Lecture from 26 Elul 5766, Part 2

And if you also put on clothes and eat with a knife and fork, Hannah Bavli will give you a commendation. So that won’t help you at all, so why play the game? Meaning, the whole game is meant to achieve the results. But if even in a fictitious way I get to a point where you still won’t be able to achieve those results, then what’s the point? Then he’ll really be cured. Then he really knows that this is a human being and that’s a chicken; he’ll return to that same point where he originally was, where he understands this. Exactly like with Maimonides, who said about someone who says, “I want to.” If the person really wants to fulfill what is written in the Torah—if that’s the assumption—then what is really going on? He only wants to permit various things for himself. So you tell him: look, in any case you won’t succeed in permitting this for yourself; I’ll beat you and you still won’t be able to do it. I’ll beat you—you won’t be able to do it in any case. There’s no external force here that affects him the way there is in a bill of divorce? In a bill of divorce there is… No, no, no, I’m saying the parable here only serves me; obviously there’s a difference. Because I’m not forcing him to sit on a chair, I’m only persuading him. The persuasion is really his healing. Yes, but there persuasion is enough because apparently we’re not talking about something unbearable like sitting on a chair and wearing clothes. So all in all I can also, by means of persuasion—or you know, what do they call it, an offer you can’t refuse, in the Shin Bet what do they call it, shaking or moderate physical pressure—exactly, by moderate physical pressure, I can persuade him to sit on a chair. Again, I’m not claiming that this really was the intention of the parable; I only took this parable in order to get to this point. It’s clear that there’s a certain difference, I’m not denying that. Why does it matter if gentiles are the ones beating him? What? Why does it matter? What really matters is not whether gentiles or Jews—by the way, that’s what Maimonides says, it doesn’t matter. What matters is whether this is justified according to Jewish law. Meaning, if Jewish law requires him to divorce, then even if the gentiles beat him, the bill of divorce is valid. But there it says it’s disqualified. Disqualified by rabbinic law. No, that’s if the gentiles on their own coerced him; the bill of divorce is valid, it’s not void. No, the distinction there, what they say, is whether the difference is if the gentiles acted on their own initiative or according to the request of the religious court. And if the gentiles on their own coerced him until he wrote it—wait—since the law says he should write it, this is a disqualified bill of divorce; valid, meaning not void. Disqualified only by rabbinic law. No, but in the previous paragraph, if the gentiles beat him at the request of Jews, then it is completely valid. So I’m saying even if the gentiles did not—that is exactly the point, Maimonides’ innovation—even if the gentiles beat him not at the request of Jews, if this bill of divorce truly ought to be given according to Jewish law, then it makes no difference who beats him, at least on the basic Torah-law level. It doesn’t matter. Why not? Because after all he wants to do what Jewish law says—that’s what Maimonides writes. It’s just that the yeast in the dough is holding him back, so they beat him a little until the yeast in the dough calms down, and then he really wants it—he returns to the will that originally existed within him. Why does this seem so puzzling to us? It seems so puzzling to us—there are many implications to this distinction that concern us less—but since we’re already here, why does this actually seem so puzzling? Because today our basic feeling is that Maimonides’ basic assumption is not correct. We have no problem with the argument; the argument is valid under Maimonides’ assumptions. But the basic assumption, that every person really wants to fulfill what is written in the Torah, seems to us today not so convincing. It isn’t true that everyone automatically, deep down, wants what the Torah commands. And since that’s the case, it follows that we also don’t agree, it doesn’t seem reasonable to us, what is being done here—that if they beat him, then this will change, and so on. But we have to pay close attention: in that utopian reality, which we feel we don’t know, where there is a society in which there is a self-evident value in fulfilling what is written in the Torah—just as there is a self-evident value that murder is wrong—then very often a murderer may deceive himself that here it was justified and he started with me and who knows what happened and this and that. But deep in his heart it is clear that he knows that murder is wrong. That is completely clear. And when he comes to court and repents, usually he really repents. Because he truly thinks it is wrong, even though he did it. So that is an example of something that still happens today in the same way: a person truly believes that what he is doing is wrong, and yet he does it. With regard to Torah, we do not know such a reality, because with regard to Torah today it is not perceived as some self-evident value the way moral values are. But in a society where “if there is no God in this place, they will kill me”—in a society where religious obligations are perceived as something self-evident exactly like moral obligations—then try to think of it like a murderer. Meaning, if a person says, listen everybody, I believe murder is permitted—it’s obvious he’s doing it for the money. He doesn’t really believe murder is permitted. So if we beat him and tell him, listen, this money you’re not going to see no matter what you believe, you’re not going to see this money. They signed you a contract, the contract is perfectly valid, you won’t see a penny. We’ll take it. That is a way to bring him to the point where he returns to sanity and understands that murder is wrong. Right? Why? Because it is clear to us that even when he says that, he understands that murder is wrong. So think of a situation that for us may be a little hypothetical. But that’s the situation Maimonides is talking about; he writes that he is talking about that situation. He is talking about a situation where every Jew, basically, in a clear and self-evident way, wants to fulfill what is written in the Torah. If that really is the assumption, and if that really is the correct description of the situation, then I think this method is not a bad method. So there is a good explanation for it, because if you remove the reason why the person is fooling himself, then maybe he will stop fooling himself. You tell him it won’t help you in any case, so why bother? You don’t necessarily tell him that; you simply bring him to that point, you show him that it won’t help him, and then he will naturally return to what he really believes. Of course, in circumstances where this truly is self-evident, and where it truly is correct that every Jew naturally wants to do what the Torah says. In those circumstances, it seems to me that this is the right thing. This is also, by the way, one of the reasons for various disputes—one of the reasons why we must not copy various concepts from the world of the Sages and the world of the medieval authorities (Rishonim) into our world today. Concepts like, I don’t know, captured children, people under duress of one sort or another, who is wicked and who is not wicked. Various concepts of that kind need to be treated very carefully, because all the analyses of the Sages and the medieval authorities and so on are analyses that assumed a certain social reality. And our social reality today is completely different. Therefore, to transfer principles from there to us today is problematic. For example, I would not apply this law of Maimonides even if there were a Sanhedrin today and whatever else you want, to a person who grew up completely secular with no knowledge at all. I would not apply it in any way. Because it does not seem plausible to me that such a person really wants to keep the Torah even though he is not aware of it. It does not seem plausible. A Jewish spark, I don’t know what. In practice, on the conscious levels—and that is what ultimately determines things—it doesn’t sound plausible to me. And because of that, this method of “we beat him until he says, ‘I want to’” is not relevant. Because even if afterward he says, “I want to,” what he really means is, “stop beating me”; he does not mean, “I want to.” Wait, I think that here too we could change the terms a little, and maybe make them more modern, and call it something like ideology versus interest. Meaning, in the end, one of the reasons, let’s say, that someone doesn’t want to give a bill of divorce is because she doesn’t deserve it, or something like that. Meaning, something in the… not clear. But if I now cause it so that in any case he will give it—it won’t help you. Right, but there’s a very big difference between forcing me while I am still trying not to want it because she doesn’t deserve it and so on, but I have no choice—it is easier to give it than to bring him to want it from the outset. They don’t succeed in bringing him to want it from the outset. If they force me to do something and I do it because they forced me, not because I… I still haven’t yielded, she still doesn’t deserve it and I don’t want to. But then that means the bill of divorce really is not valid. Maybe physically it was easier to cause him to write the bill of divorce and give it, but if it does not come from consent, then the bill of divorce won’t be valid. That’s somewhat problematic. Okay, fine. There is room for discussion here. I’m not a psychologist, but I think there is some logical explanation here for understanding what Maimonides says, and that brings us back to the concepts of sin and repair. In one of the lessons we discussed the problem of weakness of will. The problem of weakness of will was basically the following problem: usually, when a person behaves in a certain way, and there is no compulsion forcing him to do what he does, then he will do what he thinks is right to do. What he wants to do is what he will do—why would he do something else? There’s nothing forcing him. Now if there is something that in a person’s eyes is more worthy to do than the other thing, and the option is before him freely to choose either this or that, completely freely, presumably he will choose what is more worthy. Why not? If in his eyes it is more worthy, then apparently he will also want to do it more. What he wants—we said then too—if there is nothing causing him, forcing him, then what he wants is also what he will do, right? So this chain really brings us to the conclusion that there is no such thing as weakness of will. There is no such thing as weakness of will in the sense that usually the feeling after a sin is some feeling of missing the mark, of disappointment. We basically say: ah, I was too weak, I didn’t do what I really wanted. I didn’t have the strength to cope and so I fell. And this argument about weakness of will basically says: you’re deceiving yourself; that’s not true. That is what you wanted. If that is what you did, then that is what you wanted. Because if you hadn’t wanted it, you wouldn’t have done it. What are the possibilities? Was there something that caused you, that forced you or obligated you to do something even though you didn’t want it? Then you were under duress, and the Torah exempts someone under duress. It didn’t force you? Then why did you do it? Apparently you wanted to. You also have to factor in the pressure. Let’s say there was pressure, non-deterministic pressure, pressure that did not absolutely compel me; I could have resisted it, but I didn’t. Why didn’t I really resist it? Because in my eyes it was better—not to suffer that pressure—than to fulfill what is written in the Torah, right? So that too is still a value system. In the end it all comes down to the question: what do I want, what are my values. There is never a situation—or so this argument about weakness of will says—there is never a situation of weak will, which basically means: I really wanted to do X, so why did I do that? Because I was too weak, so I didn’t manage to realize my will. Now everyone, it seems to me, everyone who fails almost feels that sensation—fails not only in the religious sense, even in dieting, it makes no difference, in every context. There’s always some feeling: the truth is I want this, so why did I do that? I was too weak, I didn’t succeed. But what does it mean that you were too weak? “Too weak” means that in your eyes immediate gratification was preferable to long-term value. Fine, that too is a value system, that too is a hierarchy of values. But in the end you really did not want it; it is not true that you wanted it. As for desires, we said then too that opposite desires are of course not a contradiction. A person can have opposing desires, and that contradicts nothing. I can want chocolate because it tastes good and not want it because it isn’t healthy, at the same time. There is no contradiction between two desires that have opposite practical significance. That is not contradictory. Therefore, in the end, what a person does is ultimately what he really wants to do. Don’t give yourself excuses: no, no, I wanted something else, I was only too weak, so too bad, I fell, they caused me to stumble, the yeast in the dough caused it, the serpent, the evil inclination, the serpent deceived me, and so on. These are all excuses. In the end, you did it because you decided that this is what you wanted to do, after weighing all the pressures and everything. Fine, you would rather enjoy the pressure, or rather not suffer the pressure, than withstand the pressure and do what you should have done. But still, in the end you do what you want. Now in this picture there really is a problem. First, a problem vis-à-vis intuition. Our simple intuition really does sense some experience of weakness of will, saying yes, that’s not true, I really do not want this; I really do want more to diet. But of course I took examples from the religious sphere so you could see that this is not a question that pertains specifically to religion. I really do want that more, but I was weak, I didn’t succeed. There is such a feeling. You can solve it by calling it an illusion and say, what are you talking about—by calculation it’s clearly not true. Or you can say that apparently something in the calculation is inaccurate, that it does not correctly describe our mental processes. That thing which does not correctly describe our mental processes is this dimension of weakness of will. This is really exactly the difference between what a person thinks or believes and what he does. According to the argument that there is no weakness of will, there is no such gap. Meaning, what you do is what you wanted to do; there can be no gap between what you want and what you do. But this constant feeling of sin and failure tells us that no, that’s not true—there is a gap. The truth is I wanted that; I fell, I was weak. What does that really mean? What does it mean to say “I fell”? The proponent of the argument against weakness of will will come and say: what do you mean you fell? Not suffering the pressure was more important to you than keeping a diet, or doing what God wants, or any other desire you have. But the feeling is that this is not true. Meaning, it is not true. The truth is that I really do want over there, and yet my will is weak. There is something, some gap in our soul, between what we want and what we do. That gap is what we’re talking about here. That gap is what actually causes sin. Assuming that, as Maimonides says, every person really wants to do what God says and obey what Jewish law commands, then why does he not do it? Because of that very gap. There is some force in a person—or weakness, lack of force in a person—that causes him not to do what he wants. And this treatment of “we coerce him until he says, ‘I want to,’” or the turkey in the parable and Bayeleta’s reservation—Bayeleta’s justified reservation—basically comes to erase that point, meaning to bring us back to doing what we truly believe should be done. And if we don’t really believe that this is what should be done, then nothing will help. Then there is no healing, then nothing will help. Because if we really do not think that this is what should be done, then what is it—let them beat me until tomorrow, then I’ll say verbally that I want to, but that cannot work. It has to be only on the basis of something that already exists within me, and on that basis this rule was stated: “We coerce him until he says, ‘I want to.’” Fine. Maybe after all the gap between the parable—the parable I created—and the original parable lies at this point. Look, there is a correct comment here. Meaning, this wise man does not actually beat the prince’s son to make him sit on the chair. He persuades him. What does it mean that he persuades him? If that really is what he wants, and the yeast in the dough is the cause, then what really needs to be done is exactly what Maimonides says must be done: beat him and tell him, listen, this won’t help you anywhere, so return to that point that in any case already exists within you. In the story it didn’t work that way. Apparently persuasion too is some kind of tool that can be used to address this gap, and that is a somewhat problematic point if we try to define it in psychological terms. Because usually we understand persuasion as something that is supposed to act on what we want or on what we believe. But if the truth is that in any case we already believe and know the right thing, and the only problem is that we are a bit weak, that we do not do what we truly believe in, then what help is persuasion? This is not a matter for persuasion. Persuasion addresses principles. If the principles are wrong, I may persuade you to adopt other principles. But if my principles are right and I’m just weak, then how does persuasion help? But there is nonetheless some dimension here to which persuasion can appeal. There is still some dimension of desire involved here after all—how much I want, or something like that. Beyond that, the persuasion used here is not persuasion not to be a turkey. He didn’t persuade him why it is wrong to be a turkey; he persuaded him to wear clothes. He persuaded him about a technical matter. He did not deal with the root of the illness: why do you think you are a turkey when you are really a human being? He did not try to persuade him of that. True, there was persuasion here and not beatings, but the persuasion dealt with the technical aspects. Instead of beating him, I brought him by other means to wear clothes. But I did not bring him to recognize that he is a human being and not a turkey; I brought him to wear clothes. Once he had already put on clothes, then what in any case already existed within him would naturally surface. Therefore I think that this whole chain is still relevant to the process of repentance as well. Meaning, somehow it comes out that although the desires are perhaps the true and proper desires, and only the yeast in the dough is what holds things back, we still do not always do what we want. Still, the solution is not always Maimonides’ solution—simply beat until the power of the evil inclination is exhausted. You can see this from the parable itself—from the fact that he gave him legitimacy to be a turkey. Was that what made him feel, okay, that’s fine, I’ll be a turkey and also wear clothes—maybe that is what helped him? Maybe at first he wanted to show everyone that you can be a turkey too, and now that he has already shown them, that’s it, so what does he care if he wears clothes? It’s possible. You can suggest various explanations for this. Surely there are different kinds of princes’ sons, not all princes’ sons are the same. We spoke about one type of prince’s son; there are all kinds of other types there. We are all princes’ sons. So really in this context of repentance, here too, on the one hand Sefer HaChinukh tells us: “Hearts are drawn after actions.” What does that mean? It does not mean beating us so that we do the right actions even though we do not want to do the right actions. This is more parallel to the turkey, meaning persuading oneself to do the right actions, with the assumption that if we behavioristically do the right actions, then the hearts too will be drawn along. Meaning, you can see here that beatings are perhaps an extreme case, but processes of persuasion too can cause this. Usually persuasion that does not deal with the point itself, because at the point itself there is nothing to deal with—it is probably fine, otherwise nothing would help. One has to deal with means that are apparently external: the actions, or these or those derivatives of the inner desires. And over the years this outer shell somehow falls away and the inner desire reveals itself on its own. I simply don’t really have time to start the second half, so maybe we’ll stop here. Fine, we’ll stop here.