Topics in Halachic Thought – Lecture 16

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[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Don’t get me into that, because I can bring you lots of sources. The Ritva is one of the sources. None of them is conclusive proof. I can go source by source. The question is how you define halakhic truth. That’s a question that requires us to define the concepts a bit, but I don’t want to get into it because it would require us to enter the thicket of all kinds of sources. The point is that what I want to say is that even if there were some source from which you could prove in favor of pluralism, fine, then there is a source that made a mistake. As far as I’m concerned, that doesn’t mean there is such a halakhic or meta-halakhic opinion. It just means a man of Jewish law made a mistake. That can happen; we’re all human beings.

Okay, so let me get back to where we were. What we really need to understand is: if indeed the monistic reading is the required reading, if there is no other possibility, then how do you read the Talmudic text in a monistic way? The explanation the Gemara gives for why the ruling followed Beit Hillel—Rabbi Yosef Karo explained it to us: because that is the methodology that leads to the truth. The statement of the heavenly voice, “These and those are both the words of the living God, and the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel”—the second half we also understand. The Jewish law follows Beit Hillel because they are the truth. But how do we understand the first half? What does “these and those are both the words of the living God” mean if the truth is with Beit Hillel?

So here, in order to explain that, I want to move a bit into a conceptual, philosophical discussion. I want to talk a little about concepts—pluralism, tolerance, openness, and all kinds of things like that that are floating around in our world, and people use them very, very carelessly. Every year the Ministry of Education chooses some issue or concept to be the educational focus, and it’s always pluralism, tolerance, openness; pluralism, tolerance, openness. Meaning, it’s all basically the same thing. The sources are the same sources, the topics are the same topics, the concepts are the same concepts. One time they call it tolerance, another time openness, another time pluralism, but there’s no difference; it’s all the same thing. That’s how they see it. But that’s not true. I’m going to try to show that these concepts really are not the same thing.

And first of all I want to bring some indication that they are not the same thing. The concept of tolerance—let’s define it first. The concept of tolerance talks about how I relate to opinions that disagree with me: whether I contain them, whether I respect them, whether I allow a person to act according to them, and so on. That is the meaning of tolerance. Pluralism is a conception about the number of truths there are. How many correct answers are there to each question? Pluralism says all the answers are correct. Monism says there is only one correct answer.

So first of all I want to point to the difference between tolerance and pluralism on the conceptual, categorical plane. They simply do not belong to the same semantic field. Tolerance belongs to the moral semantic field, to the moral sphere. Tolerance is a value. You may accept it and you may not accept it, but the thing itself is a value. The claim that one should be tolerant is a value claim. I am supposed to contain opinions that disagree with me, respect them, or whatever—later I’ll define it. So that is a value statement. Pluralism has nothing at all to do with the moral sphere. Pluralism is a philosophical view: the question of whether there is one truth or many truths. What does that have to do with morality? Is it more moral to think there are many truths than to think there is one truth? Either you think there are many truths or you think there is one truth. It has nothing to do with morality; it’s a philosophical question.

Therefore pluralism and tolerance are really not synonyms. On the contrary—not only are they not synonyms, they belong to a completely different conceptual world, or a completely different conceptual sphere. Tolerance belongs to the semantic field of moral-value concepts. Pluralism belongs to the philosophical field, the logical-philosophical field: how many truths are there. Two independent things. Therefore there is no identity between these two concepts—that’s the first point. Later on I’m going to want to argue not only that there is no identity, but that they are opposites, that they are contradictory. Someone who is a pluralist cannot be tolerant, and vice versa. But for that we need to work a little.

So I’ll tell you a bit how this developed. The penny dropped for me on this issue in some event that happened quite a few years ago—I don’t know, maybe twenty years ago. I was in Yeruham, teaching at the yeshiva there, and I lived there in the Haredi community. One day some kollel men from the Haredi community came to me and asked me to go to Midreshet Sde Boker. It’s some branch of Ben-Gurion University, near Kibbutz Sde Boker, called “the Midrasha.” People live there; it’s like the town of Midreshet Sde Boker, and faculty members of Ben-Gurion University live there. But they also have schools and all kinds of things like that—a full-fledged town.

In that town a synagogue had been established. Someone donated a synagogue. Now, there wasn’t a single religious person in that town; everyone was secular. There was some traditional maintenance man and a traditional doctor, but the university faculty—all the ones who lived there—were all secular. Now those two traditional men initiated bringing, by shuttle from Yeruham, a vehicle that would bring kollel men. So every day there was a shuttle that went to the Midrasha to pray the afternoon prayer, gave a short class between the afternoon and evening prayers, prayed the evening prayer, and then returned to Yeruham.

At some point the people there in Sde Boker, the Ben-Gurion people, went into hysteria. “Haredim are soon going to come live here, they’ll close our streets, throw us out of here,” and all kinds of things like that. They established an association, went to the press, and wanted to get rid of them. They refused to let them come there to the synagogue between the afternoon and evening prayers. So the guys from the Haredi community asked me to go speak with the action committee of the association there in Sde Boker.

Fine, so I spoke with them. There was one meeting, and there they basically issued an ultimatum: “We don’t want you. Don’t come.” That was it. There was no one to talk to. Two weeks later I got some approach—I don’t even remember how it happened—something like two weeks later, some approach that a broader group from the people there in Sde Boker wanted to meet and talk. Not the association committee, but residents, staff members there. They wanted to meet and talk. Fine, I went there, we sat there in the evening, and we started talking a bit about the issues themselves.

Then they said to me: “Why are you coming to bother us here? We’re not coming to you to nag you—light Sabbath candles, don’t light Sabbath candles, drive on the Sabbath, do whatever you want. We’ll do what we… We’re not coming to you, so why are you coming to us?”

So when they said that, I asked them, “Right, so basically the claim is that we are tolerant and you are not.” Then I asked them, “Tell me, why indeed don’t you come? After all, if you think I shouldn’t light Sabbath candles, or that it would be a good idea for me to drive on the Sabbath, I would expect you to come and try to persuade me. Why don’t you come?”

And after some thought they began raising various possible answers. And at a certain point I disagreed with every such answer, and then suddenly I understood that I disagreed with all the answers for the same reason. And that was when the penny dropped for me—the thing I’m about to talk about now. But first I’ll describe again how it developed, because that gives some flesh to the distinction that will come in a moment.

The first answer, for example—when I asked them, “So why don’t you come to us?” they said, “Because it wouldn’t help anyway. We’re not going to succeed in persuading you to desecrate the Sabbath or not light candles or something like that.” I said to them, “Fine, if you don’t come because you think you won’t succeed in persuading us, then that is not what I call tolerance. You don’t come because it’s a waste of your time. And besides, if I think I’ll succeed in persuading you, then why shouldn’t I come to you? You don’t come to me because you think I won’t be persuaded, but maybe I do hold out hope that I’ll persuade you—so why shouldn’t I come? What is this symmetry, that if you don’t come to me then you ask why I come to you? I come to you because I want to persuade you that you’re mistaken.”

Fine, then there was another answer. They said to me, “Yes, but that’s exactly what we’re afraid of—that if we come to you, you’ll come to us.” I said, “Fine, so if you don’t come because you’re afraid, then that’s also not tolerance. You don’t refrain for my sake; you refrain for your own sake. You don’t deserve moral credit for that behavior. I’m not afraid. I come to you and try to persuade you, and if you want to return the favor and come to me, please do. So the fact that I’m not afraid and you are—why is that a claim against me? I mean, why is it that if you don’t come to me, then I’m also required not to come to you?”

Then other questions came up, all kinds of answers one way or another. For example they said: “After all, what you do isn’t harmful. Light candles, don’t drive on the Sabbath—what do I care?” And again I said to them: “Fine, but what you do, in my opinion, is harmful. So why shouldn’t I come to you to persuade you to change your behavior? When you don’t come to me because what I do isn’t harmful, then of course—you don’t come because it’s a waste of time. Why invest time in something pointless? But I come to you because I don’t think it’s pointless. So again, what is the meaning of your claim that if you don’t come to me, then why do I come to you?”

Another answer was: “What do I care? Do whatever you want. I don’t care about you.” So for that you deserve moral credit—for not caring about me? But I do care about you, and therefore I come to you. So what kind of claim is it that if you don’t care about me—which is a revealing confession of, let’s call it, moral lowliness—you come to me with complaints that I too should lower myself morally? I care about you, and therefore I come to persuade you to change your behavior. By the way, we didn’t come to persuade anyone at all, but the discussion was just for the sake of argument. They just came there—they came, not me, I wasn’t there—but they came to pray and give a class to whoever wanted. Nobody came to persuade anybody. But I was talking with them on their own terms. You think people are coming to persuade you, and I say: all the more so, what’s wrong with that? Why shouldn’t they come?”

Then they said to me, “Fine, but we’re pluralists. Everyone has his own truth.” I said to them, “Very good. I’m not a pluralist; I’m a monist. I think I’m right and you’re wrong, and therefore I come to persuade you. Maybe I’ll succeed in persuading you. You think we’re all right? Then of course you won’t come to me, because according to your view I’m right just like you are. So why would you come? It would be a waste of your time.”

Now notice: there were all kinds of other answers too, and notice that in all those answers what I’m responding is basically the same kind of excuse, the same kind of rejection. At a certain point the penny dropped for me that to all those arguments I had answered in the same way. What was I really saying? If you have an explanation for why you don’t come to me, then don’t demand moral credit for the fact that you don’t come. You have an explanation for why you don’t come; there’s a good reason not to come. So if you have a good reason not to come, then why are you waving that around like some kind of moral flag? I don’t have that reason, and therefore I do come. So I’m less moral than you because I come and you don’t? That’s what is common to all the rejections, to all the excuses they raised. I rejected all of them in the same way, but the common foundation of all the rejections was this: the moment you have an explanation for why you don’t come to me, that does not entitle you to moral credit. Clear? You’re not wasting time, you’re not doing things that just won’t work anyway, or you’re not doing things that would harm you because you’re afraid some harm would later come to you. Okay, you’re acting in your own interests, fine—but don’t expect me to morally appreciate that behavior.

And then, during the discussion—it was actually quite a good-spirited discussion—I thought to myself: wait a second, but I too actually support the value of tolerance. Personally I support the value of tolerance. Now if in order to be tolerant you need not to have a reason—because every time you have a reason for behaving tolerantly, that’s not tolerance, it’s not worthy of appreciation or credit—then why be tolerant? You have no reason to be tolerant, so why be? The moment you have a reason, it’s no longer tolerance. But if you have no reason, then why should you behave that way? There is some kind of conceptual bug in the value of tolerance. If you have a reason why you are tolerant, then it isn’t tolerance; you don’t deserve appreciation for it. If you have no reason, then why behave tolerantly if there’s no reason? Then it’s just stupid to do things with no reason. What’s the idea?

And then I asked myself that question. Because if all the explanations they raised—and they raised every explanation in the world—I reject them all in the same way, how can it be that I support the value of tolerance if I can’t accept any of those reasons, because the moment there is a reason, that isn’t tolerance? And more than that: I claimed to them that once they base themselves on such reasons, then they are not tolerant, because they have reasons. But then I ask: wait, so how can anyone be tolerant at all? Without reasons? With reasons it isn’t tolerance. Without reasons—then why be tolerant without reasons?

And notice: one of the reasons they raised was pluralism. Right? There are many truths. You are right and we are right too; “the righteous shall live by his faith.” Therefore we don’t come. And what did I answer them? The same answer. Meaning, if according to your view I’m right just like you are, then obviously there would be no point in coming to persuade me, because you don’t think I’m mistaken. So there’s no point in coming to persuade me. So you don’t deserve moral credit for that. Now notice what comes out of this: if you are a pluralist, then you cannot be tolerant. Because if you are a pluralist, then the fact that you contain the other opinion that supposedly disagrees with you—that is not called containing it, because you are claiming that the other opinion is as correct as your own. To contain someone who is right just like you is no great feat. The whole point of tolerance is to contain someone I disagree with, someone I think is mistaken. That is the value-laden achievement in tolerant behavior.

And then I said to them two things: first, in my opinion, if those are your reasons, then you are not tolerant. And second—and this I asked myself—I do consider myself tolerant, but why? After all, if none of these reasons really holds water and none of them succeeds in grounding tolerance, then there is no reason to be tolerant, so why be tolerant?

Now there’s another point I need to make here, a point that detaches us from the previous discussion. To come and persuade, or not to come and persuade, has nothing at all to do with the concept of tolerance. What does that have to do with tolerance? Tolerance means not using violence against you, not stopping you in your tracks because you think differently. But to go and try to persuade you to change your mind—is that not tolerant? What’s the problem? If I come and try to persuade someone whom I think is mistaken—to persuade him, not beat him up, not harass him, not impose sanctions on him, not stop him in his tracks—but to persuade him, to try to speak to his heart that he is mistaken and persuade him to change his position—that is a basic obligation. That’s not tolerance. In my eyes, someone who doesn’t do that is a criminal. If you see that the other person is acting improperly, you are obligated to try to persuade him.

Therefore I said to them that I don’t understand at all what this has to do with tolerance. If the discussion is whether we come there in order to persuade you—and excuse me, they didn’t even come in order to persuade—but even let’s say they did come in order to persuade. To come to you in order to persuade you—is that an intolerant thing? Why? If I were to legislate a law in the Knesset that it is forbidden to be secular, that would be intolerant, because I didn’t persuade you; I tried to force it on you, or impose some sanction on you that would cause you to change your position not by persuasion—that would be intolerant. But to come and persuade? Two adults: I come to persuade you. If you’re persuaded, fine. If you’re not persuaded, also fine. Everything is fine. What is intolerant about that? And what is tolerant about not coming to persuade? What does that have to do with anything? If you don’t want to listen, then don’t listen. No problem. It’s your right not to listen. But I can go and try to persuade you. You can go home and say, “I’m not interested in what you’re saying, I don’t want to listen.” That’s your right. But that I should not come and try to persuade you—what is intolerant about coming and trying to persuade someone that he is mistaken? That’s really the question that I then thought to myself—not afterward, but during the discussion. I remember that that was where the penny dropped for me.

So how is the concept of tolerance defined at all? Now I’ll give you another expansion so you can see that this is not only about the concept of tolerance. Every value concept basically suffers from the same paradox. Let’s take humility. Humility is also a value—to be humble, okay? Now, as you know from the Kotzker Rebbe: the midrash says that the Holy One, blessed be He, examined all the mountains and chose Mount Sinai to give the Torah on it because it is the lowest mountain, it is humble, it is the lowest mountain. So the Kotzker Rebbe asks: then let Him give the Torah in a valley. Why choose a low mountain? There is something even lower—let Him give it on a plain or in a valley, in a wadi. So he says: a valley is not humility. A valley has nothing to be proud of. A mountain that is low—that is humble.

Or in other words, if there is a person who has no virtues at all and he is not proud, that is not humility. A humble person is a person who has virtues, has something to be proud of, and nevertheless is not proud. Okay? So notice, it’s like tolerance. Tolerance means: I have a reason to come to you and nevertheless I do not come, then perhaps I can be considered tolerant. But I need to have a reason not to come to you. If the usual reasons are what move me not to come to you, then in what way is my tolerance expressed? I’m tolerant because I have no reason to go? Then that’s not tolerance. You see the logic? The logic is very similar.

Or in other words: if there is no reason to behave otherwise, then the fact that you behave this way does not entitle you to moral credit. Behavior can earn you moral credit only where you have good reasons not to behave that way. But now I don’t understand: if I have good reasons not to behave that way, then why should I in fact behave that way? Do you understand that this problem is not only about tolerance? It is also about humility, about any trait you want. Every such trait can basically be formulated with the same paradox: if there are good reasons to behave that way, then it is not a good trait, it doesn’t earn you value credit. If there are no reasons to behave that way, then why behave that way? Okay? That is basically the dilemma, and that is what I asked myself there and then.

And now we’ll go out for a five-minute break. Refresh yourselves a bit, wash your face, and in five minutes we’ll come back. Okay?

[Speaker C] I have a small question. Yes, yes. I didn’t understand that parallel you mentioned—that if there’s a driver, say, who is driving dangerously, then you said there’s an obligation to tell him that he’s driving dangerously, as it were. I didn’t understand that parallel, because there isn’t an obligation here, as it were.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Who was talking about a driver? No.

[Speaker C] Earlier you said with the road, if there’s a driver who is driving dangerously, no? Did I hear that?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I didn’t say that someone who drives—I meant “someone who behaves,” not someone driving on the road. Someone who behaves improperly. By the way, it’s true even regarding a driver who drives dangerously—there definitely is an obligation to remark to him, yes.

[Speaker C] Right, so I didn’t understand the obligation to remark to a driver and the parallel to explaining to people that they aren’t behaving in a good way, as it were. An obligation? Why is there an obligation to explain?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There is an obligation to explain in order to correct the behavior. If they are behaving badly, their path needs to be corrected, no?

[Speaker C] It’s advisable, but I didn’t understand where the obligation to explain comes from.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] “Love your fellow as yourself”—what do you mean? But it’s also a moral obligation, not only a halakhic one. When a person behaves improperly—“You shall surely rebuke your fellow.” When a person behaves badly, then you need to try to persuade him, also for his own good. Sometimes that behavior harms him. For example, in the religious context, a person desecrates the Sabbath. So my obligation to persuade him not to desecrate the Sabbath comes not only from concern for society but also from concern for the person himself, because I think that he himself is living incorrectly. But even in moral senses, it can also harm others.

[Speaker C] And say on the non-halakhic side, I see someone smoking—I now have to, I see someone—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Smoking in the street now—

[Speaker C] you’re saying I need to stop and remark to him?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Proper moral behavior is to remark to him. “Obligated” is a question of what you mean by “obligated.” But certainly it is appropriate to remark to him, yes. That is, if you estimate that he already knows it’s harmful and does it anyway, and you assume you’ll just be a nuisance and it won’t help at all—fine, then don’t say something that won’t be heard. But on the basic level, if you have some chance of changing it, then definitely—why not? A person who behaves improperly—it is appropriate to try to persuade him. Both religiously and morally.

[Speaker C] Yes, thank you very much.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, so let’s go out for a few minutes and come back. Everyone else, with—

[Speaker F] for all their greatness, had to subordinate themselves to Moshe Rabbeinu so that their song would be a true song to God.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, good, we’re continuing. Okay, so we finished with this paradox built into the value of tolerance: on the one hand, if there’s a reason to behave tolerantly, then that’s not tolerance; but if there’s no reason, then why really behave tolerantly? The only solution I can think of in this context is that if I behave tolerantly because of the value of tolerance, that’s a reason of a different kind. Meaning, if I’m tolerant because I behave tolerantly because I’m a pluralist, because I think you’re just as right as I am, then the fact that I don’t force my view on you, for example, or don’t legislate against you, and so on, is not tolerance. Why should I do that? After all, you’re just as right as I am even by my own lights, so why would I do it? Therefore that’s not tolerance. But if I do it because I uphold the value of tolerance, then tolerance itself is my reason. It’s not that there’s some other reason because of which I’m tolerant; rather, tolerance, the value of tolerance, is itself my reason. Or if I translate that into something else: respect for the autonomy of the other person. I respect your right, and maybe even your duty, to behave as you yourself understand things, and not as I understand them. If because of that I respect your different position, then that is tolerance. Why isn’t that kind of reason like all the other reasons that I rejected earlier? Because the other reasons I rejected earlier were reasons rooted in self-interested considerations. You don’t take a certain step because it’s not useful, because it’s a waste of time, because you don’t care, because you won’t gain anything from it, or because you’ll lose something from it. Self-interested considerations. If you take a step because of self-interested considerations, then it has no value, no moral or evaluative value. But if you take that step because of value-based considerations, not self-interested ones, then of course there’s something to value morally in what you’re doing. And therefore the only way out of this paradox is if my reason for tolerant behavior is a moral reason and not a matter of profit-and-loss calculations, self-interested reasons. If the reason is a moral reason, then yes. And the claim is basically that tolerance is grounded in the value of autonomy—not my autonomy, but respect for the autonomy of the other person. Meaning, if you think differently from me, then I respect your right and duty to act as you think, and therefore I won’t stop you, I won’t force you, I won’t legislate against you, or things of that sort. Not because I won’t gain from it, or because I’ll lose from it, or because I’m afraid, or because I’m a pluralist, or any of the previous reasons. Those previous reasons empty tolerance of any evaluative content. But if my reason for tolerance is itself a value-based reason, not a utilitarian one, then that is tolerance. For that I do deserve moral credit. If I don’t use force against you because I think it’s not right because I have no power, that’s not tolerance. I don’t have the option of using force. If I don’t use force against you because I’m afraid you’ll use force back against me, that also isn’t tolerance. But if I don’t use force against you because I uphold a value that respects your different position, that’s a value-based reason. If there’s a value-based reason for my behavior, then yes, I do deserve moral credit for it. Meaning that basically it comes out like this: for a person to count as tolerant, all the following conditions have to be met. Let’s say Reuven disagrees with Shimon about a certain issue, say about Sabbath desecration, okay? Now Reuven is considering whether to use force in order to impose his own position on Shimon, or to prevent Shimon from acting in accordance with his own position. And again, I’m not talking here about going and persuading him—that has nothing to do with tolerance at all. I’m talking about using force. If Reuven is a pluralist, meaning he thinks Shimon is just as right as he is because in this matter there is no truth and falsehood, then refraining from using force is not tolerance. Meaning that in order to be tolerant, he must not be a pluralist, otherwise he isn’t tolerant. He has to be a monist; he has to believe that he is right and Shimon is wrong. That’s one. Two, the situation has to be such that he has the option of using force, because if he doesn’t have the option of using force, then non-use of force is not tolerance. You don’t have the option of using force. He’s a bigger bully than you are. So I need to have the option of using force. I also must not be worried that at some other opportunity he’ll use opposing force against me. So I also must not be afraid. That’s three. I need to care about him, because if I don’t care about him, then when I don’t use force against him that isn’t tolerance. I need to think his mistake is harmful. It’s not just some neutral act. I’m now summing up all the conditions they told me there in Sde Boker. So I need to think that I’m right and he’s wrong, that I have the power to change his behavior, that I think his behavior is mistaken, that I’m not afraid of what he’ll do to me in response, and that I care about him. All of that is in place, and in the end I still don’t use force. So I don’t get it. All the reasons are reasons to use force. Both because in my opinion I’m right and he’s wrong. Also because I have the option of using force. Also because it’s important to use force, because his mistake is harmful. And also because he matters to me, I care about him. And also because I’m not worried that he’ll use opposite force against me and stop me from doing what I think is right. All of that is true—so go use force. All the good reasons say to use force. No: the value of tolerance stops me. Even though all of that is in place, I don’t use force because I’m tolerant. That’s what’s called tolerance. If any one of the previous conditions isn’t present, then we’re not in the field of tolerance. We’re in the field of interests and profit-and-loss calculations. There’s no point doing something pointless; I’m not wasting time on it—that’s not tolerance. Or if he’s right, then it’s not tolerance. If I’m afraid he’ll do the same thing to me, then it’s not tolerance, it’s interest. The only reason that can establish value-based credit is a value-based reason, where the value of tolerance is itself the reason why I don’t coerce him—not because of other reasons. The value of tolerance is a reason in itself; it isn’t based on other reasons. You know, Yeshayahu Leibowitz, when he defined the concept of a value, in a few places—there’s, for example, an article at the end of his collected essays Faith, History, and Values. The last article deals with disconnecting life support from a girl who was very, very terminally ill, had no chance, was no longer conscious, suffered greatly—I don’t know exactly. There was a big controversy, an American girl. There was a very big controversy whether in such a situation it’s permissible to disconnect her from the machines or not. He wrote an article about it. Her name was Karen something, I don’t remember. The last article in his book. And there he says—he opposed disconnecting her from the machines. Why? Because all the explanations for disconnecting her, all the reasons for why one should disconnect her, basically turn life into a means instead of an end. You can disconnect her because if she can’t do anything with her life, then her life is worth nothing, so you can kill her. Meaning that life is a means for doing all sorts of things, right? Meaning all considerations of that kind are really considerations that assume life is a means. But if I see life as a value, then life is not a means to anything. And if life is not a means to anything, then even if that girl can’t do anything with her life, that doesn’t diminish the value of life and doesn’t permit me to kill her. That’s his claim. Of course one can argue with it, but that’s his claim. And in the course of the discussion he explains that a value is something that cannot be rationalized. Meaning, you can’t ground it in other principles prior to it. This thing is a value because it advances A, B, C—that’s an oxymoronic statement. You can’t say such a sentence. Because a value has meaning only if it is an end in itself, not if it is a means to something else. On the contrary, if I want to explain something else, the explanation will hang on a value. I don’t do such-and-such because it contradicts value X or value Y. Or I do such-and-such because it fits value Z. Okay? Values have the power to explain or ground other behaviors. But values themselves cannot have a basis. Because if they have a basis, then they aren’t values. If life is a means for, say, enjoyment, then enjoyment is the value and not life. The same logic, do you understand? If tolerance comes to serve something else—that I don’t have time, that I don’t care about you, or whatever—then it’s not a value. Meaning that by definition a value is something you can’t ground in a prior principle, can’t explain by something prior to it. And therefore here too, when I’m not going to force Shimon to act as I think he should—just because. Just because. There’s no explanation for why I uphold the value of tolerance. A value is something for which you can’t find a prior explanation. A value is the foundation of moral explanation. A value is the axiom, yes, from which one can derive moral conclusions. But the value itself cannot be explained, like an axiom in geometry. Therefore the only explanation for tolerance is tolerance itself alone. If I act out of a value-based motive, because I believe in the value of tolerance and therefore I don’t coerce you, then I deserve moral credit. Okay? If I do it out of self-interested calculation, then I don’t deserve credit. That’s basically the claim. And then what follows from this is that not only, as I said at the beginning, are tolerance and pluralism not synonyms, but tolerance and pluralism are actually opposite concepts. If you’re a pluralist, you can’t be tolerant. Because if you think that you’re right and I’m right too, then obviously you won’t come force me, because I’m right. Why force me not to do it? So in order to be tolerant, you must be a monist. A pluralist cannot be tolerant. You have to be a monist. Now let’s look at some implications of the distinction between pluralism and tolerance. Maybe I’ll upload an article to Dropbox, maybe I’ll upload some article for whoever wants it, where the main points appear—maybe two articles. Pluralistic behavior and tolerant behavior look very similar in practice. In both cases I don’t force the other person, I don’t interfere in the other person’s life—whether I’m a pluralist or whether I’m tolerant. That’s what’s so confusing. That’s why people think these are synonymous concepts, because their practical expressions are very similar. But the reasons why I behave that way in practice are opposite. The pluralist doesn’t interfere in the other person’s life because he thinks the other person is just as right as he is. The tolerant person doesn’t interfere in the other person’s life because he respects his right to be wrong—to behave differently, even though in my opinion he’s wrong. That doesn’t mean I’m sure I’m right, of course, but if I’ve reached the conclusion that I’m right, then in my view he’s wrong. So why don’t I interfere? Because I respect his right to act as he thinks; I respect his autonomy. That’s the value of tolerance. So the tolerant person and the pluralist both behave the same way; both respect the other and don’t interfere in his life, but their motivations are opposite. You know, there used to be a TV show, a legendary show, called Popolitika. I think by those years it was already gone. In any case, years ago with Tommy Lapid and Shelly Yachimovich and various others on the panel, and even Eichler was there too, Eichler was also on the team, the Knesset member. In any case, it was a dreadful program. A dreadful program that everyone complained about, and everyone kept watching anyway. Why? What was there? Every time they brought some other victim, some politician or whoever it was, and crucified him. Right and left of course, nonstop brawling between religious and secular views, right and left, and so on. Now there was appalling rudeness; nobody listened to the other, they shouted over each other, mocked each other, told jokes about each other, very crude. And so everyone complained about it a lot—what kind of lowly human beings, yes, not behaving morally—and there was a lot of criticism of that program. And at a certain point I felt that the rudeness was a symptom; it wasn’t the problem. The reason was that everyone there was a pluralist. The rudeness stemmed from pluralism. Why? Because if you think everyone is right, and there’s no way to convince the other person or to be convinced yourself and change your mind, then from the outset you can’t assume that if you present arguments he’ll be persuaded, or that if he presents arguments you’ll be persuaded. So what’s left? What’s left is just joking, laughing, mocking, and putting each other down. Because arguments are not the relevant tool for such a discussion. In a pluralist world there’s no point in presenting arguments, because everyone is right, so you neither should nor can persuade each other. But let me go back for a moment to the theoretical move beyond the examples I’m giving. So the claim is basically that pluralistic behavior and tolerant behavior look very similar, even though they come from opposite motivations. Pluralistic behavior has no value dimension at all; it’s simply a philosophical view that there are multiple truths. Tolerant behavior is a view, it’s behavior with a value dimension. I’m tolerant toward your position even though I don’t agree with you, like Rousseau—the well-known line—ready to die for your right to say your opinion even though I don’t agree with a word of it. But the practice looks similar. Where will there be a practical difference between tolerance and pluralism? It seems to me mainly in two areas. One area is the third word in the Ministry of Education’s arsenal: openness. That arsenal includes about five words. But openness is the third concept. Again it’s considered a synonym—tolerance, pluralism, openness. Once again we need to pay close attention: tolerance and pluralism are opposites. Openness belongs only in a tolerant world, not in a pluralist world. A pluralist cannot be open. What does open mean? Open means listening to the other person’s argument and considering it, seeing whether it is persuasive or not persuasive, being willing to listen to the arguments of people with different opinions. That’s called being open. Okay? But if there’s no truth and falsehood and no one can persuade me because he’s not wrong and I’m not wrong and we’re all equally right, then there’s no point hearing their arguments, because in any case no one can persuade me and I can’t persuade them. So why listen? At most, politeness, manners. But genuine listening—what’s called openness—openness isn’t just listening, sitting quietly while he talks; that’s not called openness. Openness means listening to what he says and examining whether I agree or disagree. That’s called openness. Openness has no place in a pluralist world. What do I have to listen for if he’s just as right as I am and no one can persuade the other? There’s no point listening, only manners. In contrast, in a tolerant world, tolerance is based on monism. There is one halakhic truth, or one moral truth, or one political truth—it doesn’t matter, but monism. In my view I’m right and he’s wrong, but since I’m not such an arrogant person, and clearly I might have missed something, it’s absolutely worth hearing arguments and reasons from all sides and only then forming my position, so that—you already see Beit Hillel here—so as to see whether I’m mistaken, because I think there is a truth I want to reach. So who says all the truth is with me? Come hear more reasons and arguments; maybe that will help you get closer to the truth. I’ll remind you of Beit Hillel. Why was Jewish law ruled in accordance with them? Because they mentioned the words of Beit Shammai before their own. And Rabbi Yosef Karo explains: because that’s the way to get closest to the truth. It’s not a prize for good behavior. In the monist reading, that’s the way to get closest to the truth. Why? That’s openness. Openness means listening to the arguments of Beit Shammai, considering them, and only afterward forming my own position. In a pluralist world, the fact that Beit Hillel mentioned the words of Beit Shammai before their own is just manners. It may just be a reward for good behavior. You stay quiet and listen politely because one should be polite, but not because you’re really listening because you want to take his arguments into account when you form your own position. That’s openness. Openness belongs only in a monist world. And so when Rabbi Yosef Karo explains Beit Hillel, what he is really saying there is that Beit Hillel showed openness, and their openness enabled them to get closer to the one truth, the monistic truth, more than Beit Shammai, even though Beit Shammai were sharper. That’s one implication of the difference between tolerance and pluralism: openness. A tolerant person will be open, or should be open. A pluralist won’t. He may be polite, but not open. The second difference is what I call the radius of tolerance. What does that mean? The pluralist doesn’t force the other person because there is no right and wrong. The other person can do the most terrible things to himself—leave aside for the moment if he’s going to harm me, then I’ll defend myself; I’m talking now about forcing him, not defending myself. So he can do whatever he wants: become addicted to drugs, commit suicide, do whatever he wants—I won’t intervene, because maybe he’s right and maybe I’m right. There’s no radius where this stops, no limit. Pluralism as I define it has no limit, because essentially if he says otherwise, he’s as right as you are. There is no right and wrong here, no matter how far he goes. A tolerant person who doesn’t interfere in the other person’s life or doesn’t coerce the other person is in tension. On the one hand, the tolerant person is a monist. Meaning Reuven the tolerant person, yes? So he thinks he is right and Shimon is wrong. He thinks Shimon’s mistake is harmful. He thinks he has the power to use force on Shimon and cause a change in his behavior. He isn’t afraid of him; he can change his behavior; everything is in place. Meaning, fundamentally there are many good reasons to intervene and indeed coerce Shimon. But the value of tolerance stops me. Because I believe in the value of tolerance, I don’t do it. But the value of tolerance is not at any price. There are certain limits where the cost will outweigh the value of tolerance, and then I won’t be tolerant. So there is a difference between the tolerant person and the pluralist. For the pluralist there are no limits, no costs beyond which he will begin to coerce. No, he isn’t supposed to coerce, because he has no tools for determining who is right and who is wrong; everyone is right and everyone is wrong to the same degree. The tolerant person, because for him it is a tension between two opposing values, between two opposing forces, it depends where the balance between them lies. What price will Shimon pay if he continues to behave wrongly, as against the value of tolerance? There are prices. I see a person, someone dear to me, going to become addicted to drugs or commit suicide—I too, as a person who believes in the value of tolerance, will intervene. I will use force on him to stop him. A pluralist isn’t supposed to do that. And again, I’m not getting into the question of whether there are actually such pluralists in the world. Right now I’m defining two typological types, yes? Not concrete people. The pure pluralist and the pure tolerant person, okay? So that’s the second parameter, the value of tolerance, the radius of tolerance. What determines the radius of tolerance? In my opinion at least two things. One thing is what I mentioned earlier: the price or the harm that the wrong behavior is expected to bring. If that harm is very great, it may be that the value of tolerance will give way before it. That’s one parameter. The second parameter is the question of how the other person formed his position. Meaning, I’ll tell another story. When I taught in Yeruham, and we lived in Yeruham, a group came from the Hartman Institute who were involved in the Kinneret Covenant. It’s a covenant of mutual respect between religious and secular people, okay? There were religious and secular people there, and they sat there, the Hartman Institute, discussing in the institute’s finest tradition, and they went around talking to various people around the country in different places, and they came to Yeruham and asked to speak with me. So I told them that I would never sign the Kinneret Covenant. Never in my life. Not even if—no chance would you get me to sign it. And why? Because I don’t respect the secular position. I’m not willing to sign on to respect for the secular position. Secular people don’t have to want my respect or be interested in my respect, but if you want it, you won’t get it. Why not? Because usually—not everyone, but usually—they simply haven’t properly examined my arguments. I’m not willing to respect a position for which you didn’t invest the effort required to form it. I respect your position if you really made the effort, thought about it, and came to a different conclusion from mine. If I’m convinced that this is indeed your position and we disagree, I will respect it, because I’m tolerant. But if you’re not willing to examine my arguments at all—I have good arguments in favor of belief in God, observance of the commandments, whatever. You’re not willing to hear them at all. You’re not willing to consider them. You’re secular and you demand that I respect you? I’m not willing. I don’t respect you. It’s simply not a position I’m willing to respect. Of course I won’t hit you, I won’t do things that I don’t think are right to do, but I’m not willing to sign that I respect that position. It’s a permit for ignorance, the Kinneret Covenant. If you want to sign a covenant with me, I told them, sit with me around a round table. Hear everything I have to say about why I think you’re wrong and there is a God and one should keep His commandments and all kinds of things of that sort, and I’ll hear what you have to say as well, and we’ll discuss it and listen very, very carefully to one another and weigh it. If one of us is persuaded, excellent. If in the end we’re not persuaded and remain divided in our opinions, I will sign with you any covenant you want. Because then I understand that you seriously considered things and your position differs from mine. I respect that. That’s a serious position; I respect it. But if you’re not willing to consider things, then why should I… that’s not a position. Why should I respect it? It’s not your position, it’s not my position; it isn’t even your position. I don’t think—as someone who studied physics—that if a fourth-grade child comes to me and says, “Relativity doesn’t seem right to me,” I’m supposed to respect his position. He hasn’t studied it, he doesn’t understand anything about it, so what if he thinks that? He doesn’t think that at all, he’s just babbling. If you don’t examine the arguments of the other side before forming your position, there is no reason in the world for me to respect you. I respect positions of other people who think differently from me, but only as long as I’m convinced that this really is what they think—that they seriously considered the arguments in all directions and came to that conclusion. If there are such people, I’ll sign with them any covenant you want. But you want a permit to remain ignorant and not examine anything and still receive my respect? You won’t get it. Or in other words, my radius of tolerance is determined also by the prices expected to result from the mistake you’re making. If the prices are high, maybe I’ll intervene. Beyond that, in a place where you didn’t invest what was required to examine things before forming your position, I won’t respect your position. What will I do with that? That’s another question. It may be that tactically I still won’t coerce, but only tactically. Essentially, I’m actually in favor of coercion in such a case too. You didn’t examine it, so you’re just simply mistaken. If you do examine and present a different position, then I’m against coercion, because I’m tolerant. But if you don’t present a different position, then you’re just… you didn’t examine it at all, you’re just acting like an idiot without even checking what’s being said to you. Why should I respect that? On the contrary, then my duty is to correct your path and try to get you to act properly. Now basically this is where I’ll finish. What is the claim, really? The claim, really—I’m coming back now, because all of this was meant to explain the monistic reading of the Talmudic passage in Eruvin. We were left with this: the Talmud’s reasoning is understandable. Jewish law was ruled like Beit Hillel because they mentioned the words of Beit Shammai before their own; we spoke about openness, that this is the way to get close to the truth. It’s not a reward for good behavior. Why is Jewish law like Beit Hillel? We understood that too—because they are right. That’s the monistic reading. Why then are both these and those the words of the living God? That was my question. So now my answer is very simple. “Both these and those are the words of the living God” means that the mistake of the other side is legitimate in my eyes. Not that it isn’t a mistake—I’m a monist. If one is right, then the other is wrong. I’m a monist. But your mistake is a legitimate mistake. Why? Since if we’re talking, say, about Tannaim or Amoraim or important halakhic decisors and so on, when they disagree with one another, they’re both speaking on the basis of knowledge. Neither of them is talking nonsense. So when there is a dispute, apparently they have different views, different lines of reasoning. People have different reasoning—what can you do. So here that is a position I respect. Notice: not pluralism, I’m a monist. If I’ve reached the conclusion that I’m right, then from my point of view you’re wrong. I’m a monist. But I respect your mistake because you are a Torah scholar. You examined the topic, discussed it, heard the various arguments, and reached a different conclusion from mine. I’ll sign the Kinneret Covenant with you. “Both these and those are the words of the living God” means signing a covenant. I respect your position; I respect your right and your duty to act autonomously, as you think. We already spoke about autonomy, if I remember correctly, last semester. I respect your right and your duty to act autonomously. What happens if there is someone who understands nothing of Torah? He’s just talking nonsense. Toward him, will I apply “both these and those are the words of the living God”? No. Why not? Because that’s not a position worthy of respect; it lies beyond my radius of tolerance. It need not be respected. That’s why they say, wait a second, “both these and those are the words of the living God”—so if Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel and all the Tannaim and all the Amoraim and medieval authorities (Rishonim) and later authorities (Acharonim), then why not Reform Jews, why not Christians, and why not pagans? The answer is because there are certain positions that I’m not willing to treat as legitimate error. For the tolerant person, the radius of tolerance does not divide truth from falsehood. The radius of tolerance divides legitimate falsehood, or legitimate non-truth, from illegitimate non-truth. That’s what the radius of tolerance does. I am right; everyone who says otherwise is wrong—in my view. But among all those who say otherwise there are two kinds. There are those who say otherwise because they didn’t examine it, because it isn’t serious, because they’re simply mistaken—that’s illegitimate error. There are those who say otherwise, like Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel, because they examined the topic, they are Torah scholars, they studied and reached a different conclusion. That is a mistake I respect, a legitimate mistake. That lies within my radius of tolerance. About that it was said, “both these and those are the words of the living God.” “Both these and those are the words of the living God” does not mean that they are both right, because the monist maintains that there is only one halakhic truth, not that both are right. So what does “both these and those are the words of the living God” mean? That both are legitimate, both are conclusions reached by legitimate halakhic tools. These are Torah scholars who are not talking nonsense. And therefore, “both these and those are the words of the living God.” And not only that, but each one also needs to act in accordance with the conclusion he reached, because de facto that is the word of the living God for him, that is the Torah for him, even if I think he is mistaken. But someone who is outside the radius of tolerance—that is no longer the word of the living God. In contrast, the pluralist reading of “both these and those are the words of the living God” really would have to answer my question: then wait, why not Christians, pagans, and Reform Jews? After all, there’s no truth and falsehood, and everyone forms a position just because they feel like it—so how can you stop? Where is there a radius at which your inclusiveness stops? Okay? I don’t call that tolerance because it isn’t tolerance; it’s pluralism. But there isn’t supposed to be a radius that distinguishes between legitimate and illegitimate errors; there are no errors at all in a pluralist world. Therefore I think this sums up the monistic reading of the Talmudic passage. “Both these and those are the words of the living God” means that every position raised in discussion in the study hall by Torah scholars is a legitimate position. Not that all of them are correct, but that all of them are legitimate. And therefore I will respect your right and your duty to go as you think, such that Beit Shammai acted in accordance with their own view and Beit Hillel in accordance with theirs, and they did not refrain from marrying into one another’s families, even though each thought the other was wrong. Why? Because it’s a legitimate mistake; that is what he ought to do. Even though it’s a mistake, because if that’s what he thinks, then that’s how he should behave. And why is Jewish law like Beit Hillel? Because Beit Hillel are right, because the truth is with them; there is only one truth. So regarding someone who isn’t party to the dispute, someone outside the study hall, if he needs a sage to rely on, then Beit Hillel or Beit Shammai? The heavenly voice says: Beit Hillel. Someone who has his own position and is a Torah scholar like Beit Shammai does not need to rule like Beit Hillel. He will do what he thinks. Because that is his autonomy, and we will respect it because he is within the radius of tolerance. Someone outside the study hall who asks whom to rule like—the heavenly voice says the Jewish law is like Beit Hillel. By the way, this also explains why we find in the Talmud in quite a few places that the law is ruled like Beit Shammai. Amoraim rule like Beit Shammai in various passages; at the beginning of Beitzah there are Mishnah passages in different discussions that rule like Beit Shammai. But aren’t the words of Beit Shammai in the place of Beit Hillel “not Mishnah”? According to the heavenly voice. So how do we rule like Beit Shammai in certain passages? The answer is: that heavenly voice does not say that everyone must rule like Beit Hillel. If Beit Shammai think differently from Beit Hillel, then they will act differently. Someone who isn’t party to the dispute and is looking for a Tanna to rely on—I’m an ignoramus, but I want to know whom to follow, which code to open, Beit Hillel’s or Beit Shammai’s—they say, Beit Hillel’s. That is the meaning of halakhic ruling. Now an Amora comes along; an Amora is a Torah scholar. If he reaches the conclusion that Beit Shammai are right, that is his own opinion. So is he obligated to rule like Beit Hillel? Why? What for? If Beit Shammai are right, he rules like Beit Shammai. He is not relying on Beit Shammai because they said so; rather, that is his own opinion—he is a Torah scholar. About that, the law was not ruled like Beit Hillel. If you have your own position and you are a Torah scholar, rule like Beit Shammai. There’s nothing illogical about that. Therefore all the passages in which there are Amoraim who rule like Beit Shammai are, in my opinion, evidence for what I’m writing here, what I’m saying here. Good, okay, I’ll stop here. I still have another section I need to continue, and we’ll do that in the next class. The next class is already after Passover. Okay, does anyone want to comment or ask? Then now’s the time. Okay, so have a kosher, happy, and cheerful Passover, and we’ll see each other afterward. Happy holiday. Happy holiday.

[Speaker B] Happy.