Is There an Act Without a Motive? (Column 120)

With God's help

Is There an Act Without a Motive?

On Sabbaths I give a lesson on the book Ein Ayah. Last Sabbath (Parashat Terumah) we dealt with the Talmudic passage in Berakhot 5a:

Rabbi Zeira said, and some say Rabbi Hanina bar Pappa said: Come and see that the measure of the Holy One, blessed be He, is unlike the measure of flesh and blood. With flesh and blood, when a person sells an item to another, the seller is sad and the buyer is happy. But the Holy One, blessed be He, is not so: He gave the Torah to Israel and rejoiced, as it is said, “For I have given you a good teaching; do not forsake My Torah.”

At first glance, it is unclear why the seller is sad. If he does not want to sell, let him not sell. It seems that we are speaking of someone who sells under pressure, and therefore he is sad to part with the item. But that itself would seemingly already weaken the comparison to God, for He gives us the Torah not under pressure (and indeed He gives it to us, rather than selling it).

The Interpretation of 'Ein Ayah'

Rabbi Kook, in section 29 of his book, explains this passage in two ways. The first way relates to the comparison between the goods, not between the givers/sellers. The Torah is a spiritual good, and therefore giving it does not diminish God in any way (A lamp for one is a lamp for a hundred—a candle for one is a candle for a hundred), and so He is not sad (a person in such a case would not be sad either).[1] By contrast, a physical item that is given to someone will be lacking to the seller.

He then offers a second explanation, closer to the plain meaning of the Talmudic text (and also answering the difficulties raised above), according to which the comparison is between the sellers and not between the goods:

Here Rabbi Kook anticipates the view of the author of Hovot HaLevavot, who writes that whenever a person gives something, he also intends his own benefit. Only God gives the Torah in a pure way, solely for the good of the created beings.

Another premise he offers is that there is no real difference between a gift and a sale. A gift too is given in exchange for something (that he gave himself peace of mind—because it gave him peace of mind). This matter is discussed at length in the essay of the French philosopher Marcel Mauss, The Gift (published by Resling). However, Rabbi Kook explains, following the Talmud in Megillah, that in the case of a gift the return is given in advance (the peace of mind done for him caused him to give the gift).

From this it follows that both in a gift and in a sale there is a two-way transfer of benefit, from the giver/seller to the recipient and vice versa. Rabbi Kook therefore writes that in every act of giving or selling, the seller/giver is sad, since he is taking the item out from under his control. True, he receives money or some other return (peace of mind), and over that he is happy. Joy and sadness coexist within him: joy over what he receives, and sadness over what he gave. The same is true of the recipient.

But God, who gave the Torah to Israel, did something that was neither like a sale nor like a gift. It was not like a gift (I have given you), because there was no prior cause that led to the giving (the peace of mind), and not like a sale (a good teaching), because He received no return as a result of the giving. And yet God was happy and not sad, unlike a human seller/giver.

Jonah and the Kikayon: Between God's Actions and Those of Flesh and Blood

Rabbi Kook's view of human action here is somewhat pessimistic, and no doubt some would say realistic. He assumes that a flesh-and-blood human being always sells or gives because of some return he receives. His assumption is that a human being has no purely altruistic action, that is, no giving without a prior cause (such as peace of mind) or without some benefit that comes afterward as compensation. His second assumption is that God does have such acts; indeed, all His acts are of that type.

It seems to me that both of these assumptions are challenged by the well-known verses in Jonah (4:6-11):

And the Lord God appointed a kikayon plant, and it rose up above Jonah to provide shade over his head, to save him from his distress; and Jonah rejoiced over the kikayon with great joy. And God appointed a worm at dawn the next day, and it struck the kikayon so that it withered. And when the sun rose, God appointed a scorching east wind, and the sun beat down upon Jonah’s head so that he grew faint; and he asked that he might die, and said, “My death is better than my life.” And God said to Jonah, “Are you so greatly angered over the kikayon?” And he said, “I am greatly angered, even to death.” Then the Lord said, “You had pity on the kikayon, for which you did not labor and which you did not grow, which came into being in a night and perished in a night. And shall I not have pity on Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than one hundred and twenty thousand people who do not know their right hand from their left, and many animals as well?”

After Jonah shelters under the shade of the kikayon and God sends a worm that destroys it, Jonah becomes angry and frustrated. God then rebukes him with a very strange a fortiori argument: if Jonah had pity on the kikayon, which he had not labored over and had not grown, how could God not have pity on Nineveh, a great city with many people and animals, all of whom God made?!

This is a strange a fortiori argument because the refutation is obvious. Jonah is not angry because he pities the kikayon, but because he is hot without the shade of the kikayon. He does not pity the kikayon; he is concerned for his own interest, since he needs the kikayon. What does that have to do with God, who pities Nineveh (which He obviously does not need)?

Once I told my students in Yeruham (after the sunrise prayer on the morning after Yom Kippur on Mount Avnon) that this refutation rests on two assumptions, both of which can be questioned:

• God does not need Nineveh.

Here there is room for doubt, since in several places it is explained that God created us because He needs us (in the sense that there is no king without a people). The Ari cites in this connection the verse Ascribe strength to God, meaning that we give power to God. This is what the medieval authorities call The secret of worship is a need on high, meaning that our worship serves a divine need, and therefore He created us.[2]

• Jonah did not pity the kikayon, only himself.

True, Jonah had an interest in the kikayon, but does that necessarily mean that he did not pity it? Our criminally minded heads automatically assume that the moment there is an interest, there is probably no altruistic action. But that is not necessary. It may be that Jonah did need the kikayon, and yet his anger stemmed from the injustice done to the kikayon, or from the kikayon's suffering, and not from his own interest.

Either of these two questions can restore the a fortiori argument in Jonah to its proper footing. Question A leads to the conclusion that both God and Jonah need what they pity, and therefore the argument has force. Here the assumption is that both God and man act for interest and benefit, not altruistically. Question B leads to the conclusion that neither of them pities because of need, but rather as something altruistic. Either way, the distinction Rabbi Kook made between the acts of flesh and blood and the acts of God has collapsed: either God too is not altruistic, or flesh-and-blood humans can also perform altruistic acts.

The Significance of the Discussion: Altruism[3] and Determinism

Why is this discussion important at all? Kant, in his ethical discussions, when defining the moral act, writes that a moral act is not defined by its results but by the motivations for doing it. A moral act, according to Kant, is an act done in response to the moral command (the categorical imperative), that is, an act done solely out of the good will, and not for any interest of any kind whatsoever.[4]

In column 71 (and also in the fourth notebook there) I argued that the same applies to the religious act. There too it has religious value only if it is done out of commitment to the divine command (and see there for the proofs). In column 94 I briefly mentioned that this is the essence of crowning God on Rosh HaShanah: accepting Him over us as God, where 'God' means the being whose very command is itself a reason for obedience (not for the sake of any other goal—certainly not interest, and not even love and fear).

There are many who are unwilling to accept the existence of such human acts, that is, they oppose the altruistic conception (descriptive altruism, of course). They argue that a person always acts from some motive, which in effect means an interest. When a person does something, there must be some reason he does it. Either the satisfaction he gets from the act (which is also an interest), or some other benefit. Such an approach casts serious doubt on the possibility of a religious or moral act, as these were defined here (in the Kantian approach).[5] Accordingly, they define morality in utilitarian terms, and they deny the gap that Hume and Kant drew between facts and norms (the naturalistic fallacy). For them, utility (which is a fact) explains the moral value of the act (that is, the norm). In the religious context too, utilitarians are always looking for reasons why one should be religious, or why one should observe commandments. They are unwilling to acknowledge that observing commandments can stem from the view that fulfilling God's command is a value in itself and does not come to serve anything outside itself (including satisfaction, creating a better world, reward in the world to come, and the like).

In the fourth notebook I argued that utilitarianism is not a moral conception, and the shared label between it and morality is confusing and unjustified. The altruistic conception of the human being says that he is capable of actions out of a pure value-based motive, without interest or any return whatsoever. The moral demand placed upon him is to act that way. There too I mentioned that the same holds with respect to religious and halakhic commitment. If it is driven by interest or return, there is no religious commitment here.

Similarly, many adopt a deterministic conception, because they reject the idea that human beings have free will (libertarianism). At the root of that rejection lies a similar picture, according to which every human action has a causal motive. Without a motive (such as a return), a person will not do what he does. Something must drive him to his act.

The connection between this determinism and the question of altruism is not absolute. A person can be a libertarian, that is, accept that human decisions are made for the sake of an end and not out of a cause, and yet still adopt a utilitarian view, meaning that the end is always benefit and interest rather than a pure value-based decision. A person can also be a determinist, and still accept that within our illusion of choosing there are also acts done out of value and not for the sake of interest. The sense of value is then the cause of the action. Still, the logic of these two pictures is fairly similar, and that is precisely why I disagree with both of them for similar reasons. As far as I am concerned, if there is morality then we necessarily have free will, meaning that there are human actions done for the sake of an end and not out of a cause. Moreover, in my view that end can be a value and not only an interest; in other words, I do believe in altruism.[6] And from that it follows that one can also define morality as altruistic action (someone who does not believe that such actions exist certainly cannot see morality that way).

I was quite surprised to find here, in Rabbi Kook, a utilitarian conception—that is, a conception according to which a human being cannot act out of pure altruism. In the passage we saw, Rabbi Kook assumes that a person always acts out of interest and for the sake of benefit, and thereby undercuts the foundation of Kantian morality and of a Kantian conception of religious commitment.[7] As stated, I most certainly do not agree with this.

A Clarifying Note: Acts Done with No Need at All

On the Sabbath there is a prohibition against moving muktzeh. Muktzeh is an object that has no use, that is, it is neither a utensil nor food. But at some stage an additional decree was added, which today is regarded as part of the laws of muktzeh: the decree concerning utensils (see Shabbat 123b: In the days of Nehemiah son of Hacaliah…).[8] In this decree, even utensils were forbidden to be moved, and Jewish law distinguishes for this purpose between different kinds of utensils.[9] A utensil whose primary function is for prohibited use may not be moved for its own protection, but it is permitted for use of the utensil itself (for a permitted use of it) and for its place (if one needs to clear the place where it is lying). By contrast, a utensil whose primary function is for permitted use was entirely permitted to be moved, even from sun to shade. However, the Ran (in his novellae there, s.v. and then they went back and permitted it) proves that it is forbidden to move it for no need at all. This is also the ruling of the Shulchan Arukh in O.H. sec. 308, paragraph 4.

The author of the Arukh HaShulchan there, sec. 15, struggles with the question how it is possible that a person should do an act for no need at all. If he has no need whatsoever, why is he moving that utensil? His assumption is that an act is not done without an end and without a goal. He explains there that this refers to moving it inadvertently (unintentional involvement). This is of course puzzling, for one who acts inadvertently is permitted, because he is not at all paying attention to what he is doing. Even if you forbid it to him, he will still do it, since he is acting without awareness (though, with some effort, one might perhaps say that he is warned to pay attention so as not to enter a state of inadvertent handling).[10]

The assumption of the Arukh HaShulchan is that a person does not act just like that, without any purpose. Those who oppose altruism are in fact claiming that when there is no interest or return, this is an act without purpose, and therefore such an act is impossible in principle. But that very point is disputed by those who hold the altruistic conception (like me). Not that, in their view, it is an act without cause or purpose; rather, in their view a value can also serve as motivation for action, even if there is no return or interest alongside it. Such an act is not an act without end and without goal, but one without an interested end or goal. There is, however, a value-based goal and motivation for doing it.

Geneivat Da'at and Gratitude

The passage in Hullin 94a discusses the matter of geneivat da'at. The Talmud there gives quite a few examples of actions forbidden on grounds of geneivat da'at, for example:

It was taught: Rabbi Meir would say, a person should not press his fellow to dine with him when he knows that he will not dine, nor should he increase gifts to him when he knows that he will not accept them, nor should he open barrels already sold to a shopkeeper unless he informs him, nor should he say to him, “Anoint yourself with oil,” when the flask is empty. But if it is for his honor, it is permitted.

I may not make a show to someone that I am investing effort or money in him because he is dear to me and honored in my eyes, if I am not really doing so. That is geneivat da'at, which according to most medieval authorities is prohibited by Torah law (see Ritva ad loc.). Thus, for example, it is forbidden to invite someone to a meal if I already know now that he will not be here on that day. By doing so, I display goodwill toward him while in fact knowing that I will not have to realize it.

Rashi there, consistently throughout the entire passage, explains that the issue is taking gratitude for free. Thus, for example, he writes on the cases brought here:

“He should not press him”—he should not urge him when he knows that he will not do so, because he is misleading him into crediting him with an undeserved favor, thinking that he is urging him sincerely.

“And one should not open for him,” etc.—all their barrels were sealed, and when an important person came to him, he would open a barrel for him in order to give him strong wine to drink. But if he had sold a whole barrel to a shopkeeper and it was still in his possession, he should not open it for a guest who comes to him, because he is misleading him into thinking he is doing him a free favor. The guest imagines that a great loss is being incurred on his account, since this barrel will now remain partially empty and its wine will spoil; but in fact the host will immediately hand it over to the shopkeeper, who will sell it.

According to Rashi, the person who gives something to his fellow receives gratitude in return for the favor he gives; and if he is not really doing him a favor, then he has received gratitude that he does not deserve, and that is geneivat da'at.[11]

It seems that the Talmud here (at least according to Rashi's interpretation) assumes that every gift necessarily entails gratitude; that is, something passes back from the recipient to the giver in return. We learn from this that beyond what Rabbi Kook brings from the Talmud in Megillah—that there is a prior peace of mind motivating the giver to give the gift—there is also gratitude that comes back to him after he gives (like consideration in a commercial transaction).

Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner takes the matter one step further and proves that there is an obligation to show gratitude that is akin to a financial lien.[12] Whoever received something owes gratitude to the giver. His claim is that this is not a moral duty incumbent on the recipient (perhaps a derivative of He who hates gifts will live), but rather a right of the giver (he has a kind of claim on the recipient, who owes him gratitude). He proves this from a halakhic discussion of honoring one's father and teacher. This already brings the act of giving very close to the commercial act of sale. Giving obligates the recipient to provide something in return.[13]

Altruism with an Interest

But these proofs do not show that human beings are incapable of altruistic action. At most they show that in response to the giving some return reaches the giver, and perhaps even must reach him. Does that mean that from the outset the giving was done in order to receive that return? That is a logically unnecessary leap. It may well be that the giver does receive a return, but that his giving was not done in order to receive that return.

This is precisely the second question we raised regarding Jonah's a fortiori argument. Jonah may indeed have needed the kikayon and yet still pitied it altruistically. He derives benefit from the kikayon, but his attitude toward it was not caused by that benefit and was not for its sake. The same is true of someone who gives a gift and receives gratitude; he does not necessarily do so for the sake of the gratitude he receives.

A beautiful example of this distinction appears in the introduction to the book Eglei Tal, where he writes:

He writes that it is certainly permitted, and even desirable, to enjoy the study. But at the end of his remarks he adds that one who studies for the sake of pleasure is indeed studying not for its own sake. That is, Torah study for its own sake is study that includes pleasure, and yet is not done for the sake of pleasure.

Dual Motivations

One may raise another possibility, according to which the act is done from a double motivation: both for the sake of interest and altruistically.[14] The point is that both of these are motives for the act (and not that one is a motive and the other is a return that is not itself the motivation for the act, as in the previous proposal). In such a case, it seems that we should ask what would have happened without the interest: would the person still have done the act? If so, then altruism is in fact his primary motive and the interest is merely a secondary, nonessential addition. In such a case, this is an altruistic act.[15] However, if the act was done primarily because of the interest, then even if there was an altruistic dimension here, it is not a full act.

And what shall we say about a case in which each of the motivations by itself would have been sufficient to cause the person to do the act? At first glance, that too seems to point to altruism. This is a good person, after all, since he would have done the act even without the interest, and therefore there is no reason to think that the fact that an interest was also involved detracts from his worth. Still, one might distinguish between the evaluation of the person (is he a moral person?), where it really is enough for us that he is someone who would have done it even without the interest, and the evaluation of the act itself. Here, if another intention is also involved, that may perhaps reduce the value of the act. This obviously requires discussion.

Back to Rabbi Kook

Perhaps that is also the meaning of Rabbi Kook's remarks cited above. He is speaking about the purity of the act's intention, but perhaps he does not mean that an altruistic motive is impossible. Perhaps he means only that alongside it there is always some interest mixed in as well. Such a situation too explains why a person is always sad, for he is always giving something in exchange for what he receives. And yet he could still agree that, at the principled level, an altruistic motive for human action is possible.

By way of side note, I would say that such a claim, although more moderate, also sounds implausible to me. Fair enough if you assume that altruism is impossible because of the human psychological structure, that is, that a person always acts for some benefit. If that is your assumption (even though I do not agree with it), I can understand the claim. But if you accept that such a thing is possible in principle, then I do not understand why one should assume that some interest must always also be involved. It is obvious that in some cases this is indeed the situation. The question is why assume that this is necessarily the situation in all cases. If there is no mechanism here that is impossible in principle, why should it not be realized from time to time?!

A Concluding Note on Organ Donation

The law regarding organ donation prohibits a donation given in exchange for some form of consideration, or as a result of pressure. Many argue against the law that every donation is given in exchange for some return, whether it be satisfaction or any other return.[16] Even an altruistic donation receives some return (such as satisfaction), and therefore there is an ongoing debate over whether one can distinguish among the different kinds of return. It seems that in the background of the discussion everyone agrees that there is no such thing as giving a donation without return. But in light of what we have said here, that convention can be challenged: is it really true that a donation is always given for the sake of some benefit or return? Could there not be an altruistic donation, given only because of the value involved and not for the sake of any other return at all (including even the satisfaction that comes from the good deed)? One should note that, in light of what I wrote above, even if there is pleasure and satisfaction, that does not necessarily mean that they are the motives for the donation. Beyond that, even if they are motives for the donation, one must ask whether the donation would have been given even without them (solely because of the value-based motive). Both sides in the debate over the sale of organs assume a premise that seems to me highly doubtful.[17]

Altruism and Return in the Service of God

There is no better way to conclude than with the wonderful words of Maimonides at the beginning of chapter 10 of the Laws of Repentance:[18]

A.A person should not say: I will fulfill the commandments of the Torah and engage in its wisdom so that I may receive all the blessings written in it, or so that I may merit the life of the World to Come; and I will keep away from the transgressions against which the Torah warned so that I may be saved from the curses written in the Torah, or so that I will not be cut off from the life of the World to Come. It is not fitting to serve God in this way, for one who serves in this way serves out of fear, and this is not the level of the prophets nor the level of the sages. And God is served in this way only by the ignorant, by women, and by children, whom one trains to serve out of fear until their knowledge increases and they serve out of love.

B.One who serves out of love engages in Torah and commandments and walks in the paths of wisdom not because of anything in the world, nor out of fear of evil, nor in order to inherit good; rather, he does what is true because it is true, and in the end the good will come because of it. This level is a very great level, and not every sage attains it. It was the level of our patriarch Abraham, whom the Holy One, blessed be He, called His beloved, because he served only out of love. And this is the level concerning which the Holy One, blessed be He, commanded us through Moses, as it is said: “And you shall love the Lord your God.” And when a person loves God with the proper love, he will immediately fulfill all the commandments out of love.

He describes the service of God as altruistic service: to do the truth because it is truth. But that does not contradict the fact that in the end good comes as a result, that is, that there is also a return or benefit. But the return and benefit are not supposed to be the motive for our actions.

[1] However, in my article in Tehumin 25 on intellectual property and copyright, I explained that ownership of information involves uniqueness. That is, information has value only where it is unique. Therefore, once I took information from someone, he suffered a loss even though the information remained with him as well (A lamp for one is a lamp for a hundred), and this is an infringement of his intellectual property (I explained there that it is prohibited because of geneivat da'at).

[2] See hints of this in the Rashba's responsa, vol. 5, nos. 50-51, and elsewhere.

[3] I should emphasize that the term altruism here does not describe a moral approach, but rather a description of the way human beings act. This is not a norm, but a factual description of a mode of human action. The altruist believes that sometimes human beings act from a value-based motive and without return or interest.

[4] See on this in the fourth notebook, part 3.

[5] See in my article on the price of tolerance, where I show this assumption in relation to tolerance. The self-interested motives usually offered as a basis for justifying tolerance do not hold water. Tolerance is defined only when its motive is a pure value-based one. I am tolerant toward the other because I have a value of tolerance, and not because I am afraid, or because I do not have enough power, or because I would pay some price or other. See there.

[6] It is important to sharpen the point that the use of the term altruism here is too narrow. For me, this means actions for the sake of values in general, and not only actions for the sake of other people. If a person has other values that are not matters of self-interest but are not intended to benefit others (and perhaps even to harm them), a person can act for their sake as well. My claim is principled: there need not be a cause, and not even a benefit, in the background of every one of our actions.

[7] The second part does not really surprise me, since his view that the pioneers who drained swamps fulfilled the commandment of settling the Land of Israel, and that their actions have religious value, also reflects a similar position. In my view (see here), such actions have no religious value whatsoever, since commandments require faith and commitment (even according to the view that commandments do not require intention). Rabbi Kook assumes that what determines religious value is the very doing of the correct act, and that motivation (faith and religious commitment) is not a necessary condition for that. This is a very non-Kantian conception of religious commitment and of the meaning of the religious act.

[8] This description follows the line of the Arukh HaShulchan, O.H. sec. 308 (see there at much greater length). It should be noted that this is not universally accepted. Some see all these prohibitions as one single decree.

[9] As for muktzeh on account of financial loss, the commentators disagree whether it is part of the decree of muktzeh or the more severe part of the decree concerning utensils, in which moving it was entirely forbidden, like ordinary muktzeh.

[10] R. Akiva Eiger's view, however, is that even one who acts inadvertently is prohibited rabbinically. Apparently, he really understands this as a warning to pay attention and not enter a state of inadvertent action.

I once thought to resolve the difficulty raised by the Arukh HaShulchan: perhaps this refers to a person who moves a utensil whose primary function is for permitted use for the sake of some value-based purpose (for example, in order to violate the rabbinic prohibition of moving a utensil on the Sabbath). Perhaps that itself is what they prohibited.

But that cannot be, because before this handling was prohibited, there was no prohibition in it; and then the person would have had no reason to move the utensil (because he would not have been violating any prohibition). So what exactly did they prohibit? The decree itself created the motivation that it itself forbids.

[11] See a fuller explanation of this matter in my aforementioned article in Tehumin.

[12] Pahad Yitzhak Rosh HaShanah, essay 3 (and likewise in his letter 15).

[13] His remarks were cited and analyzed at the end of my article on gratitude from a philosophical perspective, and also in my book Enosh KeChatsir, Gate Six, chapter 2.

[14] There are several examples of this in the Talmud, mainly regarding the motivations involved in bringing sacrifices. For example, in the Mishnah Zevahim 13a (see also the Talmud there 2b): for the sake of the Passover offering and for the sake of peace offerings. Another discussion relevant to this issue is the question of coercion and will, that is, a person who was coerced into doing an action that he in any case wanted to do (for sources, see the Encyclopedia Talmudit entry 'Ones,' section yod).

One might also have brought here the dispute between R. Shimon and Rabbi Yehuda (Shabbat 33b) about gratitude to the Romans for building bridges and marketplaces. R. Shimon does not acknowledge gratitude to them because they acted for their own benefit, while Rabbi Yehuda says that there is still an obligation of gratitude toward them. But there it seems that this is not a matter of dual motivations, but of a single motivation (they acted only for their own benefit). The question in dispute there is whether the obligation of gratitude depends on the motivation or on the act itself.

[15] Like two people who performed it where one is capable and one is not. See Shabbat 92b.

[16] See on this in Yossi Green's book, Organ Transplantation: Legislation, Rulings, and Practice. This is one of the reasons he gives in favor of permitting trade in organs. See also the article by Shmuel Yellinek, Organ Donation for Consideration—A Proposed Model, Medicine and Law 26, 86 (2002).

[17] One cannot ignore our difficulty in judging and diagnosing motives, especially when the act under discussion has a complex motive (a combination of several motives). My remarks here deal only on the principled plane: whether an altruistic donation is possible. The legal application can of course also be affected by the difficulty of diagnosing the motive.

[18] See in column 22 (the source of these remarks is in my article here) on the contradiction between what he writes here and what he writes in law 3.