Are You Arrogant or Do You Just Enjoy Honor?

Most people naturally assume that arrogance and an interest in honor are synonymous, but Luzzatto has a more nuanced approach. He views them quite differently.

At the end of chapter eleven, Luzzatto identifies and analyzes what he considers to be the most common character flaws: Arrogance, Anger, Jealousy, and Desire. Luzzatto then divides Desire in two - the desire for money and the desire for honor - bringing the total to five common flaws. (The "desire" discussed here is a character issue and is to be distinguished from the Yetzer HaRa for prohibited relationships. Luzzatto dealt with that problem at length at the beginning of the chapter.) By way of introduction, Luzzatto tells us that these traits all occur naturally in man and it is no small battle to get them under control.

Luzzatto thus begins his list of flaws with arrogance and ends it with the desire for honor. Interestingly, he spends more words on these two traits than on any of the others. But aren't they one and the same? What is arrogance if not an obsession with being honored?

The answer to our question can easily be found by contrasting Luzzatto's sharp definitions for these two traits. Arrogance, he writes, is thinking that you are important and deserving of praise. Honor, on the other hand, is a desire. The difference is clear. Arrogance is a way of thinking about yourself (irrational and baseless, but a way of thinking nonetheless) and the desire for honor is just that, a desire. Fundamentally, it no different than other desires, e.g., the desire for money. Desires exist irrespective of how you think about yourself.

Although it is true that arrogance can lead to an obsession with honor - Luzzatto himself described this phenomenon in his treatment of arrogance - it does not follow that any interest in honor is indicative of arrogance. It is natural for man to enjoy honor and the humble are no exception. 

What an incisive insight! And what a great relief! Thank you, Luzzatto.

Giving Nachas

In chapter eighteen Luzzatto introduces "Chassidus." Echoing what he wrote in the introduction to the book, Luzzatto decries all the nonsense that passes for Chassidus and feeds the perception that Chassidus is basically irrational. The truth is that Chassidus is an exceedingly deep concept, the roots of which are expressed by the well-known line of the Gemora in Berachos (17a):

אשרי מי שעמלו בתורה ועושה נחת רוח ליוצרו

"Praised is the man who labors in Torah and gives Nachas to his Creator."

How exactly can a human being give pleasure to God? In unqualified and inspiring prose, Luzzatto compares the love of God to the love for a parent or a spouse. The effect of true love is always the same: it generates a desire to give pleasure to the other. The loving husband figures out what his wife likes and he buys it for her. He certainly doesn't wait for her to ask for it; that would miss the point. The same is true for one who is in love with God. Such a person uses the mitzvos of the Torah to read God's Mind and to figure out the kinds of things that God likes. He then expands on the mitzvos and fulfills the spirit of the law in all that ways that he deems would give God pleasure. This is what it means to give Nachas to Hashem and this is the true Chassidus.

The idea is a beautiful one, but the implementation is fraught with dangers. Who can say with confidence that they have read God's Mind accurately? Are the mitzvos of the Torah open to subjective interpretation and expansion? Won't this lead to the very extremism and foolish behaviors Luzzatto complained about? If there are no defined parameters, anybody do anything in the name of Chassidus. This is a frightening prospect.

Not surprisingly, our concerns were addressed by the Gemora itself. Let's read it again: "Praised is the man who labors in Torah and gives Nachas to his Creator." Chassidus is for the man who labors in Torah! Only a Talmid Chachom with a deep understanding of the entirety of Torah could conceivably succeed at Chassidus, accurately determining God's unspoken preferences. The rest of us will have to settle with the practices of Chassidus mentioned by Chazal and described at length by Luzzatto in chapter nineteen. As the sages said flatly, "An ignoramus cannot be a Chosid" (Avos 2:5).   

It was a delight to discover that R. Chaim ben Atar (the Ohr HaChaim HaKadosh, a contemporary of the Ramchal) makes a similar point. Moreover, he saw it in a verse.     

אם בחקתי תלכו ואת מצותי תשמרו ועשיתם אתם

"If in my laws you walk, and my mitzvos you safeguard and perform..." (Vayikra 26:3)

The Ohr HaChaim typically offers multiple interpretations, but here he went all out. Forty-two different ways of understanding this verse! Here is number six:

This [verse] can also be explained in light of what they said, "An ignoramus cannot be a Chosid" (Avos 2:5). This means it is forbidden for an ignoramus to practice Chassidus, to take on stringencies and [add] fences [to the law] as the Chassidim do, because sometimes he will be "strict" in a way that actually turns out to be lenient. [For example,] you could have a "Chosid" who wishes to commit to fulfilling the mitzvah of Onah (conjugal relations) on the holidays. He thinks it is a great mitzvah to be intimate with his wife on Yom Kippur; we have heard that this has actually happened! This is why the sages forbade the ignoramus to practice Chassidus and this is the meaning of our verse: "If in my laws you walk" - i.e., [if you] labor in Torah study (cf. Rashi ad loc.) - then "my mitzvos you shall safeguard" - you should put up safeguards for the observance of the mitzvos, i.e., [extra] fences and observances - but otherwise, don't! 

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.)

Coming Clean

Chapter twelve is short. Throughout the lengthy and intimidating chapter eleven we braced ourselves for a grueling regiment for acquiring Nekius, but Luzzatto surprises us. All we need to do is learn.

Based on its description in this chapter, Nekius is a hyper-Zehirus, a scrupulous observance of Torah to its very last detail. As seasoned masters of Zehirus, we are well trained in taking the Torah to heart and implementing what we learn into practice. The only thing we lack is a comprehensive knowledge of Halachah and Mussar. So Luzzatto prescribes learning. Learn and be Naki. That's it.

Sounds reasonable enough, until we remind ourselves of Luzzatto's original definition of Nekius. Back in chapter ten he explicitly differentiated Nekius from Zehirus. As long as man is driven by self-interest he can never be truly Naki, Luzzatto wrote, for man's subconscious id blinds his objective thinking and corrupts his judgement. Luzzatto therefore made the bold claim that attaining Nekius requires nothing less than the total eradication of the Yetzer HaRa itself. It's hard to argue with the logic, but it begs the question: How on earth can a human being change his nature and attain the spiritual level of an angel?!

The title of chapter twelve promises to provide an answer to this mystery, but Luzzato seems to have conveniently forgotten the idealism of chapter ten. We could easily accept his educational recommendations if Nekius were merely a matter of observance, but it is not. According to chapter ten, Nekius is the transformation of a flawed human into a perfect, purified being devoid of negative drives. How could simply reading Halachic and Mussar works possibly suffice to achieve that superhuman goal? What we need here is a brain and heart transplant!

What has happened to Luzzatto? Is he backpedaling?

Tradition informs us and experience has shown that we can trust our author. The key to discovering his intent is simply to read carefully and follow through. If Luzzatto tells us in chapter twelve that Nekius is basically just a complete, all-encompassing Zehirus, then we would do well to turn back and review what he wrote about Zehirus earlier in the book. Indeed, a rereading of chapter five quickly demonstrates that Luzzatto has not abandoned one iota of his utopian Nekius and the advice he gives us here in chapter twelve is, in fact, the one and only way to acquire it.

The fundamental teaching of chapter five instantly puts chapter twelve in a whole new light. Luzzatto quotes a Gemora: God said, "I created the Yetzer HaRa and I created the Torah as its antidote" (Kiddushin 40b). Torah study is the antibiotic that eliminates the Yetzer HaRa! 

There you have it. Nekius does indeed require the total cleansing of the negative drives and, as astonishing as it sounds, this is an attainable goal. It is achieved by the very method Luzzatto advocates here in chapter twelve: the study of Torah. But not just any Torah study. Unceasing study of the entirety of Torah with the goal of observance in mind. Deep study with creative thinking and chiddushei Torah, as Luzzatto describes. And with that, with the divine light of Torah permeating and illuminating every aspect of life and every dark crevice of the human mind and heart, the Yezter HaRa vanishes. And man comes clean.

Are you Arrogent or Just Insecure?

This will be a brief post, serving only to clarify a common misconception.

At the end of chapter eleven Luzzatto finally addresses character flaws. (I say finally because the uniformed assume the entire book is devoted to this topic.) He presents a list of the top four, beginning with Arrogance. Luzzatto's definition is similar to what you will find in the dictionary: having an exaggerated sense of one's own importance and an expectation of recognition and praise.

Some people are arrogant because they consider themselves intelligent, handsome, or special in some other way, and they may be correct, but Luzzatto explains that they are also blind.

"The mind of man fails to see his deficiencies or recognize his baseness. For if he were able to see and would recognize the truth, he would turn away and distance himself far from all these evil and corrupt behaviors." 

Now, we are all familiar with arrogant people, but not all arrogant people are arrogant. In fact, I would argue that the vast majority of arrogant people are actually quite humble. Allow me to explain.

We need to differentiate between arrogant thinking and arrogant behavior. Arrogant thinking, the גבה לב of the Torah, is the contemptible arrogance spoken of by our sages. As described above, it refers to a person who thinks he's God's gift to the world. On the other hand, arrogant behavior is just that, a behavior, and it is not always indicative of a person with an inflated self-image.  

Arrogant behaviors are typically symptomatic not of a person who prides himself on his unique qualities, but of a person with a low self-esteem. People who lack self-worth put others down and present themselves as superior as a way of feeling better about themselves and protecting their fragile egos.

Just as Luzzatto observed that multiple, even contradictory behaviors can result from arrogant thinking, so too we find identical behaviors emerging from disparate ways of thinking. Arrogant Man with his inflated sense of importance, ignorant of his flaws and limitations, and Insecure Man with his negative self worth, ignorant of his qualities and strengths, are both prone to the very same arrogant behaviors, albeit for very different reasons.

We should be careful not to misdiagnose.

Self Love, Divine Love, and the Average Jo

Dedicated to my esteemed Chavrusa

RABBI SHALOM DENBO

In chapter four, the Ramchal divides humanity into three broad categories: the intelligentsia, the second-class, and “the masses.” For each category he proposes a suitable thought exercise that will motivate them to Zehirus. 

Luzzatto’s proposal for the masses is that they consider “reward and punishment.” Apparently, even people who have made peace with their flaws and are unconcerned with getting a good seat in the World to Come can still be motivated by the simple truth that there are consequences for our behavior.

Although he mentions both reward and punishment when he initially introduced the idea, Luzzatto quickly sidelines reward and focuses solely on the theme of punishment for the remainder of the chapter. He cites no less than six examples of Biblical characters who, despite their extraordinary righteousness, were punished for their misdeeds. All this is brought in support of the Talmudic teaching that “God is stringent with his Chassidim to the strand of a hair” (Yevamos 121b).
 

The problem here is the relevance of these sources to the discussion at hand. We are dealing with inspiring the masses and Luzzatto is telling us that if nothing else works, the simple folk should motivate themselves with thoughts of divine retribution. (It is worth noting that in chapter twenty-four Luzzatto derides this kind of fear as far from ideal.) But how is the average Jo motivated by the fact that Avraham, Yaakov and Yosef were punished when they erred? The rebuttal is obvious:
 

“Of course God punished them! God has high expectations of such spiritual supermen. But I am no Abraham. I’m just a regular guy with a host of flaws and weaknesses. God made me this way and He is surely not surprised to discover that I sin on a regular basis. He won’t punish me.”

In short, what does the average Jo have in common with greatest Tzaddikim who ever lived?

 

The answer is that no healthy person thinks they are a lowlife. The typical narrative that people tell themselves runs something like this:
 

“I may be imperfect and commit sins, but I also do a lot of good. I’m basically an OK guy.”

That is a normal way of thinking and an integral aspect of a healthy self-esteem.  It is also advocated by the Rambam. In the Laws of Teshuva (3:4) the Rambam writes that no one should think they are a bad person. Rather, we should view ourselves as average, balanced in-between a Tzaddik and a Rasha. 

A positive self-image is nothing less than a Halachic imperative. The Torah famously states, "Love your friend as you love yourself" (Vayikra 19:18). Not only does this verse clearly presuppose self love, it also implies another basic truth: we are incapable of loving others if we don't love ourselves.

We love ourselves and it is only natural to assume that God shares our perspective and loves us too. It may well be presumptuous, but we can't possibly go through life thinking the alternative. 

It may be essential for our mental health, but it poses a dangerous challenge to Zehirus. If God loves me no matter what I do, then why does it matter what I do? The infinitely compassionate God loves me unconditionally! How do we combat this line of thinking? 

Luzzatto tells that we should never debate a healthy self-image. It is a given: despite our flaws, we are decent people and God loves us. This is why he writes that we should first focus on the heavenly reward in store for our Mitzvos. "Even the emptiest Jew is filled with Mitzvos like [the seeds of] a pomegranate" (Berachos 57a). And, as Luzzatto wrote in chapter one, Mitzvos are rewarded in the World to Come with the bliss of being with the Shechina, i.e., the unfiltered love of God. "Every Jew has a portion in the World to Come" (Mishnah Sanhedrin 10:1); ergo, God loves every Jew. According to Luzzatto, awareness of this truth is a foundation of spiritual growth.

Yes, Rabbi Denbo, I admit it. God does love each and every one of us. But here comes the kicker. God also loved Avraham. A lot. Luzzatto quotes the verse, “Avraham, my beloved” (Yeshayah 41:8). Nonetheless, Avraham was punished for his failings because, albeit in a very limited sense, he failed to live up to his potential. We should expect similar treatment. Unconditional divine love does not mean that Hashem doesn't make demands and follow through with the consequences when we fail.

With this message Luzzatto proposes to rouse the average Jo to Zehirus. It is strong medicine and may only be taken following Dr. Luzzatto's instructions. Before we speak of punishment for sin, the doctor insists that we first reinforce a positive self image with the affirmation of divine love and the innate goodness of the simplest Jew.

Puppeteer of the Soul

At the end of chapter seven, Luzzatto presents what is probably the best know Jewish technique for effecting change. Luzzatto did not discover it - the Chinuch described it over four centuries earlier - but it is so basic to Judaism it is hard for anyone to really claim it as their own.

Whether you use the Chinuch's formulation, האדם נפעל כפי פעולותיו, or Luzzatto's, החיצוניות מעורר הפנימיות, the idea is the same: what we do molds who we are. Luzzatto harnesses this reality in the effort to acquire Zerizus.

Just as Zerizus is the result of an inner excitement, so too will Zerizus produce an inner excitement. That is, one who rouses himself in the performance of a Mitzvah, as he quickens his outer movements he also causes his inner emotion to ignite, and his longing and interest will strengthen and grow. But if he moves his limbs lethargically, then so will his spirit die down and be extinguished. Experience attests to this. 

Now, you already know that what is most wanted in the service of the Creator is the interest of the heart and the longing of the Neshama... However, someone in whom this longing does not burn as it should is well-advised to get himself into in by force of will (i.e., fake it), which will naturally result in the development of this longing. For the external movement inspires the internal and the external is surely more under our control than the internal. Making use of that which is in his hands, he will, in turn, acquire that which isn't. For inner joy, interest and longing will be born of the passion he invested in his free-willed movements. (translation based in part on Machon Ofek)   

Luzzatto is telling us that inspiration is a science. If we learn its laws we can manipulate our inner reality.

 

The only remaining question is why. Why is the internal affected by the external? In the physical sciences, such questions are beyond the pale. A law of nature is just that; we cannot ask why E=mc². I submit that my question may not be legitimate. Nonetheless, I have a hypothesis.

 

In true Jewish tradition, I begin my answer with another question. This entire discussion presumes that the self actually consists of two different identities, the "external" and the "internal." Luzzatto preceded Freud by more than a century. Which two selves is he referring to?  

 

I believe Lazzatto is referring to the well established duality of the body and the soul. It is the soul that will respond to and mimic the behavior of the body. As Luzzatto wrote in the quote above, "What is most wanted in the service of the Creator is the interest of the heart and the longing of the Neshama..."

 

Luzzatto spoke of this longing of the Neshama back in chapter one. There he cited a Midrash which compared the Neshama to a princess who marries a commoner. Just as this simple man will never be able to satisfy the princess, so too is the Neshama trapped in an unhappy marriage. Ever yearning for her spiritual home in Heaven, the Neshama suffers constant disappointment and dissatisfaction with her host body and the material nature of this world.

 

Now, the location of the soul in our bodies is not limited to our minds or our hearts. "Just as the Holy One, may He be blessed, fills the entire universe, so too the Neshama fills the entire body" (Berachos 10a; cf. Nefesh HaChaim 3:2). It follows that whenever we make a move, the corresponding "limb" of the soul is forced to make the very same move.  The "I" of the body is literally the puppeteer of the "I" of the soul trapped within!

 

This explains why the external inspires the internal. Doing Mitzvos lethargically doesn't elicit a soul response, for such Mitzvos leave the soul cold. But when we perform a Mitzvah passionately, the Neshama awakens. As the body puts her through the motions, the Neshama finds happiness in a holy act done right. And, for that one moment at least, the princess finally makes peace with her husband the puppeteer.