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.

Everything Depends On... One Drop of Ink

It is rare indeed that so much depends on so little, but that is exactly what happens in an obscure line in chapter one. The fate of life on earth literally turns on the tiniest drop of ink, and to make matters worse, we're not even sure if the ink exists at all.

Allow me to explain. Here is the line in question, as it appears in most editions:

אלא בריאתו של האדם למצבו בעולם הבא היא, ועל כן ניתנה בו נשמה זאת, כי לה ראוי לעבוד ובה יוכל האדם לקבל השכר במקומו ובזמנו, שלא יהיה דבר נמאס אל נשמתו בעולם הזה אלא אדרבא נאהב ונחמד ממנה, וזה פשוט

The Hebrew is admittedly awkward, but it can't mean anything other than what Feldheim's translation says it means: "Therefore, the creation of man is wholly linked to his place in the world-to-come, and for this purpose he was given this soul; he will serve the Eternal for its [the soul's] sake, and through it he will receive his reward at the appropriate place and time. In this manner, instead of his soul despising this world, it will love and desire it. This is self-evident."

We need to appreciate the significance of this line. Luzzatto had just quoted a Midrash which compared the state of our souls in this world to a princess who marries one of the town's folk. This man will never be able to make her happy, for she comes from a different world. So too, Luzzatto writes, "The Neshama does not love this world at all; on the contrary, it despises it!" But now, in the concluding sentence of this depressing paragraph, we are told that there a way out of this sad state of affairs. If we work, if we serve God, we can make her happy. Our Neshama is not doomed to despise this world! 

This news comes as a great relief and it also allows us to understand a well-known but difficult biblical expression. 

You shall place these words of mine on your hearts and on your souls. Tie them as a sign on your arms and they shall be an ornament between your eyes. Teach it to your children so they will talk about it when they are sitting at home, traveling on the road, when they lie down and when they get up. Write it on the doorposts of your homes and your gates. In order that your days and the days of your children will be increased on the ground that Hashem promised to give to your forefathers, כימי השמים על הארץ, like the days of heaven on earth.

"Like the days of heaven on earth." What does that mean? In light of what we have learned, it means exactly what it says. If you do the Mitzvos... no, that's not right. If you immerse yourself in Mitzvos; if you fill your heart and mind with Torah, if you bind it to arm and head, write it on the doorposts, and talk about it day and night, at home and on the road, then your soul will experience life on earth - in the Holy Land - with the very same bliss that it experienced when it was in heaven. Heavenly days, on earth!

If only it were so. Unfortunately, the Machon Ofek edition provides us with a different, and apparently more accurate, version of this sentence. It is a miniscule correction, erasing the tiniest slice of a letter and changing a ב into a כ, but it at once saves the sentence grammatically and restores the soul to its uncomfortable status quo. Look at it now:

ועל כן ניתנה בו נשמה זאת, כי לה ראוי לעבוד ובה יוכל האדם לקבל השכר במקומו ובזמנו, שלא יהיה דבר נמאס אל נשמתו כעולם הזה אלא אדרבא נאהב ונחמד ממנה

Here is their translation: "Therefore, this soul was placed within him, for it befits the soul to serve [God], and with it man will be able to receive reward in the appropriate place and in the appropriate time, for [the world-to-come] is not something despicable to his soul as this world, but to the contrary, it is loved and desired by it."

So much for the "self-evident" happiness in the here and now.

[The Feldheim translation given above is from their new translation of Mesilas Yesharim (2004). While they did update the Hebrew text and change the ב which appeared in their older edition into a כ, they failed to appreciate how that transforms the meaning of the sentence.] 

The post might have ended here, but I am dissatisfied with Machon Ofek's translation of their own corrected text. I would argue, and those who can read Hebrew would surely agree, that the good Machon's usually competent translators fudged this sentence. Here is what it really says:

"This is why this Neshama was placed within him, for it is worthwhile to work for her, and through her man will be able to receive reward in the appropriate place and in the appropriate time. This is in order that [the reward] won't be something despised by his soul like this world is, but to the contrary, [the reward in the next world will be] loved and desired by it more than [this world]."

I know it sounds strange, but that it what it says. If we can suppress our objections for a moment and just listen to the words objectively (always a good idea when reading Luzzatto), we are faced with frightening implications. Reward in the next world is not necessarily blissful. If we fail to "work for the soul," the experience of our eternal reward in the next world will be "despised."

No, this cannot be right, you say. Reward is reward and bliss is bliss. Right?

Wrong. The next world can hurt. Not just Gehenom, but Heaven too. Allow me to quote none other than Luzzatto himself, just a few chapters on:

If it is so difficult for people to be ranked below others in the imaginary and deceptive ranks [of this world]... how will they tolerate seeing themselves lower than people whom they currently consider their inferiors? And this in the place of true rank and eternal honor! Even though they currently don't recognize it nor appreciate its value and consequentially they ignore it, when the time comes they will certainly recognize its reality to their sorrow and shame. This will undoubtedly be a source of great and everlasting grief.  (Chap. 4; translation based on Machon Ofek)

Luzzatto is not speaking here of Gehenom. Earlier in the same chapter he cites the Gemora in Baba Basra (75a), "Everyone is burned by their friend's Chuppah." Luzzatto explained that this refers not to base jealousy, but to the pain of seeing someone else achieve a level of fulfillment that you know that you are yourself capable of. This kind of pain can be experienced in Heaven too.

This is what Luzzatto is saying in our corrected sentence. Work for your soul, or else expect to suffer the same very same disappointments in the next world that you experience in the here and now.  

It's All Torah

In chapter five the treatment of level one is completed with a list of three things that ruin it. This will be Luzzatto's modus operandi throughout the book; he will define each level, describe how to get there and then end with a list of things which make it difficult to attain and/or retain that level.

The first item on his list, and the one he spends the most time writing about, is insufficient Torah learning. For after all, R. Pinchas ben Yair was clear that it is Torah that leads to zehirus. The Ramchal describes the attempt to achieve zehirus without Torah as pure foolishness, comparing it to ignoring a doctor's prescription.

Why didn't the Ramchal mention this before? When the Ramchal taught us how to acquire this trait in the previous chapter, he spent little time talking about Torah learning. Granted, he did begin with the quote from R. Pinchas ben Yair, but then he quickly segued to the three methods of acquiring zehirus for the three different kinds of people. Why now, when it comes to listing things that are detrimental to zehirus, does he suddenly put so much emphasis on Torah?

The answer can be found in the opening lines of the previous chapter. There Luzzatto quotes Rabbi Pinchas ben Yoir's teaching that Torah leads to zehirus. However, Luzzatto qualifies it. He writes that Torah leads to Zehirus בדרך כלל, "generally." But בפרט, "specifically," it is Mussar that does it. Is Luzzatto arguing with Rabbi Pinchas ben Yoir? Certainly not! The Ramchal is making a profound statement that is getting lost in translation. To understand it, we should remember that a פרט is, by definition, a part of a כלל. Now reread his words at the beginning of chapter four:

Specifically, [על דרך פרט] what brings to [Zehirus] is contemplating seriousness of the service that man is obligated [to perform] and the depth of judgement for it, and he can extract these [lessons] from the study of biblical narratives and from learning the relevant teachings of the sages.   

Luzzatto reiterates the idea in chapter five:

... But, if he studies Torah, when he sees its ways, its Mitzvos and its warnings, a new awakening will eventually develop on its own within him and it will lead him to the good path... As I wrote before, this also includes [בכלל זה ג"כ] the setting of times for analyzing and correcting one's deeds.

In short, when Rabbi Pinchas ben Yoir said that Torah leads to Zehirus he was making a very broad and general statement, a כלל. While it is true that any and every Torah teaching leads to Zehirus, there is a specific area of Torah, a פרט of the כלל, that is a more targeted and more effective way to achieve the desired results. These are the "contemplations" described by the Ramchal. And when the Ramchal writes that these lessons can be learned from the biblical narratives and the teachings of the sages, he is not merely referring us to textual sources for inspiration. He is proving his point. If these Mussar lessons are derived from Torah that can only mean one thing: Mussar is Torah!

In chapter four, Luzzatto describes different contemplations for different types of people. Some are motivated by the human perfection offered by Torah, some by its honor and others by the fear of consequences - and Luzzatto shows us that every one of these ideas has its source in Torah. Whichever motivation moves you, it's all Torah. (For a further expansion of this idea, see this post.)

II

Luzzatto tells us that the non-idealistic masses can be motivated by the fear of strict divine justice. He spends a lot of ink bringing example after example of great biblical figures who were punished for their errors and, uncharacteristically, he allows himself to be lead off-topic into the thorny theological problem of reconciling divine justice with divine compassion. But why is all this necessary? Do the masses really need to grapple with these issues? Would it not suffice to simply state that God punishes sin? He could illustrated this fact with the well-known flood of Noah, the burning of Sodom or the ten plagues in Egypt. Surprisingly, Luzzatto fails to cite the explicit biblical Mitzvah to fear Hashem! (cf. Devarim 6:13). Wouldn't these sources be a much more succinct and straightforward way of making his point?

The answer is that when Rabbi Pinchas ben Yoir said that Torah leads to Zehirus, he was not referring to Torah truths, nor was he referring to Mitzvos. As Luzzatto himself writes (in chapters four and five), Rabbi Pinchas ben Yoir was referring specifically to Torah study. Luzzatto's thesis in chapter four is that the fear of God is a subject; a deep and central subject of Torah study. (In fact, this is the central message of the entire book, see the author's introduction.) But how do we know this to be true? Where in Torah does the fear of God appear not as law but as a subject? As we pointed out before, Luzzatto provided the answer in the opening lines of chapter four: "... [He] can extract these [lessons] from the study of biblical narratives and from learning the relevant teachings of the sages." If it comes from Torah, it is Torah.

Fear itself does not develop Zehirus; Torah study does. Specifically, studying the definition of divine justice and its theological implications. In other words, the Sugya of מדת הדין. This is the Torah that leads to Zehirus.

On the Virtues of Perfectionism (or is it maturity?)

Transitioning into its role as a practical guide, we are told that there are three different methods for attaining the first level of zehirus. (Literally "carefulness," a zahir is an introspective person who, instead of acting out of habit, questions the righteousness of his own behavior in order to avoid sin. See the beginning of chapters two and six.)

Which of the three ways of achieving zehirus is right for you very much depends on who you are. "Shleimei hada'as" (the definition of which is the topic of this post) are brought to zehirus by the realization of the fact that a lack of zehirus makes you a flawed human being - which, for shleimei hada'as, is a frightening and unbearable prospect. Those who are "inferior to them" should consider that in the next world honor comes to those who were zahir in this world. (Apparently, the self-centered drive for honor is a legitimate engine for personal growth. Whatever works.) And finally, "the masses" can be driven to zehirus by contemplating the punishment that awaits those who fail to observe the Torah.

Who are the "shleimei hada'as"? Machon Ofek translates it as "those of perfect knowledge." They get an "A" for literal accuracy but, for me at least, it fails. I simply have no idea what it means. Perfect knowledge? As in, they know everything? What difference does that make? Artscroll (R. Twesky) has it better, "people with profound understanding." I like Feldheim's translation best: "those who are truly wise," but it is still misleading, for the Ramchal is surely not speaking here of IQ.

I believe the correct translation of shleimei hada'as is "very mature" or "refined." Maybe even "perfectionists." The "da'as" here is not knowledge nor intelligence; it is emotional maturity, as in "bar da'as."

The truth our our contention can be proved by Luzzatto's own use of the term later in this same section of our chapter.

About this [the sages] of blessed memory said metaphorically, "...every person is burned by his friend's Chuppah" (Baba Basra 75a). This is not due to jealousy which only occurs to those who lack da'as..."

Clearly, the da'as in this sentence is not speaking of knowledge or wisdom. Those qualities don't prevent jealousy. Maturity does.

The Ramchal is thus describing a personality type: people blessed with an innate sense that life must be lived seriously; people who cannot tolerate imperfection in themselves. If that describes you, then the very nature of your personality is an engine for zehirus. If not, then read on.