Changes in Halakha, Lecture 6
This transcript was produced automatically using artificial intelligence. There may be inaccuracies in the transcribed content and in speaker identification.
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Table of Contents
- The Eternity of the Torah and Maimonides
- Halakhic Change as Midrash and Midrashic Conservatism
- Meiri, the Attitude toward Gentiles, and the Need for a Basis for Midrash
- Literalist Conservatism versus the Danger of Conservatism
- Professor Gilat, the Sabbatical year as rabbinic nowadays, and the Motivation of Distress
- Distress, Psychology, and the Question “Why Didn’t They Look Earlier?”
- Change toward Leniency or Stringency, and Counterexamples
- Electricity, Microwave Ovens, and the Haredi Ethos
- Norms, Facts, and the Presumption that a Person Does Not Repay Before the Due Date
- The Torah as Bridge Principles of “If-Then”
- An Analogy to Aristotle and the Field of Logic
- Exceptions in the Talmud and the Explicit Bridge Principle
- Authority, Responsibility, and Essentialism
- Aesthetics, Morality, and Bach as an Example of “If-Then” Ability
Summary
General Overview
The text lays out a framework for the question of change in Jewish law out of the tension between the principle of the Torah’s eternity and the fact that midrash, interpretation, and changing reality stand behind the actual development of Jewish law, including in Maimonides himself. It argues that legitimate change requires a midrash that extracts a new conservative principle, but sometimes it is impossible to bring conclusive proof for such a midrash, and then the debate turns into the question whether the default should be literalist conservatism or midrashic conservatism. Through examples such as the attitude toward gentiles, the Sabbatical year in our time, the presumption that “a person does not repay before the due date,” and discussions about electricity and microwave ovens on the Sabbath, he presents that the “Torah” is neither the facts nor the practical result in itself, but rather bridge principles of “if-then” that connect reality to norm, similar to the Aristotelian distinction in logic.
The Eternity of the Torah and Maimonides
The framework opens with the principle of the Torah’s eternity and with Maimonides’ quotations that “this Torah will not be replaced.” Maimonides himself is presented as someone who recognizes that most derashot were renewed throughout history and were not given to Moses at Sinai, in a way that undermines absolute literalist conservatism. From here the question is built: what is “halakhic change,” and what counts as faithful preservation of tradition?
Halakhic Change as Midrash and Midrashic Conservatism
Legitimate change is presented as dependent on a midrash that explains that the historical practice is not the essence but rather an expression of circumstances, and that the essence is a deeper principle toward which one remains conservative. The swimsuit example presents a move in which one extracts the principle of “clothing appropriate to the weather” instead of imitating a historical detail, so that conservatism is preserved toward the new principle and not toward the old form. Midrash is described as a tool that creates the new point of preservation, and therefore it is the basis of the legitimacy of change.
Meiri, the Attitude toward Gentiles, and the Need for a Basis for Midrash
Meiri is presented as interpreting the halakhic attitude of the Sages toward gentiles as depending on their moral-human condition and not on the essence of their gentile status, but as someone who did not provide an evidentiary basis for this claim. The possibility arises that a midrash can be a “midrash from myself,” and then one can invent midrashim in any direction, so the question becomes how such a bridge assumption is grounded. When there is no proof either way, it is proposed to show statements of the Sages that viewed gentiles as inferior, but doubt remains whether this is the halakhic basis or merely a description of reality as the Sages saw it. An entry in the Talmudic Encyclopedia under Ben Noah or Bnei Noah is mentioned, and the disputes about Bnei Noah, the resident alien, and the seven Noahide commandments are presented as an ongoing expression of the doubt whether Jewish law depends on behavior and fulfillment of obligations or on essence.
Literalist Conservatism versus the Danger of Conservatism
It is argued that demanding evidence all the time effectively leads to literalist conservatism as the default, as if it had an inherent moral or religious advantage. It is argued that if the midrash is correct, then literal preservation of the form of the act without the principle behind it could actually be a transgression, like someone who continues walking around in a swimsuit when it is cold if the principle is suitability to the weather. It is also argued that the literalist side too bears a burden of proof, because if the midrashic side is right, then the literalist is a “transgressor,” and the fact that the issue did not come up before is explained by the fact that reality did not require explicit formulation of the principle.
Professor Gilat, the Sabbatical year as rabbinic nowadays, and the Motivation of Distress
The book Chapters in the Development of Jewish Law by the late Professor Gilat is mentioned, along with the storm created around the claim that Jewish law changes. It is argued that the critics attributed to Gilat the claim that the Sages were not intellectually honest and invented a principle such as “the Sabbatical year in our time is rabbinic” in order to hide a desire to be lenient, but it is argued that this is not what he writes. According to the description, Gilat presents economic distress after the destruction of the Temple as creating an obligation to look for mechanisms of leniency, and the search was driven by need, but once a midrash or principle was found it was adopted honestly and not “with a wink.” It is emphasized that every permission for an agunah and lenient patterns of halakhic ruling are born of the same motivation of distress, without that making the decisor a fraud.
Distress, Psychology, and the Question “Why Didn’t They Look Earlier?”
A difficulty is raised: the fact that the search happens only in a time of distress seems to contradict the claim that non-change can also be dangerous if God’s will is change. The answer is that the dimension described is psychological and not philosophically ideal. It is argued that people invest energy where there is need, and therefore it is possible to miss God’s will in places where there is no distress. Regarding gentiles, it is argued that there were righteous individuals in the past, but there was no broad phenomenon that changed the “reasonable person,” and therefore there was no need to “rewrite the Shulchan Arukh,” and Tavi, Rabban Gamliel’s slave, is discussed as a private case that did not become a general principle.
Change toward Leniency or Stringency, and Counterexamples
It is argued that the accusation of “cherry-picking” is not the same as looking for change “where it’s convenient,” and that changes are not always leniencies but also stringencies. Examples are brought such as the Women of the Wall who want to put on tefillin, and the claim that a ruling that looks like a leniency from one side is a stringency from another side, as in the example of Rabbi Chaim and driving on the Sabbath to save a son, which is defined as a stringency in saving life. It is argued that the categories of leniency and stringency depend on point of view, and that change can be a demand of a Torah value even if it is “convenient.”
Electricity, Microwave Ovens, and the Haredi Ethos
The claim is made that both the decision to forbid and the decision to permit a new action such as using a microwave oven on the Sabbath are forms of midrashic conservatism, because both require a redefinition of “cooking” in relation to changing technology. It is argued that almost nobody actually lives as a literalist conservative, and that even Haredim who present an ethos of literalism operate midrashically, while educationally “rewriting history” with things like “Abaye and Rava studied in Yiddish” and “Moses our teacher wore a shtreimel,” and the historical dispute with the Sadducees is presented as the background to the Pharisaic-midrasic ethos. It is argued that there are decisors who say, “Of course we need to change, but we’re already too small,” and this claim is presented as strange because earlier generations too were “small” relative to those before them and nevertheless changed.
Norms, Facts, and the Presumption that a Person Does Not Repay Before the Due Date
A distinction is proposed between facts, which have no holiness, and norms, which are to be preserved, but that distinction is then corrected so that even the practical norm is not the heart of the Torah when it depends on changing facts. The example of the presumption that “a person does not repay before the due date” is presented as a sociological claim that can be tested and can change, while the Torah lesson is that a presumption determines legal status and can extract money. It is argued that the real learning is the structure of application: given a fact that establishes a presumption, a legal result follows, and if the facts change the result may also reverse without harming the principle.
The Torah as Bridge Principles of “If-Then”
It is argued that in many topics the Torah is neither the factual assumptions nor the normative conclusions, but rather the relation between them, the “if-then” formula or the bridge principles that make it possible to move from facts to Jewish law. It is emphasized that the Talmud usually does not explicitly formulate the bridge principles, and extracting them is the interpretive midrash that defines what is really being preserved. The difficulty in accepting midrashic conservatism is explained by the fact that it defines as Torah precisely that which was not said explicitly but is reconstructed from the structure.
An Analogy to Aristotle and the Field of Logic
The logical example of a valid argument with false premises and a false conclusion is brought in order to show that logic is the rule of inference and not the content of the premises. Aristotle in the Organon is presented as someone who turned patterns of inference into an object of study, and the claim is that in parallel one should turn halakhic bridge principles into the focus for understanding what “Torah” is. It is argued that without the Aristotelian revolution there would be no computer, because computing rests on formalization of “if-then” patterns that do not depend on content.
Exceptions in the Talmud and the Explicit Bridge Principle
It is said that there are topics in which the Talmud does move closer to bridge principles, but these are exceptions and are highlighted as “excellent points.” The topic of “this one benefits and that one loses” is brought, along with the inquiry whether liability stems from benefit or from loss, as an analysis that is explicit in the Talmud in a way that resembles a “Brisker” move, including the story about the demand “go serve me” before handing over the insight. The exceptional nature of such cases is understood as proof that usually the bridge principles are not formulated, even though they are used in practice.
Authority, Responsibility, and Essentialism
It is argued that on the principled level anyone can propose a differentiation and a midrash, but responsibility and a Torah scholar are required in order to do so seriously, and in the case of a change against an explicit ruling other rules come into play. The claim is raised that there are essentialist laws that are not dependent on circumstances, and these are described as a “degenerate” case of a bridge principle in which the conclusion is fixed without dependence on the premises. In a situation where there is no proof whether something is essentialist or circumstance-dependent, testing the plausibility of the midrash is presented as a practical possibility, while recognizing that there is no certainty.
Aesthetics, Morality, and Bach as an Example of “If-Then” Ability
A demonstration is brought from the worlds of aesthetics and morality, where judgment is not derived from facts without a bridge principle, such as moving from “multicolored” to “beautiful,” which requires a mediating assumption. The example of Bach serves to argue that genius does not depend only on a given audience’s taste but on the ability to fit a creation to a given musical conception by means of an “if-then” rule, and thus to distinguish between the relativity of taste and the objectivity of fitting ability. The conclusion is that the objective component, and the one worthy of preservation in Jewish law, logic, ethics, and aesthetics, is those elusive “if-then” patterns that require interpretive extraction.
Full Transcript
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] We’re getting close to the end of this series on changes and updates in Jewish law. I’ll just put things back into context again. I started with the principle of the eternity of the Torah, the quotations from Maimonides that this Torah will not be replaced. After that I noted that Maimonides himself, after all, doesn’t really believe that things never change. He himself writes that aside from something like three or four, all the derashot were renewed throughout history and were not given to Moses at Mount Sinai. And from that I tried to enter in and clarify what a halakhic change actually is. I brought the example of Meiri regarding the attitude toward gentiles. After that I tried to propose a more general scheme with the swimsuit, the swimsuit example, and the attempt to define a few models of change, some of them legitimate and some less so, some Orthodox and some Reform. And basically through that, last time, I tried to go back to the question of change. I started with the point that for a change to be legitimate, I need a midrash in the background of the change. Meaning, I need to show that the fact that they wore a swimsuit doesn’t mean there’s an obligation to wear a swimsuit, but rather an obligation to wear clothing that fits the weather. And therefore the weather will determine what clothing you wear. So that’s a midrash, because what we saw was that our ancestors wore a swimsuit—that’s what we saw with our own eyes. We make some interpretive midrash that says yes, but that was really only because it was hot then, and really the principle that needs to be preserved is not that you need a swimsuit but that you need to wear clothing appropriate to the weather. Once I’ve made that midrash, I can go on and still be considered conservative, because I’m preserving what our ancestors did. Only what exactly am I preserving? Not the fact that they wore a swimsuit, but the fact that they wore clothing appropriate to the weather—but I’m still conservative. So the role of the midrash is to produce the new principle with respect to which I am conservative, meaning the one I preserve. That’s why it’s the basis for the legitimacy of change, for legitimate change. That was basically the claim. Then in the previous lecture I talked a bit about this—at the end of the previous lecture I talked a bit about the fact that Meiri proposes, meaning he gives an interpretation of that type, but doesn’t provide a basis for it. Meaning, you make a midrash and say that the Sages’ attitude toward gentiles stemmed from such-and-such a state of the gentiles, but you didn’t bring proof that that’s really the case. You claimed it is. The question is whether that’s enough. So that too is another layer. Meaning, it could be that I make a midrash, but it’s a midrash out of my own head. And out of my own head I can make any midrash I want. I can always do all kinds of things. The Sabbath applies only in situations where people work hard in the field, but high-tech people don’t need the Sabbath—they don’t work hard. I don’t know, that too is a midrash. Now the question is how I ground the midrashic assumption that says the Sabbath is intended only for those who work hard, or isn’t intended only for those who work hard—it doesn’t matter, depending on whatever midrash I’m supplying. Seemingly I would expect that some basis would be needed for the matter. And then I said that sometimes, really, if you can bring such a basis then it’s desirable to bring it, worthwhile to bring it. But there are situations where you can’t. And what do you do in such a case? That’s where I think we ended. You can’t bring such a basis. Let’s go back to gentiles, for example. So I don’t know how to prove whether the Sages’ attitude stemmed from the low moral or human level of the gentiles, or whether it’s an essentialist attitude—meaning that because they are gentiles, regardless of how they behave and what they do. So what do I do now when I have no proof in either direction? First of all, I can show how the Sages saw gentiles. There are quite a few sayings showing that they saw gentiles as inferior in the human and moral sense. That’s clear. The question is whether that’s the basis for the halakhic attitude toward gentiles; for that it’s harder to bring proof. And by the way, this comes to expression—look, for example, in the Talmudic Encyclopedia under the entry Ben Noah or Bnei Noah, I don’t remember, and there you’ll see that there really is a dispute in various laws relating to Bnei Noah, whether this was said about a resident alien or not said about a resident alien. All those disputes are basically rooted in the same doubt I’m talking about here. You’re trying to make some kind of midrash that says the attitude toward gentiles is really toward those who do not fulfill their obligation, the seven Noahide commandments. But a resident alien does fulfill the seven Noahide commandments, so therefore this wasn’t said about him. That is basically a parallel midrash to what Meiri does, and there are medieval authorities who don’t accept it. For each law there are different disputes; it’s not sweeping, but that means this doubt really does arise—it’s not something I’m inventing here, and these are things that stand behind many halakhic discussions. What I argued was that Meiri, even though he didn’t bring proof for it, claimed that it was correct on logical grounds. And I said: what’s the other option? Suppose I were to demand proof all the time—what would that actually mean? That without proof, I’m a literalist conservative. Meaning, I preserve things as they are, without the midrash at their foundation. But if the foundational midrash is correct, then the one who preserves things literally is a transgressor. Someone who keeps walking around in a swimsuit even though it’s cold is a transgressor, assuming that what one should do is wear clothing appropriate to the weather. There is no advantage—meaning, the assumption of those who demand proof is that there’s an advantage to those who are literalist conservatives. If you want to be a midrashic conservative, prove the midrash. Or in other words, remain a literalist conservative. If you prove the midrash, you’re basically saying: then I prove that this is the principle; I don’t need to create a midrash of my own, I simply show that this is it. In other words, we are basically presupposing literalist conservatism. We’re saying that. But if I make the claim forcefully, I’m not a midrashic conservative because I’m looking for a way out, but because this is what the Holy One, blessed be He, wants. He didn’t want me to wear a swimsuit; He wanted me to wear clothing appropriate to the weather—that’s my claim. Now you want to say that He wanted us always to wear a swimsuit? Why isn’t the burden of proof on you? You prove it! After all, I’m claiming that you’re a transgressor if I’m right.
[Speaker B] The idea is that the topic is discussed a lot throughout the Talmud, and they never once raised this idea.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Of course, because the reality in their surroundings was like that, so what difference did it make. The reality in their surroundings was like that, so the discussion never came up. But now reality has changed, so the discussion arises. It’s like what I mentioned that Gilat writes in his book about the Sabbatical year in our time being rabbinic. They accused— I think I told you about this, the book Chapters in the Development of Jewish Law, didn’t I? The book Chapters in the Development of Jewish Law by the late Professor Gilat. And when that book came out, I remember this was still during my cheerful period in Bnei Brak, so when that book came out there was a huge uproar, really an earthquake. And he was a Hebron-type fellow, studied in Hebron, and later became a professor at Bar-Ilan University. And he wrote that Jewish law changes, and “the development of Jewish law” was a very loaded phrase in those days; today we’re already used to it. But everyone, all the press, certainly the Haredi press but really not only Haredi, revolted—what do you mean? Jewish law was given to Moses at Sinai and nothing has changed, and how can you say that circumstances affect Jewish law? That’s outright heresy, and so on. Things you just wouldn’t believe when I look back now at those statements, but that was the claim. So I of course saw that it was an interesting book, immediately ran to buy it, and I looked through it and saw that he has a certain fixed pattern that he repeats, and it’s really not that, really not what they accused him of. What Gilat was basically saying, for example regarding the Sabbatical year in our time being rabbinic—that’s one of the chapters; he has various chapters—was that when the Temple was destroyed and economic distress was created, the Sages looked for a way to be lenient. And then they came to the conclusion that the Sabbatical year in our time is rabbinic, and that allows various leniencies. Prozbul, the red heifer—but there are other examples too. And how did the critics interpret him? They interpreted him as basically saying that the Sages were not intellectually honest. They really wanted to be lenient, and they didn’t actually think the Sabbatical year in our time was rabbinic; they were looking for a way out, fine, so they hid it behind some halakhic principle that the Sabbatical year in our time is rabbinic, but in practice they made a leniency with a wink. That was basically the claim. Now that’s not true, that’s not what he writes. Read it and you’ll see—he doesn’t write that. Because in my opinion it really isn’t okay to do such a thing; one really must be intellectually honest. When you make a midrash, you don’t make a midrash with a wink, unless you genuinely believe in that midrash. You don’t do it with a wink just to allow yourself something you want to do. That really is not okay, and that’s what they always accuse innovators of—that they’re doing it with a wink. But that’s not true. There are changes that I really think are correct, or different innovators really think are correct. And what he wanted to argue was this—and just yesterday I was actually learning that topic, the topic of selecting judges, where you really see this principle—that what he basically wanted to argue was that when the need of economic distress arises, then the Sages feel an obligation to search for every possible mechanism in order to find a lenient way out. So the motivation for the search was the need. But after you search, when you find a midrash, you really stand behind it. There are situations where you’re comfortable, so you don’t search. So it could be that the Sabbatical year in our time was rabbinic even if there had been no economic distress—we just wouldn’t have discovered it, because we wouldn’t have looked for derashot or hints in the verse, whatever, all kinds of things that lead us to the conclusion that the Sabbatical year in our time is rabbinic, because we don’t have the distress that forces us to search. The motivation to search doesn’t exist. Now, does anyone deny that motivations, circumstances, are a motivation to look for halakhic considerations? Every permission for an agunah is like that. Every, every, every lenient ruling is basically like that. Why didn’t they think of it earlier? According to your own lenient view, you say it’s correct, so they always ask that—so why didn’t the Sages say it? So the answer is: because the Sages weren’t in the same distress that I was in. So what? Does that make you a fraud? Just because of distress you suddenly make a change? No. Rather, I had a motivation that the Sages didn’t have; the medieval authorities didn’t have it, because the distress they needed to solve didn’t exist. If the Sages had never encountered the problem of an agunah, then all the discussions of permitting an agunah we would have had to invent ourselves. But would that have meant those discussions weren’t correct just because the Sages simply never encountered the problem? It only means that the Sages didn’t have the motivation to look for those considerations, and therefore they would not have found them. But that doesn’t mean the considerations are not correct. That is basically what Gilat is arguing there. Gilat is not claiming that the Sages were dishonest, but rather that the motivation for the search was the distress. Once there is distress, you search, but
[Speaker G] In the end, if
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You’re straightforward, so you look for a straightforward search, and if you find it, then you find it, and if not, then not. There are two short questions. The first is: if in fact I only search when I’m in distress, that somewhat contradicts the principle you’re saying, that not changing is a position no less dangerous than changing. After all, if God’s will is that I should change, then whether I’m in distress or not, I’m required to change. That’s one problem with this argument. No, it’s not a problem—I agree—but it’s not a problem. Meaning, in all the places where I’m not in distress, I may be missing God’s will. Certainly, certainly, agreed. The second thing I’m asking you is: once you said such a thing, then how is it that they didn’t discuss this earlier? Because that reality didn’t exist. But the non-Jew—that is, what we see today as the righteous among the nations—existed in Judah’s time, in King Solomon’s time. There was never a period in human history when there weren’t righteous non-Jews. So how is it that they didn’t discuss this issue? No, so I don’t agree with that, because the question… Obviously there were isolated righteous non-Jews, but there wasn’t a phenomenon that forced them to change Jewish law. There wasn’t a phenomenon that required setting different principles. On the individual level? On the individual level it’s something entirely different. Look at how Rabban Gamliel relates to Tavi his slave. The medieval authorities (Rishonim) discuss there how that could be, how it contradicts the principles we’re accustomed to with regard to slaves. And the answer is that Tavi was a different kind of slave. Almost nobody says that, but that’s the truth. If that’s the answer, then it’s proof in the opposite direction. If on the individual level it applies… Indeed… Rabban Gamliel didn’t change Jewish law; he didn’t rewrite Jewish law. That’s exactly the problem. That’s why everyone raises the difficulty, because Rabban Gamliel didn’t put it on the table. And why not? Because Tavi was one among many. But in a place where the presumption changes—meaning, the reasonable person, the reasonable non-Jew, is now different—you need to rewrite the Shulchan Arukh; it’s not enough to act differently locally. And that raises not-simple questions, obviously. The sensitivity is obvious. Rewriting the Shulchan Arukh is something very charged. But I think that’s a result of the distress. Your first comment is correct, and therefore I need to clarify that what I’m saying, I’m saying on the psychological plane, not on the philosophical plane. We are not right in not searching when there is no distress. But you know, we’re human beings. Human beings invest their energies where they need to. In principle we should be searching everywhere, all the time, for what needs to be changed and what needs to be updated. But fine, you know, we’re human beings, and yes, it may be that because of that we really do miss things, absolutely. Let’s say that in a place where the feeling had not arisen in the world that the attitude toward non-Jews as original Jewish law prescribes is disgraceful, then I wouldn’t be looking for this argument of the Meiri, even though the Meiri’s argument is still true. If the non-Jews are truly righteous, irrespective of anything else, the world of values hasn’t changed. You can relate to righteous people in a certain way—however you want—and there’s no moral problem; people don’t see it as so terrible. But if in reality the non-Jews were righteous, let’s say there were such a situation, I assume that in such a situation I wouldn’t, and others also wouldn’t, look for mechanisms to justify a different attitude toward non-Jews, even though the truth would still be that one should relate differently to non-Jews today because they really are different. Fine—but the distress is what generates the activity.
But this issue of cherry-picking always leads you to aim for leniency. Right? No, not for leniency—for change. To change where it’s convenient for you. No, not where it’s convenient—to change where you think it ought to be changed. When dealing… That’s not the same thing. It’s really not the same thing. Some of these changes are stringencies; they’re not leniencies. Some of the changes are stringencies. When I want to say that… qualifying women for testimony—is that a leniency or a stringency? A leniency. Both. Why is it always a leniency? Permitting an agunah is a leniency. To permit an agunah is to be lenient, obviously. Changing the attitude… But permitting an agunah isn’t my invention; it goes back to the Sages, so that’s fine. I’m not… I’m not complaining to you… I’m not either… I’m speaking on the general level. No, I’m saying even on the general level—you’re not right. Changes like this—when Women of the Wall want to put on tefillin—is that a leniency or a stringency? I don’t know. I don’t know if that’s Jewish law at all; I don’t know what that is. No, fine, but I’m saying: is that an attempt to be lenient or to be stringent? I think to be stringent. They want to put on tefillin when in fact women are exempt. So why do you say it’s always toward leniency? Are they doing it because it’s convenient for them? You can say, I don’t know, we’d have to probe their hearts. I don’t know how to do that. Maybe they want it because they think it’s necessary and proper. But take the big examples: the prosbul, rabbinic Sabbatical year, permitting agunot, attitude toward non-Jews—all these are very convenient for me, from where I stand. I’m looking where it’s convenient for me. Hillel the Elder instituted the prosbul, and although at first he was poor, later he was wealthy. I think the prosbul is convenient for… well, the question is for whom. Yes, exactly. Convenient for the poor or convenient for the rich. So there too it’s not entirely simple. Very often we treat something as a leniency when it’s not really a leniency. It’s like Rabbi Chaim’s famous a fortiori argument: a woman comes and asks him—her son was seized for the army, Cantonists or something like that. So she asks if she is allowed to travel on the Sabbath to save him, to intercede in Petersburg, the capital, and save her son. So he says yes, certainly. What do you mean? His students said: how can you be so lenient in the laws of the Sabbath? To travel on the Sabbath? He said: what do you mean—I’m being stringent in the laws of saving life. There are always two sides in a dilemma. And when you refer to the leniency of one side, many times—not always, but almost always—that is a stringency from the other side. The question of whether you’re lenient here or stringent there can be viewed from two sides. Now it’s true that it’s very convenient for us to live. That is, to be stringent in the laws of saving life is convenient for us. But the Torah says, “and live by them”—meaning, no, that’s a Torah value. The fact that it’s convenient doesn’t mean it isn’t a stringency. Maybe what a stringency is—we’ll talk about that too; we’ll make a sequence about it as well, maybe even a series sometime. What is a leniency and what is a stringency.
This attempt to seek leniencies and solutions only when there is distress—that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t always be looking for solutions. Because in fact we’re talking about whether proof is needed or not needed for the argument that we are exegetical conservatives. But really we should have asked another question: wait a second, who said that being conservative is even good? And what does “conservative” mean? To preserve Jewish law. Leave the word “conservative,” maybe it’s just a label—but preserving Jewish law, that’s the commitment we’re talking about. Right? If someone isn’t in that game, then we’re not… So by the very fact that you say “preserve,” that means, sir, if you have… if… preserve. If you want to seek change, that’s only if there’s a real need for it. But why? If the change is true, then even if there were no need I should have changed it. That’s a correct claim. Because if the change is true, if that’s what the Holy One, blessed be He, wants. Let’s say I’m a masochist. Fine? And I’d reach a cold region and I’d keep walking around in a bathing suit because I’m a simplistic conservative. Fine? But the truth is that I need to wear a coat. That’s the truth. That’s what the Holy One, blessed be He, expects of me. It’s just that I’m not in distress because I’m a masochist, so I wouldn’t make the change. Then I’m a transgressor. He’s right. Meaning—but yes, what can you do, we’re human beings. Fine, but this argument leads to searching for change when there’s distress. You’re talking about searching for change when there’s no distress. Right. And I’m saying therefore, therefore, the fact that I don’t search for change when I’m not in distress is not ideal. I ought to search for the changes when they are required, not when there is distress. But we’re human beings, and human beings invest energy when there are distresses. Fine, the distinction between change and distress is already a definition of where the difference lies. But it always comes together. I gave this example earlier. If the non-Jews had changed as they are today, but the moral world had not condemned bad treatment of non-Jews, nobody would see it negatively. Suppose, for the sake of discussion. In such a situation there is really no distress. If the non-Jew dies on the Sabbath, I won’t desecrate the Sabbath for him, he’ll die. No problem, no one sees me as a bad person or as creating a desecration of God’s name; there’s no issue with it because the moral atmosphere hasn’t changed. But that non-Jew is a perfectly righteous person, and from a truly halakhic standpoint I really should desecrate the Sabbath to save his life. So am I supposed to make that change or not? Obviously yes. The Holy One, blessed be He, expects me to desecrate the Sabbath to save his life, if I’m right. But I’m not in distress, so I don’t look. So in that, I’m not okay. Okay, but we’re human beings. I don’t have a better explanation than that.
Yes. Electricity on the Sabbath or cooking in a microwave. That’s basically exegetical conservatism, right? Yes. The second doesn’t arise from—it’s not a leniency. Exegetical conservatism—is it not cooking or yes cooking? Not cooking. Okay. Possibly. Let’s say that’s the original intent. And yes cooking—is that not exegetical conservatism too? Yes cooking in what? In a microwave. That too is exegetical conservatism, because you’re basically saying it’s not cooking. Yes, because you’re basically saying no—let’s say that it’s not cooking. Let’s say that original cooking means cooking by fire, and today we have another kind of cooking. It’s really like the coat. In the end, most of us rule that one does not cook in a microwave and does not use electricity. That’s not toward leniency. Ah, and that’s a good example. Right. And it also doesn’t arise from distress. Right. No—yes. It arises from a change in reality, which is maybe a bit from distress too, an ideological distress; maybe people don’t want to change because of the Reform movement. But you’re right, that’s an excellent example, an excellent example, because indeed—as I answered you—both the decision to cook in a microwave and the decision not to cook in a microwave, both are exegetical conservatism. That’s what’s beautiful, it really is beautiful, because here it isn’t that reality is different; rather the action changed. It’s not that the circumstances are such that now it’s cold and before it was hot; rather now the bathing suit no longer exists. There are no bathing suits in the world. There’s something else, and the question whether to wear it or not wear it will in any case require exegesis—either stricter exegesis or more lenient exegesis. Fine, that’s a beautiful example. Yes, that’s also an example I’d already thought about two weeks ago, because when we speak about Haredim as though they were literalists, there isn’t a Haredi who would permit cooking in a microwave on the Sabbath. Yes, obviously not. And between us, don’t tell anyone—Moses also didn’t walk around in a shtreimel. Certainly not, and not with a gartel either. So that’s why I say, this whole business is obviously an illusion. And I already said, literal conservatism versus exegetical conservatism is an ethos, not real human types; everyone is exegetically conservative. The question is what your ethos is. The Haredi ethos is that we are literal conservatives, and then they rewrite history to explain that everyone—that Abaye and Rava studied in Yiddish, yes, that’s my well-known joke, that Moses walked around in a shtreimel. That’s how they educate the children. Now, I think everyone understands that that’s not true, but that’s the ethos on which they build the whole thing. So that’s why I say: obviously everyone is exegetically conservative. The Torah, the Talmud, is itself exegesis. Obviously. In some senses that was the dispute with the Sadducees. The Pharisees made exegeses, and the Sadducees said to them: you are Reform Jews. And ostensibly we follow the Pharisees, not the Sadducees.
That’s part of the ethos, that’s something you were required to address at the time—where do you draw the line, meaning when are you forbidden to make a change. Okay, the question of the line is a very hard question here. I don’t know. I’ll bring examples, and there maybe we’ll need… Maybe the line is after the line, however you look at it. No, the question is where you put the line, because after the line everything matters at once. Right now you’re talking about a historical line. I’m talking about the line of what level of argument already counts as illegitimate change. Meaning where… No, I’m talking about a historical line at the level of the Haredi ethos and in relation to modernity—who was forbidden to do it. Meaning, they also agree that the Sages were exegetical conservatives; only we are forbidden. We, in our generation, being lesser, cannot establish days, festivals, and cannot… because we are small. Right. There are all sorts of funny arguments like this in the halakhic decisors. Today we can no longer determine… We’ll also see in the context of various changes in Jewish law that there are those who reach the conclusion: “Well, obviously something needs to be changed here, but we are already too small, we can no longer do it. If it were the Sages or the medieval authorities (Rishonim), they could.” Such a strange argument. Anyway, why is the argument strange? Because even according to their own ethos, after all, they were small in comparison to the Men of the Great Assembly, right? They are giants compared to us, fine, but they were small compared to the Men of the Great Assembly. Now when they came to change, they didn’t change from the Sages—they changed from the Great Assembly. So why didn’t they say to themselves, “We’re already too small, we can’t”? Meaning the derivative also changes. Meaning not only are we smaller than previous generations, but we are smaller by more than previous generations were smaller. And then, well, there’s acceleration. It’s not linear, this thing. The gap grows; it’s not only that there’s a gap, the gap is an exponential function. Exactly. Okay, fine. These are examples that I hope next time to bring, and then we’ll break the discussion down into more concrete particulars and see changes that were made throughout history and how they were justified and all kinds of things of that sort. But today I still want to finish the general conceptual framework.
Now I want to move to the final side of the matter, to define the whole discussion in summary. Basically what I’m ostensibly claiming here—though in a moment I’ll correct this—but ostensibly what I’m claiming here is that one has to distinguish between norms and facts. The facts have no holiness whatsoever. One need not preserve the facts or the view of the facts. What needs to be preserved? The norms need to be preserved. But even that is not precise. Because think, for example—since I already gave this example, though I no longer remember—just as an example, there are many like it: the presumption that a person does not pay before the due date, in Bava Batra. So what is this presumption that a person does not pay before the due date? A person borrows, the lender sues him for the money before the due date, let’s say he borrowed for 30 days. After two weeks the lender claims the money. He says, “I paid.” Now the time of repayment hasn’t yet arrived, and he says, “I paid.” We don’t believe him. Why? Because there is a presumption that a person does not pay before the due date. Therefore he has to pay; we obligate him to pay. Now what will happen in a situation… where people do pay before the due date? Yes, there’s interest, a heter iska, and all kinds of things like that. The world changes, you’re saying. What? The world changes. We’ll see in a moment. So I’m saying, there are situations in which today people do—if you have a mortgage or whatever, if you have money, many people want to pay it off before the due date if they can. Okay? So maybe there’s a penalty if he wants to profit from it? Yes, fine, but that’s not… you’re already doing exegesis. We’ll see in a moment. You’re right. So then I say: what now? The Talmud says there is a presumption that a person does not pay before the due date. According to the Shulchan Arukh, Maimonides, everyone rules this as Jewish law. What do we do now? Reality has changed, right? The air got colder. Do we keep walking around in bathing suits? Meaning, a person comes and says, “I paid” after two weeks, within the repayment period. Fine? What do I say? There is Jewish law, we don’t change it, this Torah will not be replaced, there is a presumption that a person does not pay before the due date. But that is a statistical sociological fact. Right, which ought to be measured in a survey. Therefore I say: that presumption that a person does not pay before the due date is a fact. It is not a norm. Facts have no holiness. That was the fact in the time of the Sages. It may change, it may not. One has to check. But I’m saying: if it changed, then it changed. So what? Now suppose it changed and today a person really does pay before the due date. Is there any point in continuing to learn that passage in Bava Batra? Why? What are you learning there? Are you just learning facts that have already changed and are no longer so? To remember from them the laws of presumptions? You already said that the novelty is that a presumption extracts money. So we spoke about that. Okay. So the claim is: obviously one should learn it. The lesson of the passage is not that a person does not pay before the due date—the factual lesson—but rather that the presumption determines things. Exactly. Rather that we follow presumptions and extract money. That a presumption extracts money. Now there, in that case, the presumption was that a person does not pay before the due date. Today, it may be that the presumption is the opposite—that a person does pay before the due date, and if he says “I did not pay,” he is not believed. Never mind, I’m just… yes, it’s grotesque, but it doesn’t matter. Do you understand? Meaning, the lesson learned from the passage remains in force. People do not correctly understand what is written in the passage. What is written in the passage is not the fact that people don’t pay before the due date. Go to the psychology department and they’ll tell you whether a person pays before the due date or not. That’s a factual question. It has nothing to do with the Talmud; I don’t need to learn that from the Talmud. What is written in the Talmud is what to do with the facts. If the facts are such, a presumption is formed; that is a legal basis for extracting money. That—that is the Torah. Not that there is a presumption that a person does not pay before the due date, but that a presumption extracts money. Which presumption is it? Which presumption exists and which does not? Go out and see—look and see which presumption exists and which does not. Facts are things that can change.
Now what this actually means is a very interesting point. The question is: what is Torah? When we learn such a passage, or any other passage, what exactly is the Torah in what we are learning? The Torah—we spend a lot of time dealing with factual clarifications. Does a person pay before the due date, does he not, in such-and-such a situation he doesn’t, in that other situation he does. If there is such-and-such, then it changes. We are constantly discussing factual questions. And constantly not dealing with Torah. Because that is not Torah—those facts. I’m not saying one shouldn’t deal with that. One should deal with it, but that is preparation for the commandment, not the commandment itself. We deal with it in order to understand how to apply the principle that a presumption extracts money, and how we qualify presumptions. How clear does it need to be for the presumption to collapse or for the presumption to arise? That we can learn. But for that one has to go into the facts, into the factual situation that prevailed in the time of the Sages. You have to understand how they worked, and then you can learn from that to our own time, and the results may be completely opposite. It doesn’t matter. Because what you are actually learning is not the facts. The factual clarification is only the platform on which I try to understand how we must operate normatively. So in fact, the Torah in this passage is not the facts at all. Not the fact that people don’t pay before the due date, and also not the final ruling that when someone comes and claims “I paid” within the due date he is not believed. So what is it? The relation between the two. The relation between the two is the Torah. The relation. That if there is such a presumption, then a person who claims “I paid” is not believed. That is Torah and that remains forever.
That is what must be preserved. You see that what I just did—what I did here is basically a hermeneutic midrash, an exegetical move, meaning exegetical conservatism. Why? Because I said that what is written in the Talmud is not that a person does not pay before the due date; what is written in the Talmud is that given the fact that a person does not pay before the due date, then money is extracted from him if he claims “I paid.” But now, if there will be a different situation—now it’s cold, not hot—then indeed I will apply that same principle to the new situation. What did I preserve? I did not preserve the factual assumption—it changed. The halakhic result also changed—it reversed. What was preserved? Something nevertheless was preserved. The “if-then,” right? The “if”—a factual assumption; the “then”—the halakhic result. That relation exactly, that formula or relation, that linkage between the assumption and the conclusion—that is what is preserved.
Now look, there’s a very nice analogy here to logic. When we think about logic, in logic we say—look, all arguments are valid… sometime in one of the previous series, I think, I’m already getting mixed up, but I think. And one of the claims was that you can build a valid argument from premises and a conclusion that are false. Everything is false. And still the argument will be valid, right? For example: all frogs have wings, okay? This table is a frog, therefore this table has wings. That is a valid argument, right? Its conclusion necessarily follows from the premises. Okay? Both premises are false. It is not true that all frogs have wings, and it is not true that this table is a frog. And the conclusion is false too. It is not true that this table has wings. So what is logical about this thing? Not the truth of the premises, and not the truth of the conclusion. So what is logic? Logic is the if-then, right? The rule of inference. That is the logic.
Now Aristotle, in the Organon—that is the book, Aristotle’s book of logic—basically created this field of logic out of nothing. He was the first to conceptualize and define the basic logical operations, essentially founding the field. That doesn’t mean that before him people didn’t use logical inferences. I assume that before him too people knew that if all chairs have four legs and this is a chair, then it has four legs. No, before Aristotle too there were reasonable people, I imagine. Rather, Aristotle was the one who noticed that there is an abstract point here. The rule of inference itself is an object. He made it into an object of study. We would usually use that inference rule without noticing it—if this, then that, yes? Everyone used it. People know how to use simple tools of reason. Okay? But no one noticed that there is some rule here that can be written down, put on the table, and studied. The if-then rule is very elusive. I understand what the premises mean, I also understand what the conclusion means, but how does the conclusion follow from the premises? Nobody ever thought about it. It follows, that’s all. Nobody ever thought to put the transition rule itself into focus. Now Aristotle’s greatness was that he understood that there is a transition rule here that can be conceptualized, formalized, symbolized, and then suddenly he noticed that there are several such rules, different rules. And he has different forms of syllogisms, yes, of inferences, that he distinguishes between, and suddenly that itself became a subject of inquiry. Meaning, one deals with logic itself, with entailment. And that requires a certain abstraction, because you are in fact learning from frogs with wings—which don’t exist. Everyone surely laughed at Aristotle: what are you talking about, frogs with wings, there is no such thing. He says to them: you don’t understand, I’m not talking about the premises, I’m not talking about the conclusion, I’m talking about the conclusion’s following from the premises. So what difference does it make whether the premises are true or false and the conclusion is true or false? The entailment is what I’m talking about.
Now if Aristotle had not made that revolution, today we would not have computers. Because for a computer you need to understand that there are inference rules that are not dependent at all on the question of what the premises are and what the conclusion is. Rather you write it in the form of an equation. Aristotle didn’t do it exactly that way, but more or less that way—he was already headed in that direction. In more modern symbolism, you say: if every X is Y and A is X, conclusion: A is Y. And now whatever you put in place of X, Y, and A will give you a valid argument. That is called an argument form. Okay? It’s an argument form in the sense of a form, like a cake mold. When you put something into that form, a cake comes out. But the argument form or template is not a cake. The template is something that if you put batter into it, a cake comes out. The if-then. That’s why it’s called an argument form. Meaning it is something that can generate arguments. When is an argument created? When you put into the X and the Y and the A—when you fill them with something concrete. So what are X and Y and A? They are an argument form. And Aristotle studied argument forms, not arguments. And that was his great idea—that an argument form is an object of inquiry. You can examine it; it is also a field. And then this field called logic came into being. Until then the field of logic did not exist as a field. It existed. It was used in biology—there weren’t yet biologists, but never mind—it was used in biology and in physics and in literature and poetry and every field, in law, everywhere it was used. But it was not a field. It was tools. The field was biology, which is a factual field, or law, which is norms, whatever. But the discussion was about the facts, about what the claims themselves say. Logic was just a tool to explain that if this then that. And suddenly Aristotle says: wait, wait, wait a second—let’s take this tool itself and make a field out of it. And now let’s investigate this tool itself, the if X and Y and A and so on, let’s talk about that; let’s not populate it with specific things. And that was a genius distinction. It was a genius distinction even though it is trivial. After Aristotle told everyone, everyone said: of course, how did we not think of that earlier? But it was genius to notice that there is something there standing on its own. There is an argument form.
Do you understand that what actually… yes? According to this approach, who is authorized to make this differentiation? Wait, wait, so let’s leave that… I can’t take a marker, open the Shulchan Arukh and… Wait, so let’s leave that for a moment. I first want to finish the picture, and then remind me to ask me that afterward, okay? Because I don’t want to… it cuts me off a bit. So I’m saying: the move I made with respect to Jewish law is exactly the same. People grasp Jewish law as what obligates—say, to return to the law stating that one does not pay before the due date. They understand what the conclusion of the passage is. Ask a standard student: what’s the conclusion of the passage? A: a factual conclusion, that people do not pay within the due date. B: a normative conclusion, that if a person claims “I paid” within the due date he is not believed. Money is extracted from him, right? And the answer is that he is mistaken in both his answers, actually. He is mistaken in both his answers—not correct. That is not the conclusion of the passage, nor is that the conclusion of the passage. The conclusion of the passage is the “if-then.” That is the conclusion of the passage. The passage states neither the premises, which are usually facts, nor the conclusion, which is usually a norm or a law. The passage states the connection between the facts and the norm. And that is the Torah. The Torah is the bridge principles. The Torah is not the facts and not the conclusions. And when you preserve in an exegetical way, you preserve strictly and do not alter the bridge principles—not the facts and not the conclusions.
We talked about the naturalistic connection that derives conclusions from factual premises—conclusions that are not facts but evaluative judgments; deriving the ought from the is, yes, what should be done from what exists. Or deriving the aesthetic judgment from the facts. “This picture is colorful and therefore it is beautiful.” That argument is invalid. Why is it invalid? Because the premise is a factual premise—the picture is colorful. And the conclusion is an evaluative conclusion, an aesthetic conclusion—that the picture is beautiful. You cannot derive a judgment from facts. In order to derive the judgment from the facts I need to add another premise. And what is the logical, categorical character of that premise? A bridge premise, right? Meaning, there is a factual premise—the picture is colorful; there is a bridge principle—that what is colorful is beautiful; and then the conclusion—that this picture is beautiful. Now without the bridge principle you cannot move from the premise to the conclusion. Torah is only the bridge principles. Not the premise and not the conclusion. Only the bridge principles. And that is exactly those things that are not written anywhere. In the Talmud, bridge principles are almost never written anywhere. And that is exactly what the Meiri ran into with regard to non-Jews. What the Sages say is the facts—the non-Jews are wicked—and the conclusion, that these wicked people should be treated accordingly. The Sages are careful—I don’t know if “careful” is the right word—they nowhere say the bridge principle. They don’t say that it is because of that. But you understand on your own that there has to be some basis. I too understand that if the picture is colorful, that is not enough to derive from it the judgment that the picture is beautiful. Behind that there sits a bridge principle. That is a hermeneutic process. That is the exegesis I spoke of earlier. Exegesis is extracting from a picture that shows me only the factual premises and the normative conclusion, the bridge principle that stood behind that transition.
And notice what is interesting and a little strange here—surprising, but interesting—is that the Torah in the matter is only that. Only what is not written, only what I produced through exegesis—that is the Torah in the matter. Everything else is just irrelevant mediation. It is not interesting. It is something that can change; it has no significance; that is not the point. But the Sages are in the pre-Aristotelian period, so to speak, in relation to Jewish law. If I make the same move in Jewish law that Aristotle made in logic, then what I am basically saying is that we need to do in Jewish law what Aristotle did in logic. The Sages also used bridge principles—perhaps unconsciously, perhaps consciously—but they did not think one had to formulate a Shulchan Arukh of bridge principles. For them, Jewish law was a collection of commands: what should be done and what is forbidden and what is permitted, right? So then you come and say to yourself: wait, but behind these things there sit factual assumptions. And from those factual assumptions you cannot get to halakhic directives unless you have a bridge principle. Then I say: fine, then apparently behind this the Sages had some kind of bridge principle that took them from the facts to the normative determination. And after I have completed this whole speculative process, the surprising conclusion is that the product I alone extracted does not appear in the Sages. Everything that appears in the Sages is everything except that. And the only thing that is Torah is only that. What appears in the Sages is not Torah. That is quite far-reaching, but I think once you hear it, it sounds pretty reasonable. Right? It’s pretty clear that it’s true, even though it’s strange. It’s strange for the same reason that when Aristotle taught logic, the people before him would have looked at him as a strange man. Because they never thought of themselves as using logical tools; there was no such concept as logical tools. Yes, obviously, if it’s like this then it’s like that—nobody thought otherwise. We study biology, we don’t study logic. And in biology, if there is such-and-such a classification and you belong to this branch and whatever—say you are a fish, and what characterizes fish is that they have gills, then you have gills. Yes, that’s obvious, everyone understands that. But no one thought that a logical argument was being used here. And nobody thought that behind these things there actually sits a field with independent standing that is not biology. It is logic. It is a field. And it can be shared by biology and law and physics and every other field because it is universal. It is this kind of transparent field that appears—or stands, really—behind all the…
I have a good friend who is a logician, and he says that the image that always captures this is that the Holy One, blessed be He, scatters little logical crumbs from above into all parts of reality. And suddenly you see that this whole business works the same way everywhere. I’ve encountered this so many times, that people in different fields reinvent the wheel and in fact do the same thing in another field. Exactly the same thing, one-to-one. One is a historian and another is a philosopher of science or a physicist, and they did exactly the same move; one did it in history, the other in philosophy of science. It’s not a claim in history and not a claim in science. Both are logical claims. If they had understood that they were dealing with logic and not with history or science, then they would have built such a field and they wouldn’t do it twice. Everyone would understand that in this field it works this way. And one could see it in every field whatsoever. Then there wouldn’t be doctorates. So apparently that’s why it doesn’t happen. The need—yes, the defense of necessity.
So I’m saying that this transition I’m making here is basically the transition Aristotle made in other domains of thought, and I think it must be made in Jewish law as well. And then suddenly it becomes clear why it is so hard for people to accept this notion of exegetical conservatism. Because really, on the face of it, it is strange. It is surprising. Meaning that the only thing you are willing to recognize as Torah is the thing the Sages did not even hint at. It is only my result. What I decided is Torah. What the Sages said is just incidental, only the wrapping; it is not relevant. A bit strange. But it seems to me that once you understand it, it’s elementary. Yes. Maybe I recently came across what I think is an example where the Sages do talk about the bridge. Let’s say the commandment, the obligations of a groom—the first night he is exempt from commandments. He does not recite the Shema. And afterward the Talmud says there is a dispute among the tannaim, and then the Talmud says in the end that their dispute is whether we are concerned about looking arrogant or not concerned about looking arrogant. Yes, there are many—you’re right. I presented it too extremely. There are some passages, but they are still exceptional, passages in which the Sages themselves enter into the foundation of the bridge principles. The clearest passage on this, I once spoke about it in Jerusalem at the National Library there, is “this one benefits and that one does not lose.” And there there is really a discussion by later authorities in that passage. What does “this one benefits and that one loses” say? He is liable. “This one does not benefit and that one does not lose”? Exempt. “This one benefits and that one does not lose”—what is the law? In other words, what are you really saying? The question is whether what creates liability in the case where one benefits and the other loses is the benefit or the loss. What is the bridge principle? Okay? “This one benefits and that one loses”—liable—that is the fact. You ask yourself: what is the bridge principle? Did the benefit create the liability or did the loss create the liability? The practical difference is in the case where one benefits and the other does not lose, because there there is benefit but no loss. A classic Brisker move, okay? And it is interesting because the Talmud is aware of it. There is someone there—I no longer remember the names—Rami bar Hama, I think, and the other one I already don’t remember, who says to him: listen, it’s a shame you weren’t there—there were excellent things in the study hall, it’s a shame you weren’t there. And then he says: what? And then he says to him, “Go serve me first.” First serve me and then I’ll tell you. So fine, he served him, and then he told him about “this one benefits and that one does not lose,” and told him the whole line of reasoning. Which is very interesting. Why doesn’t that appear in other passages? Why is it “excellent things” on the one hand, and why does he require him to serve him before he tells him? In other places that doesn’t happen. Because the Talmud itself feels that there is an exceptional discussion here. There is a discussion here of later-authorities-style analysis. These are not facts; I am not transmitting facts to you from Moses, I am analyzing, I am making exegesis. The exegesis I am making—you need to value me for that, because you are receiving what I am saying, not what I transmitted to you in the name of Moses. Moses said “this one benefits and that one loses is liable,” that’s what he said. And “this one does not benefit and that one does not lose is exempt.” Now I come and make exegesis. I say: wait, “this one benefits and that one loses is liable”—why? Because of the benefit or because of the loss? Yes, those Brisker questions. Because of the benefit? That is the exegesis. Now if you want to receive the Torah that I am saying, first prove that you value me, that you will accept what I say—so go serve me. And that’s what he means by “excellent things.” But because this phenomenon here is so exceptional, the Talmud really senses it. So these exceptions only prove the rule, that usually the Talmud does not deal with this. It’s true that the Talmud—and again I say, the Talmud understood this, it’s not that the Talmud didn’t understand. Everyone understands. Ever since Aristotle, people understand logic. They just didn’t understand that there is such a field, that one has to deal with the bridge principles themselves. Okay? Also in “guarantee” and four cubits, “unconscious despair.” Yes, yes, all those pilpulim, right.
And with regard to the level above—huh? That’s what I don’t understand: who is it that gets to say what in the Talmud or in the language…? In principle I’ll tell you now briefly, even though that’s a question that will have to be postponed, but I’ll answer briefly because we’ll see it when we discuss concrete examples. In principle—everyone. There is no limitation. Now of course there has to be responsibility. Meaning, if you’re not qualified, you’re not a Torah scholar, you don’t know how things work, then you are not responsible. It’s not serious. But on the principled level there is no requirement for formal authority; you don’t need to be a Sanhedrin for this. Unless one comes to change, and then we enter the problem of changing laws; we’ll discuss that shortly. But if there is no explicit contrary determination, then anyone—if that’s what you understand, then that’s what you should do, on the principled level. If I come to change—there was a certain determination and now I want to change it—then there are already rules, and we talked about that a bit, and I’ll demonstrate it with examples. And regarding the pedagogical level at which these things are taught—are they taught in this method? They are taught in this method all the time; people just aren’t aware. That’s what I’m saying. Even before Aristotle people used logic; it’s just that people, it seems to me, do not give themselves a full account of what they are doing. After you make a conceptual move and analyze a passage, then I will ask you: so what did we learn from Abaye? That unconscious despair is not despair? Or did we learn from there the principle that things one is unaware of are… By the way, there too the Talmud understands that there is a broader principle behind it; it brings additional examples. But when I make such a conceptual analysis, am I then willing to say that the conceptual product I extracted—which is not written in the Talmud—that is the Torah in the matter? And the facts don’t matter at all; the facts are not interesting; they can change according to circumstances. So people do this all the time, but they don’t notice that there is actually here a transfer of the focal point of what Torah is. People don’t always notice, depends—yes, it’s not as sharp as I describe it.
Yes. What you spoke about actually creates two problems from two directions. When you spoke about the Meiri, okay, you yourself said one needs to understand whether he uses a bridge principle or whether it is something essentialist. No, he thought there was a bridge principle; that is essentialist. No, he does, but the attitude toward the non-Jew for example—is that something essentialist? So there are laws that are essentialist, meaning there isn’t this because of that. And then once you describe all Torah as bridge principles… No, you can call that a degenerate case of a bridge principle. The bridge principle says that without—you know, it’s like there is a logical move that says, say, a bridge principle is if P then Q, P implies Q, okay? Now you can shift this forward and make that symbol—I don’t know what it’s called—and write behind it P implies Q. Then “P implies Q” is the conclusion and there are no premises. Okay. You can say the premise is P, the conclusion is Q. But you can also say there are no premises and the conclusion is P implies Q. These are two equivalent formulations. Now basically what you are saying is that there are things that do not derive from any premise. That is called something essentialist. Fine. So that is a degenerate case of a bridge principle. It is a bridge principle that says every premise will bring the same result. But then we return to the conclusion you want to derive from the bridge principle—that you cannot make exegesis out of it. Right, I didn’t say one can always make exegesis; I said one can in principle. One has to check whether it is convincing, whether it makes sense. The fact that in ninety percent of the Talmud these are exegeses—that is obvious, even without making the whole move. No, but it is very important to make the move in order to understand what it means, what the significance is. But still the big question of where to make changes and so on is whether there are things that are essentialist or not. Okay. So I spoke a bit about that in the previous lecture. I’ll just remind you that this is exactly the point. If I have no proof on the question whether it is essentialist or not, what do I do? So if I have a reasonable interpretation, and I have no proof that it is essentialist either—not only no proof that it is not essentialist, I have no proof in either direction. What the Sages don’t have—let’s speak right now… What counts as proof that it is essentialist… I said… If the circumstances did not change but I say that the non-Jews in the time of the Sages were also like this, then you are actually applying it to the wrong variable? Fine, therefore I say everything is limited. I can never know with certainty, but I can have indications whether my explanation is a reasonable exegesis or not a reasonable exegesis. I cannot discuss whether there is exegesis in general—I don’t know how one discusses that. Offer an exegesis and let’s see if it makes sense or not, and that can be checked, at least one can try. For example, there is an argument of the Meiri regarding the non-Jew and so on; maybe according to that today one could permit intermarriage. Fine, maybe—so let’s examine that exegesis and see. Fine, I rule nothing out. I said: I have no boundary. In principle I have no boundary. Every matter has to be checked whether it is reasonable or not. By what tools? Because I’m not… The claim is that in essence, as I said earlier, if already in the time of the Sages there was reason to permit intermarriage and they did not permit it, then that is an indication, for example, that this exegesis is not correct. In this case that is not right, because the non-Jews changed. Maybe you’ll say they were steeped in… What do you mean maybe I’ll say? Again, I can say anything. I’m asking whether what I’m saying is reasonable. The terms the Meiri used—if I can raise such arguments, then indeed. But then you would have to show something else too: that the prohibition of marriage depends also on the spiritual state. That’s another question, do you understand? And that is the same question the Meiri had to deal with. Right—no, it’s not the same question, it’s a parallel question. A parallel question. Okay, but the answer the Meiri gave to that question is not necessarily the answer to this question. That too needs checking. Fine, and if it seems reasonable to you, then that is what you should do, and if not then not. I’m not frightened by anything. It needs to be checked. I’m pointing to the possibility; I’m not saying when it… I’m trying to bring you—I know that you are not… Yes, yes. No, I’m trying to suggest the… exactly, the logic, the possibility. What comes out of it—we’ll debate every issue on its own merits and see, but this logic exists.
Okay, I’ll bring an example that I want, just to sharpen this a bit more, and with that I’ll essentially finish this part. Let’s just try to see how this applies in examples. We talked about Jewish law, and we talked about logical inferences, and we talked about aesthetic judgment—or of course the same thing can apply in ethics, in morality. You basically say: if something causes suffering to another, then it is forbidden to do it. So again, the moral principle is not that it causes suffering, and not that it is forbidden to do it, but that if there is suffering, then it is forbidden to do. Causing suffering is forbidden—that is basically the moral principle. Now insert each person according to what causes him suffering and what does not, and from that derive the conclusions.
Yes, I’ll give you an example of an implication of this. I’ve long wondered—maybe I said this, I don’t remember—whether Bach’s genius in music, did we talk about this? Was Bach’s genius in music greater than my genius in music? Mine is rather low, I must confess. Why do people think Bach was a musical genius and I am not? You have to understand that any kind of music, if it falls on receptive ears, people will enjoy it greatly. I can shape the ears accordingly—ears, of course, and the cognition behind them—in such a way that it is perfectly tailored to that type of music. Then you’ll understand that he will be the best musician for me, right? Suppose I could shape people’s musical perception. You wrote about this in last week’s Bar-Ilan leaflet. Yes, there, “Show me Your glory,” and the mind and so on. Okay, so there… You’re talking there about positioning the brain in accordance with… Ah yes, that’s somewhat related. But I’m saying, it seems to me that what Yitzhak just said is important. That was last week, not this week. Yes, okay, “Show me Your glory,” kind of, yes. Anyway, what I’m actually trying to say is that suppose I could shape people as I wish, then obviously I could also shape them in such a way that they would most enjoy the music I write, right? And Bach would sound to them like a collection of nonsense. North Korea—worthless things, yes, North Korea exactly. Kim Jong Il—Abraham characterizes… shapes the musical consciousness of the audience, and thereby becomes the greatest of musicians. Stalin tried to do that. Solzhenitsyn describes it—you know those wonderful passages there, about how Stalin is the greatest linguist and the greatest philosopher, explaining to everyone his linguistic innovations and everything. I read books like that published here in Israel, not as a joke but seriously, in the Workers’ Library series, explaining how Stalin in fact foresaw all of modern physics, and that there is physics which of course is incorrect because Stalin did not foresee it, so that is something else, and so on. Anyway, so I’m saying that if I can do this thing, then in what sense was Bach a musical genius? As it happens, we are built such that this particular music falls pleasantly on our ear—those to whom it falls pleasantly, I don’t know. But why, in what sense was he a musical genius? In understanding harmony. In the judgment of the wisdom of the masses. So then he is not a musical genius; then he is just, what, a genius psychologist. No, not just anyone—even if I understand everyone’s ear, I still don’t know how to write music that will fit it. So that’s a slightly different formulation. I want to raise a speculation and say that Bach, if I created a different population, built them differently however I want, and Bach met that population, he would write better music for them than I would. Now, true, if I built something ad hoc, built people and shaped them exactly to match the form of my music, then I would be the greatest musician. Okay. But Bach has an ability that could be objective, not subjective. And that ability is not to write good music, but to fit the music—the if-then. If people’s musical perception is such-and-such, then one needs to write them such-and-such music. That is the real musical ability. And that ability is an objective ability, not a subjective one.
A lot of postmodern people criticize exactly because they miss this point. They say: what do you mean? In one population this will be the good music. African music many of us won’t enjoy at all, because it’s a different mindset, a different musical perception. So basically everything is relative; there is no musical genius, there is no musical good and no musical bad. That is the classic postmodern argument, right? Where do they miss the point? They miss it in that they are before Aristotle. They are before Aristotle because they do not understand that there is an “if-then” that is objective. Whoever is endowed with the genius ability of the “if-then” will make the good music—or on average better music than I will—for every type of population. Even for him, I assume there are certain places where he will do it better, but still he has the perception that in light of the musicality of the audience around him, this is the perfect creation for them. So this “if-then” is the ability—one moment—it is the musical ability, not the music itself.
So do you understand that in ethics, in aesthetics, in logic, and in Jewish law, in the end we use facts and norms as a medium. The field itself is almost, one could say, universal—the field of the “if-then.” If the facts, then the normative result—the ethical, the aesthetic, the halakhic, whatever you want, any other result. And that “if-then” really is the only thing that is objective, that needs to be preserved. That is the Torah, or that is the logic, or that is whatever field you want— aesthetics, music, anything you want. In the end, that is where the real ability sits—precisely that elusive thing that doesn’t appear anywhere. You have to extract it by means of exegesis. And precisely that thing is the only objective thing there is. All the things that are so very objective and tangible—I see, look, a person does not pay his debt on time—ah, that’s accidental, that can also change, it doesn’t matter. The golden ratio in aesthetics? The golden ratio, yes—it too is a relation, a proportion, exactly, right. Okay.