On Briskerism and Experience (Column 142)

With God’s help

After the discussion of existentialism (column 140), I thought I would move on to discuss a religious aspect connected to it. In the past I was asked the following question on the site:

In conversations with the Rabbi’s students, I often ask whether there is an existential/experiential dimension in the Rabbi’s thought.
I would appreciate a response: can one say that the Rabbi has no existential doctrine, only a desire for consistency and precision in arguments about faith? Or: is the Rabbi an incurable Chazon-Ishnik and Brisker…

In my response to this (see below), I addressed the Litvak’s or Brisker’s existential experience, and argued that, contrary to the prevalent view, there very much is such a thing. Naturally, I was immediately asked afterward about existentialism, since the questions are related to one another, and that was the subject of the previous column. Now this is an opportunity to continue and clarify more broadly the serious question about the Litvak’s religious experience.[1]

Introduction: What is an experience?

When I look at some picture, I can describe what I see: such-and-such a figure, in certain colors, in such-and-such surroundings. Alongside that, there is within my consciousness a visual representation of that picture. And alongside both of these there is the experience itself, the feelings that this picture arouses in me. So too when we speak about the color red, we do so in terms of objective properties. First, one can see that the color red is what many appearances we have encountered have in common (a red shirt, a red table, the sun at sunset, etc.). Beyond that, there are physical properties of the color red, such as wavelength, refraction and interference phenomena, field intensity, and so on. All of these belong to the understanding and description of the phenomenon (that is, of the color red). Alongside all this there is the sensation (I see the color red in my consciousness).[2] Unlike the insights and descriptions of the previous kinds, this cannot be formulated and described in words. Words can describe implications and properties, but the color red itself appears in our consciousness, and as such it is inaccessible to others.[3] The color red can also arouse some emotion in me (ranging from aesthetic pleasure, artistic awe, fear, admiration, reservation, and the like). These too may be treated as experiences. The same is true of concepts, such as a democratic state, religious faith, or an open society. Concepts too can be considered on these three planes, and so can events, phenomena, or processes.

The term experience represents something subjective, in contrast to the objective descriptions of the phenomenon (the first plane of reference above). But in light of what we have seen, it can be interpreted in at least two different senses (the two additional planes): 1. Some emotion toward a situation, principle, or concept. 2. The insight as such—that is, the insight that inwardly accompanies my analytical understanding.

The stirring that awakens in a person during prayer is a kind of emotional experience of the first type. So too is the excitement when someone hears the national anthem or sees the flag being raised (believe it or not, there are people to whom this happens even nowadays. Embarrassing). At the same time, one can relate to the meaning of the anthem or the prayer on the two other planes: their apprehension in my consciousness (in Kantian terminology: their phenomenon, as opposed to the concept in itself, the noumenon) and their objective description.

A note on poetry and prose

A text that is prose conveys to me a description of situations, principles, or concepts, and thereby creates in me insights of this kind. The objective description conveyed to me creates in me insights that arise from the literal meaning of the words and sentences of the text. In the columns on poetry I raised the possibility that poetry tries to awaken in us both kinds of experience: both inward insights and emotions in relation to those insights and contents, and it does so not by way of descriptions. We saw there that the words of a poem do not carry meaning in a literal way (that is, the meaning of the poem is not the literal meaning of its words). Poetry tries to awaken experience in us, and not necessarily understanding in any objective sense. Here I might add that it awakens experience in us in one of the two senses we saw: emotion, or direct insights regarding the ideas or concepts. In poetry, the words serve to create experiences of both kinds, but not by way of verbal description as is customary in prose. In prose, the text conveys objective information to us and experience arises from that. It is an indirect product that awakens in us. In poetry there is an attempt to do this directly (to awaken the experience directly, not through conveying objective meaning).

Existentialism as poetry

In the comments after the previous column, the question arose whether existentialist philosophy cannot be understood as a kind of poetry. I argued that it is not philosophy because it does not convey any objective meanings to us. In philosophy, one conveys to us a prosaic meaning, and it is conveyed by means of arguments that rest on assumptions or empirical claims. Existentialism tries to awaken in us directly the personal insights, the experience, by means of a text. In that sense, existentialism is poetry (or literature, which, as we saw there, is not prose in this sense either).

I wrote there that this may perhaps be true of part of this literature (as of many poetic texts), but it still does not change the conclusion. This is not philosophy. First, because most existentialist literature does not really awaken philosophical insights, but at most psychological ones. My impression is that most of it belongs to the arousal of experiences of the first kind, purely emotional ones. And second, even with regard to works or parts of texts that do awaken experiences of the second kind, such a composition still does not merit the name philosophy, because it is not a discussion but a direct arousal of impressions. I wrote there over and over again that this can also happen by looking at a telephone pole or a passing cat. If we want to include this under the heading of philosophy, we will have to include almost everything. There is nothing that does not arouse in us various insights and feelings in this sense.

Existentialism and experience in the religious context

We have seen that existentialism arouses experiences and does not convey contents in any objective sense. When people speak about religious experience, or about an existential dimension in religious life, they usually mean experience of the first kind, religious emotion (the religiose feeling). Therefore my concern here focuses on experience in that sense.

It is commonly thought that a central part of the religious world and of religious life is religious emotion. This is what is called religious experience or the existential dimension of religiosity. Elsewhere I noted that in Christianity people are accustomed to identifying religiosity with emotion and with the religiose experience of standing and living before God,[4] and therefore existentialism is identified there with religiosity, and vice versa. People think that religiosity, by definition, is something existential. But as I argued there, this is a Christian conception of religion and religiosity. Jewish religiosity is not necessarily like that.[5] At least in the Jewish context, religion is law, as in the verses from Esther, “והדת ניתנה בשושן הבירה” (the law was promulgated in Shushan the capital), “ואת דתי המלך אינם עושים” (they do not observe the king’s laws), and many others.

Faith too is perceived by many as a kind of emotion, or an immediate encounter with God. But in my view, faith is the result of logical consideration, a factual claim that is a kind of philosophical conclusion about the world.

Between temperament and worldview

Many times in the past, when I expressed my position that emotions have no value whatsoever, some protested against this cold (and “condescending”) statement. It seems to me that the question presented at the beginning of my remarks above also proceeds from those same starting points (that is at least what it smells like).

Let me preface here another distinction regarding experiences of the first type, that is, emotions. There are people whose nature is colder—that is, whose emotional dimension is less dominant and less active. Their emotional glands are aroused only rarely and with lesser intensity. This is a character trait, and of course each person has his own character and tendencies. There is no point in judging such a character, just as there is no point in judging character at all. Judgment is relevant to what I choose, not to what I am by nature. Judgment concerns what I do with my character, not the character itself. From here it follows that the term Litvak, in its common meaning (a cold, mechanical radish; an intellectual-analytic Jew devoid of feeling), which for many serves as a pejorative or a criticism, is in my eyes neutral and perhaps even a badge of honor.

I say neutral, and not simply a badge of honor, because as I have argued several times in the past, emotions have no principled importance (see on this columns 22 and 86), both in the religious context and in the human and philosophical context generally. This does not mean that one should ignore emotions, since they are part of our personality. My claim is that emotions are input that should be taken into account when making decisions. But there is no reason to cultivate our emotional dimension and see in it importance for its own sake. Sometimes emotion can help us realize our values (because what we emotionally identify with is easier for us to devote ourselves to), but here too it is at most a means and not a value in itself. In column 22 I presented the view that even the commandments that ostensibly address emotion do not really see it as a goal and a value. Sometimes they are not really directed at emotion, and even if they are, that is only a way of achieving a practical or intellectual goal. Emotion as such is neither a goal nor a value. It is simply a datum that exists within us, part of our being human.

Thus, being intellectual or emotional is not only a character trait but also an ideology or philosophy. The Litvak in this sense is not necessarily a person who is cold by nature. The ideological Litvak is a person who attributes no importance to emotion and does not see it as a goal or value, in the religious sphere as in general.

The question of emotion among Litvaks can refer to two planes: 1. The factual-psychological plane—does the typical Litvak have emotions? 2. The ideological-philosophical plane—does the Litvak see value in emotions? The second question is important to discuss, since it is important to understand that the answer is no. The first question, by contrast, has merely academic-scientific value. It really does not matter whether they have emotion or not, because emotion is devoid of importance in every essential sense. It is merely interesting as part of our knowledge of the world, for as I said, emotion is part of our human existence, and it is interesting to know whether Briskers too are human beings or not.

From here you will understand that the main part of the post was devoted to clarifying precisely this point (to explain why it is not important). Still, one cannot let the matter pass without saying something, and so from here on this is my contribution to the human sciences. I would like to peek a little into the hidden recesses of the Litvak’s frozen soul (a person needs a bit of reflection, no?) in order to see whether he has an existential religious experience.

Personal note

By the way, it occurred to me just now that perhaps this very discussion is existentialist, since I am answering this question by looking into my soul (and assuming that the same is true in the souls of those similar to me). And indeed, as stated, this really is a question in psychology and not in philosophy, which means that it truly has no principled importance.

After all these preliminaries, in answer to the many who ask I will say that personally I am actually not a cold person. Unfortunately emotions do awaken in me from time to time, and sometimes this happens in very embarrassing circumstances (such as state ceremonies). To my credit it should be said that I try to overcome it, and I even despise myself for it and mock it. In my view, beyond the degraded herd instinct contained in this sentimentalism, such emotions belong to our animal side, like the body, the food we consume, and the waste we excrete (forgive the comparison). In my eyes, the pure Litvak, who is not stirred by any of this at all, is an ideal figure, for all these unnecessary disturbances do not trouble him. Although, of course, the fact that we are human beings endowed with emotions and must take them into account, regrettable though it may be, is a fact. As such it is neutral, and there is no point in judging it. It is simply there, and one must learn to live with it.

I remember that when I read the book The Rosie Project, by Graeme Simsion, which deals with a man (Don Tillman) who apparently has Asperger’s syndrome, the thought occurred to me that in fact this “sick” man is the truly healthy one. Someone with Asperger’s in fact conducts himself in an entirely logical and rational way and is not really aware of, and therefore also does not take into account, human sensitivities and emotions. Thus, for example, Tillman searches for a partner according to a list of traits he wrote for himself, and the existentialist and experiential encounter with her is not supposed to play a part in his decision about the relationship (although surprises await him—and us). It is no accident that Simsion does not write anywhere in the book that Tillman indeed has Asperger’s. In an interview with him, he explained that in fact all of us have this to varying degrees. Everyone knows hi-tech people (or Litvaks) who are not especially sensitive to their friends and to various human sensitivities. Today we would say that they are “on the spectrum,” and it is hard to draw a line between who is ill and who is not. Indeed it is hard to draw a line, but my claim here concerns both sides of the line: which side represents illness and which represents mental health. It seems to me that the Asperger side is the healthy side. It is logical and devoid of emotion and emotionalism. It does what needs to be done (עושה את האמת מפני שהוא אמת, in Maimonides’ phrase at the beginning of chapter 10 of the Laws of Repentance). An ordinary, “healthy” person is actually ill. All kinds of nuisances interfere with his ability to function logically. He is moved by emotions and not only by rational considerations. Well, one really should try to overcome this, and if one does not manage to suppress the Hasidish syndrome (HS), one should go for therapy or counseling with a consultant for matters of Litvakness.[6]

That is with regard to the pure/ideal Litvaks, of whom it has been said: “Pure Litvaks do not complain about sentimentalism; they add intellect and reason…” (ibid.). The question with which I am dealing here is whether real Litvaks are indeed such types or not, and in what sense. One may ask whether the ideal Litvak is a figment of the imagination, or whether he does in fact exist—that is, whether the real Litvak resembles him (whether he really is a person devoid of emotions). But here I am trying to discuss something slightly different. It seems to me that even the Litvak has some experiential dimension, and here I want to try to characterize it (from here on this is a text suspect of existentialism, and connoisseurs will pardon me).

My answer: On a Brisker’s experiences

The question of the existential and experiential dimension presented at the beginning of my remarks here tacitly assumed that Briskers and Litvaks have no experiences (they are of the Asperger type). To this I added and wrote further on there, in my holy words:

There is a common mistake among people, as though there were no existential experience in Brisk. Hence they are also puzzled by Rabbi Soloveitchik, who expresses powerful experiences while also being a Brisker.

But that is not so, for two reasons: first, Brisk too has experiences, but they do not determine what one does or thinks. That is determined by the mind and not by the heart. Second, Briskerism itself, and dry Lithuanian rationality, is a very powerful experience. Something akin to the aesthetic religiose experiences that Einstein describes before nature and its laws. Compare Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik’s descriptions in Halakhic Man, where he stands before a spring or a sunset and sees before him the laws of the tevul yom (one who has immersed that day but awaits sunset). And again, some err and think that there is no experience here, but that is not so. The experience is bound up with the intellectual ideas. And one still needs to investigate whether this is experience in the same sense as the emotional kind, or whether it is something a bit different (and also in a different part of the soul. That is, does his experiential-emotional part experience the understanding and attainment of the intellect, or is the experience here itself an intellectual effect?).

I will only note that, in my humble opinion, in the Chazon Ish this appears differently than in Brisk, in several respects. Just for example: the Chazon Ish experiences the angel Sekhliel (intuition, synthetic intellect), whereas in Brisk they experience recursive understanding (the logical-legal-analytic structure). And again, one must ask whether this is the same experiential center that is awakened from two different directions/sources, or whether these are two kinds of experiences. And it seems to me that this depends on the earlier inquiry (for if there they are two different kinds, the same applies here as well, and vice versa), but this is not the place.

As for what you asked about me, it seems to me that in my humble self there exists mainly the latter experience, and a bit of the former. And in the latter experience I have had the privilege of tasting both the Chazon Ish and Brisk together. I would add that the Chazon Ish is the more mature form, whereas in Brisk this appears in a more childish and naive form. That is how these things appeared in me as well (and this is my own existentialism, as I hinted in “Two Wagons” for those in the know).

Study this very, very carefully, for there are very deep things here from the furnace of soul and cognition, and the heart does not reveal them to the mouth.

I will try to spell this out a bit more, with the help of what I wrote above. My claim is that the Brisker represented in Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik’s well-known description in his book Halakhic Man (see on this also column 31) definitely does experience experiences that have an emotional dimension (and not merely understanding in its inner sense—the seeing of the color red). But in his case this emotional experience grows out of an encounter with intellectual analysis, that is, from understanding the legal principles of Jewish law. If in the case of the Hasid the excitement is from the very encounter with the Holy One, blessed be He, through prayer or through the study of a Torah text, then in his case the excitement is the result of understanding. After the understanding is formed, it creates intense emotions in him. This is similar to a scientist like Einstein, who reports a religiose feeling when he stands before nature. Except that unlike the ordinary poet, who is moved by nature and by a beautiful sight or landscape, Einstein is moved before the laws of nature; that is, the understanding of nature and its laws is what arouses in him the awe and excitement. So too Halakhic Man, the Litvak, is moved as he stands before the spring, but not by the sight itself, but rather by the laws that accompany it (the laws of the tevul yom and sunset purification, and of one bound by a vow who immerses in spring water in summer and winter). I can only refer the reader to the article that, through no fault of its own, happened to become column 141, Cupid and Other Animals, which speaks of the experiences that Halakhic Man undergoes under the wedding canopy. While everyone present is borne aloft on peaks of emotion and sees rosy-winged angels fluttering above the canopy, the Litvak sees legal categories there. Do not err: this too penetrates to his emotional glands. He too is excited, but not by the canopy; by the laws that govern it and are realized in it and through it.

Thus, experience in its emotional sense is the third layer among those described above (what accompanies the seeing of the color red and the understanding of it and of its properties). The difference between ordinary mortals and the Litvak is the relation between them, that is, the source of the experience. In ordinary mortals, the experience is created by the encounter with the thing itself; that is, the second layer above—the seeing of the color red—is what arouses the experience and the emotions. The third layer is created from the second. By contrast, in the Brisker the existential experience is created from understanding the thing (or from the encounter with the understanding), that is, the third layer is created from the first. This is the first difference. In the first case it is created from consciousness, and in the Brisker from thought. Unlike the ordinary mortal, the Brisker’s experience-and-emotion gland is connected to the intellect and not to the senses.

In my response cited above I noted that, to the best of my impression, there is also a difference between them in the nature of the experience itself. What we have seen up to now is only a difference with regard to what arouses the experience and the emotions—its source: thought (in the Brisker) or consciousness (in the Hasid and the existentialist). But to my mind there is also a difference in the nature of the emotions that are themselves aroused. The excitement that comes from seeing laws and understanding them—and the relevant reality, whether Torah reality or physical reality—is not like the excitement that comes from seeing reality itself. The second kind of excitement is emotional, and therefore sharply distinct from the seeing itself. It takes place in the heart, not in the head or in consciousness. By contrast, the first kind of excitement is less emotional. Its source is in the intellect, but it too takes place very close to it. There is something more restrained in it, something closer to the understanding itself. It is hard to distinguish sharply between the understanding and the excitement that comes from it, and therefore it appears as something with an intellectual dimension and not only an emotional one. That is one of the reasons why people get the impression that the Litvak and the Brisker have no experiences, because ostensibly with them everything is intellect and not emotion. I would note that this is also true of the scientist. In the excitement aroused by laws there is a dimension that also expresses some understanding of them. Perhaps this is what the author of Aglei Tal means in his introduction when he speaks about the importance of joy and pleasure for understanding (see on this again in column 22).

We have tied together here many threads that were opened in previous posts: on emotion and intellect, prose and poetry, Hasidism and study, science, facts and emotions, faith and rationality, different kinds of meaning, and more. Well, you should have expected that I would not answer a personal question with a laconic confession and leave it at that. It had to come with a bit of philosophizing. But admit that the pinch of existentialism here surprised you.

I can only wish the readers, with immense Lithuanian excitement: a happy and pure holiday—that is, one devoid of emotion (Platonic joy)—to you all.

[1] In the discussion below, Brisker and Litvak are synonymous. There are subtle differences in meaning (the former is only one of the types of the latter), but I will not go into them here.

[2] For this distinction, see the Wikipedia entry “Mary’s Room”.

[3] Therefore it is not clear whether they see what I see. This is what is sometimes called “the philosophers’ chestnut” (see on this here). Even if we assume that these insights are identical for all of us, there is no way to check this, and at least in that sense this is a subjective plane (or an inter-subjective one).

[4] And likewise with morality.

[5] I argued there that this is what led Kant to claim that Judaism is a socio-political code rather than a religion. I further noted that his Jewish students and associates were mistaken when they corrected him. He understood Judaism better than they did, but erred in defining the concept of religion (or at least assumed its Christian meaning).

[6] These remarks are made ironically, but seriously. Obviously one must take people’s feelings into account (including our own), for that is what we are. One cannot, and should not, ignore reality. But it is proper to see this as a kind of defect and an unavoidable necessity, and not turn it into an ideology and a goal in life.