The Relationship Between the Question of Origin and Formation and the Question of Essence (Column 630)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

In the five columns 622–626 I discussed two conceptions of tradition: a rigid tradition (of the cedar) that advocates transmitting information through a hollow pipe, and a dynamic tradition (of the reed) that advocates transmitting information while processing, interpreting, and refining it. This column follows that series and addresses an issue that arose there in passing. In Column 625 I tried to show that the dynamism of tradition has an essential advantage as well. It deepens and refines the tradition and reveals facets in it that had not previously appeared (though they were implicitly present). I explained there that sometimes these facets are revealed through mistakes made in the transmission of tradition. Also in Column 622 I noted that the students of Hillel and Shammai did not sufficiently serve (their teachers), yet from that emerged the views of the two schools that have enriched halakha to this day. So it is with many opinions and interpretations that grew out of forgetting what had been transmitted to us. For example, in Column 625 I showed that a textual corruption in Maimonides’ version in Hilkhot Nezkei Mamon (Damages to Property) gave rise to a halakhic approach that would not have emerged without that corruption, and still it is a halakhic approach in its own right that adds relevant dimensions to the discussion (whether the ruling follows it or not).

The upshot is that we must distinguish between the question of the origin and formation of things and the question of their value (see Column 625 n. 1). In this column I wish to address this point directly, with a broader view, and to see its implications in various domains.

The contexts of discovery and justification

More than once (see Columns 60, 140, 403) I have mentioned the common distinction in the philosophy of science between the “context of discovery” and the “context of justification.” A person may propose a scientific theory that came to him by a revelation from Elijah or via “Ali Baba Sali” and the forty thieves in a nighttime dream, and that does not invalidate it. That is the context of discovery, i.e., the context in which this theory was discovered to me. What determines our attitude toward a scientific theory is the context of justification—namely, whether it withstands scientific tests (experiments, consistency with other theories, etc.).

The assumption here is that the origin of a theory, whatever it is, does not invalidate it. Even if the origin seems dubious to us, that is not a substantive argument against the theory itself. Of course, it can arouse suspicion and perhaps lead us not to invest effort in examining it, but that in itself is not an argument against it. The history of science knows theories born under rather questionable circumstances that were ultimately adopted because experiments confirmed them. A person’s sources of inspiration do not matter, so long as the ideas themselves pass the relevant tests. Conversely, the fact that some idea was voiced by a wise and respected person is not an argument in its favor. It may lead us to examine it more seriously, but the examination must be conducted.

This, in brief, is the idea expressed above. A Torah or halakhic novelty may appear due to a breakdown in the transmission system, a scribal error, a student who did not sufficiently serve (his master), or any other failure, and that in itself does not invalidate that novelty. It must be examined on its merits: does it make sense, does it not contradict other sources and laws, and the like. This distinction seems simple to us, but it turns out that in many varied contexts people ignore it, and that leads to mistakes.

William James: the question of value and the factual question

The well-known book by the American psychologist and philosopher William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience, is devoted to clarifying the characteristics and meaning of religious experiences and religiosity in general (not institutional religiosity but personal religiosity). The book is based on a series of lectures James delivered at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland at the beginning of the twentieth century, and it was published in 1902. His first lecture deals with religion and neuroticism, and there James emphasizes the distinction between the mode of formation and the meaning as such (akin to the discovery/justification distinction).

He begins with a distinction customary in the logic literature between two perspectives in the investigation of any phenomenon: 1) the factual question—what is the nature of the phenomenon, how did it come about, what are its features, history, and varieties; and 2) what is the significance of the phenomenon as it stands before us and what is its meaning. Question (1) concerns matters of fact, and (2) concerns matters of value. His basic claim is that one must not infer the answer to one question from the answer to the other. He then applies this distinction to religiosity and religions. A religious phenomenon is born out of certain circumstances and in a certain way. It has a mode of formation, and “biblical criticism” (as he calls it) deals with this: under what life circumstances were these ideas or laws formed, and what exactly did each mean. These are questions of historical fact. But there is also the question of value: what can this book contribute to us as a guide in life and as a divine revelation. That is an independent question, to be answered separately. The answer to this question depends on our evaluation of the ideas themselves, without any necessary connection to the way they were born. To the same extent, the factual truth of such sacred writings may be judged, but that does not necessarily determine their value. Hence he infers that people who regard the Scriptures as of supreme value need not necessarily object to research into their formation, as is common among us. These are independent questions. You can be a believer who sees value and holiness in them and still recognize their contingent historical formation. Likewise, you can, of course, dispute the findings of criticism regarding their formation even if you are not a religious believer.

I have often noted that academia seeks to uncover formation and origin, the various influences, the path of the author and the text, and so forth. By contrast, yeshiva study seeks to understand the value and essence of the matters. There is often mutual criticism between members of these two disciplines, and each dismisses the other. Both sides are convinced there is a dispute here, i.e., that it is a zero-sum game: if research is right, religion is wrong, and vice versa. But there is no such necessity. One can accept the research findings about formation and still maintain a conception of holiness regarding the product—and vice versa.

Thus, for example, in Column 625 I cited as an example of this phenomenon the discussion of halakha during the Crusades:

In Column 166 (see also the sources cited there in n. 1) I noted this difference between academic research and yeshiva study, and also the fact that changing circumstances can reveal other aspects in halakhic and other sugyot. As an example, take the dispute between Maimonides and the sages of Spain on the one hand, and the Tosafists and the sages of Ashkenaz on the other, regarding various laws connected to sanctification of the Name (kiddush Hashem). In several aspects we see that the sages of Spain were more lenient and the sages of Ashkenaz were more stringent. The halakhic authorities attribute this to the Crusades (in Ashkenaz), which led the authorities there to raise the ramparts in order to cope with threats and dangers. If one takes the academic conception to its end, one may conclude that there is no dispute at all between the sides: under circumstances of persecution and severe threats, the halakha is stringent, and under lighter circumstances it is lenient. Therefore, when we wish to decide what to do, there is no need to study the sugyot and form a view of who is correct; rather, we should look at the circumstances in which we ourselves act: if they resemble those that prevailed in Ashkenaz then, we must be stringent; if in Spain—lenient. In the yeshiva world, of course, this is seen as a value-laden, principled dispute that demands a substantive explanation in its own right. They ignore the context that influenced the positions and discuss them on their merits.

I explained that such an approach does not necessarily assume that the research is wrong. It simply holds that the research deals with the plane of historical development (how the position arose), while yeshiva study deals with the essential plane. I likened this there to the distinction between the contexts of discovery and justification in the philosophy of science. The meaning is that circumstances led to the appearance of different approaches in the sugya of kiddush Hashem, but each such approach has logic and justification in its own right. Truth is a synthesis of the various approaches, and the decision is made according to the weight and reasoning of the decisor. This is an example of how even changes in factual and historical circumstances can generate new approaches…

See there, in that column and throughout that series, further aspects of the matter.

William James: neuroticism and religiosity

James now turns to religiosity and neuroticism. He prefaces, in light of what we have seen, that his approach to researching and characterizing religion is biological-psychological, and that does not empty the religious phenomenon of essential content or belittle it. He begins by noting that central figures in the religious world are, in various respects, eccentric and exceptional. There is something in them that is not entirely normal—somewhat neurotic. After such a person with unusual spiritual charisma, there can come an entire chain of recipients who implement his doctrine—people who are ordinary and normal. But the focus of the religious phenomenon is precisely in the abnormal source of that chain. He calls such people “geniuses” in the religious realm, and like geniuses in other realms, they possess instability, nervousness, and other unusual psychological symptoms. They may suffer from black bile (melancholy), live amid contradictions, be excessively enthusiastic, hear voices from on high, see visions and sights, and exhibit other signs generally considered pathological. In many cases their very pathological character is what gives them charisma—that is, religious authority and influence. He adduces examples such as Fox, the founder of the Quaker religion, who was surely a complete psychopath of the lowest degree. In non-religious contexts we would hospitalize such a person and certainly would not ascribe value to his pathologies.

When we encounter such phenomena, the intellect immediately inquires into their sources and causes. Psychological facts are also facts, and the way to study them is as we study facts in any other field. Yet such studies and characterizations arouse resistance among believers in that religion, for they feel there is here a belittling and emptying of the content and value of their beliefs. The subtext is that when they see a person who believes in the immortality of the soul, they immediately attribute it to his emotional temperament, or perhaps to digestive disorders. If only he would take a walk outside and breathe fresh air, it would pass. Other writers (Freud?) criticize religious feelings by exposing their connection to sexual life. In their eyes, the religious answer is no more than the crisis of adolescence and maturation, and the like.

He calls this approach “the materialism of physicians,” i.e., scientific materialism. According to it, Saint Francis of Assisi is no more than a man afflicted with a degenerative inheritance; Saint Teresa is a hysteric; Saul of Tarsus’s vision on the road to Damascus is the result of a fresh blow to the cerebral cortex (he had epilepsy); and so on. The physicians’ materialism presumes that such diagnoses succeed in emptying these phenomena of value and undermining the authority of these figures entirely. But even if all these diagnoses were correct, that would not necessarily contradict the value present in these figures and visions.

James argues that, for the materialist, every mental phenomenon has a physical root. There is no human mood that is not conditioned by some organic circumstances—just like emotions and religious experiences. Therefore, according to this view, there is no human phenomenon to which one can ascribe value. Even a scientific theory could be explained by the movement of electrons in different regions of the scientist’s brain, and therefore it is devoid of value as such. The same applies, of course, to a doctrine that denies religious faith, for it too has a neuro-psychophysical basis. The decision to belittle religious phenomena because of their physical origin, while not doing so for scientific theories or any other mental phenomenon, is mere question-begging. If you wish to disparage some idea, you need only attribute it to some physical processes. But ideas you value will not receive the same treatment despite their physical basis.

Our way of judging ideas is to examine them on their merits, not to investigate their formation. There are processes of formation that can undermine the validity of the mental phenomena based on them. If we knew that some scientific idea arose due to high fever, that would be a reason to belittle it, for high fever is unlikely to yield better scientific insights or observations; on the contrary, it interferes with our thinking. But, he claims, spiritual visions are possible chiefly in a psychotic state of consciousness; a person in a normal state cannot apprehend them. Therefore, in that realm, the psychotic basis does not undermine the value and meaning of those visions. It may be that a physical or mental disturbance is precisely what brings us to higher and more correct apprehensions (prophecy). Might there not be disturbances that cause a person to see farther and more sharply? Or to hear sounds and frequencies that others do not hear? Only recently I read about a military unit composed of people on the autism spectrum, who possess outstanding visual memory abilities, and military intelligence uses them for its needs.

James cites statements by various thinkers and psychologists (Moreau, Lombroso, and others) that genius is always the product of different pathologies. Not for nothing were central creators in the arts people who suffered from mental illness, and geniuses in different fields were eccentrics with various pathological symptoms. Pathology creates in us a state that enables genius—that gives us access to ideas, insights, and creations that a healthy person cannot reach. No one would dismiss such a creation because its creator was in some pathological state. No one imagines dismissing a scientific theory because the scientist who conceived it suffered from mental illness. Scientific theories are judged by experiment and known facts (the context of justification), even if they were conceived in a psychotic state (that was the context of discovery). Likewise, religious experiences and visions must be judged by the law of the spirit: we must consider whether they have value or meaning and whether they “make sense” (evidence, obviousness) or not. The fact that they arose in a psychotic state does not invalidate them. The context of justification does not depend on the context of discovery.

Gershom Scholem, at the end of the first volume of Devarim Bego, quotes a passage from Agnon’s Sefer Ha-Ma’asim (“The Book of Deeds”) and uses it to explain the difference between a mystic and a scientist or philosopher. The claims of a scientist are accepted by his colleagues in light of empirical observation—i.e., in light of the facts (the context of justification). But a mystic seemingly hews things from his very being, and thus our trust in his words can be based only on our trust in him (ad hominem). Scholem argues that this is false. A true mystic is one who hews from the depths of his subjectivity insights that, once he formulates them, we all find within ourselves. Otherwise he is merely a deluded eccentric who impresses no one. In short, we do have a way to be impressed even by mystical claims and religious visions: the question is whether they “make sense” or not. By the way, in my series on philosophy (Columns 155–160) I argued something very similar regarding philosophy. I have written many times here similar things about Kabbalah. To my mind, it contains quite a few correct spiritual and mystical insights and intuitions, even though it is difficult to ground them philosophically—and certainly not scientifically. Various mekubalim were eccentric people; they experienced different visions, and I am not at all sure they did not invent things out of their own hearts. Yet the insights that arose for them in these states can still be very true and fertile. There is today a fairly extensive literature that attempts to render psychiatric diagnoses for R. Nachman of Breslov, for R. Yosef Karo (with his Maggid Meisharim), for the Arizal, for his disciple R. Chaim Vital, for the Ramchal with his visions, and more. All of these diagnoses may be entirely correct, and there is no reason to be offended even if you are among the devotees of these figures. Their mental afflictions do not invalidate their insights and visions—perhaps even the opposite is true. Those very afflictions enabled them to experience those visions and transmit them to us.

James adds that if the bearer of such insights attributes them to some transcendent source, there is room to doubt them if he experienced some psychotic or pathological state. But if he asserts a claim that can be examined, there is no justification to resort to its origin. He concludes that, in his view, neuroticism—melancholy or exalted happiness (mania, depression, or both)—is what enables the reception of spiritual and religious messages, and that is certainly not a claim that invalidates them. There are realms of being that a healthy soul cannot penetrate; thus the healthy rely on the insights of the ill.

A look at religious education

In Column 294 I discussed the meaning of religious education. A very common critique of religiosity attributes it to one’s rearing environment. The fact is that people raised in a religious home and society usually remain religious. If so, religiosity is nothing but conditioning or training and has no truth value. This is, of course, not entirely true, since there are those who leave religion, but the correlation between the mode of education and the result is clear and very strong.

I explained there that this claim is based on a mistake. First, it is entirely symmetric. To the same degree, atheism is also a product of conditioning: it is equally true that those raised in a secular home tend to be secular. So, by this “physicians’ materialism,” secularity, too, is mere conditioning—and nothing more. But neither is correct. Consider a sixth-grade pupil who knows all the axioms of geometry but still does not know that the sum of the angles in a triangle is 180 degrees. After he learns this in ninth or tenth grade, he will know it. Now he meets a pupil who hasn’t studied geometry and, of course, does not know the sum of the angles in a triangle. Does this mean that 180 degrees is an educational construct? The correlation exists: those who have studied think it’s 180, and others do not (or at least do not think so). This is a mistake, for study is what grants the student access to such information or insights; those who have not studied do not have access to it. Likewise, religious education enables us to encounter the religious dimensions of reality—something not available to those who have not undergone religious education. That does not mean religiosity is mere conditioning or training. Perhaps the education developed in us the capacity to apprehend those dimensions. Of course, one can make the opposite claim: the absence of religious education enables us to ignore religious delusions and be secular; one who underwent religious education cannot apprehend that truth.

In short, resorting to the question of origin (a factual question, the context of discovery) does not resolve the problem of essence and value (the question of justification). So how do we decide who is right? Certainly not according to the question of origin and the manner in which ideas arose. One must examine claims and beliefs on their merits. To dismiss a claim, belief, or idea on the basis of its origin or the manner of its formation is mere question-begging. If we have concluded that that insight or belief is not true, only then may we raise the possibility that it is the product of upbringing or of mental pathologies, and the like. If a person holds a foolish or baseless view, I may try to argue that this is due to psychotic circumstances or education, and so forth. Resorting to formation and origin is not an argument in a discussion for dismissing that belief or view; at most, it is a conclusion emerging from it.

The development of halakha

In Column 478 and in my article here I pointed out a similar confusion regarding Prof. Yitzhak Gilat z”l’s book, Chapters in the Development of Halakha. When Gilat’s book appeared, it caused a great stir, for he was a graduate of the Hebron Yeshiva in his “criminal” past, and as a researcher he put squarely on the table, in a very prominent and unequivocal way, the claim that halakha develops and changes over the generations. He demonstrated this by (academic) analysis of the halakhic sources themselves. For example, he showed that in earlier sugyot, the possibility that shemitah (the Sabbatical year) in our times is rabbinic did not arise, but after the destruction (of the Temple) such an approach developed. He explained that this resulted from economic pressures that led the sages to seek halakhic leniencies regarding shemitah.

I remember the critiques and storms the book stirred throughout the rabbinic world—how dare he claim that the sages were not honest, that they subordinated halakhic interpretation to contingencies, desires, and constraints. In the series on Modern Orthodoxy, and especially in that column, I noted that such arguments characterize Reform and are indeed illegitimate within halakha. Yet a further look at Gilat’s book shows that this is not what he wrote. Gilat only claimed that the distress led the sages to seek a derash or interpretation that would allow leniency in the laws of shemitah. That was the motivation, but in the end they found a halakhic anchor for it (“conservative midrash,” in my term there), and now they had a valid argument leading to the conclusion that shemitah in our times is rabbinic. It is true that without the distress and the motivation it created they might not have sought this and would not have discovered that shemitah in our times is rabbinic, but human beings always have motivations, and the motivation does not determine our attitude toward the product itself. The view that shemitah in our times is rabbinic must be examined on its own terms, without regard to what motivated the sages who articulated it. There can be different sources of inspiration that lead a person to some interpretation, and likewise circumstances that influence his interpretation (see the example of the Crusades above). But the source of inspiration or the motivation should not determine our attitude toward the interpretive and halakhic product.

Attitudes toward Zionism and the State, and further examples

So too with Haredi attitudes toward the State. Many claim that the State was established by secular Jews, and that invalidates it; therefore one must not identify with it or cooperate with it. I hardly need explain the error in that argument. But there are those who go further, claiming that the State was not only established by secular people but with the aim of secularization and the imposition of secularity on Jewish society. You can readily understand that this too does not invalidate it. The motivations that led the founders of the State say nothing about our attitude toward the product. That must be examined on its own terms.

In a certain sense, this is the fallacy of ad hominem, which concerns addressing an idea by addressing the person rather than the matter itself. The Nazis rejected the theory of relativity on the grounds that it was “Jewish physics” (since it was discovered by Einstein). Here we all grasp the folly. But this is the very same kind of argument as the Haredi one. The origin of a thing does not necessarily determine its value. In both cases one can, of course, reject those ideas on their merits (relativity on account of contradictory facts, and the State because of its conduct or its religious meaning), and then—after coming to the conclusion that it is objectionable—raise the claim that it is the work of secularists for the purposes of secularization, or the invention of the Jewish Elders of Zion to take over the universe.

Likewise, the claim “X is heresy” is not substantive. To engage with claim X you must offer substantive arguments as to why it is incorrect. Only afterwards may you add that it is heresy (though that addition is of no value). Here too, this is a non-substantive response that comes as a substitute for a substantive argument. I believe I have already recounted one of the rules of discussion in the “Atzor Kan Choshvim” (ACH) forum. When someone presents a claim, it may neither be dismissed nor validated by ad hominem. Let me explain. Among philosophers, when you present a claim there is a typical disease of ad hominem, i.e., addressing the person rather than the matter. Often the responses you will receive are along the lines of: “Well, that’s Humean,” or “Kantian,” etc. These are non-substantive responses, since they attribute the position to a person but offer no substantive arguments for or against it. Often this is poured into the fashions current in that place (in quarters where Kant is a deity whose view is binding, it suffices to say “that’s Kantian” to validate the claim; but if one attributes it to Heidegger, that is an automatic rejection). Likewise with “that’s paternalistic,” “that’s conservative,” “that’s Reform,” “that’s Hasidic,” and so on. All these may appear as a conclusion after you have supported or refuted the claim. But in themselves they are not substantive arguments in discussing it.

It is important to emphasize that I am not claiming that all the arguments brought in this section are false. On the contrary: even if they are true, they are non-substantive. Exactly as we saw with William James, my claim is that one must not use them in the substantive discussion, for they belong to a different plane of discourse. The psychiatric diagnoses of the “religious geniuses” may all be correct, but they do not touch upon the question of value—whether their insights are true or not. So too the “Jewishness” of the theory of relativity (at least of its begetter), or the heresy in this or that claim, or the Humean or Kantian character of various philosophical claims. All these may well be true, but they do not belong to the plane of substantive discussion, and it is a mistake to mix planes.

Tirgitz, in a comment to Column 622, brought further examples of a distinction similar to the one we are drawing here:

Regarding note 1—the tension between the origin of a view and the product: “You planned evil against me, but God planned it for good.” Perhaps also mention the move in Column 476 that Chazal and the Gemara have authority only regarding practical halakha (and the rationale-definition), and not regarding values and motives, because this is what Israel accepted upon themselves; and why did they accept this? Presumably because they wished to fix the framework to what is done in practice. But the outcome is that one can indirectly disagree with certain laws. For after all there are laws that are indeed a product of values, and values can be disputed; and when one disputes the value, the practical halakha changes, without there being a direct dispute over the practical halakha. For example, the derashah concerning women’s testimony.

In Column 476 (and even more so in Column 257) I discussed the relationship between halakha and its rationales. There too I distinguished between the basis that generated the law and the law itself. My claim was that even if one accepts the Talmud’s authority regarding the halakhic ruling, one need not accept its authority regarding the rationales. See there for examples of such distinctions. In that context as well, my claim is that these are indeed the rationales underlying the law, and still one may accept the law without accepting them.

The other side of the coin

Ilai Ofran, in another interesting post, argues that sometimes the technical plane can effect an essential change. He brings several examples (Zionism, settlement, and more). From this he infers the way to effect change in the Haredi community’s conscription policy (I think nowadays almost everyone understands that this is the only way; alas, in my view it has no political feasibility): to act on the technical plane (economic considerations) and thus bring about change. True, he does not discuss the outcome following the process; he focuses on achieving the practical result. But as I understand it, after the deeds, hearts follow, and in the end an essential change may also arise (identification with the State and genuine partnership with it). That, after all, is what most troubles them about conscription. See on this my remarks in Column 199 and elsewhere.

This may not be ideal, but that is how our world works. Note that even in the examples he brings, the principal consideration is essential (the question of value), and the technical-formational-historical plane serves only as a tool to implement and reach the desired goal. Therefore, this is essentially the other side of the coin I have described here.