Wisdom, Understanding, and Knowledge – On the Dialectic of Torah Study and Academic Research

Tzohar

Michael Abraham

The relations between religion and science have undergone many upheavals throughout history, in Judaism as well as in Christianity. In the Christian world such problems were discussed much earlier, whereas they reached Judaism very late and with less intensity (it should be noted that the basic processes and approaches are quite similar). The Torah world's engagement with these questions began mainly in the period of the Enlightenment and the Haskalah, and afterward (see a fuller account in the next section).

From the beginning of the Haskalah until the middle or end of the twentieth century, the dominant tendency was mainly conflictual. At first, the discussions dealt primarily with Talmudic and historical scholarship, but later the main issues centered on the natural sciences. Questions such as the age of the world, evolution, and the like were discussed. The religious approach in these periods was mainly apologetic, through various attempts to cope with the growing prestige of the natural sciences. In our generation, the center of gravity is shifting to the social sciences, and even more back to the humanities. The conflicts there are sharper, yet precisely there the possibility also arises of mutual fertilization between the fields.

Beyond the mere passage of time, it seems that this change has an essential reason. In the natural sciences it is difficult to see real potential for enriching Torah study. At most, they can be used to clarify historical, medical, and other facts. The two fields 'play' on different courts, and therefore if a contradiction or difficulty arises, it is naturally directed toward the Torah court (since it has no authority regarding the clarification of facts) and not toward the scientific one. By contrast, in the social sciences and the humanities the conflict is sharper, because there the competition takes place on the same field. Both the academic-scientific disciplines and the Torah realm deal with the same questions, and sometimes offer different answers to them. On the other hand, precisely for that reason one can also see here potential for further development of Torah study. The methods developing in these fields, as well as various results of scientific research, can enrich and refine Torah study.

The 'scientificity' of the humanities and social sciences is questionable, and many use this to dismiss with a wave of the hand the problems these fields raise. But this is a mistake. The fact that this is not 'science' in the rigorous sense of the term does not mean that the claims raised there carry no weight, or that nothing at all can be learned from them. Even methods and claims that are not scientific in the strict sense may be true (and at times also intelligent), and can teach us and provide us with different tools for study and analysis.

For the purposes of the discussion below, I will treat this whole cluster of fields as a single block. From here on, the term 'science' will appear here in the sense of modern academic research in all its disciplines and varieties, despite the inaccuracy.

Approaches to the issues of Torah and science, both to the conflicts and to the possibility of mutual enrichment, are based in part on different principled conceptions of Torah. Some oppose automatically anything whose source is external to Torah, certainly when it is brought into the study hall. The basic claim is that there is no possibility of subjecting Torah to any test of common sense or science, and some even claim that the Torah domain ought not to be refined through other fields of knowledge (aside from factual clarifications, if at all).

On the other hand, there is an opposite approach, according to which reason is the supreme criterion, and everything, including Torah, stands before its judgment. Such a position seems contrary to faith and tradition, yet Rabbi Shimon Shkop, in gate 5 of his book Sha'arei Yosher, after presenting his famous innovation regarding the theory of law (that is, that there are extra-halakhic legal principles that obligate us just as much as halakhic principles do), writes the following:

'Just as the category of acquisitions and the laws of ownership over property are juridical matters even without the warning "do not steal," and as we explained above, it is impossible under any circumstances to say that the reason we ascribe the object to Reuven is that Shimon is warned by the Torah not to rob it from him. Rather, the matter is the reverse: the prohibition of theft comes only after the issue has been decided according to the legal boundaries of ownership…'

'And although at first glance this seems astonishing—what compulsion and obligation could a person have to do something without the Torah's command and warning?—when we delve into the matter properly it can be understood. For the very obligation and compulsion to serve God and fulfill His will is itself an obligation and compulsion grounded in the judgment of reason and recognition; likewise, monetary obligation and subordination are juridical obligations, incurred through the modes of acquisition…'

Rabbi Shimon explains that we, too, accepted the yoke of the Torah by force of our rational judgment, and therefore at least from our point of view the authority of our judgment stands above, and certainly not below, the authority of the Torah. This is a clear and sharp presentation of the approach that accords primacy to reason, and this is not the place to elaborate.

Even without deciding the dispute over the supremacy of reason or Torah (in which I, the undersigned, side with Rabbi Shimon Shkop), one can agree that scientific inquiry can bring great benefit to Torah study. In contrast to those who constantly see only the dimension of conflict and confrontation, and the need to solve problems and explain away or evade difficulties, one can adopt the opposite, constructive approach, and see science as an important tool that can contribute to Torah study and understanding. Note well: I do not mean only the clarification of facts (historical, medical, or otherwise), but also the adoption of methods and modes of learning, in the spirit of 'may the beauty of Japheth dwell in the tents of Shem.' It would be naive to think that such borrowings have not taken place throughout the generations (from Greece to our own day). The Baal Shem Tov and his disciples 'converted' melodies, but the great Lithuanian scholars as well, and before them the Tannaim and Amoraim, as also the medieval and later authorities, engaged in intensive 'conversion' of methods and modes of thought (even if at times this was done unconsciously).

In this article I would like to propose a form of synthesis between these two domains. But as background to my proposal, I will briefly discuss the development of the conflict between Torah and science.

A. Torah and Science as a Drama in Five Acts

Let us begin with a schematic and not entirely precise description of the development of the relations between Torah and science in the modern era[1]. In the first period, the confrontational approach prevailed. The main effort made within it was to refute scientific claims that contradicted tradition. Later, when science had already acquired a status that was difficult to contend with, the apologetic stance appeared, in which the main effort was to reconcile what the Torah says with the conclusions of science. In this period it was already accepted to engage both domains, as part of an effort to reconcile them. The focus of the discourse was still the conflict, except that there was a sense that it could be solved and harmonized.

These two periods parallel the modernist age, which developed and glorified science and saw it as everything. Both the modern deniers of tradition and those who denied science on the basis of claims drawn from religious tradition shared the same dichotomous conception, according to which we must choose between the scientific picture of the world and the Torah-traditional picture of the world. The apologists tried to hold onto both domains, but still felt the need to reconcile them with one another.

In the next period a different position developed, namely the parallel stance (=parallelism), which sees Torah and science as two domains that do not intersect. According to this approach, each of these domains deals with a different aspect of phenomena, and therefore one should not raise difficulties from one against the other, nor is there any need to reconcile them. One of the prominent representatives of this position was Prof. L.[2], who claimed that as a religious person he believes the world was created six thousand years ago, and as a scientist he believes the age of the world is several billion years.

In many areas we adopt parallel planes of explanation, and therefore such a position should not be seen as a logical contradiction[3]. For example, according to the common 'mythology,' Newton was sitting under a tree when an apple fell on his head. He asked himself why apples fall to the ground, and thus discovered the law of gravitation (=the law of attraction between bodies with mass). As a believing Christian, Newton was supposed to make do with the theological answer: presumably the apple fell on his head as punishment for some sin he had committed. He did not make do with that, because he was seeking a scientific answer, not a theological one. And what about the theological answer? He could have believed it, while at the same time seeking a scientific answer[4]. Thus we find here different answers to the same question, each of which relates to a different plane. On the scientific plane there is one answer, and on the theological plane another. So too with respect to the Torah's promises, according to which rain and produce depend upon our observance of commandments and our transgressions, whereas scientifically these phenomena appear to be the result of physical-meteorological factors. Incidentally, this is also true within the sciences themselves. For example, the very same mental process may simultaneously have psychological explanations and physiological explanations, and likewise on the social plane, and so on.

Among many who advocate this position, it is customary to say that science deals with the 'what' and Torah deals with the 'for what purpose,' and therefore these are parallel planes of reference[5]. For example, the theory of evolution describes how the world came into being, but it does not address the question of who managed this entire process. That is, there is no obstacle to saying that God created the world by way of an evolutionary process[6].

After some time, the parallel conception underwent a further development, and the subjective-postmodern stance emerged. In this period, various thinkers related to science, as well as to other fields of knowledge, as subjective. This attitude provided fertile ground for religious apologists, who climbed onto the postmodern bandwagon and claimed that we religious people, too, can join the 'dance of differences' (to use Rabbi Shagar's phrase in his book Kelim Shevurim, for he was one of the representatives of this postmodernist conception)[7]. According to those who hold this approach, apologetics are not even needed, since we too are 'dancers' with equal rights in the circle. From several sources that express such a position it emerges that religion is something subjective. It may not accord with science, but since the choice of science is also arbitrary, it is legitimate to choose religious tradition as a narrative (=discourse) no less than the scientific narrative or any other narrative.

This argument is convenient and effective, since it neutralizes the possibility of discourse and thereby exempts us from the need to apologize and explain, but it 'throws out the baby with the bathwater.' When one gives up the objectivity of belief in God and in Torah from Heaven, and treats them as a myth whose historical or metaphysical truth is unclear (and also unimportant), then one implicitly capitulates to the atheistic position. Faith becomes a kind of subjective discourse (narrative), the result of a personal (arbitrary) choice. God here turns from a 'being' into an 'idea,' a feeling, or a paradigm (=a conceptual framework for discourse). Such an approach is widespread among religious thinkers (and not only religious ones) in our time (especially in academia), who apparently cannot, and therefore do not even try, to reconcile their religious way of life with their scientific beliefs. They advocate a religion that does not deal with facts and does not make factual claims about the world, and therefore is not exposed to scientific criticism[8].

For all the theoretical finery and semantic twists, in many cases this is in fact a position of de facto heresy. It is belief in God, but not in one who really exists. To this one may aptly apply Rav Kook's saying: 'There is a kind of faith that is like heresy, and a kind of heresy that is like faith'[9]. A God who is nothing more than a subjective human artifact of the believer is precisely what Karl Marx called, and rightly so, 'opium for the masses.'

In recent years a fifth position has been developing, not always explicitly distinguished, but it may be called the synthetic period. This position holds that not only does science not contradict tradition, and not only does it possess positive value, but it can even be used as an important component in Torah study and understanding. Some have gone so far as actually to identify the two domains. But even if one does not go that far with respect to content, more and more academic methods are being introduced into study in the study halls (a phenomenon, as is known, accompanied by fierce polemics)[10].

In the next section I would like to define this approach sharply, but in a softer version, so that the distinction between the domains is not completely blurred.

B. Wisdom, Understanding, Knowledge[11]

1.  Introduction

In this section I would like to point to two characteristics that distinguish scientific thought. Both lie at the basis of its power, but also limit it. The first characteristic is that it deals with form and not with the thing itself (its essence), and the second is that it has a separating and distinguishing character (analysis) rather than a unifying one (synthesis).

2.  Wisdom and Understanding: Essence and Form

The best way to illustrate the first characteristic is by means of an ancient-new scientific theory: the emergence of opposites from prime matter. By way of background, let us note that creation ex nihilo contradicts the basic conservation laws of physics, as well as intuition. And yet Anaximander, a Greek physicist and philosopher, a disciple of Thales of Miletus, proposed a solution to the problem, and he wrote as follows in the only original fragment of his thought that has remained in our possession[12]:

The boundless is the beginning and principle of all that exists. It is neither water nor any other of the things called elements, for it has another nature and is boundless, and from it came forth the heavens and all the worlds within them. From the place from which coming-to-be comes to all beings, to that same place destruction also goes, according to necessity. For they make recompense and reparation to one another for their injustice according to the order of time.

To modern ears these words sound like an ancient cosmology that has long since become obsolete, but on second glance one can see here an anticipation of modern scientific principles. He makes two claims here: 1. The world was created by a process of generating various opposites: cold and heat, liquid and solid, and the like. 2. These opposites were preceded by a prime material substratum (=the unbounded) that did not possess the characteristics of the matter familiar to us. The splitting of that prime matter is what created these opposites.

The first claim seems like a brilliant solution to the problem of creation ex nihilo and its relation to the conservation laws. If we assume that every material particle that is created is accompanied simultaneously by the creation of an anti-particle with exactly opposite properties (=charges), then the total sum of charges in the world does not change in this creation. For example, if the particle created is an electron, which has mass M and electric charge Q, then together with it an anti-electron will be created, whose mass is -M and whose electric charge is -Q. At this point there are indeed two new particles in the world, but the total mass and the total charge in the world have not changed, and therefore no physical conservation law has been violated. Such a picture also emerges in modern physics (quantum field theory), which describes the creation of such pairs from the vacuum in a way compatible with the conservation laws.

And yet something in this process still seems problematic. After all, two new beings have been created here, and they were created out of nothing. Previously the world was empty, and now it is populated. True, there is no law in physics that forbids this, but nevertheless something here is troubling. This can be defined as the breaking of another 'conservation law,' namely the law of conservation of being. This law does not deal with the characteristics (charges) of matter, but with its very existence, or its essence. That is: two beings have here been produced out of nothing.

And yet this improbability is 'transparent' from the point of view of physics. Physics does not notice it, because it deals only with characteristics (properties, charges), and not with the things themselves. With instances, not with essence.

It seems to me that Anaximander tried to answer this problematic point as well, and in this sense he proposed something more sophisticated than the suggestion of modern physics. As we have seen, he lays down an additional principle, according to which from the very beginning there existed in the world a prime substratum, devoid of properties (since all properties came forth from it). It was not physical matter in the sense familiar to us, for matter in its presently familiar form emerged from it. The only thing that can be said about it is that it is. This theory is more complete, for the creation of opposites out of prime matter preserves the totality of properties (=charges) in the world, and now also the law of conservation of being. It seems that only these two assumptions together offer a genuine solution to the problem of creation ex nihilo.

Why does modern physics ignore the second problem? As stated, the plane of things as they are in themselves does not exist within the scientific lens, and therefore the problems it raises are not addressed by scientific tools[13]. In the language of Kabbalah one may say that science deals with formation (something from something), not with creation (something from nothing). On the intellectual plane, the relevant distinction is between wisdom and understanding. Science deals with understanding (=one thing derived from another) and not with wisdom (=the power of whatness).

In this context, Ramban's remarks in his commentary on Song of Songs (3:9) are of interest. He explains that according to Plato, creation ex nihilo is impossible, and therefore one must assume the existence of prime matter prior to creation[14]. On the other hand, in his commentary on Genesis (1:8) he apparently contradicts these remarks and writes that the world was created ex nihilo[15]. It may be that Ramban intends to argue that the initial prime matter was indeed created ex nihilo, but that, following Plato, the matter familiar to us today was created out of prime matter, and this because of the law of conservation of being. Prime matter separates into different opposites, and thus the reality familiar to us today came into being. In the process of formation (after creation), the laws of nature and reason are no longer violated, and therefore at that stage creation should be explained in Platonic terms[16].

From another, though very similar, angle, one may say that even on the plane of forms (charges, qualities, or attributes) another 'conservation law' has been broken, for here the concept of charge and the concept of mass were created, and these did not exist beforehand. True, the quantity of charge or mass did not change in the process of formation, and therefore the physical conservation laws were preserved, but the concepts and qualities themselves did not exist at the previous stage. Something has still been broken here, even if not on the scientific plane.

In order to answer the problem of the conservation of qualities, we must add to Anaximander's unbounded and undefined matter hylic qualities—that is, qualities such as charge or mass. This is still prime matter, for we cannot say that the prime matter possessed some determinate level of charge, or some determinate quantity of mass, for then it would no longer be prime matter. These emerged only after the split, at which point the prime indeterminacy was removed. But these qualities as such—that is, the very concepts of mass and charge themselves—were already latent within it beforehand[17].

This question too is 'transparent' to the scientific lens. Science does not ask itself about the very concepts it uses. It uses them as self-evident, for they constitute its language and its conception of reality. Questions about them have no scientific meaning, because science operates within them, and the questions it asks are asked within that conceptual framework. Put differently, from a scientific standpoint they were not created at all, because they are not entities. What exists is some specific mass or some specific charge. Once again, we have here science's resistance to Platonism, which sees ideas as existing entities.

We have seen that science does not deal with essence (of objects and of concepts)[18], but only with the instances that apply to them. In Kabbalistic terminology one may say that science deals with Judgment (with the powers of severity) and not with Kindness. Judgment/Severity is the force that limits Kindness and gives it form. Kindness is the essence, and Severity/Judgment are the characteristics (the qualities, the form). True, the distinction between Kindness and Severity belongs to the plane of the emotive attributes (the three sefirot of Kindness, Severity, and Beauty). In the parallel terminology on the intellectual plane (the three upper sefirot, those of the head—the intellect), one would say that science deals with Understanding and not with Wisdom[19]. This leads us to our next distinction.

3.  Understanding and Knowledge: Analysis and Synthesis

Our second distinction concerning science is that it deals with separation and not with unification. True, science (especially natural science) tends to generalize separate phenomena and assign them to one general law, but its method is a separating one. It distinguishes between the instances that do and do not belong to the law under discussion. In the humanities this is much more conspicuous, since there the main occupation is with distinctions and classifications (unlike the natural sciences, there are very few general laws there, if any).

In many articles in the humanities (including Jewish studies), one finds discussion of a distinction between positions or methods, placing them opposite one another. Quite often the traditional learner feels that these two opposites can be unified and fused into a single theory. But when a resolution of the contradiction or a synthesis of the apparently opposed positions is proposed, the academic scholar will regard it as speculation (or as ungrounded harmonization). The scholar focuses on analysis—that is, on pointing to differences and distinguishing between methods—and does not tend to make syntheses. Let us note that in Kabbalistic terminology this too is a characteristic of Judgment as opposed to Kindness. The most effective way to show this is through several general examples (admittedly somewhat worn, but there is no room here for specific examples, and the point is simple and well known).

A first example is the attitude toward the thirteen hermeneutic principles. Scholars customarily deny that they are a law given to Moses at Sinai, since there is much evidence that they crystallized in a later period. With Hillel the Elder, when he came up from Babylonia, there were seven; later, with Rabbi Ishmael, who followed the method of Rabbi Nehunya ben HaKanah, we find thirteen. His colleague Rabbi Akiva disagrees with him in the classification of the principles, for he follows the method of Nahum of Gimzo[20]. After that there is the baraita of Rabbi Eliezer son of Rabbi Yosei the Galilean, with thirty-two principles. Rav Sherira Gaon already counts many dozens, and in Sefer HaKeritut several more dozens appear. It seems reasonable indeed that we are dealing here with a prolonged historical development, and not with a teaching that was given at Sinai. By contrast, all the medieval and later authorities agree that the principles (at least in halakhic exegesis) are a law given to Moses at Sinai. At first glance there is a head-on contradiction here, but on closer inspection one can explain that the methods of exegesis were given to Moses at Sinai in a primeval, undifferentiated form, and only later underwent conceptualization and formalization and were cast into fixed canonical molds. The historical development of which the scholars speak pertains to the process of conceptualization, and this does not in any way contradict the tradition according to which the tools of exegesis were given, in one form or another, to Moses at Sinai[21].

As a rule, the 'archaeology' that investigates the historical-geographical stratification of the Talmudic texts is chiefly concerned with separation. The scholars identify the distinguishing characteristics of the discussions of different study circles and different periods, whereas traditional learning sees the Talmuds as harmonious texts.

Another example is the distinction between different sources in the Torah (what is called the Documentary Hypothesis). Here too research deals mainly with distinguishing the different sources, but on further reflection one can argue (following Rabbi Breuer's approach) that the different 'documents' are nothing but different perspectives on the issues under discussion, and all were given to Moses by divine revelation. Here too the scholar engages in separating analysis, whereas the traditional perspective proposes a synthesis.

A further example is the relation between the plain sense and midrashic interpretation. The accepted attitude of the scholarly world toward midrash is that its concern is to take the text away from its plain meaning and adapt it to the values/needs of the expositor and the society in which he operated. For example, the biblical command 'an eye for an eye' instructs us to put out the eye of the assailant. But the Sages interpreted it to mean that he must pay money, and in so doing removed the verse from its plain meaning. Yet even in this case, as in others where the midrash appears to contradict the plain sense, one can show that a synthesis between these two interpretations is possible, such that the full halakhic picture is composed of both layers together[22].

Here we are not dealing with first principles, or with essence as opposed to form/instance, and therefore if we define scientific research as 'understanding,' then the relevant opposing sefirah is not 'wisdom' but 'knowledge.' 'Knowledge' represents the synthesis, combining wisdom with understanding, whereas 'understanding' is a separating presentation, whose essence is the distinction between thesis and antithesis. See further below.

4.  Justiciability

In the scientific world it is customary to require that claims be justiciable—that is, open to objective criticism. Ironically, this requirement characterizes mainly the humanities, since it is a criterion of their 'scientificity.' When we describe facts or positions of various thinkers/halakhic decisors, our claims are open to scientific criticism. The claim that Maimonides was a pluralist should be examined against sources in Maimonides' writings. In this way it can be confirmed or refuted. By contrast, the claim that it is more correct and proper to be a pluralist is not a justiciable claim. We have nothing against which to test it. Therefore a claim of this sort has no place in scientific research, and its place is in journalistic-public forums, or in Torah-traditional settings.

Justiciability underlies many of the limitations of the humanities. Claims that do not separate but unify, claims that deal with explanations and not descriptions, and claims that deal with things themselves and not with their actual manifestation—almost all of them are non-justiciable claims. Therefore rigorous academic research generally distances itself from them. This limitation is part of what defines research as academic. It is what gives it its power, because it describes facts that are difficult to deny, but on the other hand it is also the source of some of its weaknesses and limitations.

5.  The Advantages of the Scientific Method

As stated, the limitations of the academic-scientific method are what give it its power. This power is based on systematicity, adherence to established facts, examination of things across the entire range of sources and contexts (and not only local innovations in one particular passage, as in traditional learning), and careful attention to the validity of the conclusions and to their scope of application (that is, if one finds some conception in the Babylonian Talmud, or in a certain passage within it, the conclusion is presented as the Babylonian Talmud's approach, or as the approach of the study circle in which that passage was taught, and not as a necessary and universal conclusion).

This meticulousness greatly narrows the range of academic inquiry, but it has many virtues and merits, and it is proper to make use of them. Traditional learning is far less systematic and rigorous. On the other hand, reflection by means of such methods alone greatly narrows our ability to understand the essence of things and their roots. Such goals require a measure of speculation, which the academic method does not permit itself[23].

C. This Is the Way of Torah

1.  The Proposed Model

We can now present the main claim of this article. In our day, when the dominant approach is the fifth one in the development described above, academic-scientific research certainly can and should take part in Torah study. Usually its role is to lay before the learner the facts as they are. This description is the substrate for synthetic learning, whose concern is to ask why, to deal with essence and not only with descriptions and instances, and thereby to unify the different currents that are disclosed and distinguished within academic phenomenology.

There are quite a few examples of the power of this model. If we return to the examples mentioned above, scientific research can sketch for us the path traversed by the hermeneutic principles, and the different study circles that developed in relation to them. But this is only the first stage of the inquiry. In the second stage we are supposed to ask ourselves what this development says to us, and what overall structure is created from all the shades distinguished by scientific analysis. What synthesis emerges from all this?

In the case of the Documentary Hypothesis there is exemplary work by Rabbi Breuer and his students, who took the academic analysis that divided the Torah into different parts and sources—something the traditional learner was incapable of doing (and did not even want to do)—and produced syntheses pointing to the unity among different angles on the same subjects. Rabbi Yosef Avivi went even further and proposed seeing the four basic documents as representing the halakhic and Torah subjects from the perspective of four different Kabbalistic worlds (Atzilut, Beriah, Yetzirah, Asiyah)[24].

In this picture, academic-scientific research uses its analytic tools to create the factual infrastructure laid before the learner, while the reflective student asks synthetic questions about that infrastructure. The historical description or the distinctions themselves are sometimes a first stage in Torah study, but they usually do not exhaust it.

2.  Example: Positive Commandments versus Prohibitions[25]

Let us take a somewhat more detailed example, in order to clarify the matter. Aharon Shemesh, in his article 'Toward a History of the Meaning of the Concepts Positive Commandments and Prohibitions'[26], pointed to two approaches in rabbinic literature regarding the distinction between positive commandments and prohibitions. He calls the first approach 'the performative approach,' and it grounds the distinction between the two types of commandments in the mode of performance of the commandment: commandments fulfilled through positive action are positive commandments, whereas commandments fulfilled through passive omission are prohibitions. The second approach, 'the linguistic approach,' grounds the distinction in the wording of the text: commandments written in the Torah in positive form are positive commandments, while commandments written as a warning not to do something are prohibitions.

The distinction between the approaches will be expressed in the case of positive commandments fulfilled through passive omission (such as the commandment of resting on the Sabbath, which is fulfilled by not doing labor), or prohibitions fulfilled through positive action (such as 'do not bring bloodshed into your house'—which is fulfilled by building a parapet or removing the hazard). According to the performative approach there are no such categories, for on that view every commandment fulfilled through passive omission is a prohibition, and every commandment fulfilled through positive action is a positive commandment. By contrast, according to the linguistic approach such categories do exist.

Shemesh, as scholars generally do, focuses only on Talmudic literature, and within it he distinguishes different strata. On that basis he shows the development of these approaches, and argues that in the earlier period Talmudic literature is characterized by the performative approach, whereas in a later period the linguistic approach takes over.

A traditional learner examining this question would do so without paying attention to the division of periods within rabbinic literature, and without distinguishing between the Sages and the medieval and later authorities. On the other hand, the conclusions of academic research here suffer from a significant deficiency (by virtue of being academic, the research itself is certainly, in my humble opinion, rigorous and worthy). The question I asked myself as a traditional learner was whether the distinction between positive commandments and prohibitions can at all be made to depend on language alone. Surely the difference in the Torah's wording is supposed to express some substantive distinction. It is not plausible that the Torah defines some commandment as a prohibition arbitrarily. The Torah's wording is an indication that this is a prohibition, but we still have to ask ourselves why this is so. What does this linguistic distinction actually express? The inevitable conclusion is that behind the linguistic distinction there lies a substantive distinction. True, that distinction apparently does not coincide with the performative distinction, for according to the linguistic approach there are two additional categories of commandments that do not exist according to the performative approach, as explained above. If so, the result of traditional thinking, when set against the conclusions of academic research, is that we do not have a performative approach and a linguistic approach, but rather two different substantive approaches.

At that point I continued and asked myself what could underlie a substantive distinction that is not performative. The conclusion I reached was that positive commandments are commands in which the Torah points us to a state that it regards as desirable, whereas prohibitions are commands in which the Torah points to states that it regards as undesirable. When the Torah commands us to put on tefillin (phylacteries), it is not saying that being without tefillin is an undesirable state, but that being with tefillin is a desirable state. By contrast, when it forbids us to eat pork, it is not saying that refraining from pork is desirable, but that eating pork is undesirable[27].

From this we can also understand the examples of the two categories mentioned above, which exist only according to the linguistic approach (and not according to the performative approach). The commandment of resting on the Sabbath is a positive commandment even though it is fulfilled through passive omission, because the Torah points here to a desirable state (that a person rest), and does not prohibit an undesirable state (that a person do labor, although in our case that too is prohibited by another prohibition against doing labor). By contrast, 'do not bring bloodshed into your house' is a prohibition even though it is fulfilled through positive action, because it points to an undesirable state (a house that contains a hazard and danger).

I should note that I reached this conclusion through study of the medieval and later authorities, without distinguishing between the Talmud and commentators from later periods, in the manner of a traditional learner. Every learner understands that in the accepted halakhic rulings current among us today there is no possibility whatsoever for the performative approach. Almost all enumerators of the commandments (though Saadia Gaon's method requires separate discussion, and see my aforementioned article, but this is not the place) count prohibitions fulfilled through positive action and positive commandments fulfilled through passive omission. Therefore it is clear that the performative possibility simply does not exist[28].

Up to this point I have tried to illustrate the fact that academic research mainly describes. It adheres to the facts and does not descend to the roots of things. It does not allow itself speculation, and therefore it asks the 'what' and not the 'why.' But the traditional learner requires essence and not only phenomenology. He wants to understand why things are so and what stands behind them, and therefore he asks about causes and essences.

I will now try to show, through this example, the second characteristic of traditional learning as opposed to academic research: synthesis. At the final stage of reflecting on the differences between prohibitions and positive commandments, I asked myself why this really is the distinction between them. Intuition definitely links the distinction between them to the performative question, for a prohibition is associated in our minds with passive omission, whereas a positive commandment is associated with positive action. The greater stringency of a prohibition as compared to a positive commandment also appears to derive from these dimensions. Is there a connection between these two distinctions? Is it possible that two groups of sages would see the division between prohibition and positive commandment in entirely different ways, with no connection at all between them?

My answer was no. It stands to reason that the division is the same division, and the dispute does not concern the very distinction between prohibition and positive commandment. To understand this, let us examine the following question: what is the meaning of the distinction between pointing to a desirable state and pointing to an undesirable state? When the Torah points to a state that is undesirable (such as the prohibition against doing labor on the Sabbath), then one who transgresses the command—that is, does labor on the Sabbath—has acted directly against the Torah's command. He does exactly what the Torah does not want. By contrast, when the Torah points to a desirable state (for example, that I rest on the Sabbath), then one who transgresses and does labor on the Sabbath is not acting directly against the Torah's will. He merely does not rest. He is not in an undesirable state; he is simply not in the desirable state.

When we examine the intuitive, performative approach, we focus on the greater severity of a transgression committed through positive action as opposed to one committed through passive omission. It would seem that a transgression through positive action is graver because it involves active conduct against the Torah's will. A transgression through passive omission is less grave because it does not involve frontal violation of God's will, but only a failure to act in accordance with God's will. We thus learn that the 'linguistic' division, which we translated into a substantive division (pointing to a desirable or undesirable state), is nothing but a different conception of the relative severity of prohibition and positive commandment. In substance, this view too divides prohibition and positive commandment according to transgression through positive action versus transgression through passive omission. The difference is that according to this approach, transgression through positive action does not necessarily take the form of a physical act; rather, it consists in being in an undesirable state. And transgression through passive omission is the failure to be in a desirable state.

If so, according to both approaches the distinction between positive commandment and prohibition is connected to the distinction between passive omission and positive action. The dispute is marginal, and one can certainly extract a picture agreed upon by all concerning the distinction between prohibition and positive commandment. This is a certain synthesis between the two possibilities presented by scholarly analysis. That analysis set two sides before us, and what remains for us, in order to complete the picture, is to create a synthesis and understand what is common and unifying in both.

To conclude the example, it is important to emphasize that despite its limitations, academic research was an important stage in this inquiry. In most cases, questions this simple (such as the difference between prohibition and positive commandment) are not asked by traditional learners. The scholar's sensitivity makes it easier for him to pose, in dichotomous form, two sides of the inquiry. From there the road is short to finding them in different sources and sketching a historical development of these ideas. On the other hand, one who is satisfied only with academic analysis misses the main point and does not descend to the roots of things. To remain with the conception that the distinction between prohibition and positive commandment is merely linguistic is to remain with phenomenology without any understanding. Precisely here lies the role of traditional analysis.

At the margins of the discussion, my assessment is that these conclusions would not be accepted for publication in an academic forum, because it is difficult to substantiate them. Perhaps one could claim that some medieval authority held such a view and prove it. But as a thesis whose purpose is to explain the Sages' approach, it is not justiciable. There is nothing with which to compare it, since it offers an explanation of the approaches, not a description of them. Hence the inquiry at this final stage is, in essence, non-academic, even though the initial stage was vital for completing it. This example illuminates the meaning of the dialectical two-stage model proposed here.

3.  Implications for the Method of Study and for Halakhic Ruling

In recent generations, traditional yeshiva learning has come very close to academic analyticity. Yeshiva 'investigations' present two polar sides, and try to distinguish between them, to find them in the various commentators, and to define them by means of different practical ramifications between them. In these 'investigations' one uses a system of concepts and principles, some of them a priori, in order to analyze Talmudic passages[29]. This is an influence of the modern-analytic mode of thought, which made its way into the yeshiva world (usually unconsciously).

But in the last generation it seems that learners are beginning to tire of this way and to seek syntheses once more. Our analytic skill is much higher than that of earlier generations, and therefore analytic separation is very easy and not especially satisfying. After more refined investigation, and entry into shades and sub-shades, we notice that the polar sides of the inquiry come very close to one another, until at times they almost disappear. As a result, some aspire to detach from classical yeshiva learning (which some call 'Brisker') and to return to the intuitive learning that characterized earlier generations. This learning is closer to simple common sense, and less a priori and detached. The accepted conception is that this kind of learning is good for the in-depth study session, but halakhic ruling is done differently[30].

The model proposed here leads us to a different conclusion. Analytic-Brisker learning is an important and vital infrastructure for our inquiry, but it constitutes only the initial platform. In the second stage one must seek the common elements, reduce the polarity of the sides of the inquiry, and try to create syntheses between them. Skipping this initial stage usually yields superficiality, and at times real errors as well. Just as academic research has an important role as a first stage in Talmudic inquiry, so too do the yeshiva investigations. These too are analytic tools whose concern is separation. Synthesis should come only after the thesis and the antithesis have been presented in their sharpest form. Both stages in the model proposed here are essential[31].

4.  A Concluding Note

Both in the model that incorporates academic inquiry into Torah study, and in the conclusion regarding the role of Brisker investigations and methods, we have carried out a dialectical process in two different senses: 1. A dialectic in the method of study itself—first, presenting two sides of an inquiry (both yeshiva-style and academic) as thesis and antithesis, and afterward incorporating them into a more complex and general picture through synthesis. 2. Presenting academic research and traditional learning as thesis and antithesis, and afterward synthesizing them into a more complete structure, in which each complements the other.

This dialectic takes wisdom and understanding and synthesizes them into knowledge. Knowledge is a combination of these two, more complete than its two parts, just as Beauty is more complete than the Kindness and Severity that compose it, and this is not the place to elaborate[32].

[1]    A. Before the modern era there was generally no distinction between science and Torah, both in Christianity and in Judaism. For example, many of Aristotle's claims were perceived as religious truths. In the modern era the difference between the domains sharpened. Here we deal only with the second stage of this drama.

     B. The description in this section is presented chronologically, but in practice the division between the positions does not always follow periods. In the very last years several approaches have become intermingled, and sometimes the very same people advance arguments of several types. For our purposes, the main importance lies in distinguishing the positions themselves, and the historical question is secondary.

[2]    The full name is omitted at the editors' request.

[3]    See my book 'That Which Is and That Which Is Not,' in the fourth section, for a lengthy discussion of parallel planes of explanation in different shades.

[4]    This claim is by no means simple, and at first glance it involves a logical problem. An 'explanation' is generally required to be necessary and sufficient, and therefore apparently there cannot be two different explanations for the same phenomenon; see my aforementioned book. Here we will be content with pointing out the fact that people regard such an attitude as reasonable, and therefore it can be applied in the same way to such conflicts between Torah and science. There are, of course, factual conflicts too, and there we are not speaking about explanations but about facts—for example, the question of the age of the world. Here, apparently, there is only one answer: either it is 6000 years old or it is billions of years old. Here too there is room for several parallel answers if we distinguish between different concepts of 'age' (or time). There are several answers to these questions, and therefore I will not enter that point here.

[5]    There is room here to distinguish between phenomenological (=descriptive) theories and essential (=explanatory) theories, but this is not the place.

[6]    My friend Nadav Shnerb once told me that he does not understand why evolution contradicts our tradition more than gravitation does. If one assumes that the laws of nature operate without an operator, then gravitation too contradicts our faith no less than evolution; and if we accept that science describes God's activity, then there is no essential contradiction between any scientific theory and religious tradition.

[7]    See my critique of the book in Nekuda, as well as the critique by my friend Nadav Shnerb, in Tzohar 18.

[8]    See on this Gili Zivan, Religion Without Illusion, Kibbutz Hameuchad, 2006 (and also her adviser, Avi Sagi, in several places). See also the collection On Faith, edited by Moshe Halbertal and Avi Sagi, especially the articles by Moshe Halbertal, Roni Miron, and others. A similar approach appears in several of Moshe Meir's articles (see, for example, Akdamot 12, and my response there in the following issue). For a sociological description of this phenomenon as part of what is called 'the new Religious Zionism,' see Yitzhak Geiger's illuminating (and amusing) article in Akdamot 11. Such an approach also emerges in many books on faith and on God that have appeared in recent years, and this is not the place to elaborate.

     I would note that among scholars of Jewish studies there are blunt expressions of this approach, and specifically among scholars committed to Jewish law. Various scholars arrive at conclusions regarding the sources of different laws or customs, and the conclusions of their research cast these in a problematic light, or at least a non-obligating one, yet in practice they continue to observe them. For them there is a disconnect between the facts uncovered by research and Jewish law, and parallelism serves as a solution for them, at least on the practical level. I would add that such a phenomenon is likely to appear (though not necessarily) in an extreme form among academic scholars who also serve as rabbis. For two prominent examples, see the critique of Rabbi Prof. Rosenthal in the article by his student Menahem Kahana, 'Talmud Research at the University and Traditional Study in the Yeshiva,' in BeMa'aglei Temurah UMasoret, Rehovot, 1990. A similar phenomenon appears in the article by Rabbi Dr. Binyamin Lau, 'Mirror of Truth—Rabbinate and Academia in Rabbi Rosenthal's Writings on Saving a Gentile on the Sabbath,' Akdamot 13, and in my response there in the following issue. See also the article by Baruch Kahana, 'Which Way Is the Wind Blowing,' Akdamot 20, part 2, in polemic with Moshe Meir's positions.

[9]    See Orot HaEmunah, p. 25. See also my threads on this subject in the 'Stop Here, Think' forum, dated 21.9.2005.

[10] Cf. Rabbi Amit Kula's article in Tzohar 13, the ongoing discussion of the 'layers' in Tzohar 15-18, and the articles by Eliyahu Shay in Tzohar 13-14, 29.

[11] For the points that will be presented below in brief, see more fully my book 'That Which Is and That Which Is Not,' in the fifth section.

[12]   The translation is taken from Shmuel Sambursky's book The Growth of Physical Thought, Bialik Institute, Jerusalem, 1953, p. 62 (and in one sentence also from Sambursky's own introduction on p. 30). See also the Hebrew Encyclopedia, entry 'Anaximander.'

[13] Immanuel Kant already pointed to this point (albeit from an entirely different angle), in his famous distinction between the world as it is in itself, the noumenon, and the world as it appears to our eyes, the phenomenon. He determined that science and human cognition deal only with the phenomenon and not with the noumenon.

[14] We should note that the midrash in Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer on which Ramban relies is cited in Guide of the Perplexed (II:26) as the most wondrous and astonishing midrash (!) that Maimonides encountered in the words of the Sages. The reason is that it stands in opposition to the belief in creation ex nihilo.

[15] There he interprets the aforementioned midrash from Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer allegorically.

[16] And indeed, in his sermon Torat Hashem Temimah (Writings of Ramban, Mossad Harav Kook edition, p. 156), Ramban writes: 'That which the Greeks called hyle is the productive power on which the elements depend… according to the sages of Israel, the prime matter was created… and from that point onward He created nothing more, but only brought forth something from something.' And similarly in his commentary on the Torah: 'Waste and void… the Holy One, blessed be He, created—bringing out of utter nothingness a very subtle substrate with no concrete substance, but a productive power prepared to receive form. The first matter is called by the Greeks hyle, and in the holy tongue it is called the formless state; and the form clothed in this matter is called the formed state.'

[17]   It is very easy to identify this prime matter with the kabbalistic Infinite Light. It is a light without end because it is unbounded. It has no properties, because properties are limitations (it is this and not that). Now, the author of Leshem Shevo Ve-Ahlamah (see, for example, in Sefer HaBe'urim, Derushei Iggulim VeYosher, branch 2, letters 7, 9, and elsewhere) proves on the basis of such a consideration, among others, the claim that concealed sefirot were latent in the Infinite Light. In Kabbalah the sefirot are the different qualities (the ideas, in Platonic terminology). In the Infinite Light the qualities existed in a wholly primeval state—that is, they were not yet qualities as such; only their concepts were hidden within it, similar to what we saw here.

[18] On the relation between these two distinctions, see at length my book Two Wagons and a Hot-Air Balloon, in the second section.

[19] As is known, understanding consists in understanding one thing from another—that is, formation and not creation (which is something from nothing). Wisdom is the 'power of whatness,' that is, it deals with essence and not with characteristics or form. Wisdom does not derive from something outside itself, but is connected in some way to the sefirah of Crown (which parallels prime matter, as above).

[20] See Shevuot 26a and parallels.

[21] We have discussed this in several of my Mida Tova essays. See, for example, the essay for parashat Nitzavim, 2005, the essay on the second root, 2008, and others.

[22] For this matter, see the illuminating articles of David Henshke (then a yeshiva student, today an academic scholar), HaMa'ayan, 1977-1978.

     The subject of the articles is the relation between the plain sense and midrash, but see there the discussion of acquisition in the case of the pierced slave, which deals with two contradictory passages in Scripture. The section of Behar instructs us to release the slave in the Jubilee year, whereas the section of Mishpatim instructs us that he serves forever, and the Sages offer a midrashic harmonization: 'forever'—meaning: until the Jubilee. Adherents of the Documentary Hypothesis would separate these two passages and assign them to different sources, but here Henshke proposes a harmonization. This is an example that bears on the previous topic we raised—the Documentary Hypothesis—no less than on the question of the relation between the plain sense and midrash.

[23] One might gain the impression from my remarks as though scientific research is always characterized by rigorous methods and by a very small degree of speculation, unlike traditional learning. It should be noted that the research literature in Jewish studies and the humanities contains quite a few worthless works, and also works that involve a large measure of speculation and superficiality. In such works one finds mainly the disadvantages of academic methods without the positive bonuses they also contain. Here I am dealing only with responsible and serious studies worthy of the name.

[24] I once saw a manuscript of his remarks. As far as I know they have not been published to this day, and that is a shame.

[25] See on this in detail and at great length in the Mida Tova essay on the sixth root, 2008.

[26] Tarbiz 72, issues 1-2, Tishrei-Adar II 2003, pp. 133-149.

[27] In my aforementioned article practical ramifications and elaborations of this matter are presented, but this is not the place.

[28] Although there is no need to deny the claim that in the past some of the Sages may have held it. This is the advantage of the research approach, which allows us (and even encourages us) not to be 'captive' to the approaches of the medieval and later authorities.

[29] See the famous remarks of Rabbi Joseph Dov Soloveitchik in his book Halakhic Man, especially chapter 5.

[30] On the distortion in this separation, see my article 'Autonomy and Authority in Halakhic Ruling,' Misharim 1, Yeruham, 2002.

[31] A discussion from a different angle can be found in my article, 'On the Nature of Analytical Inquiries,' Misharim 3, Yeruham, 2004. Another example of the method of synthesis between halakhic concepts (already among the Sages) appears in my article 'Two Types of Ma HaTzad (Common-Denominator Inference): Conceptual Construction,' Misharim 2, Yeruham, 2003.

[32] And indeed, as is known, in certain manifestations the sefirah of Knowledge appears above the two lateral sefirot that compose it (Crown, above Wisdom and Understanding), and not below them as in the usual diagram (Wisdom, Understanding, Knowledge).