Halachic Thought – 5783 – Lesson 17

This is an English translation (via GPT-5.4). Read the original Hebrew version.

This transcript was generated automatically using artificial intelligence. There may be inaccuracies in the transcribed content and in speaker identification.

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[0:00] Introduction: the three stages of philosophical maturation
[1:02] Fundamentalism: the search for certainty in higher sources
[4:06] Synthetic maturity: intuition and judgment
[6:40] Differences between a synthetically mature person and a child: judgment versus acceptance
[8:57] Types of arguments in logic: deduction, analogy, induction
[17:31] The topic in Eruvin: examining the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel
[29:27] Wisdom versus the majority—what determines the ruling?
[31:05] Which majority determines it—wisdom or people?
[33:13] Lack of a constitution—the problem of rule without laws
[34:33] The need for broad agreement—how do we decide?
[35:41] Divine inspiration in the study hall—on Maimonides

Summary

General overview

The text presents three stages of maturation of a person and of a civilization: postmodern skepticism, born from the combination of the demand for certainty together with the recognition that there is no certainty; fundamentalism, which tries to obtain certainty from “higher” sources not subject to criticism; and synthetic maturity, which gives up the requirement that only certainty is acceptable and allows one to hold positions on the basis of common sense and judgment while remaining open to refutation. The author argues that synthetic maturity is the only way to cope with both fundamentalism and postmodernism together, and applies this framework to the passage of “these and those are the words of the living God” in Eruvin, to the question of the authority of a heavenly voice, and to a meta-halakhic dispute over rules of decision. He then rejects principled halakhic pluralism on the grounds that it rests on the assumption that sages do not err, and suggests that halakhic discourse in practice assumes truth and error even when disagreements exist, while emphasizing that the continuation of the explanation of the monistic reading will come later.

Stages of maturation: skepticism, fundamentalism, and synthetic maturity

The text describes two assumptions that accumulate after the “point of maturation”: that only something certain is acceptable, and that nothing can be certain. From these arises skepticism, identified with narratives, postmodernism, and pluralism. The text defines fundamentalism as an attempt to produce certain claims not through logic but through mystical or authoritative sources such as a rabbi, sage, prophet, or any source presented as absolute and not open to criticism, and stresses that fundamentalism in its philosophical sense does not depend on how cruel the deeds are but on whether the basic principles stand up to critical examination. The text presents “synthetic maturity” as relinquishing the assumption that only certainty is acceptable, so that one can hold positions based on common sense and judgment without claiming certainty and without turning them into dogma immune from criticism.

The difference between a child and a synthetically mature adult, and the use of “soft tools”

The text describes the “rebellion of adolescence” as the point at which a child or teenager demands proof, and the adult answers that there is no proof, only that “common sense says so”—an answer that sounds to the teenager like a child’s answer even though it belongs to a different stage of thinking. The text distinguishes between the first and third stages by saying that the synthetically mature adult forms a position through judgment and intuition, not “just because someone said so,” and that judgment is not the same thing as proof, though it remains subject to challenge and refinement. The text presents a division between deduction as a necessary argument and analogy and induction as “soft” arguments on which science relies, and explains that the skeptic sees science as a statement about the human being rather than about the world, whereas the public and scientists accept it as a real tool within its limits.

Description of changes in scientific theories and the meaning of “not correct” versus “approximation”

The text describes empirical science as a process in which a theory is built through induction and analogy, and one acts according to it until a more comprehensive theory appears that explains more phenomena and exceptions. The text illustrates this through Newtonian mechanics, which is correct as an approximation at low speeds and on certain scales, but is replaced in principle by relativity and quantum theory, and argues that in the end the earlier theory is “not correct” even if it is useful as an approximation. The text presents the distinction between “partial” and “not correct” as a semantic one, because usefulness stems from a small error, not from complete truth.

The logic of the hermeneutical principles as formal logic for soft arguments

The text argues that there is a “soft logic” that can be formalized, particularly the logic of the rational hermeneutical principles, which regulates analogy and induction, including rules of argument and refutation. The text presents this as an essential difference between the thinking of a child or a fundamentalist and that of the synthetically mature adult, who acts in a systematic, rational, and critical way even without certainty, and subjects every position to critical examination. The text presents a view that distinguishes between the absence of certainty and the absence of acceptability, and argues that “not certain” does not mean that opposite sides are equivalent, but rather that one may hold one position as closer to the truth until convincing arguments are brought against it.

The topic in Eruvin 13b: heavenly voice, majority, and rules of decision

The text opens with the passage in Eruvin 13b about the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel—“A heavenly voice came forth and said: These and those are the words of the living God, but the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel”—and asks why the dispute lasted so long, why it was not decided by “follow the majority,” and how they relied on a heavenly voice even though “we do not pay attention to a heavenly voice.” The text cites Tosafot, who answers that in the case of the Oven of Akhnai the heavenly voice came out “for his honor,” meaning Rabbi Eliezer’s, or else that where it goes against the majority it has no force; whereas in Eruvin the heavenly voice corresponds to the majority of Beit Hillel. The text explains that the need for a heavenly voice arose because Beit Shammai challenged a decision based on quantitative majority on the grounds that “they were sharper,” and therefore the dispute is not only about specific laws but a meta-halakhic dispute about “what counts” in deciding by majority: feet or heads, a majority of people or a majority of wisdom.

Sefer HaChinukh: quantitative majority versus superiority in wisdom

The text quotes Sefer HaChinukh on the commandment of “follow the majority,” which presents a rule according to which majority decision is appropriate when the two groups “know the wisdom of Torah equally,” and that it makes no sense for “a small group of sages” to lose to “a larger group of ignoramuses, even if they were as many as those who left Egypt.” The text presents this as an explanation of Beit Shammai’s view that number alone does not decide against superior wisdom, and emphasizes that such a decision is less accepted in practice because it is hard to agree on who is wiser, which leads to chaos, and so the practical rule remains to follow the majority. The text describes the deadlock between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel as arising because the argument is about the rules of the game themselves, and therefore cannot be solved by means of those same rules.

Analogy to politics in Israel: a dispute over the rules of the game and the absence of a constitution

The text compares the meta-halakhic dispute to a contemporary political situation in which one side relies on a majority of mandates while the other side argues for changing the rules of the game, so that deciding “according to the rules” is not accepted because the rules themselves are disputed. The text argues that since the founding of the State of Israel there have been no agreed-upon rules of the game because there is no constitution, and therefore every authority pulls powers to itself and the debate narrows into a struggle over who determines the basic rules and what “Basic Law” means. The text presents the attempt to create rules “out of nothing” as a situation that takes us back to the starting point, where broad agreement rather than a formal majority is required, and expresses doubt that such agreement will be achieved.

Divine inspiration, responsa from heaven, and a heavenly voice as insight rather than a transcendent voice

The text brings an example from the Raavad, who wrote, “Divine inspiration has already appeared in our study hall,” and presents Rabbi Margoliyot’s interpretation that this means a consensus that formed in the study hall after discussion, not binding heavenly intervention. The text cites the responsa From Heaven of Rabbi Yaakov of Marvege, in which questions are asked in a dream and the relation to “It is not in heaven” is discussed, and proposes understanding “heavenly voice” in the Talmud also as an insight hinted at through a natural event, such as hearing verses in a schoolroom and taking them as a sign. The text argues that in the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel, the heavenly voice is needed precisely because the ordinary rules of decision do not solve the disagreement over the rules of decision, and therefore here there is no contradiction to the principle of not relying on a heavenly voice when a halakhic alternative exists.

“It is not in heaven” and truth versus halakhic ruling

The text brings an aggadic passage about a dispute between the Holy One, blessed be He, and the heavenly academy concerning a leprous spot and white hair, in which Rabbah bar Nachmani rules against the Holy One, blessed be He, and Maimonides rules that way in Jewish law, and interprets this as a declaration that one rules according to human rules and not according to mystical revelation. The text states that “It is not in heaven” teaches that Jewish law is not determined according to “the truth” as it is in heaven, but according to the interpretation of the tradition given at Sinai and the rules of decision transmitted to human beings. The text presents this as a fundamental question about the relationship between halakhic ruling and truth, and announces that the discussion will continue later.

“These and those are the words of the living God”: a pluralistic reading versus a monistic reading

The text presents the sentence “These and those are the words of the living God, but the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel” as one that appears contradictory, and distinguishes between a pluralistic reading in which both sides are right and therefore the ruling follows Beit Hillel for reasons unrelated to truth, and a monistic reading in which there is one truth and the reason of “they were pleasant and humble” explains why Beit Hillel’s approach comes closer to the truth. The text cites Rabbi Yosef Karo’s interpretation that the fact that they stated Beit Shammai’s words before their own shows a method that listens to the opponent’s arguments, weighs them seriously, and then formulates a more precise position; therefore the ruling in accordance with Beit Hillel stems from greater closeness to the truth and not from a “prize for good behavior.” The text links this to the synthetic idea of holding a position through judgment and hearing criticism without demanding certainty.

Magen Avraham, saying something in the name of a great person so that it will be accepted, and the forged Jerusalem Talmud of Kodashim

The text cites in the name of the Magen Avraham a ruling that one may say something in the name of a great person so that people will accept it from you, and interprets this as a permission intended to cause the other side to take an argument seriously when they are dismissing you, not as a permission to create blind authority. The text compares this to the behavior of Beit Shammai, who because of their sharpness did not feel a need to listen to Beit Hillel, and argues that the use of an authoritative name is intended to break contempt and create real discussion. The text distinguishes between attributing something to a great person and forging a source with formal authority such as the Talmud, and brings up the affair of the forged Jerusalem Talmud on sacrificial matters from the early twentieth century as a wrongful act because the Talmud is binding for halakhic ruling, so such a forgery changes the law and does not merely improve attentiveness to an argument.

Rejection of halakhic pluralism, three interpretive approaches, and the claim that sages can err

The text declares that the author is a monist and argues that pluralists “are mistaken,” explaining that the motive for halakhic pluralism is a reading of “these and those” as proof that sages do not err, and therefore two contradictory views can both be true at once. The text presents three ways to interpret “these and those”: a pluralistic one in which both sides are right, a monistic one in which one is right and one is wrong, and a harmonistic one in which the two together make up a broader truth, each grasping one aspect of it. The text brings the “these and those” passage in Gittin 6 about the concubine in Gibeah as a case in which Elijah explains that both details occurred together, and identifies this as a harmonistic model similar to Maimonides’ parable of the elephant, in which two different descriptions arise from different angles on the same reality.

The claim of “ad hoc,” paradoxes, and fuzzy logic

The text argues that a consistent pluralism that excludes certain cases is an “ad hoc” solution meant to rescue a position from difficulty without principled justification, and compares this to attempts to solve paradoxes by prohibiting their formulation. The text expands on the liar paradox, on Russell’s solutions through type theory, and on the sorites paradox and the bald man paradox, and presents a solution based on the fact that everyday concepts are not binary but continuous. The text presents fuzzy logic as a way to understand concepts like “heap” or “afternoon” in terms of a degree between zero and one, and identifies the construction of the paradox as a result of dichotomous thinking.

Interim summary and continuation: truth and error in Jewish law and the promise of an explanation for the monistic reading

The text argues that in halakhic literature, decisors act on the assumption that there is truth and error, as emerges from concerns like “perhaps I erred,” “fear of ruling,” and the effort to clarify the law, whereas halakhic pluralism appears mainly in works of thought. The text distinguishes between the existence of different opinions and the claim that they are all “equally correct,” and presents contextual situations as not being a real dispute if each side would agree under the other circumstances. The text concludes that it still remains to explain how a monistic reading interprets “these and those are the words of the living God” when in the very same situation one decisor permits and another forbids, and denies the claim that “in the future the Jewish law will follow Beit Shammai” as something that is “not in the Talmud and nowhere else.”

Full Transcript

[Speaker A] Let’s begin.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Last time I spoke about—well, I described three stages of maturation, both of an individual person and of, let’s call it, our civilization in general. And I said that in the end—I’m not going to go back over it, but briefly—in the end, after we pass the point of maturation, we have before us, we have accumulated along the way, two assumptions. One assumption is that only something certain is acceptable, and the second assumption is that nothing can be certain. And therefore, the required maturation, if I remain with those two assumptions, is skepticism. Right? Basically narratives, or postmodernism, skepticism. There can’t be certainty about anything. You can call it pluralism, and in my view that’s a synonym for postmodernism, but maybe I’ll say a bit more about that later on. The second type of maturation is fundamentalism. Fundamentalism is basically an attempt to draw certain claims not through rational, philosophical, logical arguments, but from some kind of higher sources. Okay? Mystical sources, through the rabbi, the sage, the prophet, the magician, the qadi, whatever you want—anyone from whom what I hear is absolute, not open to criticism, certain. And then that solves my problem of certainty, even though we agree that through arguments you can’t reach certainty, because the basis of every argument is assumptions, and assumptions have no proof. So in effect, by logical or philosophical means you can’t reach certainty. But we have an alternative: we can reach certainty by mystical tools. And that is basically fundamentalism. I said that fundamentalism is basically a conception that says our basic principles are not open to criticism. They are not handed over to critical thought. Yes, you have to accept it because that’s how it is, and if reason says otherwise, overcome it. But it is not open to critical thought. I said that in principle people often identify fundamentalism with extremism, or with cruel acts, or ISIS and things like that, but I think fundamentalism in its philosophical definition has nothing at all to do with the acts you do. It has to do with whether what you believe can be subjected to a critical test—are you willing to think about it, maybe it’s right and maybe it isn’t—or whether it does not stand up to critical examination. Now, when you believe in beliefs of that sort that can also lead you to murder, then fanatical belief like that leads you to extreme and cruel behavior. It could also be like Mother Teresa, who can believe in morality in a fundamentalist way, and then there won’t be any cruelty there at all, but it’s still fundamentalism. Because it’s still a position you can’t argue with—there’s nothing to talk about. Meaning, it’s something that does not stand up to critical examination. Okay?

[Speaker A] And in some way that reminds me of Oswald Spengler’s idea of civilizations breaking open. That every civilization has several stages. A childhood stage in which it’s sort of in awe, being built, just being born, just taking its first steps. A stage of maturation, adolescence, it’s vibrant, conquering, developing.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Those are descriptions—descriptions of modes of conduct. I’m talking right now on the philosophical plane. On the philosophical plane I divide it into these three stages. Maybe they parallel those stages; I’m not familiar with that. But the stages you’re describing are just forms of behavior. I’m talking about forms of thought, or logic, philosophy. The third maturation is what I called synthetic maturity. It doesn’t matter right now why I call it that—it’s a Kantian term—but the claim is that I give up the identification… yes, each of these is either to remain with the two assumptions, or to give up assumption B, or to give up assumption A. Those are the three possibilities. So if I give up the assumption that only something certain is acceptable, then I don’t need to resort to some higher sources that will give me certainty, because I’m not looking for certainty. And on the other hand I also don’t need to give up all claims, because I don’t accept only certain things; I don’t throw out everything that isn’t certain. I accept things that common sense says. That’s also good enough for me. Of course I’m not claiming it’s certain, and if I’m not a fundamentalist then I’m also willing to hear arguments against it. And if I’m not a fundamentalist, then I’m also willing to hear arguments against it and maybe be persuaded that I’m wrong. But that doesn’t mean that as long as I haven’t been persuaded I won’t hold that position. I will hold that position, I truly believe in it, and on the side I note to myself: I can’t be sure, maybe I’m mistaken, maybe someone will persuade me, everything’s fine. But that doesn’t mean that a priori I have to give up any commitment to a claim, a value, an ideology, something, because maybe someone will come and persuade me. If he comes, then he’ll persuade me. As long as he hasn’t come, this is what I currently think and this is what I believe. That’s what I called synthetic maturity. I said it’s the only way to cope with both fundamentalism and postmodernism at once. Because fundamentalism and postmodernism are clashing in the world today and can’t reach a decision because they both sit on the same assumption—the assumption that identifies acceptability with certainty. Only something certain is acceptable. So one says there is nothing certain at all, therefore everything is relative, everything is postmodernism. The other says no—it’s true that only something certain is acceptable, but I have a source for certainty. Not philosophy and not logic, but God, His prophets, His sages, or whoever it may be.

[Speaker C] What about beliefs and feelings? Sometimes I feel that something is true, so for now I hold that opinion. Is that synthetic?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Synthetic means that if my common sense tells me something is true, then for me that’s perfectly fine.

[Speaker C] Right,

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If they prove otherwise to me, then I’ll retract—no problem, assuming I’m honest enough. But that’s how it should be. Okay? That’s exactly what I called syntheticity. Now that in itself is not so simple—I won’t go into it further—but you need to understand, and I said this last time too, when the child asks, or the teenager asks his father, “Tell me, who told you? Maybe the opposite? Prove it.” That’s adolescent rebellion. So the father has nothing to tell him, because the father already knows there’s no proof for anything. So what does he tell him? “Listen, common sense says so. There’s no proof, but it’s true.” So when the teenager hears an answer like that, as far as he’s concerned that’s the answer of a child. You accept something as true just because that’s what people say—without proof. Okay? So he maps the adult standing opposite him onto the model of the child that he knows from his previous stage. He hasn’t yet been in the third stage, so he doesn’t understand that there’s a different stage here. But the truth—and I won’t get into it here, that’s a question in itself—the truth is, how do you make the distinction between these two stages, the first and the third? Ostensibly in both of them you accept things without having proof. So why is the synthetic adult really different from the child? My short answer—again, I won’t go into it too much—is that the synthetic adult forms his position not just because someone said so or because some people said so, but through judgment. Only judgment does not mean proof. It’s wrong to identify judgment with proof. Those are two different things. But there is certainly judgment, and I’m willing to hear counterarguments; maybe I’ll change my mind. I’m not dogmatic like the child, who when you challenge him, it’s certainly true because the adults said so. The adult forms a position not by logical tools—he does not expect certainty—but through some kind of judgment, intuition, a combination of the two, and so on. Now, I don’t think this differs from person to person completely, but it’s true that these are softer tools. It’s not like logic, which is universal and you have to agree and you can’t argue. Here there is room for debate, but it’s not true that it’s completely different for each person. There is a lot in common among most human beings. There are margins for disputes here and it’s not always certain—true, that’s the meaning. You adopt tools that in their essence are softer tools.

[Speaker D] Also, didn’t you say logic itself can be challenged? In logic we talked about how in logic—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I divided it into three types of arguments. Deduction is a valid logical argument, yes, certain. Analogy and induction are softer arguments. Arguments that may be right, may not be right, but we use them. It’s not that I say, well, analogy and induction are all speculation, not interesting. All our science rests on analogies and inductions. We also use soft arguments. The skeptic will tell you, forget it, science is a statement about yourself, not about the world. Because who told you it’s true? Hume’s problem of induction. Who told you it’s true? The fact that you’re used to what has happened until now probably continuing onward—so you’re used to it, so what? The world owes you nothing; it was here before you, as Mark Twain said. Okay? Meaning, the fact that you are built a certain way doesn’t mean it’s really correct to describe the world that way. Right—that’s what the skeptic will say. But scientists, and I think most of the public overall, do accept science as true within limits—not certain and all that. It may be refuted, but within limits it’s a good tool for knowing reality, I think in the eyes of most people. Why? There are no proofs there. Because people understand that what common sense says—that there are softer arguments like analogy and induction or abduction—these are acceptable arguments, right? With a warning label on the side. Maybe later I’ll discover it was a mistake. And that’s why we replace scientific theories from time to time. Newton was replaced, Einstein replaced Newton, fine, quantum theory replaced Newton. Everything’s fine.

[Speaker E] A question. I know that what basically characterizes modern empirical science is that a person builds a theory from some induction, analogy, and then applies some law to reality. Then we support that theory, act according to it, until a theory is discovered that is more comprehensive, can explain more things, can also explain the exception. So it’s not that something is a mistake, but that it’s partial, or correct only for—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Sometimes it turns out to be a mistake, sometimes it turns out to be partial. That’s a question of definition. Think, for example, about Newtonian mechanics. Newtonian mechanics is correct for low speeds. At high speeds, that’s relativity. On large scales it’s fine; on small scales, that’s quantum theory. Okay? So Newtonian mechanics has two limitations: on small scales, quantum theory; at high speeds or high energies, relativity. Fine? But Newtonian theory is correct for the intermediate situation—speeds that aren’t too high, scales that aren’t too small. But even there it’s not really correct; it’s just that there it’s close enough to the correct theory that you don’t need to deviate from it, because overall Newtonian theory is simpler. So I do the calculations assuming Newton is right, but in truth he is entirely wrong. He’s wrong across the whole range, except that on large scales or at not-too-high speeds his error is small enough that I can still do the calculations with Newtonian theory. Here too it’s only a question of definition. In the end, when you refute a theory, it turns out to be incorrect, period. Not partial—inaccurate. Simply not correct. It may be that in certain domains it serves as a good approximation. That’s usually how it is. Usually it’s not just partiality; it’s incorrectness whose incorrectness in some region is small enough that we can keep using the previous theory.

[Speaker E] And that we call a theory that is correct, no?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Call it whatever you want, but I’m saying: what I described earlier is that in the end we replace a theory and it turns out the previous one was incorrect. Call it something else, doesn’t matter—it’s not correct. Okay? That’s what emerges. The difference between saying the theory is partial and saying it is incorrect is a semantic difference. Because in the end it’s always not correct. Only you say, okay, but for me every calculation—every engineer, every physicist dealing with everyday things—uses only Newtonian mechanics even though we all know it isn’t correct. Because on those scales it gives excellent results, even though it isn’t correct. Just always know that in the tenth digit after the decimal point you’ll always find an error. Because it isn’t precise. But the error is small enough that we can use that theory. Okay? But for our purposes, what I just want to say is that synthetic maturity is not just dogmatism, because otherwise we’ve gone back to fundamentalism. When I believe in something because my common sense says so, I’m not a fundamentalist. Rather, I have an intuition that says it’s right. But intuitions are not free of error. Meaning, if someone shows me, “Listen, do the calculation for a moment and see—it contradicts another intuition you have,” or “it contradicts some empirical finding,” or whatever, or “it doesn’t make sense if you look at it from this angle or from that angle,” then I’ll retract. That’s the difference; that’s why I’m not a fundamentalist. Okay? And I also don’t accept it just because someone said so, so I’m not a dogmatist like the child, as I spoke about the period of childhood, the first stage. It’s a different situation. Now, I won’t go into this here, but in the course on the hermeneutical principles I’ll get to it—there’s an entire logic we developed; you could call it soft logic. Formal logic with logical mathematics that describes soft arguments: analogy and induction. Standard logic handles only deductions, only necessary arguments, yes—every X is Y, A is X, conclusion: A is Y. Or if X implies Y and X also exists, conclusion: Y. Right? Those are syllogisms, necessary arguments, deductions. Okay, but there are analogical arguments. Analogies aren’t usually considered part of logic. How do you formalize an analogy? This thing is a table, so it’s brown. That other thing is also a table, so it’s also brown. How can you formalize that? It’s not structural, it’s not formal. It’s just kind of common sense. It turns out you can formalize it. You can create an orderly logic that shows us how to make analogies and inductions correctly, and refutations of them and all sorts of things like that. That is basically the logic of the rational hermeneutical principles. We started from there and saw that it’s really the logic of science and law and everything. There’s truly a formal logic there. Why am I saying this? Because for me this is exactly the expression of the difference between the first stage and the third. In the third stage I work with logic, I work with reasoning. True, it’s not certain, it’s not ordinary formal logic, but I definitely work in a systematic, sensible, rational way. It’s not a child who accepts things just because someone said so, or a fundamentalist who accepts things because someone said so. There is judgment here, and that judgment has a logical basis, and it can be refuted, and it can be tested, and it can be challenged, and it can be refined. Meaning, it works very much like ordinary logic. There is control over what I think—it’s not just that I decided and that’s that. Everything is put to the test. I’m not a fundamentalist. Every position of mine—there is no position I am certain about. I’m certain about nothing, except maybe that very principle itself, that I’m not certain about anything. And then there’s the contradiction. Almost. What?

[Speaker E] Yes, okay, I—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I can also say I’m not sure about that either, if you want to calm down from that loop. But the point is that it doesn’t prevent me from holding positions. The postmodernist says, look, if you’re not certain, then you’re not more right than I am or I’m not more right than you, because “not certain” means “not acceptable.” And I say no, that’s wrong. “Not certain” could mean fifty-fifty; it could also mean ninety-ten. Meaning, when I say I’m not certain, that means I have no certainty—it does not mean it isn’t true. It does not mean that someone who says the opposite is as right as I am. Not at all. Someone who says the opposite of me is, from my point of view, mistaken—unless he brings me good arguments and persuades me, and then fine.

[Speaker E] And then that opens another kind of discourse—not truth as certainty but truth as something closest to certainty. And between two opinions, the opinion closest to certainty is the truth.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Let’s say, yes, you can formulate it that way. Usually it’s hard to quantify, of course, but you have a sense that something is true. I don’t know how to assign a number to it—eighty percent, ninety percent, or sixty percent. Okay, so that’s regarding what we did last time. Now I want to get into the passage in Eruvin, and from there move to the issue of halakhic pluralism or monism. In other words, to apply the concepts we met here to Jewish law. Let’s start with a passage in Eruvin 13b, a famous passage—the dispute of Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel, the heavenly voice. Rabbi Abba said in the name of Shmuel. I’m also—I’m putting it into Zoom on the computer and also here, so every time with my coordination I forget that one of these things I haven’t done. Rabbi Abba said in the name of Shmuel. No, one second, it’ll come.

[Speaker A] Rabbi, since we’re already talking about Zoom, I tried—for one of the lessons the rabbi lent it—now regarding Zoom, I tried, it looks like the rabbi is trying both to speak to the computer and to the class. It takes away a bit from the concentration of someone watching the lesson.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, I really am speaking to the class—what can I do?

[Speaker A] It seems to me it would be more helpful if the rabbi stood, and then to someone sitting on Zoom it would look like the lesson is being delivered more directly to—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What, if I do it standing? I didn’t understand.

[Speaker A] Look, this is the view of someone watching the lesson on Zoom.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, I don’t know, this—I’m speaking to the people, that’s true, but okay, you’re here, you come first. Whoever wants can listen to the recording later, health to him, but the purpose of the lesson is you. The lesson is being given to you. Everything else is just one benefits and the other doesn’t lose. Rabbi Abba said in the name of Shmuel: “For three years Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel disagreed. These said: the Jewish law is in accordance with us, and those said: the Jewish law is in accordance with us. A heavenly voice came forth and said: These and those are the words of the living God, but the Jewish law is in accordance with Beit Hillel. And since these and those are the words of the living God, why did Beit Hillel merit to have the Jewish law established in accordance with them? Because they were pleasant and humble, and they taught both their own words and the words of Beit Shammai; and not only that, but they mentioned the words of Beit Shammai before their own words.” Then they bring an example—it doesn’t matter at the moment—showing that Beit Hillel mentioned Beit Shammai’s words before their own. Let’s try for a moment to understand what happened here. First of all, “for three years Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel disagreed.” This is not one dispute, of course; we know there were many disputes between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel.

[Speaker E] This—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] This is a very unusual dispute, very special. It’s special in several respects. It’s special in its duration—it lasted generations. Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel, according to scholars’ estimates, lasted something like 150 years. These disputes. Yes, Hillel and Shammai and afterward their students. Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai are their students. The real sons.

[Speaker A] A dispute for 150 years?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, disputes—but many disputes. That’s the duration of the controversy. The scope of the controversy—a great many laws. And somehow also the extremity of the dispute. The extremity of the dispute—in the Jerusalem Talmud it says they killed each other, Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. There was some kind of despair, that they couldn’t decide this dispute by ordinary tools, and therefore they came to violence, extremism, very problematic measures. I once made an analogy to our situation today, in a lecture I gave a few days ago. In any case, what is unique about this dispute? Why—why couldn’t they reach a decision? So that’s the Talmudic passage. First question. Second question: why not “follow the majority”? There’s a rule: when there is a dispute, you vote, you follow the majority. Explicit in the Torah. What, does someone disagree with that rule? What’s the problem? Why didn’t they use that rule? So A, why did the dispute arise? B, why wasn’t it decided according to the majority? C, how do they rely on a heavenly voice?

[Speaker E] How do they rely? Right, and when?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] After all, we do not pay attention to a heavenly voice.

[Speaker E] So where is the opposite?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] “It is not in heaven”—we do not pay attention to a heavenly voice. The Talmud in Bava Metzia there, with the Oven of Akhnai. Right? A heavenly voice came out and they say, “It is not in heaven,” we do not pay attention to a heavenly voice. A heavenly voice does not decide halakhic questions. So why here yes? The medieval authorities already ask this.

[Speaker A] Why not? Why not?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Because the rule says no. Why not? I want to make the following claim. There is—Tosafot, I think on 2b, asks the question: why did they rely here on a heavenly voice? Isn’t that against the Torah?

[Speaker E] Is that the projector screen?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, don’t you know it?

[Speaker A] I didn’t know there was a projection here—there’s Tosafot inside it.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, it’s very efficient. I learn only with the projector screen. I don’t open a book. “Here after the heavenly voice,” Tosafot says: “And if you should say, what is different that we do not rule like the heavenly voice of Rabbi Eliezer in Bava Metzia 59, as in the Oven of Akhnai—after all, we do not rule like a heavenly voice?” “It may be said that there it came forth only for his honor, as is evident there.” Meaning, there, in the Oven of Akhnai, the heavenly voice did not really mean to decide the Jewish law; rather, Rabbi Eliezer was in distress, and Heaven decided to protect his honor. So they produced a heavenly voice that said the law was in accordance with him, and the sages understood that they didn’t really mean it, and therefore they said we do not pay attention to a heavenly voice. But in truth we do pay attention to a heavenly voice. A novelty. Not his accepted view. What? Relativity. Exactly. Usually people think not—usually—but that’s what Tosafot argues. According to this answer in Tosafot, yes, we do pay attention to a heavenly voice. There it was a special heavenly voice because it came out for Rabbi Eliezer’s honor, but a heavenly voice that comes to decide the Jewish law—yes, we do pay attention to it. And another answer, a second answer: there it was against the majority, and the Torah said, “follow the majority.” There the heavenly voice came out in favor of Rabbi Eliezer, but most of the sages were against him. When there is a majority against it, the heavenly voice is of no use. But here, on the contrary, Beit Hillel were the majority. Here the heavenly voice goes with the majority, not against the majority. Beit Hillel were the majority. Of course, what does that raise? So what’s the question then? Why did Beit Shammai need a heavenly voice? If Beit Hillel were the majority—follow the majority. Tosafot says: rather, because Beit Shammai were sharper. Why did Beit Shammai—Beit Hillel thought as they did, that’s obvious; they don’t need the heavenly voice for that. Beit Shammai did not accept the law of following the majority, until a heavenly voice came out and said the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel. Why did Beit Shammai need the heavenly voice? There’s a vote—go with it. They were the minority, but it was too high-quality a minority. And therefore what?

[Speaker A] They hold that even though Beit Hillel are the majority, because Beit Shammai surpass them in quality, it could be that we should follow them because they’re of higher quality. The qualitative majority. It’s like the elite and the masses. I’d prefer to follow what the rabbi said in another lesson—what are you counting, feet or heads? Exactly.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel was over the question of what you count. Beit Hillel say you count feet. Whoever has more feet wins. Beit Shammai say, what do I care about feet? You count heads. We’re sharper—so what if we’re the minority? There’s a beautiful expression in Sefer HaChinukh. Wonderful, I have to show it to you. You—

[Speaker A] Can you rely on Sefer HaChinukh here or there—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Both here and there—

[Speaker A] The first commandment in the Torah is “be fruitful and multiply,” because in Genesis what he says there is more of a general command to all humanity, it’s basically establishing a rule among human—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Beings—

[Speaker A] In nature, that human beings will multiply. It’s not really a command to human beings.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Everyone agrees that the first commandment is “be fruitful and multiply.” But it’s a commandment that was given more—let’s say—to Abraham our forefather. Before that it more establishes—

[Speaker A] In nature, the rule that human beings will multiply. So? And that’s not a commandment? What do you mean? A commandment—everyone agrees it’s a commandment. What does that have to do with Sefer HaChinukh? To what extent can he agree that this is really a commandment and not a rule that He established in nature, if we in general—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Our tradition is that this is a commandment, I know. But why exactly? Why did they interpret it specifically that way?

[Speaker A] You could argue that what’s written there also isn’t information from the Holy One, blessed be He—what Adam did.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Look, here—commandment 78, the commandment of inclining after the majority. To incline after the majority. And he says: when a dispute falls among the sages regarding a law from the whole Torah, and likewise in a particular legal case—that is, in a case between Reuven and Shimon, for example—in a religious court, where the dispute is among the judges of their city, and some rule to obligate and some to exempt, one should always incline after the majority, as it says, “Incline after the majority.” And by way of explanation, our sages of blessed memory said: “Majority is Torah-level.” Okay? And this choosing of the majority—now this is the charming part—this choosing of the majority apparently applies when the two disputing groups are equally knowledgeable in Torah wisdom. So if, say, on the panel of judges there are three judges, two against one, you follow the majority. Okay? But that’s only when all three judges are more or less equal in wisdom. Because you can’t say that a small group of sages should not overrule a large group of ignoramuses, even if they were as many as those who left Egypt. If there are six hundred thousand ignoramuses and two sages, do we go after the majority? Who cares? Ignoramuses can also be two hundred million. There’s no difference between two hundred million ignoramuses and two ignoramuses. Let’s say the author of Sefer HaChinukh was not one of the great believers in the wisdom of the masses.

[Speaker A] Me neither. The Histadrut is having a celebration here.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Never mind, let’s not get into political correctness. But the claim is that he’s actually saying this as Jewish law. Notice—I said this in Beit Shammai’s name. He says it as Jewish law. Practically speaking, if there’s a discussion in a religious court and there’s a majority against a minority, but the minority is clearly wiser than the majority, then you go with the minority and not with the majority. Incidentally, that dispute continues among the halakhic decisors all the way down to the later authorities. The accepted ruling is not like that. And of course we understand why. It’s very hard to determine in an agreed-upon way who’s wiser and who’s less wise. That’s a sure recipe for chaos, and therefore the rule is that we follow the majority. Hm?

[Speaker F] Does everyone have to acknowledge it? But if they don’t…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, they acknowledge that everyone is equally wise, but you can still argue about the law. But everyone has to agree that we’re more or less on the same level of wisdom—or, if they acknowledge that he’s wiser, then the Jewish law follows him even though we’re the majority, because we also agree that he’s a greater scholar. Okay? So that’s what this is… that’s basically what Sefer HaChinukh is saying. Numbers have no significance at all; what really determines things is wisdom. And that’s apparently what Tosafot explains about Beit Shammai. Beit Shammai argued: why didn’t they decide that dispute there according to the rule of “incline after the majority”? Beit Hillel said: yes, we’re the majority, let’s take a vote—incline after the majority. Beit Shammai said: you’re the majority, but a majority, even if it were as many as those who left Egypt, cannot outweigh a small number of sages, and you need to go after wisdom, not after the majority of people. That’s Beit Shammai’s claim, that’s how Tosafot explains it, and therefore there was an argument there and they needed the heavenly voice.

Now notice what happened here. Tosafot is essentially telling us that the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel—why it was so extreme and lasted so long over so many things—was because there was no agreement on the method of decision. Beyond the specific disputes, whether a daughter’s rival wife is permitted or forbidden, okay? Or all kinds of disputes like whether leaven is in an olive’s bulk and sourdough in an olive’s bulk, or sourdough in an olive’s bulk and leaven in a large date’s bulk, or both in an olive’s bulk. All kinds of Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel disputes, specific halakhic disputes. Besides that, there was also a meta-halakhic dispute—a dispute about methods of decision. When we take a vote, what is the majority that counts? The majority of people or the majority of wisdom? Beit Hillel said the majority of people, surprisingly enough, and Beit Shammai said the majority of wisdom, no less surprisingly. Okay? So the question is: what do we do now? Let’s vote on that principle itself. Does the deciding majority mean wisdom or people? Would that help? Of course not. Right? Because once again we’d get stuck in the same…

In short, when the argument is about the rules of the game, you can’t decide it within the rules of the game, because those are exactly what the argument is about. A dispute can be decided according to the rules of the game when it concerns a particular question and the rules themselves are agreed upon. But when there’s an argument about the rules of the game themselves, you can’t decide it using those rules. Incidentally, this is exactly like today. What’s happening in today’s argument is precisely this. They can’t reach a decision. Why? One side says: what do you mean? There was an election, we have sixty-four seats, it’s our right to do what we decide. The other side says: absolutely not. You’re changing the rules of the game. Following the majority is part of the rules of the game. If I don’t accept the rules of the game, you can’t tell me that this dispute has to be conducted according to the rules of the game—because the dispute is about the rules of the game themselves. Now, there’s an argument about this, never mind, but that’s the meaning of the deadlock we’re in today. It’s exactly one-to-one, exactly the same thing.

And that’s why, for example, this is different from the disengagement and from many, many other things where there were also fierce disputes. Because there, the dispute wasn’t about the rules of the game. There, it was a very fierce dispute about something very acute, but nobody disputed the rules of the game. And therefore the claim was that you have to accept the authority of the majority, because the rules of the game were agreed upon. We have an argument about this, the majority decided. That is not the same thing as the fierce argument we have today. In my view, many of the comparisons being made between the situations are incorrect. In both cases, of course, it was a very difficult situation, and one side felt very right and very deprived, but here the dispute is about the rules of the game, while there the dispute was within the rules of the game. A dispute within the rules of the game—that’s what rules are for, to decide the dispute by them. But when the dispute is about the rules of the game themselves, you can’t say, “You’re not obeying the rules.” Of course I’m not obeying them—you broke them. The argument is about the rules of the game. So this has no real chance of being resolved, essentially. It may be that we’ll somehow survive and they’ll keep doing the little tricks they’ve been doing until now. After all, this dispute has existed since the establishment of the state.

[Speaker A] There is no—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Constitution. After all, from the establishment of the state, the Constituent Assembly disbanded. There’s no constitution, no rules of the game, nothing. That’s exactly, incidentally, why each branch of government tries to pull the rug in its own direction, because there are no rules of the game. So the court is trying to take over what it’s trying to take over, and the Knesset or the government are trying to take over what they’re trying to take over—there simply are no rules of the game. Nobody knows what a Basic Law is, what its significance is, how you establish a Basic Law. Nothing. The Knesset simply decides that this is a Basic Law, so it’s a Basic Law.

[Speaker A] And decides—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] —that a Basic Law now says this window will be open, and then it becomes a Basic Law. Now of course that’s ridiculous, and that’s why the court says, I’ll strike down Basic Laws. They say: wait a second, what does it mean to strike down Basic Laws? You can strike down ordinary laws because they contradict the Basic Laws. But how can you strike down the Basic Laws themselves—on what basis? Because it doesn’t look right to you? Are you the legislator? And the answer is: no, but you also have no right to establish Basic Laws. No one does. There are no rules of the game. We’re in a field with no rules. The game is being played without rules. It’s amazing, absolutely amazing, that it survived until today. Now they’re trying to create…

[Speaker A] We’re talking about the Jewish people—miracles, that’s another issue.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right—they’re now trying to create the rules of the game out of nothing, instead of what they should have done in ’48. The problem is that if you start creating the rules of the game from scratch, then you’ve gone back to ’48. There’s no majority; you need agreement. That’s exactly the point.

[Speaker A] Fine, but there won’t be agreement.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, so you have to decide—agreement broad enough. I don’t know how broad, but not the conclusion of a formal majority of sixty-one or sixty-four. It has to be something accepted by a broad and diverse public. Okay? That’s the meaning of the matter. I don’t know where to draw the line, how much it has to be—I have no idea.

[Speaker A] Someone from the public is asking. Someone from the public—the public is meant to make the decisions.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Don’t ask, don’t ask. They’ll just look at you, that’s all. Everything’s fine, do whatever you want.

[Speaker A] The government—sometimes power is in the hands of the grassroots—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Power is in the hands of the economic elites, the media elites, the academic elites—everyone pulls in his own direction. And in the end it’s one body, and in the end all the power more or less drains into one body.

[Speaker A] Not exactly one body, let’s not—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] —exaggerate, definitely not exactly one body. What really happened there? I don’t think… In my opinion they came to the conclusion—you know, the Raavad writes, “The holy spirit appeared in our study hall.” He says that in his critique of Maimonides: “The holy spirit appeared in our study hall,” and so and so. I can look for it—I don’t remember. Search the responsa project: “the holy spirit appeared” in Raavad, you’ll find it. It’s in Maimonides—Maimonides and Raavad together.

[Speaker E] And on that basis he disputes Maimonides?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes. If I can find it for you here—

[Speaker A] Here it’s more a kind of dictated tradition that was formed—that from now on we go by reason, not by the holy spirit.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s exactly the question. That’s what I’m talking about. We go by reason and not by the holy spirit—what does that mean?

[Speaker A] We don’t go by the holy spirit. There—you see? There.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] “The holy spirit has already appeared in our study hall for several years, and we concluded that it is invalid, like our anonymous Mishnah: a myrtle whose top was cut off…” Never mind, there’s some discussion there. He says, “The holy spirit appeared in our study hall and we concluded that it is invalid.” What does “the holy spirit” mean? Isn’t it “It is not in heaven”? He says yes, according to Rabbi Tarfon, who said that even if both are cut off they are valid—different matter—and it did not remain. “And everything is clear in our composition, and Heaven left room for me.” Okay?

[Speaker A] What does that mean, “It is not in heaven”?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So Rabbi Margaliot says—in his edition of Responsa from Heaven, do you know Responsa from Heaven? Rabbi Yaakov of Marvege, also in France, one of the Tosafists. So he wrote responsa called Responsa from Heaven, and there he asks Heaven questions in a dream, and they answer him, and he writes down what they answered. Then the question arises: what is this? Isn’t it “It is not in heaven”? How is that possible? So there’s a long discussion—a very long introduction by Rabbi Margaliot in his edition of Responsa from Heaven, and there he deals with this whole issue of “It is not in heaven” and the holy spirit and so on. And he brings one of the explanations regarding this Raavad. He says the intention is that in the study hall we suddenly understood that this was the truth. Meaning, some kind of consensus developed—they discussed, brought arguments this way and that way, and at a certain stage we understood that this was the truth, it was clear, everyone agreed. That’s what is meant by “the holy spirit appeared in our study hall.”

Now I tend to think that this is also what the heavenly voice there was. The heavenly voice there means—you know, the Talmud says: what is a heavenly voice? What is meant by a heavenly voice? What does that even mean? The Talmud, for example, gives one of the examples that Rabbi Yohanan wanted to go down to Babylonia to Rav and Shmuel to ask them some question that he was uncertain about. I think it was Rabbi Yohanan. And then he passed by a children’s school, a Torah school for children, and he heard that they were studying precisely the verses saying that Shmuel had died—Book of Samuel, not connected to Shmuel of Babylonia, the Amora. The prophet Shmuel died. And he understood: this is a heavenly voice. He understood that Shmuel had died and there was no point in going down. You understand? This is not some transcendent heavenly voice coming out of heaven. It’s some insight that suddenly makes you understand that this is what’s right; never mind right now what causes it. You can see this in other places in the Talmud as well. In any case, for our purposes…

[Speaker E] So that’s the example the Talmud gives?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, it gives several examples, and they’re all of that type. So the claim, ultimately, is that the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel was a dispute about the rules of the game. And as a result of that there were lots of other disputes and they couldn’t be closed. They couldn’t be decided. And because of that—and this went on for a hundred and fifty years, I don’t know how long, a very long time—and there were two houses. This wasn’t just two people arguing with each other; it was two schools. There was a sense that the Jewish people were splitting in two, that the Torah was splitting into two Torahs, and there was no way to bridge the gaps and reach agreement. That’s why they began with violence and extremism, because there was no way to move forward. Okay?

So what then? So I explained how the dispute arose. I explained why they didn’t follow the majority, because the argument was over what counts as the majority one follows. But that also explains why they needed a heavenly voice—no need for excuses. What Tosafot basically said was: you don’t follow a heavenly voice where you have a halakhic way of deciding. When the halakhic rules of the game give you the way to decide the Jewish law, then do what the rules of Jewish law tell you—don’t resort to a heavenly voice. But if you’re stuck with the rules of Jewish law, what are you going to do? There’s no alternative. That’s exactly why the heavenly voice came out. The heavenly voice came out to tell you that here this is the decision, because with the ordinary halakhic tools it was impossible to decide. That’s exactly why there was a heavenly voice. And about that it was not said that we do not heed a heavenly voice. We do not heed a heavenly voice when you have an alternative, and if you have no alternative, then what is there? There’s nothing else.

[Speaker E] Wait—how can you actually say that we don’t follow a heavenly voice if it’s, say, prophecy?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, that’s an ancient question. We won’t get into it now. The Holy One, blessed be He, כביכול said “It is not in heaven”—in Parashat Nitzavim, yes, Parashat Ha’azinu—no, Nitzavim. So the sages derive it from a verse. They say: a heavenly voice has no halakhic standing. It says, “It is not in heaven.”

[Speaker E] But you can say that about prophecy too, no?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It says in the Talmud that there was a dispute over whether the bright spot came before the white hair. There was a dispute between the Holy One, blessed be He, and the heavenly academy. A dispute in the academy of heaven, between the Holy One, blessed be He, and the rest of those sitting in the academy. Okay? Who are they? Apparently all the sages of all generations there in the World to Come. In short, they couldn’t decide. The Holy One, blessed be He, against everyone else—they couldn’t decide the Jewish law. They went down to ask Rabbah bar Nachmani. They wanted to kill him, to bring him up there so he could decide the Jewish law for them. So Rabbah bar Nachmani ruled like the heavenly academy, against the Holy One, blessed be He. Check Maimonides—Maimonides rules in practice like the heavenly academy, against the Holy One, blessed be He.

[Speaker A] What nerve. Yes.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, the Talmud ruled that way.

[Speaker A] That’s too aggadic. Not aggadic.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Of course it’s aggadah. That’s not the point—what is aggadah coming to say? Aggadah is coming to say that we rule according to our rules; we do not resort to mystical, transcendent things.

[Speaker C] Even when God Himself comes and says, “You should rule for me like this.” Right. So the Torah is free of changes. There’s no room to say that—because we said that yes, in the tradition it changes.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But why do I rule—why did the sages think the way they thought? From the tradition they received. They didn’t invent it. It’s just that the Holy One, blessed be He, says, “Listen, that’s not what I meant—I meant something else.”

[Speaker C] But we said that it changes because there’s a majority here, so it changed. Because when it passes from generation to generation, interpretation is definitely involved. Tradition is never complete. Right, there’s no choice. But when there’s a heavenly voice or when there’s some kind of—and that—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] —that’s what this rule tells us: even though there is such a possibility, and the heavenly voice tells me what the correct interpretation is from the point of view of the Holy One, blessed be He, we are supposed to follow the interpretation that we give to the tradition. Not to invent—according to how we understand the tradition. Because the Torah was given to us at Mount Sinai, not afterward. Anything given to us afterward has no standing. Only what was given at Mount Sinai.

[Speaker C] That’s what He gave—just a reminder of what was said at Mount Sinai.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, He didn’t give a reminder; He gave an interpretation, because we reached a different conclusion about the interpretation of what was given at Sinai. Now the heavenly voice comes out and says otherwise. So we don’t accept it. Later on we’ll talk a bit more about the relationship between halakhic ruling and truth. But “It is not in heaven” is a good example. “It is not in heaven”—it’s obvious that the truth is with the Holy One, blessed be He. When we say “It is not in heaven,” that means that we do not decide Jewish law according to the truth. And that’s an interesting question: so what do we decide it according to? What is Jewish law trying to hit—truth or not truth, why? We’ll see in a minute. We’ll talk about that now, shortly.

In any case, for our purposes, this basically explains all the difficulties here in the passage: why the dispute was perpetuated, why they didn’t decide it by the majority, and why they did decide it by a heavenly voice. Okay? Now let’s go into the Talmud itself. So what does the Talmud say? That for three years they couldn’t reach a conclusion until the heavenly voice came out. Yes, until the heavenly voice came out, and then what did the heavenly voice say? “These and those are both the words of the living God, but the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel.” That sentence is already self-contradictory. “These and those are both the words of the living God”—both are right. So what does “the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel” mean? If the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel, then not “these and those are both the words of the living God.” The words of the living God are only Beit Hillel, not Beit Shammai.

[Speaker E] I think Jewish law is, like the Rabbi said, not connected to justice.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I said I’m getting to that in a moment. But on the face of it, it’s a sentence containing an internal contradiction. You can read this Talmudic passage in two ways: in a monistic reading and in a pluralistic reading. Monism is the view that there is one truth—mono, one truth. Pluralism is the view that there are multiple truths. There are many halakhic truths. If we read it in a monistic way, then “these and those are both the words of the living God” is not understood. That’s the truth—so it’s not clear in what sense these and those are both the words of the living God. If we read it in a pluralistic way, then the opposite: “these and those” is understandable—pluralism, each one is right—but then it’s not clear what “the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel” means. Both sides are right. So according to each of these two readings, we need to understand a different part of this sentence. Okay?

Now look at the continuation. After the heavenly voice said what it said, the Talmud comes and explains what the heavenly voice meant. “Since these and those are both the words of the living God, why did Beit Hillel merit that the Jewish law be established according to them?” That seems like an outright contradiction. If both are right, then why did they establish the Jewish law like Beit Hillel? What does that mean? Beit Hillel are right—so not both. What’s going on here? So the Talmud says: because they were pleasant and humble, and they would teach both their own words and the words of Beit Shammai, and more than that, they would place Beit Shammai’s words before their own. On the face of it, that explanation sounds like the pluralistic reading. Because what does that explanation say? “These and those are both the words of the living God”—basically both are right. I asked why they ruled like Beit Hillel. A prize for good behavior. Right? They listened politely to Beit Shammai, they taught their words before their own, and therefore—so the truth is not uniquely with them. The truth is equally with both—that’s pluralism. But you still have to decide the Jewish law. And since both are right, then there’s no point deciding the Jewish law based on the question of who is right. Both are right. So yes, apparently Jewish law here has an educational aim. They want to educate the public to behave politely like Beit Hillel. Fine? And therefore we rule Jewish law like Beit Hillel. It’s a prize for good behavior.

But then we really are reading this Talmudic passage in a pluralistic way—the assumption that there are multiple truths. Right? In a monistic reading—or let’s put it the other way around—Rabbi Yosef Karo, the author of the Shulchan Arukh, has a book called Klalei HaGemara, Principles of the Talmud. And in that book he explains this Talmudic passage differently. He argues that when the Talmud says here that the Jewish law was ruled like Beit Hillel because they were pleasant and humble and repeated Beit Shammai’s words and put Beit Shammai’s words before their own, and therefore they were more correct—that’s not a prize for good behavior. Rather, because they put Beit Shammai’s words before their own, they took seriously the position of those who disagreed with them, and only afterward formed their own position, so their position strikes closer to the truth. And therefore the Jewish law was ruled like them.

So that means he reads the Talmud in a monistic way, not a pluralistic one. There is a halakhic truth, and halakhic ruling aspires to reach the truth. Except that the truth is with Beit Hillel. Notice—even though they were less sharp. They were less sharp, but they acted by a method that leads them better to the truth, with a higher probability of reaching the truth. When you listen carefully to what your opponent says before you formulate your own position—as I said, we’d get to this in the class, what you were discussing at the beginning—when you really hear your opponent’s position before you formulate your own, then you’ll get closer to the truth, even if you are less sharp.

[Speaker A] That’s already more in line with the synthetic approach. Yes.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There’s a notion of truth here. There is one truth, not pluralism. Okay? Now all we still need to understand is what “these and those are both the words of the living God” means if this is the monistic reading. According to Rabbi Yosef Karo, who reads it monistically, what does that sentence mean, “these and those are both the words of the living God”? I’ll say a few remarks before I explain it. That’s the next section of the class.

First remark: it seems to me I mentioned this to you once—I don’t remember anymore—this Magen Avraham who says that you’re allowed to say things in the name of a great man so that people will accept them from you. I mentioned it, right?

[Speaker E] It was last week.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Magen Avraham writes in section 156, I think, that there he brings all the laws he doesn’t know where to place. But these are laws from the Talmud. So one of the laws that appears in two places in the Talmud is that you’re allowed to lie and say things in the name of a great man so that they’ll be accepted from you. Say I’m arguing with someone: “Ah, Rabbi Moshe Feinstein said this.” Totally made up. Only I said it. But I lie to him and say Rabbi Moshe Feinstein said it, so that he’ll accept it from me. That’s what Magen Avraham wrote as Jewish law. But on the face of it, that’s impossible. I mean, any ignoramus who makes up some nonsense can tell someone else, “Rabbi Moshe Feinstein said this,” and the other person will violate the Sabbath because he lied to him. There’s no logic in that.

In my opinion, Magen Avraham means the opposite. The permission to say things in the name of a great man so they’ll be accepted from me comes from the fact that if someone hears something in the name of a great man, he won’t accept it automatically. So what if a great man said it? I still decide for myself what I… what my position is. Therefore it’s permitted to lie. You’ll ask, then why lie? He won’t accept it anyway. He’ll take you seriously. Exactly. Because if I see that a person dismisses me—think of Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. Why didn’t Beit Shammai put Beit Hillel’s words before their own, while Beit Hillel did?

[Speaker D] It’s not just good character traits.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Beit Shammai were sharper. Forget everything else you said—what we forgot, you’ll never know. Don’t tell us anything new. There’s no point listening to you; we’re much sharper than you are. So they don’t listen to Beit Hillel’s words—and in a certain sense, rightly, because they were sharper, they thought of everything already. Okay. But what happens is that sometimes, if you did listen, you really would learn something new, right? That can happen. Beit Hillel weren’t exactly reeds in the swamp either; maybe they were less sharp than Beit Shammai, but there are arguments worth hearing from Beit Hillel too. Okay? And if you don’t listen, you’ll miss it. What should you have done? You should have listened to Beit Hillel’s words, weighed them, and then concluded that you’re right or you’re not right and formed your position. What will happen in such a situation, if you treat Beit Hillel’s words seriously, is that it will improve your decision-making because you’ll hear the opposing arguments. That’s what Magen Avraham is saying.

If I feel that someone dismisses me because he’s much sharper than I am, or thinks he’s much sharper than I am—it doesn’t matter right now—and he doesn’t listen to me, he doesn’t take my arguments seriously, and I see that he’s making a mistake, and he doesn’t listen to my arguments: no, these arguments were said by Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, I tell him. Now the assumption is that he won’t accept the arguments because Rabbi Moshe Feinstein said them, but he also won’t dismiss them anymore. Rabbi Moshe Feinstein—you can’t just say he said nonsense and that’s it. You’ll consider it seriously, and afterward you’ll reach your own conclusion, yes or no. That’s what I want to achieve. For that it’s permitted to lie. And incidentally, the conclusion from this is that if it’s really a situation where you’ll accept the words blindly, then of course it’s forbidden to do this.

For example, I’ll give you an example. At the beginning of the twentieth century, a forged Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim was published. Someone forged a Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim. There was a big argument among the sages there whether it was forged or authentic. He said he had found a manuscript. Was that the Rogatchover? Yes, it was the Rogatchover. So the claim—anyway, there was a major dispute, and he forged it very skillfully. He wrote his own Torah novellae on Kodashim. There is no Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim, okay? So he forged a Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim with his own novellae and said, “I found a Jerusalem Talmud.” In the end they proved it was a forgery. The legend says that the Rogatchover argued that in every chapter of the Jerusalem Talmud a sage appears who had not appeared until then, and that didn’t happen there. So he said it couldn’t be the Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim, and that’s how he disqualified it. Maybe that’s true, I don’t know—it’s interesting, I’ve never checked it, I don’t know whether anyone has. But that’s the legend. In any case, the author of Kli Chemdah wrote an entire work on this Jerusalem Talmud, whether yes or no, with arguments this way and that. There was a very, very big controversy about it.

[Speaker E] Really? The discussions there were on a high level?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, yes. It was a very high-level forgery.

[Speaker E] But to accept it as a forgery—fine, but to discuss it?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Certainly, to discuss it—but it’s not a Jerusalem Talmud. That’s exactly the difference. Now why were they angry at the forger? On the face of it, this is Magen Avraham, no? It’s permitted to say things in the name of a great authority—the Jerusalem Talmud—so that they’ll be accepted from me. What’s the problem? My novellae in the name of the Jerusalem Talmud, so that you’ll accept them from me. Do you know what the difference is?

[Speaker D] Formal authority.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly. Because the Talmud has formal authority—it’s not Rabbi Moshe Feinstein. If the Talmud says something and, say, the Babylonian Talmud doesn’t disagree, then you rule that way in practice. That you’re not allowed to forge. You’re allowed to forge only something such that even if you hear that a great man said it, you can still disagree. It still has value because you’ll seriously weigh the arguments; in the end, you’ll formulate your own position. Okay?

[Speaker C] To say that the Sanhedrin ruled this way would be a problem.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. Now, before I continue, first of all I want to say: I’m a monist. The pluralists are wrong. The pluralists in Jewish law—and in philosophy too, but in philosophy they’re just talking nonsense; in Jewish law they’re mistaken. Why? Because I have a proof. Why be a halakhic pluralist? A mathematical proof. Why be a halakhic pluralist?

[Speaker E] Why be one or why not be one?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why be one? What leads people to the view that there are multiple halakhic truths? After all, all the discussions in the Talmud—he’s right, and he’s right, Jewish law follows him, Jewish law follows him—the simple assumption is that we’re striving for some halakhic truth. Why hold a view of halakhic pluralism?

[Speaker E] The answer comes as a textual fact. “These and those are both the words of the living God”—the text testifies to pluralism.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, so they read “these and those are both the words of the living God” that way. And what stands behind this is the notion that sages cannot err. They cannot err. “These and those are both the words of the living God” means both are right at once. They cannot err. Now if they cannot err, fine, let’s check. Regarding the rule “these and those are both the words of the living God,” there are three methods of interpreting it. The pluralistic method, what I said just now; the monistic method, which I’ll explain in a moment—how monism reads “these and those”; and there’s also a harmonistic method. The pluralistic method means that both sides are right. The monistic method means one side is right and the other is wrong. The harmonistic method means that the two sides together create some larger truth. Meaning, the truth is a composition of the two sides, each of which grasps one side of the truth. In a certain sense, both were mistaken.

[Speaker C] Can’t I be a pluralist and say that sometimes people are mistaken? I mean, the fact that there are four opinions doesn’t mean they’re all correct. Maybe three are correct and that’s fine?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I completely agree, of course you can. Here—I’m saying exactly that. But those who don’t say that assume that it cannot be that the sages of the Talmud erred, or even the medieval authorities. It can’t be—no—“these and those are both the words of the living God.” That’s how they read this sentence, that everyone is right. Now look, maybe I’ll explain more. The expression “these and those are both the words of the living God” appears in two places in the Talmud. One place is here in Eruvin. The second place is in a passage in Gittin 6 regarding the concubine in Gibeah. And there the Talmud brings that Rabbi Yonatan and Rabbi Yoshiya disagree about what that fellow found that made him angry at the concubine in Gibeah and do what he did to her. Either he found a fly on her or he found a hair. In that place—a hair, yes. Now that dispute between the two sages, the Talmud relates that one of them met Elijah the prophet on the way and asked Elijah: tell me, what is the Holy One, blessed be He, occupied with right now? In what passage? Since we’re discussing the heavenly academy. So he says: the passage of the concubine in Gibeah, obviously—what else? So he says: oh, and what is He saying? He says: “My son Yonatan says this, My son Yoshiya says that.” So he says: Heaven forbid—is there doubt before Heaven? Does the Holy One, blessed be He, not know whether it was a hair or a fly? So he says: no, he found a fly and did not mind it; he found a hair and did mind it. He found both a fly and a hair, but what caused the anger—you can read it as the hair caused the anger, but I read it as the accumulation. After he found both a hair and a fly, that was the final straw, it blew his fuse. Each one by itself wouldn’t have done it, but both together did.

Now notice—without getting into the whole passage of the concubine in Gibeah—but understand the logic written there.

[Speaker A] That’s harmonistic logic, right?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Each one basically grasped one facet of the truth, and the full truth is really the two facets together. Like Maimonides in his elephant parable in Guide for the Perplexed. Maimonides says there can be an argument between two people: look what an elephant is. An elephant is an animal with two eyes and two legs very close together. And someone else says an elephant is an animal with one eye and two legs rather far apart. What’s the difference? That one is looking at the elephant from the front, so the legs are close together and it has two eyes. If you look at the elephant from the side, then you see only one eye—the one facing your side—and two legs far apart. Is that an argument? It’s not an argument. The truth is the combination of the two perspectives. Meaning, each perspective grasps one facet of the truth; the overall truth is the collection of all the facets together. That’s the harmonistic view. You see it in the Maharal, and in other places too.

[Speaker E] But if that’s true, then every time there are two opposing views like this, we should make some synthesis. Because if we follow one of the views, we’re simply mistaken.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’ll get to that later, I’ll get to it. So in any case, for our purposes right now, we have three interpretations of the sentence “these and those are both the words of the living God”: monistic, pluralistic, and harmonistic. I haven’t yet explained the monistic one—how monism reads “these and those” if there is one truth. I’ll explain that. But for now let’s just assume schematically that there is such an interpretation. So—three interpretations. Now which of them is right?

[Speaker E] Which one is right? Yes, if we’re harmonists then we’ll say they’re all right. Let’s say not—let’s say in every…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If you’re a pluralist—

[Speaker E] Then they’re all right.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But what does “they’re all right” mean? Are the monists also right and the pluralists also right? That can’t be; it’s a logical contradiction.

[Speaker E] Because the monist—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] says there is only one truth, so it can’t be that both he and the pluralist are right. The pluralist isn’t bothered by that—

[Speaker E] Isn’t bothered—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But it still can’t be true.

[Speaker C] But whether it doesn’t bother him is uninteresting. The question is what’s true, not what bothers him.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So what does that mean? It means that at least in this dispute, clearly sages can make mistakes, right?

[Speaker C] So if that’s the case, then you see—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] that they can make mistakes.

[Speaker C] So then there’s no reason to be a pluralist in general.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Because the whole reason you become a pluralist is that you assume sages cannot make mistakes. Here I’m showing you that they can. According to your own view, I’m showing you that they can make mistakes. So your assumption collapses, and then there’s no reason to assume pluralism. Why does it have to be that they’re mistaken? Because you can’t say that both the monist and the pluralist are right. Is there one halakhic truth or are there multiple halakhic truths? So which sage holds this opinion and which sage holds…

[Speaker E] No, it’s reality—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’m asking, though—who’s right? No, but we said that the Sages—whoever is written about in the Talmud can’t be mistaken, that’s the assumption. Who said so? No, also the medieval authorities (Rishonim). Also the medieval authorities (Rishonim). Those and everyone else—in yeshivot they usually assume this about the medieval authorities (Rishonim) and also about the later authorities (Acharonim). Fine, I’m talking about that expansion. There are people who maintain that up through the period of the Talmud, everything written there is correct. That’s an interesting assumption, but why? What happened at the time the Talmud was sealed that from then on the gates of wisdom were shut? Decline of the generations. What does “decline of the generations” mean? So until then there were no mistakes at all, and from then on mistakes began? It’s some kind of phase transition like that. No—you can say there was decline, so there were few mistakes and then more and more and more mistakes. But you can’t say there were no mistakes at all until the end of the Talmud, and from then on there are mistakes. What happened there? That’s very strange. So either the Sages were always right, or they were never always right. Right—and the answer is that they were never always right. Sages are human beings, and human beings can make mistakes. Great people, fine, but human beings can make mistakes. But if you can say that the medieval authorities (Rishonim) are always right, then the later authorities (Acharonim) should also always be right. Exactly. That’s exactly what I’m arguing. Where does it stop? Or maybe even today nobody makes mistakes. Today, definitely. So then I’m also not mistaken when I say that they make mistakes. So everything is fine. So you’re right that you’re not mistaken. I didn’t understand the point about the pluralist. A pluralist says that in interpretations of “these and those,” everyone is right too, correct? Because everyone is right about everything. So you’d have to say that a pluralist is a pluralist in a certain sense… No, not in a certain sense. If you say “in a certain sense,” then he’s not a pluralist. A pluralist means that essentially there is no such thing as right and wrong. To say that for a certain question there can be more than one correct answer—that’s not pluralism. Everybody agrees to that. Pluralism is something essential: there is no such thing as error; every position is just as correct as every other position. That’s the meaning of pluralism. Say, for example, in jurisprudence there are questions whether the legal system is supposed to give one answer for every situation—what one may and may not do. There are debates about that, but I think it’s fairly clear that there are situations where it doesn’t. There are situations you can interpret this way or that way. But that’s not a position—that’s, here, “these and those,” not everything. Meaning, someone who argues for pluralism is arguing for pluralism in the words of the Sages of the Talmud. And when I speak about the Sages of the Talmud, I mean Torah sages in general. Fine, but let’s say up to the Talmud, because from the time of the Talmud onward I don’t need that anymore. I don’t understand his claim—why don’t you need it? You do need it. Why not? What happened at the end of the Talmud? You’re going back to his argument, and I’ll answer you what I answered him. No, fine, but I’m saying: yes, it’s true that what they claim about this is strange, but let’s say that a person who would make this claim consistently is assuming all kinds of absurd assumptions. Fine, נכון. Okay. He can also say: I’m a pluralist about everything except the interpretation of “these and those,” and there I’m not a pluralist. Because there is… Fine, I can say that. It’s like saying—you know—there’s… are you familiar with the liar paradox? That I’m lying, writing “I am lying.” Yes, exactly. In the New Testament, after all, it appears that an inhabitant of Crete says, “All the inhabitants of Crete are liars.” And supposedly, if they’re all liars, then he’s also a liar. If he’s a liar, then they’re not liars. But of course that’s not a paradox. Because if you say all the inhabitants of Crete are liars, it follows that you too are a liar. And then if you are a liar when you say all the inhabitants of Crete are liars, the opposite of that—if you’re a liar, then what is the true statement? It is not true that all the inhabitants of Crete are liars. That doesn’t mean they all tell the truth. It just means it’s not true that they’re all liars. Okay? The real liar paradox is when there is no quantifier before the sentence. If you say, “This sentence is false.” If he had said “The inhabitants of Crete are liars,” would that be a paradox? No. It’s like saying all this falsehood. Just as when he says “I am a liar,” that’s the paradox. No, not that either. Because “I am a liar” means I always lie. “I am lying in this sentence”—that would be a paradox. Whenever you generalize, it stops being a paradox. Meaning, you have to speak about a single sentence. Okay? Even so, there’s also the two-sentence version. Sentence A: sentence B is true. Sentence B: sentence A is false. That’s a version of the paradox made up of two sentences. Granted, it changes things, but it’s still a specific reference to one. But if I say “I always lie,” then that includes my lying now. Right. But when you’re lying now as you say “I always lie,” then what comes out? That there are situations in which you don’t lie—for example tomorrow. But right now I really am lying, and there’s no paradox at all. No, the point is that if you say “I always lie,” then… If I say “I always lie,” then now too I’m lying. So when I said “I always lie,” that was a lie. What would the truth be? That yesterday I didn’t lie, but now I do. And that’s where it stops. The loop doesn’t continue. Fine. The liar paradox exists only when there is one sentence referring to itself without quantifiers, without groups of sentences, without generalizing. Okay? Now, Bertrand Russell in the introduction to Principia Mathematica—Russell and Whitehead, though it was probably Russell—do people know… there’s a series of books in physics called Landau and Lifshitz, a mythological series that covers all areas of physics in very difficult books. I actually met Lifshitz—he came to the Technion when I was a doctoral student here, and I went to speak with him about some topic. The claims are that there isn’t a single idea of Lifshitz there and not a single word of Landau. That’s the claim, at least. Now, Lifshitz wasn’t a bad physicist, but Landau was truly a towering figure. Both Jews, of course; no need to say. So with Bertrand Russell and Whitehead too, the legends say there isn’t a single idea of Whitehead there, but there I think that’s not true. In any case, for our purposes: in the introduction there he talks about type theory. There he says—he solves all the problems, all the paradoxes of self-reference, of self-reference, self-reference, like the liar paradox; it’s a sentence that refers to itself. A whole list of such paradoxes of self-reference. So he solves all these paradoxes and claims—he constructs a hierarchy of sentences, and says that every sentence can refer only to sentences lower than it in the hierarchy, and not to something on its own level or above. And then of course there can be no self-reference. But that solution sounds so ridiculous to me. It’s like saying: all sentences are true except the paradoxes, and everything is fine—I solved all the problems. What you’re really telling me is: you’re forbidding me to express the paradoxes in the language; you didn’t solve the paradox. You built a language in which the paradox can’t be formulated. That’s not called solving it. You built another language in which anyone who formulates the paradox goes to prison. That’s how Stalin usually solved paradoxes. Whoever raised the paradoxes—he shot him in the head. That’s basically what you’re doing, just with a slightly less violent method. It’s the owner of labor camps with a smile on the outside. Solovyov shot him in the head. Never mind that now. The point is: you can’t pull out something ad hoc and see that as a solution. As I’m saying here, you tell me: no, there are no mistakes among Torah sages. You could have solved my problem by saying no, no—except for the interpretation of “these and those,” where mistakes can happen. There it’s allowed; everywhere else not. That’s true, no problem, you preserve consistency—but that solution is what in philosophy is called an ad hoc solution. There’s no reason to assume that specifically here there can be a mistake and elsewhere there can’t be mistakes. If there can be one here, then apparently there can be others elsewhere. The fact that you decide that only here can there be mistakes—that’s an ad hoc decision to solve the problem. That’s not called a solution. Does “ad hoc” sound like “holy”? “Ad hoc” means: you have some problem, you take the question mark, stretch it, and it becomes an exclamation mark. You solved the question mark. Well no—you didn’t solve anything. “Ad hoc” means after the fact, basically. If you had shown me logic in advance, unrelated to the paradox, why a sentence cannot refer to sentences above it in the hierarchy—that would have been a solution. But if you formulate for me a rule that simply forbids formulating the paradoxes—exactly—then that’s not a solution to any paradox. It simply forbids formulating it, that’s all. You build another language in which it can’t be formulated. In my language, it can. Like, you know, there are other paradoxes that aren’t self-reference. The heap paradox. Do you know the heap paradox? One pebble is not a heap. If there is a pile that is not a heap, and you add one pebble to it, that does not change its status. But a million pebbles is a heap. Paradox. That can’t be, right? Because if one is not a heap, add one, so that’s also… something is rotten in the state of Denmark, right? So you have three assumptions that don’t fit together. What are the three assumptions? One pebble is not a heap; adding one pebble does not change the status; and a million is a heap, or a thousand is a heap. By the way, you can ask this about every everyday concept. The bald man paradox. One hair and you’re still bald. A bald person to whom you add one hair—that does not change his status. But if you have a hundred thousand hairs, then you’re not bald. Okay? Same thing. When is it afternoon? Twelve o’clock is not afternoon. Add one second—it doesn’t change from noon to afternoon, except for Americans. For Americans, twelve and one second is afternoon. But for normal human beings, adding one second doesn’t turn it into afternoon, yet five o’clock is afternoon. So what’s going on here? There’s some unclear transition. Now, which of the assumptions would you give up? People generally—one of the three assumptions has to be given up, because they’re inconsistent, right? And which one do people usually give up? The assumption that adding one pebble doesn’t change the status. So give me an alternative instead. Seventeen? What? Now it’s just that “heap” is an undefined concept. If you define the concept “heap,” fine—seventeen stones is a heap. What? So I’m saying that’s exactly what’s called an ad hoc definition. That’s why I brought this example. An ad hoc definition means a definition that solves the paradox, but ad hoc—only after the paradox has been formulated. It has no logic of its own, because there is nothing sacred about the number seventeen. Why not twenty-one? Why not ten? Why not thirty? Right, just some arbitrary definition. Exactly. But I’m asking—not just an arbitrary definition—I’m asking: the concept “heap” that I use in everyday language, what does it mean? It has meaning; I use it. What does it mean? It indicates an accumulation, an accumulation of something. What is an accumulation of something? But I’m asking: which accumulation? One? Two? Seventeen? Then it can’t be an accumulation. Exactly. So what, two is the definition? The minimal plural is two. You understand that all of these are ad hoc definitions. If you put in a number here, it’s an ad hoc definition. You’re introducing a number only to solve the problem; there’s no real justification for it. You can’t explain to me why seventeen really sets the boundary. It solves the paradox, but it’s not really a solution. It’s just a definition that forbids formulating it. You won’t explain to me the meaning of the term “heap” in the language that you and I use, because the meaning there is not seventeen, and all the same we use that sentence—that concept, sorry. And by the way, we use lots of concepts about which I can ask this same question. All of them, to the last one. There is not one concept that can’t be attacked with this paradox. But I didn’t understand why this is a paradox, because a heap itself—it’s not like the Rabbi says—it’s not a defined concept. So what if all the concepts we use are undefined—doesn’t that sound paradoxical to you? No, there’s just a combination of assumptions here. I’m saying: if all the concepts we use are undefined, that’s exactly the meaning of paradox. We do use them; we convey meanings to one another; we speak. No, a paradox is something that contradicts itself. No, a paradox is something that leads you to contradiction, leads you to something illogical. Achilles and the tortoise doesn’t contradict itself. It only says that Achilles never catches the tortoise. Okay, maybe he doesn’t catch it. But we know that he does catch it. Exactly. Here too, we know that the concept “heap” has meaning—we use it. And here I’ve shown you that it has no meaning. That’s a paradox in the same sense. That’s it—in philosophy, paradoxes are classified into types; the heap paradox is one of the types. There’s a whole list of such paradoxes. There’s a book by Anat Biltski—not Blitzer, something with a B, I don’t remember anymore—I heard a course from her at Tel Aviv University, on the University on the Air. There’s a book on paradoxes by Anat—I forgot her last name, never mind. Biltski, yes. If she speaks about Anat of paradoxes. Biltski, Anat Biltski. Okay, so in short, that’s called an ad hoc solution. What’s the real solution to the heap paradox, since we’re already talking about it—I see we’re no longer not talking about it. The real solution to the heap paradox is that indeed one must replace the claim that adding one pebble does not change the status. It changes it a little. The concept “heap” is not binary. That’s the answer, not that it’s undefined. It’s not binary. Not every pile either is or is not a heap; it’s context-dependent, depends on many things. But in different contexts it does have meaning; it is not true that it has no meaning. And the claim is that adding one pebble changes the degree of heap-ness of the pile a little. In fact, “heap” is measured in fuzzy logic, not in binary logic. It’s not simply yes or no, but something between zero and one. And adding one pebble adds epsilon to the degree of heap-ness of the thing. That’s the solution. There are lots of paradoxes that deal with dilemma arguments. There’s no point in giving exams. Why? The lazy don’t study when there’s an exam; the diligent study even without an exam. So why give an exam? Either way, there’s no need for an exam. The answer: the world is not divided into pathologically diligent people and pathologically lazy people. There’s a continuum of levels of diligence, okay? And for a large part of the middle of that continuum, an exam is useful. For the pathologically diligent, it isn’t necessary; for the pathologically lazy, it won’t help. But for the people in the middle, it can help. Many times we formulate paradoxes because we assume a dichotomous picture, a binary picture. But the real logic we should be working with is fuzzy logic, continuous logic. Okay? Therefore, what is afternoon? Adding one second moves us a little bit closer to afternoon. Adding one hair changes your baldness status a little bit. The concepts simply are not binary. This is a very important conclusion for various people who amuse themselves with paradoxes. Paradoxes are often built on binary thinking, and binary thinking is usually flawed. Okay, back to our subject. I’ll just summarize, because we’re finishing. What remains for me is to explain the monist reading after I have proven—or at least argued that I’ve proven—that monism is correct. And I think that if you look through all the literature of Jewish law, you’ll see the decisors speaking innocently, offhand. What is all this concern: maybe I erred? Maybe I did not rule according to Jewish law? What is fear of issuing a ruling? Yes? All those matters. There’s always some assumption here that there is truth and there is error in Jewish law. This is not halakhic pluralism. The notion of halakhic pluralism you will find only in books of thought. In books of Jewish law there is no pluralism. In books of Jewish law there is truth. Of course there are different opinions, and one has to see what to do with the different opinions—and that’s where I’m heading. Obviously there are different opinions, but no one assumes that they are all right. But they still do assume that people can act in accordance with several opinions; that is not the same thing as saying that everyone is right. So I’ll talk about that next time. Fine, the shtick here is to say that if both things are equally right, then it doesn’t matter what you do. But they are not equally right, correct? I argue that they are not equally right, and the decisors, speaking innocently, clearly do not hold that both sides are equally right. The very fact that it matters so much to them to determine whether it is this way or that way. And there are many things that depend on judgment, and you can’t say about them that they’re mistaken or not mistaken. Meaning, yes, there is “mistaken in judgment,” a concept in the Talmud. There is “mistaken in an explicit Mishnah” and “mistaken in judgment.” But there are things where really two people will think differently, because it depends on the state of, say, a community. No, no—if it depends on the situation, then it’s not interesting. Because I’m talking about a given situation, and then basically all the decisors, if they were in that situation, would say the same thing. I’m not talking about that. How to relate to “these and those are the words of the living God” in a monist conception—that’s what I still need to explain. Because every time contextual considerations enter—no—that doesn’t interest me. Because contextual considerations—I gave an example, I addressed that, right—but then in my view it’s not a dispute. If you speak about such circumstances and say permitted, and someone else speaks about different circumstances and says prohibited, who says they disagree? He would probably also agree that it is prohibited in those circumstances. I’m talking about the specific case where, in the same situation, one decisor says permitted and another decisor says prohibited. That is a real dispute. And then we need to understand what to do with that dispute. Rabbi, there’s that passage in the Talmud that in the future the Jewish law will follow Beit Shammai? That’s not in the Talmud, and nowhere else either.

Halachic Thought – 5783 – Lesson 17

Table of Contents

Summary

General overview

Stages of maturation: skepticism, fundamentalism, and synthetic maturity

The difference between a child and a synthetically mature adult, and the use of “soft tools”

Description of changes in scientific theories and the meaning of “not correct” versus “approximation”

The logic of the hermeneutical principles as formal logic for soft arguments

The topic in Eruvin 13b: heavenly voice, majority, and rules of decision

Sefer HaChinukh: quantitative majority versus superiority in wisdom

Analogy to politics in Israel: a dispute over the rules of the game and the absence of a constitution

Divine inspiration, responsa from heaven, and a heavenly voice as insight rather than a transcendent voice

“It is not in heaven” and truth versus halakhic ruling

“These and those are the words of the living God”: a pluralistic reading versus a monistic reading

Magen Avraham, saying something in the name of a great person so that it will be accepted, and the forged Jerusalem Talmud of Kodashim

Rejection of halakhic pluralism, three interpretive approaches, and the claim that sages can err

The claim of “ad hoc,” paradoxes, and fuzzy logic

Interim summary and continuation: truth and error in Jewish law and the promise of an explanation for the monistic reading

Full Transcript

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Table of Contents

Summary

General overview

Stages of maturation: skepticism, fundamentalism, and synthetic maturity

The difference between a child and a synthetically mature adult, and the use of “soft tools”

Description of changes in scientific theories and the meaning of “not correct” versus “approximation”

The logic of the hermeneutical principles as formal logic for soft arguments

The topic in Eruvin 13b: heavenly voice, majority, and rules of decision

Sefer HaChinukh: quantitative majority versus superiority in wisdom

Analogy to politics in Israel: a dispute over the rules of the game and the absence of a constitution

Divine inspiration, responsa from heaven, and a heavenly voice as insight rather than a transcendent voice

“It is not in heaven” and truth versus halakhic ruling

“These and those are the words of the living God”: a pluralistic reading versus a monistic reading

Magen Avraham, saying something in the name of a great person so that it will be accepted, and the forged Jerusalem Talmud of Kodashim

Rejection of halakhic pluralism, three interpretive approaches, and the claim that sages can err

The claim of “ad hoc,” paradoxes, and fuzzy logic

Interim summary and continuation: truth and error in Jewish law and the promise of an explanation for the monistic reading

Full Transcript

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