Pluralism and Tolerance, Lecture 4
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Table of Contents
- “These and those are the words of the living God” and the heavenly voice
- An educational reward versus truth: an interpretation attributed to Rabbi Yosef Karo
- Tolerance and pluralism: autonomy and the radius of error
- Three models in Avi Sagi: pluralism, monism, and harmonism
- Gittin and the concubine at Gibeah: a harmonistic example of “these and those”
- Logical consistency and criticism of pluralism: Russell’s type theory
- Halakhic truth versus what Jewish law requires: Derashot HaRan and “do not deviate”
- Eruvin and Rabbi Meir: truth that does not dictate the ruling
- The Maharal against ruling from a code: autonomy is preferable to getting the right result
- The radius of error and who is qualified: legitimate error and illegitimate error
- Methodology: preferring halakhic passages over “publicistic” writing
- Sukkah, “do not place a stumbling block,” and the Ritva: a “laboratory” for tolerant monism
Summary
General overview
The text summarizes an inquiry into the Talmudic statement אלו ואלו דברי אלוקים חיים (“these and those are the words of the living God”) and the heavenly voice’s ruling that הלכה כבית הלל (“the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel”), and presents two central readings: a pluralistic reading in which both sides are “right,” and the ruling in accordance with Beit Hillel is merely practical uniformity or an educational reward for being gentle and humble; and, opposite that, a monistic reading in which there is one halakhic truth, and the ruling follows Beit Hillel because they are closer to the truth due to their method of considering and even prefacing the words of Beit Shammai. Out of a conceptual discussion of tolerance versus pluralism, the claim is made that tolerance rests on the value of autonomy, and Avi Sagi’s harmonistic possibility is presented, attributed to Rav Tzadok and the Maharal, according to which different opinions grasp different aspects of one truth. The text then argues that pluralism gets into logical trouble when it is also applied to the dispute about pluralism itself, and it presents halakhic and theoretical sources that ground a possible split between “halakhic truth” and “what Jewish law requires in practice,” to the point of preferring autonomous action even at the price of error, using the Talmudic discussion of לפני עיוור (“do not place a stumbling block”) in tractate Sukkah as a hint toward a model of tolerant monism.
“These and those are the words of the living God” and the heavenly voice
The text opens with the Talmudic passage about אלו ואלו דברי אלוקים חיים and the initial difficulty: they could not simply “take a vote,” so they followed a heavenly voice, which said both אלו ואלו דברי אלוקים חיים and והלכה כבית הלל (“and the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel”). The pluralistic reading interprets this as meaning that “both are right,” and therefore one still has to explain why nevertheless הלכה כבית הלל. The monistic reading assumes a single halakhic truth, so “the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel” is understandable, but then one needs to explain how the words of Beit Shammai can also be דברי אלוקים חיים (“the words of the living God”). The text connects the Talmud’s justification for the ruling—that Beit Hillel merited the law being established in accordance with them because they were gentle and humble and put Beit Shammai’s words before their own—to the question of the relation between truth and style of decision-making.
An educational reward versus truth: an interpretation attributed to Rabbi Yosef Karo
The text presents a pluralistic possibility according to which the ruling in favor of Beit Hillel is a kind of “reward for good behavior” and an educational consideration that creates practical uniformity without saying that the truth is on Beit Hillel’s side. In contrast, it presents a reading attributed to Rabbi Yosef Karo according to which Beit Hillel prevails because their method—putting their opponent’s words first and weighing them—brings them closer to the truth, and therefore the ruling follows them as a consideration intrinsic to the matter itself, not as an educational device. The text emphasizes that on this reading הלכה כבית הלל follows from the fact that they are right, and the difficulty shifts to interpreting אלו ואלו דברי אלוקים חיים.
Tolerance and pluralism: autonomy and the radius of error
The text defines pluralism and tolerance as practically similar, in that both grant legitimacy to opposing views, but different in their point of departure: the pluralist grants legitimacy because “there is no one who is right and one who is mistaken,” and both are equally right, whereas the tolerant person grants legitimacy even to an erroneous view out of a monistic assumption that there is one truth. The text argues that the only possible basis for the value of tolerance is autonomy—meaning recognition of the other person’s right, and perhaps even duty, to act according to the best of his understanding even if that is not the truth. It recounts the story of the Chazon Ish telling Rabbi Gedaliah Nadel, “Then do what you think,” and presents two “types of Chazon-Ishniks,” while attributing to the Chazon Ish a strong stance in favor of autonomy in halakhic ruling, alongside the note that one should take with a grain of salt his letter about the Mishnah Berurah being “like words that came from the Chamber of Hewn Stone,” since the Chazon Ish disagrees with it in quite a few places.
Three models in Avi Sagi: pluralism, monism, and harmonism
The text cites from Avi Sagi’s book These and Those three interpretive directions: pluralism, monism, and harmonism. Harmonism is attributed to Rav Tzadok and the Maharal and described as a model in which the different opinions together build “one complete structure,” so that each side grasps one facet of a single truth. In that sense, “everyone is partially right,” not “everyone is right” in the pluralistic sense, and also not “one is right and the other is wrong” in the simple monistic sense. The text links this to Rabbi Breuer’s image of the “aspects approach” as the structure of branches of the same tree.
Gittin and the concubine at Gibeah: a harmonistic example of “these and those”
The text notes that the Talmudic passage explaining אלו ואלו דברי אלוקים חיים appears in Gittin in the context of the concubine at Gibeah, in a dispute over whether he found a “hair” or a “fly.” It describes how, when Rabbi Evyatar asked Elijah what the Holy One, blessed be He, was doing, the answer was: “My son Evyatar says thus, and My son Yonatan says thus.” The difficulty—חס ושלום איכא ספיקא קמי שמיא (“Heaven forbid, is there uncertainty before Heaven?”)—is answered with: זבוב מצא ולא הקפיד, נימא מצא והקפיד (“He found a fly and was not upset; he found a hair and was upset”). The text interprets this as a model in which both sides are partially right, and the truth is created through the joining of perspectives. In that way it suggests that the Talmud there supports a harmonistic rather than a pluralistic claim.
Logical consistency and criticism of pluralism: Russell’s type theory
The text argues that the question “who is right?” already assumes monism and is therefore absurd from a pluralistic point of view. Still, it proposes testing consistency by applying the position to the dispute about the position itself. It claims that pluralism leads to contradiction, because if “everyone is right,” then the monist is also right—but the monist says the opposite of the pluralist. It compares the “formal” solution of exempting this particular dispute from pluralism to Russell’s solutions to self-reference paradoxes through type theory, and criticizes this as creating a language that forbids expressing the problem instead of solving it. The text concludes that monism and harmonism can be consistent, whereas pluralism “falls here,” and from this it derives a “first proof against pluralism.”
Halakhic truth versus what Jewish law requires: Derashot HaRan and “do not deviate”
The text rejects the identification between “if I know this is the truth, then that is also the practical Jewish law” and argues that there is halakhic truth, but Jewish law can demand a different action for value-based reasons. It cites Derashot HaRan, who explains, in the language of the “naturalists,” that the correction of the soul that comes from following the sages’ commandments “is the thing most beloved to Him, may He be blessed,” and therefore the Torah commanded לא תסור ימין ושמאל (“do not deviate right or left”), even if, in the rebellious elder’s opinion, the Sanhedrin is mistaken, and even if eating that thing would, by his account, produce evil in the soul. The text interprets HaRan as saying that obedience to the Sanhedrin is value-wise preferable even at the cost of error, and from here derives a “split between what Jewish law requires and what the halakhic truth is.”
Eruvin and Rabbi Meir: truth that does not dictate the ruling
The text brings the passage in Eruvin 13 about Rabbi Meir, where it says that it was “revealed and known… that there was none like him in his generation,” and yet “the Jewish law was not established in accordance with him,” because “his colleagues could not get to the end of his reasoning,” since “he could declare the impure pure and show arguments for it, and the pure impure and show arguments for it.” It argues that if it is clear that Rabbi Meir is greater than the others, then ostensibly that should be a reason to rule specifically like him. Therefore, the very fact that the law is not ruled in accordance with him teaches that halakhic truth does not always dictate what one does in practice. The text presents this as a model in which a person can think Rabbi Meir is probably right, but since he does not understand his method and reasoning, he is required to follow what his own mind can support, and it describes this as an appearance of the value of autonomy within Jewish law.
The Maharal against ruling from a code: autonomy is preferable to getting the right result
The text cites the Maharal in Netiv HaTorah, chapter 15, for a sharp critique of ruling from “legal decisors that were composed to instruct practical Jewish law” without independent analysis, and places this in the polemic around codification, against the Shulchan Arukh and the Rema, paralleling earlier criticism of Maimonides. It quotes the Maharal’s assertion that “it is more fitting and more correct that one rule מתוך the Talmud,” and even if “one must fear that he will not go on the path of truth and will not decide the law truly,” nevertheless “when his understanding and wisdom mislead him… even so he is beloved to God… and the judge has only what his eyes see,” and this is “better” than one who rules from a compilation “like a blind man on the road.” The text interprets this as tolerant monism, in which there is one halakhic truth and the greater authority is likely right, but the value of autonomy can override that and obligate the person who is competent to act according to his own understanding even against the truth he attributes to someone greater than himself.
The radius of error and who is qualified: legitimate error and illegitimate error
The text returns to the idea that there are “two kinds of error”: legitimate error within the “radius of tolerance,” and illegitimate error outside it. It states that the possibility of granting autonomy or acting autonomously depends on the person being qualified—having invested effort and knowing how to learn—because there is halakhic truth, and therefore only error within certain boundaries counts as legitimate. The text formulates this as a mirror image: respecting the other person’s autonomy when he errs in a legitimate way, and the duty of one’s own autonomy even when one thinks that his disputant, who is greater than he is, is right and he himself is probably mistaken.
Methodology: preferring halakhic passages over “publicistic” writing
The text argues that clarifying meta-halakhic questions from introductions and works of thought is “weak,” because they lack the same commitment to precision, definition, and justification that one finds in halakhic passages. It brings the Pnei Yehoshua as an example of hesitation about engaging aggadic material because “people say nice little interpretations too easily.” It proposes examining the questions of halakhic truth, monism, pluralism, and tolerance through halakhic passages such as “one who errs in an explicit Mishnah” as opposed to “one who errs in judgment,” where “one who errs in judgment” is not annulled as relativism, but preserves the possibility of truth and error even in the realm of judgment, while “the common practice of the world” is brought as an indication of error and not as a necessary definition.
Sukkah, “do not place a stumbling block,” and the Ritva: a “laboratory” for tolerant monism
The text proposes a halakhic practical implication: in a dispute over whether something is permitted or forbidden, is it permitted for the one who permits it to feed it to or seat someone who forbids it in a way that, according to the other person, constitutes a transgression? And is there a violation here of לפני עור (“do not place a stumbling block”)? It brings the Talmud in Sukkah 10b on the dispute regarding sukkah decorations suspended four handbreadths below the roofing, where Rav Nachman seated Rav Huna and Rav Chisda under the decorations even though according to their own view that was forbidden, and they replied, שלוחי מצווה פטורים מן המצווה (“those engaged in one commandment are exempt from another commandment”). It cites the Ritva, who learns from here that one may give another person something that according to that other person is forbidden but according to oneself is permitted, and there is no violation of לפני עור, on condition that the matter is recognizable or that one informs the other person so he can act according to his own judgment. The text objects that לפני עור applies even when the sinner “decides on his own,” as in “a cup of wine to a nazirite on the other side of the river,” and therefore the Ritva’s limitation does not make this into a trivial permission, but rather reflects a conception in which there is one truth but there is also an obligation to respect autonomy. Thus the permission to hand it over depends on the person acting out of his own decision and not because of hidden “causing to stumble,” and the text concludes that this pattern is neither pluralism nor rigid monism, but “tolerant monism.”
Full Transcript
[Speaker D] And he himself was stringent in several places.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly. So according to that, the Chazon Ish comes out as a rebellious elder, because he disagrees with the Mishnah Berurah not a little. Right? So you have to take those statements with a grain of salt. He says, fine, the Mishnah Berurah is an important book, but that doesn’t mean I won’t disagree with it. Okay, in any event, for our purposes, on the monistic reading, “these and those are the words of the living God” is not interpreted in a pluralistic sense, that everybody is right, but in a tolerant sense. And then I spoke about there being two circles of error, or two kinds of error. There is legitimate error, toward which I relate with tolerance, and there is illegitimate error, which lies outside the radius of tolerance. I spoke about that radius and what determines it—how much effort the person invested, how qualified he is, all sorts of things of that kind. That’s the picture overall. But meanwhile, what I’ve done is present two forms of relating, or two forms of reading—but which one is right? In other words, there is a pluralistic reading; you can read the whole Talmudic passage through those lenses. And there is a monistic reading. But who is right? So far I’ve shown two possibilities.
[Speaker D] Someone who is pluralistic can’t…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The question itself is absurd, because the moment I ask who is right, I’m already assuming monism, right? Because I’m assuming that one is right and the other is wrong. But the pluralist is unwilling to ask who is right. So the whole question is only being asked through the monist’s lenses. So I want to start from that point and see what it means in practice, what it means on the halakhic plane—how Jewish law relates to this. The value of autonomy, tolerance, pluralism, and so on—how it appears practically in Jewish law. Up to this point that was the conceptual analysis, or the conceptual introduction. In Avi Sagi’s book—I already mentioned it once—called These and Those, he brings three directions for interpreting this statement, “these and those are the words of the living God.” There is pluralism, monism, and harmonism. Pluralism and monism I explained. Harmonism is something he attributes to Rav Tzadok and the Maharal, that they too basically see the different opinions in a dispute as building one complete structure. In other words, taken together, they create one truth. Each one grasps one aspect of it. So it isn’t exactly pluralism—not everyone is right; everyone is partially right. And on the other hand it also isn’t exactly monism, because monism means one is right and the others are wrong. There’s a third model here that says each one grasps a certain facet of the truth, and together they create a fuller truth. I’ll just maybe mention that the only Talmudic passage that explains the rule “these and those are the words of the living God” appears in two places, but only in one place it’s actually explained, and that’s the passage in Gittin about the concubine at Gibeah. I think I mentioned it, I don’t remember anymore. About the concubine at Gibeah, they argue there whether he found a hair or whether her husband—whether he found a hair or found a fly. He found a hair… So there the Talmud says that Rabbi Evyatar, I think, asks Elijah the prophet, whom he encounters, what is the Holy One, blessed be He, occupied with right now? Well, obviously with the episode of the concubine at Gibeah. And what does he say? “My son Evyatar says thus, and My son Yonatan says thus.” And Heaven forbid—איכא ספיקא קמי שמיא—is there uncertainty before Heaven? The Holy One, blessed be He, also doesn’t know what happened there? Whether it was a hair or a fly? So Elijah says to him: זבוב מצא ולא הקפיד, נימא מצא והקפיד—he found a fly and did not get upset; he found a hair and did get upset. In other words, that person found a fly in the soup, right, and therefore got angry at the concubine, but after he found the hair, that broke the camel’s back. In other words—what does this mean as a metaphor for the statement “these and those are the words of the living God” in general? Does it mean both sides are wrong, or both sides are right? That one is right and one is wrong? How can you interpret it? Both are partially right. Both are partially right, correct? In other words, the overall picture is really some combination of the fly and the hair. So if I take that as a more general explanation, then in fact the Talmud is making a harmonistic claim here. “These and those” isn’t a pluralistic claim, but a claim that there is one truth, and that truth is formed by combining all the angles of vision. I want to just…
[Speaker F] That’s what Rabbi—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Breuer says in the aspects approach.
[Speaker F] Right, if it’s the attribute of justice, the attribute of mercy, that’s an extension—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] A reflection, branches of the same tree, yes. Exactly.
[Speaker G] Even though in Gittin, “he found a fly” isn’t—it wasn’t a dispute about reality, what he found in there, but what he found and what upset him.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no—but you’re reading it as though he found a fly and wasn’t upset at all, and he found a hair and that caused him to get upset. I’m saying it accumulated. The anger was created by both events: first there was the fly, and then the hair was added, and that already broke him. If I—well, of course you can argue about that too, but it seems to me simpler to read the Talmud that way. What does “these and those are the words of the living God” mean? As you say, it means you weren’t wrong about the fly. “These and those are the words of the living God” means yes, both of you grasped something; both of you are on the same footing.
[Speaker G] I’m saying, it seems to me that in Chagigah there’s that statement that all of them were given by one shepherd, page 3b, right at the beginning—“make your ear like a funnel,” etc.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Because you gather from all the…
[Speaker G] Yes, exactly.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There too it’s the same idea. Maybe we’ll get to that at some point as well, but in a little while—not today. I do intend to speak a bit about that passage too, in some context. Okay, in any event, I want now to try to present the picture as at least I understand it in this context of tolerance or halakhic pluralism, and also what it means in practice. In other words, how do you issue halakhic rulings? Do you have to rule on your own, rely on precedents, is there a correct Jewish law and an incorrect Jewish law, what does that mean on the practical level? But I’ll start again with some a priori discussion, a conceptual discussion. As I already noted earlier, the Talmudic statement “these and those are the words of the living God” can now be read not in two ways but in three: monistically, pluralistically, and harmonistically. Okay? And now when I ask who is right, then as I said before, that question already assumes monism, since only the monist thinks one is right and the other is wrong. But then what do we do with that? It seems to me that even so this is a tool we can move forward with, because let’s apply this method of relating to disputes about the dispute concerning this very method. Some notion of consistency. In other words—let’s apply it. So what do I say? Look, a pluralist clearly comes out inconsistent, because the pluralist says everyone is right. So if I apply that also to this very dispute about “these and those are the words of the living God,” then the monist is also right. But the monist says the opposite of the pluralist, so what does it mean that he is right? In other words, pluralism leads to contradiction. Right? So what will you say? This is like the solution of Russell’s type theory. In the introduction to Principia Mathematica—that work nobody ever read by Russell, I don’t know, maybe Russell and Whitehead read it, but besides them I’m not sure anyone did—three such volumes that are all formulas, with hardly an English word in them. In the introduction there are a few words written, and there he describes type theory. He talks about paradoxes of self-reference, and he proposes solving them—like the liar paradox or the book that catalogs all books that do not catalog themselves. The theory of what?
[Speaker I] In English it’s “type.” Is it “type”?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I thought for some reason it was a different word there, but maybe I’m wrong—from the root meaning “type” or “kind.”
[Speaker I] Okay, T-Y-P-E, right.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, I don’t remember whether it’s T-Y-P-E or not. Yes. Okay, because for some reason people always pronounce it differently, I don’t know why. We’d have to check. Anyway, they propose solving the problem of self-reference, which leads to quite a large number of paradoxes, by forbidding a statement from referring to statements that belong to its own level. They define levels or types of statements, one above another, and then say that a statement can only refer to statements lower than itself in the hierarchy. It can’t refer to statements on its own level or above. Okay? Now the moment you say that, of course all self-reference becomes illegal, because the statement itself is obviously on its own level. You know, “I am my own brother—we have the same parents.” In other words, a statement that refers to itself is really referring to a proposition on the same level, and that’s illegal. So in that way they throw out all self-reference. Why is that a very problematic solution—and that’s an understatement? In my opinion it’s nonsense, not just very problematic; philosophically it’s nonsense, in my view. Because what you’re doing is not solving the problem; you’re just not allowing it to be expressed. In other words, you’re simply constructing a language in which the problem cannot be expressed, and then everything is fine. These are Stalin-style solutions. Usually when someone raised a question or a problem, Stalin forbade him to express it—or removed the organs with which he expresses it. So he solved the problem in a very original way. Russell was of course a gentler man, but essentially he did the same thing. He built an artificial language in which the problem cannot be presented. But that isn’t a solution, because the problem exists—so say it in Hebrew, not in Russellese. The problem is still a serious problem. Explain to me what is wrong with statements that refer to the same level they belong to. There’s no explanation there; it’s only a formal proposal to solve the problem, right? So that doesn’t really solve the problem. More than that—it throws out the baby with the bathwater, because there are many things that do not lead to paradoxes that we would want to express in our language, and there is no reason not to allow them. But this absolute prohibition on referring to propositions on the same level basically prevents us from expressing many things that are not paradoxical at all. It just erases part of the language for no reason, simply because it contains within it some problematic parts. So it’s a formal solution, but it doesn’t solve the philosophical problem. And here it’s the same thing. One could solve the problem formally by saying: I’m a pluralist except with regard to the dispute over “these and those are the words of the living God.” Because there is type theory—I don’t need to apply the principle to statements that belong to itself. That’s the style of formal solutions. But here too it’s not logical. Why is it not logical? Because if your theology says that every Torah scholar who says something is apparently right—that there isn’t one who is right and one who is mistaken—if you’re a real pluralist, then why doesn’t that happen in this dispute? What is it here that makes the sages get confused דווקא here? In other words, suddenly here they manage to make a mistake, but in all other disputes they never make mistakes. Why? What is special about this dispute that suddenly here they can go wrong? Until you give me an explanation for that, it’s just formalism. It solves the problem but doesn’t solve the problem—it just prevents one from reaching it or expressing it.
[Speaker D] I don’t really understand the question. A pluralist says—you claim that you’re a monist, fine, you should act as you think. No—the pluralist doesn’t say “act however you want”; the pluralist says “you are right.”
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s exactly the difference. “Act as you think” is tolerance. But you’re right that on the logical level you can’t say of a monist that he is right and still be a pluralist. You can’t say that not-X is true and believe X. That’s a logical contradiction. “Act however you want” is tolerance—on the contrary: you’re mistaken, but act as you think. That’s exactly tolerance. Therefore I would argue that the tolerant person is consistent; the pluralist is not. That’s exactly the difference. And so it seems to me that if you examine the statement “these and those are the words of the living God” through these quasi-mathematical or logical lenses, then monism may perhaps be consistent, and harmonism can be consistent. But pluralism, it seems to me, falls here. In other words, that’s a proof against pluralism—the first proof against pluralism. So that’s one point.
[Speaker G] Why can harmonism be consistent?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Because harmonism basically says that the various conceptions create one halakhic truth. When I apply it here—
[Speaker G] It’s a harmony between pluralism and monism.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’m going to do that now. I’ll show it in practice; it’s a constructive proof. I’ll just show that mode of relating. So the claim is basically that the different conceptions together create some overall truth, each one contributing its layer or angle, like the concubine at Gibeah there with the fly and the hair, and that’s what creates the overall truth. How that works—I’ll maybe already give the bottom line here and then flesh it out a bit more: on the level of reasons, everyone is right; on the level of the ruling, there is one ruling, which is sometimes the sum of the reasons and sometimes the choice of one of them. So there is room for monism, there is room for pluralism, but overall the picture is harmonistic. That’s in broad outline, but I’ll spell it out—right now it’s just a slogan. Okay, so what I need, what I want to show now, is to choose one of the readings I’ve presented. I want to argue in favor of tolerant monism—or harmonism—against pluralism, in short. Okay? That’s what I want to do. I’ll maybe first bring one or two examples of this.
[Speaker C] Could you have anticipated that in advance—that you would come out against pluralism, or was that just the result of what happened?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I don’t remember anymore. But I still think there is good evidence. I don’t know whether I did that right from the start or not; I’m not sure, I no longer remember how it unfolded. But it seems to me that in the end it’s still well grounded. I mean, look, you know that many times a person can arrive at a correct conclusion for completely irrelevant reasons. The fact that he arrived there for irrelevant reasons doesn’t mean the conclusion isn’t right.
[Speaker H] There’s a story about that, a story about that.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Maybe, I don’t remember anymore.
[Speaker H] First there’s the—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] About Rabbi Soloveitchik, who says that first there is the ruling, and only afterward do you build the responsum; first there is the intuition. Yes, yes. It’s pretty clear to me that something like that happened here, I just don’t remember anymore. But okay. In any event, what this means—as I said before—the tolerant, monistic conception basically says there are two kinds of error. There is legitimate error and illegitimate error, and there is a radius of tolerance. That’s what I spoke about last time: all the opinions within that radius are mistaken—except for my own opinion, of course—but I still accept them as legitimate. Opinions outside that radius are illegitimate error. And I said that what distinguishes a monistic tolerant person from a pluralist is that he has a radius. In other words, the essential pluralist can’t really have a radius. In principle, you can’t decide who is right and who is wrong, so there’s nothing that could define such a radius. Once there is such a radius, that’s an indication—
[Speaker A] Not that you can’t decide, but that there isn’t such a thing.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, yes, exactly. Soft pluralism—that you can’t decide. Fine, you can call it that too, because if in essence you can’t decide then really—
[Speaker D] De facto it’s the same thing.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It comes down to the same pluralist mindset. What?
[Speaker D] I really tend—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] To think that way too, that a pluralist is not—
[Speaker D] He’s not willing to accept, say, Christianity or Buddhism or—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, maybe others would. The fact that you’re not willing—
[Speaker D] Doesn’t everyone have some limit?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I think so too, and that’s why pluralism is really some kind of straw man, a typological construct. I define types, but in practice people don’t really live at the typological extremes. They’re… afterward you have to put it together and see where we stand.
[Speaker J] It’s like the reasonable person—the reasonable person who… if he really thinks that each person truly thinks or is convinced that what he says is right, then how can you live at all with things like אחרי רבים להטות—“follow the majority”? After all, my truth is the right one.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. And you still have to do what the majority says even though they’re mistaken. Why? Okay, so that’s what I’m going to talk about now. So the claim that—actually, I’ll expand the question and then respond to it.
[Speaker J] Yes, I’ll expand the question.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What I’m really saying is this: the assumption that Jewish law always has to—or halakhic ruling always has to—coincide with the truth is a mistaken assumption. On that point I do agree. I do not agree that there is no halakhic truth; there is halakhic truth. But there is something that looks very similar and yet is different, and that is the assumption that Jewish law, halakhic ruling, means at least striving for the truth. In other words, if I know that this is the truth, then that means this is also the Jewish law. I want to show you that this is not true. In other words, it’s that identity that I want to deny. But that does not lead us to pluralism; it leads us to tolerance. And that basically means: you need to act not in accordance with the truth—not because there is no truth; there is truth—but rather you need, or at least it is legitimate, to act differently even though what you think is not true. So one example is in Derashot HaRan. He writes as follows. He brings the view of the “naturalists,” that the commandments are supposed to prevent damage to the soul—that they have consequences. “The correction that will be drawn in the soul from deciding in favor of the commandments of the sages, the teachers of Torah…” Maybe before that I’ll just give the background. He brings the view of the naturalists and then says exactly what you asked earlier. Suppose I’m a rebellious elder—someone qualified to issue rulings, because otherwise the law of the rebellious elder doesn’t apply. So he is qualified to issue rulings, and he thinks the Sanhedrin erred. Now the Sanhedrin decided against him. How can you demand that he do what they say when he knows it is mistaken? And especially on the view of the naturalists, this will also cause him damage to the soul. How can you demand that a person act in accordance with error? So he answers this way: “The correction that follows in the soul from deciding in favor of the commandments of the sages, the teachers of Torah, is the thing most beloved to Him, may He be blessed, as Scripture says: ‘Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice.’ Through that correction He removes the evil that was destined to be generated in the soul by eating that forbidden thing. Therefore the Torah commanded and said: לא תסור מן הדבר אשר יגידו אליך ימין ושמאל—‘Do not deviate from the thing they tell you, right or left.’” What is he basically saying? He’s speaking in the language of the naturalists, but you can translate it differently too. He says: even if you do not listen to the Sanhedrin, that too causes a defect in the soul, because that too is a commandment. So now you’re in a bind. If you don’t eat it, then you haven’t obeyed the Sanhedrin, which itself produces some problem in the soul. And he says that the problem of eating non-kosher is preferable to the problem of violating לא תסור. If we translate this into language unrelated to naturalists and damages and so on: it is preferable in value terms, in the eyes of the Holy One, blessed be He—or in the eyes of Jewish law or whatever term you want—to act in accordance with the Sanhedrin’s ruling, even at the cost of error, rather than to do the correct thing but not in accordance with the Sanhedrin. That is a value preference, even without any connection to natural damages. What does that mean? It means that even if the truth is with me, Jewish law requires me not to act that way. So what does that mean, basically? That there is some split here between what Jewish law requires and what the halakhic truth is. Those are not the same question: what Jewish law requires, and what the halakhic truth is.
[Speaker I] You know, maybe this should be taken in the sense that the truth is with the Sanhedrin.
[Speaker I] Yes, there are always commandments where you can’t fulfill both. Say, there is a positive commandment and a prohibition. There is a halakhic rule for how you…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, but why did they do that in the first place? What? But why did they create the commandment to obey the Sanhedrin at all? Let them not do that, and then there won’t be a problem. There won’t be any clash. I’ll do what I truly think is correct.
[Speaker I] No, but there’s a commandment to obey the Sanhedrin in what they say.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why? Because that matters to the Torah no less than doing the truth. You’re right that once there is such a commandment… yes, yes, of course, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.
[Speaker I] Maybe—
[Speaker D] It goes to the most basic point of the whole issue. What the Sanhedrin says—that is the truth.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, that’s what I want to say. No, not like that. He doesn’t say it that way either. What he wants to argue is that I too would have a blemish in my soul if I ate something non-kosher, but the blemish in the soul caused by not obeying the Sanhedrin overrides it; it’s stronger. Meaning, he also agrees that the spiritual damage created by eating this piece—which in my eyes is not kosher, while the Sanhedrin said it is kosher—he doesn’t dispute that. He only argues: fine, and nevertheless you still have to eat it. So that’s exactly tolerant monism in logic, exactly tolerant monism, because it basically says this: the other side is wrong, but that mistake is not only legitimate—in this case, with the Sanhedrin, it’s even binding, not merely legitimate. Meaning, you have to act that way.
[Speaker J] Is he also saying that if, say, you say it’s not kosher and I say it is kosher, and both of us eat it together—then for you it will cause damage, but for me it won’t cause damage?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no. It will cause damage to one of us—to both of us, because one knows and one doesn’t. The question is who is right. I think I’m right, so on my view it will cause damage to both of us. That’s the claim: someone who does this—even if he is compelled by the ruling, even if he is mistaken—the damage is done. According to the naturalists this is certainly so; it’s biology.
[Speaker I] And לא תתגודדו—it’s the same thing, “do not form factions.”
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, sometimes people connect לא תסור—“do not deviate”—to לא תתגודדו, “do not form factions,” although I’m not sure there’s really a serious source for that.
[Speaker I] The idea is that there shouldn’t be separate groups—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Groups, yes—don’t make yourselves into separate factions. Otherwise the Torah becomes two Torahs. Fine—but that itself is a consideration that is not the halakhic truth. I’m saying it’s the same thing as what I’d say about לא תסור. So you see that within the Torah itself there is some instruction: friends, the practical instruction of Jewish law is not always identical with the halakhic truth. Those are two questions: what Jewish law tells us to do, and what the halakhic truth is. I’ll give you a stronger example, because here one could still say that what the Sanhedrin says is itself the truth, and therefore you have to do it—not that you’re simply wrong if you go against the Sanhedrin. No. The Ran certainly doesn’t go that way, but I’m saying that here one could still have tried to push that reading.
[Speaker D] Here, in public or in the community, they show that they indeed—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] —can make mistakes.
[Speaker G] That they can make mistakes, right, exactly.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] לא בשמים היא—“it is not in heaven”—that’s also a question…
[Speaker G] Also Rabban Gamliel says: not for my heaven, not for my name, and not for my honor.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, of course—but you can still read that, so to speak, in a pluralistic way. לא בשמים היא—there is no truth, so do what the majority says. You can read it that way and you can read it another way; I don’t know. You can’t settle it from there.
[Speaker K] Okay. In the story, at any rate, the law comes out in accordance with Rabbi Eliezer. In the story of the Oven of Akhnai it says that the law follows Rabbi Eliezer—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, but afterward the sages do not agree, and the question is what the conclusion is. So he suggests—and you do too, and I think maybe that really is the simpler interpretation—that there is a halakhic truth: the Holy One, blessed be He, said that the halakhic truth is with Rabbi Eliezer, and nevertheless we are told to do what we think. Exactly. I assume the pluralists will say no, actually both are right; that’s what it means. Fine. In any case, look: there is a Talmudic passage in Eruvin, in that same place, on page 13. The Talmud says: Rabbi Acha bar Chanina said, “It was revealed and known before the One who spoke and the world came into being that in Rabbi Meir’s generation there was none like him. So why was the law not established in accordance with him? Because his colleagues could not grasp the full depth of his reasoning, for he could declare the impure pure and show reasons for it, and the pure impure and show reasons for it.” Fine.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It reminds me—Kaveh was president of Bar-Ilan University, Professor Kaveh; he was my doctoral adviser. Kaveh has a very interesting trait. Every time you come to him with a result—you’ve done a calculation, sweated blood, and after a month or two you come with the result—he says, “Well, that’s obvious. Look here, just rotate the equation, do this,” and immediately you see that this is the solution. Unbelievable. He convinces you on the spot—how did you not see it? “How did I not see that from the start?” you wonder. Now, the myth says—it never happened to me, but the myth says—that there was someone who found a mistake in the calculation and reached the opposite conclusion, and came back to Kaveh. “Obviously, it’s a mistake—look, if you see it from here…” and he completely convinced him that of course one could have seen the opposite conclusion from the start. That’s Rabbi Meir, who can show arguments this way and that way. Whatever you want, he’ll prove it to you. You can’t do anything with him. Honestly—it’s an amazing ability. I mean really, it’s very impressive how he managed to show that result intuitively out of the problem; that’s talent. But it’s a dangerous talent, of course, because that’s exactly why you need the calculation. In the end, explanations like that are dangerous. In any case, once you’ve done the calculation, then it’s good; it’s enlightening to see the meaning of the result you got. But it seems that in the end, this explanation of why they didn’t rule like Rabbi Meir can’t really work here. If Rabbi Meir had only given you reasons why it’s pure and reasons why it’s impure, then what does it mean to rule like him? He hasn’t said anything. He gives reasons for purity and reasons for impurity. Obviously he also said something. Fine—so if he is so brilliant that you can’t even grasp the full depth of his thought, and he tells you what the law is, then why not rule like him? If you don’t think like him, then apparently you’re mistaken, no? He’s such a genius that you can’t even understand his contrary intuition. So what does it mean not to rule like Rabbi Meir because his colleagues could not grasp the depth of his mind? If they could not grasp the depth of his mind, that is exactly the reason always to rule like him, even if I disagree. You see from this Talmudic passage that even though I agree he is greater than I am and I can’t fathom the depth of his mind, and it’s obvious that if we have a dispute then he is right—there’s no question; that’s obvious to me—but still I don’t understand what he is saying. I think differently. So in such a case, says the Talmud, I need to go by what I think, even though if you asked me what the halakhic truth is, probably it’s what Rabbi Meir says. Even I would say that. I simply don’t understand it; in my own reasoning it comes out differently. So they tell me: fine, that’s the halakhic truth, but you should act this way. Meaning, there is some statement here that the halakhic truth does not always dictate what you need to do.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Now, why is Rabbi Meir’s case good for our purposes? Because Rabbi Meir’s case illustrates exactly the issue of autonomy. With the Sanhedrin, it’s anti-autonomy. There the autonomous consideration says that the truth is with me, and they force me not to do the truth and not to do what I think, but to submit to the Sanhedrin. But with Rabbi Meir they tell me that autonomy—that you need to do what you think—overrides what the halakhic truth is. And that is exactly the tolerant claim, really. Meaning, in practice you need to do what you think, even if it is clear to you that this is not the truth. Why? Because there is some value of autonomy here, as I said before, and autonomy is the value that grounds monistic tolerance. Maybe I’ll read a passage… yes.
[Speaker D] Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, in the source itself, in Igrot Moshe, writes explicitly that he does not want anyone ruling just because he ruled that way. He doesn’t want anyone enslaved to him.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] More than that, he also—
[Speaker D] says about—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] himself that he didn’t do that.
[Speaker D] More than that, he also says in a foundational introduction—people always quote it—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Don’t read the summary and just do it—
[Speaker D] I want you to be convinced. Right, exactly, right.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I think I once also brought the introduction of Rabbi Shimon Shkop in Shaarei Yosher. Rabbi Shimon Shkop says there, when he cites that Talmudic passage about זה נהנה וזה לא חסר—“this one benefits and the other does not lose”—that Rabbah bar bar Chana, I think, came there, and someone said to him: it’s a shame you weren’t here; there were beautiful discussions in the study hall on the topic of “this one benefits and the other does not lose.” Well, what was it? דאי תשמש לי—if you serve me, then I’ll reveal to you what was said there or how they decided the issue. So Rabbi Shimon Shkop says: what’s the idea here? The idea is that if you want me to tell you the ruling, first show me that you value me. Because if you show me that you value me, then you’ll take what I say seriously. Therefore he asks all readers of the book: anyone who does not value me should not open the book. But on the other hand there’s another side to the coin. Whoever does value me should open the book, and afterward think and decide whether he agrees. You do not have to agree just because you value me. But you do have to give me credit. Don’t just dismiss the things out of hand, because I worked hard on this. Meaning, you won’t find nonsense here. That is—not… it may be that you won’t agree; weigh it—but okay? These are two sides of the same coin. On the one hand, you have to give a person credit; otherwise you won’t learn anything from him, you’re just showing contempt. On the other hand, giving him credit doesn’t mean you accept everything he said.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I also once brought, I think, the Magen Avraham, who says that one may say things in the name of a great person in order that people will accept them from him. I didn’t bring it—I’m almost sure I did once. The Magen Avraham there, in that little section in the Shulchan Arukh, where all the miscellaneous material ended up. The Magen Avraham there brings all the laws for which he can’t find a proper place. And one of those laws is that one may say things in the name of a great person so that people will accept them from him. Now on the face of it, that sounds absurd. So you say something in the name of—I don’t know—the leading authority of the generation, a foremost halakhic decisor; it never happened, he never said it. Just so people will accept it from you. Meaning, you could be a total ignoramus, and you say your nonsense in the name of some very, very important decisor: “It says so in the Mishnah Berurah.” What do you mean? It never happened. And now I desecrate the Sabbath on that basis because it’s “written in the Mishnah Berurah,” and you’ve simply caused me to desecrate the Sabbath. How can it possibly be permitted to say such a thing?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It seems to me that what the Magen Avraham says is the opposite of what people think, as usual. The Magen Avraham is really saying that one may do such a thing only because his assumption is that even if I say it in the name of a great person, people still won’t simply accept it from me. So why say it? What’s the point? To make them take it seriously. Meaning, if you say something and no one pays attention to you, they don’t examine your reasoning, they dismiss you. You want them to consider your arguments. So you say, “Look, it’s stated explicitly in the Mishnah Berurah; it’s not just me.” “Oh really? The Chafetz Chaim? Then let’s think for a moment.” Meaning, what happens? We’ll weigh it, see it, treat it seriously. In the end it’s not certain we’ll accept it, because if it were certain we would accept it, then it would have been forbidden to do this. But to consider it seriously—like Shkop, the same principle. And that explains, for example—I’m getting a little carried away—but there was once a forged Jerusalem Talmud, do you know this story from the beginning of the twentieth century? Someone supposedly found the Jerusalem Talmud on the sacrificial order—he forged his own Torah novelties, wrote them in Jerusalem-Talmud Aramaic, and published them as though he had found a manuscript of the Jerusalem Talmud on sacrificial matters. He confused everyone; some believed him, some didn’t. Books were written about the matter. Pliakhanda wrote a book to prove it was forged. The Rogatchover, at the beginning of one of his works, says that in every chapter of the Jerusalem Talmud there is a sage who had not been mentioned in the previous chapters, and that pattern is not preserved there, so obviously it cannot be the Jerusalem Talmud on sacrificial matters. I don’t know—that’s a dubious argument. Even if it’s true, it’s dubious. If the Jerusalem Talmud on sacrificial matters isn’t like that—what? I wouldn’t throw out the work on that basis. But fine, it’s a nice story.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In any case, they criticized the man who forged that Jerusalem Talmud on sacrificial matters. The question is why. After all, the Magen Avraham says it’s permitted to do that, doesn’t he? He said things in the name of a great source—amoraim of the Land of Israel—so that people would accept them from him. So what’s the problem? It’s permitted. According to what I’m saying, it’s clear why they criticized him. Because the Talmud has authority. Meaning, if you bring me something because it is written in the Talmud, I don’t check whether it’s right or not. The Talmud has authority; what’s written in the Talmud must be followed even if I don’t understand it. Exactly. So I am forced to accept it. That you’re not allowed to do. Meaning, to say things in the name of an authoritative source that people are required to accept if it’s written there—that is certainly forbidden, because you’re causing them to stumble. The entire permission of the Magen Avraham—that Talmudic source the Magen Avraham cites—is a permission based on your quoting a great person, but I still retain the ability to criticize it. That’s the famous story of Rabbi Shalom Schwadron, who said in the name of the Chazon Ish that one may say things in the name of a great person so that people will accept them from him—and I didn’t hear that from the Chazon Ish either. Okay. In any case, how did we get to all this? I don’t remember. I’m closing the parentheses; I don’t know where they were opened. In any case—pluralistic. What? Pluralistic. There was something with pluralism, but I don’t remember how.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine. In any case, the claim I want to make, based on what we saw with Rabbi Meir, is that because his colleagues could not grasp the depth of his reasoning, they are not supposed to rule in accordance with him. Meaning, halakhic ruling and halakhic truth do not always overlap. Halakhic truth is only one factor in halakhic ruling. But there are other factors too: the authority of the Sanhedrin, the value of autonomy, things like that.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Now, there are famous, very sharp words that the Maharal writes in Netiv HaTorah, chapter 15. Those in the know will understand that this is, of course, part of the Maharal’s polemic against the Shulchan Arukh. The Maharal and his brother the Mahari”v and the Maharsha too were among the great fighters there, all from that same Krakow environment. They were among the greatest opponents of the Shulchan Arukh and the Rema—of their whole conception. The conception that says you write a book with halakhic rulings and I’m supposed to obey them. So you wrote it—so what? Are you Moses our teacher? Bring reasons, tell me your arguments, and let’s discuss whether you’re right or wrong. What is this concept of writing “the ruling is such-and-such, this must be done, this is forbidden, this is permitted”? What’s going on here? We’ve never heard of such a thing in Israel. Well, in truth we did—there was Maimonides. He invented this business.
[Speaker G] And there was criticism of him too.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And he got exactly the same criticism.
[Speaker G] That people would come study that instead of the Talmud? Yes.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So Elon really brings this in his book Hebrew Law. He calls it the first codification controversy, around Maimonides, and the second codification controversy, around the Shulchan Arukh and the Rema. So as part of that controversy, it seems to me that what’s written here is written as part of that debate. The whole chapter deals with the idea that Torah study is meant to connect one to the divine intellect. Therefore, one who studies without understanding is like a Persian priest, like a sorcerer, as the sages say. Those who issue halakhic rulings from the Mishnah are like a sorcerer. “From the Mishnah” means from an authoritative digest—a book in which the law is just written; the shorthand compendium of their day. Because the essence of Torah, when it gives practical instruction, ought to emerge from the Torah itself, and Torah is intellectual, and that thing is the Talmud, which is intellectual, and from that the practical law ought to emerge. And this is certainly what sustains the world, which stands on Torah. Therefore, those “Tana’im” who issue rulings from the Mishnah—here “Tana’im” does not mean the Tannaitic sages of the Mishnah; rather, people who issue rulings out of a digest are called “Tana’im” as a derogatory label. Therefore those who rule from the Mishnah are destroyers of the world, because the world exists through the activation of the intellect, while they simply issue rulings out of a law book.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But in this generation—now he moves from their time, the Talmudic period, to his own time—if people ruled from the Mishnah, that would be enough, because the Mishnah is the beginning of the Talmud and the introduction to it, and of course we no longer see the Mishnah as a shorthand code, that’s clear. But one does not issue rulings from the Mishnah, which was made for the Talmud, because the Talmud is the explanation of the Mishnah. Rather, they issue rulings—who are the “destroyers of the world” of his generation? he asks. Not those who rule from the Mishnah, but who then? Those who rule from the Shulchan Arukh. That’s his “now.” He says: they issue rulings from the decisors who composed books in order to instruct practical law, and they were not made to teach, only to derive rulings from them. They don’t teach, they don’t give reasons; they just say: this is what was done, forbidden, permitted—that’s it. And this is even farther from reason. As for the early authorities, like Maimonides of blessed memory and the Tur of blessed memory, who wrote books of rulings—what does he do with them? Why did they write these harmful books? Even though they too composed rulings without full explanation, their intention was only to teach the final outcome of the law as it emerges from the Talmud. But for a person to rule from them without knowing from what source the law emerges—a ruling without reason—that never entered their minds or thoughts.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Of course, in Maimonides’ introduction it says the opposite. The Maharal, of course, always forces the sources; that’s well known. For they said here that one who rules from the Mishnah is considered like a sorcerer, as explained, and elsewhere he is denigrated as being like a Samaritan. And had those authors known that these books would cause people to abandon the Talmud entirely and issue rulings from the books, they would not have written them. By the way, regarding the Shulchan Arukh, this is in fact true, because the Shulchan Arukh was originally intended as a summary of the Beit Yosef, and it turned into a halakhic work standing on its own, from which people already rule without opening the Beit Yosef. And that’s why commentaries were written. Several of the commentators on the Shulchan Arukh say that it is forbidden to rule from the Shulchan Arukh—forbidden, a halakhic prohibition to issue rulings from the Shulchan Arukh. Today decisors write that because there are commentaries that discuss and cite Talmudic passages and analyze the rulings, perhaps one may already rule from the Shulchan Arukh together with the commentaries. But on the principled level, one may not rule from such a book.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Then he says—and this is the famous key sentence—“For it is more fitting and more correct that one issue rulings from the Talmud, and even though one must fear that he may not follow the path of truth and may not render the law truly, so that the ruling will accord with the truth, nevertheless the sage has only what his intellect gives and understands from the Talmud. And when his understanding and wisdom lead him astray—even if he makes a mistake, but he acts according to his own path—still he is beloved by God, blessed be He, for he rules according to what his intellect requires. And the judge has only what his eyes see. And this is better than one who rules from a single code and does not know the reason for the matter at all, who walks like a blind man on the road.” That is the famous sentence everyone quotes from the Maharal. Meaning, he says that one who rules from a code—even though most likely he is right; the Shulchan Arukh, with all due respect, is usually probably right—and still, if I do what I think, even though I am probably mistaken, that is preferable in the eyes of the Holy One, blessed be He, because I am acting autonomously, as opposed to someone who rules from the Shulchan Arukh and does the correct thing but without understanding, like a sorcerer, like a blind man on the road, like magic that produces law without understanding. All right? So that is really the essential claim, and it is exactly what we saw with Rabbi Meir: his colleagues could not grasp the depth of his reasoning, and therefore we did not establish the law in accordance with him—that is what it says there. What it says there is that although the truth is with Rabbi Meir, if you rule only because the truth is with Rabbi Meir and he is a great sage, then you are acting like a sorcerer. You need to do what you think, even where you yourself understand that it is probably not the truth. That is the great novelty. There is a very large novelty here.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Now, of course, one can discuss whether this itself was accepted in practical Jewish law or not. But you understand that this is the same loop as “these and those are the words of the living God,” because what do I care whether it was accepted? I rule this way even though it was not accepted, because he says you should rule not according to what was accepted, right? So what sense does it make to ask what was accepted—what he says, or what his opponents say? It’s the same loop.
[Speaker G] So how do you read what he says in a monistic way?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] On the contrary—it’s only monism, pure monism. It’s monism that says there is one halakhic truth, and if I argue with the Mishnah Berurah, it is likely that the truth is with him. But nevertheless I am not supposed to do what is written in the Mishnah Berurah if that is not what I think. Why? Because the value of autonomy overrides the value of truth. Halakhic ruling is a combination of autonomy plus truth. If there is a conflict—truth goes against autonomy—there are cases, not always by the way, but there are cases in which the value of autonomy prevails. Until when? Where not? If you’re not competent. Meaning, if you simply don’t know how to learn, if you’re not serious, and you do what you think—that’s just nonsense, it’s contemptuous. I’m saying: if you are competent, if you know how to learn, if you have the halakhic tools, you’re not as great as the Mishnah Berurah, but you know how to learn, you know how to issue a halakhic ruling, you have the skill—then you should do what you think, and not what the Mishnah Berurah writes. And not because you’re as right as he is, or because there is no halakhic truth, or because everyone is right. No. He is right; he is a greater Torah scholar. There is a halakhic truth. But the duty of autonomy says that you nevertheless need to do what you think, and not what the Mishnah Berurah writes. And that is his claim.
[Speaker J] So according to this view, all commandments like “you shall surely rebuke” become limited only to cases where the other person knows he is wrong and still wants to do something like that.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right—or where the mistake is not legitimate. Now I’ll go back to the—
[Speaker J] I’m going back to what I said earlier.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And therefore it’s important to insert this picture here. Why must the person specifically be competent? Why is it only a competent person who can do this? The answer is obviously because there is a halakhic truth. If there were no halakhic truth, anyone could do whatever he wants—there would be no halakhic truth. You need to be competent because there is a halakhic truth. The reason you should do what you think is not because you are right, but because if you are competent, then your error is not too large; it falls within the bounds of legitimate mistakes. As long as you are within the bounds of legitimate mistakes, then although it is a mistake, that is still what is required of you. And this is the mirror image of what we saw earlier. Earlier I was talking about respecting the autonomy of the other person. Meaning: if the other person thinks differently from me, then as long as he is within the range of legitimate errors, I am supposed to contain him, to grant him legitimacy—not because he is as right as I am; that would be pluralism. This is tolerant monism. Now I’m presenting the mirror image. Now I’m saying the reverse: I know that I’m mistaken—not that he is mistaken. I know that my disputant is right, but I don’t understand why; in my own reasoning it comes out the other way. So he says there is an obligation—now this is no longer respect for the autonomy of the other, but your own duty to act autonomously against the truth. But it is the other side of the same coin. All right? Meaning, in these cases the value of autonomy overrides the value of truth.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Where does it not? In the case of a person who is not serious, a person who doesn’t know how to learn and goes against all the decisors because he is “autonomous.” What does autonomous mean? That’s not serious; you haven’t paid the price. That’s what I spoke about in the previous lecture: to deserve a tolerant attitude, you have to pay the price. You have to study, you have to know, you have to invest the work that has to be invested, and then I’ll sign the Kinneret covenant with you if you want.
[Speaker D] We know that there are decisors today who say that from now on, if you follow the other well-known decisor, you’ll go down to hell.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, what am I supposed to do? I tell them that if you follow them, you’ll go down to hell. Okay, maybe I’m not right either; I don’t know. Fine. In any case, that’s what I think; do what you think. I want to finish with a halakhic point, but before I get to it—we still have a few more minutes—a short methodological introduction, because it’s important to me no less than the argument itself.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Usually, when people deal with a question like this—the question of halakhic truth, meta-halakhic questions, questions of Jewish thought—the usual way of dealing with them is like in Jewish thought in general. That is, you take texts from Jewish thought about whether there is halakhic truth or not: the introduction to Igrot Moshe, the introduction to Ketzot, the Shema‘ata there, all those foundational texts whose common denominator is that they are not halakhic texts. They are halakhic journalism, as I mentioned once already, or works of thought. And to my mind that’s weak—I don’t know—because with works of thought… I think I mentioned the Pnei Yehoshua in his introduction, where he writes why he skipped aggadic material. He skipped aggadah because he took it upon himself—there had been an earthquake and family members were killed there, and he was trapped under the ruins, and he vowed that he would not engage in aggadah if the Holy One, blessed be He, would save him. As you can see, I don’t deal with aggadah even without taking a vow, which means I’m greater than he was. And he says: why not engage in aggadah? Because people say clever homiletic ideas too easily; they don’t strive for truth. There is something about non-halakhic writing, or non-halakhic discussion, that lacks this commitment to precision, definition, reasoning. In that sense one has to be very careful with those texts, because they are too loose, too ambiguous, and it is difficult to draw firm conclusions from books of that sort.
[Speaker L] But there is a halakhic topic that speaks about exactly this, in connection with an error in an explicit Mishnah and what one does.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, exactly, I’m just—that’s exactly the introduction. What I really want to say is that often one shouldn’t dismiss that, but one should rethink, because many times… if we can settle these questions through analysis of a halakhic topic, not through what the Maharal wrote about it or what Rabbi Kook wrote about it or something like that, but through analysis of a halakhic topic—then I think there is something much stronger about that. And there are two topics I would go to in order to test this question of pluralism, monism, tolerance, and the like.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] One topic is indeed the distinction between a judge who errs in an explicit Mishnah and a judge who errs in judgment. The Talmud distinguishes there, regarding the judge’s liability to pay, between one who errs in an explicit Mishnah and one who errs in judgment. The term “err in judgment” raises a very problematic connotation today. What does it mean to err in judgment? It’s his judgment—what does it mean to say he erred? If he goes against a Mishnah, I understand: we have accepted upon ourselves that the Mishnah is binding, or the Talmud, whatever counts as “Mishnah” for that person. But what does it mean to err in judgment? The Talmud says that this means going against the accepted practice in the world. That’s how many decisors explain it: against what is generally accepted. The law was not formally decided that way, but it is accepted practice to behave that way. It can be shown from several places that this is a sign, not a reason. It is not the definition of “err in judgment”; it is an indication of “err in judgment.” “Err in judgment” means someone who uses faulty judgment. That’s what it means. What is the indication? One says this, another says that—how will we know? If the world generally behaves differently, if the conclusion among one’s colleagues is otherwise, then there is apparently an error in judgment here. But that’s a sign; it’s not… Some wanted to say that this is the definition of “err in judgment,” because there is no such thing… I say no, there is such a thing as erring in judgment, and I can show from various books of responsa and so on that they really use the term in that sense.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So that’s one place where you see that there is halakhic truth not only in the sense that this is what is written in the Mishnah and the opposite is therefore against the Mishnah. If it’s written in the Mishnah, then it’s straightforward—not necessarily because that is the truth, but because we accepted the authority of the Mishnah. But there is halakhic truth also in topics that concern judgment, and there too one side is right and one side is wrong. It’s not that both are right. Judgment does not mean both are right. It may be that in some cases we won’t manage to reach common ground, we won’t manage to persuade each other. Fine, so what? That doesn’t mean pluralism. At most it means tolerant monism. Meaning, I think I’m right, but since I don’t have clear proof against you, I cannot demand that you accept my position. And then I contain you. Meaning, I don’t… fine, so then I need to be tolerant toward that position. Okay? So that’s one place.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The second place—I already… well, I don’t know if we can stay a few more minutes after eight-thirty, so I’ll also finish the second source. Look, the second source is really the topic where, a priori, we would expect the solution to be. What is the law in a situation where I have a dispute—Reuven and Shimon disagree—about whether it is permitted to eat this piece of meat, whether it is kosher or not kosher? All right? Reuven thinks it is kosher and Shimon thinks it is not kosher. Is Reuven allowed to give it to Shimon to eat, or does that violate “do not place a stumbling block”? Reuven thinks it’s kosher and Shimon thinks it’s not kosher. All right? Now Reuven takes the piece of meat and gives it to Shimon to eat. One could also imagine the reverse situation, where Shimon gives it to Reuven to eat, but this is the situation for which I found an actual discussion. So what happens in such a case?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If we do an a priori analysis for a moment before entering the Talmud, something interesting emerges. If you’re a pluralist, then in fact it’s forbidden. Notice: pluralism here leads to stringency—a rare phenomenon. It’s forbidden for you to give it, right? If you’re a monist, it’s permitted. The truth is with me—what do I care that he got confused? Right? If you’re a monist, it’s permitted. But if you’re a tolerant monist—that’s an interesting question. Right? So let’s see. The Talmud in Sukkah brings a dispute between—
[Speaker E] If he’s a tolerant monist, then it would be appropriate not to give it to him, but it wouldn’t be a prohibition.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Let’s see. Something in that direction. The Talmud in Sukkah 10b brings a dispute between amoraim about sitting in a sukkah under decorations hanging more than four handbreadths below the roofing. If the distance between them and the roofing is four handbreadths, Rav Nachman says one may sit there because they are subordinate to the sukkah; you are sitting in the sukkah. Rav Huna and Rav Chisda say it is forbidden. Fine. Now Rav Huna and Rav Chisda were traveling on the road, and of course they came to Rav Nachman—this was at the Exilarch’s house, you know, Rav Nachman sat in the Exilarch’s house—during Sukkot, naturally. And he of course seated them in the sukkah under decorations hanging four handbreadths below the roofing, and they sat there and ate with appetite. So Rav Nachman asked them: הדרו מריי משמעתכון? Meaning, have you retracted your position? How are you sitting here under these decorations? They said to him: no, we are agents performing a commandment, and such agents are exempt from the commandment. Those engaged in a commandment are exempt from the sukkah. In short, they teased him; it’s a beautiful story. We are agents performing a commandment and therefore exempt from the sukkah. They were apparently on their way to redeem captives or something, I no longer remember exactly what. They let him enjoy himself, but once he asked, they let him have it.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In any case, the Ritva there says: but how did Rav Nachman do this? Fine, we understand how they sat there—they were exempt from sukkah. But Rav Nachman did not know that they were agents performing a commandment. So how does he seat them in something that according to their own view is forbidden, even though he himself thinks it is permitted?
[Speaker G] He thought they had retracted… what? He thought they had changed their minds?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, so ask them. What’s the problem? Wait—we’ll get to that in a second.
[Speaker I] But from the start, Rav Nachman—they’re going to Rav Nachman’s place.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, but the Ritva doesn’t say that. The Ritva says—and this is related to what I said earlier—that with all due respect to Rav Nachman’s local authority, there is autonomy. If I think this way, then that is what I need to do. So the Ritva says this: from here one may learn that it is permitted to feed one’s fellow something that according to that fellow’s view is forbidden, but according to one’s own view is permitted, and there is no violation here of “do not place a stumbling block.” That’s what he says. And I think, says the Ritva, because there is a Talmudic passage in Chullin—חס ליה למר לאבא בר אבא etc., never mind—a passage in Chullin, and he learns from it that this is only if it is evident, or if I tell the person: pay attention, here there are decorations hanging four handbreadths below; check it according to your own reasoning. But if not—if I did not tell him—in this case he didn’t tell them, but it was visible, so he didn’t need to say anything because they could see it immediately. So it was obvious that they saw it. If they don’t see it, then you have to tell them; you have to clarify the situation, and only then is it permitted.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Now the question is whether he has turned the whole thing upside down.
[Speaker J] Meaning, now you have to worry about his autonomy.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Wait, wait—before autonomy, I want to sharpen the question. We’ll get to autonomy; that’s why I brought this. But I want to sharpen the difficulty first. Has this Talmudic passage really now lost all significance after the Ritva’s qualification? Apparently yes. Because once you tell him, it’s already his decision—what does it have to do with you? Then you’re no longer causing him to stumble, and it has nothing to do with you; he decides what he decides, right? Wrong. Why wrong? Think of the Talmud in Avodah Zarah, on page 15, which speaks about “do not place a stumbling block.” Handing a cup of wine to a Nazirite on the other side of the river—across the river. Now the Nazirite knows that it’s forbidden. I handed him the cup of wine; he can pour it into the river. It’s his decision whether to drink. So why do I violate “do not place a stumbling block”? Because if without me he could not have committed the prohibition—despite the fact that it is his decision—if without me he could not do the prohibition, then I violate “do not place a stumbling block”; that’s the case of the two sides of the river. “Do not place a stumbling block” does not mean that I make the decision for him. Even if he acts deliberately, there is still “do not place a stumbling block.” On the contrary, that’s an even greater stumbling: he commits the transgression deliberately. If he commits it unintentionally, well, maybe that’s even more my transgression. But if he commits it deliberately, that’s an even greater stumbling. So if I assisted him in such a way that without me he could not have committed the transgression—the two sides of the river—then I have violated “do not place a stumbling block.”
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So let’s return to the Ritva. The Ritva says that if they know and want to commit the transgression deliberately, then I am permitted to cause them to stumble. Why on earth? “Do not place a stumbling block” also applies where a person makes his own decisions and decides to commit the transgression. So there is still something unique here about the situation in which I think it is permitted and they think it is forbidden; in an ordinary case it would have been forbidden to do such a thing. Therefore what the Ritva is really saying is this—look what a beautiful thing this is. This is a halakhic laboratory in which one can test which of the three views is correct: monism, pluralism, or tolerant monism. If I were a pluralist, then the ruling would be that it is forbidden to do this whether you tell them or not. It is forbidden because according to them it is forbidden, and if I cause them to stumble, that is “do not place a stumbling block” even if I told them. It’s like not giving a Nazirite a cup of wine. If I were a monist, then according to all views it would be permitted even if I do not tell them. What’s the problem? How do we arrive at an intermediate position like the Ritva’s, that it is permitted if you told them? That can only be tolerant monism. Because what does it mean? On the fundamental level I’m a monist. There is no “do not place a stumbling block” here; I think this is the truth. I think it is permitted to sit there; they think it is forbidden—they got confused. So why do I need to tell them? Apparently I should always permit it. Why? So that there will be autonomy. Exactly. I need to tell them in order to ensure that they make their autonomous decision. So what if I am right? They need to make their own decision according to what they think, even though in my opinion they are wrong. And therefore I have not really caused them to stumble in a transgression. The question is whether such a thing, if I did not disclose it to them, is also called “do not place a stumbling block,” or whether it is instead “before the tolerant person you shall not place a stumbling block”—I don’t know. Is only causing someone to transgress called “do not place a stumbling block,” or is causing someone to lose autonomy also “do not place a stumbling block”? I don’t know whether that falls under that prohibition. But the Ritva’s conception here is really a distilled laboratory showing us this: the Ritva gives us a precise route. It is not monism, it is not pluralism, it cannot be either of those two—it is tolerant monism. That is the conception of tolerant monism. We return to the table.