Sago Boulevard

In the recent Edah Journal, Rabbi Dr. Alan Brill reviews the three collections of articles and speeches of Rabbi Dr. Aharon Lichtenstein as a way of evaluating his thought in general and his role as a leader of “modern” or “centrist” Orthodoxy. There’s a lot to say about the article but I’ll defer to close students of R. Lichtenstein for the details of his approach. One point of Dr. Brill’s, though, stood out to me as somebody concerned with the appropriate method of doing philosophy of Judaism:

In the texts cited to prove his social views, we gain a window into R. Lichtenstein’s approach. He avoids the texts of Jewish thought of the last millennium except for those of the Eastern European beit midrash; he does not cite liturgists, midrash, medieval philosophers or kabbalists. Instead, he bases his corporate view of life on the legal texts that discuss the laws of sacrifice, property responsibility, and the four watchmen. His proof text on the need to work is a citation from Maimonides (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Gezeilah 6:11) that a dice player cannot be a witness because his vice places him outside of society. This case is paradigmatic of the way in which R. Lichtenstein takes a particular halakhah and globalizes it into a general idea about society.

It seems obvious that on this point, R. Lichtenstein takes a page from his rebbe and father-in-law. R. Soloveitchik devotes the last section of The Halakhic Mind to advocating the approach which Dr. Brill criticizes:

…There is only a single source from which a Jewish philosophical Weltanschauung could emerge; the objective order - the Halakhah… The halakhic compass would also guide us through the lanes of medieval philosophy and reveal structural standards by which to judge and evaluate the philosophical thought of the golden age… Out of the sources of Halakhah, a new world view awaits formulation.

Personally, I think the shift from medieval philosophical methods to what I’ll call “philosophy via Halakhah” is the most important treasure that R. Soloveitchik bestowed on the Jewish community (at least as far as Jewish philosophy goes). Of course, neither R. Soloveitchik nor R. Lichtenstein exclude biblical references, midrashim, kabbalistic sources, or medieval philosophic ones; but their focus is the normative Halakhah.

In traditional Judaism, the Gemera is authoritative in a unique way. Even biblical episodes are understood by the great rabbis through rabbinic lenses. More importantly, though, basic halakhic categories such as the four shomrim (watchmen) are considered to be unchanging and objective - which makes them suitable as the raw material for philosophy. The realities of space and time influence only the application of such halakhot, not their essence. Poskim may disagree about the status of a particular shomer (watchman) but none would deny the halakhic fact of four distinct kinds and their implications for compensation. The weight that Halakhah carries in governing the life of the traditional Jew, I think, stems from this basic assumption.

Halakhah is the window into the divine mind. In formulating a genuinely Jewish philosophical position, it makes sense to rely primarily on such foundational sources. It is the basic halakhic principles around which traditional Jewish life bases itself. If Jewish philosophy is to be grounded in the Jewish experience, it must focus on what motivates that experience.

In a previous post, I suggested that that perhaps science and religion don’t clash because each is concerned, at the end of the day, with fundamentally different kinds of questions. Apparently, Richard Dawkins disagrees, calling such a solution an “appeasement policy”:

I once asked a distinguished astronomer, a fellow of my college, to explain the big bang theory to me. He did so to the best of his (and my) ability, and I then asked what it was about the fundamental laws of physics that made the spontaneous origin of space and time possible. “Ah,” he smiled, “now we move beyond the realm of science. This is where I have to hand you over to our good friend, the chaplain.” But why the chaplain? Why not the gardener or the chef? Of course chaplains, unlike chefs and gardeners, claim to have some insight into ultimate questions. But what reason have we ever been given for taking their claims seriously? Once again, I suspect that my friend, the professor of astronomy, was using the Einstein/Hawking trick of letting “God” stand for “That which we don’t understand.” It would be a harmless trick if it were not continually misunderstood by those hungry to misunderstand it. In any case, optimists among scientists, of whom I am one, will insist, “That which we don’t understand” means only “That which we don’t yet understand.” Science is still working on the problem. We don’t know where, or even whether, we ultimately shall be brought up short.

The answer to “why the chaplain” isn’t because of his claim to some esoteric wisdom. If that were the case, Dawkins would be right to question the credibility of such a claim. The answer is that, unlike the scientist, the chaplan is presumably concerned with that kind of question. Interestingly, Dawkins’ conversation with the astronomy professor is evidence of exactlty that point. The professor simply wasn’t interested in the question.

I have no doubt that science will provide answers to questions we have yet to dream of asking. Much of what the we don’t understand about the world will likely be high-school science to my grandchildren. But there are certain kinds of questions that science won’t answer, not so much because it can’t, but because it isn’t trying to. Of course, religion may not have the answers either. But if you want to know, like Dawkins does, what “made the spontaneous origin of space and time possible”, I suggest you ask somebody who’s interested in the question.

When I started blogging, there were a few topics I decided I wasn’t going to touch. One was the subject of my thesis: Plato’s Euthyphro and Rabbinic Literature. I caved on that one last week. Another was the creationism/intelligent design vs evolution debate. Something about that whole issue really annoyed me but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. That is, until I read this post by Julian Sanchez.

For a lot of people, positing a deity is a pretty straightforward form of inference to the best explanation—and for a lot of our history, given the dizzying complexity of the natural world, it was scarcely an unreasonable hypothesis. Evolutionary theory is seen as a threat to religion precisely because, at least when they’re first forming their views, most people don’t rely on “faith” at all: They’re rational empiricists to a much greater degree than most secularists probably give them credit for.

Julian’s right. “Intelligent design” isn’t religion; it’s just bad science. And its handful of advocates misunderstand both. They mistake the Bible (the first chapter of Genesis at least) as describing a physical reality when in fact its focus is a spiritual one. As R. Heschel explains:

Science… describes and explains the way in which things behave in terms of casual necessity. It does not try to give us an explanation in terms of logical necessity - why things must be at all, and why the laws of nature must be the way they are (italics in original).

Science is interested in “what” and “how” questions: how did life as we know it develop into what it is? Or, what’s the structure of an electron? The answer doesn’t clash with religion because religion (mature religion, that is) addresses a different kind of question. A question about why things exist at all and what they mean.

The confusion comes in because the two kinds of questions sound alike and are easily confused. “How did life come to be?” for example. The appropriate answer depends on your perspective. Which kind of question are you asking? R. Heschel gives an analogy:

On a lovely summer afternoon an influential educator admired the sky. His little girl turned and asked: “What is there beyond the sky?” The father gave her a “scientific” answer: “Ether, my child.” Whereupon the girl exclaimed: “Ether!” and she held her nose.

I wrote my senior honors thesis on a hypothetical dialoge between Socrates and Hazal, focusing on the philosophical implications of ta’ame ha-mitsvot (rationalizing mitsvot). By the time I finished, I was completely exhausted by the subject matter. While blogging on related Jewish topics, I stayed far away from this one. That said, two bloggers whom I usually enjoy reading (Hirhurim and Not The Godol Hador) have sufficiently tempted me to jump back into the fray.

Any answer to the question “Why do we do mitsvot” short enough to fit on one page is almost certainly insufficient (although not necessarily wrong). Of course, the “because God said so” answer is popular but not enough. It begs the question “Why did God say so?” To answer that question with “just because” or “no reason” renders God’s will arbitrary and thus, lacking justification. In fact, the Mishnah (Makkot 3:16) is quite clear about why God commands mitsvot: “The Holy One, blessed be He, desired to grant merit to Israel.” As Kehati explains: “He multiplied warnings and prohibitions for them, even regarding things from which man naturally keeps apart, for since they stay away from them because the Torah has thus commanded, their merit is increased.” This implies, of course, that such actions had some merit to begin with. They are justified, at least in part, without being accompanied by the divine imperative. The act of God commanding, then, serves to somehow enhance the already righteous deed to a higher level.

Louis Jacobs captures this idea well:

Although God commands them it is not implied that the command is the reason for their observance, so that if God had commanded man to steal or to murder this would have been the right thing to do. On the contrary, the commands are announced in such a way as to suggest that they are already fully comprehensible to man as the basis for living the ethical life… Once God has commanded, however, the command itself is, of course, an additional reason for its observance.

The term “Judeo-Christian” seems a bit redundant. Insofar as Christianity sees itself as the legitimate heir to Jewish religion, to be Christian is to properly understand and carry out the covenant between God and the Jewish People. The term “Judeo-Christian” merely makes this position explicit. When people talk about “Judeo-Christian values”, they mean Christian values and simply wish to add that such Christian values stem from properly understanding Judaism.

As I fully reject that Christian claim, I find the expression annoying. For one thing, Judaism and Christianity have a lot less in common than many seem to believe. Despite sharing a fundemental text, we read it through a very different set of lenses than Christians do. For traditional Jews, at least, the biblical text is understood in the larger context of the rabbinic tradition. (I realize this is a bit of an oversimplification but I don’t want to dwell on it for now). Fundamentalism, as refering to the literal rendering of the biblical text, doesn’t make sense to even the most right-wing of Orthodox Judaism - which advocates reading the Bible in rabbinic perspective.

That said, it boggles my mind when Jews adopt the very Christian jargon that undermines them. In this article by Dennis Prager, “Judeo-Christian” appears 11 times. (He also refers to the Jewish Bible as “Old Testament” - a term that carries connotations of being outdated). He proceeds to quote verses as if they weren’t accompanied by a 2000-year-old rabbinic tradition. I’m picking on Prager somewhat arbitrarily; he’s not alone. It’s become somewhat of a trend for right-wing Jewish thinkers to try to sound Christian. Traditional Jewish treatments of “social conservative” topics marshal in the revelent rabbinic and halakhic material and thus, present a more nuanced and sophisticated view.

When Christians present a Christian view of the Bible, well, that makes sense. I realize that guys like Prager are trying to make themselves credible to a greater religious audience but I still don’t like it.

In Olmstead v. United States, Justice Louis Brandeis describes the right to privacy as he sees it:

The makers of our Constitution undertook to secure conditions favorable to the pursuit of happiness. They recognized the significance of man’s spiritual nature, of his feelings and his intellect…. They sought to protect Americans in their beliefs, their emotions, and their sensations. They conferred, as against the Government, the right to be left alone—the most comprehensive of rights and the right most valued by civilized men.

For Brandeis, it sounds like the right to privacy is a kind of foundation upon which all other rights depend. The following question then arises. If particular rights such as speech, assembly, and religion are enumerated in the Constitution, is it at all meaningful to talk about a right to privacy, per se? Timothy Sandefur of “Positive Liberty” says no: “I have never liked the phrase “right to privacy.” It is redundant. All rights are a right to privacy.” Brian Radzinsky of “Stalinist Orange” adds:

It follows that “right to privacy” is a backward construction of sorts. Essentially, privacy is a manifestation of the permissions we enjoy and possess under those abstract things called “rights.” Privacy stems from property as much as it stems from liberty. Its nature is determined by application, not inherency. Therefore, for example, if one is to buy a house and live in it, privacy stems from the right to be secure in that property. One’s medical files are kept secret because their circulation might lead to an infringment of liberty, by being used in an unwarranted search for incriminating evidence.

If “privacy is a manifestation of the permissions we enjoy”, then it’s not quite redundant. What Sandefur should say is that all rights stem from a right to privacy. It’s not a backward construction. The implied right to privacy justifies the 4th Amendment, not the other way around. The reason that “the right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated” is because the Founders assume a basic right to privacy.

Returning to my original question, if we have a 4th Amendment why do I need a particular right to privacy? Well, not every manifestation of privacy is foreseen in the Constitution. As both Sandefur and Radzinsky agree, privacy is implied by liberty. Simply put, it’s the right to be left alone. S0 when the Constitution omits a particular instance of privacy, it’s certainly acceptable to appeal to the generally implied right in applying constitutional values to new circumstances.