Halakhic Thought – 5783 – Lesson 4

Table of Contents

• Why obey: just because, infinite regress, and axioms
• Logic, begging the question, and mathematics versus science
• Intuition, faith, knowledge, and the unavoidable end of justification
• What has to be present in one’s awareness when fulfilling commandments: Maimonides, Laws of Kings, and the resident alien
• Maimonides in his commentary on the Mishnah, Chullin: Sinai as the basis of the Torah of Jewish law
• Basic norm: Hans Kelsen and a comparison to state law
• Commandments require faith, not necessarily constant awareness
• Love and fear versus acceptance of divinity: idolatry and the service of God
• First floor and additional floors: intention, habit, and Hasidic stories
• The definition of God and its implications for the question, “Why observe?”

Summary

General Overview

The claim is that the only answer to the question of why one should observe commandments is simply: just because. That is because every attempt to justify obligation from within the system itself fails and leads either to “turtles all the way down” or to a stopping point at some foundational principle that is not proven but accepted as intuitive. A distinction was made between an arbitrary “just because” and a “just because” that is intuitively certain, and it was argued that every proof ultimately rests on unproven assumptions, so there is no essential advantage to “proving” something over saying it is self-evident. It was then argued that fulfilling a commandment depends on the motivation of the person performing it, and that for an act to count as a commandment it must be done because the Holy One, blessed be He, commanded it in the Torah, transmitted through Moses our teacher at Sinai, and not because of morality, logic, culture, emotion, love, or fear. On top of that obligation one can build additional layers of intention, love, and fear, but one cannot replace it with them.

Why obey: just because, infinite regress, and axioms

The claim is that the question “why” regarding an obligation cannot be answered from within that very rule itself, and therefore every justification of obligation must rest on a principle outside the system. The example of the authority of the sages is presented this way: the obligation to follow rabbinic laws cannot be “because the rabbis said so,” and Maimonides grounds it in “do not deviate,” by the authority of the Torah. The argument is that any chain of reasoning that does not stop is an infinite regress that explains nothing, and any chain of reasoning that does stop arrives at a foundational point where the answer is simply: just because.

Logic, begging the question, and mathematics versus science

The claim is that axioms are accepted not because they have been proven, but because they are taken as a starting point, and many mathematicians define their task as deriving conclusions from axioms, not deciding whether the axioms are “true.” It is argued that every valid logical argument contains the conclusion within the premises in the sense that if one accepts the premises, one must accept the conclusion. Therefore logical arguments do not add new information, but merely draw out information already contained in the axioms. The claim is that mathematics is certain because it does not depend on reality and cannot be empirically refuted, whereas science adds information and therefore is based on falsification in the Popperian sense, including the distinction between a scientific theory that can be tested by refutation and a claim like “there is a God,” which is not a scientific theory.

Intuition, faith, knowledge, and the unavoidable end of justification

The claim is that there is no tool that does not ultimately rest on intuition or on accepting foundational assumptions, and therefore there is no justification for claiming that whatever lacks a proof is arbitrary or false. It is argued that knowledge and faith are not fundamentally different in the structure of their justification, because knowledge too rests on foundational assumptions, and that there is no absolute certainty about anything. The conclusion is that the question of why one should observe commandments necessarily ends with “just because,” and that every other answer “doesn’t really hold water.”

What has to be present in one’s awareness when fulfilling commandments: Maimonides, Laws of Kings, and the resident alien

Maimonides was cited at the end of chapter 8 of the Laws of Kings: “Anyone who accepts the seven commandments… is among the pious of the nations of the world… provided that he accepts them… because the Holy One, blessed be He, commanded them in the Torah and informed us through Moses our teacher… but if he did them because of intellectual conviction… he is only among their wise.” It was said that the meaning is that there is indeed moral value in such action, but not religious value, when one acts because of “intellectual conviction.” The claim is that a commandment is an act done out of commitment to a command, and someone who observes because of culture, social cohesion, folklore, or even because “it seems reasonable” is not fulfilling a commandment even if he is doing the right act. An analogy was given involving Ahad Ha’am, even if he had been meticulous about every detail of Jewish law, and also someone who puts on tefillin because of outside pressure; it was said that in such a case he does not discharge his obligation.

Maimonides in his commentary on the Mishnah, Chullin: Sinai as the basis of the Torah of Jewish law

Maimonides’ commentary on the Mishnah in Chullin chapter 7 was cited regarding “it was prohibited from Sinai,” and the rule was stated as follows: “Everything from which we are warned, or that we do today, we do only because of God’s command through Moses, not because God commanded it to prophets who preceded him.” The examples are eating a limb from a living animal, circumcision, and the sciatic nerve, and the claim is that even if the contents appeared earlier, the halakhic / of Jewish law obligation is the command at Sinai, and therefore “the six hundred and thirteen commandments were said to Moses at Sinai.” A distinction was drawn between the theoretical principle of the basic norm that creates obligation and the practical-psychological question of personal motivation in fulfilling the commandment.

Basic norm: Hans Kelsen and a comparison to state law

Hans Kelsen’s theory of the Grundnorm was brought as the source of obligation in a legal system, with the example that the basic norm in Israeli law is that one must obey what the Knesset legislates, and from that are derived regulations and the authority behind them. It was argued that in law there is no importance to the citizen’s motivation when he stops at a red light, whereas in Jewish law motivation does determine whether this counts as fulfilling a commandment. It was said that Maimonides in Chullin provides the jurisprudence of halakhic / of Jewish law centered on the command at Sinai, while Maimonides in the Laws of Kings establishes the motivational requirement for fulfilling commandments.

Commandments require faith, not necessarily constant awareness

It was argued that beyond the dispute over whether “commandments require intention,” there is a principle that “commandments require faith,” and it was clarified that the requirement is not necessarily explicit awareness at every moment, but rather a general faith-commitment within which the context interprets the act as an act of obligation, similar to the principle that an unspecified act is presumed to be for its proper sake in tractate Zevachim. A distinction was drawn between an atheist and a traditional Jew, and it was said that a traditional Jew who believes can join a prayer quorum, while an atheist cannot join a prayer quorum according to the position presented here. It was also argued that the traditional Jew is “worse than the atheist” because he knows what he is supposed to do and does not do it. It was said that there is a broad spectrum between the extremes, but the discussion uses extreme figures for the sake of clarity.

Love and fear versus acceptance of divinity: idolatry and the service of God

A passage from the Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 61b, was cited regarding “one who worships idolatry out of love and out of fear,” together with the ruling in accordance with Rava that he is exempt if he did not “accept it upon himself as a god.” Rashi was cited as explaining love/fear as love of a person or fear of a person, while Maimonides in the Laws of Idolatry 3:6 explains love/fear as directed toward the idol itself. It was explained that “acceptance as a god” means acting because of the authority of the deity, and not because of considerations of benefit, emotion, reward, punishment, love, or fear, and that in this sense love and fear can be considered self-interest and therefore are not truly “service” for its own sake. It was argued that the meaning of elohim as “judges” clarifies the concept of authority: you act because He said so, and that is the basic “just because” of observing commandments.

First floor and additional floors: intention, habit, and Hasidic stories

It was argued that there is value in serving the Holy One, blessed be He, out of love and fear as a second and third floor, but the basis must be commitment to the command even when there is no desire, emotion, or identification. A story was brought about Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, who sees a Jew fixing a wagon while wearing a tallit and tefillin, and it was said that the act expresses acceptance of divine authority and not merely “a commandment of men learned by rote,” because the person came to the synagogue because of obligation even if he does not succeed in concentrating. The Aglei Tal of Sochatchov was cited, defining as mistaken the view that enjoyment in Torah study detracts from doing it for its own sake, though he qualifies that studying solely for enjoyment is “not for its own sake.” The conclusion was that enjoyment does not disqualify the act when the primary motivation is the commandment.

The definition of God and its implications for the question, “Why observe?”

It was argued that someone who says, “I believe in God, but why do I have to do what He said?” does not understand the concept of God, because God is defined as a being whose command is binding. The question was compared to the claim, “I know it’s immoral to murder, but why not murder?” and it was said that the prohibition is included within the very meaning of the recognition itself. The concluding claim is that a commandment is an action done because of the command and the obligation to it, and every additional reason may be true and useful, but it is not the binding foundation and not a substitute for it.

Last time we talked about the question of why to keep commandments. The only possible answer is: just because. The question of why obey a law obviously can’t be answered by saying, “There’s a law, therefore you have to obey the law,” right? Because that law itself is the target of the question—we’re asking why keep it. So the answer has to be somewhere outside the system we’re trying to justify. When I ask why obey the law, I need some principle that is already outside the law, and that is what creates the obligation to obey the law. Now if we move to the authority of the sages, rabbinic commandments. The goal has to be outside that system too. So the obligation to keep rabbinic Jewish law can’t be because the rabbis said so, right? Why should I obey that statement of the rabbis? So what can it be based on? For example, Maimonides says it’s based on “do not turn aside.” There’s a verse in the Torah that delegates authority to the sages, so by force of the Torah you can understand that the sages have authority. Now when I ask myself, okay, and why do I have to obey the Torah itself? What is the source of the authority of the Torah itself? Okay, the Holy One Blessed be He, never mind. Why obey the Holy One Blessed be He? I don’t know, you can raise all kinds of hypotheses, but in the end I’ll ask about those hypotheses too—why them? Okay? At some point this has to end, right? Where does this chain stop? You know the story about turtles all the way down—I mentioned it, I don’t remember anymore. You don’t know it? It’s a famous story by an American philosopher named William James. He tells about an ancient Greek physicist who gave a lecture on physics. He explained to the audience that the world stands on a great turtle, Atlas, the world stands on a great turtle. One woman points and asks him, and what is the turtle standing on? The turtle—what is it standing on? So he tells her, on another turtle. There’s a turtle underneath that this turtle stands on. Interesting. Half a minute later she points again: wait, and the second turtle, what is it standing on? He tells her, there’s a third turtle. Meaning the first turtle stands on the second, the second stands on the third, and the world stands on the first. Fine. Then she points again, and by now he understands what she’s about to ask, and he says to her: listen, you don’t understand—there are turtles all the way down. What’s the problem with that explanation? Is that a good explanation? It explains nothing, right? Basically, that explanation is what in philosophy is called an infinite regress. When you give an explanation made up of an infinite chain of links, that isn’t considered an explanation. It’s really just running away from explanation. You’re basically saying, I have an explanation, without presenting it. We said there’s a turtle and it stands on a turtle and it stands on a turtle. At some point you say turtles all the way down. What does “down” mean? Is there some first turtle down there? First turtle, second turtle, like in the army… so is there a first turtle down there? And what is it standing on? If there’s no turtle at the bottom, then I don’t understand how this explains anything. In other words, in the end you’re dodging explanation and not explaining. Ultimately every chain of reasoning has to stop somewhere. If it doesn’t stop, it’s like turtles all the way down. But now the opposite question comes up: if it does stop, then why should I accept the first principle? After all, there’s nothing that justifies it, right? Because it’s the first one. Right? So on what basis should I accept it? We talked about this a bit last time, right? Exactly. Exactly. Like axioms in geometry. Axioms—never mind—in any legal system or any other axiomatic system. So we have a set of axioms. On what basis do I accept the axioms? You don’t see anything—what do you see? Do you see that only one straight line passes between two points? Who told you there aren’t three more? Did you see? You can’t see that there aren’t any. What, did you get the axiom? Did Euclid give you geometry at Mount Sinai? Of course not. You trust whoever gave the axiom. Fine, but the question is whether it’s true or not. What does “fine” mean? Is he right or not right? No no, I’m not even talking about the world. I’m talking about a mathematical theory. I’m not talking about the world, I’m talking about a mathematical theory. A mathematical theory doesn’t deal with the world. Mathematics doesn’t deal with the world. Physics deals with the world. About those foundational assumptions I’m asking: on what basis do I accept them? Foundational assumptions. Whether those assumptions are themselves true or not, sure. Yes, I’m asking on what basis you accept foundational assumptions, because you could have chosen different foundational assumptions too. So on what basis do you accept those assumptions? Why do you assume geometry is correct? So I’m saying, there are places, there are places where mathematicians, when asked that kind of question, will often tell you: we don’t claim that the axioms are true. We claim that if you assume these axioms, this should be the conclusion. Whether the axioms are true or not true—you decide. It’s not the mathematician’s mandate to determine that. The mathematician is responsible for what and how you derive from the axioms, not whether the axioms are true or not. There’s a famous joke about Abraham our Patriarch. Know it? How do we know every Jew has to wear a hat? It says, “And Abraham went.” There, there. A Jew like him obviously wouldn’t have gone without a hat, right? So if Abraham went with a hat, then we, his faithful descendants, should also follow in his path and go with a hat. Which is what had to be proved. What’s the problem? What’s the problem? What didn’t you understand? I’m saying I want to prove that every Jew has to wear a hat, okay? Here’s the proof. Fine? It says “And Abraham went.” Right? A Jew like him obviously wouldn’t have gone without a hat. Right? So if Abraham went with a hat—what didn’t you understand? What’s unclear in the sentence? You didn’t understand the logic. You mean to say you didn’t agree, not that you didn’t understand. You understood perfectly—what’s the problem? It sounds very clear. The conclusion probably isn’t justified. You mean it has no basis. Fine, you’re allowed to say that. The point is: what’s happening here really? What is the problem with this kind of proof? The truth is there’s no problem at all. I’m just taking another time-out. No problem. This is what in philosophy is called begging the question. What does that mean? That when you want to prove something, you can’t adopt the conclusion you want to prove as one of the premises of the argument. Right? If you take the conclusion as one of the premises, then what value does the whole argument have? After all, the argument is supposed to convince someone, say, that you have to wear a hat. Okay? So I need to take certain premises that he’ll probably agree to, and on them build the proof that every Jew should wear a hat. Now if he doesn’t agree to the premises, then there’s no point, nothing will help, right? And if I take the conclusion and put it in as one of the premises—if I’m trying to prove the conclusion to him, that means he doesn’t yet agree with it, so what’s the point of positing it as a premise? He doesn’t agree with it. That won’t help you at all. In other words, this premise, this proof, assumes what is being sought. What you want to prove, you basically assumed. When I say “a Jew like him certainly didn’t go without a hat,” what am I really saying in subtext? That every Jew has to go with a hat; a Jew wouldn’t go without a hat. But that’s exactly what I want to prove. Right? The conclusion I want to prove, I buried in there as a premise. Sometimes I do it cleverly; here it’s less clever, doesn’t matter. Sometimes it’s sophisticated, but in the end it’s still what’s called begging the question. But on the other hand let’s think one step further. So what is a valid logical argument that doesn’t beg the question? For example, the example philosophers are already sick of because it’s so worn out: all human beings are mortal, Socrates is a human being, conclusion: Socrates is mortal. The canonical philosophical example of a logical argument. Okay? A Greek philosopher. A Greek philosopher. The three central Greek philosophers are Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle. Plato—all the books he wrote are books about Socrates. Dialogues of Socrates with somebody else. Anyway, yes, so if—if all human beings are mortal, Socrates is a human being, conclusion: Socrates is mortal. A necessary argument, right? What does necessary mean? If you accept the premises, you have to accept the conclusion too. You can’t accept the premises and not accept the conclusion. Now I’ll ask you: why? Why? Suppose an alien comes, okay? From the Little Prince’s planet. Fine, he arrives here, and you say to him: listen, all human beings are mortal. Okay, interesting, good to know. And you tell him: you know, there’s someone called Socrates, he’s a human being. Excellent, I understand. And then you say to him: so you understand that Socrates is mortal? Why? I don’t get it, he tells you. After all, you agreed that all human beings are mortal. Yes. And that Socrates is a human being, yes. So what? he asks. What’s the problem? Can you try to explain to him why, if he accepts those two premises, he must also accept the conclusion? In words—it’s not self-evident. What can you do? Explain it to him. To you it’s self-evident; to him it isn’t. What? You’re assuming it’s true, but what if he doesn’t assume that? I heard that. How will you prove it? If there’s an assumption… I had a study partner, I had a study partner once in yeshiva, and in the middle of an argument I started waving my hands enthusiastically, and he said to me: put your hands behind your back, tie them up, and tell me that only with your mouth. The moment you start waving your hands, it means you can’t explain it. Fine, put your hands behind your back and explain with your mouth. You won’t be able to explain it. What do you mean? It isn’t clear to him. Is there a proof, isn’t there a proof—okay, prove it. Okay, he understands: all human beings are mortal. Right, excellent, he understands that perfectly. Socrates is a human being, right. So what? Why? Because to you it’s self-evident that if it’s true of everyone then it’s also true of each one individually, right? But to him that isn’t self-evident. What can you do? The point is, I think what lies behind all these logical rules is that you’re really begging the question. After all, when you say all human beings are mortal, let’s break that down into small change. That’s really a shorthand way of saying lots of sentences, right? Jacob is mortal, Socrates is mortal, David is mortal, Muhammad is mortal, Yankele is mortal—everyone is mortal. Fine? Instead of saying all that, you say all human beings are mortal. Now if Socrates is one of the human beings, then in that list of sentences one of them is: Socrates is mortal, right? You’re just saying it briefly, you’re saying it about everyone, but really if you unpacked it into small change then one of the many sentences included in the premise is Socrates is mortal. So you’re begging the question. You already accepted that Socrates is mortal. You can’t argue with the conclusion that Socrates is mortal. Therefore you have to accept the conclusion. You have to accept the conclusion because it’s inside the premises. If you accepted the premises, you have to accept the conclusion—not because of some mysticism, a logical rule, I don’t know, all kinds of things of that sort. It’s simply because when you accepted the premises, hidden inside them you already accepted the conclusion; it’s embedded there. Or in other words, every valid logical argument really begs the question. Every logical argument begs the question. The conclusion—a valid logical argument means that the conclusion necessarily follows from the premises. Why does the conclusion necessarily follow from the premises? Because it’s present in them in some form. Otherwise it wouldn’t be so. Right? Which means every valid logical argument begs the question. Otherwise, if you accept the premises and the conclusion is not contained in them, then why should you be forced to accept the conclusion? You’re forced to accept the conclusion only because it’s actually included in them. Sometimes it’s quite hard to see that. When you study mathematics you know lots of examples like that. Okay? Where you have to work hard to get the conclusion out of the premises. But it’s there. It’s inside them. Fine? So what does that mean, really? It means there’s no—you can never continue this chain to infinity. The chain always begins somewhere, and in the end when you start from that place and arrive at the conclusion, you’ll discover that the conclusion was already inside the premises you started from, because otherwise you couldn’t get from those premises to the conclusion. But if so, that strengthens even more the question I asked earlier: so how does a chain of reasoning begin? If you tell me I justify the conclusion on the basis of the premises, okay? And the premises—and what does justify mean? That the conclusion is actually contained in the premises, okay? Then forget it—what did you gain from the whole proof? So you’re just assuming the conclusion, that’s all. All these proofs are worth nothing. I asked you last time, yes, I asked students once: what is more correct in geometry, the theorems or the axioms? Theorems have proofs, axioms don’t. The axioms, right. Why? Because what is a proof? A proof is extracting the theorem from the axiom, right? What does extracting mean? Think about the “extracting.” It isn’t leaning on them—it’s inside them. You have to pull it out of the axioms, because it’s in there. If it weren’t there, you couldn’t pull it out. In other words all of logic and mathematics and all necessary arguments, in all their branches and forms, never give us new information. They only extract more and more information that is already inside the axiom. The more effort you make, the more information and more information you can extract—but it’s all inside the axiom. Yes, you know the joke about the hot-air balloon? People lose their way in a hot-air balloon. They don’t know where they are, they see someone plowing in the field below, so they shout to him: tell us, where are we? And the fellow below says: above my field. So the man in the balloon tells his friend that the fellow below is definitely a mathematician. Two reasons. First, what he says is absolutely precise, exact and completely certain. And second, it doesn’t help us at all. In other words, on the essential level it’s not a joke, it’s true. Why is mathematics absolutely certain? Because it doesn’t help us at all. In the essential sense—not that—but in the sense that the conclusion never adds any information beyond what you already had in the premises. In mathematics no information will ever be added for you. At most you can extract more and more information from the axioms, that’s all. It can never add information. The discipline that adds information is what’s called science. Science adds information for us; mathematics doesn’t. And therefore science does not work with deductive techniques, logical techniques of necessary logical validity. Science is never necessary, never certain. Scientific claims can be refuted; a mathematical proposition cannot be refuted. If the conclusion follows from the premises, that’s it—I don’t need to test it and refute it. And that, by the way, is one of the indications that mathematics does not deal with reality. Because it is not subject to reality—it discusses relations between claims. That’s all. Those relations cannot be refuted; either it’s correct or it isn’t, but there’s nothing to refute. In science you propose some general law and you have to check: does it work, doesn’t it work. You do an experiment in order to try to refute it or not refute it. But in mathematics all this is irrelevant. I once taught recitation in mechanics when I got to the university, early in my master’s degree. They gave me a mechanics course to teach in the faculty of physics. So I asked the students there: is the theory that two plus three equals five scientific? The rule, Popper’s principle—Karl Popper, philosopher of science—what is a scientific theory? A scientific theory is a theory that can be subjected to a refutation test. Right? Suppose I say all ravens are black. You can’t prove that theory, because you can never know that you’ve seen all the ravens, right? But you can refute it. Find one raven that isn’t black, and throw the theory in the garbage—it isn’t true. There is an asymmetry between proof and refutation. Okay? In science. Popper’s claim is that since you can’t prove scientific theories, how do we define a theory as scientific? A theory is scientific if it can be subjected to a test of refutation. If it has withstood all refutation tests until now, then I adopt it; if not, I discard it. But that’s what a scientific theory is. A non-scientific theory is, for example, that God exists. That is not a scientific theory—why? Because you can’t propose an experiment that would test it, such that if the experiment failed I would conclude there is no God. There is no way to do an experiment in order to refute that thesis, and therefore it is not a scientific thesis. That doesn’t mean it isn’t true; it just means it isn’t scientific. Those are two different things. You don’t have—actually not just that you don’t have—you genuinely don’t know. You expect certainty; there is no certainty. According to Popper it’s not even just that there isn’t certainty—there aren’t really any true scientific theories at all; there are only scientific theories that haven’t yet been refuted, that’s all. That’s exaggerated, but never mind, we won’t get into it. In any case, why am I saying this? Because I asked them there: so tell me whether the theory that two plus three equals five is a scientific theory. Try to propose an experiment that could refute it, yes. Add two sticks into a cup, add another three, and count how many you have altogether. If it comes out five, then it wasn’t refuted. If it comes out seventeen, then it was refuted. Okay. Now I’ll ask you a question. Suppose you did the experiment and it came out seventeen. Fine? What do you say? That two plus three does not equal five, it equals seventeen? No, still five. Why? Why, why, why are you so sure? Because it does not stand a refutation test. Because even if you discover that it is seventeen, you will not give up the proposition that two plus three equals five. What will you give up? You’ll either say there was some mistake in the experiment, something, sticks got in there without my noticing—or whatever it may be. Doesn’t matter. Fine, but you proposed that refutation experiment, not me. Fine, so now let’s check what we do with that experiment. Obviously that won’t happen, because you are sure it’s true. Fine, okay. But still, it’s an experiment that in principle could refute that theory. If it doesn’t refute it, excellent. It doesn’t have to refute it. And if it’s not true, there is an experiment that could refute it. Right? But no, it won’t refute it. Why won’t it refute it? Because even if there were no error in the experiment and everything else, I am completely sure. What was refuted here is not the mathematical proposition that two plus three equals five, but the physical proposition that adding sticks into a cup is described by algebraic addition. Apparently you have to say that adding sticks into a cup is not a model for the theory that two plus three equals five—for the mathematics. Yes, obviously there are models, things for which that theory holds. Okay? That’s all. But that doesn’t touch the mathematical theory. The mathematical theory remains true always. Why did I say that at the beginning of a mechanics course? I said: if you see—poof—there is a force of five newtons northward, okay? And another force of five newtons eastward. What is the total force acting on the body? Five root two. Right? Yes, five root two, to the northeast. Okay. I don’t get it—five plus five equals ten, doesn’t it? There’s a force of five plus a force of five and the result is not ten? Here, we’ve refuted the proposition that five plus five equals ten. Obviously not. Why not? We refuted the proposition in physics that the addition of forces is done by arithmetic addition. Wrong—it is done by vector addition. Okay? Mathematics does not deal with the world. There are mathematicians who think it does; I disagree with them. I’m a Platonist to some extent. Mathematical models always deal with mathematics, with structure, with generalization. The mathematical model itself needs no proof. Right, you can apply it, and that’s exactly the point. Meaning, there are fields that constitute a model for that mathematical theory. So economics can be a model, physics can be a model. But mathematical theory in itself is an a priori theory that follows the rules of logic and does not depend on any fact in the world. Fine, back to us—that was just an association. What? You can ask about that too: and who said that’s true? And it was revealed—so what if it was revealed? That’s still another decree—it was revealed, so what? Yes. You can always keep asking why forever. Unless—and this is exactly where I return now to our move—unless you have no choice. At some point you have to remain with a principle that we’ll call self-evident. When I ask you why it is true, the answer will be: just because. Just because. But I said there are two kinds of “just because.” There is a “just because” that is arbitrary—because I feel like it, I decided, not because it’s really true but because I decided to assume it. That’s one kind of “just because.” Okay? There’s another kind of “just because,” like if you ask why do you think what you see really exists? I can’t explain it to you, but it’s obvious to me that it’s true. So when I answer “just because,” I don’t mean “just because” in the arbitrary sense, because I feel like it. I mean “just because”—and it is definitely true, even though I have no explanation. It is intuitively self-evident to me. Okay? That’s a different type of “just because.” Just because, with no explanation—the final answer to the question of explanation. So ultimately the claim is that every chain of reasoning stops at that place where, if you ask why, the answer will be: just because. There is no other way, nothing will help. Right. So actually this illusion, as if there is some advantage to proving things, is an illusion. To prove things is to base them on a set of premises that are themselves unproven; they are simply self-evident to us as true. Think about God—the existence of God. There are people who work hard to prove His existence; others say: I don’t know, intuitively it seems obvious to me. Is there any difference between these two approaches? No difference at all. Those who prove His existence are simply deriving it from other things that are self-evident to them, and on those they build His existence. Whereas someone else says: His existence itself is self-evident. No need for this game. And that is perfectly fine. If to you it is not self-evident, then try to derive it from other things that are self-evident to you. But if to someone else it is self-evident, what’s the problem? That’s perfectly fine—it’s the same thing. Therefore we need to get rid of the mistaken and very common assumption that if there is something for which we have no proof, then it is not true or it is arbitrary. That is not true. If it were arbitrary, then everything in the world would be arbitrary, because everything in the world—even things for which we do have proof—begins from foundational assumptions for which we have no proof. Okay, so I’m returning to this question. Not true—but even something that has a proof can still be false if the axioms on which you base it are false. You don’t believe in gravity? If you believed in it, you’d run your life according to it. Otherwise it leads you to a place that is not recommended—ultimately to the cemetery. I’m not saying every intuition is always right. I’m saying we have no other tool. Even if it errs, that’s what we have. Because if you always rely on proofs, still at the base of every proof sit principles about which all you have is intuition. You have nothing better than that. I didn’t say everything anyone says. I have to decide what seems true to me. If something seems true to me, I adopt it. If not, then I’ll check whether it follows from other things that seem true to me—that’s also fine. But one has no advantage over the other, and it doesn’t matter. I can be wrong with both and I can be right with both, but neither has an advantage over the other. You describe that situation as a fact. Did the sun rise today? That’s a fact. So I agree with you, yes, but in this case we agree. You know, what most human beings agree on—intuition—it isn’t proved. Sometimes the minority is right and the majority is wrong, unless proved otherwise. There’s a notion called a talent pyramid. Few wise people and many fools. When there’s a dispute, usually the minority is right and the majority is wrong. Fine, that isn’t always true. There’s a saying here that fools don’t answer wrongly all the time—that answer isn’t right. Fools answer half right and half wrong; that’s what it means to be a fool. The fool does not always give the wrong answer; there’s no connection between the answer he gives and the truth. Sometimes he answers correctly and sometimes incorrectly. Work it out and you’ll see it doesn’t work. Fine, anyway, the fact remains that in the end the answer will be: just because. Just because—here, because God said so. Heaven—and He said it. So He said it. In the end I’ll arrive at some assumption: if the Holy One Blessed be He created the world and commanded, then one must fulfill it. Whoever accepts that assumption, fine; whoever doesn’t, doesn’t. But you have nothing better than that. So in the end, the most basic thing we have is that. There is no better answer than that; that is the best answer there is. Outside they always say, “just because” is not an answer. No—“just because” is the best answer. Everything else is not an answer. Only “just because” is an answer. Yes, but it is also knowledge. But knowledge too is “just because.” Knowledge and faith are synonyms. What is the difference between knowledge and faith? Knowledge too is “just because.” What knowledge? You make some proof—fine, and where did the infrastructure for the proof come from? From “just because.” Why? What is the difference between knowledge and faith? Same thing. In knowledge too it’s “just because.” Based on what? On premises. And the premises—what of the knowledge? Tell me one thing you know, and I’ll ask you why, and you’ll tell me the same thing. Yes, you know it—how do you know? How do you know that what was, was? By the way, how do you know the mathematical formula is correct as originally given? Maybe it isn’t correct at all? I can always ask you; I don’t dissolve doubts like that, I also think that way. I’m only saying: nothing can be based absolutely without foundational assumptions. There is no such thing. There are always foundational assumptions. And when you ask why those assumptions, the answer will be: just because. Or there will be another answer and then you’ll ask about that and again it will be “just because.” In the end there is a set of foundational assumptions that are the foundation. And when you ask why keep commandments, ultimately the answer will be: just because. All the other answers people give you are answers that don’t really hold water—they’re made up. Wait a second, then where does this whole issue of faith enter? How do I—I’ll put it this way—I’m sitting with a person, I ask him something, and his answer is just because, that’s how he feels. I can now believe it or not believe it. Maybe yes and maybe no. So true, “just because” is not always an answer. No, “just because” is an answer; that doesn’t mean it is always the correct answer. We are not always right, but that is the tool we have. We don’t have another tool; we don’t have a better tool. “Just because” is our tool. That doesn’t mean it is always right. People think opposite thoughts; in such cases one is right and the other is wrong, but each one has some assumptions from which he starts. I didn’t say that when you rely on your intuition you are always right. Not at all. What I am saying is that you have no choice, because there is no way not to rely on intuition. That’s it—that’s what there is. You have no alternative that is certain, that does not need intuition. No. Proofs also need intuition. So it won’t help. Certainty is always lacking—that’s obvious. I’m not saying we have certainty. On the contrary, we have certainty about nothing. I’m not even sure about that—that there is certainty about nothing. What? Why? Because of what I’m saying. Fine, paradigm, paradox, infinite self-reference. Anyway, that’s regarding the question of why keep commandments. Okay? Now I want to move to a question that on the face of it is the same thing, but it’s different. And that is the question: what has to be in my consciousness when I keep commandments? What do I mean? Let’s look at Maimonides at the end of chapter 8 of the Laws of Kings. Fine, can you see? Fine, if you can see then good, I can rejoice in you. Right? Hm? “Anyone who accepts the seven commandments and is careful to observe them is among the righteous of the nations of the world and has a share in the world to come. And this is when he accepts them and observes them because the Holy One Blessed be He commanded them in the Torah and informed us through Moses our teacher that the descendants of Noah had previously been commanded regarding them. But if he observes them because reason compels it, he is not a resident alien and is not among the righteous of the nations of the world, but among their wise men.” There are editions that read here “and not among their wise men,” but the more correct version is “but rather.” What does it say here? This is about the laws of a resident alien. A resident alien is a gentile who undertakes to observe the seven Noahide commandments. Okay, then he is allowed to dwell in the Land of Israel and has various laws. What? Right, I mentioned this in the previous class, and now I’ll get to it. “Because reason compels it,” yes. Right, exactly. I mentioned it last time, I’ll mention it again, but we’ll go into it. Anyway, what does he say there? That if someone observes commandments because reason compels it—what does that mean? It seems logical to him, moral, or whatever—then he is not among the righteous of the nations of the world but among their wise men. What does that mean? In free translation I’d say: this has no religious value, even though it does have moral, human, or some other value. Meaning, he is doing the right act, but it’s not a commandment. Why not? Because a commandment has to be done because of commitment to the commandment. Okay? If you do the commandment because it seems logical to you, then you are not fulfilling a commandment. You are doing the right thing, but you are not fulfilling a commandment. A commandment is when you do it out of obligation to the commandment. For example, there was a Zionist thinker, from cultural Zionism, named Ahad Ha’am. Ahad Ha’am argued that one should keep the commandments, or at least their framework, in order to preserve national culture, national cohesion, and so on. Suppose Ahad Ha’am even thought one had to keep all Jewish law in all its details and fine points, with all the little clauses of the Mishnah Berurah and the Shulchan Arukh and all the commentaries—he never fulfilled a commandment in his life, because he doesn’t do it because the Holy One Blessed be He commanded it and it obligates him. He does it because he has some reason—cohesion, folklore, culture, whatever. That is not a commandment. If someone, say, happens to put on phylacteries because the Chabad guys got him off his back in the street, he has not fulfilled a commandment. Fine? He put on phylacteries; let’s say he repents that afternoon—he has to put them on again. He did not fulfill his obligation. He did not put on phylacteries, because someone who observes commandments not out of commitment to the commandment but because reason compels it, or for any other reason whatever—that is not fulfilling a commandment. I didn’t say cancel reason. I said keep the commandments because the Holy One Blessed be He commanded them. That is supposed to be our motivation for keeping commandments; otherwise it isn’t a commandment. That doesn’t mean you are supposed to think those commandments have no logic. There may be secondary logic. It is entirely possible that commandments have a logic. But I would do it even without logic, because what the Holy One Blessed be He commands is binding. If it isn’t like that, then maybe I’m doing good deeds, but not a commandment. We’ll try to think about reasons for the commandments later. So what is written here really is that keeping commandments has to be done out of commitment—incidentally, commitment to the Holy One Blessed be He, who commanded us through Moses our teacher in the Torah. That means it isn’t enough to believe there is a God. You have to believe there is a God who was revealed at Mount Sinai, gave the Torah to Moses our teacher, and because these commandments are written in the Torah, therefore I keep them. I’m talking about a gentile. A gentile who keeps his seven Noahide commandments, not a Jew. It’s not a commandment unless he keeps them because they are written in the Torah given to Moses our teacher by the Holy One Blessed be He at Mount Sinai. Otherwise it isn’t a commandment. A strong claim. Okay, now look at a parallel Maimonides. The law is that anyone who does otherwise—it’s not a commandment, for a person it isn’t a commandment, he didn’t fulfill a commandment. If he repents, he has to put on phylacteries again. And there are halakhic ramifications, there are halakhic ramifications. He has not fulfilled his obligation in any commandment he performs. By the way, in my view he also has no transgressions. His transgressions too are not transgressions. So yes, I wrote about this once and people wanted to raise that claim. In my opinion, first, it isn’t right as a matter of reasoning. What difference does it make? If it isn’t a commandment then it isn’t a commandment—what difference does it make whether he is a Jew or a gentile? Exactly, so what difference is there between Jew and gentile? No no, the question is whether it has to be conscious; we can talk about that. That’s unrelated. Whether he… again, if you do it because the Holy One Blessed be He commanded, that is a commandment. If you do not do it for that reason, then even if all the Jewish people observe it that way—so what? Then all the Jewish people are not fulfilling a commandment, that’s all. Yes. Now the question is again—I’ll talk more about this—the question is how conscious this has to be; we’ll speak about it soon. It’s not certain that it has to be. But that is one law in Maimonides. Now Maimonides in his Commentary on the Mishnah on tractate Hullin, chapter 7, at the end of chapter 7—it’s the chapter on the sciatic nerve. There there is a dispute in the Mishnah, a tannaitic dispute, over whether the prohibition of the sciatic nerve applies also to an impure animal or only to a pure animal. A dispute between Rabbi Yehuda and the sages. Okay? And they conduct a discussion there. I didn’t bring the Mishnah here, doesn’t matter. So they argue. The sages argue against—against Rabbi Yehuda, I think. Rabbi Yehuda argues against the sages, that how can you say this applies also to an impure animal? After all, when this prohibition was introduced, it was in the time of Abraham: “Therefore the children of Israel do not eat the sciatic nerve.” And at that time there was not yet a distinction between pure and impure animals; the Torah had not yet been given. So how can you say that this prohibition applied only to a pure animal? Yes, but there was no prohibition of eating or not eating; it is said in an anachronistic language. We, as readers of the Torah, are reading it after it was already given, so we already know what a pure animal and an impure animal are. So the commandments Noah received are described to us in terms of our language today. But then, plainly, there was no difference between a pure and an impure animal. For example, something like that, yes. In our language it is described as pure and impure animal, because Noah had not yet understood the difference; it didn’t yet exist. Okay. Anyway, for our purposes, the sages argue—sorry—Rabbi Yehuda argues against the sages: how can you say this applies only to a pure animal? After all, in Jacob’s time there was not yet a distinction between pure and impure animals. So the sages answer him: no, it was said at Sinai and then written again in its place. What does that mean? Maimonides explains it here like this. Let’s see. “And note well this great principle brought in this Mishnah, namely their statement: ‘It was prohibited from Sinai.’ And you must know that everything from which we are warned off or which we do today, we do only because of God’s command through Moses, not because God commanded it to the prophets who preceded him. For example, we do not eat a limb from a living animal not because God forbade a limb from a living animal to the descendants of Noah, but because Moses forbade it to us through what he was commanded at Sinai—that a limb from a living animal should remain forbidden. Likewise, we do not circumcise because Abraham circumcised himself and the members of his household, but because God commanded us through Moses to circumcise, just as Abraham, peace be upon him, circumcised. And likewise the sciatic nerve—we do not follow the prohibition of Jacob our Patriarch, but the command of Moses our teacher. Do you not see their statement: ‘Six hundred and thirteen commandments were told to Moses at Sinai,’ and all these are included among the commandments?” The Talmud at the end of tractate Makkot says that six hundred and thirteen commandments were told to Moses at Sinai. Circumcision was said earlier; the sciatic nerve and a limb from a living animal were said earlier. So how can one say that six hundred and thirteen commandments were said at Sinai? The answer is: all commandments were said at Sinai. We observe them because they were said at Sinai. Even if they originated earlier, the reason we observe them is because of Moses at Mount Sinai. What Abraham our Patriarch did with circumcision, or Jacob’s sons not eating the sciatic nerve—that was their business. When we keep it, we do so because the Torah commands us. That’s the claim. Even if it is not written in the Torah that it was said at Sinai—as, for example, regarding the sciatic nerve, it is not written. The very fact that the Torah given at Sinai also contains those passages about Abraham our Patriarch is apparently understood by the sages as a kind of repetition of the command. Fine? So now what does this law really say? Seemingly it says what we saw earlier. Not law—Commentary on the Mishnah. Seemingly it says what Maimonides said earlier in the law above, right? We are commanded because of the command given to Moses at Sinai—that’s what he said above. But above he said it regarding the resident alien, yes? That only if you observe it because of the command given to Moses at Sinai is it good. And if not, then not. The same thing is written here. I think not. It’s a somewhat different principle. Similar, but not identical. What do I mean? What is written in the Laws of Kings is the question of what your personal motivation should be when you come to fulfill a commandment. You have to fulfill the commandment because of this and not because of that. That is a practical question about how to fulfill commandments. Commandments must be fulfilled out of commitment to the commandment. If you do it for another reason, it isn’t a commandment. What is written here is the theory of Jewish law. It is not connected to the manner of fulfilling the commandment. In the theory of Jewish law, what is the reason because of which we keep commandments? What is the principal justification for the obligation to keep commandments? The command at Sinai. In legal theory, jurisprudence, there is an Austrian philosopher of law named Hans Kelsen. He is what is called a positivist. And he basically argues that every legal system has some basic principle—he calls it a basic norm, the Grundnorm—the basic norm from which the obligations of all the other norms are derived. For example, say, in Israeli law, the basic norm is that one must obey what the Knesset enacted. From this everything follows. If the Knesset enacted it, then one must obey it. And if the Knesset empowered someone else—the director general of the Ministry of Transportation, I don’t know exactly who—to issue a regulation, then that too is binding. Why? Because the Knesset empowered him, and the rule says that what the Knesset determines is binding, so therefore that too is binding, and so on. This is basically a kind of system like an axiomatic system. There is some basic norm, and from it further norms are derived, and it may be that from those still further norms are derived. But this whole structure is a structure in the theory of law. Say, in the legal world, if I stop at a red light not because the law obligates me but simply because I feel like resting, would anyone say I didn’t obey the law? Right? The legislator doesn’t care why I stop at the red light, so long as I do what the law says. My motivations do not interest the legislator. Wait, I’m talking about the legislator. From the legislator’s perspective, the only question is what the theory is by which I am obligated to the law. Because what the Knesset determines is what binds; the Knesset is sovereign. Okay? But that doesn’t mean that the thought that has to accompany me when I obey the law is that I constantly have to say, “for the sake of the unification of the Holy One Blessed be He and the Knesset, I must obey what the Knesset determines.” The legislator doesn’t care why I do it, so long as I do what is permitted and don’t do what is forbidden. In Jewish law it isn’t like that. In Jewish law, in the Commentary on the Mishnah in Hullin that we just read, Maimonides is telling us the theory of halakhic law. The basic norm is that what the Holy One Blessed be He said at Sinai is what binds, just as what the Knesset enacts is what binds. But that is the theory of Jewish law. In chapter 8 of the Laws of Kings Maimonides is talking about how I am supposed to fulfill Jewish law, what I should have in mind when I fulfill Jewish law. I have to fulfill Jewish law because the Holy One Blessed be He commanded at Sinai. Without that, it is not a commandment. This does not exist in the world of law. The legislator does not care why I obey the law. In Jewish law, yes. It is more than “commandments require intention”; it is “commandments require faith.” And whether commandments require intention is itself a dispute. A dispute in the Talmud, a dispute among medieval authorities (Rishonim), a dispute among halakhic decisors. Okay? So it is not clear that commandments require intention. It is preferable that commandments be done with intention according to everyone; the question is whether that is indispensable—that is the dispute. So there is a dispute whether it is indispensable or not. But commandments require faith—that is according to everyone. No, that commandments require faith is exactly what I’m explaining now. That commandments require intention—true, not necessarily. What is intention? Intention means the intention that I am doing the commandment in order to fulfill my obligation. So here, if I didn’t think that I was doing it in order to fulfill my obligation, then that is the dispute whether commandments require intention or do not require intention. But if I am a person who is not committed to the system at all—I don’t believe in the Holy One Blessed be He, or in the revelation at Mount Sinai, or whatever—then I am not obligated. My own position. That isn’t agreed by everyone. On the contrary, I think most people now would disagree with me. But I am describing my own position at the moment. So you wrote that down. Right. Against his will? Right, but not a halakhic judgment—a moral judgment. Morality is not by force of command. Morality exists… no, a moral transgression and not a halakhic transgression. This is a topic we’ll deal with at length later—the relation between Jewish law and morality. Fine? The relationship between Jewish law and morality. So basically what Maimonides says here is two things: first, your motivation when you come to fulfill a commandment has to be obedience to the command of the Holy One Blessed be He. Second, the theory of Jewish law is that one must keep the commandments because of the command at Mount Sinai. In that sense it is similar to law. In the first sense, that doesn’t exist in law, only in Jewish law. Fine? Two different things. So now we discover something new here. Until now I was talking about the theory of Jewish law. Why must one obey the commandments? So I said: just because. With all the discussions I had last class and now, that famous “just because” I said earlier is the theoretical reason why I keep Jewish law. Or what the theory of Jewish law says about why one must keep it. But the question is: what should my motivation be? My motivation too has to be because of the command at Sinai. That has to be the motivation. Someone who does the commandments because, I don’t know, he wants to connect to previous generations—he did not fulfill a commandment. Yes? He did not fulfill a commandment; he connected to previous generations. To fulfill a commandment means to fulfill the command of the Holy One Blessed be He out of commitment to the command. Now the question whether this has to be conscious or unconscious is a different question. At the beginning of tractate Zevahim there is a Talmudic discussion of “an unspecified act counts as for its proper sake.” Meaning, there are various intentions required when slaughtering a sacrifice, bringing a sacrifice. You need various intentions. What happens if someone had no intention? Not that he intended the opposite—he simply had no intention. He did it the way it happens to us many times. You do things—say commandments, prayer, or whatever—and you’re not really exactly intending what you’re doing, you just do it in a kind of routine. Okay? You’d like that—maybe that sentence isn’t entirely precise. You know the verse “Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we invoke the name of the Lord”? What does it mean? There are those who, in order to get to America, will travel by planes, trains, and ships. We—once we start praying, we’re already in America. “Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we invoke the name of the Lord.” In your head you’re immediately in America when you’re in the Amidah. Anyway—do you fulfill your obligation? Leave prayer aside for a moment; prayer is actually a bit special, maybe we’ll see that later. Rather, an ordinary commandment, say putting on phylacteries. We’re talking about a believing person. Not someone the Chabad guys bothered in the street. A believing person, committed to Jewish law, comes to synagogue, puts on phylacteries, but at that moment he is not thinking that he is doing it because of the command of the Holy One Blessed be He. Okay? Does that mean he did not fulfill his obligation? No. Because the context proves that he is doing it for that reason. It doesn’t matter at the moment whether it was in his conscious awareness or not. This is what in the Talmud at the beginning of Zevahim is called “an unspecified act counts as for its proper sake.” If you do things without explicit specification, but in context it is clear what you are doing it for—you came to the Temple, you are offering the sacrifice, you brought exactly the right type of animal, you followed the whole required procedure—then obviously you are doing it for the sake of the offering. And the fact that at that moment you did not consciously think you are doing it because of this or that commandment doesn’t matter; the context proves that you are doing it because of that. That is good enough. Therefore, when I said earlier that commandments require faith, I did not mean that this must always be conscious. But it does mean that you have to be a person who believes in principle. Because if you are not a person who believes in principle, then it is not true that from the context we understand that you are doing it as one obligated by the command. No, of course not. Then the reasons are different. What, were you with Chabad guys? Of course not. Really secular. A secular person believes? There are secular people who are believers and secular people who are not. Some secular people do, some do not. Right. Exactly. Traditionalist is a wonderful example. A traditionalist is a person… the traditionalist is much worse than the atheist. Yes, that’s obvious. Because the traditionalist basically knows what should be done and doesn’t do it. Much worse than the atheist. The atheist truly does not know what he should do. He is completely coerced. Coerced by his understanding. There is also coercion in opinions. He reached the wrong conclusion. That is his conclusion; what can I do? On the other hand, if the traditionalist performs a commandment, it is a commandment. If the atheist performs a commandment, it counts for nothing. Nothing at all. It’s not a sanction, it’s not that I’m saying, “you’re doing nothing because you’re a sinner and we’re throwing the commandment in your face.” No, it’s not a sanction for being wicked. It’s simply not a commandment. A commandment is when you do something that the Holy One Blessed be He commands and you are obligated to it. Therefore, for example, in my opinion an atheist does not count toward a prayer quorum. You cannot count such a secular person for a minyan. Whereas a traditionalist who believes there is a God and that one prays to Him and so on—even if he doesn’t feel like it, it doesn’t suit him, whatever—no problem, he counts toward a minyan. I didn’t say the world is dichotomous. I drew two figures that stand at two extremes. No, not everything—you’re exaggerating—but true, there is a spectrum. Sometimes, as you said well. Sometimes. Right. There is an entire spectrum. There are atheists who are fully atheist, and there are those who are not. And there are traditionalists of all kinds of levels. I completely agree. I described the two extreme figures. And the entire process in between has many, many types, and each type separately. But it’s easier for me to talk about the two extreme figures. Okay? What? Yes, yes, just to clarify the point. So the claim basically is that the reason, or the motivation, with which you fulfill a commandment has significance when you come to fulfill a commandment. Fulfilling a commandment is not just some technical act; it has to be something done from a certain motivation, from a certain commitment. Otherwise it isn’t a commandment. By the way, I’ll get to this later, but this is exactly the Kantian conception of a moral act. When Kant defines a moral act—which is simply so, although they always present it as though it were controversial, which I don’t understand—the moment a person performs a moral act just by chance, or not in order to be a moral person, it is not a moral act. A sheep—Amnon Yitzhak, I once heard a story he told. The rabbi of the city got up at four in the morning, slaughtered a sheep, covered it with a prayer shawl, put it on the city’s main road, and shouted, “A righteous man has died! A righteous man has died!” Yes, Amnon Yitzhak is a kind of performer. So all the people in the city wake up, the rabbi is crying, “a righteous man,” and so on, “come quickly,” and everyone joins in, surely some great sage has died there. They go to the cemetery, he lowers the righteous one into the grave, they see what kind of righteous one it is, and they want to switch the rabbi with the righteous one and put him into the grave. So the rabbi says to them, “What do you want?” They say, “What, are you kidding us? You’re making fun of us?” He said, “I don’t understand what you want from me. After all, you’re always explaining to me there, you ask me what I want from you—after all, you’re righteous. This sheep is also righteous. It doesn’t steal, it doesn’t murder, it never harmed anyone. It’s righteous exactly the way you say.” Now this isn’t just a joke. It’s a story, a story with meaningful content. To be a sheep is not called being righteous, even though it never harmed anyone. It’s wonderful to live beside it, and it helps and doesn’t harm, because it’s instinct. That’s how it’s built, so that’s how it behaves. Okay? When is a person righteous? When he does it by decision. He does it because he understands that a moral person should behave in that way. That’s a moral person. A person who does it absentmindedly is not moral. He’s a nice person, all good, but he isn’t moral. Say a person—this returns us to the issue of emotion. A person born kind-hearted, goodness just flows out of him, bursts forth, fine? He cannot do anything bad. He is a person whose spirit is very good, but he is not a moral person. He’s a sheep. That is, he does what is good because that’s simply how he’s built. He has no interest whatsoever in doing anything else. He doesn’t do it out of moral motivation; he does it because that’s how he’s built. No, I’m only sketching someone who doesn’t. Fine? So it’s like the sheep, basically. He isn’t moral. Moral is when you do it out of decision. And that doesn’t mean that the moral person has to be wicked in his feelings or emotions. But even if at some point he has a wicked feeling, he will still do the right thing. Then he is a righteous person. And then even if he doesn’t have a wicked feeling, fine—but still it is clear to me that he also does it out of moral motivation; besides that he is also naturally a good person. That of course does not invalidate it. Okay, but I’m saying on the principal level, if he does it because of his nature, that’s like the sheep. Did you hear? Heard. You already read it. Yes. It tests what happens even when you do identify. Here in the introduction to the Avnei Nezer—no, sorry, the Eglei Tal of Sochatchov. He was a Hasidic rabbi, but knew how to learn all the same. “From time to time I remember what I heard: some people err from the path of reason regarding the study of our holy Torah. They said that one who studies and develops novel insights and rejoices and delights in his learning—this is not Torah study quite as much for its own sake as if he were studying simply, without deriving any pleasure from the learning, and only for the sake of the commandment. But one who studies and delights in his learning—his own enjoyment is mixed into his study.” If you enjoy it, then basically the learning is not for its own sake. Learning for its own sake is when you don’t enjoy it. That is the claim of those he brings. And then he says, “And in truth this is a well-known mistake. It is not correct. On the contrary, the essence of the commandment of Torah study is to be joyful and glad and delighted in one’s learning, and then the words of Torah are absorbed into one’s blood. And because he enjoys words of Torah, he becomes attached to Torah.” Fine? Therefore, obviously, every morning we say: “Please make the words of Your Torah sweet in our mouths, Lord our God.” We want to enjoy the learning. It is obvious that enjoyment does not invalidate or detract from the learning. On the contrary, if you enjoy it, the learning is more effective, more absorbed in you, you connect to it, everything is good. But he adds another sentence: “Nevertheless, one who studies not for the sake of the commandment of learning, but only because he takes pleasure in his study—this is called learning not for its own sake, just as one who eats matzah not for the sake of the commandment but only for the pleasure of eating. But one who studies for the sake of the commandment and delights in his study—this is study for its own sake and entirely holy, because even the pleasure is a commandment.” Notice the qualification. That is, clearly there is nothing wrong with enjoying it. On the contrary, if you enjoy it the study is more effective, more deeply absorbed, you are connected to it, all good. But if you study because of the pleasure, then it really is learning not for its own sake. Exactly what I said before. That is, if you identify with the thing, that does not invalidate your action. But if you do it because of the identification, then yes—that is acting not for its own sake. It is not a commandment. In other words, there is no commandment to be a bad person. No, in order to fulfill commandments you do not have to be a bad person and do it only because the Holy One Blessed be He commanded. But it does have to be that the reason you do it is because of the command of the Holy One Blessed be He and not because your nature simply wanted to do it—the good thing. If besides that you also have a good nature, excellent, what’s bad about that? But—but it will be tested precisely in the place where you don’t feel like doing it. The question is whether you’ll still do it anyway. Fine? That’s the test. Not that you actually have to feel that you don’t want to do it. Okay, so that is basically the same thing for our issue. So if so, now look at this Talmudic passage. Talmud in Sanhedrin 61b: “It was stated: one who worships idolatry out of love or out of fear—Abaye says he is liable, Rava says he is exempt. Abaye says he is liable, for even though he served, he served. Rava says he is exempt: if he accepted it as a god upon himself, yes; if not, no.” Meaning, Abaye says that one who worships idolatry out of love or out of fear—okay, in a moment I’ll explain this more—Abaye says liable: it is idolatry in every respect; after all, he worshiped idolatry. Rava says no, he is exempt. Why? Because he has to accept the idol as a god upon himself in order to be liable. And if he worships out of love or fear, he is exempt. That is the Talmud. And in practical law we rule like Rava, right? In disputes between Abaye and Rava, aside from six exceptions, we rule like Rava. Fine? Indeed the halakhic decisors bring Rava. But Rashi there, look how he explains “out of love or fear”: “Out of love of a person and out of fear of a person. And he did not regard it in his heart as divine.” “Out of love and fear” does not mean love and fear of the idol. It means love and fear of some person. I want to please someone, so I worship the idolatry that he cherishes, because I love him or fear him. That is what it means to worship idolatry out of love or fear. But that isn’t the plain meaning of the Talmud. “Worships idolatry out of love or fear” plainly means love and fear of the idol. Why does Rashi interpret the Talmud away from its plain meaning? What? Exactly. Because otherwise, then what does count as worshiping idolatry? If you worship idolatry because you love and fear the idol, that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do toward the Holy One Blessed be He—to serve Him out of love and fear. You do it toward the idol and that isn’t idolatry? Then what is idolatry? Therefore Rashi says there is no choice—he has to say the love and fear spoken of here are love and fear of a person, not of the idol itself. That’s how all the medieval authorities (Rishonim) explain it, except one—Maimonides, of course. If there is a plain meaning of the Talmud, as is known Maimonides will not interpret it otherwise. Laws of Idolatry, chapter 3, law 6: “One who worships idolatry out of love”—and now he explains—“for example, he was attached to this form because of its workmanship, because it was especially beautiful. Or he worshiped it out of fear of it, lest it do him harm, as its worshipers imagine that it benefits and harms.” According to Maimonides, clearly this is talking about love and fear of the idol, not of a person, right? Clearly. Against the Ra’avad and Rashi and Rivash—all the medieval authorities explain differently. Okay. No. He’s afraid it will harm him. That’s really already from the idol. And fear—fear is indeed from the idol, that he fears it, and the love is apparently the same thing. Wait, first we have to define more carefully what it means to accept it as a god. We’ll see in a moment. One second, wait, and then maybe we’ll return to it. So in Maimonides it says that one who worships idolatry out of love and fear means love and fear of the idol, not of a person. So he is exempt. Then what is the antithesis? We asked: what bothered Rashi? What bothered Rashi was: then who is liable? What is called first-rate idolatry, the kind for which they stone you? So he says: “If he accepted it as a god upon himself, he is liable to stoning. And if he worshiped it in its normal manner or through one of the four forms of service, out of love or fear, he is exempt.” Meaning, accepting it as a god is the antithesis of love and fear. Now that is very strange. What is this acceptance as a god? Plainly, I understand that when one worships the Holy One Blessed be He, say, one worships Him out of love and fear. If one does that same thing toward an idol, that is idolatry, no? Maimonides says no. If one worships idolatry out of love and fear, that is idolatry not for its own sake. It isn’t serious idolatry. You are not liable to death. Only if you accept it upon yourself as a god. What does that mean? A friend of mine, Dov Schnerr, a physicist, once explained it to me. What? I’m not sure of this. It doesn’t depend for me on how you understand ancient paganism; I don’t know. Not sure. Let me explain for a moment what it means. Look. What? Dov Schnerr, a physicist. So basically the claim is this. Say—what does it mean to worship out of love or fear? I love the idol or I fear it, I’m afraid it will harm me. Fine, I am mistaken, of course, because an idol is wood and stone; it will not harm me. But that’s what I think. Okay? Why should that be called idolatry? There is a policeman on the road, fine? Or a police—speed camera. Fine? Now I’m driving 150 where I’m only allowed to drive 100. I see a speed camera, I slow down. I’m afraid I’ll get a ticket, right? But it’s a dummy. They put up a fake camera. Right? Did I worship idolatry? I fulfilled what the idol demands, but I was mistaken—it doesn’t actually demand it at all. Why isn’t that idolatry? That’s idolatry out of fear, no? The whole question is whether the idol has choice? Is there idolatry only with idols that have free will? Rather what? It has free will. An idol with free will is idolatry; an idol without free will is not idolatry? Yes? So what, if it has volition, it’s not mechanical. And it decides to punish you or reward you, so it’s not mechanical—is that what you’re saying? It sounds very strange. Only idols with free will are prohibited as idolatry? Idols without free will? But there are no idols, neither with free will nor without free will. The question is simply what kind of nonsense idolatry is. That’s the point. That’s the point. What are you—don’t explain to me the rationale for why they put up fake cameras; that I understand. What does that have to do with idolatry? Not why you watch for the camera. You’re explaining to me how to behave on the road. I’m asking you, in the laws of idolatry, why isn’t this idolatry? Some of the idols are true—the Holy One Blessed be He is true. So what are idols? The Holy One Blessed be He is true. What exactly has to be? And if there is only one correct camera and all the rest aren’t, then not? Look, the point is what you—remind me of your name? Omer. What Omer said earlier. When I worship out of love or fear, I’m making my own calculation. Again we return to feelings. I am making my own calculation. I take medicine so it will lower my fever. I don’t go into fire so I won’t get burned. I slow down so the camera won’t catch me and I won’t get a ticket. That isn’t idolatry. That’s a calculation of reward and punishment that I’m making. I do it for myself, not for it. Wait, one second, one second, one second. Idolatry is when I do it for it, not for myself. I do it because I have to fulfill what it says, regardless of whether I fear it, love it, whether something will happen to me, nothing will happen to me—rather, it is the idol. What it says, I do. That is called idolatry. Maimonides, not me. But I’m not sure, by the way. Not sure; that’s why I told you—I don’t know about those pagans back then, whether they really understood their idol as something with authority or not. It could very well be that they did; I don’t know. In any case, what does this basically mean? It basically means… yes. No, his claim is that in the end when you do it out of love, that is not “doing the truth because it is truth,” as I said in the previous class, and Maimonides has another definition of love. Rather, love in the sense of satisfying the emotion of love within me. In the end I’m doing it for myself. I’m doing something for it because I love it, but that satisfies me. Because I’m doing something for someone I love. That satisfies me. It’s like the question of Sforno and the commentators there on Jacob, yes? That he worked seven years for Rachel and they seemed to him like a few days because of his love for her. So the commentators ask: what is this? It’s the opposite. You worked seven years and it seemed like a few days? On the contrary—if you want some woman, then even a few days feels like years, not the other way around. They say no, that’s if you love yourself. If you love yourself, then if you work two days it feels like two years. But if you love her, then you don’t care how long you work, so long as in the end you get there. So even if it’s years, it seems like a few days because of his love for her. When we speak of love here, it is love of the first kind. Okay? And then Maimonides is basically saying this: whenever you serve because of a consideration of interest, then in fact you are serving yourself, not the idol. That is not idolatry. Even love and fear of the idol, in the end, are your own service—you do it for yourself, you are at the center of the calculation. Okay? Idolatry—service of an idol—is when it is at the center. I do it because it said so. I mentioned that in the Bible the term “judges” means judges. Right? “Judges” three times means judges; from here they learned a court of three. Not the Sanhedrin. Why? Because a judge is someone whose word you have to do because he said it. Not because he is right, not because you love him, and not because of anything else. He simply has authority. What he says must be done. That is the meaning of “judges.” “Judges” is someone whose word must be obeyed because he is judges. Just because. That is the “just because” I spoke about earlier. Because he is judges. There are no reasons. It isn’t because things will go better or worse for me, there will be punishment or reward, it will make the world better or… all those calculations are irrelevant. They can be true, but irrelevant. I am not supposed to serve because of them. I am supposed to serve because He said so. He is the God. Therefore, for example—and of course this is not only regarding idolatry, it is also regarding the Holy One Blessed be He. It is the same thing. Idolatry and the Holy One Blessed be He are exactly the same thing. This is forbidden and that is obligatory—or permitted and obligatory. Okay? What we learn here about first-rate idolatry is also first-rate worship of God. And conversely, what is not idolatry is also not worship of God. Same thing. When you worship the Holy One Blessed be He because of love and fear, that is worship not for its own sake. Love and fear of the Holy One Blessed be He—that is worship not for its own sake. You have to do the truth because it is truth, what I talked about in the previous class. That is called worship of God, because I accepted Him upon myself as God. I do what He says because He said it. Not because I love Him, not because I fear Him, not because I have calculations of gain and loss. One second. I do it because He said so, because He is God. That is what is called accepting Him as God. Accepting Him as God means that I accept Him upon myself as God. God means: what He says, I do. No love, no fear, nothing. I can loathe Him, I may not love Him, it doesn’t matter at all. But if He said it, I do it. That is called service. Now of course there is value in serving the Holy One Blessed be He out of love or fear on the second and third floors. At the foundation, you have to serve Him because He said it, because He is God. On top of that there is an additional virtue—serve Him also out of love and fear and all that. But where is the test? Exactly as I said before with that wagon. If one morning you wake up on the wrong side of the bed—you don’t love Him, you don’t fear Him, you don’t feel like it—and you still continue to serve Him, then yes, that is worship of God for its own sake. I’m not saying one should not love and fear Him. One should love and one should fear—those are two excellent commandments. There is an obligation to love and fear the Holy One Blessed be He. But the motivation for service has first of all to be that He is God—what He says must be done. On top of that there can be love and fear and all the rest. One more sentence, I just want to close this circle. There’s a Hasidic story about Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev, the defender of Israel. Once he saw some Jew leaving the synagogue with prayer shawl and phylacteries on, and fixing the yoke of the wagon. In the middle of prayer, just like that, he decided to use the time. He went outside and fixed the wagon. He says: Master of the Universe, look what a nation of righteous people. They pray in the synagogue, they pray while fixing the wagon, they pray always, all the time they pray. What a nation of righteous people. And I always regarded all the Hasidic stories as fairy tales for grown children. Fine, okay, what are you telling me stories for. But there is something very deep here according to what I’m saying now. It’s not a simple story. Because basically the claim is this: if he really wants—after all, he didn’t fulfill his obligation of prayer like that, right? Presumably. So why is he playing this game? Let him stay home, fix the wagon quietly, and go off to his work. So people say no, this is rote commandment-observance. He’s used to it, so he goes to synagogue even though he doesn’t fulfill his obligation. I think that’s not true. This is accepting God as God. The Jew says there is a commandment to pray, so I pray. I don’t know whether I fulfill my obligation, don’t fulfill it, I don’t know anything. He’s a simple Jew, he doesn’t want mystical intentions or anything. But every morning he comes to synagogue and puts on phylacteries. Even if he fixes the wagon and even if he does everything. And in fact he didn’t stay home to fix the wagon in the morning. Meaning he has some sort of feeling. Many times there is criticism of people like that, who don’t intend properly but come every morning to synagogue only because it’s rote observance. That is the highest prayer there is. Really? One second. Yes. Really. Yes. Why? Because you do it truly—not because you want your needs, not because you do or don’t want something, not because you love and not because you fear, only because there is an obligation. Now this doesn’t mean one should not intend. Of course on the second, third, fourth, fifth floors, everything is fine. But first there has to be a first floor. And the first floor is that I go to synagogue because there is an obligation, period. Not because I feel like it, not because I love God, not because I fear God, not because I want something from Him and not because I don’t want something from Him. Only because there is an obligation to pray. That’s all. There is a commandment to fulfill one’s obligation. That’s it. And that is a wonderful prayer. Despite what all the supervisors tell you—that it’s worthless, that it’s rote, all kinds of things like that. Nonsense from the supervisors. A wonderful prayer. Not perfect, but a wonderful prayer. Not perfect because on top of it there can be more floors, fine? Love and fear and intentions and all is fine. But fundamentally, if there are only those upper floors and not the first floor, then you did not fulfill your obligation. If you come to pray because you need your needs and all kinds of things like that, you have not fulfilled your obligation. First of all you have to come because there is a commandment to pray, and commandments require intention—you need to fulfill your obligation. That’s first. After that come all the intentions and love and fear and whatever you want. Okay, so all I want to conclude with is: notice again the same point. The importance of the command from the standpoint of how commandments are fulfilled. When I come to keep commandments, a mere act is not fulfillment of a commandment. If I do it just for reasons, even good reasons—existential reasons, love and fear of the Holy One Blessed be He and all that—that is not a commandment. Or because I think it is appropriate, because it is moral, like Maimonides—as we read earlier. All that is not a commandment. A commandment means I do it because the Holy One Blessed be He commanded; I accepted Him as God over me. That is called a commandment. On top of that come all the motivations and emotions and experiences and whatever you want—you can pile them on top of it, not in place of it. Afterward, on top. But first of all commandments require intention, commandments require faith. First of all, He commands and we are obligated to do because He is God. What God means. When someone tells me, “Look, I believe in God, but why do I have to keep what He said?”—you do not believe in God. God by definition is a being such that what He commands must be kept. There’s no room for the question, wait, I believe in God but why keep what He said? That’s the concept of God. It’s like saying, I know it’s immoral to murder, but why not murder? The meaning of “immoral” is that murder is forbidden. Otherwise you don’t understand that murder is immoral, or you simply genuinely don’t understand what it means for murder to be immoral. But if you really understand that, then you won’t ask, wait, so why really not murder? That’s part of the idea itself. Same thing with the Holy One Blessed be He. God—you understand what God is, you understand that what He said must be done, that’s the definition of God. There’s no room to ask: ah, I understand that He is God, but why do what He said? Then you don’t understand that He is God. God is by definition… yes. Yes. Yes. Obviously, faith is the ABC inside the game. If you aren’t in faith, you aren’t in the game. That isn’t under discussion. What. “Do the truth because it is truth.” No, there’s no problem, again, with his having emotion—that’s not the point. The question is what the motivation for the act is. You do the truth because it is truth, that’s it. It is the truth—what does that mean? The truth is to bring satisfaction to the Holy One Blessed be He. Now again, if you do it because of fear in order to sustain the motivation—if your love is in Maimonides’ definition in chapter 10 of the Laws of Repentance, to do the truth because it is truth—he calls that love. To do the truth because it is truth—that’s the end of the sentence; that’s chapter 10 of the Laws of Repentance. Chapter 10 of the Laws of Repentance. We saw it in the previous class. Yes. And the truth is that one should bring satisfaction to that good being that commanded us. That is the truth from his perspective. And he does it not for himself; he does it because that is the truth. What exactly, how exactly to define this truth—that’s the depth of the expression here. And one who serves out of love really comes from the personality that receives it. No, I said there are two meanings to the term love. Maimonides himself uses them. In chapter 10 of the Laws of Repentance Maimonides defines love as doing the truth because it is truth. But love in the Laws of Foundations of the Torah is to love the Holy One Blessed be He in the ordinary sense in which people speak of love. These are two different meanings of the term love. There are two different meanings; both fall under the heading of love. One who serves God not for its own sake, fine. Then fear is what drives him. But if he doesn’t accept at all that the commands of the Holy One Blessed be He are binding, then I really doubt whether that is a commandment at all. If in practice he does not intend to fulfill the commandment, then that is what seems implied in the words of the Ketav Sofer. To say that the commands of the Holy One Blessed be He are binding and he understands that, but still what brings him to serve is fear—fine, there can be all kinds of people, motivations are complex. But if he understands that there is a God who gave the Torah and that this Torah is binding, then he’s in the game. Maybe ideally—look, even if we understand that it is true and binding, we don’t always do it only because of that. Sometimes we need help from other reasons—punishment, reward—to do it. That doesn’t mean we don’t believe or understand that it’s binding. Human beings are complex creatures and they need help to do even what they believe in. No, the question whether a moral commandment is good or not good—we’ll discuss that in later stages when we talk about Jewish law and morality. I think there is no connection between the two things, but that is already another topic. From the standpoint of a particular command. From the standpoint of a particular command—that he should educate his son in Jewish law, but not that that command binds his children. It is the commandment of education, like with children. When I educate my child, it is my job to make sure he performs a commandment. And the commandment he performs is not his commandment. I am only preparing him for the stage where he will be an adult and then he will perform it by force of the command, not because I educated him. Education prepares the person to be commanded. In the end, when he performs it, he performs it not because of the education; he performs it because of the command. No, no, and Maimonides is talking about that—about the sciatic nerve. And on that he says no. He says that only the repetition at Sinai makes it a command, a command. There there is no command at all; it’s only a description of a custom: therefore they do not eat it. That itself is a question; Rashba already raises it. You need a command for something to be a commandment, but the rabbinic tradition is that nevertheless it is a command. But it is a command said to the children of Jacob. It still is not a command that binds the Jewish people by force of obligation to the Torah. No, no, not as commandments that are spoken. There are values, education, but there are no commandments. Commandments are only by force of Mount Sinai. Is that Rabbi Eliezer? Natan Aviezer. Natan Aviezer, “In the Beginning.” For example there’s the question of plants before the sun. And what? In the formation that isn’t an accurate description. The one who educates you or something like that. Yes. There’s Natan Aviezer here from physics, he wrote two books, In the Beginning, and I forgot the name of his other book, and he tries to reconcile physics with the biblical description. I have my doubts how much value those things really have.