells us to go against that method, the sages say: it is not in heaven. But in the case of Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel, we have no halakhic way to decide, because the dispute is over the question of what the halakhic method of decision is. That is the dispute. We have no halakhic way to decide, and therefore there is no choice but to resort to a heavenly voice. There is no alternative.

So it seems to me that here the use of a heavenly voice is completely called for; there’s no need to look for excuses. Tosafot says it was before the heavenly voice that came out there, or gives various other explanations. I think that in terms of the situation, it’s pretty clear why a heavenly voice is needed here. But let’s keep going.

So it really seems that we have a dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel precisely about the relation between halakhic ruling and truth. Beit Shammai argue that the purpose of halakhic ruling is to strive, to get as close as possible to the truth. Beit Hillel say no: peace, representation of the opinion of the sages, the two other options I mentioned at the beginning—but not necessarily truth. And therefore the majority of people determines, not their specific weight, not their wisdom.

So if that is so, when the heavenly voice decides and says the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel, then it has decided that Jewish law in fact… in fact does not strive to get as close as possible to the truth. Seemingly. At least that is how it appears. Maybe this is emphasized even more when the heavenly voice tells us a sentence that is seemingly very problematic, whose two parts contradict one another. It begins with “These and these are the words of the living God,” and continues with “but the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel.” So if both are right, then in what sense does the Jewish law follow Beit Hillel? If the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel, then in what sense are both the words of the living God?

But if we return to what I said earlier, the heavenly voice is really deciding like Beit Hillel. So what is it actually saying? “These and these are the words of the living God”—as far as truth is concerned, I’m not dealing with that. Jewish law is not dealing with truth. And because of that, the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel. Since I am not striving for truth, then as far as truth for the purpose of the discussion is concerned, these and these are the words of the living God. Nevertheless we rule Jewish law like Beit Hillel because of other considerations. Halakhic ruling does not mean that this is the truth.

That is also how one can continue reading the Talmud. The Talmud explains the ruling of the heavenly voice, and it says: why did Beit Hillel merit that the Jewish law be established like them? Because they were agreeable and humble, and they would mention the words of Beit Shammai before their own. In the simple reading, this is a reward for good behavior. In other words, there really is no truth here; Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel are equally right. Still, we need to reach an agreed bottom line—peace, or representation of the opinion of the public as a whole, the two possibilities I mentioned earlier, not truth. So let’s use halakhic ruling for educational purposes. Let’s take the behavior of Beit Hillel, which is more worthy of appreciation, and rule Jewish law like them, give them a prize, and that way the public or the other sages will learn how one ought to behave. They were humble and mentioned the words of Beit Shammai before their own; they were courteous, and because of that the Jewish law was ruled like them. This exactly continues the same line of reading the words of the heavenly voice as meaning that halakhic ruling is not striving for truth. So why rule like them? For an external reason, an educational reason, not because of a consideration connected to halakhic truth.

Up to this point I have read the Talmud in its plain sense. But in truth it can also be read differently—if we are striving for truth, I don’t know. Rabbi Yosef Karo, in his book Kelalei HaGemara—the author of the Shulchan Arukh has a book of rules—in his book Kelalei HaGemara he offers a different way of reading. He argues that the words of the heavenly voice—sorry, the Talmud’s reason, the Talmud’s reason why the Jewish law was ruled like Beit Hillel—should be interpreted differently. It is not a reward for good behavior, as I said earlier, but rather a criterion for truth.

Why was the Jewish law ruled like Beit Hillel? Because they were agreeable and humble, and they would mention the words of Beit Shammai before their own. Rabbi Yosef Karo says: it may be that Beit Shammai were great sages—I’m adding a little to his words, but this is the gist of it—it may be that Beit Shammai were great sages, and in terms of intelligence and Torah knowledge and sharpness in Torah, they may have had greater ability to get close to the truth. But the way they formed their position, the way they conducted their debate, interfered with that. Whereas Beit Hillel, although they were less sharp, because they first listened to the other side, considered its position, and only then arrived at their own conclusion—whether they agreed with it or not—they would get closer to the truth even though they were less gifted. Therefore the Jewish law is ruled like them.

In other words, Rabbi Yosef Karo argues that the Talmud’s explanation for why the Jewish law was ruled like Beit Hillel is indeed because of a striving for truth. They strove for truth in a more proper way, and therefore even though their ability—let’s call it that; I don’t know if it is correct to translate this into terms of intelligence—but they were less sharp, nevertheless they get closer to the truth because of their more correct methodology.

If that is so, then beyond the fact that this is a very interesting interpretation of the Talmud, it sheds a different light on everything that has been said so far. Because Rabbi Yosef Karo is really saying that when we rule Jewish law like Beit Hillel, it is because they are closer to the truth, not because truth doesn’t interest us and instead peace or whatever else or education does. In other words, according to Rabbi Yosef Karo this whole Talmudic passage has to be read differently. The argument is about how to get to the truth, and the conclusion is that the way to get to the truth is the way of Beit Hillel, even though they were less sharp. That is the conclusion. But in the bottom line, the goal is to get to the truth. And the fact that the Jewish law was ruled like Beit Hillel is because that is the truth.

What of course remains for us to explain according to this reading is the first part of the heavenly voice’s statement: what does “these and these are the words of the living God” mean? The previous reading says: both are right, there is no halakhic truth, or at least halakhic ruling is not striving toward halakhic truth. So the fact that the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel is for educational reasons. Let’s call that maybe a pluralistic reading, a reading that sees several possible halakhic truths.

But Rabbi Yosef Karo’s reading is a monistic one, a reading that says there is one truth. So if there is one truth, then I understand why the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel. But what does “these and these are the words of the living God” mean? If there is one truth, then one side is right—Beit Hillel—and the other is wrong. And just to avoid misunderstandings: I don’t think anyone means to say that Beit Hillel were always right. Rather, Beit Hillel were closer, a priori. If we have no other way to determine things and we need some rule of thumb, then the way of Beit Hillel is a better way, or one with a higher probability of getting close to the truth. Obviously sometimes they can be wrong. But still, the goal is to get close to the truth, and therefore the question arises: so what does “these and these are the words of the living God” mean? In what sense are both right?

Here I’ll make a small leap, because I don’t really have a way to get into this whole issue, so I’ll do it briefly. We often tend to mix together two concepts that seem to belong to the same field, the same semantic field, and they do not—or at least maybe the same semantic field, maybe yes, though I think not. One concept is pluralism and the other is tolerance. Pluralism is a multiplicity of truths, and tolerance is an accepting or permissive attitude toward a view that is wrong—from my perspective, wrong. Okay? In certain senses these are opposite concepts. Because if I am a pluralist and I think everyone is right, then there is no moral significance to tolerant behavior toward people who hold another opinion. They are right just כמו me; why shouldn’t I be tolerant toward them? Tolerance is measured where I think the other person is wrong. Even though I am monistic in principle, I think that truth is one—and not only monistic, but I also think truth is with me and the other person is wrong—still, I treat him tolerantly.

The pluralist essentially holds that there is no single truth—in other words, the other person is right just as he is—so the concept of tolerance is not relevant in such a worldview. Maybe to sharpen this further I’ll put it this way: pluralism is a philosophical, logical-philosophical doctrine. The question is whether there is one truth or a plurality of truths. Tolerance is a concept that belongs to the moral sphere, not the philosophical sphere—the ethical sphere. Whether I am tolerant or not is a question of how I behave, whether I deserve credit for moral conduct or not. That is another indication that pluralism and tolerance are not the same semantic field. Pluralism belongs to the philosophical-logical world, and tolerance belongs to the evaluative-moral world.

If I return to Beit Hillel, then when we say “these and these are the words of the living God,” it is very tempting to read this in a pluralistic way: both are right, there is no truth. But it is entirely possible that what we have here is not pluralism but tolerance. What we have here is the claim that even someone who is not right—within certain limits at least, and I can’t get into those limits, but within certain limits at least—is legitimate. There are legitimate errors and illegitimate errors. So “both are the words of the living God” in the sense that both are called words of Torah, both are legitimate, and still the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel because they are closer to the truth. That, it seems to me, is the reading that is called for according to Rabbi Yosef Karo.

Now how do we determine which of these two readings is correct? Or perhaps here too one has to say “these and these are the words of the living God”—there is no correct reading. But that is an interesting question, by the way; you could even formulate a mathematical theorem about it, but I won’t do that here. So how do we determine this? Usually at this stage we tend to turn toward works of Jewish thought, aggadic literature, introductions to halakhic books or responsa, because that is where the programmatic, principled statements are generally made—the halakhic or meta-halakhic approach. On these kinds of questions we generally do not tend to look for an answer in the halakhic world, with halakhic tools, through analysis of halakhic passages, because it seems like a question that belongs to meta-halakhah and not to Jewish law itself.

And in truth, I think most of the treatment of this question—almost all of it, it seems to me—turns to works of thought or aggadah, or as I said earlier, introductions to responsa and halakhic books. Those introductions are a kind of journalism. I want to do something different, and it has a very important methodological meaning, so I can’t resist giving it at least a sentence. Very often, when we examine a philosophical question, we have a tendency to look for its answer in philosophical literature, naturally. But my own feeling, at least, is that this is a problematic search, a problematic method, because philosophical literature is something from which I’m not sure one can emerge with an unequivocal answer or a convincing answer.

You know, just as an anecdote, the Pnei Yehoshua, in the introduction to his book—one of the most important later authorities (Acharonim) on the Talmud—relates that there was an earthquake in his city and he was trapped under the rubble, and his daughter and wife were killed in that earthquake. And he says—he came out of it, naturally, if we know who he was—and he says that while he was trapped inside, he prayed to the Holy One, blessed be He, to save him, and he vowed not to engage in aggadic teachings. By the way, even though what you did was certainly nice, the Pnei Yehoshua vowed not to engage in aggadic teachings because there people are not so directed toward truth. The responsibility that characterizes halakhic analysis does not always characterize philosophical or aggadic treatment. And there are one or two more stories like that that I know about other sages as well.

In any case, I want to propose an alternative. Let’s try to see whether we can examine this question with halakhic tools—not from works of thought or aggadah but with halakhic tools. I’ll do it briefly; I have three minutes left, so I’ll do it briefly. How would I test such a thing? What halakhic question can I pose that would serve as a laboratory, or give me some indication of which approach is correct here: pluralism, monism, or tolerant monism? Monism means I am right and the other is wrong, and I am not tolerant. Tolerant monism means I am right and the other is wrong, but I treat him tolerantly—“these and these are the words of the living God” in the monistic reading, not the pluralistic one. So we have three approaches. How do we sharpen the distinction between them?

It seems to me that the natural way is to take a case where I have a halakhic dispute with a friend. He thinks something is forbidden and I think it is permitted. Am I allowed to cause him to stumble in that? There is a prohibition of “do not place a stumbling block before the blind”—you may not cause another person to sin. What happens with something that in my view is not a sin, but in his view is? Am I allowed to cause him to stumble in that?

If I am a pluralist, then it is forbidden. Notice that pluralism can sometimes be stringent. If I am a pluralist, then it is forbidden, right? Because he is bound by what he perceives, and if I cause him to stumble in something that is a sin according to him, then that is not okay. Then it is a sin. That’s what a sin means. There is nothing else—what he thinks is the Jewish law.

If I am a monist, that means it is permitted. I think this is permitted. So he is mistaken and thinks it is forbidden—why should that matter to me? Fine, he should learn, then he’ll understand that he is mistaken. So therefore it is permitted. But there is a Ritva in Sukkah who speaks about such a situation, and he says it is permitted, provided that you inform him that this is the case—that is, that according to his view it involves a prohibition; make sure he notices. This is a bit odd, because the moment you inform him of this, what does it mean that you are permitted to cause him to stumble? Then you didn’t cause him to stumble; he makes the decision on his own.

But that’s not correct, because the Talmud in tractate Avodah Zarah, when it discusses “do not place a stumbling block before the blind,” says that when I hand a cup of wine to a nazirite, who is forbidden to drink wine, even if he drinks intentionally, I still violate “do not place a stumbling block before the blind,” even though it is his decision. He could have poured out the wine. So what if I handed him the wine? In “do not place a stumbling block” there is no permission just because the other person acts intentionally. If I was a necessary condition without which the sin could not have happened, then I violated the prohibition of “do not place a stumbling block before the blind.”

So there is a novelty in the words of the Ritva. He is basically saying: I am permitted to cause them to stumble in something that according to them is a sin and according to me is not. The fact that I inform them does not remove the problem of “do not place a stumbling block before the blind,” so clearly there is no such problem here. Why isn’t there? Because the Ritva was a monist. But then why tell them? If you’re a monist, then just cause them to stumble and that’s that; they’re simply wrong. You have to tell them because you have to give them the possibility of making their own decisions.

The basis of tolerance is really a kind of recognition of the other person’s autonomy. I am tolerant toward him because I think he should make his own decisions even though those decisions are mistaken. Not because there is no halakhic truth—there is halakhic truth. But I respect his right to err, and he must make his own decisions. And because of that, says the Ritva, I am legally allowed to cause them to stumble from the standpoint of “do not place a stumbling block before the blind”; this is not “do not place a stumbling block before the blind.” Otherwise it wouldn’t help that I inform them. But I must inform them because I have to respect their right to make their own decisions. So this really distinguishes exactly between pluralism, monism, and tolerant monism. It is not pluralism, it is not monism, it is tolerant monism. This is exactly the case that makes the distinction.

And in my closing sentence, I’ll finish: if I return to the point where I began, then what is the purpose of the halakhic majority? What is it striving for? I asked earlier: is it to discover the truth, to establish peace, or to express what the public thinks? It seems to me that the answer is the third, like the democratic majority: to discover what the public thinks should be what we do, because autonomy requires us to do what we think, even if it is not the truth. So that is already a more subtle point, but I won’t be able to get into it now. Thank you.