When knowing stuff is not enough

Pirkei Avot is full of references to the chacham, the person who is wise. We even have a couple of working definitions to help us identify someone who is one. At Avot 4:1 Ben Zoma teaches that the chacham is the person who learns from everyone, while at 5:9 an anonymous Mishnah gives us a check-list to help us distinguish a chacham from a boorish clod.  But is that enough? It is quite possible to learn from everyone but not learn anything of value, and whether a person is a chacham or a boorish clod turns out to be as much a matter of having good manners as anything else.

In his Avot leBanim R' Chaim Druckman, drawing on R’ Naftali Hertz Wiesel’s Gan Na’ul and the Malbim’s commentary on 2 Samuel, argues that there is a further requirement for a chacham: such a person must deploy wisdom for the purposes of good, not evil. On this basis, by keeping the company of such people—and ideally inviting them into one’s home (Avot 1:4)—their good deeds and careful speech can influence people, little by little, to develop the right attitude to life, and the behaviour to go with it, even if they never learned or even heard a word of Torah from them.

This leads to an interesting point to ponder. Can a person be a chacham in terms of possessing an abundance of common sense and emotional intelligence even if that person has no Torah learning? One can certainly learn from such people and can improve oneself by keeping their company. However, if we take it as axiomatic that it is only through the study and practice of the Torah that a Jew can properly acquire and cultivate the perfection of his or her character, it appears that more is required.

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As a footnote, not everyone is familiar with the term “emotional intelligence” and, among those people who know it, not everyone understands it in quite the same way. A good starting point is the handy definition offered on Wikipedia:

… the ability to recognize your emotions, understand what they're telling you, and realize how your emotions affect other people. There are five elements that define emotional Intelligence: Self-Awareness, Self-Regulation, Motivation, Empathy, and Social Skills.

Does this have anything to do with Torah Judaism? Arguably, yes. Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks discusses its place when contrasting the roles of priest and prophet. Citing Rav Soloveitchik, Rabbi Sacks writes:

The priest thinks in terms of universal rules that are eternally valid. The prophet is attuned to the particularities of a given situation and the relationships between those involved. The prophet has emotional intelligence. He or she … reads the mood of the moment and how it relates to longstanding relationships. The prophet hears the silent cry of the oppressed, and the incipient anger of Heaven. Without the law of the priest, Judaism would have no structure or continuity. But without the emotional intelligence of the prophet, it would become, as Rav Soloveitchik said, soulless, dry and insensitive [quote taken from “Emotional Intelligence” in Rabbi Sacks’ Covenant and Conversation series, here].

More recently, R' Dr Mordechai Schiffman ("What Makes Excellence -- Character or Intelligence?", here) has this to say:

Throughout the 20th century, the predominant view in psychology was that the most essential factor for success in school was intellectual abilities. Starting in the 1990s, this idea was challenged, with many arguing that other factors, such as emotional intelligence, personality traits, and motivation, play a predominant role in school achievement. This is a fairly contentious issue and the field is far from reaching a consensus on which is more important..., but it is safe to say that everyone agrees that all of these factors can contribute to success.

Is this sort of intelligence something that can be communicated to others so that they may learn from it? If the answer is “yes”, we may with justification describe someone who possesses it as a chacham.

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What the blazes! The fox, the scorpion and the snake

One of the three teachings of Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus in Avot 2:15 runs as follows:

Warm yourself by the fire of the sages, but be beware in case you get burned by its embers; for their bite is the bite of a fox, their sting is the sting of a scorpion, their hiss is the hiss a snake, and all their words are like fiery coals.

This is a curious mishnah because of its change of metaphor. If the words of the chachamim ("sages") are like fiery coals, the fire metaphor could have been sustained through a three-fold reference to pain that fire can generate: being burned, scorched or scalded. Instead, Rabbi Eliezer opts for metaphors from the animal kingdom. Why might he have done this?

The three creatures chosen by Rabbi Eliezer – the fox, the scorpion and the snake – are not exclusive to this mishnah: they also populate the books of the Jewish Bible as well as the oral traditions recorded in the Mishnah, Talmud and Midrash. Apart from the fact that the addressees of this teaching 2,000 years ago would have been considerably more familiar with them than we are today, the fox, scorpion and snake are redolent with symbolic significance. It is possible therefore that Rabbi Eliezer’s decision to select them for this mishnah is based on metaphorical or symbolic considerations.

If this is so, what might those considerations be, bearing in mind that snakes and scorpions are sometimes bracketed together (see e.g. Avot 5:7; Rashi at Bereshit 37:24 citing Bereshit Rabbah) while the author of this mishnah clearly distinguishes between them in terms of their threat to the person who is not wary of the words of the sages?

One possible explanation is that the choice contrasts the respective symbolic responses of the fox, scorpion and snake. The fox represents a crafty and resourceful mind. While we are cautioned about foxes elsewhere in Avot (“Be a tail to lions rather than a head to foxes”: Avot 4:20), they are favourably portrayed in the Talmud (Rashi to Sanhedrin 39a). The bite of the fox here may thus be taken as an allusion to the mental agility of the Torah scholar who, when arguing with others, baits his trap, waits for his adversary to fall straight into it – and then bites.

In contrast with the cunning of the fox, whose position is carefully thought out with a view to getting the better of an opponent, the sting of the scorpion is a spontaneous reflex action, something that is so deeply ingrained in its nature that the urge to use it cannot be resisted. This sting is in the tail – you just don’t see it coming. In this mishnah we can imagine this to be the sharp response or penetrating repartee that we recognize in the unanswerable put-down or “one-liner” that leaves its recipient literally speechless, a verbal knock-out blow that may be out of the speaker’s mouth almost before he even realizes that he is saying it.

This leaves us with the snake. Bible readers will need no reminder that this is the creature which the Torah describes as “more cunning than any of the beasts of the field” (Bereshit 3:1), whose seductive arguments led to the Fall of Man. The punishment of the snake included the loss of its legs (Bereshit 3:14) but, notably, not to the loss of its cunning. In the context of this mishnah we can learn that one should not take liberties with the chachamim: with their carefully-chosen words they will get the better of you even if it first seems that, in pressing their case, they “don’t have a leg to stand on".

Incidentally, the “cunning” snake in Bereshit is termed in Hebrew a nachash, essentially a hissing snake, while this mishnah refers to a saraf, a snake which ‘burns’ with its venom. The nachash may however also be venomous, as is implicit from Avot 5:7, and a reference to a chacham as being a nachash might be taken disparagingly, as suggesting that what is assumed to be his Torah learning is in fact no more than his cunning. To call a chacham a saraf does not import the same implication.

The Golem, speaking first and interrupting others

The characterisics of the golem (an immature person) and the chacham (the wise person) are contrasted by the mishnah at Avot 5:9. This mishnah lists seven criteria that identify a person as being one or the other. In particular, a golem is someone who, in debate or discussion with others, speaks ahead of someone better entitled than himself to do so, and a golem is also a person who interrupts others once they have started to speak and are, so to speak, in full flow -- regardless of their seniority.

Who speaks first?

Among chachamim, one who has more knowledge because he has learned more than another takes precedence in speaking over one who is sharper and better at reasoning but knows less (per Tiferet Yisrael), while one who asserts that he is more knowledgeable takes precedence over one who does not (per Rabbi Shmuel de Uçeda, Midrash Shmuel, basing this conclusion on a slightly different text of Avot from that normally found today). This raises interesting problems because humility is a sign of a chacham (Avot 6:1, 6:6), so one would not expect a genuine chacham to advertise himself as such. However, another sign of a chacham is that he recognizes and speaks the truth, so he could hardly deny being a chacham if he is one.

Knowledge versus reasoning is not the only issue at stake when it comes precedence. Wisdom versus age is another. So who speaks first? Thus (i) one should accord precedence to a chacham who is younger and let him speak first even if he is one’s junior in years; while (ii) one should also accord precedence to an older person even if he is not so wise (Rabbi Avraham Azulai, Ahavah BeTa’anugim).

There is an obvious conundrum here: if you are wiser but younger than your colleague, he is older but not as wise as you. So, as a matter of logic, each should let the other speak first. This scenario potentially risks turning comically into a polite but unending dialogue along the lines of “After you!” “No, after you!” “No, no. Please! I insist, you go first.” However, it does give two people the opportunity to show and express respect for one another, which in itself is a desirable outcome (as in Avot 4:1).

Interrupting others

Experience of life tells us that, particularly in wider society, interrupting others is a regular part of daily life. Whether it is appreciated or not, it is far more tolerated than in previous generations when proverbs such as “children should be seen and not heard” were more widely respected.

It is difficult to ascertain the point at which interruption became so widely accepted: this practice may have developed in post-Second World War western culture, when ownership of telephones became more widespread and charges for calls were made on the basis of their duration. Money could thus be saved by cutting conversations short.

In any event, interruption of the speech of others appears to be here to stay, and it is particularly apparent in conversations conducted with the elderly and the hard-of-hearing. It is easy to assume that someone who speaks slowly and haltingly has finished speaking when they have only paused for breath, and a person with poor hearing may not even realize that he is speaking through someone else’s words.

Letting someone else speak first is a status-based quality, since it accords greater respect to those of us who enjoy some seniority. In contrast, letting someone finish speaking and not interrupting them is an egalitarian principle: an older or wiser person must show this respect to even a much younger and less knowledgeable speaker. Why? Because interruption can cause the younger person much distress (Rabbenu Yosef ben Shushan, cited in Mishnat Avot). and because it treats what he has to say as being of little worth (Ri Chiyyun, Milei deAvot, ibid).

Regardless of the age of the speaker, there are still further reasons in support of this Mishnah. Interruption of others is not only a sign of arrogance (per Rabbenu Yonah); it might also be quite unnecessary if it turns out that the words interjected by the interrupter are those that the speaker was in the process of saying (Rabbi Moshe Shik, Chidushei Aggadot Masechet Avot) and the mere fact of being stopped in full flow can knock a speaker off his stride and confuse him (Tiferet Yisrael).

Incidentally, we should not be thinking merely of a dialogue between two discussants: breaking into a conversation to which a person is not a party, for example where two people are having an argument and a bystander chooses to interject his own contribution, is just as much covered by the ground-rules for non-interruption (Rabbi Shimon ben Tzemach, Magen Avot).

So the moral of the mishnah, for us all to absorb, is that we should respect the entitlement of others to speak and, if they are older/wiser, let them have their say first even if we propose to disagree and set them right. Likewise, conversations are to be shared, not owned, and one of the best ways to share a dialogue is to resist the temptation to control or monopolise it by interrupting others.

Would you know a golem if you saw one?

The anonymous mishnah at Avot 5:9 lists seven distinguishing features that enable us to spot who is a chacham -- a wise person -- and who is a golem. Among other things the chacham lets others who are older or wiser speak before he does. He doesn't interrupt others in the middle of a sentence. He doesn't ask questions that are stupid or irrelevant but, when he faces a question, he answers it properly -- and he concedes the truth rather than obstinately arguing that black is white. This chacham is clearly something of a role model whom we should emulate. Not so, the golem. But who or what is a golem and would we recognise one if we saw him in the street?

The golem is a well-known character in popular literature, but that genre was not in vogue 1800 years ago. In short, the golem is an animated anthropomorphic being who is created entirely from inanimate matter (usually clay or mud). The word in Mishnaic times meant a shapeless mass or something that was in an unfinished state. In Modern Hebrew the word means “idiot” or “dummy"; it is not a compliment.

Rabbi Eliezer Prins (The Lehmann-Prins Pirkei Avoth, translated by C. H. Moore) renders "golem" as “an immature person” and on balance I feel that this is the word that best fits the meaning of the Mishnah.

The golem may be contrasted with two other characters encountered in Avot who are spoken of in pejorative terms: the bur (often translated "boor") and the am ha’aretz (someone with low aspirations regarding Torah and education). Our golem may simply lack good manners and not be very clever, or he may be quite bright and knowledgeable but nonetheless quite unable to behave in an appropriate manner. Of all the suggested meanings and explanations of the golem, the one I like best comes from the Lehmann-Prins Pirkei Avoth.:

[T]he term גלם [Hebrew for 'golem'] does not mean an ignorant man or, what is the same thing for many, an uncultured person. A golem is, however, a person who may even master Torah learning, but it does not master him; that is, he does not show it in his actions. …He is still immature and his practice falls short of his theory. One can imagine a golem who has more theoretical knowledge than a chacham; he may be a “walking encyclopedia,” able to expound on any subject, but his knowledge does not inspire his actions and he will remain a golem despite all his knowledge.

The Mishnah may convey to some readers the impression that everyone in the world is either a golem or a chacham. This is clearly not what it means. If we make a candid assessment of our friends and family we are likely to conclude that most people are somewhere in between. The mishnah however has a particular objective in identifying the behavioral characteristics that mark a person out as being one or other of these polar opposites, and that is to give those of us in the middle a chance to think about ourselves.

The message here for those of us who occupy the middle ground is this: we have the potential to move in one of two directions. We can either tighten up on our self-discipline, reduce our propensity to show off and speak with greater honesty in the hope of qualifying as a chacham, or we can let ourselves slip, slough off the unwanted dead skin of good manners, please ourselves as we wish, and be viewed as a golem. We have the free will and the choice is ours.

Letting others be heard

The change of government in Israel has attracted much comment, both domestically and abroad. Analysts have looked at the advantages and disadvantages of the new coalition, its strengths and its weaknesses. Some have even looked at its proposed legislative programme and its chances of turning it into law. There is however one topic that has received very little comment: the appalling standard of behaviour of many of the Members of the Knesset (MKs).

Pirkei Avot (at 5:9) teaches that one of the seven signs of a golem is that he or she interrupts the words of someone else who is speaking. Presumably this applies equally to someone who howls and screams when someone else attempts to speak, thus effectively preventing them from being held at all. Applying this standard to MKs, I am concerned that the golems in the Knesset could form a coalition of their own, since there sadly seem to be more than 61 of them -- from both the religious and the non-religious parties.

Avot also reminds us of the inconvenient fact that all of us -- even MKs -- are created in the image of God (3:18). One might feel tempted to draw from this mishnah the conclusion that one should at least accord some outward form of respect to other people, whatever thoughts we may cherish in our hearts and minds.

This post does not intend to recite some of the disgusting things said, and the disgraceful dispersions cast, by MKs on one other, whether inside the Knesset or beyond it -- comments, slurs and allegations that have nothing to do with party politics. It only wishes to make the point that it is only by paying respect to others that we are entitled to receive any respect ourselves (4:1). Regretfully, this post records that far too many MKs have placed themselves beyond any entitlement to receive respect from this quarter.

It would be a wonderful thing if Israel's Jewish parliamentarians could reflect a small corner of their Jewish heritage by behaving and speaking towards one other in a more appropriate manner, especially when the eyes of the world are upon them.

Wise after the event: who is a 'chacham'?

In the mishnah at Avot 4:1, Ben Zoma defines a chacham ("wise person") as someone who learns from everyone—but this is not the only definition. In the Talmud (Tamid 31b-32a) we learn an aggadic tale that Alexander of Macedon posed ten questions of the Elders of the South. One of them was about the chacham. The Talmud reads like this:

He [Alexander] said to them: “Who is called wise?” They replied: “Who is wise? He who discerns what is about to come to pass [literally “what is about to be born”].”

This raises the questions: do both definitions identify the same person as a chacham? If not, are they contradictory or complementary?

There is no reason why the two definitions should not be satisfied in the same individual. Ben Zoma’s definition looks towards how the chacham obtains knowledge of that which is already known to others, while that of the Elders of the South focuses on how he obtains as-yet unknown knowledge by drawing inferences from that which is already known to him. These two approaches may be perfectly complementary if the mishnah refers to the process of obtaining chochmah ("wisdom") by learning from all people, while the Talmud alludes to the intellectual performance potential of someone who, having undergone that process, has a greater sensitivity to the chain of cause and effect that enables him to take a more accurate and realistic view of the future.

Why did the Elders of the South offer Alexander a different answer to that given by Ben Zoma? It is possible that they were unaware of it in that form. While we learn that the mishnah is Oral Law that has been handed down in a continuous chain of tradition that began with the Giving of the Law at Mount Sinai (Avot 1:1), we also know that the same teaching was sometimes packaged in different verbal formulae, so it is possible that the answer given by the Elders of the South was intended to mean the same thing as Ben Zoma’s answer. We could also turn this question on its head and ask why Ben Zoma did not give the same answer as the Elders of the South. After all, Alexander of Macedon lived and died around 400 years before Ben Zoma and some 500 years before Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi both saved and popularised the vital corpus of the Oral Torah by compiling Avot and the other tractates that make up the Mishnah.

A further explanation may be offered, one which looks more closely at Greek philosophy. Alexander was a pupil of Aristotle, whose thoughts and writings on political philosophy would have greatly influenced him. Aristotle was himself a student of Plato, whose extensive writings focus on the life and methodology of his own teacher, Socrates. Today Socrates is principally remembered for what is called the Socratic method -- a type of question-and-answer dialogue that seeks to stimulate critical thinking by isolating the premises upon which a person’s arguments are based. This method is particularly successful as a way of showing people that the positions they hold are wrong, or that they are not based on the premises claimed for them. Socrates repeatedly demonstrated this technique by asking questions of, and learning from the answers of, craftsmen and artisans as well as other philosophers. In this respect Socrates reflected Ben Zoma’s maxim regarding learning from everyone. Aristotle’s approach was quite different from that of the Platonic school. He was more concerned with the building of systems, whether in the physical world or in terms of the social and political behaviour of man.

We might conjecture that, when Alexander asked the Elders of the South who was wise, he was curious to see if they were followers of Aristotle like he was, or whether they supported the approach followed by Socrates. The Elders of the South, understanding that Alexander was trying to lead them into an argument which might have serious adverse consequences for them, tactfully let him know that they could see what he was up to, letting him know that they were wise enough to see the direction in which he was seeking to steer his interrogation of them and would therefore take steps to avoid a philosophical confrontation with him.

Now for one final observation.  The Elders of the South considered that wisdom was a matter of looking ahead in order to predict the likely outcome of events. In colloquial English, one sometimes hears of a person being “wise after the event.”  These words should not be conceived as even a mild compliment: they are a sharp reminder that anyone can be wise when events have unfolded and it is too late for that wisdom to be of any use. As the Elders of the South indicate, it is only before the future has revealed its course that a person’s wisdom should be praised as such.