Doubt and Statistics – Lecture 9

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In the previous lectures we dealt with majority rule in a religious court, a majority that is present before us and one that is not present before us. But the discussion begins with the verse “Follow the majority” — majority rule in a religious court. And we saw the words of the Sefer HaChinukh, where the Sefer HaChinukh explains why we follow the majority: because generally the majority determines the matter. And I explained there why, at least on the face of it — that is, Rabbi Shimon Shkop asks that according to the Sefer HaChinukh it comes out that the majority in a religious court is a majority not present before us, whereas the Talmud in Chullin says that the majority in a religious court is a majority present before us. So I explained that the majority in a religious court is indeed not physically before us, but on the other hand it is not based on scientific induction, on generalization from a sample. And therefore I think there is definitely room to compare it to a majority present before us. I now want to move on to topics that really touch the heart of these turbulent days in Israel — and I assume that even those who are not in Israel are following it.

[Speaker B] In France too, similar things are happening.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, we hear a bit about it, though here too there are plenty of upheavals. In any case, I want to deal a little with Plato’s question about the rule of the philosophers. Because if, as the Sefer HaChinukh says, the majority is generally right, then it seems natural to say: okay, then let’s allow whoever will reach the best decision to make decisions for us. Usually that is the majority. But the Sefer HaChinukh himself said that if we are really striving for the most correct decision, then once you have a minority of sages and a majority that is less wise, logic says to follow the minority — because in the end the majority is not something essential, it is only our means for reaching the truth. So if I have a minority of sages, it is more likely that they will reach the truth than a majority of fools, or of people who are less wise. And therefore Plato’s question is unavoidable. I said that there are disputes among medieval authorities and later authorities about an actual religious court in a situation where the minority is clearly wiser than the majority, or more learned in Torah than the majority — whether we follow the majority or the minority. And here we really arrive at questions of public decision-making in a state, in a community, in a group of people that wants to make decisions — which is Plato’s topic, and the issues we are dealing with here in Israel today. And seemingly, from the analysis we saw regarding a religious court and following the majority, Plato’s question emerges naturally: why not follow the sages even if they are a minority? Before I go a bit further, I want to divide the field of discussion in two. When dealing with this sort of question, one has to deal with question A: is the majority really right, or the minority — a minority of sages or a majority of sages? And the second question: even if the majority is right, is that sufficient reason to say that we must accept the view of the majority? And conversely, if the minority is right, the question is whether we must accept the view of the minority. And I want to begin with the first question: is the majority really right? The Sefer HaChinukh assumes that it is. The Sefer HaChinukh assumes that generally the majority is right. But as I said, the Sefer HaChinukh himself says that if there are gaps in the level of wisdom, a greater Torah scholar, then even if he is the minority, he is really the one who is right. And I want to begin touching on that question a bit: is the majority really right, or is the minority right — how exactly should we think about that? Maybe I’ll begin with arguments, arguments that come up in all kinds of debates — religious and secular, right and left, things of that sort. Many times claims come up like: look, most of the wise people are with us. Secular people say, for example: most of the educated people are with us, most of the wise people are with us. Leftists very often tend to think, to argue, that most of the wise people or most of the educated people are with them. Now even if we assume that’s true — and of course there is plenty of room to discuss whether it’s true, what defines wisdom, what the relationship is between wisdom and education — those definitely do not necessarily go together. As someone once said — I don’t remember exactly who it was, it always slips my mind — there are some absurdities so great that only academics can say them. Meaning, sometimes education disconnects you from common sense. There is something about education that can sometimes steer you away from common sense. By the way, in the Torah world too. Meaning, sometimes דווקא because you are a Torah scholar, you can have crooked reasoning. Because you can justify anything, you can explain anything, and in a certain sense your very Torah expertise can get in the way of making decisions with common sense. So first of all, just as an anecdote, I want to pause on that question. First point: when discussing something like this, you have to examine — and by the way, there are halakhic sources for this too — in Choshen Mishpat section 25 it is brought that in any question of Jewish law, in principle one is supposed to follow the majority of halakhic decisors. Even if this is not a formal religious court decision, but a general question of Jewish law, in theory one should survey the opinions of the decisors, and the Jewish law follows the majority. The Rema mentions this, and the Shakh elaborates on it, and so on. But several later authorities already noted about this — the Chazon Ish and others — that following the majority requires a situation in which the majority and minority are conducting a discussion. Meaning, if they are sitting together in one forum, each one presents his arguments, the others hear them, discuss them, either become convinced or do not become convinced, and in the end they take a vote. That is how it works in a religious court. When it is conducted in a religious court, first all the different arguments are raised, each one justifies his arguments. And in a capital case they begin with the least senior, but that doesn’t matter — whether you begin with the least senior or the most senior, first the reasons are presented. In Maimonides there is even a more detailed description of how there are really two rounds. First arguments, then discussion of those arguments, each one raising his claims, and then another round of voting: okay, after hearing everyone, what do you think? Therefore, even when we look at a religious court, it is not true that you automatically follow the majority. You follow the majority only because it was preceded by a round of clarification and analysis. And therefore the Chazon Ish says that the statement that one must follow the majority of halakhic decisors may be theoretically correct, but practically it is not correct. And of course the Chazon Ish is the first person who needs to say this, because he very often goes against the majority of halakhic decisors. So he has to explain his approach. And what he is basically claiming is that usually the decisors did not debate one another. Now in a certain sense the rule that already appears in the Talmud, that the law follows the later authorities — from Abaye and Rava onward it is accepted to say that the law follows the later authorities — is based on the fact that the later authority saw the words of the earlier one, and the earlier one of course could not have seen what the later one said. So there is an inherent advantage to the later one, even though the assumption is that there is a decline of generations — meaning the earlier one was greater. But since the later one saw what the earlier one said and nevertheless decided not to rule like him, he has an advantage. So already here we see the importance of mutual deliberation. Meaning, when two decisors disagree and the first is wiser, and still we rule like the second — why? Because he saw the words of the first and nevertheless decided he disagreed with him. It could be that if the first had seen the words of the second, he too would have agreed with him. And therefore the fact that the first is wiser does not mean that… Sometimes the less wise person is right. And therefore someone who weighed the arguments on all sides and formed a decision, even if he is less wise, has an advantage over someone wiser who did not hear all the arguments, or does not weigh them properly, and so on. In this context I think it is interesting to look at the passage — we spoke about this in the past, specifically about “These and those” — we spoke about this regarding the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. The Talmud in Eruvin brings the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel, and the Talmud says that for two and a half years Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel disagreed and did not manage to reach a decision, and then a heavenly voice came forth and said, “These and those are the words of the living God, but the law follows Beit Hillel.” So that is the source that in the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel, the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel. The Talmud later asks: why really? Why did the heavenly voice decide that the law is like Beit Hillel? And the Talmud says: because they were gentle and humble, and they taught the words of Beit Shammai before their own. In the simple reading, when you read the Talmud, there is a tendency among commentators to say that they ruled like Beit Hillel even though Beit Shammai were — well, Tosafot, maybe let’s preface one more sentence — Tosafot claim, actually it’s not Tosafot, it’s a Talmudic passage in Yevamot, that Beit Shammai were sharper. Beit Shammai were intellectually sharper than Beit Hillel. Beit Hillel were more numerous; Beit Shammai were sharper. And then Beit Shammai say: true, we are the minority, but we are a minority of wiser people. And with that, later authorities explain the question: why didn’t Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai simply vote? If Beit Hillel were more numerous — “follow the majority” — why did they argue for two and a half years and fail to reach a decision? Why do they need a decision? Just vote. So the claim is that this wouldn’t help, because the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel also concerned the question of how the vote itself should work, since Beit Shammai claim that even after a vote, although they were the minority, they were the majority of wisdom even if not the majority of people. They were the majority of wisdom — as I said, the majority of heads, not the majority of legs. You don’t count legs, you count heads. So Beit Hillel were the majority of legs, that’s true. But Beit Shammai say that “follow the majority” means follow the majority of wisdom, not the majority of people. Why should I care about a majority of people? As the Sefer HaChinukh said: even if there were ignoramuses in numbers like those who left Egypt, they could not decide against a small group of sages. Therefore there was no option of holding a vote and deciding by the rule of “follow the majority.” Follow which majority? The majority of people, or the majority of wisdom? That was the dilemma, and that is why they were stuck. And once they were stuck, they had to resort to a heavenly voice that said, “These and those are the words of the living God, but the law follows Beit Hillel.” This also resolves Tosafot’s question — Tosafot ask elsewhere: why did they follow the heavenly voice? “It is not in heaven.” How can you follow a heavenly voice? He gives several possibilities there — maybe this was before the rule, before the dispute of the oven of Akhnai, before that principle had been established, or maybe they disagreed with Rabbi Yehoshua and held that it is in heaven — all kinds of answers of that sort, all of them forced. I think the simplest answer is simply a different answer — I think Tosafot give three answers there. The simplest answer is that “It is not in heaven” means that even if a heavenly voice comes from heaven, you are supposed to proceed according to halakhic reasoning, common sense, and the rules of Jewish law. That is how decisions are made. It does not help you to bring proofs from a heavenly voice — from heaven — like Rabbi Eliezer, in the story of the oven of Akhnai, where a heavenly voice came out and said, “Why are you arguing with Rabbi Eliezer my son, seeing that the law agrees with him everywhere?” And all the signs and wonders he performed there — the walls of the study hall, the stream of water, and all those kinds of things — the other sages were not impressed. Why? Because they had arguments, and Rabbi Eliezer did not answer those arguments, or at least did not convince them with his answers, and therefore they were not moved by the heavenly voice, because “It is not in heaven.” Now that is possible, of course, when you can decide the dispute by the rules of decision-making, by the rules of Jewish law, logic, Torah sources, reason and halakhic rules. If you have such a decision mechanism and the heavenly voice tells you something else — it is not in heaven. Our rules, according to Jewish law, are what should guide us. But what happened with Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel? We saw that with Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel it was impossible to reach a decision according to the rules of Jewish law, because the dispute also revolved around the rules of decision themselves. Fine — “follow the majority,” let’s vote. But the results of the vote are also disputed: do we follow the minority, which was sharper, or the majority, which was less sharp? So how do you decide that dispute? What will you say — “follow the majority,” let’s vote on that too? Well, the same dispute arises about that vote as well. So there was no halakhic way there to make a decision. So what does “It is not in heaven” even mean there? When you say “It is not in heaven,” you mean: you have a halakhic method, decide according to that, and the heavenly voice cannot override the rules of Jewish law or halakhic reasoning. But if you have no way to decide, you are stuck. Then obviously, if a heavenly voice comes out and says that the law follows Beit Hillel, we will go with it. And this seems to me such a simple explanation that I really do not understand the need for all the forced answers that Tosafot needed there. In any case, for our purposes, that was apparently the background to the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. Now let’s examine the actual ruling for a moment. So what did the heavenly voice say? The law follows Beit Hillel. And the Talmud explained: because they were humble and gentle, and they taught the words of Beit Shammai before their own. On this point too there are two ways to read it. One way is to say that this is basically a reward for good behavior. Meaning, Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel argued; we have no way of knowing who is right. After all, “these and those are the words of the living God”; the heavenly voice itself said “these and those are the words of the living God.” So what does it mean that the law follows Beit Hillel if both are right? What does it mean that the law follows Beit Hillel? Apparently the law does not reflect the truth, but both are right — in terms of truth, both are right — some sort of halakhic pluralism, multiple halakhic truths. But in practice we need somehow to decide, so let’s decide based on side considerations. Beit Hillel behave very nicely, they present the words of Beit Shammai before their own, they are humble, so for educational reasons we will rule like Beit Hillel, because that will educate the public better. Not because Beit Hillel are right — Beit Shammai are right because they are sharper. But we have “these and those are the words of the living God,” and we can rule Jewish law not by criteria of truth, because in truth both are right, so let’s rule according to some side rule, some educational consideration or another. That is one reading — what I called the pluralistic reading. I have spoken about this before, maybe even more than once. That is what is called the pluralistic reading. But there is a monistic reading. The monistic reading says there is one halakhic truth, and when it says “these and those are the words of the living God,” it means that nobody is speaking nonsense — the arguments are valid — but in the end, in the bottom line, there is one halakhic truth; it is not that both are right. So then what does “these and those are the words of the living God” mean? How do you read the Talmud’s reason for the law following Beit Hillel in this reading, where the Talmud is explaining not why they ruled like Beit Hillel, but why Beit Hillel are right? Then the explanation now has to tell me why Beit Hillel are right. Here you can no longer make do with saying there is some educational consideration, because here we identify Jewish law with truth. We rule Jewish law, and on our assumption, in our judgment, that is the halakhic truth. We are not just issuing a ruling on the assumption that both sides are right. No — both sides are not right. If they ruled like Beit Hillel, then apparently Beit Hillel are right. So how do you read the Talmud’s explanation, in this reading, where the Talmud comes to explain not why they ruled like Beit Hillel, but why Beit Hillel are right? This is Rabbi Yosef Karo in his rules of Talmudic method, and he explains — his language there is a bit obscure, but this seems to be what he means — that if Beit Hillel presented the words of Beit Shammai before their own, then they are apparently right. It is not because this is nice behavior and because for educational reasons I rule like Beit Hillel so that everyone will treat each other politely, no. Rather, Beit Hillel adopted a method that brought them closer to the halakhic truth. I rule like them because they are right, even though they are less sharp than Beit Shammai. So what? But they present the words of Beit Shammai before their own. Before they formulate a position, they hear the arguments raised by Beit Shammai, weigh them, and decide whether they agree or disagree, and only afterward do they formulate a position. In such a situation, exactly as we saw earlier, even though Beit Shammai were sharper, the law follows Beit Hillel because they are right, not as a reward for good behavior. Even though they are less sharp, their method compensates for that and they will arrive at better, more correct results despite being less sharp. This is exactly parallel to what the Chazon Ish said: you follow the majority if there was deliberation, but if there was no deliberation, then the majority does not mean very much, and you should follow the one you think is right, even if he is the minority. Why? Because clearly deliberation adds another factor beyond your talent. Suppose you have talent, you have Torah knowledge, halakhic skill — excellent, that gives you advantages. But hearing the arguments of the other side and making a decision after hearing those arguments — that is a very important factor. If that did not happen, it is not clear to what extent the majority is really more correct than the minority. After everyone has heard everyone else’s arguments, presumably the majority will be more right than the minority. If they did not hear them, says the Chazon Ish, then there is no rule to follow the majority. And therefore he basically disagrees, at least on the practical level, with the Shakh there and with the Rema, who say that even in ordinary halakhic ruling one should follow the majority of decisors — because the decisors did not deliberate with one another.

[Speaker C] Rabbi, what you’re saying seems to imply that Beit Shammai didn’t relate at all to what Beit Hillel said?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] They didn’t relate to it seriously. I think part of the reason was that because they were sharper, they probably looked down a bit on Beit Hillel. We’re geniuses, we’re sharp — what they’re saying, I forgot before they ever learned it. And then you don’t take such a person seriously. You don’t take such a person seriously even if, with great politeness, you hear his arguments. Politeness won’t help. You really have to listen and genuinely weigh their possibility. Even if they are less sharp, maybe they noticed something you didn’t think of. And if they, being less sharp, listened seriously to what you said and still didn’t accept it — and they too know that you are sharper, because that assumption wasn’t in dispute — then apparently they caught something. Listen to them carefully. If you do not listen carefully and seriously weigh what they are saying, the law will not follow you, even though you are sharper. This — yes — in this context I am always reminded of the famous Magen Avraham in section 156 there in Orach Chayim, where he inserts all sorts of Jewish laws in that section that he didn’t know where to place. He gathers various laws from across the Talmud that he doesn’t know how to categorize, and he brings them there. The Shulchan Arukh there says, “and afterward he should go out to his business,” at the end of the laws of the morning prayer. There is one clause there — “and afterward he should go out to his business.” It’s interesting why the Shulchan Arukh writes such a clause as a halakhic ruling; there are all kinds of homiletic explanations for it, and I’m not sure they’re correct. In any case, the Magen Avraham there brings a lot of laws that have no connection to one another; he simply puts there all the laws for which he found no place. One of those laws is — and it appears in the Talmud in two places — that one is permitted to say one’s own ideas in the name of a great person, “so that they will accept it from him,” in order that they accept it from you. Say that Moshe Feinstein said it. Okay? Attach it to a great person so that they accept it from you. “Whoever wants to hang himself should hang on a tall tree” — that is the language of the Talmud. Meaning, you are permitted to do this. In this context, by the way, it also brings up some associations for me — maybe I’ll say that in a moment. So the Magen Avraham is basically saying that you can lie, and state your position or your argument in the name of a great person, so that they will accept it from you. Now on the face of it that is absurd. You could be the biggest fool in the world and tell people, look, this is what Moshe Feinstein said. If Moshe Feinstein said it, then we’ll probably act that way. Even though it’s total fiction — Moshe Feinstein never dreamed of saying such a thing; it’s just your idiotic opinion. How can it be that one is allowed to mislead people like that? It is a very implausible Jewish law. My claim is that this law in Magen Avraham is based on the assumption that even if we hear something in the name of a great person, we will not necessarily accept it. Only because of that am I allowed to say something in the name of a great person. If we accepted it automatically because Moshe Feinstein said it, then of course it would be forbidden to say such a thing. Now you’ll ask: if they don’t accept it, then what’s the point of the lie? After all, the whole reason I’m lying is so they will accept it from me. But if even when I say it in the name of Moshe Feinstein they won’t accept it, then what’s the point of the lie? The answer is: they won’t accept it, but they will consider it seriously. Something said by Moshe Feinstein will not be dismissed, they won’t just throw it away. In other words, this instruction of the Magen Avraham is speaking to a person who feels that people look down on him. He thinks he has a good argument, and the person opposite him is probably a greater Torah scholar, or at least that is how he sees him, so he looks down on me. He doesn’t seriously consider what I’m saying even if he hears it, but he is unwilling to seriously weigh what I’m saying. So what should I do? I’ll tell him: you know, I read this in Igrot Moshe. He said this, and this was his proof, and so on and so on. Ah — if Moshe Feinstein said it, I won’t accept it just because Moshe Feinstein said it, but of course I will seriously weigh the argument before I formulate a position. And therefore it is excellent that one is allowed to lie here, because all I will do is cause the person opposite me to seriously consider one more consideration. He certainly cannot lose anything from that. At most, in the end he will decide not to accept it. No problem. But at least when he formed his position he also seriously weighed my reason. That can only improve his decision. It is a constructive lie. Okay? And I think it is obvious that without this, there is no way to rule as the Magen Avraham rules, that one may lie. Such a thing would simply be unthinkable. Therefore it seems obvious to me that this Magen Avraham is the greatest proof that one need not accept things just because a great person said them. Yes — the introduction of Rabbi Shimon Shkop to Sha’arei Yosher, there in the introduction, he brings — and I spoke about this once too — the passage of “this one benefits and that one does not lose.” It begins there with Rami bar Chama arriving there, and Rava or Rav Chisda, I don’t remember who it was there, wanted…

[Speaker C] Rav Hamnuna — no, not Rav Hamnuna, I think Rav Chisda.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] He says to him, listen, you missed out—there was a fascinating discussion in the study hall. He asked him, what was it about? So he says to him, excuse me—and then he told him about the case of “this one benefits and that one does not lose.” He says to him: That? That’s an explicit Mishnah. You people are talking nonsense, splitting hairs—it’s an explicit Mishnah. I could have ruled on that straight from the Mishnah. So he says to him, what do you mean? Come on, what’s the proof? The proof? The whole study hall is in an uproar, what an amazing discussion, and there’s an explicit Mishnah that states the conclusion. So he says to him, go attend to me. He says: first attend to me, and then I’ll tell you. Right? So he attended to him, and then he gave him some proof from the Mishnah—a very strange proof, by the way. Rava immediately jumps in and says: what kind of proof is that? It’s completely foolish. The guy doesn’t even notice he’s talking nonsense. Rava really uses very dismissive language there about Rami bar Hama. And the question is: why did Rami bar Hama ask Rav Hisda to attend to him before telling him his proof? And my answer—or really Rabbi Shimon Shkop’s answer, not mine—is exactly what I said earlier. When Rami bar Hama is about to tell him the proof, Rami bar Hama also knows that this proof is problematic. It’s a proof that, at first glance, looks really stupid. It really does look stupid. On the face of it, it looks absurd. Without getting into the actual passage, so I won’t go into the details—it looks absurd, it just doesn’t get off the ground. Rami bar Hama knows that. But he also knows he’s right. Or at least that’s what he thinks. But in order to understand that he’s right, you have to think twice. At first glance, it looks like he’s talking nonsense. So he tells Rav Hisda to attend to him—why? Because if Rav Hisda attends to him, then clearly he attributes importance to what he says, he values him. Ah—if he values me, then even if he hears from me something that sounds to him like nonsense, he won’t dismiss it out of hand; he’ll think about it again. And indeed, later there in the Talmud, Rava immediately jumps in and says: what nonsense are you talking? Why? Because Rava did not attend to Rami bar Hama. And Rava apparently doesn’t give him the regard that Rav Hisda gave him. Why did Rav Hisda remain silent? What—Rav Hisda didn’t see that he was talking nonsense? It’s nonsense that any child could see is nonsense. Rav Hisda certainly thought about it, and Rav Hisda stayed quiet. Why? Because he understood that here is someone he respects, and if he says something like this, then it’s not absurd. Let’s think about it. Maybe I’ll accept it, maybe not, but it’s something that requires thought; it’s not something I’ll dismiss at the threshold. Rava, who didn’t attend to him, dismisses it at the threshold. And then Rami bar Hama explains—or the Talmud explains—why there actually is logic in Rami bar Hama’s words; it actually is correct. And Rava, yes, kind of comes out looking foolish. Rava basically jumped immediately and said that Rami bar Hama was talking nonsense. Why? Because he didn’t give it further thought. Again, maybe he still wouldn’t have agreed even after thinking, but to say that it’s nonsense means you didn’t think about it. Because “nonsense” it isn’t. He could say, I don’t agree with his reasoning—fine. It’s reasoning one can argue with. But when you say it’s nonsense, it’s clear you didn’t take his reasoning into account, no question. It’s clear that that’s true, because his reasoning is definitely not foolish once you hear it. You can argue, you can reject it, but foolish it is not. Okay? And Rabbi Shimon Shkop brings this in the introduction. Rabbi Shimon Shkop brings this in the introduction to Sha’arei Yosher, because he says: I know that in this book of mine I invested a great deal, that’s how he writes there, and I know that many people who study the book will come to various places where the ideas will seem puzzling, strange, absurd. And therefore I ask everyone who reads the book—only if he respects me, that’s what Rabbi Shimon Shkop writes there. If you do not respect me, don’t open the book, because all the things that seem strange to you, you’ll dismiss out of hand, you won’t think about them. In other words, you’ll be left only with the things that sound reasonable to you—so you’ve learned nothing, because you thought it was reasonable and stayed with what you already think is reasonable. Every time there’s something new that challenges your current way of thinking, you’ll dismiss it out of hand if you don’t respect me. So why are you opening the book? Open the book only in a situation where it can change your perceptions, where you can learn something new from it. When will that happen? If you respect me properly. Then even though you see something that doesn’t seem logical to you, that seems stupid to you, you’ll invest another round of thought, and then maybe you’ll discover new things, and maybe not. He also says there at the end: I’m not asking you to accept what I say; I am asking you not to disdain what I say. I worked hard on this; there is no nonsense here. That’s really what he wants to say. You can argue, you can accept it, you can reject it. There is reasoning here—but it isn’t nonsense. And therefore someone who doesn’t respect me, and for whom many of these things will seem like nonsense, shouldn’t open it. Yes, I have a friend in Bnei Brak, a great Torah scholar, and he calls this book Sha’arei Oker instead of Sha’arei Yosher. I had some bitter arguments with him; I really don’t agree with him, and I think that’s part of the reason. If you had invested another thought, you’d have seen that it isn’t as crooked as you think. You can argue, but it isn’t crooked. Think again and you’ll see there’s real sense there. For our purposes, I’m returning to our line of thought: so basically, the first claim I’m making is that it is not correct to follow the majority even if the majority is wise, or to follow most of the wise people, as long as they have not seriously weighed the arguments of the minority, or of those who are less wise—it doesn’t matter, these are the two dimensions, both the dimension of wisdom and the dimension of numerical majority. If you have not seriously weighed the other side’s considerations, then you have no advantage of majority. Say, in a place where—if I think, and that’s not always the case, there’s always a tendency to think so, but it’s not always the case—but if I think, say, I don’t know, highly educated people in the university, okay? And the claim is that in the university there is, what shall we call it, even some kind of position or agenda that is very strong in certain directions—call it left-wing, liberalism, or whatever it may be. Then even if I accept the fact that most educated and intelligent people and so on think that way, if I think they did not seriously weigh the opposing arguments—even though those may indeed come from less educated or less intelligent people, let’s say I grant that, it doesn’t matter for now, I don’t always grant it, but let’s assume I do—if they did not seriously weigh the other arguments, then they’re moving like a herd, so what if they’re smart? Then there is no advantage here to the majority of the wise, because they are not willing to seriously consider the arguments of the opposing side. And therefore to say automatically that these people are smarter or more educated and therefore probably more correct—I absolutely do not accept that. I would take much more seriously a place that has no fixed position; I don’t know if such a place exists. And if I could identify a place where there are fewer preconceived positions, where a person is willing to consider objectively the arguments on both sides and form a view—let’s say, someone who is often unexpected, I treat him with much more respect, someone who expresses unexpected views. Because I would have expected him to say one thing, and suddenly I hear no, no, on this issue he thinks differently. Then I see that he is really forming a position objectively and not out of preset positions, and then he’s worth listening to. Because many times lots of people can be very, very smart, and they go like a herd after the common wisdom, the thing accepted in their milieu, and all that intelligence doesn’t help at all. And they are terribly dismissive of other outlooks. Everything I’m saying now is already really talking about current events without naming them, but it really does touch on current events, and it doesn’t carry much weight because it really is a kind of herd behavior. Again, this exists on both sides. I’m only saying that since it exists on both sides, I see no advantage of the wise over the less wise, of the educated over the less educated. I see no such advantage. If you are not willing to seriously weigh the positions of the other, then what use is all your intelligence to me? Your intelligence can help you when you hear these arguments and those arguments; if you’re an intelligent person, you’ll know how to choose among them. But if you decided as you did not because you weighed both sides, but because you are in a place where that is the prevailing opinion, then you did not use your intelligence. So what good does it do that you are smart? Understood? I’m presenting things in a very extreme way, but I’m trying to show the principle. The principle is that there is no reason to pay much attention to a society, to a group, or to people who do not seriously weigh opposing views; their views do not mean very much, no matter how wise they may be. Any person can learn something from the arguments of someone else, even if he’s stupid, uneducated, and nothing at all. Think—sometimes even if your position remains your position, you’ll remain in it for slightly different reasons, you’ll refine it a bit, balance it a bit, understand that there is some other side. You’ll stay with your view; it may turn out afterward that you were in the end right. Still, you lost nothing by hearing the other arguments. And this is so lacking in the arguments we have today, and I can’t restrain myself from these comments—and again, really comments, I’m not going in that direction now at all—it is true in both directions. In both directions it is like this. And it is a terrible evil that people are not willing to hear the arguments of the other side. After that, make your decisions, but there is no real listening. Everything—even if you hear him, you do not really seriously consider what he says; you disqualify it at the threshold. Therefore, if people use the leniency of the Magen Avraham, right, then a left-wing person should quote Bibi in an argument. Bibi said that we have to do such-and-such, and then the right-wing person will treat it seriously—or the other way around, right, it doesn’t matter. So the right-wing person should quote Amos Oz, I don’t know who—it doesn’t matter. Quote Lapid and Gantz too, that won’t make any impression on anybody. Fine, anyway, that’s the first comment. The second comment is, yes, my anarchistic comment—I’m one of the anarchists. This comment basically says that my initial tendency is to think that usually the minority is right, not the majority. Why? Because there are few smart people and many fools. When there is an argument, usually when there is a majority holding a certain opinion, that’s probably the fools. The smart people, by nature, are few. There is an intelligence pyramid; the smart people, by nature, are few, the fools are the majority, so if there is an argument, usually the minority is right. That’s the claim. Now again, notice: Sefer HaChinukh, in a certain sense, also agrees with this. He says that we follow the majority, but only when they are equal in wisdom. But if there is a wise minority and a foolish majority, then the wise minority is right. That’s what Sefer HaChinukh says, because Sefer HaChinukh argues that following the majority is meant to reach the truth, and so too, if there is a wise minority, we follow it—that is how we reach the truth. Okay?

[Speaker C] Now of course that’s more so, but it doesn’t mean all the smart people are in that minority.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, of course. That’s why I say this is terribly simplistic, of course, because obviously in the group that says X and in the group that says not-X there are smart people and fools in this group and smart people and fools in that group. But as a model, it can be a model that puts a question mark on this assumption that the majority is right. Obviously when I say the minority is usually right, I’ve gone too far, but it can still put a question mark on the assumption that the majority is right. Okay? Now I’ll say more than that. This is something I once thought of, I’ll say more than that, and by the way this too is not precise, but people pointed it out to me after I wrote the column. In the column itself I added a note that I received afterward from one of the readers, qualifying what I had said there. What I said there was this: usually—no, we’ll get to that in a moment, Menachem, I’m on the way there. Hey, can you see this Gaussian here? This is a distribution, an intelligence distribution. Okay, grades aren’t important right now—let’s say an intelligence distribution. Now notice that the distribution, let’s say this is a normal distribution, right, some Gaussian where at the very edge—the very smart and the very stupid—there are few people, and in the middle the majority is in the middle, the average majority. So actually what I described earlier as a pyramid isn’t correct; it’s a Gaussian, meaning there are very few highly intelligent people. But notice what happens if I look at the distribution of opinions only from zero and up, at the right half of the Gaussian. Suppose I take the faculty members in academia, okay? So let’s say not all of them are geniuses, but it does create some kind of filter and one can assume they belong to the right half of the Gaussian. Okay, let’s take all the professors in academia. So they belong only to the right half of the Gaussian, so among them one could definitely say that the distribution is such that the brilliant ones are very few, and the average smart people are the majority, right? Now if we go with… I’m just playing around a bit here, of course, yes, one can reflect on this in many ways, but if we go in this direction, then look what comes out: it comes out as the complete opposite of what people always say. Let’s look, for example, at a dispute between left and right. People always say that the left consists of more educated people, smarter people—let’s say smarter, I won’t get into it right now, just to illustrate the argument, okay? Let’s say they’re smarter. Now look: where, really… after all, people say it’s not that most of the public is left-wing; most of the public is not left-wing, just the opposite. Most of the smart people are left-wing—that’s the claim. Again, I’m not entering the question of whether it’s true. That’s the claim. And let’s see what that means according to the model I just described. Let’s take the smart people; they belong to the right half of the Gaussian. In the right half of the Gaussian, who is right, the majority or the minority? The minority, of course, right? Because there is a minority of the very smart, and the majority are the less smart. Now let’s take the simple masses, yes, the left half of the Gaussian. Who is right there? There the majority is right, because there are very few who are truly stupid, and the majority are people who are smarter. Okay. Now notice: in the distribution between left and right, in the smarter half there is a majority for the left, and in the less smart half there is a majority for the right. That means the right is correct. Because in the smarter half, the minority—which is the right—is correct, and in the less smart half, the majority—which is the right—is correct. Both indications, from both sides of the Gaussian, lead to the conclusion that the less smart are right. Not the less smart, rather the right-wing in this context. Religious, right-wing, whatever—apply this to all arguments. Doesn’t matter. Creationists versus evolution, whatever you want. Okay? These arguments come up a lot. Now of course this too is just play. Why is it play? Because the minority is not always wrong; the minority is wrong fifty percent of the time. There are all sorts of assumptions here that are not correct. Yes, someone who is completely foolish—in what percentage of cases will he be wrong? I think you got this in the previous lesson. He won’t be wrong in a hundred percent of cases—he’ll be wrong in fifty percent. It’s like a blind lottery, right? Someone who is completely foolish has no way of knowing what the truth will be. So in how many questions will he be right? Fifty percent. It’s like a blind draw. The position of a fool means no judgment at all; it’s just flipping a coin. But in flipping a coin, fifty percent of the time you’ll come out right.

[Speaker B] Either it’s without judgment, or it’s judgment in the wrong direction, as it were?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, but that doesn’t happen. You can happen to hit the truth by chance; there’s just no indication that you’ll hit the truth. It’s no worse than a blind machine.

[Speaker B] If he’s that kind of crooked fool, then all his moves will go…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, there’s no such thing as a crooked fool. A crooked fool would be someone who, every time there’s a correct argument, deliberately chooses not to pick it. There’s no such thing. There’s someone who doesn’t understand what’s correct. So if he doesn’t understand what’s correct, then as far as I’m concerned it’s a blind lottery. In a blind lottery, you’re right in fifty percent of the cases. Therefore, the analysis I just gave is of course not correct, or at least in many contexts it isn’t correct. I’m only trying to show you that the claim that the majority is right, or that most sages are right, is a claim that is far from simple, even though everyone is terribly convinced that if it really is true that the majority is like this and the minority is like that, then it’s a winning card. It’s really not a winning card. And on top of that, you can also discuss who counts as sages, and what the connection is between wisdom and education, and various other questions. Sometimes the connection between wisdom and education is actually the opposite. But those are already other questions. I was trying to show different aspects that go against the seemingly self-evident assumption that the majority is right. It is not true that the majority is right. It depends. If they’re not discussing things with one another, if they haven’t heard the… seriously, if they haven’t listened attentively to the arguments of the other side, then the majority will not necessarily be right. A minority that does listen will be more right than they are. In places where you have distributions of that kind, say a half-Gaussian or something like that, again, it’s not certain that the majority is right. Even though most sages think that way, that still doesn’t mean they’re right. There are a lot of cheats in the analysis I gave earlier. Obviously, if you take professors in academia, for example, it’s not half-Gaussian, it’s a full Gaussian. It’s just shifted to the side. There too there are a few who are stupid—not maybe stupid at the extreme pole—but still, the distribution is Gaussian, not half. It doesn’t begin at the maximum and go down. It begins with very few, rises, then again very few, say something like that. Doesn’t matter, there are lots of cheats here. All in all I’m just trying to show a certain kind of consideration; I’m not positively asserting the claim I just made. I’m trying to show why these claims about following the majority because presumably the majority is right are far from self-evident. It is really not necessary that following the majority means that the majority is right because the majority is right. No, it is not necessarily true that the majority is right. Now, the second claim—this was with regard to a majority being right. The second question we need to discuss is whether, assuming the majority is right, does the majority determine things? That’s another question. If the majority is right, then the second question is whether the majority decides. Why? Because here I heard earlier: sometimes there is a minority that is wise, or perhaps there can be other considerations such that even though the majority is right, it still doesn’t determine things. So that’s another topic I want to touch on now; that’s the second question. So here my starting point is of course Plato’s question that we spoke about earlier. And in our context, you know, there’s a famous saying attributed to Yitzhak Ben-Aharon, that after the 1977 upheaval, when Begin came to power, Yitzhak Ben-Aharon said that the people should be replaced, because the people made a mistake. That’s how people usually quote him. He apparently didn’t say that, and I saw some article when I looked a bit for the source of this matter—so I found some article in Haaretz by someone named Uri Yizhar from Mishmar HaEmek. I don’t know who he is, doesn’t matter. In any case, look here. He says, yes, in an article reviewing the course of Yitzhak Ben-Aharon’s life it was said that following the Labor movement’s loss to Likud in the 1977 elections, he said: if this is the will of the people, then the people must be replaced. It never happened, and it wasn’t even a parable. In the Israeli television broadcast on the night of the upheaval, Ben-Aharon said, after hearing the television sample results, that if this is the people’s decision, then he is not willing to honor it. This segment was rebroadcast on the day of his death on the program Yoman, etc. There is an essential difference between the statement that the people should be replaced and what Ben-Aharon actually said. In a democratic regime there is an obligation to accept the people’s decision in elections, but there is no obligation to hold it in esteem. Okay, what did he actually mean to say? Yitzhak Ben-Aharon did not claim that the people should be replaced. He claimed that the people made a mistake, and that he does not respect the people’s decision—not in the sense that he won’t comply with it, but that he doesn’t respect it in the sense that it is a mistaken decision. So what if the majority said so? Who says the majority is right? That brings us into the question—yes, first the first question I mentioned, whether the majority is right, and after that the second question: even assuming the majority is right, who says the majority decides? Okay, so here I want to move on and discuss the Platonic question of the rule of the philosophers. Yes, Plato basically argues that rule should be given not to the general public, not to a public vote, but to philosophers, to the wise. Let’s assume philosophers are wise—again, let’s say, assume. If they were wise they’d be physicists, not philosophers. But never mind, let’s say that’s true. So Plato’s claim is that basically one should—he is really denying democracy. He says: give rule to the wise. Why on earth should the decision be put in the hands of the majority? Let’s say, if we want to soften it a bit and formulate it in a more acceptable way, one could formulate it by saying: let’s weight the value of someone’s vote according to his IQ. Right? We’ll do IQ tests, psychometric exams, whatever you like, and everyone who votes, we’ll weight his vote in proportion to his IQ test or his talent. So everyone has the right to vote, but not everyone has the same weight in the decision. We’ll weight the votes of wise people differently from the votes of less wise people. That’s a Platonic proposal, but a bit moderated, a bit qualified. Maybe one could ask contemporary people to think about it a little more that way. Yes, if I were to raise this today, no one would listen of course—they’d stone me immediately—but maybe in this formulation it could be a little more acceptable. Now, if you ask people about Plato’s proposal—assuming you find people willing to relate to it, which usually you won’t, but if you do—then it seems to me, I’ve tried this already several times, that after they get past the gut reactions and the protests that you’re not even allowed to say such things and so on, and if you try to get actual arguments out of people—if you push hard enough, sometimes you succeed—then I heard two kinds of arguments. One argument is: who says these wise people are really wise? Let’s say they are philosophers. But decisions about security, policy, economics—those are not necessarily made better by philosophers. Who says that’s the measure of wisdom in those areas? Or in other words, it is very hard to agree on who is more or less wise in these areas. Okay, meaning: in principle Plato is right, I’m willing to give the decision to the wise, but there’s a technical problem—how do I determine who is wise? IQ tests can’t determine it, because people—yes, people with high IQs can say complete nonsense, and certainly on questions that are not in the abstract theoretical domain they deal in or are expert in. Once you get to practical life, may our ears be spared from what smart people can say. So that is the first claim. The claim that who says—how can one measure who is wise? The second claim is a claim that says: I don’t trust the wise. Suppose it is possible to measure who is wise. But who says the wise will place all of our interests before their eyes? If you give them the decision, they will act out of self-interest for their own benefit and not really try to make the best decision for all of us. So even if I am willing to accept that there are criteria to measure wisdom with respect to policy decisions, economic decisions, and so on, I have no trust in people, because they will make self-interested decisions. Therefore there is no choice but to go after the majority and not let the wise determine things. By the way, arguments of this kind are really less relevant in a religious court, because in a religious court first of all there probably are measures—not sharp measures, but yes, people do know who is a very outstanding Torah scholar and who is an ordinary person or an average Torah scholar. Right? There are some standards such that even the average one will agree that the other person is a greater Torah scholar than he is. Meaning, it’s not something totally subjective. So yes, one can measure Torah wisdom; it’s not something completely immeasurable. So let’s say among people who are in the same range, maybe you can’t measure it, but if there is someone who is clearly more of a Torah scholar than the other, we will more or less agree on that usually. Okay, so one can determine wisdom with respect to that. And second, of course, in the sense of interests, that also doesn’t exist there, because the religious court has no interest in the matter—whether Reuven is right or Shimon is right. As long as the judges are not relatives and not friends of either side, they just want to know who is right. So here it’s not like making decisions in a state, where you can decide to impose taxes on everyone who doesn’t work at a university, okay, because you are a university person. Then you’re acting out of self-interest. But in a religious court, plainly, there are no interests. You’re not deciding in favor of Reuven or in favor of Shimon. And therefore those two arguments really don’t hold water there, and indeed, yes indeed, Sefer HaChinukh actually says that if there is a wise minority then we will indeed follow them even though they are not the majority, because those two arguments really do not exist there. But the problem with this type of reasoning is that both arguments actually accept the Platonic assumption—that in principle the decision should be handed over to the wise. The only issue is that there is a technical problem, or there is no trust in the wise because they will make non-substantive, self-interested decisions. Or I don’t know how to measure who is wise and who is not wise. But imagine that I solved those problems. Elijah the Prophet came and testified about them that they are upright people, acting only for the public good in a perfect way. And he would also give us a metric for who is wise and who is less wise, who is wise and who is not. He would tell us who the great wise men are. Then according to the two explanations I described here, we would in fact hand the decision over to them, to the wise, right? There would be no obstacle. Doesn’t that make sense? They would make the most correct decision. That, in my view, is the fundamental problem. The fundamental problem is that people rebel against this proposal of the rule of the philosophers, and this is a classic phenomenon. Many times I run into this: people rebel against something you ask them about—it’s a sort of Socratic discussion. You offer a person something that is obviously wrong, obviously wrong to him, but it’s actually quite hard to explain why it is wrong. So at first glance he dumps on you that you’re anti-Semitic, wicked, conservative, benighted, whatever it may be. You tell him: okay, I’m all of that, but can you also give me arguments for why I’m wrong? Fine, so now he gets stuck. He starts thinking, and brings you one argument, another argument. Those arguments do not necessarily really describe what he himself thinks. It’s simply the way he manages to rationalize his initial intuition. When he thinks about it, trying to conceptualize and define what exactly the reason was that made him recoil from the proposal of the rule of the philosophers, then those are the two explanations that occur to him. But that does not mean that this is really what makes him recoil from the idea of the rule of the philosophers. In my opinion, that’s not correct. That is not the reason people recoil from the rule of the philosophers, certainly not the only reasons. Rather, many times people do not think of the correct reason, or they do not manage to define the correct reason for themselves, so they latch onto reasons they can define—and those are not the correct reasons. Once someone said—I don’t remember who it was, maybe Machiavelli, something from political science—that there is a difference between a pretext for war and a reason for war. The pretext always has to be something I declare: you invaded my territory, you did such-and-such, so I declare war on you. That’s the pretext. The reason is why I’m really going to war, and it’s not always the same thing. Very often a person raises arguments, and it’s clear to all of us that he is not saying it because of those arguments, but there is some kind of discourse—everyone understands it’s a kind of agreed-upon lie. You have to say something acceptable, but that’s not really why you think what you think or why you act as you act. This happens every day; we know it. Now, on the intellectual plane it’s also like that. And on the intellectual plane, what happens is not because of lying—it’s not lies. On the intellectual plane, generally speaking, in my opinion, it stems from lack of skill. A person feels that something is wrong, and when he thinks and tries to define for himself why he thinks it is wrong, he is not philosophically skilled enough to find the correct definition that describes what he himself feels, and so he offers the explanations that occur to him, but those are not really the explanations that are leading him. In this context, for example, I think the correct answer to the Platonic question is that there is no question; it doesn’t need answers. When Plato proposes following the wise, what is he basically assuming in the subtext? That we are looking for the smartest, most correct decision. So he says: then let’s follow the wise, even if they are the minority, as Sefer HaChinukh says, because the minority is right. Earlier I questioned that, but now I’m already on the second question. So let’s assume that we really do have criteria for who is wise and who is right, and everything is fine. There is a wise minority here, and they are probably right, let’s assume for the sake of discussion. But who said I’m looking for the just, correct, true decision? In a religious court I really am looking for the just, correct decision; I want to know what Jewish law באמת says about such a case. There it makes sense to follow the majority or a wise minority, because both of those are ways to get as close as possible, or with the highest probability, to the wise decision, the correct decision. But on the democratic plane, or in a community, or in public decision-making, the goal is not at all to reach the most correct decision. That is simply Plato’s mistaken assumption. The goal of votes in a democracy, of the democratic method of decision-making, is to arrive at the decision that the public wants, even if it is not the best one. And the majority is the index that shows me what the public wants, and therefore we follow the majority—not because the majority is right. And therefore, even if there is a wise minority and a foolish majority, in a democracy one should follow the majority, not because of the wisdom of the masses—because there is no such thing—and not because the majority is right, because the majority is often not right, certainly when a wise minority opposes it. Rather because the majority has the right to determine the course of the society to which it belongs. That’s all. It also has the right to make mistakes, even if it is mistaken. Let’s try to persuade it—fine, give it arguments, try to persuade it, you didn’t succeed. If you didn’t succeed, the majority decides. That’s all. Even if they are stupid and mistaken and all that is true, the majority decides. That’s it. Now, what is the idea behind this? Once I did a joint panel with Professor Shmuel Nitzan. Not exactly a panel, more like a conference where the two of us spoke there in the kollel at Bar-Ilan. He’s a person in mathematical economics, decision-making or social choice, something like that—I don’t remember what the field is called anymore, social choice or something—I wrote about it in one of my recent columns. He has a very interesting book published by the Open University. And there he basically argues—or not argues, rather the issue they are dealing with is this: after all, the democratic assumption is that a state should do what its citizens want, not what is correct. It’s a matter of rights. A person has the right to determine how the society to which he belongs will behave. He has the right, not because he is right, but simply because it is his right. This is a liberal conception that says that if this is what people want, then that is what should happen, even if it is not wise and not correct and not logical. Now what happens when there are disagreements—and on every matter there are disagreements, of course, certainly in a large society, there is no chance there won’t be disagreement on one issue or another. So now the question before us is: what does the public want? Fine, we decided that the state should do what the public wants, so all that remains is to determine what the public wants. Here the question is whom you ask. If you ask one person, he wants X; if you ask another person, he wants Y. There are differences of opinion. So what will the state do? What does the public want? There’s no such thing as “the public wants”; each person wants something else. What does the public want? Here there is a very interesting point—that is the field, that is what his book is about. There is what is called Arrow’s theorem or the Condorcet theorems, theorems in mathematical economics showing—and these theorems are fascinating, the proof isn’t even all that complicated—that there is actually no way to define what the public wants. There is no way to determine what the decision is that reflects the choice of the public. None. You propose various criteria—that’s how it works there. You propose criteria that a decision should satisfy in order for it to count as the decision of what the public wants. Arrow lists there in his theorem several criteria, I think five, and he proves that if you want to arrive at a decision that meets those five criteria, there isn’t one. There is no solution to the problem. A mathematical proof. You cannot formulate a decision when there are disagreements in the public; you cannot formulate an algorithm that will tell you what the public wants. Not in the simple sense that yes, of course there will always be some part that disagrees—no. Even if you formulate rules for cases of disagreement, and you want the decision to hit the mark, to impose minimal cost for the maximum number of people, all kinds of things, never mind, more detailed criteria than just following the majority. Why follow the majority? Why not the minority? More substantive criteria. And Arrow’s theorem says: there is no solution. It does not exist. A theorem of nonexistence. Okay, so what do democracies do? They say: okay, I don’t have an optimal solution, so the simplest model that represents what the public wants is the majority. The simplest, the most simplistic, it kind of makes sense, it has limitations, fine, but that is basically the model that represents what the public wants. And therefore one follows the majority. Not because the majority is right, but because the majority is the simplest model that is supposed to represent what a public containing disagreements wants. The majority is a possible, natural, simple measure—the simplest measure, not always the best, but the simplest—for what the public wants, and we need some measure. Simple measures are needed to run a society, so the measure of the majority is the one that was chosen. And if you understand it this way, then the Platonic question never gets off the ground. Because Plato says, wait a second, why not follow the minority? After all, the minority—the wise minority, right?—in all likelihood is right, and not the majority of fools. That is if I am looking for the correct solution, the best solution—but no, I am looking for the solution of what the public wants. And the right of a foolish person is exactly like the right of a wise person to determine what the society he belongs to will do. That is a liberal conception. And in terms of rights, the wise person has no advantage over the foolish person. Everyone has rights. Therefore it is irrelevant that there is a minority of wise people who think differently and the majority are foolish. Here too, Sefer HaChinukh knows that we will not follow the minority of the wise. In a religious court, he says one does follow the wise minority? Here too, Sefer HaChinukh knows not to do that. Now, maybe I’ll bring you indications of this. Look. There were halakhic questions that arose around the tenth and eleventh centuries. Until then, the Jewish people had been divided more or less between the Land of Israel and Babylonia. In the Land of Israel things had already weakened; Babylonia was the stronger, larger center, and most of the public was there, and there was a hierarchical structure with sages, the Exilarch, the sages in his court, the chief rabbis so-called, right? And there was a certain hierarchy there with legal autonomy that they received for most of that period, so the functioning was still functioning on the national plane. In the tenth century, the people begin to disperse, the center in Babylonia weakens, they already go—the myth of the four captives—so North Africa, and Italy, and France, and Germany, and they arrive in all sorts of other places. It’s no longer just Babylonia. And then what happens is that the hierarchy breaks down. A village no longer has a question and can turn to the district rabbi, and the district rabbi has the rabbi by the Exilarch, with some hierarchical path for making decisions. Rather, now there is some fishing village with three and a half Jews, two know how to read, one knows how to write, and now they need to decide what to do. How to divide the community taxes, or who will build the synagogue, all kinds of things like that. Decisions have to be made regarding the community, how the community is run. Now, there is no rabbi with authority over the community. The community itself has no rabbi, there is no district rabbi or state rabbi—none of that hierarchical structure exists anymore. And then questions begin to arise as to how decisions are made in a community. And this starts in full force in the eleventh century, and there are disputes among historians, very interesting disputes between Yitzhak Baer and Soloveitchik—Haym Soloveitchik, Rabbi Soloveitchik’s son, who is a historian at the Hebrew University, a professor of history—and there are debates between them, never mind. He even has a book, Responsa as a Historical Source, discussing responsa of this kind. In any case, one of the indications, for example, is the view of Rabbeinu Tam, that in a community one does not follow the majority. In a community, decisions have to be made unanimously. That is what Rabbeinu Tam claims. So you can see that the application of “follow the majority” said with regard to a religious court to a community is really not self-evident. There you are—Rabbeinu Tam says it is not correct to apply it. In a community there has to be unanimous agreement. This debate continues for hundreds of years. Most sages said one should follow the majority in a community as well. In the fifteenth century it eventually entered the Shulchan Arukh too; the decision was ultimately consolidated that one follows the majority. And if you check responsa of sages—the responsa of the Rosh, of the Rashba, of the Or Zarua—there are quite a few responsa that deal with this, many responsa dealing with it. You will see something very consistent. I noticed this in Elon’s book, where he brings many such responsa. Very consistently, all the responsa—at least all the ones I know, I think—are structured in a very strange way. Here is one responsum I’ll bring you, I think from the Rosh, yes, Responsa of the Rosh, section 6, siman 5. “And you asked whether two or three of the middle group in the city can exclude themselves from an agreement that the community makes, or from a decree of ban that they make regarding some matter.” In other words, the minority does not want to accept the majority’s decision. Can it say: I do not agree to the decision? “Know that concerning the affairs of the many, the Torah said, ‘Follow the majority,’ and regarding any matter on which the community agrees, we follow the majority. And the individuals must uphold whatever the many agree upon, for otherwise the community will never agree on anything if individuals have the power to nullify their agreement.” After all, it will never happen that everyone is unanimous. So if you don’t follow the majority, there won’t be decisions in the community. “Therefore the Torah said regarding every matter of agreement of the many: follow the majority.” Now pay attention—and this is true of all the responsa, not only the Rosh. I would have expected him to say: “Follow the majority,” done, we follow the majority. Why all this wrangling? There is a verse! No. “Follow the majority,” and “for otherwise the community will never agree on anything if individuals have the power to nullify their agreement.” Why do you need to explain it? In a religious court there is majority rule, the Torah says “follow the majority,” period, you follow the majority. It’s a Torah commandment, finished. What is this reasoning from the rationale of the verse—that if not so, you won’t be able to make decisions because the minority will always disagree with the majority and there will be no decisions? Why does he explain it? He explains it because he understands—even though he does not hold like Rabbeinu Tam. Rabbeinu Tam says “follow the majority” does not apply in a community. Why not? Because in a community this is a democratic majority. “Follow the majority” was said in a religious court, where the purpose of the majority is to strive for truth, as we saw in Sefer HaChinukh. But in a community, the purpose of the majority is to strive for what the public wants, to represent what the public wants. Who says the rule of “follow the majority” exists there? “Follow the majority” only says: seek the truth, go after the majority. But in a community we are not seeking the truth, we are seeking what the public wants. Who says the model is the majority? The minority doesn’t agree. Why assume the majority decides? So the Rosh says: true, you are right, you can’t learn this from the verse “follow the majority” in its simple sense. But know that otherwise you can’t function—there just won’t be decisions. Therefore you must apply “follow the majority” not only to a religious court, where it was said, but also to decisions of a community. And so it is in the Rashba, and so it is in the Or Zarua, all of them. After they bring “follow the majority”—Rabbeinu Tam doesn’t agree at all that “follow the majority” applies here—but even the medieval authorities (Rishonim) who disagree with him and say that “follow the majority” was said about a community too, it is always “follow the majority,” and besides that, otherwise it is impossible to function. This addition shows that even those medieval authorities understand that the application is not a simple one, that from “follow the majority” it is obvious that one should also follow the majority in a community. Why not? Because in a community one is not looking for the truth. The verse “follow the majority” tells you how to get to the truth. But here I’m looking for what the public wants. Who said that the model of majority is what the public wants? There is Arrow’s theorem, there is Condorcet’s theorem—of course I’m not claiming the medieval authorities knew this—but the point is: who says the majority is the representation of what the public wants? The minority says: I don’t want this. You can’t force it on me. I have the right to determine how society will behave or how I will behave. It cannot be that the majority will determine for me whatever the majority wants. Why on earth? Tyranny of the majority, right? Therefore he says: fine, but otherwise it is impossible to make decisions, it is simply impossible. And therefore “follow the majority” must be applied to decisions in a community too, and not only to decisions in a religious court. In the end he does conclude with the verse. But he understands that the application of the verse here is a very significant expansion. And the reason it is an expansion is what I said earlier: a majority in a community is a completely different mechanism from a majority in a religious court. Because a majority in a religious court seeks the truth, whereas a majority in a community seeks what the public wants. And those are really not the same thing. Okay, I’ll stop here, but we’re not done with the current issues—I’ll continue a bit with that next time too. We’ll talk about the tyranny of the majority and why one also has to accept the minority in certain situations.

[Speaker B] So that’s it—majority in Jewish law? What? That’s it, majority in Jewish law?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no. The series is still continuing. I’m only saying that what I did today isn’t finished yet. There’s still a certain section I need to complete. Okay, that’s it for now. Have a peaceful Sabbath, and let’s go hear what Avi spoke to us about.

[Speaker D] Just a second—I asked that because nullification by majority, is that like a democratic majority or a majority in a religious court?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I think not. “The majority is as the whole” is more similar to a democratic majority, not nullification by majority. Because “the majority is as the whole” basically says that if the majority says something, that’s what the public says. Nullification is something a bit different. But in “the majority is as the whole”—that really is not a simple question, whether it is connected to “follow the majority.” There are later authorities (Acharonim) who want to claim that it is, but regarding nullification by majority, the medieval authorities (Rishonim) write that it comes from “follow the majority.” In the Talmud it’s not written. The medieval authorities say it. But “the majority is as the whole” appears only in the later authorities. Okay. Sabbath peace, good tidings. Sabbath peace.