A Blind Man and a Horse III

In his first chapter on Zehirus (chapter two) the Ramchal utilizes two very different analogies to depict the unexamined life. The first is his own invention: a blind man walking along a riverbank. The second comes from the prophet Yirmiyahu: a horse plunging into battle. The question is why our usually concise author felt the need for two different analogies when one would suffice. We have written about this before (here and here), but this morning I discovered a new possibility.

In the next chapter, chapter three, we read the following:

This is what the sages said, "You make darkness and it is night" (Tehillim 104) - this refers to this world which is comparable to night (Baba Metzia 83). Appreciate how extraordinary this truth is for someone who delves into its meaning! For the darkness of night can cause the human eye to err in two ways. Either it blocks [man's] vision to the point that he cannot see anything in front of him at all, or it tricks him into thinking a pole is a person or a person is a pole. The materialism and physicality of this world does the same, for it is the darkness of night for the mind's eye, and it causes [the same] two errors: (1) The first is that it does not allow [man] to recognize the stumbling blocks on the road of life, and so fools walk with confidence and fall [into sin]. They are lost without being frightened first... (2) The second error is worse than the first. [The darkness of this world] tricks [man's] vision, causing evil to appear as if it were undeniably good and goodness to appear as if it were evil. As a result, [people] are strengthened and they strengthen themselves in their evil deeds... They come up with great evidence and proofs that confirm their evil thoughts and mistaken opinions...  

The parallels could not be more clear. With the analogies of the blind man and the horse, Luzzatto is depicting the two types of errors people make when their vision is impaired on the dark road of life. First, a blind man walking on the edge of a river. He does not see the stumbling blocks in front of him and so he falls and is lost without even being frightened first. Second, a horse charging into battle. Worse than the blind man, he confuses good and evil. Strengthening himself with false arguments, he charges headlong into sin.

Luzzatto does not waste our time. Each analogy makes a different point.

Partners in the Good Fight

Chapter two is about "Zehirus," which, according to Luzzatto, refers to the need to be introspective and take control of our lives. But, just as the chapter is about to end, the author makes one final, surprising point.

Even if a person keeps watch over himself, it is obvious that he lacks the strength [to defeat the Yetzer HaRa] without Hashem's help, for the Yetzer HaRa is very powerful...

It is generally assumed that we are able to make choices and follow though on those choices because our positive and negative drives are of basically equal strength. But this is a misconception born of the illusion of our experience. The spiritual reality is altogether different.

The truth is that the Yetzer HaRa is far stronger than the Yetzer Tov and we are powerless against it. Left to our own devices, we would lose every battle and commit any and every sin that came our way. If we have ever emerged victorious against the Yetzer HaRa it is only because we have a secret ally called God. God regularly intervenes and saves us. However, God only gets involved if we put up a fight. 

If a person keeps watch over himself then Hashem will help him and he will be saved from the Yetzer HaRa. But if he fails to keep watch over himself, then Hashem will certainly not protect him, because if he doesn't care, why should anyone care about him?

In short, man cannot defeat the Yetzer HaRa alone, but if he makes an attempt then Hashem will help. 

Strange that things would be designed that way. Why did Hashem make the Yetzer Tov weaker than its opponent? Wouldn't it make more sense to have a balance of powers? That way we could save ourselves and Hashem wouldn't have to help us all the time.

The beginning of answer can be found at the end of chapter one.

... And so we learn that the point of man being in this world is only to fulfill Mitzvos, to serve [Hashem] and to withstand [the divinely orchestrated] challenges [of life]... There should be no intent in any act that man does, big or small, other than getting closer to Him...   

In other words, beating the the Yetzer HaRa brings us closer to Hashem. The basic idea is that man is elevated through the struggle and sanctified by the Mitzvah, but now we have new understanding of how the system works.  

Man gets closer to God when he struggles against his Yetzer HaRa because when man puts up a fight, Hashem is at his side fighting with him. This fosters a deep relationship between God and man for nothing bonds two soldiers like a good battle. And since building a relationship with God is the sole purpose of life on earth (as per chapter one), this set-up turns out to be a central feature in the design of man. 

The Gemora in Yoma (39a-b) brings the point home with an astonishing parable. (The translation of the verse is based on Rashi.)

אם ללצים - הוא יליץ, ולענוים - יתן חן  "If [a person wants to associate] with scorners, then he [alone] is [responsible for] becoming a scorner, but if [he wishes to associate] with the humble, then [God will] make him charming" (Proverbs 3:34). When a person is trying to make himself impure, he is given the opportunity, but when a person is trying to be pure, he is helped. In the Yeshiva of Rabbi Yishmael they taught: The parable here is to a vendor who sells petroleum and persimmon. [If] a customer comes to measure out petroleum, the vendor tells him, "Do it yourself." [But if] a customer comes to measure out persimmon, then the vendor says, "Wait for me to do it with you, for then we will both be scented." 

There you have it. God Himself comes to assist man in his strivings because God also wants to enjoy the sweet aroma of Mitzvah and the sweet victory over evil. In the process, a new relationship is forged. It is this singular relationship that gives meaning to all of creation, but everything depends on the few good men who take a stand against their Yetzer HaRa. 

A Blind Man and a Horse II

We have addressed the question before. Why does Luzzatto need two different metaphors to illustrate the same point? Here we revisit the problem and offer an alternate approach.

The two metaphors are found in chapter two. The title of the chapter is "Defining the Trait of Zehirus." What is Zehirus? A literal one-word translation will obviously not due justice to Luzzatto's chapter-long exposition, but this much we can say: A Zahir is an introspective person who takes life seriously.

Despite the title, Luzzatto spends the bulk of the chapter describing not the Zahir, but the non-Zahir, and it helps sharpen his point. Man must be introspective about his life, warns Luzzatto, or else he is doomed. One who lacks Zehirus "submits his soul to the dangers of oblivion" and "follows his habits like a blind man in the dark." 

Luzzatto continues his scathing rebuke of the non-Zahir with the following metaphor:

"One who goes through life without considering if his lifestyle is proper or inappropriate is like a blind man who walks along the edge of a river. He is in grave danger..."

Our author is not satisfied. He presents yet another metaphor for the non-Zahir, this one from Sefer Yermiyah:

"No man regrets his evil deeds, saying, 'What have I done?!' They are all busy running like a horse plunging into battle" (Yermiyah 8:6). That is, they were pursuing and following their habitual pursuits and lifestyle without giving themselves time to analyze their behavior...

The question is this. Why does Luzzatto need the second metaphor with the horse? What did the horse add that wasn't captured by the blind man?

In an earlier post we suggested that these two metaphors describe two different non-Zahir personalities. But now we offer an alternative possibility. 

Both metaphors describe the very same person - at two different stages of his development. 

The first step in the degeneration of man is his failure to be introspective and self-critical. At this point he stumbles through life like a blind man, guided only by his desires and oblivious to the dangers inherent in his lifestyle. This is bad enough, but it soon evolves into something worse: the development of habits. This is where the horse comes in. The problem now is no longer mere ignorance, but an ingrained tendency for unhealthy behaviors and the mindless pursuit of pleasure.

At the beginning of the chapter Luzzatto told us that one who lacks Zehirus 1) "submits his soul to the dangers of oblivion" and 2) "follows his habits." It stands to reason that the two metaphors that follow are meant to illustrate these two points. The blind man walking along the edge of a river is submitting his soul to the "dangers of oblivion" and the horse plunging into battle is blindly "following his habits." Habits born of the ignorance of the laissez faire.

At the end of chapter nine Luzzatto explains why Zerizus comes after Zehirus:

You can understand why it is appropriate for Zerizus to be the level that comes after Zehirus, for generally people can't become Zariz unless they are Zahir first. A person who pays no attention to his behavior and doesn't contemplate the service [of God] or its requirements - which, as I have written, is the trait of Zehirus - will find it difficult to feel a love and a longing for it and be driven by a passion to [serve] his Creator. For this person is still drowning in the physical pleasures and running in pursuit of his habits that distance him from all of this...  

"Drowning in the physical pleasures and running in pursuit of his habits!" 

Here in chapter nine, as he refers back to the non-Zahir personality, Luzzatto echoes the metaphors of chapter two: the blind man who is about to fall in the river and the galloping horse. As before, drowning comes first. 

The metaphors are graphic, but the slippery slope of the riverbank is all too familiar. After drowning in the river of pleasure, the careless blind man resurfaces transformed; now he is a battle horse. Saddled with animalistic addictions and driven by an insatiable appetite, he gallops further and further away from a meaningful relationship with God.

A little Zehirus early on can save a lifetime of heartache.

(For a third approach to these two analogies see this post.)

A Blind Man and a Horse

Our author loves parables and analogies - remember, Luzzatto was a playwright (see here, here and here) - and he uses them regularly in Mesillas Yesharim to great effect. In his first chapter on Zehirus the Ramchal utilizes two very different analogies to depict the unexamined life. The first is his own invention: a blind man walking along a riverbank. The second comes from the Navi: a horse plunging into battle (Yermiyah 8:6).

A blind man on a walk and a madly galloping horse. It would be hard to come up with two more diametrically opposed images, but somehow they both describe the same problem. How can this be?

A more basic question. Is a blind man really the ideal depiction of a person who lacks Zehirus?! No one walks more carefully than a blind man. The blind man's slow and deliberate steps would seem to be the ultimate illustration of Zehirus, not the lack thereof! Moreover, why wasn't the Navi's analogy of the horse sufficient? Why does the Ramchal need to add the blind man?

It should be obvious by now that Luzzatto is making two very different points here. First, he wants to let us know that our assumptions about Zehirus are false. It is insufficient to merely "be careful." As the very title of chapter one makes clear, man must know "his responsibilities in his world." You can walk through life as carefully as a blind man - every single step by the book - but if you are unaware or unmindful of the demands of your environment, your family and your social circle, then you lack Zehirus and are in peril of falling into oblivion. 

Back in the introduction, our author was outspoken in his criticism of those who focus solely on Talmud and Halacha and see no need to study Mussar. Here he derides them more subtly. Although every move of those Halachists is taken with the extreme care and trepidation of the blind, if they have never asked themselves uncomfortable questions about their personal obligations in their world, then they are far from true Zehirus. Their way of life is comparable to a blind man walking on the edge of a river. 

The Navi is describing an altogether different type of problem. A horse plunging into battle is very aware of his surroundings. He hears the screams, he sees the arrows and the spears, he knows he is charging straight into life-threatening danger and he is seized with terror, but yet he is powerless to change course for a rider drives him on with reigns and a whip. Some people are driven solely by their negative desires and character flaws and, despite their own better judgment, are as powerless to change course as a horse on the battlefield. 

Two different kinds of people, two different kinds of problems, but both lack Zehirus. Thankfully, there is a known cure. Keep reading!

(For an alternative approach to these two metaphors see this post.)

From Learning to Doing

Chapter 11 represents a shift in Mesilas Yesharim in a number of ways. As mentioned in a previous post, this chapter is longer than others and touches upon a number of mitzvos, often looking at particular aspects of a single mitzvah as an example. In contrast, the previous chapters were brief and touched on general aspects of the traits of zehirus and zerizus, but often did not touch upon particulars.

This shift can be viewed are a natural consequence of the trait of nekius itself. The traits of zehirus and zerizus correlate roughly to the groupings positive and negative mitzvos. Because the basic issue of what to do or not do is make explicit in the details mitzvah itself (which can, for example, be looked up in the Shulchan Aruch), Ramchal does not have to go into details, but can come with general insights on how to motivate ourselves to action or to refrain from action. As he points out in previous chapters, analysis is necessary, but it seems only to the degree that it motivates one to avoid a prohibition or perform a commandment. The twin traits of zehirus and zerizus lay a solid foundation for Jewish life and one who has acquired them both has reached a lofty level, but in a sense the person who has acquired these traits is really just a person who actively and outwardly performs mitzvos. A very high level, yes, but only a foundation it seems.

Nekius builds on this foundation, going beyond it. Ramchal writes that Nekius is related to zehirus, but on a higher level. As we will see in the future, this is common for the traits described in Mesilas Yesharim. Various traits are described as standing in relation to each other in a way that is similar to traits on a lower lever. The traits found in the beraisa of Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair has been described described as a ladder (or escalator, see below), with one trait leading up to another, but is perhaps more accurately described as a spiral staircase. While one is ascending, one comes to the same place one was before, but on a higher level, with a different vantage point, one that requires more detailed introspection.

It is here at this higher vantage point that the sefer seems to change from a book that one simply learns to acquire some bit of knowledge to a book that provides a systematic approach. Like any approach, it needs to be practiced to be of any use. It is here we go from learning mussar to really doing mussar, with the Ramchal giving us various examples of how that can be done. At this level we are not just able to open a Shulchan Aruch and see whether we are doing this or that mitzvah the right way. We have to active and deeply look at ourselves in a way that goes beyond simple motivation to a deeper level of being self-critical and working with oneself.

What time?

It seems that in today's day and age, step one - make time to pay attention and think about one's actions - is harder than ever. How is someone supposed to have enough time in a day to work, learn, see their family (and friends) and still find some time to analyze how they're doing? Not to mention actually improving themselves after noticing their deficiencies!
It's almost a catch-22. How does someone make enough time to think and realize that they need to make time?

Pharaoh Lives

In chapter 2 we learn that the Yetzer HaRa is not merely a negative drive that encourages us to sin. The Yetzer HaRa also uses Pharaoh's tactics, keeping us constantly busy and distracting us, so we won't have the time or the presence of mind to examine our lives. 

Question: How desperate is the Yetzer HaRa? If all else fails, would the Yetzer HaRa keep us busy with mitzvos and Torah learning? I was taught that Yetzer HaRa tries to distract us from learning Torah. It seems that sometimes quite the opposite may be true.    

The Unexamined Life

I know Luzzatto doesn't need my accolades, but I must say that I found this chapter to be a gorgeous piece of writing.

Officially, the book begins here with Luzzatto's commentary on the first of the ten levels of spiritual growth. However, it can also be read as a continuation of his argument for the study of Mussar which began with the introduction. Whereas in the previous chapter he elevated the study of Mussar to the only way to achieve d'veikus, now he describes the downside. Failure to analyze our behavior and lifestyle reduces man to a being inferior to the animal who instinctively avoids danger.

For Luzzatto, spiritual danger is no less significant than physical danger, nay - it is worse. For, as we learned in the previous chapter, the purpose of existence is not mortal life but d'veikus, our relationship with Hashem. True suicide is thus not blindly falling into a raging river, but the unexamined life and the negligent endangerment of our d'veikus.