Balance

Determining Objectives in Religious Growth

Rav Aaron Lichtenstein

PUBLIC VS. PRIVATE INTEREST

The question of whether to strive for the achievement of a kind of Renaissance ideal, the “man for all seasons,” or to try to master a given area intensively—not only in theory, but in practice— confronts us at both a public and a private level. Perhaps part of what makes the choice sometimes difficult is the fact that the public and the private interests very often diverge.

If you want to regard this issue from a purely personal perspective, whereby the spiritual interest of the individual alone is to be our guide, then I suppose that our intuitive response—at least, my own—is towards the Renaissance ideal, whereby a person is not limited to working in one particular area, but is a complete oved Hashem (servant of God)—“In all your ways, know Him.” A person is thereby enriched; there is a fructifying reciprocation between various aspects of his spiritual existence. He does not live as a fragmented being. He is not only able, as Matthew Arnold said of Sophocles, “to see life steadily and see it whole,” but to live it steadily and live it whole.

On the other hand, if we regard the public interest, then surely there is a great deal to be said for specialization. If a person is very much at home in a given area, then when a problem comes up within his particular area, he is able to cope with it in a way that a person who has a more general perspective and a broader field of vision cannot. The specialist obviously can do much better from a public standpoint than can the generalist. Therefore, we are often confronted by the question of the extent to which we want to emphasize the public or the private element.

This is not to say that the public interest always militates for specialization, and the private one for a broader vision. Surely, on the one hand, the public interest too requires that people who deal with central and basic issues have a somewhat broader horizon and more general perspective. Public issues dealing with our civil existence must not simply be left to technocrats, who narrowly master a small area but lack the ability to relate it properly and sensitively to other areas. This consideration has been at the heart of the British tradition, whereby civil servants have been specialists, but those who make the more general decisions on the cabinet level have had broader training. The familiar comment, “War is too important to be left to generals,” is likewise important in many other areas of public life.

On the other hand, from an individual’s perspective, some measure of specialization is valuable. There is an interesting responsum of one of the early sages of Provence, R. Avraham ben Yitzchak Av Beit Din (the so-called “first Ra’avad” and the fatherin- law of the famous Ra’avad), which has survived in the Orchot Chayim, one of the later Rishonim of Provence:

R. Meshullam ben Ya’akov explained: We have been given 613 mitzvot from Sinai, and all of these would be fulfilled to the letter and never transgressed by those who were particularly pious. As we learned in the gemara in Shabbat (63a): A person who fulfills one mitzva in its totality, with all that attends to it, will never hear ill tidings, as it is written: “A shomer mitzva (a person who keeps or guards a mitzva, with emphasis upon the singular—one mitzva) will not know a bad thing” (Kohelet 8:5).

We also learned in the mishna in Kiddushin (1:10, 39b): One who performs a single mitzva is blessed and enjoys long life. The Yerushalmi (1:9) explains that this mishna applies to a person who has singled out a particular mitzva which he is particularly careful never to transgress, for instance, the mitzva of honoring parents. Therefore, some of the later Amoraim would pride themselves on the fact that they were particularly careful about certain mitzvot. One would say that he would always be careful about tzitzit, tefillin or shalosh se’udot, and one would ask another: “With regard to what was your father particularly careful?” That is, which mitzva did he never transgress?

It is in this vein that [the gemara (Makkot 24a) states that 613 mitzvot were given to Moshe at Sinai, and then] these were reduced by David to eleven and subsequently to six, to three, and to one. [Generally, we understand this to mean that in terms of details, the mitzvot number 613, but the underlying principles, the values from which these branch out, are reduced to a smaller number. He understands differently:] The gemara spoke of a specific dedication and commitment to a smaller number of mitzvot with an intensity that one does not bring to bear upon the range of mitzvot generally. (Orchot Chayim, Hilkhot Rosh Ha-shana, siman 25)

No mention is made of a public need to have tallit specialists or tefillin specialists, in the same way that in the medical area you want to have heart specialists or endocrinologists. Here, he deals specifically with the individual per se. Clearly, the thrust of this responsum, and of the range of sayings quoted within it, is that a person stands in danger of achieving a kind of uniform mediocrity throughout the whole field of avodat Hashem if he tries to devote himself with equal intensity to each mitzva. Ideally, of course, a person would like to serve God with his whole heart and soul and to bring the full range of his energies, talents and commitment to bear upon every single mitzva. But one is unable to do that. Such an attempt would result in some form of compromise or lukewarm performance, a pareve kind of avodat Hashem, because one would be spread so very thin and have only so much energy to devote to any given mitzva.

Evidently, these sayings of Chazal held that a person needs to address his religious growth from two perspectives. On the one hand, he certainly needs to attain a basic, fundamental level of mitzva observance, and of zehirut and zerizut (care and alacrity) with regard to all mitzvot. At the levels of both concrete observance and realizing values, there is a need for a minimal level of avodat Hashem with respect to the whole range of our existence. At the same time, it is important that there be some sort of upward thrust, an aspiration beyond that of ordinary day-to-day avoda. At least in one area, we must attain a measure of dedication and intensity which adds a qualitative dimension to our avodat Hashem. All of this is relevant quite before we reach any kind of public consideration.

A Pure Heart

Rav Aharon Lichtenstein

THE NEED FOR BALANCE

To a great extent, in Chapter Seven of Hilkhot Teshuva the Rambam is trying to redress an imbalance in the earlier chapters. The earlier chapters indeed gave a narrow picture of teshuva and therefore a confined image of spiritual and religious life. It was limited in the sense that it related to very specific and focused events, as opposed to a general continuum encompassing the totality of one’s being. And it was narrowly focused inasmuch as it dealt only with strictly defined sins. One’s religious life should not be confined to observance in the narrow sense; instead, it must be viewed in broader terms. The Rambam does not want to negate what he said previously, but rather to complement, extend and balance it.

Balance, for the Rambam, is very important. We have already noted that in Hilkhot De’ot he idealizes balance as an equipoise between two extremes. Throughout his works, the Rambam stresses its importance in different areas of one’s life: action, emotion, thought, one’s personal, social, religious and moral self. This follows the comment of Chazal (Mo’ed Katan 5a) on the verse (Tehillim 50:23), “To him that orders his way (ve-sam derekh), I will show the salvation of God”—“Do not read ve-sam, but rather ve-sham,” meaning, counting and weighing; a person who considers and balances his path will behold God’s salvation.

Some people instinctively react against the notion of balance, regarding it as being tepid, placid and overly rationalistic. They feel that the power, passion and intensity of a more total and unbalanced commitment is preferable in religious life. They idealize a different midrash (Bereishit Rabba 40:2), on the verse (Tehillim 111:5), “He has given food (teref) to those who fear Him,” reading teiruf (madness) instead of teref. The idealization of Divine madness, the madness of commitment, sounds much more attractive and powerful—it is not constrained, constricted, limited or defined; it knows no bounds or limits.

I submit that, for the Rambam, there is a need to strike the proper balance between madness and rationality. The Rambam, too, certainly knows of teiruf; he speaks of the love of God as “great, exceedingly intense . . . like one who is lovesick” (Hilkhot Teshuva 10:3). So the rational Rambam, the Rambam of balance, the Rambam of defining limits and seeking equipoise, is also the Rambam who speaks of an all-consuming love. For the Rambam, more broadly viewed, the element of balance as a condition of one’s ideal service of God requires some balance between teiruf and ve-sham derekh as well.

TAILORING THE MESSAGE TO THE AUDIENCE

Now, if a person advocates a balanced view and tries to maintain equilibrium between various values and goals, he will very often find himself, depending on his historical circumstances or social context, speaking a very different language when addressing varying audiences. If a person finds that his interlocutor is failing with regard to one aspect of the ideal balance, then obviously he must tailor his message to counteract the imbalance.

For example, if one addresses an audience which is very punctilious with regard to the technical, formal aspects of Halakha, but perhaps not so careful about the vices the Rambam discusses here—maybe they are very cautious about tzitzit and tefillin, but not so cautious about the pursuit of honor—then the message may very well be, without minimizing the importance of tzitzit and tefillin, that this is not sufficient. It then may seem to someone who later reads his words, without taking into account his intended audience, that this is a person who tries to moralize and ethicize the religious life, playing down its more technical and formal aspect.

If the reverse should be true, and a person finds himself in front of an audience that is very deeply committed morally and ethically but is not so careful about details of Halakha, the tone and the thrust of the message will be different. One will stress that being moral is insufficient; if a Jew wants to serve God, he also has to follow Halakha. In either case, the total message will be balanced, but the way it is presented will be very different.

Thus, if one strives for balance, yet finds himself in a situation (either within his own being or in relation to others) where there is a perceived imbalance, his choice of which elements to stress obviously depends on circumstances and on whom he is addressing.

OUR TASK

This is true of the Rambam, and it should also be true of us. If we try to build a proper hashkafa of Torah, Halakha and emuna, there is no question but that we need to see the total picture. The grandeur and the majesty of Halakha lie precisely in its comprehensiveness. This total picture must encompass thought, action and emotion; it must be seen from social, historical and personal perspectives and must include all the moral and religious elements one needs in order to maximize his standing as an oved Hashem and to be fully responsive to God’s call.

However, each of us is capable of going only so far in trying to implement everything. Every person and every period has its own emphases and, therefore, its own deficiencies. Every so often, someone will arise and sound the clarion, challenging not only what is being neglected, but sometimes even what is being done. Imbalance can be sinful—a sacrifice brought by an immoral person is rejected by God: “The offering of evildoers is an abomination” (Mishlei 21:27). The same holds true of his prayer: “Though you pray at length, I will not listen” (Yeshayahu 1:15).

In other contexts, the rejection may not be as severe, but a critique of imbalance will appear. In their respective introductions, the Chovot Ha-levavot and the Mesillat Yesharim were critical of those who overemphasized theoretical learning while ignoring the more pietistic aspects of religion; R. Yisrael Salanter critiqued what he felt to be a moral deficiency within his Torah community; the Chassidim critiqued what they felt to be an emotional deficiency in the Torah-observant community.

We are challenged, personally and communally, to strive for balance, to strive for comprehensiveness and particularly for the balance between the inner and the outer that is so critical to the character and content of Halakha. We are challenged to be honest with ourselves and to ask not only what particular sins we should repent, but also, looking at the broader picture which the Rambam paints, what is our particular area of need, what needs to be strengthened and emphasized.

Here the answers may differ, depending on the audience. This is not because the total message is different, but because the particular teshuva which a person requires is a function of where he is now. Additionally, the ideal balance is not a uniform one; it may differ from one person to another, partly as a function of historical circumstances, and partly as a function of one’s personal inclinations.

A person’s spiritual accounting should include a focus both on the overarching challenges of the first two chapters of Hilkhot Teshuva and on the more personalized challenge of Chapter Seven. To what extent are we tainted in one respect or another? What kind of balance do we need to strike between Chapter Seven and the first two chapters? This, too, differs from one person to another.

In one respect, teshuva is uniform, and in other respects, in terms of substantive content and emphasis, it is diverse. The challenge of teshuva is not only to be attentive and responsive to its demand, but also to be honest and sensitive in one’s self-evaluation— to try to understand how the mitzva of teshuva needs to be tailored for you personally within your particular context. When that effort is made, when teshuva is indeed comprehensive and constant, when we strive for the proper balance with an awareness of what, in the totality of religious life, is demanded of us, then we can stand in good conscience before the Almighty and ask and hope for His forgiveness. We have tried to do what we can, and He, for His part, can fulfill the promise:

For on this day will He forgive you, to purify you, that you may be pure of all your sins before God. (Vayikra 16:30)