“‘And in the Howling Wilderness’ (Column 516)

In these fevered nights, as those who fancy themselves the heirs of Rav Kook together with the heirs of Rabbi Y. H. Sonnenfeld merrily stage a renewed ‘Moshavot Tour’ and—through a wondrous collaboration—take control of all our money, I find myself somewhat melancholic (as they say: when the tears run out, the jokes begin). To my relief I found some small consolation in an essay from a collection of writings by their master (of whom and which one could say: a sage whom they cite), Rav Kook. Leafing through there (at least if we’re sufficiently bored during Shabbat prayer) one can find an essay titled “For the Transitional Period,” and to my surprise I discovered it’s not a bad option for those times when you forget to bring a book from home.

It’s an interesting essay with broad and varied implications, and of course it overflows with Rav Kook’s characteristic radiant optimism, but in this case I think at least some of its conclusions can be adopted. I don’t know whether I must deem hefker (ownerless) all my columns that are written following such Shabbat musings (this will apparently soon be outlawed), but as a liberal Jew and a poker player I follow the principle that writing and publishing them is a kind of making them hefker and tossing them to the wind. And as is well known, we hold like the Sages over Rabbi Yehuda that “crumbling and scattering to the wind” is considered like burning. Therefore I called it “Yelel Yeshimon” (“the howling of the wilderness”—that is, the fruits and crumbs of desolation). And with God’s help, here I begin.

The Thesis

The essay opens with a fundamental claim:

As the world becomes more stable and the human spirit develops within it, we see life moving from an instinctive state to a state of conscious awareness.

His claim is that as generations pass and humanity advances, our thinking and conduct move from an instinctive mode to a conscious one. Things we once followed instinctively become articulated and conceptualized, and we act according to them with conscious awareness.

He now brings the attitude toward the value of life as an example, and through it adds a few elements to the basic process described at the start of his remarks:

The law of the desire for existence and the preservation of existence rules by necessity, through a natural inclination, in every living being upon the earth and throughout the fullness of the cosmos, wherever life is found. In a place where judging intellect develops—discerning the value of existence not by natural determination but by rational judgment—the rule of the natural inclination immediately weakens. The moment intellect awakens, even a little—precisely because it is not yet sufficient to decide and authoritatively indicate the path of life—the negative impression of contradicting the previous state is already revealed and apparent.

The value of life begins with a survival instinct. A person wants to survive and also acts so that others will survive. But this happens without formulating to himself that this is a “value” and without awareness of a moral obligation to do so; it is simply and naturally done. After that, the intellect arrives and begins to examine the matter and clarify for itself why indeed we conduct ourselves this way, and whether this is merely a neutral instinct. In the end we arrive at the conclusion that there is a binding value here. Yet at the beginning of such a deliberative process, naturally the instinct is destabilized and weakened. The reason is that such an inquiry begins by challenging the instinct and testing the source of our right to act that way. Therefore, before we have formulated a coherent answer, we find ourselves in a situation where the instinct has weakened and the conceptualization has not yet arrived. No wonder that in such a condition moral behavior weakens.

Needless to say, from Rav Kook’s perspective this weakening is itself positive:

And this too is for the good and for perfection, so that from the general desire for existence—which is not foreign to the intellect—intellect too will thereby lend its aid, and the new, superior state, the state of awareness, will be hastened and will come and be founded upon the previous state, such that the negative impression will not reach a very great measure.

The erosion of moral behavior spurs us to examine ourselves and formulate a fitting, conscious alternative. But we must hurry to formulate it before the ruin reaches levels that will be hard to address and reverse.

A More Nuanced View: Extending to Moral Processes in General

This process can be seen in several realms of our lives. The value of life is but one example, but it applies to moral values in general. In our time we see challenges to several values that were self-evident until a few years ago: attitudes toward women; toward LGBTQ phenomena; family values; attitudes toward Black people; toward animals; modesty; abortions (a woman’s right over her body—yeah, right); the value of life (euthanasia); and more. All these are greatly destabilized by criticism of the instinctive norms that once prevailed regarding them, and in the meantime there does not appear to be an alternative, coherent and persuasive formulation that restores them on a conscious basis.

I think a look at the list above shows that at least in some cases the criticism is justified, and in those cases no renewed formulation is likely to reestablish those values. For example, it’s quite clear that the past attitude toward Black people or toward animals was improper, and it is good that those values were unsettled. Some will say the same about attitudes toward women and LGBTQ people, while others will dispute it. In other cases the criticism is unjustified and the earlier values were indeed proper, hence the full picture is more complex. I do not know whether Rav Kook is a thorough conservative—meaning he assumes that moral progress cannot change values but only conceptualize and formulate them, transferring them from instinct to awareness—or whether he would agree that genuine improvement is possible and that his words here apply only to the correct portion of those earlier values (such as the value of life). He often speaks of the world’s advancement, so I suspect he would agree with the more complex picture I have sketched. In any case, substantively it is quite clear that at least in some cases the criticism is warranted.

As I mentioned, there are cases where the criticism is wrong and destructive, and then the formulation that comes in its wake—if any comes—is also distorted and warped. I think the significant dismantling of the institution of the family is warped (though I’m not sure that’s a moral point. See, for example, in Column 201 and elsewhere), as is the permissiveness regarding abortions (which are nothing but the murder of fetuses). So too regarding viewing animals as having a status similar to that of human beings (those who hold that the prohibition of eating or killing them is “murder”). In such cases it seems the critique led us to a renewed formulation that is not closer to truth. Not every time we arrive at a systematic formulation does that mean we have reached the right thing. One can systematically formulate all sorts of values and moral doctrines, and clearly systematization as such does not necessarily mean it is true. I have written more than once that just as I oppose conservatism, I also oppose innovationism, for both judge matters by their relation to the past (the conservative sees in the past a corroboration; the innovator sees in the past a refutation), instead of examining them substantively.

A Look at Scholarly Analysis: Intuition and Instinct

Many have already noted that ideas appearing in the Mishnah undergo conceptualization and formulation in the Talmud, and of course even more so in the post-Talmudic commentators. In the Mishnah a case may appear, and the Talmud conceptualizes it as an example of a general halakhic principle. The Rishonim and Aharonim make things even more articulated and conceptualized. General concepts and principles such as nat bar nat, zeh neheneh ve-zeh lo chaser, migo lehotzi, hamotzi me-chavero alav ha-ra’ayah, and many others are formulated only in the Talmud or even by later commentators. The cases in the Mishnah are the basis for all this, but the sages of later generations turn the initial intuition into a formulated general rule. This is another example of the process Rav Kook describes—moving from instinct to an ordered, conceptualized doctrine.

Looking at this example helps us distinguish intuition from instinct. I assume that the Sages of the Mishnah who addressed a particular case sensed an underlying principle and had a stance on it. But they did not formulate the point or conceptualize the principles and concepts involved—what they include and what they exclude. They acted intuitively, and the later conceptualization turned that intuition into a more abstract scholarly rule. This is almost always how things go between a text and its commentators.[1]

The mechanism Rav Kook describes is a bit different. When a person acts instinctively to preserve his life—and perhaps also the life of others—he acts without any awareness of the value dimension involved. This is not like a person who understands that we are dealing with a worthy act with moral meaning but does not know how to articulate the value of life (let alone its source, limits, and qualifications). The latter is an intuitive act, not an instinctive one, for it is certainly aware of its value dimension. A person can also act like an animal that cares for its survival or the survival of its friends or pack. In that case it is not intuitive activity but instinctive. He is not at all aware of the value dimension present in that behavior.

Extending Rav Kook’s Mechanism

The distinction I drew between instinct and intuition is very important for understanding the mechanism Rav Kook describes and its scope. In most cases where the process leads to distortions, the problem stems from the fact that after challenging instinctive conduct we do not find a formulation that will ground it and convince us of its validity. In such a situation people assume that rationality requires relinquishing it rather than clinging to what was customary. What cannot be grounded rationally is presumably not true. Thus we sometimes arrive at crooked conclusions, because that is the only thing we are able to formulate. A fine example of this (added here after a comment by mozer) is Albert Camus’ The Myth of Sisyphus, which argues that the only truly interesting philosophical question is why not commit suicide. Having subjected the value of life to critical scrutiny and failed to find a satisfactory answer and formulation, one concludes that there really is no such value. The assumption here is that life has no intrinsic value, and not always an instrumental one. In such circumstances there is no reason not to lose them.

Such an error stems from two kinds of failures:

• Sometimes there is a formal, conscious formulation but people are not smart or skilled enough to find it. For example, the confusion about racism—as if any discrimination is racism—is the result of philosophical unskillfulness. One can formulate reasonable rules about it and dispel the confusion. The same goes for questions of gender and more (this site is full of such examples).
• Sometimes there really is no formal formulation—but none is needed. Intuition suffices. I will expand on this now.

At the root of the second failure lies the hidden assumption that if there is no systematic formulation and no articulated explanation, then the principle or value in question is probably false. But of course that does not follow. Perhaps we simply have not found the formulation (failure A), and perhaps no formulation is possible and yet it is still true (failure B). If I have an intuition that this is the right way to act, that is good enough for me—even if I lack a neat, systematic formulation for it. Moreover, even if I do find such a formulation, it too will rest on basic assumptions and definitions that I will not formulate and will not be able to prove. I will always, in the end, arrive at intuitions. If so, there is no reason why, in some cases, intuition should not suffice on its own. There is no principled difference between saying that a certain conclusion appears to me intuitively, and deriving that conclusion by a logical argument based on intuitive axioms. Hence, if I have the intuition that life has intrinsic value, then even if I cannot find an articulated explanation for it, that does not mean that the value is necessarily invalid.

What confuses here again is the difference between instinct and intuition. Acting on the basis of instinct is indeed suspect and should not be regarded as grounded. Of course, instinct is not always wrong (sometimes it operates faster and more precisely than explicit, articulated thought), but acting on instinct means that I have not given myself an accounting of whether this is truly what I believe. By contrast, grounding a belief, value, or mode of conduct in intuition comes after I have given myself an accounting. If I have not found a conceptualized formulation, I arrive at the conclusion that this is intuition. That is a perfectly legitimate conclusion, and acting on such an intuition is entirely rational and acceptable.

Reverse Examples

The prohibitions on cannibalism and on incest are, in my view, examples of opposite instinctive fixations—clinging to instinct and turning it into a value. I do not see what is wrong with eating human flesh, apart from the instinct of revulsion that exists in us. The same goes for sexual relations within the family (when both parties are adults, sane, and act by deliberate, sober decision). Conversely, people who cannot define well the difference between humans and animals decide that their status must be equal. Here this is a mistake, because the original value is correct even though we lack an articulated definition for it. Sometimes people say that humans and animals are equal because all have feelings, and if you are a materialist it will be even harder to draw a sharp distinction. But at least I have a clear intuition that there is a difference. Those who disagree with me perhaps do not feel this intuition, and so they draw the conclusion that follows from their view (and I do not always have a way to convince them). But it seems to me that in many cases they too feel it, yet because they cannot offer a sharp, explicit criterion and formulation, they dismiss that intuition and adopt a stance that contradicts it (they conflate intuition with instinct).

Only people of the second sort can be persuaded to change their minds. For them it is very important to clarify the difference between instinct and intuition, and to sharpen the fact that at the root of every articulated argument stand primary intuitions. Therefore we must not disparage intuitions in favor of the articulated argument (you can find materials on this here). This can at least prompt them to search within themselves for our intuition. Those among them who find it deep inside may perhaps “repent.”

By the way, sometimes such people will indeed adopt the intuition but will find implausible justifications for it. For example, people who cannot justify their moral obligation (especially if they do not believe in God, in which case they cannot justify it—see Column 456) but are unwilling to let it go because intuitively they feel it truly holds and obligates. Many of them attribute it to evolution and explain that moral obligation derives from its survival value. Seemingly this is a scientific explanation for moral obligation, but it is of course utter nonsense (a naturalistic fallacy). Distress leads people to adopt odd justifications for their intuitions. And again, this stems from the felt need to justify intuitions—a spurious need that does not really exist.

Already “our teacher, R.” A. Einstein, of blessed memory, said in his own words:

The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift.

[Intuition is a sacred gift and rational thinking is a faithful servant. We have created a society that venerates the servant and abandons the gift.]

Interim Summary

I will now describe the fuller picture that emerges here about the process Rav Kook presents:

• It begins with some instinctive action (imprinted in us genetically or socially).
• We must now pass it through the crucible of critical examination.

At this stage it is quite possible that the conduct will be destabilized, since it is now in doubt and no longer self-evident.

• This destabilization can have several outcomes:

1. Reformulate the instinct and establish it as the product of articulated, explicit thinking. The resulting product can be viewed as a theory.

If no such formulation is found, we have two possibilities:

2. Decide that it is nevertheless correct on the basis of intuition (either because we did not find a formulation or because none exists). Sometimes people find odd, ad-hoc justifications for this (like “evolution” for morality).
3. Decide it is not correct and adopt a different value system. Since I am not a conservative, I think such a decision can be mistaken (if it is based on the assumption that if there is no formulation it must be false) or justified.

It is important to understand that acting on instincts is problematic not only because it may lead to errors. Even if by chance I am right, acting on instinct is animalistic conduct. I hand myself over to things imprinted within me without giving myself an accounting and without passing them through the crucible of my critical thinking. By contrast, the conclusion that “this is intuition” is one of the possible outcomes of the test of critical thinking. Acting on the basis of my own decision—that, and only that, is conduct that can possess value.

Attitude Toward Faith

This picture is manifested in many domains of our thought. Perhaps the most prominent among them is belief in God. In my books Two Carriages and Truth and Not Stable I showed that the process I presented above can be described at the level of our civilization and, in parallel, at the level of an individual person.

The first stage is the childish stage. A small child who grows up in a religious home relates to God instinctively. For him, God’s existence is self-evident, like the tree in the yard or his parents. At the general level something similar happened. In the distant past, people related to belief in God (or in gods) as something self-evident. I think that the child—as well as people in that era—did not even formulate to themselves that they “believe” in something. God was, for them, an object whose existence was not in doubt. They of course did not give themselves an accounting of whence they drew their belief and what arguments pro and con there were. This is the stage of acting on instinct. For example, in Perek Shirah it is described how animals and inanimate things sing to the Holy One; to me this represents instinctive belief.

Many will praise this state, sometimes called “simple faith” (simplicity in the sense of not doubting but also in the sense of wholeness). Yet I doubt whether this is truly faith, and I am certain it has no value. It is a beastly following of instinct, not a decision; therefore I see no value in it even if its conclusion is correct—just as I see no value in believing that my interlocutor actually exists.

At some point the child matures and becomes an adolescent, and then doubts begin to awaken. In the history of our civilization as well, people began to challenge belief in God and to wonder whether it has a real basis. This is an aspiration to examine the instinct and submit it to the test of critical thought. Here begins a search for arguments and proofs for faith; and in parallel, it is likely that there will be a weakening in religious devotion to God. At this moment His existence is no longer self-evident. But we have already understood there is no need to fear this, for instinct has no evidentiary status and no value. It points to my psychological makeup more than to what I think or know. Submitting it to critical examination can correct it and transfer the person from instinct to intuition. That is certainly worth the chance that the thinking person will reach a wrong conclusion.

In that period various proofs for God’s existence were formulated as possible answers to these doubts and challenges. Perhaps they sounded persuasive to certain people and provided an answer to their doubts. In any case, when the adolescent grows up he concludes that he has no way to reach proof and certainty about belief in God (indeed, about anything). And so it happened to our civilization as a whole. The proofs that were offered for God’s existence began to be seen (in the last few centuries) as unconvincing. This happened mainly due to the development of logic, which showed us that every argument rests on basic assumptions, and those assumptions lack proofs; thus people thought it is not rational to adopt them. Today, dealing with proofs of God’s existence sounds to many people (especially the more educated), both believers and non-believers, anachronistic—a kind of empty intellectual game that cannot lead us anywhere. This is a breaking point from which many people go on to view belief in God as irrational—a kind of illogical instinct, the result of social and educational conditioning with no real, rational basis (see on this the two previous columns).

But that is only one way out of that breaking point. As I explained above, even if I cannot find articulated arguments that prove God’s existence, that may be because of a lack of philosophical skill or ability—or because it is truly impossible to formulate proofs. But neither possibility implies that believing in His existence is necessarily irrational. If intuitively I am still convinced that He exists, then even if I have no proofs I will remain a believer. Intuition will replace instinct, and this is entirely rational conduct.

Moreover, if I arrive at the conclusion that intuition is not instinct, and that adopting intuitive insights can indeed be considered rational, then I can return to the proofs formulated in the past and begin to see persuasive force in them. I examine whether the assumptions are reasonable to me (“Do the rooms look nice to you?” “They do.”), and if so, I certainly adopt the argument’s conclusion.

One of the salient examples of this is Immanuel Kant in his Critique of Pure Reason. On the one hand, there he teaches us that synthetic-a-priori judgments are possible even if we have not found a way to ground them. He assumed their existence and only afterward found a way (which does not hold water—see Columns 494–496) to justify it. On the other hand, in that same book, in the chapters dealing with the antinomies of reason, he divides the arguments for God’s existence into three types and rejects them all. But his rejections all indicate that the argument is not necessary, since one may adopt different assumptions. Yet by that method one can also attack the assumption of synthetic-a-priori judgments. Why does he assume they exist and are possible? Because intuitively it is clear to him. If so, the same goes for God. If intuitively it is clear to me, then the arguments Kant rejected suddenly cease to be absurd and some of them become quite good arguments. True, they are based on assumptions—but what argument is not? So long as I am aware of that, and this is intuition and not instinct, there is no problem.

From many conversations I hold with believers and atheists, I gather that many atheists (especially those who received a religious education)[2] reject religious faith for the reasons described above. They too have an intuition that there is a God, but they attribute it to instinct and to social or familial conditioning, and therefore dismiss it. My way of addressing these claims is to clarify the difference between instinct and intuition, and to explain that even if one does not find a clinching argument or a systematic formulation of faith, intuition is a perfectly acceptable tool. If one gets past this stage, then the philosophical arguments I present in favor of His existence are suddenly received much better. Our attitude toward arguments is influenced not a little by our starting positions.

The Advantage of Instinct and the Fear of Conscious Conduct

There Rav Kook notes another important point:

The quality of perfection in humanity in particular does not allow a person to remain forever in his natural state; he rises and passes to the level of awareness, and thereby loses many of the qualities of instinct—which is indeed more secure in its course and more precisely directed in its action to preserve life—but in the end he acquires those very qualities in a more beautiful and perfected form. Whenever the human being, and life in general, are given in their natural state, the instinct of preserving existence and continuing being acts upon them. And the more they begin to be people of culture and awareness, they must do those same deeds themselves—not out of a blind inner push, but out of clear inner awareness.

Conduct according to instinct is more resolute and absolute. People who act on instinct do so with different energies, and the chance of deviating from course is greatly reduced. Therefore in the religious world, and indeed in any group that espouses certain beliefs, there is a fear of moving to critical thought and conceptualizing those instincts. People who think may, God forbid, also reach conclusions—so where would that leave us?!

But Rav Kook writes that one must not be deterred by this, and it is not right to be deterred. There is great value in acting consciously and by decision rather than by animal instinct (“a blind inner push,” in his words). The human essence is to act by the image of God within him and not by blind animal drives, and therefore this is how one ought to act even at the price of diminished devotion. Again, the value is not that this yields more correct conclusions, but that this is how a human being should act—even if it leads him to mistakes.

In Column 62 (you will find more by searching the site) I cited the words of the pious Ya’avetz, who praised the amei ha’aretz for their devotion and self-sacrifice at the time of the Spanish expulsion, and rebuked the scholars for their hesitancy and lack of self-sacrifice and for choosing to remain in Spain as anusim. I explained there that, in my view, that is not praise but a flaw. Not because he is wrong; it is clear that for scholars and open-minded people it is harder to give up their lives and be wholly devoted to their faith. They understand that nothing is certain, and they understand there are ways to finesse things (to do idolatry “out of love and fear”), and therefore self-sacrifice or exile is not necessary. The amei ha’aretz are unaware of all this and leap into the fire with gusto (metaphorically, of course). But in my opinion there is no value in being foolish and unlearned, even if foolishness hides from you doubts and other possible courses of action and thus brings you to unwavering self-sacrifice for your (even correct) values. That is self-sacrifice based on ignorance of other options and is therefore not done out of full choice and decision; consequently, its value is limited. The same applies to “simple faith” in general, which can also express great devotion but is based on ignorance. I repeat: the work of inquiry and awareness is not a means to more complete and absolute faith, but a value in itself—even at the cost of harming the absoluteness and resoluteness of my faith and my self-sacrifice for it. Perhaps this is a possible reading of the Mishnah’s statement: “An unlearned person cannot be pious.”

Rav Kook on Religious Faith

There Rav Kook himself applies his picture to the example of religious faith (and afterward to Judaism in particular):

So it is also regarding the maintenance of religion and faith in humanity at large. The power of the natural inclination caused religion and faith to be upheld and preserved in humanity, in all its “broad strata,” because without them the life of society could not be sustained. Though the select individuals, the great spirits, were always people of religion and faith out of their deep inner awareness of their great true value, among the great masses, who on the whole were not developed in intellect and knowledge and lacked this awareness, that strong instinctive power hidden within took the place of awareness and its function for maintaining religion and faith. But as life become more perfected and intellect and moral awareness develop—spreading from their great treasuries, from the significant individuals to the whole public—the power of that natural inclination weakened; and to that extent religion and faith no longer endure so much among the masses by natural inclination, but also by the decision of awareness in their goodness and truth. Admittedly, awareness has not yet clarified itself, because spiritual development has not yet reached that measure; nevertheless, the beginning of its glimmer has already sufficed to weaken the natural inclination. And since, in the end, it is impossible for there to be a permanent and full state without the light of faith, which illumines all of man’s darkness, therefore awareness must not be stopped in the middle of its course, but must go on and ascend until it comes to its goal—to its proper state, where the natural inclination will again be revealed in all its wholeness and strength by the illumination and straightening of clear awareness.

He describes the first stage of instinctive faith, full of strength and resolve, and the doubt and weakness that arrive after critical thinking is applied to it. In the last sentence you can already see the glimmers of his optimism. I will spare you his enthusiastic optimism regarding what is destined to occur here in the State of Israel—that is the entire last part of his essay. You can understand on your own that he foresees a wondrous synthesis of complete devotion but from full awareness. The advantages of instinct and of awareness will gather together like a city joined together (though he does not explain how this miracle will happen, since by his own account there seems to be a contradiction here).

Back to Us

For now, it seems his forecasts are not exactly materializing. It looks like we are retreating backward—from sober, rational, reasonable faith—to superstitions and primitiveness. More and more of the public are joining the religious and faith direction because of instincts and sentiments (“fondness for religion,” in Rav Kook’s phrase), and not through any real critical accounting. Thus, pagan ceremonies of separating challah and sentimental emotions for the Judaism of yesteryear lead people to vote for Bibi, Deri, and Goldknopf—the paragons of faith-based and nationalist politics. The results can be seen all around us these very days. The public chooses en masse a primitive, dark religious and political leadership and follows empty slogans—though with impressive devotion.

And again, here too many are impressed with the simple Jew’s devotion to faith and to Judaism, and with the fact that he does not allow various influencers (the media and the like) to turn him from his faith. Thus they hold thanksgiving banquets for the cleverness of the people of Israel as manifested in the last elections. Yet as I explained regarding the pious Ya’avetz, in my eyes this is a flaw, not an advantage. This devotion results from acting out of instinct, not from a conscious, deliberate decision (which, by its nature, is less resolute and more hesitant). To be clear, I am not claiming that voting for other parties is necessarily the result of a sober intellectual decision (though undoubtedly there it exists more than on the Bibi–Deri–Goldknopf side), but when such emotional primitiveness appears in the context of Judaism and Jewish religious faith, it bothers me far more.

Perhaps Rav Kook’s prophecies will yet be fulfilled, and then a bit of light will dawn upon the darkness that is gradually covering us—led by those who, for some reason, are now considered his faithful disciples. Would that it be so.

[1] See, for example, Column 440 regarding Maimonides and his commentators.

[2] Many argue that faith is the product of religious education and therefore reject it. It is a fact that there is a strong correlation between a person’s upbringing and his religious belief or unbelief. They forget that by the same argument it follows that secularism does not express decision but social construction. I do not understand why this argument is always directed against believers specifically. I have addressed this in the past (I believe this appears in my conversation on “The Metaphysical Circus” with Elam Gross and also in the Q&A here).