Dispute and Truth – Lesson 10
This transcript was produced automatically using artificial intelligence. There may be inaccuracies in the transcribed content and in speaker identification.
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Table of Contents
- One hundred and fifty reasons to declare the creeping thing impure and pure: harmonistic monism
- Harmonism and the public tendency to choose the convenient explanation
- Political morality versus ideology: “Rabin has no mandate to return the Golan”
- Conversion, battle lines, and binary questions that are never really weighed
- Complex truth, “there are no clear cases,” and the elephant parable
- These and those are the words of the living God: Eruvin, Gittin, and Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai
- Circles of truth: legitimate errors versus illegitimate errors
- Litmus test: causing someone to stumble, “do not place a stumbling block,” and the Ritva on Sukkah 10
- Tolerant monism versus intolerant monism and autonomy
- The question of decision and authority: formal and substantive
- Authority regarding norms versus facts, and the impossibility of formal authority over beliefs
- After the Sanhedrin: the authority of the Talmud, the local halakhic authority, and substantive authority alone
- “It is not in heaven,” the value of autonomy, and Rabbi Meir, whose ruling was not followed
- Authority of the bottom line, not of the reasons, and the judicial paradox
- Closing remarks and questions from the class
Summary
General Overview
The claim is that there are one hundred and fifty true reasons to declare the creeping thing impure and one hundred and fifty true reasons to declare it pure, and the Torah’s ruling that the creeping thing is impure means that the considerations for impurity outweigh the considerations for purity, not that the considerations for purity are incorrect. A good judge must know all the considerations on both sides and weigh them, because usually it is not the case that all the arguments point in the same direction. From here a monistic conception is built that is not simplistic but harmonistic: there is one complex truth made up of a plurality of correct angles, and the real dispute is about the relative weight of the reasons. Against that background, the meaning of these and those are the words of the living God is explained as a structure of one truth with legitimate errors, and from there questions are examined about causing others to stumble, halakhic authority, autonomy, and the distinction between formal and substantive authority, alongside the claim that authority obligates the bottom line and not the reasoning.
One hundred and fifty reasons to declare the creeping thing impure and pure: harmonistic monism
The Maharal says that there are one hundred and fifty true reasons to declare the creeping thing impure and one hundred and fifty true reasons to declare it pure, and the Torah’s ruling that the creeping thing is impure means that the considerations for impurity outweigh the considerations for purity. A good judge needs to know all 300 considerations, and only after weighing them can he determine the bottom line. The example of chocolate clarifies that two reasons can both be true at once—that it is tasty and that it is fattening—and the real dispute is which consideration outweighs the other. The conclusion is that this is monism and not pluralism, because there is one complex truth that unites the correct claims.
Harmonism and the public tendency to choose the convenient explanation
Avi Sagi calls the unification of viewpoints harmonism, and it is defined as assembling a complex truth from all the correct angles. In the real world, people choose to explain other people’s moves in a way that is convenient for their worldview, like secular people who explain becoming religious as a psychological crisis and religious people who explain it as discovering the truth, and then the explanations reverse when the person leaves religion. The claim is that both planes—the psychological and the philosophical—can be true together, but the public tends to choose only one of them according to convenience. That one-dimensional choice is presented as a lack of honesty that produces unintelligent public discourse.
Political morality versus ideology: “Rabin has no mandate to return the Golan”
The slogan “Rabin has no mandate to return the Golan” does not allow one to infer whether the car owner is left-wing or right-wing, because the question of mandate is composed of at least two independent planes. One plane is the substantive-ideological question of whether it is proper to return the Golan, and the second is political morality regarding fidelity to election promises and the legitimacy of changing policy after being elected. Logically, four possible groups should emerge in the population, but in practice only two groups emerge, because people attach their moral position to their ideological position. The result is that public discussion is not honest, and therefore in capital cases they begin with the youngest so that all considerations can be heard without subordination to the position of the senior judge.
Conversion, battle lines, and binary questions that are never really weighed
In the dispute over invalidating the conversions of the state conversion system in Ashdod, it was argued that wicked judges cannot serve on a religious court and therefore the conversions are void, and as the discussion continued the battle lines converged so that Religious Zionist rabbis opposed it and Haredi rabbis supported it. It is argued that in order to decide properly one must answer thirteen binary questions, each of which has serious weight in both directions, and therefore there should have been “two to the thirteenth power” possible groups, but in practice only two groups appeared. The claim is that the public harnesses the considerations to the desired result instead of discussing each question on its own terms and only afterward forming an overall position. The speaker presents a complex position coming from two directions: he joins the substantive criticism of the conversions but rejects the claim that all the judges are wicked and therefore the conversions are void.
Complex truth, “there are no clear cases,” and the elephant parable
Life is presented as complex, such that in every situation there are considerations in both directions, and a lawyer will say there are no “clear cases” in court. The decision does not determine which considerations are true, because they can all be true, but which of them weighs more and is decisive. The elephant parable demonstrates that two contradictory descriptions can both be true because they depend on perspective, and the full truth is the union of the perspectives. Simplistic monism, in which one side is right and all the others are wrong, hardly exists, and realistic monistic truth is harmonistic.
These and those are the words of the living God: Eruvin, Gittin, and Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai
In Eruvin a heavenly voice said, “These and those are the words of the living God, but the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel,” without explaining the meaning of these and those, and in Gittin the meaning is explained through “He found a fly and did not mind; he found a hair and did mind.” The proposed meaning is that both sides raise correct arguments, and the dispute is about the relative weighing of those arguments. The Jewish law follows Beit Hillel because they weigh things more correctly, among other reasons because they stated the words of Beit Shammai before their own, as the Talmud explains. The claim is that the correct meta-halakhic view is harmonistic: the reasons of both sides are correct, but in the bottom line one side is right and the other is wrong, and the error can be legitimate if it is an error in weighing correct reasons.
Circles of truth: legitimate errors versus illegitimate errors
A division is presented into three circles around the truth: the truth itself, around it legitimate errors, and outside them illegitimate errors. These and those are the words of the living God is said about the truth and the legitimate errors of Torah scholars who raise correct reasons but weigh them differently. Illegitimate errors are attributed to those who raise reasons that are themselves incorrect, and about them one cannot say these and those. The question “why not the Reform, the Christians, the pagans, the Hindus” is answered through this structure of circles.
Litmus test: causing someone to stumble, “do not place a stumbling block,” and the Ritva on Sukkah 10
A meta-halakhic experiment is proposed: if one person thinks that X is permitted and the other thinks that X is forbidden, is the one who permits allowed to cause the one who forbids to do X. Pluralism leads to a prohibition on causing him to stumble because that is “his truth,” and monism leads to permission because according to the one causing the stumbling it is permitted and no transgression was caused. In Sukkah 10b, Rav Nachman seats Rav Huna and Rav Chisda in a sukkah whose decorations hang four handbreadths below the covering, and they eat there even though according to their own view it is invalid, and the Ritva asks how Rav Nachman was allowed to do that and concludes that one may cause another to stumble in something that according to me is permitted even though according to you it is forbidden. The Ritva, in the name of the Ra’ah, qualifies this in light of a parallel passage in Chullin: the permission exists only when the matter is open and known, so that the person being caused to stumble is aware of the relevant facts.
Tolerant monism versus intolerant monism and autonomy
A distinction is constructed between intolerant monism, which permits causing someone to stumble in every case, and tolerant monism, which recognizes the value of the autonomy of legitimate error. Tolerant monism permits causing someone to stumble only when the facts are open and the person can choose according to his own view, and prohibits it when he is unaware of the situation, because then his autonomy is harmed even though according to the one causing the stumbling no transgression is involved. This classification turns the question of causing someone to stumble into a litmus test between pluralism, intolerant monism, and tolerant monism. Tolerant monism parallels the structure of the circles of truth and legitimate errors.
The question of decision and authority: formal and substantive
A monistic conception requires a decision whose purpose is to clarify who is right, not merely to create uniformity, and therefore it leads to the question of authority. Substantive authority is presented as the authority of an expert, like a doctor, based on the probability that he is correct. Formal authority is presented as institutional authority, like the Knesset or a judge, which does not derive from the fact that the speaker is correct but from his role itself; in Scripture this is called elohim, and therefore judges are called elohim in the Torah. In Jewish law, formal authority is attributed to the Sanhedrin by virtue of do not deviate, and the system appoints judges so that there will be both expertise and governmental appointment, as in the example of “The scepter shall not depart from Judah, nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet,” and the discussion in Sanhedrin 5 about the Exilarch versus the Sanhedrin in the Land of Israel.
Authority regarding norms versus facts, and the impossibility of formal authority over beliefs
It is argued that formal authority exists only with respect to norms and not with respect to facts, because it is impossible to demand that a person think something he is not convinced of. Even the Thirteen Principles of Faith are defined as facts in the sense of true or not true, and therefore there is no meaning to a demand for formal authority that obligates belief when there is no conviction. By contrast, one can demand normative behavior even without conviction, such as refraining from an act that the sages determined is forbidden. Substantive authority can exist both with respect to facts and with respect to norms, because it works through persuasion and likelihood.
After the Sanhedrin: the authority of the Talmud, the local halakhic authority, and substantive authority alone
It is argued that after the Sanhedrin ceased, there is no formal authority in Jewish law, because do not deviate was said only about the Sanhedrin. Two exceptions are the Talmud, which received formal authority through public acceptance as a binding canon, and the local halakhic authority, who received formal authority through appointment by the community in areas delegated to him. Beyond that, only the substantive authority of Torah scholars remains, which does not obligate by force of duty but by force of the likelihood that they are correct, and from here also comes the principled possibility of disagreeing with Geonim, medieval authorities (Rishonim), and later authorities (Acharonim), as noted with reference to Choshen Mishpat section 25 in the name of the Rosh.
“It is not in heaven,” the value of autonomy, and Rabbi Meir, whose ruling was not followed
It is said that in an era of substantive authority there is a value of autonomy, and therefore if a competent person is not convinced by the expert, he is supposed to act according to his best understanding even if he believes the expert is probably right. This explanation is presented as a reason why the Jewish law was not ruled like Rabbi Meir, because “his colleagues could not reach the depth of his reasoning,” since a decision requires acting according to what the decisor himself is convinced of. Examples like the Oven of Achnai and Rabbah bar Nachmani in the dispute of the heavenly academy are used to emphasize “it is not in heaven” as decision according to human understanding and autonomy even when there is heavenly revelation. It is noted that the Maharal, in Netiv HaTorah chapter 15, devotes a chapter to this as part of his polemic against the Shulchan Arukh, and that the Maharshal and later authorities go in this direction as well.
Authority of the bottom line, not of the reasons, and the judicial paradox
It is argued that halakhic authority is given to the bottom line of the ruling and not to the reasons, and therefore one follows the majority in legal decisions even when the majority is based on different reasons. The judicial paradox is presented through a division between a legal question of contract interpretation and a factual question of whether the act was done, and in a situation where a majority on each component leads to one result but a majority on bottom lines leads to the opposite result, the decision follows the bottom line. From this it is learned that even when one identifies social or ideological reasons in the Talmud, the obligation is to observe the binding instruction and not necessarily to adopt the reasons. The distinction sums up that our commitment to the Talmud derives from formal authority over the bottom lines that were established, and not from commitment to the philosophical truth of the reasoning.
Closing remarks and questions from the class
The speaker concludes that this is a general introduction to dispute and its relation to truth, and announces that next time he will enter into specific topics such as the meaning of custom, doubt in the law and doubt in reality, and whether there are doubts in reality. A comment is heard about the possibility of interpreting “right and left” differently, and it is said that this depends on Rashi’s version in Parashat Shoftim and on the distinction between “even if they say about left that it is right” and “even if they say about right that it is right and about left that it is left.” A question is asked about the source for the idea that when the messiah comes all disputes will be resolved, and the response is that there is no such source, and that “the Tishbite will resolve difficulties and problems” is a popular acronym for teiku and is not the language of the Talmud.
Full Transcript
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So the claim is that there are one hundred and fifty reasons to declare the creeping thing impure and one hundred and fifty reasons to declare the creeping thing pure. You ask—there, I think it’s Rabbenu Tam who asks—what is this, empty pilpulim? Why was he chosen to be the rabbi of Purim? The creeping thing is impure; it says so in the Torah. Why do I need one hundred and fifty reasons to declare the creeping thing impure and pure? So the Maharal says: no, that’s not right. There are one hundred and fifty true reasons to declare the creeping thing impure, and one hundred and fifty true reasons to declare the creeping thing pure. It’s true that the Torah tells us, in the bottom line, that the creeping thing is impure. That means that the considerations for declaring the creeping thing impure outweigh the considerations for declaring it pure. But that does not mean that the considerations for declaring it pure are not correct. More than that: a good judge has to know all 300 considerations, all 300 arguments. Because in the end, in order to make the right decision, you have to weigh all 300 reasons, and only then decide what the bottom line is. I gave a few examples of this; I’ll come back to it because it’s important. But in our discussions this almost never happens in reality, almost never. Even though it’s very logical when you hear it. Right, clearly there are considerations this way and that way. Yes—chocolate, right? Should you eat chocolate? My favorite example. Reuven says: eat chocolate because it’s tasty. Shimon says: don’t eat chocolate because it’s fattening. Who’s right? Both of them. It’s both tasty and fattening. Everything that tastes good is usually fattening, and those are two disjoint groups and a complete partition of the space. What does that mean? It means, basically, that both of them are right. Fine, so what’s the argument about? The argument is over which consideration prevails. Does the consideration of enjoyment prevail over the consideration of health or aesthetics—well, maybe not like that, but whatever—or the other way around? And there there is a real disagreement, but neither of the two reasons is mistaken. In other words, the chocolate is both tasty and fattening—that’s true, both are right. The only question is what to follow. In other words, is enjoyment a more important consideration than health, or vice versa? That you can argue about. And in that argument only one side is right. But when it comes to the fact that it’s both fattening and tasty, both are right—and that’s not pluralism, that’s monism. They really are both right; there is one truth. Someone who says only one of them is right is mistaken. It’s not that I accept all positions. Both are right because the truth is that it is both tasty and fattening. You understand? That’s the meaning of what I called—and Avi Sagi calls it this in his book—harmonism. Harmonism means creating harmony among the perspectives, taking all the perspectives and building the complex truth out of all of them. Why did I say that even though these things are very simple, in our world it doesn’t work that way? It doesn’t work that way. So I gave a few examples of this; I already have my canonical examples for this kind of thing. Someone becomes religious, okay? So his secular friends go looking for the crisis he went through. Why is he doing this nonsense? His grandmother died, he broke up with his girlfriend, he was abused at home, who knows what, in yeshiva—or not in yeshiva, sorry, now I’m talking about someone becoming religious. So he decided to become religious because he went through a psychological crisis. What do the religious people, his new friends, say? Well, he discovered the light of lights of the truth, right? And you explain his step on the philosophical plane. So the secular people are psychologists, and the religious people are philosophers. Right? Here suddenly everything is perfect. So yes, the secular people are psychologists and the religious people are philosophers. Now let’s look at someone who leaves religion. So what do the secular people, his new friends, say? Well, finally he understood that all this nonsense really has nothing to it, right? That’s a pure philosophical consideration. What do the religious people say? He wanted to permit sexual prohibitions to himself, right? That’s why he left religion. They’re the psychologists. The religious people are psychologists and the secular people are philosophers. So who’s right? Both are right. Every step a person takes can be explained on the psychological plane, and it can also be explained on the philosophical plane. Why does each of us choose only one side? Because that’s what’s convenient. Right? In other words, if the person made a move that doesn’t fit my worldview, then I prefer to explain it on the psychological plane. So fine, obviously he didn’t think this stupidity through, but what happened? He was abused at home. Okay? If it fits my view, then of course he’s a pure philosopher; he finally discovered that I was right all along. So basically we choose what is convenient for us. Now here it sounds terribly banal, even though that’s how it works. But when I describe it, everyone understands that it’s nonsense. Both are right. Where else does this show up? So look, for example—where did the penny first drop for me? I was riding on a bus and through the window I saw a car passing by—it was during some Rabin government, yes?—and I saw through the window: “Rabin has no mandate to return the Golan,” a bumper sticker on a car. Once again it was one of those times when there was a discussion about making an agreement with the Syrians, giving them the Golan, and so on. So: Rabin has no mandate to return the Golan. I asked myself what I could say about the car owner. In terms of worldview, is he a left-wing person or a right-wing person? And the answer is: I have no idea, I can’t know. Why? Because the question whether Rabin does or does not have a mandate to do this is made up of at least two planes. More than that, but broadly speaking, let’s divide it into two planes. One plane is the substantive plane: are you in favor of such a move or against such a move? That could be for religious, security, political reasons, whatever you want—it doesn’t matter, each person according to his worldview. Let’s call it ideology, okay? The substantive question. And then there’s the question of political morality. You promised something before the elections; after the elections, things look different from there than from here, as a later prime minister said—the first one. And now the question is, in terms of political morality, what is proper to do in such a situation, assuming he really became convinced that he has to act differently from what he promised before the election. I’m not talking about corruption and things like that; the person changed his mind. Is it so terrible that people change their minds? Okay? So what is he supposed to do? There could be a moral view that says: perfectly legitimate—go back to the people, tell them this is my new agenda, give me a mandate for that. If you don’t get it, then no—you were elected under false pretenses; you can’t use the power you received to carry out a policy contrary to what you promised, because that’s not what people voted for. A second possibility says: no, the person is the prime minister. Once he is elected, the whole set of considerations stands before him, and others usually do not see the full range of considerations. He has to make the decision. As long as he is prime minister, he has to make the decision. Those are two sides, and both carry serious weight. I don’t think either one is stupid. Both are weighty sides. But you understand that the question of political morality is completely independent of the ideological question. So how many groups should I expect to find in the population? Four. Those who oppose returning the Golan but think Rabin morally has a mandate to do it; those who oppose returning the Golan and think he does not have a moral mandate to do it; those who support returning the Golan and think he has no mandate; and those who support returning the Golan and think he does have a mandate. Right? Two independent questions, each with two possible answers—first-grade combinatorics, four possibilities. Okay? How many possibilities actually were there? Two, of course. Two. Everyone who thought the move was justified in terms of policy also said it was morally right, that there was no moral problem in doing it. And everyone who thought it was not justified in terms of policy or ideology also said it was immoral to do it. Why? Because we’re not honest, that’s all. And you wouldn’t discover the off-diagonal groups, the groups outside the diagonal. If you make a matrix—pro and con, moral and immoral—you would see only the diagonal groups; you wouldn’t see the off-diagonal groups. Okay? Why? Because we’re not honest. Now, you can’t point to any specific person and say he is dishonest, because every person says, “Fine, I really do think morally it’s immoral, and I also oppose it ideologically,” and that’s true—one of the four groups is like that, and a person is entitled to belong to that group. But when I look broadly at the public and I say: in the public itself there aren’t four groups, only two—that means the discussion is not being conducted honestly. I can’t say that about any particular person, but the discussion is not being conducted honestly. That’s why, by the way, in capital cases they begin with the youngest, so that the junior judge will feel free to say what he says and won’t feel subjugated to what the senior judge said, because we want to hear all the positions, all the considerations this way and that. In the end we’ll weigh them. In the very end we have to decide whether he has a mandate or doesn’t; that’s a weighing of whether the move is right and whether he has moral legitimacy to do it. In the end I’ll have to decide what outweighs what, say if there’s a contradiction between the two things. But I need to be aware that there are considerations in both directions. A more extreme example: once, in Makor Rishon, I sent a letter in a debate about conversion. There was some judge in Ashdod who invalidated all the conversions of the state conversion system, because all the judges are wicked, and wicked judges can’t serve on religious courts, and therefore the conversion was not performed by a religious court, and so everyone is a gentile. Meaning all those converts who went through there are gentiles. So fine, a discussion started—doesn’t matter, a public discussion like that. It reached the Supreme Rabbinical Court, and they too upheld that ruling. Rabbi Amar eventually intervened and canceled it; he created some panel not from the judges of the Rabbinical Court, an external panel, and canceled it—all kinds of games, of course. Now after this debate had been going on, at some stage the battle lines suddenly became clear. In other words, the Religious Zionist rabbis were against this ruling, and the Haredi rabbis were in favor of this ruling. It was more or less a one-to-one correlation. It didn’t start that way. When the discussion began, the views were completely mixed and complex. But within a few days the battle lines converged because he had come out against Rabbi Druckman, and everyone felt they had to defend Rabbi Druckman—he was the head of the conversion system—and so on. And it was a stupid discussion on really unbelievable levels, as is customary in our parts. And when I wrote a letter to Makor Rishon, I said there that in order to decide the question—without thinking for more than a minute—I wrote thirteen questions that needed to be answered. I think it was thirteen. And for every one of the questions there are significant sides in both directions. Binary questions—you can answer yes or no. Thirteen questions. After you answer all thirteen, you can form a position as to whether you are in favor or against. How many groups should there be in the population? High-school combinatorics—eight thousand?
[Speaker C] Two to the thirteenth power, eight thousand, eight K, right?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Two to the thirteenth power, yes. Yes or no times yes or no times yes or no, thirteen times. So eight thousand groups, not people. No, they’re independent—independent questions. Yes, I mapped them out. If they weren’t independent, then from my point of view it would be the same question. Independent questions—like with the morality and the whole Golan issue; there too it’s independent. The result very often creates dependence because you harness the horses to get the wagon to the right place. But no, the questions as such are independent. How many groups were there in the population? Two. Those who answered yes to all thirteen questions, and those who answered no to all thirteen questions. That’s it. No off-diagonal group was there.
[Speaker B] No, read what people write.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] When someone explains to you why that judge is right, then all the considerations are of course in favor of that judge. When he explains to you why that judge is wrong, all the considerations are against him. He doesn’t say: look, from this perspective he’s right, from that perspective he’s wrong, and in the bottom line it seems to me he’s right, or something like that. That’s how I would expect an intelligent discussion to be conducted. So no, it was not an intelligent discussion. No discussion in public discourse is intelligent. And that’s perfectly fine in the sense that this is exactly the kind of discussion I would expect to take place. You have to reach a bottom line in the end, that’s all fine, but weigh things. Say: look, this party seems closest to me, even though I disagree with them on questions A, B, and C. Fine, but still in the bottom line I think they’re the best, or the least bad, and therefore I vote for them. That’s what I call an intelligent discussion, which never happens. And what does this really mean? It means that an intelligent discussion has to take the thirteen questions, discuss each question on its own terms, reach a bottom line without looking at where that will ultimately lead the discussion. After you answer each question separately, now look at the full picture and try to form a bottom-line position—are you for it or against it? I, for example, think the Haredim were completely right in their criticism of the conversion system and of Rabbi Druckman; what they did there was a scandal. But on the other hand, I don’t think all the judges there are wicked. They think differently from me; I don’t think they’re wicked. So I do not join the statement that because they’re wicked, therefore the conversions are void. I do join the statement that substantively those conversions are worth nothing. But fine, those are two completely different questions. But no, those divisions didn’t appear there. So I return to our point: this basically means that when we deal with a real-life issue, a significant issue, there is never a situation where all the arguments point in the same direction. Never. It just doesn’t happen. Life is not simple. The Holy One, blessed be He, did not do us that favor. Life is not simple. Therefore in every situation, in every case, there are considerations this way and that way. Ask any lawyer—he’ll tell you there are no clear cases in court. There aren’t. There’s never someone who is definitely right and the other person totally wrong. Never. There are always some sides, some considerations. It doesn’t happen. In the end there is a bottom line; you have to decide. But there are no clear cases. What does that mean? We said there are one hundred and fifty reasons to declare the creeping thing impure and one hundred and fifty reasons to declare the creeping thing pure, and they all exist and they are all correct. You do not have to decide which of them is correct. The decision is not about which of them is correct; they are all correct. The decision is about which of them weighs more, which of them prevails, which of them is more significant. That is what I need to decide. Not the question of which of those considerations is correct. And that basically means that truth, generally, in a monistic world where there is one truth—the truth is usually complex. There are considerations this way and considerations that way. In the bottom line I need to decide which considerations prevail, which position I adopt in the bottom line. And therefore when I speak about monism, I am really speaking about harmonism. Harmonism means, yes, a plurality of viewpoints that in the end creates the truth from all its angles, like the elephant parable—I think I gave that too. Someone who looks at the elephant and says: an elephant is an animal with two eyes and two legs very close together. And someone else looks at the elephant and says: an elephant is a creature with one eye and two legs pretty far from one another. What’s the dispute? Well, are you looking at it from the side or from the front? Right? Which I think is a good parable for looking from different angles, or for harmonism—that there is a complex truth, and when you look from different angles, the full truth is the union of all the angles. That’s the full truth, and that’s monism, not pluralism. That is the truth. Simplistic monism is simply nonsense; it’s not monism. A monism that says one person is right and everyone else is wrong—that hardly ever happens. There is almost no position in the world—except, I don’t know, some total fool who suddenly comes up with some hallucination—but there is almost no position in the world that doesn’t have sides in its favor and also against it. In the end you have to weigh it and decide what you think. Therefore, in the end, even when I speak about monism, I’m really speaking about harmonism. Okay. And then I spoke about the Talmud in Eruvin—that was actually a Talmudic passage in Gittin. The Talmud in Gittin explains the meaning of “these and those are the words of the living God”; it says: “He found a fly and did not mind; he found a hair and did mind.” There there is even an explanation. But in the Talmud in Eruvin there is no explanation. A heavenly voice came out and said: “These and those are the words of the living God, but the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel.” Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai disagreed for two and a half years until a heavenly voice came out and said: “These and those are the words of the living God, but the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel.” But it is not explained what “these and those” means. It is explained in Gittin. So I assume it’s the same explanation. There too, in Eruvin, it really means monism—what do I mean, harmonism, right? Both Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel are right, in the sense that the arguments and reasons they raise are correct, all of them are correct. In the bottom line, their dispute is not over which reasons are correct, but over which reasons are more important or carry more weight in the relative weighing of the reasons. That is the dispute. And in that dispute only one side is right. Therefore they say: these and those are the words of the living God—all of each side’s reasons are correct—and the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel. The Jewish law follows Beit Hillel because the truth is with them, not just by lottery. The Jewish law follows Beit Hillel because—I spoke about two ways to read it, I’m not going into the details now, I’m just summarizing. The Jewish law follows Beit Hillel because they are right. Why? Because they weigh the reasons more correctly, not because their reasons are correct and Beit Shammai’s reasons are incorrect, but because they weigh the reasons better. Why? Because they stated the words of Beit Shammai before their own, and whatever the Talmud there explains. So therefore, my claim was that Jewish law in its foundation—the correct meta-halakhic conception—is a harmonistic conception. In other words, when there are two opinions in Jewish law, when there is a dispute in Jewish law, both opinions are right in terms of their reasons, their rationales, their considerations. But in the bottom line one is right and the other is wrong. So what does “these and those are the words of the living God” mean? It means that if this is a well-founded halakhic position of a Torah scholar, not some random clown, then presumably his reasons are correct. It may be that his weighing is not correct. What does that mean? It means he is mistaken, but his mistake is legitimate. It is legitimate—he weighs the reasons differently. It does not mean he is as right as the other. There is only one truth. But his mistake is legitimate because he took correct reasons and made a mistake in weighing them. Weighing is hard. How can you decide which weighing is correct and which is not? So that is a legitimate mistake. By contrast, someone who raises reasons that are themselves not correct—not just that he weighs them incorrectly, but he is simply talking nonsense—he is not a Torah scholar. About such a person one does not say “these and those are the words of the living God.” People always ask: if “these and those are the words of the living God,” and Jewish law is so pluralistic, then why not the Reform, the Christians, the pagans, the Hindus, and I don’t know who else, the Pfizer people? The answer is that there are two circles around the truth. There is one circle—there is the truth; around it there is a circle of legitimate errors; and still farther away there is a circle of illegitimate errors. “These and those are the words of the living God” is said about the first two circles: the truth and the legitimate errors. Why? Because in both of them, these are basically Torah scholars weighing correct reasons; they disagree about the weighing. Whoever is outside is just talking nonsense. Full of incorrect reasons—not that he weighs them incorrectly; his reasons are incorrect. So that basically means that when we see a dispute in Jewish law, the simple assumption is that really these and those are the words of the living God. But what does that mean? It does not mean pluralism, that both are right; it means harmonism—that each of them grasps a certain aspect of the truth, points to correct reasons, but in the bottom line there is one correct weighing and the others are not correct. Okay, that is basically the claim about “these and those are the words of the living God.” I brought evidence for this from the Talmud in Sukkah 10, from the Ritva. That was really near the end of the semester, I think—or the beginning of the semester, I don’t remember anymore. There you can see that if you wanted to examine on your own the question whether Jewish law is monistic or pluralistic—not in books of thought and all that, where people just talk, but in Jewish law itself. I want to see this tested through a kind of halakhic experiment. Are there suggestions for how to test it? I want to see halakhic sources, not someone in an introduction or in some philosophy book explaining to me, yes, these and those, and everyone is right—those are always words nobody stands behind. I want to see halakhic rulings that reflect these conceptions.
[Speaker B] Maybe in a case where you see that someone—you see that someone issued a Jewish law ruling, and on the other hand there’s a consideration, or someone different, and I attach to him…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, in that case it’s different. It could be that in that other case the Jewish law is different; there are other considerations.
[Speaker B] And he uses one of the reasons raised by the second decisor, saying: because of that I use the reason raised by the other decisor.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You mean halakhic inconsistency—that could be evidence of pluralism. Okay, I’m talking about a case, not a decisor. You’re talking about a person. If a person rules this way here—no, I’m talking about a case. Let’s see a halakhic case where the ruling about it would reflect the decisor’s meta-halakhic conception. Is he a pluralist, a monist, or something like that?
[Speaker C] Maybe “do not place a stumbling block before the blind,” from there—from both sides… The Oven of Achnai popped into my head, where even though a heavenly voice came out from heaven, they accepted upon themselves, so…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What does that mean?
[Speaker C] Maybe that’s actually a monistic case, as if…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Quite the opposite. I would say: if a heavenly voice came out from heaven, then presumably the truth is with it—so why don’t I follow it? Because there is no truth.
[Speaker C] Maybe there are considerations in both directions, and then…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I don’t think you can derive a position from there. About that it says “these and those,” but “these and those” itself can be interpreted either monistically or pluralistically. Look, the experiment is this: what happens if there are two people, one of whom thinks that X is permitted and the other thinks that X is forbidden? Is the one who thinks it is permitted allowed to cause the other to do X? That is the question. Say I think it’s permitted to eat a certain meat, and my friend—I know he thinks it’s forbidden. The question is whether I may feed it to him—or not feed me, that too could happen, but let’s talk about me. I—am I allowed to feed it to him? So let’s work it out. If I’m a pluralist, then it’s forbidden. Because according to his own view he thinks it’s forbidden, and that is his truth. So what if my truth is different? We’re both right, okay? So it’s forbidden. If I’m a monist, then it’s permitted. Why on earth not?
[Speaker C] What? I don’t know if I’m right or not.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What does that mean? I never know for sure, and that is my position. What does “I don’t know” mean? I never have certainty, and that is my position. According to this, I also shouldn’t be able to eat this if I think it’s permitted to eat it—maybe I’m wrong? But you see, I’m not concerned that I might be wrong. Not because it’s certain, but because a judge has only what his eyes can see. If I’m a monist, then it’s permitted. Because I’m feeding him something that is permitted. Why should I care that he is mistaken and thinks it’s forbidden? I haven’t caused him to stumble in anything. Notice, this is an interesting point. Here pluralism comes out more stringent. A lot of times pluralism is treated as a synonym for leniencies. No—here, pluralism comes out more stringent, and monism comes out more lenient. But the Ritva that I brought there in Sukkah 10b—there’s a Talmudic passage there that talks about exactly such a case. Rav Huna and Rav Chisda disagreed. Either it’s already considered that you’re sitting under invalid sekhakh. If the decorations are close to the sekhakh, then they’re subordinate to it, so they’re considered part of the sukkah. And if the decorations are four handbreadths away from the sekhakh, then they are not subordinate to the sekhakh, and then the question is whether one may sit beneath them. So Rav Nachman said yes, and Rav Huna and Rav Chisda said no. And of course Rav Huna and Rav Chisda happen to come to Rav Nachman’s house at the Exilarch’s place during Sukkot, and he seats them in his green sukkah whose decorations are four handbreadths away from the sekhakh. And they sit and eat there with appetite and enjoy life. Then Rav Nachman asks them: “Have the masters retracted their teaching? Have you changed your minds about your ruling?” After all, you say it’s forbidden to sit in such a sukkah. So they, apparently jokingly, told him: we are engaged in a commandment and are exempt from the sukkah. In short, we tricked you. We don’t need a sukkah; we’re sitting in an invalid sukkah, but we’re not obligated in sukkah at all, because we are engaged in a commandment. Okay? So on this the Ritva and the Ra’ah ask a very strong question. He didn’t know they were engaged in a commandment. How was he allowed to cause them to stumble? He thought that according to them it was forbidden, and according to him it was permitted. So you see that one may cause someone else to stumble in a matter that according to my view is permitted, even if according to his view it is forbidden. That is what the Ritva claims. Isn’t this “do not place a stumbling block”? No, no. “And this is not like placing a stumbling block before one who can see.” Before one who can see. Interesting terminology there—I’ll come back to it in a moment. That’s the Ritva’s wording.
[Speaker D] Doesn’t that only mean it’s permitted because Rav Nachman holds it’s permitted?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why? But you had someone else who said no. There in a dispute we don’t just assume. Meaning, if Rav Nachman says it’s permitted and you found no one saying it’s forbidden, then why assume anyone disagrees with him? They do disagree with him—Rav Huna and Rav Chisda disagree with him—but not about this. They disagree with him about the laws of sukkah, not about the laws of causing someone to stumble. So the claim is that from this Talmudic passage we see that Jewish law is basically monistic. Proof that one may cause someone to stumble in something that according to him is forbidden, if I think it is permitted. But the Ritva adds in the name of his teacher the Ra’ah—and there is also a parallel passage in Chullin—there is a contradiction from the parallel passage in Chullin, where it appears otherwise, and he resolves that contradiction by saying that this is permitted only if the matter is obvious and known, and everyone can see it. And if not, then only if you told them. But notice: here there are decorations hanging four handbreadths from the sekhakh. Now I seat you there.
[Speaker C] I serve a Sephardi non-glatt meat. Right.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] As long as you tell him that this meat is not glatt. Okay? And as long as that Sephardi also thinks like the Shulchan Arukh, because if not, then why should I care that the Shulchan Arukh says that? I think otherwise.
[Speaker C] Wait, wait—and if he didn’t know, then he transgressed?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s what follows from… yes, that’s what the Ritva claims. In a moment we’ll see what that means regarding monism. But the Ritva argues that although it appears from the Talmudic passage here that one may cause the other person to stumble in such a case, he qualifies it because of the passage in Chullin: only if the matter is obvious and known. Meaning, if it’s clear that the person being caused to stumble understands that this is a situation which according to his own view is forbidden. But if that’s so, then you’re throwing out the baby with the bathwater. In that case you didn’t cause him to stumble at all—he chose to sit there. What kind of causing someone to stumble is that? Not true. The prohibition of “do not place a stumbling block” also exists where the blind person is actually sighted. The Talmud in Nazir—actually in Avodah Zarah—speaks about a nazir standing on the other side of the river and asking me to pass him a cup of wine. Okay? To pass him a cup of wine. So if I pass him a cup of wine when we are on two sides of the river, where he could not get the cup of wine without me and I have to hand it over, then even if he knows he is a nazir and that a nazir is forbidden to drink wine, if I passed him the cup of wine I have violated the Torah-level prohibition of “do not place a stumbling block.” And in the Torah-level prohibition, the one being caused to stumble does not have to be blind. That’s just the wording. Even if he is not blind, I have violated “do not place a stumbling block.” When? If without me he could not have done it. It applies… on two sides of the river. No, otherwise it’s merely assisting. If it’s one side of the river, then it’s not “do not place a stumbling block” but assisting. But “do not place a stumbling block” is only on two sides of the river. On two sides of the river, without me he could not have done it, even though he chose to do it. He could have taken the cup I passed him and poured it out instead of drinking it. He chose to drink it and be a transgressor, but I supplied him with the cup. So therefore I violated “do not place a stumbling block.” So I return to the Ritva.
[Speaker C] Because there it could be this way or that way, but with a nazir and wine there is no this way or that way—it’s unambiguous that a nazir is forbidden to drink wine.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Just a second, I’m getting there. So apparently with “do not place a stumbling block” there is no difference between whether the other person knows he is transgressing or does not know he is transgressing. I violate “do not place a stumbling block” either way. So why does the Ritva here say that he has to inform them that there are decorations hanging four handbreadths from the sekhakh? What difference does that make? If the only question is whether they know there is a transgression here or not, but with “do not place a stumbling block” there is no difference whether they know or not know, then why is that important? It seems to me that the necessary explanation—or perhaps even the only explanation—for the Ritva is that in fact the Ritva is not a simple monist and not a simple pluralist. Really this isn’t the Ritva—it’s the Talmud, because this is the result of a contradiction between two passages. The Ritva is just doing the bookkeeping. So this is already in the Talmud. If I—we said that in such a situation, if I am a monist, then I may cause the other person to stumble, because I am causing him to stumble in something permitted. According to me it is permitted. He is mistaken; he thinks it is forbidden—so what? If I am a pluralist, then it is forbidden. But I want to claim that there is a difference between two kinds of monists. There is a tolerant monist and an intolerant monist. A tolerant monist is a monist who distinguishes between legitimate mistakes and illegitimate mistakes. And if someone errs in a legitimate way, then the value of autonomy says that he should act as he thinks, and I may not intervene. Because his mistake is legitimate—he is a Torah scholar, that is the decision he reached, so he should conduct himself as he understands. True, I think he is mistaken, but I have to respect his autonomy. That is the tolerance I am supposed to show toward a position that I think is wrong. That is tolerant monism. Intolerant monism does not distinguish between legitimate and illegitimate mistakes. All mistakes are the same. Okay? It does not respect someone else’s autonomy. If you are mistaken, then I will force you not to do it, if I can. Okay? It does not respect autonomy; it doesn’t have the value of autonomy in its arsenal of values. Now here will be the difference. If I am an intolerant monist—if I am a pluralist, then I may not cause you to stumble in any case, whether you know the truth or whether you don’t know the truth, because it is simply “do not place a stumbling block.” If I am an intolerant monist, then I may cause you to stumble whether you know or don’t know. The fact that you are mistaken does not interest me. But if I am a tolerant monist, then in principle I may cause you to stumble, because I am a monist and what you are doing is actually permitted. The fact that you think it is forbidden means you are mistaken. But I must respect your autonomy. If you are a Torah scholar, then you have the right to formulate your own position and act on it. Therefore I only have to make sure that you know this is the situation here. Now make your own decisions. But I need the facts to be clear. If I cause you to stumble without the facts being clear to you, then as a tolerant monist it is forbidden to do that. True, I did not cause him to commit a transgression, but I did not give him the respect due to his autonomy—to his right to formulate his own position. And therefore, in my opinion, this case of causing someone to stumble in something that according to me is permitted and according to you is forbidden is a wonderful litmus test for examining the meta-halakhic position: pluralism, intolerant monism, or tolerant monism. The pluralist will say: it is forbidden to cause someone to stumble in any case. The intolerant monist will say: it is permitted in any case. The tolerant monist will say: it is permitted if you know, forbidden if you do not know. So we have a clear litmus test. And if the Ritva, when he works out the contradiction between the two Talmudic passages, arrives at the third conclusion—one may cause someone to stumble only if he knows; if he does not know, it is forbidden—that basically means that in his reckoning at least, that of the Ritva and the Ra’ah, out of the contradiction between the passages emerges a tolerant monistic conception. It’s like Rabban Gamliel with Rabbi Yehoshua. No, there it’s something else, because there we’re talking about intercalating the year. Sanctifying the month and intercalating the year is mandatory authority vested in the president of the Sanhedrin. “Even if they err, even if they act deliberately, even if they are coerced”—he can deliberately not do the right thing and still what he determines is what counts, the president of the Sanhedrin. Right? There he did not convince him; he forced him to come before him.
[Speaker B] Forced.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] He forced him to do something that wasn’t right, because that something actually is right. Specifically with sanctifying the month and intercalating the year, once the president of the Sanhedrin has determined it—even if he is mistaken deliberately, not only if he is mistaken, even if he is mistaken deliberately—that is the calendar. Whatever he determines. So there’s no point arguing with him; by definition what he says is correct. Rabbi Yehoshua is correct in his own reasoning, but by definition what Rabban Gamliel says is the calendar.
[Speaker C] So what the Ritva says is that the other side knows clearly what to do. Which other side?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Is he going to eat? Obviously. He thinks it is forbidden, so he should not eat. And in fact that’s what they said. In principle we really would not have eaten; only because we are engaged in a commandment and exempt from sukkah. That’s what they answered. That if you weren’t—then they should not be eating. Right. Okay? So that is an example, meaning a passage from which one can decide in favor of the monistic conception, but tolerant monism. Tolerant monism, again, is the picture I described before: a core that is the truth, around it legitimate mistakes. Legitimate mistakes means Torah scholars whose considerations are apparently proper considerations; it’s just that there is a difference in weighting them, and in the weighting maybe they erred. And then there are the people who talk nonsense—that’s the illegitimate mistakes, the outer circle. Now after that I moved to the question of authority, halakhic authority regarding dispute. Fine, so there is a dispute; there is a halakhic truth, but there are two opinions. Now the question of decision: so how do we decide which of the two opinions is the correct one? Again, if we are pluralists, there is no question of what the decision is—flip a coin. It makes no difference, because the purpose of the decision is not to discover who is right. The decision is meant to establish an agreed bottom line. Flip a coin. But if we are monists and think that one of these two sides is right and the other is wrong, when we come to issue a halakhic ruling we need to seek a decision. So how do we decide? What is the truth? That brings us to the question of authority. And usually, regarding authority, we follow the majority—we vote and the majority decides. But I spoke about this last semester, yes, the question of majority in wisdom versus majority in numbers, all kinds of discussions that I won’t go into again. The question of which majority determines the matter is itself disputed, and that dispute gets us into a paradoxical loop, because Beit Shammai, who were wiser but fewer in number, thought that the majority of wisdom determines the matter. Beit Hillel, who were more numerous and less wise, determined that the majority in number determines the matter. Now go decide that very dispute—it’s circular. Okay? What? No, and that settled everything. In any case, the claim is this: the existence of dispute, together with a monistic conception, immediately leads us to the question of decision. Because now we understand that the role of the decision is to determine who is right, not to determine or arrive at some agreed bottom line that will be uniform for everyone regardless of the truth. In a pluralistic world, the decision is of that sort. But in a monistic world, the decision is supposed to seek the truth. Now the question is how we do that. So here we enter the question of authority, and I spoke about several aspects of authority. First of all, I said there are two kinds of authority: substantive authority and formal authority. Substantive authority is authority like that of a doctor. Say I go to a doctor, he examines me, concludes I have such-and-such, prescribes me medication, surgery, I don’t know, some medical procedure or another. Why do I accept what he says? Because he is an expert; he probably understands this, and I don’t. If I trust him, then I’ll do what he tells me. Okay? That’s what I call substantive authority. That authority is based on the fact that he is right. Yes, he is an expert, so he knows, so he is probably right. Again, not certain that he is right, but if I think one thing and he thinks another, he is probably right. Okay? Because he is the expert. That is substantive authority. There is also formal authority. Formal authority is authority granted to you not because you are right, but by virtue of who you are. For example, the authority of the Knesset. The authority of the legislative institution, of parliament, is not based on the fact that the luminaries of the generation sit there. They do not sit there; I have news for you. Right? Their authority is based not on their being right, because in most cases they are not. Their authority is based on the fact that they are the Knesset, and that is the legislative institution—there’s nothing to be done. Yes, not in the sense of power; I’m talking now about philosophy, not coercion. They are right because in our system the legislative institution is the one that determines the rules. Fine? Truly that is how it is; that’s really the system. I’m not arguing with that. It’s not that they can beat me up and therefore they are right. If they beat me up, are they right? Why? Because since they are right, they are allowed to beat me up—not because they can beat me up, therefore they are right. Okay? So again, by “right” I mean possessing authority, not necessarily that what they say is true. That is what is called formal authority. By the way, formal authority in biblical language is called “elohim.” One who has formal authority is called “elohim”; therefore judges are called “elohim” in the Torah. Yes, the Talmud in Sanhedrin brings that three times “elohim” appears in the passage, therefore in monetary law we appoint three judges. “Then the owner of the house shall come near the elohim”—meaning the judges. Why are judges called “elohim”? Because “elohim” is someone whom one is obligated to obey by virtue of who he is. In the case of the Holy One, blessed be He, He is probably also right—He knows. So He also has substantive authority, but first and foremost He has authority by virtue of being the Holy One, blessed be He, Creator of the world—I don’t know, let everyone explain that as he likes. But He has some authority simply by virtue of being who He is. Therefore this is formal authority, not substantive authority. And judges too have formal authority: by virtue of being a judge, I must obey him. True, we usually appoint judges who are also Torah scholars, so that they will also say the correct things. But their authority does not derive from that they are Torah scholars; it is not like a doctor’s authority. Think, for example, if there is a judge who told me such-and-such, or a secular judge who told me such-and-such. A law professor tells me: listen, I’m a greater expert in law than he is, and he made a mistake. Whom am I supposed to listen to? The judge. Why? Not because he is a greater expert than the law professor, but because he is the judge. That is institutional authority; formal authority. It is not authority that derives from his being right. Okay? Same thing with a psychiatrist versus a district psychiatrist. Why can only a district psychiatrist order involuntary hospitalization, and an ordinary psychiatrist cannot? Not because he is a greater expert than other psychiatrists. I assume they should try to put a very expert psychiatrist there too, but his authority does not derive from being an expert, but from having received authority by virtue of his role. It derives from his role, not his knowledge. Right! As I said before, that is the meaning of monism. The meaning of monism is that judges can also make mistakes, because there is one truth. What do you mean?
[Speaker E] The bull for an erroneous ruling—they need…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] They need to decide that they made a mistake, not you. You can’t decide that they made a mistake. They need to conclude, “we erred,” and then they bring the communal bull for an erroneous ruling.
[Speaker C] He says, he himself…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Of course, you can’t decide they made a mistake.
[Speaker C] If he…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Reached the conclusion—
[Speaker C] So if I think the religious court is mistaken, I’m not obligated to listen to them?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, this is a Talmudic discussion in Horayot there, in the case of one who errs in a matter where there is a commandment to heed the words of the sages. It’s a complicated passage. In principle, you have to listen to them in any case.
[Speaker C] Even if it is known that they are mistaken?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] As I said, certainty—what kind of certainty, who are you, it’s a complicated story and there are many views about this. In principle, with formal authority you need to listen to them even if you think they are mistaken.
[Speaker B] Certainly—a rebellious elder.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What? No, no, I’m talking about the Great Sanhedrin, say. Ah, okay. So I distinguished between formal authority and substantive authority. Now in Jewish law, when we choose people for the Sanhedrin, of course we choose experts so they will have substantive authority—they understand Jewish law. But by virtue of serving on the Sanhedrin, they also have formal authority, because he is the judge; he has formal authority. Therefore the Talmud in Sanhedrin 5 discusses the question of who is supposed to appoint judges: the king, or the Exilarch—in that period there was no king, so the Exilarch of Babylonia who stood in place of the king because they descend from the house of David—“The scepter shall not depart from Judah,” these are the heads of the exiles in Babylonia; or the Sanhedrin in the Land of Israel. And the discussion was basically this: the Sanhedrin in the Land of Israel gives him professional authority, like certification to be a lawyer that one gets from the university, but that doesn’t make you someone with authority. The state has to appoint you as a judge, and it takes someone who is an expert in law. So his expertise is tested at the university, but his formal authority comes from the state. The same in Jewish law. Appointment of a judge: he must receive ordination, to see that he is qualified, that he is a Torah scholar. But the appointment itself has to be made by the king or the Exilarch—he gives him the formal authority. Therefore it says: “The scepter shall not depart from Judah, nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet.” “Scepter” is the scepter of a ruler—the monarchy shall not depart from Judah. And “ruler’s staff”—that is the judge, from between his feet. The judge need not be from the tribe of Judah; he needs authorization from the tribe of Judah. Why? Because the tribe of Judah is the king.
[Speaker E] The authority.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The governing authority has to appoint the lawgiver. Now the king does not give him ordination; the ordination he gets from others who are ordained, from the Sanhedrin. It’s like the law faculty—they examine that he is an expert in Jewish law, but the formal authority he gets from the king. So the concepts of authority in Jewish law are divided into formal authority and substantive authority. I also said that formal authority or substantive authority can be with respect to facts and with respect to norms. An expert is an expert also about facts: if he is a scientist, then he understands some scientific field that is his profession, and he may perhaps also be an expert in Jewish law. Jewish law is not facts, but there are experts in Jewish law, okay? There can be experts in law. There can be experts in normative fields, and there are experts in facts. Substantive authority—the authority of an expert—can apply both to norms and to facts. Formal authority applies only to norms. There is no formal authority regarding facts. For example, if I think it is now daytime, and the Holy One, blessed be He Himself, comes and says to me: no, it is now nighttime. One of two things can happen: either I conclude that my eyes are deceiving me, because if the Holy One, blessed be He said it, He probably knows better, and then I am convinced and I will accept it—but I will accept it not because He said it; I will accept it because I was convinced. And if I am not convinced, then the Holy One, blessed be He can stand here until the day after tomorrow, and I will still think it is daytime, because I was not convinced. The demand of formal authority with respect to facts basically expects me to say that it is nighttime even though inwardly I am convinced it is daytime. So I can say the words “it is now nighttime,” but you cannot expect me to think that. If you convince me, no problem. You cannot expect me to think something I do not think. You can expect me to do something I do not think, but you cannot expect me to think something I do not think. So if, for example, you determine that sorting is forbidden on the Sabbath, and I think sorting is not one of the thirty-nine primary categories of labor, but the Sanhedrin has formal authority and they determined that sorting is one of the primary categories of labor, so sorting is forbidden on the Sabbath—that is a legitimate demand. I may argue, but there is no logical problem in such a demand. I do not think sorting is forbidden on the Sabbath, but I am nevertheless required to refrain from sorting. There is no logical contradiction in that. They are requiring me to behave not in accordance with what I think—fine. But it is impossible to require me to think that sorting is forbidden on the Sabbath when I think it is permitted. You can try to convince me that I am mistaken; if you convince me, I will think it is forbidden. But as long as you have not convinced me, the meaning of the demand “think that sorting is forbidden” is just an attempt to persuade me. If you did not persuade me, then nothing happened. There is no formal authority with respect to facts. You have to understand what facts are. The thirteen principles of faith are also facts. That the Messiah will come, that the Holy One, blessed be He supervises the world, that the Torah was given—all of those are facts. Not necessarily observational scientific facts, but they are facts: either they are true or they are not true. There is no authority with respect to that. If someone thinks that the ninth principle is not true, then you cannot say to him, look, but you are denying a principle of faith. You can tell him he is denying a principle of faith; that has no meaning whatsoever. That is what I think—what do you want? If you convince me I am mistaken, no problem. But if you do not convince me that I am mistaken, you cannot require me to think what I do not think. That is simply a logical contradiction. Not because you can’t because it’s cruel, or because you can’t because we found no source for it in the Torah. Even if there were a source in the Torah, it would not help. You can’t state a logical contradiction. If there were a Torah source saying that a triangle is round, a triangle still would not be round. It has no meaning—formal authority has no meaning with respect to facts. There is formal authority with respect to norms. There is substantive authority with respect to both facts and norms. Where is the source in Jewish law for formal authority? “Do not turn aside.” “Do not turn aside” was said only about the Sanhedrin. The Sefer HaChinukh says it also applies to the sages of the generations and so on, but that is a very strange minority view; it has no root or branch. No, clearly it applies only to the Sanhedrin. So once the Sanhedrins ceased, there are no more ordained judges, no Sanhedrin, nothing—there is no more formal authority in the universe. None. No one can come and tell me: you must do such-and-such because I said so. By virtue of the fact that I said so? No. Come try to convince me. But he cannot tell me: you are obligated to do this because I said so. There is no one who has formal authority in Jewish law except the Sanhedrin. There are two exceptions. One exception is the Talmud. In the Talmud there were no ordained judges because it was in Babylonia, but the community accepted the Talmud upon itself as a binding codex—or not a codex, as a binding canon—and therefore by virtue of that acceptance the Talmud acquired the status of formal authority. But this is not by force of “do not turn aside,” rather because we accepted it upon ourselves. And the local rabbi. If there is a rabbi of a community or a place, he has formal authority; what he says must be done even if he is mistaken and I think otherwise, in those areas regarding which he received authority from the community. That too is authority that comes from below, not from above. The community appointed him to be rabbi and thereby gave him formal authority over what happens within it. Just as the Jewish people gave formal authority to the Talmud. This is not like the formal authority of the Sanhedrin, which did not receive it from the Jewish people but from the Holy One, blessed be He. Ordained by one ordained by one ordained by Moses our teacher, from the mouth of the Holy One, blessed be He. That is ordination that comes from above. The two exceptions I spoke about are formal authority based on awakening from below, something that comes from below, not from above. After the Talmud there are no more formal authorities. None. Not the greatest medieval authorities, nor the later authorities, nor the Shulchan Arukh, nor Maimonides, nor anyone.
[Speaker B] What about the Exilarch? What about the Exilarch?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There are no more formal authorities after the sealing of the Talmud, and what has remained until our own day is substantive authority. Substantive authority: someone who is an expert in Jewish law, like a doctor, so it is very reasonable and sensible to listen to him because he is probably right. Not because he said so—he has no formal authority—but because he is probably right. But if, for example, I am convinced that he is not right here, even though he is a greater Torah scholar than I am, then I will not listen to him. Because there is no formal obligation. The only thing is, since he is a Torah scholar I am inclined to be convinced that he is right. And if I am not convinced? Say a doctor prescribes me some medication, and somehow—I don’t know, I consulted online—I reached the conclusion that he is mistaken, even though I am not a doctor, then I will not take the medication. It’s the same thing. There is no formal authority in Jewish law. But there is certainly weight to what Torah scholars say, because they have substantive authority, because they are experts. Not because of formal authority. This has nothing to do with “do not turn aside.” It has to do with simple logic: you want to do what is correct, so go to the expert because in all likelihood what he says is what is correct. Not because if you don’t do it, someone will sue you for violating “do not turn aside.” You have not committed a transgression by not doing it; you have only taken the risk that you will commit a transgression, because you will probably do something wrong if you do not listen to him.
[Speaker B] If I think that way, am I exempt? “And commanded us”—from where? The Talmud says it’s not so simple.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right—about the Sanhedrin. One does not make a blessing saying “and commanded us” over what the Shulchan Arukh wrote. So the authority that remains until our day, from the Talmud until now, is only substantive authority. Okay, but substantive authority is not really authority; it’s just equivocal language. What it means is that the words of Torah scholars carry weight—what they say is more likely to be correct than what I say, and therefore reason says to obey them. Not because there is an obligation to obey them, but because I am convinced that I probably made a mistake here. Okay? I think I brought this Talmudic passage regarding Rabbi Meir. The Talmud says they did not rule according to him because his colleagues could not get to the depth of his reasoning. He was such a genius that they simply could not even understand why he was saying what he was saying, and they disagreed with him. But that is because he was such a genius and they could not understand. So I, for that very reason, in such a case would rule specifically like Rabbi Meir. After all, if you disagree with him because you failed to understand him, then he is probably right even though you think not. So why not rule according to him? That is actually a reason to rule according to him, not not to. The reason is that there is an obligation of autonomy. If in the end I was not convinced, I did not reach the conclusion that Rabbi Meir was right, then I am supposed to do what I think. Exactly what we saw there in the Ritva with the obligation of autonomy. And therefore this is a very important point. In a period where there is substantive authority and not formal authority: with formal authority, you have to do what they say; there is no such thing as autonomy. In relation to the Sanhedrin, what they say is what you must do. But in relation to substantive authority, there is a value of autonomy. Meaning that if you think otherwise, even though you yourself, if asked, would say Rabbi Meir is such a great genius that clearly he is right—if I think otherwise, then I probably missed something. A friend of mine said that if we resolve a difficulty raised by Rabbi Akiva Eiger, then we probably have an even number of mistakes. One mistake is that Rabbi Akiva Eiger didn’t understand the Talmud, and the second mistake is that we think we can answer him right now—he thought of that, and if he did not give this answer, then apparently the answer is mistaken. Right? So we probably made an even number of mistakes. Fine, that’s exaggerated of course, but the claim is that there is a value of autonomy, and therefore even if I think Rabbi Meir is a greater sage than I am, and if you ask me when we reach the heavenly court what the Holy One, blessed be He will say, He will probably say what Rabbi Meir said—but “it is not in heaven.” Therefore I am supposed to do what I think, even though I myself know it is probably not correct. But if he did not manage to persuade me halakhically, and from a halakhic standpoint I think this way, then that is what I am supposed to do. That is what I earlier called the value of autonomy. But of course that is only for someone who is qualified, only for someone who is a Torah scholar. Not every child should do what he thinks when he knows nothing about Jewish law. The practical implication is that I can be a lesser Torah scholar than that great person, and still, if I am a Torah scholar qualified to issue rulings, I act according to the conclusion I reach. And one who is not a Torah scholar, then of course—choose yourself a rabbi and do what he tells you. Okay? And for one who is a Torah scholar, it does not matter if he is lesser than someone else; it is not determined by your Torah level. There is a value of autonomy: you should do what you think. After that I discussed the question: then why don’t amoraim disagree with tannaim? Why don’t medieval authorities disagree with amoraim? So I spoke about that—it is formal authority as a result of our having accepted them upon ourselves. When they sealed the Mishnah, that was essentially acceptance of the formal authority of the Mishnah. When they sealed the Talmud, that was acceptance of the formal authority of the amoraim. That is where their formal authority comes from. From that point onward there are no more formal authorities, and in principle one can disagree with any position of the Geonim, the medieval authorities, the later authorities. It appears in Shulchan Arukh Choshen Mishpat section 25 in the name of the Rosh; we learned that Rosh in Sanhedrin last semester, chapter 4 of Sanhedrin, section 6. There is no formal authority. Now, yes, what you asked earlier about the seeming contradiction with my position that I am sure I am right—no. There is right and wrong; not that I am sure I am right.
[Speaker E] Okay, there is truth and falsehood. So if I know that Rabbi Meir is—if I’m sure that Rabbi Meir is probably the truth, and I respect autonomy, then I rule like I think.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You do not “respect autonomy”; you hold by the value of autonomy—it’s your own autonomy we’re talking about. When you talk about someone else’s autonomy, then you respect his autonomy. There is an obligation to act autonomously, and that obligation even overrides truth. Correct, correct—there is an obligation to act falsely. The value of autonomy overrides the halakhic value of truth. Autonomy also has value. I brought the Maharal on this; he devotes an entire chapter to it in Netiv HaTorah, chapter 15. Look there—he devotes an entire chapter to it. It is part of his polemic against the Shulchan Arukh. The Maharshal also goes in this direction. Many later authorities, many of the great later authorities, go in this direction.
[Speaker E] In Netiv HaTorah chapter 15 in Netivot Olam.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay. So clearly I am a monist. The truth is what Rabbi Meir says. What am I supposed to do? That is another question, because there is a value of autonomy. So although if you asked me what the Holy One, blessed be He thinks—this is the Oven of Akhnai. In the Oven of Akhnai, a heavenly voice came forth and the Holy One, blessed be He said what He thought, and they ruled not that way. As with the case of the bright spot preceding the white hair, there with Rabbah bar Nachmani, where there is a dispute in the heavenly academy: the Holy One, blessed be He says one way and the heavenly academy says another, and Rabbah bar Nachmani rules like the heavenly academy against the Holy One, blessed be He. And in Maimonides it appears as Jewish law against the Holy One, blessed be He, on that question of the bright spot preceding the white hair. Not because the Holy One, blessed be He is not right—He is right. I am a monist. Rather, there is a value of autonomy. That is the meaning of “it is not in heaven.” The meaning of “it is not in heaven” is that there is a value of autonomy. You have to act according to your best understanding—your best understanding in Jewish law, not whatever you feel like, but what you understand Jewish law to say—even if the Holy One, blessed be He Himself tells you otherwise. Exactly. Therefore I said—I began by saying—that I am a monist, that Jewish law is monistic; there is one halakhic truth. Now I qualify that and say: although there is one halakhic truth, I am not always supposed to act according to that truth. Sometimes there are additional rules that intervene in the question of how one should act in practice. Okay. Maybe one more point—I see that today I’m only summarizing—so one more point. I discussed the question whether authority applies to the bottom line or to the reasons. And I argued that authority is given to the bottom line and not to the reasons. For example, I brought this up regarding the doctrinal paradox. Yes, what happens in a situation where there is disagreement among the judges—not necessarily religious judges, any judges—where on the bottom line there are two against one, but when you check the reasons, the ruling comes out the opposite. Think of a case involving a contract. Reuven sues Shimon because he breached a contract; he did X and that was against the contract between them. Now the judges have to decide two things: first, that the contract really forbids doing X—that is a question of interpreting the contract; second, they have to decide that Shimon in fact did X—that is a factual question. So one legal question and one factual question. Now there is a situation in which there is a majority on the legal question in one direction, a majority on the factual question in that same direction, but on the bottom line there is a majority in the opposite direction. Meaning, if we decide each question separately, the result will be that Shimon has to pay Reuven; but if we follow the bottom lines, the result will be that Reuven has to pay Shimon—or that Shimon does not have to pay Reuven. What does that mean? What do you do in such a case? You follow the bottom line. And the Talmud also shows this, and so does the Shulchan Arukh, in Choshen Mishpat section 25 and elsewhere: you follow the bottom line. If there is a majority in a religious court based on different reasons, for example—it’s really the same thing. What happens when there is a majority in the court, but the majority opinion is based on different reasons? Then it is not really a majority. If you ask who is right in terms of the reasons, each one holds by one reason and the other two oppose him. None of the reasons is correct. Against each of the three reasons there are two others who do not agree with it. Okay? But in the bottom lines there are two judges who say Reuven is liable, based on different reasons. And the third judge says Reuven is exempt. So if we resort to the reasons, there is no majority here and nothing can be done. But no. Two against one—we follow the ruling and not the reasons. The bottom line determines. And that means that authority in Jewish law is authority granted to the bottom line, to the halakhic ruling, not to the reasons. Therefore, for example, in the Talmud, if I find that the Talmud—let’s say, of course everyone finds there whatever he wants—but there are those who find socialism in Jewish law, and others find capitalism in Jewish law. Suppose the socialists are right. Does that mean I must be a socialist? No. The halakhic rulings that appear in the Talmud I will have to observe. They have formal authority. But if they are based on a socialist conception—so what? I am not bound by their reasons or their underlying framework; I am bound by the bottom line, by the halakhic determination. Why? Because I am bound not to the truth of the matter, but to formal authority. So I am bound by it because that is what is written in the Talmud, not because it is true. Since the Talmud has formal authority, that means I am bound to the bottom line because it is written in the Talmud, not because it is correct. Therefore if there are certain reasons that I understand the Talmud to have relied on, but those reasons are not correct, I do not have to adopt the reasons. What the Talmud said—I will have to obey. So I also spoke about that: that authority applies to the bottom line and not to the reasons. Up to here, this is the general introduction to how one views dispute and its relation to truth. I tried to summarize the whole semester. It took me longer than I thought, but it is what it is. Next time I’ll start getting into specific issues in the world of dispute—dispute and truth. Yes. The meaning of custom, doubt in law versus doubt in facts, whether there are even doubts in facts at all, telepathic things, questions of that type. Okay. That’s it. More power to you. More power to you. I saw some rabbi who says you can say that this is right. Correct. A dispute with the Sifra. There are certain cases where they say maybe say such-and-such and that happens. Yes, but the question is what counts as left and right. It’s not that there is all that much room there for interpretation.
[Speaker C] Rashi on the Torah portion of Shoftim?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Depends which version. Which version did you hear? If the version is “even if they tell you that left is right and right is left,” then that goes against what I said. But if the version is “even if they tell you that right is right and left is left,” then that fits what I said.
[Speaker C] Formal authority—there’s a third possibility in which really you don’t agree at all on the definitions. Meaning, you say that now is day and he says that now is night, so really you don’t even agree on—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] —what day and night mean. No, then it makes no difference; then it isn’t even an argument. Let’s just synchronize the language in order to decide.
[Speaker C] Yes, but I mean, like—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, then there is no argument here at all. It’s simply unrelated to the discussion here. It’s not an argument at all. Because you say it is now day, and I also say it is now day in the sense you mean. I only say it is night in some other sense, and to that too you could agree. So it’s just a misunderstanding in terminology.
[Speaker C] Yes, I don’t remember where the source for this is, but when the Messiah comes and all the disputes will be resolved—what is that thing? I don’t remember the source for it.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Good that you don’t remember, because there isn’t one.
[Speaker C] There isn’t? There is such a thing—come on, people say it a lot.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] “The Tishbite will resolve difficulties and problems.”
[Speaker C] Right, so where is that from?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It’s just a playful acronym for “teiku,” but “teiku” isn’t that. It’s just a folk saying.
[Speaker C] It’s not like it’s written in the Talmudic text.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Not that I know of.
[Speaker C] Because if it were written, it would tell us.