Mussar and "Normalcy" (2)

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In memory of Amos Dubrawsky (Amos ben Chagai HaLevi and Nechama Pearl) zt"l -
brother, son and friend. May his neshama have an aliyah.
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     In this shiur we will examine further the crucial question: Can one live according to Jewish ethical standards and still be "normal?" Our previous lesson dealt with the reflexive aspect of this dilemma - living in an "adjusted" manner vis-a-vis oneself.  This time we will delve into the value conflict inherent in the very idea of living Jewishly in the modern world.

 

     A large part of the strain on religious life in our times may be attributed to the perception that religion would prefer a world totally different than the one in which we live.  One who believes the values of the marketplace to be at total odds with the Torah values which command his inner conviction, but on the other hand lives a good part of his life according to the marketplace and its ways, is in a quandary which demands resolution.  But what sort of resolution? We automatically think of various options which present themselves: psychological repression, abdication, compromise, resigning oneself to an alienated existence.  Rather than mulling over these unappealing choices, I would like to question the basic assumption of the dilemma.  Are the values of the outside world truly at loggerheads with what a Torah life is meant to be? The answer we will suggest is negative.  But a word of caution - our "resolution" of the dilemma is not meant to dissolve the tension.  We are looking for a point of view which will help us make our peace with a situation which is ridden with paradox.

 

     I would like to follow the train of thought of a modern-day Orthodox Jewish thinker, Rabbi Sol Roth, who dealt with our problem extensively in his book, The Jewish Idea of Culture.  Rabbi Roth's point of departure is the dichotomy of  "Torah u-madda," which he translates as "Torah and culture." He advises us to analyze these concepts not merely as two thought-disciplines, for this would not expose their full human impact.  We should first recognize that the two pursuits require two activities of differing existential significance:

 

In the pursuit of cultural achievements, the human being experiences great ego-satisfaction.  In the pursuit of Torah, an individual exhibits self-denial, i.e., he suppresses his own ego's inclinations in the interests of responding to the will of God.  (p. 9)

 

     In fact, the two concepts typify two life-attitudes, which characterize and dominate human activity.  Man can orient his activity in either a "contractual" or a "covenantal" mode.  Contractual man is interested in self-realization.  He operates socially and develops relationships mainly with the aim of furthering his personal goals.  In this mode thrive the businessman, when he cultivates his contacts and negotiates agreements; the student, who seeks the intellectual enrichment and stimulation offered by his teacher; and the artist, who painstakingly develops his creative technique through practice and study. 

 

     Covenantal man, on the other hand, rather than engaging the world for the sake of his own desired aims, does so for the sake of the relationships themselves.  His commitment to a given relationship is not motivated by the desire to profit from it.  His commitment is therefore unconditional, an end in itself.  That is what makes it a "covenant" as opposed to a "contract." We readily associate this experiential mode with the religious person who wants to serve God.  But the same essential attitude is to be found in all types of "service" - be it a soldier who chooses to risk his life out of love for his country (rather than follow career interests) or a dedicated teacher or doctor who gives of himself for the good of others.

 

     Of course, these two modes are not an either/or proposition.  Human nature contains both of them.  This duality is exemplified in something the Torah teaches about the marriage process.  The Torah in two places exempts a newlywed from conscription.  In the first, the force which is preparing to go to battle is assembled and addressed:

 

Who is the man who has built a house but did not yet dedicate it, let him go and return home, lest he die in battle, and another man will dedicate it...  And who is the man who has betrothed a woman but not yet married her, let him go and return home, lest he die in battle, and another man will marry her...  (Devarim 20:5-7)

 

Further on we read:

 

Should a man take a new wife, he will not go the army or be subject to any duty.  He will be free for his home for one year, so that he may gladden the wife he has taken.  (Devarim 24:5)

 

     Why is this double exemption necessary? As our rabbis explain, each verse deals with a different stage in the two-tiered marriage process: betrothal ("erusin") and marriage ("nisuin").  In the first instance, a soldier who is engaged is exempted to insure that he will not die in battle.  According to Chazal, the explicitly-stated reason defines the scope of the exemption - this soldier does not fight, but he may be assigned "safe" military tasks.  The second verse discusses a man who is already married - he is totally exempt for a year from any military service whatsoever, so that he should be "free for his home."

 

     If we look more closely at the reasons for these laws, we notice an important distinction.  The married man is freed in order to "gladden his wife." The betrothed man is exempt for a completely different reason.  There, the Torah is not concerned with the welfare of the tragically widowed fiancee.  She still has her life ahead of her, and can build her future with "another man." The calamity we seek to avert is that the man himself die before having fulfilled his dream. 

 

     I believe that the basic difference between the two reasons illustrates the duality we have been discussing.  A man who betroths a woman does not do so in order to "gladden" her.  He does not seek out a lonely person who is in need of a mate, and offer her his hand in order to redeem her existence.  On the contrary, he is seeking the life-partner who he believes will redeem HIS OWN loneliness, the person with whom he will be able to build the family and home of which he dreams.  With all the romantic idealization we associate with courtship and betrothal, we are nevertheless discussing a contract, not a covenant. 

 

     But once we move on to the state of marriage itself, the Torah paints another picture.  The man is expected to be concerned with something else - not fulfilling his own goals, but gladdening his wife.  The essence of the marriage state is to forget oneself and be preoccupied with the welfare of the spouse.  Once married, the relationship is transformed and becomes a covenant, in which the partners commit themselves to serve unconditionally.  The enhancement and enrichment of the marriage-relationship is an end in itself.

 

     The distinction between covenantal and contractual life will help us deal with our original question: Is it true that the values of the outside world are opposed to those the Torah seeks to inculcate? The connection should be fairly clear.  By and large, the values of modern society are those which dictate a contractual existence.  Would it be accurate to say that the Torah denigrates such activity, and demands that we live wholly on a covenantal foundation of selfless commitment? I don't think so.  Getting back to our previous example, the fact that the betrothed soldier is discharged so that his efforts not go unrewarded, is an indication of the value that Judaism sets on self-fulfillment.  Broadly stated, no one would ever get married or build a family if he weren't acting out of self-interest.  This is the very observation which caused our Sages to interpret the verse, "And God saw everything that He had made, and it was very good" (Bereishit 1:31) with respect to the yetzer ha-ra, the "evil inclination:"

 

For were it not for the yetzer ha-ra, no man would build a house, take a wife, have children, or do business.  (Midrash Rabba, ibid.)

 

The Midrash is implying that what we call the "evil inclination" is in fact an essential aspect of humanity which is not necessarily "evil" - it depends what you do with it.  The physical development of the world and the propagation of the human race are morally good, and the means which God ordained to achieve them are therefore called "very good."

 

     Elsewhere Chazal elaborate on the moral importance of competitiveness - a trait which our "saintly" side might tend to shrug off as sheer egotism.  They detected a beneficial self-interest at work where we would least suspect: in the spiritual make-up of our father Avraham, the tower of chesed (loving-kindness):

 

That is what Scripture says: "Don't let your heart be jealous of sinners." But of what should you be jealous? "Of the fear of God all the day" (Mishlei 23)... 

And when was Avraham jealous? When he said to Malkizedek (whom the Rabbis identify as Shem the son of Noach), "In what merit did you go out of the Ark?" He said to him, "Because of the charity that we did." He said to him, "What charity was there for you to do? Do you mean to say that there were poor people then? The only people there were Noach and his sons!" ...  He said to him, "We did charity with the animals and birds.  All night, instead of sleeping, we gave food to this one and that one"...  Avraham then said to himself, "If giving charity to animals and birds was enough to merit their escape from the Ark, ...  then if I were to do charity with human beings, who are created in the image of angels, how much more so would I merit being saved from all harm!" Whereupon "Avraham planted a tree" (Bereishit 21; the "eshel" tree is taken as an acronym for "akhila, shetiya, livaya," eating, drinking and accompanying) - that is, he practiced hospitality.  That is why Shlomo said (Kohelet 4), "I have seen that all labor and industrious activity are nothing more than one man's jealousy of another." (Midrash Tehilim 37)

 

     In truth, we are not doing justice to the contractual side of our personality if we view it as an ethical embarrassment.  Were we to live only as covenantal beings, we would lack a whole array of characteristics which are necessary for the creative endeavor.  Industriousness, willpower, mental acumen and competitiveness are all traits which have moral significance.  Yeshiva students are encouraged to develop these traits in the interest of Torah study (a spiritual value!).  Think of a society which rests on its laurels, and does not invest effort and means in constantly improving its economic, social and military standards.  Such a society, besides setbacks in the above-mentioned areas, is probably also suffering moral degeneration: increased laziness, pleasure-seeking, irresponsibility.  The torpor which beset the Israeli army before the Yom Kippur War was a moral failure, besides being potentially catastrophic militarily.

 

     At the same time, it is clear that experientially, industriousness and competitiveness are totally different from the covenantal traits of self-sacrifice and commitment.  The first set of values derives from the secular world; the second set derives from the transcendent - these are the values which compel man to transcend himself and reach out to what is beyond him.  Here again we face an inner rift of the type which we saw in our previous lesson.  Accommodating these two different mindsets is a uniquely human task; dealing squarely with this tension is what makes a person whole.

 

     If we stop the discussion here, and return to our original question - are the values of the marketplace opposed to Torah values? - we may say that the religious Jew need feel no strangeness when carrying on the routine of life in secular society.  The ways of the modern world represent valid and desirable aims from the religious standpoint.  We would appear to have allayed the antagonism between Jewish life and the society around us, and to remain (as we concluded in the previous shiur) with the challenge of the tension within religious life itself. 

 

     Personally, I believe that this somewhat satisfying conclusion is valuable.  At the same time, I would be dishonest if I left it at that.  The value-conflict with the modern world is still there, and it won't do to try evade the issue.  In our next shiur we will look at some of the reasons why, despite the Torah's realization of the importance of the secular creative impulse, the Mussar-oriented Jew can expect difficulty in looking for a home in the twenty-first century.