In praise of the ego?

The fourth chapter of the tractate of Avot features two mishnayot that address the same subject: humility. At Avot 4:4 Rabbi Levitas of Yavneh teaches:

מְאֹד מְאֹד הֱוֵי שְׁפַל רֽוּחַ, שֶׁתִּקְוַת אֱנוֹשׁ רִמָּה

Be very, very humble, for the hope of man is the worm.

Later, at Avot 4:12, Rabbi Meir teaches:

הֱוֵי מְמַעֵט בְּעֵֽסֶק וַעֲסוֹק בַּתּוֹרָה, וֶהֱוֵי שְׁפַל רֽוּחַ בִּפְנֵי כָל אָדָם, וְאִם בָּטַֽלְתָּ מִן הַתּוֹרָה, יֶשׁ לָךְ בְּטֵלִים הַרְבֵּה כְּנֶגְדָּךְ, וְאִם עָמַֽלְתָּ בַּתּוֹרָה הַרְבֵּה, יֶשׁ שָׂכָר הַרְבֵּה לִתֶּן לָךְ

Engage minimally in business and occupy yourself with Torah. Be humble before every man. If you neglect the Torah, you will have many excuses for yourself; if you toil much in Torah, there is much reward to give to you.

Two obvious questions to ask here are (i) why do we need two mishnayot to teach the same point—that we should be humble—and (ii) why does Rabbi Levitas impress upon us the need to be very, very humble while Rabbi Meir is content to caution us only with regard to ‘entry level’ humility?

We could seek to strengthen the first question by suggesting that there is actually no difference between “humble” and “very, very humble”, humility being by definition the absence of ga’avah, pride or arrogance. If one possesses any degree of ga’avah, even a small amount, one is not humble. Rambam’s seminal discussion of the quality of humility (Mishneh Torah, Hilchot De’ot 2:3) does not however support this answer: by maintaining that one should go to the opposite extreme from pride and arrogance rather than adopt a midway path between pride and humility, he recognises the existence of a gradated form of humility.

However, even assuming that there is no difference between the types of humility posited by Rabbi Levitas and Rabbi Meir, we can still appreciate why both teachings are needed. By citing man’s aspiration as being no more loftier than the worms that will consume his body after his death, Rabbi Levitas is referring to man’s humility before God, who gives life and takes it away—and whose love extends to all His creatures, including the worms that will consume us all. Rabbi Meir however refers to a different focus: that of humankind towards one another. Though we may spend our lives comparing ourselves with others and consider ourselves more important than many of them, we should scale down our self-assessment and realise how little, in the great scheme of things, we are really worth.

Turning to the second question, I found a thought-provoking observation by Rabbi Norman Lamm in Foundation of Faith, a collection of Avot-related perspectives edited by his son-in-law Rabbi Mark Dratch. This observation builds neatly on our answer to the first question:

“[W]hereas R. Levitas argues that in effect man has no reason to assert an ego, R. Meir acknowledges the existence of the ego and its legitimacy. Man possesses self-worth despite death. For R. Levitas, humility is a metaphysical judgement based upon man’s physical condition: since he will physically disintegrate, he has no metaphysical self worthy of esteem. R. Levitas thus negates the ego. For R. Meir, however, humility is an ethical-social obligation. R, Meir affirms the ego, with limitations. Finally, while R. Levitas is absolute in his denial of the ego, R. Meir urges that it be limited only “bifnei kola dam, before every man”., that is, man should not manifest arrogance in his human relations. He should seek out the ways in which to convince himself of the worth of his fellow man, even the superiority of his neighbor over himself, but he need not deny his self-worth”.

Rabbi Lamm goes on to examine the practical significance of this distinction in greater detail. There is something anachronistic in his explanation, in that the use of terms such as ‘ego’ and ‘self-worth’ would have been unfamiliar to Rabbis Levitas and Meir. Having said that, if we accept Rabbi Lamm’s explanation here, we must also accept that the two Tannaim had an understanding of the human psyche that was deep enough to embrace the concepts that lie beneath these modern labels.

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Is what you wear, who you are?

This week’s Torah reading, Parashat Tetzaveh, is definitely one for real enthusiasts. There’s no exciting storyline, no confrontations, no miracles—just lots of detail, much of which is about priestly uniform and specifies what Kohanim, and especially the Kohen Gadol, must wear when going about their sacred duties. Countless generations of Torah scholars have discussed these sartorial details and explained their symbolic significance. We continue to learn from them today.

Though Pirkei Avot makes several references to other basic needs such as food, drink and sleep, it has almost nothing to say explicitly about clothes. There is just one reference to clothing and it comes almost incidentally as one of a large number of things that a person who studies Torah for its own sake deserves. In a baraita in the final perek Rabbi Meir teaches:

כָּל הָעוֹסֵק בַּתּוֹרָה לִשְׁמָהּ זוֹכֶה לִדְבָרִים הַרְבֵּה, וְלֹא עוֹד, אֶלָּא שֶׁכָּל הָעוֹלָם כֻּלּוֹ כְּדַאי הוּא לוֹ. נִקְרָא רֵֽעַ, אָהוּב, אוֹהֵב אֶת הַמָּקוֹם, אוֹהֵב אֶת הַבְּרִיּוֹת, מְשַׂמֵּֽחַ אֶת הַמָּקוֹם, מְשַׂמֵּֽחַ אֶת הַבְּרִיּוֹת, וּמַלְבַּשְׁתּוֹ עֲנָוָה וְיִרְאָה, וּמַכְשַׁרְתּוֹ לִהְיוֹת צַדִּיק, חָסִיד, יָשָׁר, וְנֶאֱמָן, וּמְרַחַקְתּוֹ מִן הַחֵטְא, וּמְקָרַבְתּוֹ לִידֵי זְכוּת, וְנֶהֱנִין מִמֶּֽנּוּ עֵצָה וְתוּשִׁיָּה, בִּינָה וּגְבוּרָה, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: לִי עֵצָה וְתוּשִׁיָּה, אֲנִי בִינָה, לִי גְבוּרָה, וְנוֹתֶֽנֶת לוֹ מַלְכוּת וּמֶמְשָׁלָה, וְחִקּוּר דִּין, וּמְגַלִּין לוֹ רָזֵי תוֹרָה, וְנַעֲשֶׂה כְּמַעְיָן הַמִּתְגַּבֵּר וּכְנָהָר שֶׁאֵינוֹ פוֹסֵק, וְהֹוֶה צָנֽוּעַ, וְאֶֽרֶךְ רֽוּחַ, וּמוֹחֵל עַל עֶלְבּוֹנוֹ, וּמְגַדַּלְתּוֹ וּמְרוֹמַמְתּוֹ עַל כָּל הַמַּעֲשִׂים

Whoever studies Torah for its own sake merits many things; what’s more, the whole world is fit for him. He is called: friend, beloved, lover of God, lover of people, one who rejoices in God and who rejoices in people. [The Torah] clothes him with humility and awe; it makes him fit to be righteous, pious, correct and faithful; it distances him from sin and brings him close to merit. From him, people enjoy counsel and wisdom, understanding and power, as it says: "Mine are counsel and wisdom, I am understanding, mine is power." [The Torah] grants him sovereignty, dominion and jurisprudence. Its secrets are revealed to him, and he becomes like an ever-increasing wellspring and an unceasing river. He becomes modest, patient and forgiving of insults. [The Torah] uplifts him and makes him greater than all creations (Avot 6:1).

Humility and awe are requirements for any Kohen, and especially the Kohen Gadol, if they seek to discharge their sacred functions in the Temple services. But why does Rabbi Meir talk of the Torah clothing a person in these qualities rather than just making him fit to receive them?

Unsurprisingly, traditional commentators generally focus on the importance of humility and awe, rather than on the issue of clothing, since these are the qualities to which not only Torah scholars but every sincere Jew seeks to acquire. But there are exceptions.

The Maharal (Derech Chaim) turns the baraita on its head. He teaches that, once a Torah scholar has mastered humility and awe, the Torah will clothe him in tiferet—a term often translated as “glory” but which has kabbalistic overtones to which the Maharal alludes. For Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau (Yachel Yisrael) “clothing” is a means by which we express who we really are: if you are “clothed” in humility and awe, this means that you are effectively transmitting the message that you are that sort of person. In our own time, we quickly size up what sort of person stands before us when we take note of what they wear, so there is plainly merit in this explanation.

Rabbi Yosef Yavetz (the “Chasid Yavetz”) picks up on clothing too: one’s humility and awe should be with a person all the time, just like one’s clothes. In other words, one should be consistent in exemplifying these qualities, not being sometimes humble sometimes not.

 So what is the message for us today? Putting Rabbi Lau and the Chasid Yavetz together, we can conclude that (i) the humility and awe that we cultivate, assuming we manage to do so, should be regarded as the face we show to other people and that (ii) if we are indeed able to achieve humility and a sense of awe, we should do so on a consistent basis. If at all we let our standards slide, we should do so where no other human being can see us.

This applies to the Kohanim who serve in the Temple too. When they are wearing the clothing prescribed by God in Parashat Tetzaveh, they are sending out a message as to whom they serve and what sort of people they are. We should therefore treat them with respect and give a little thought to what serving God means to them—and to ourselves.

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Rambam on humility: has this message timed out?

My usual response to commentaries on Pirkei Avot is a warm and accepting one. When they span the ages I can usually both appreciate and empathise with the personal emotional responses of rabbis of centuries ago when they grappled with the same issues as face us now. That is why I am so disturbed when I come across something that jars deeply against my own cultural sensitivities. If the value of Avot is for all time, the explanations and comments of our sages should surely be of the same quality. But is it possible that our own lives and values, and our own function as human beings and servants of God in the world He created for us, are so different from theirs that their teachings no longer address us?

In this context I have been troubled by Rambam’s lengthy and at times impassioned commentary on Avot 4:4. This short mishnah is taught in the name of Rabbi Levitas Ish Yavneh:

מְאֹד מְאֹד הֱוֵי שְׁפַל רֽוּחַ, שֶׁתִּקְוַת אֱנוֹשׁ רִמָּה

In translation: “Be very, very humble, for the hope of mortal man is the worm”.

The mishnah itself is troublesome enough. Why is it even a mishnah, when it appears as a verse that has been cut-and-pasted from Ecclesiasticus—the book of Ben Sira that was not accorded canonical status by the Great Assembly. And no-one hopes for worms. Our sages have dealt with these issues, but Rambam’s commentary requires attention because it contains a most remarkable passage which, it seems to me, is quite unparalleled by commentaries anywhere else on Pirkei Avot:

והנה ראיתי בספר מספרי המדות שנשאל לא' מן החשובים החסידים ונאמר לו איזה יום הוא ששמחת בו יותר מכל ימיך אמר יום שהייתי הולך בספינה והיה מקומי בפחות שבמקומות הספינה בין חבילות הבגדים והיו בספינה סוחרים ובעלי ממון ואני הייתי שוכב במקומי ואחד מאנשי הספינה קם להשתין ואהי נקל בעיניו ונבזה שהייתי שפל בעיניו מאד עד שגלה ערותו והשתין עלי ותמהתי מהתחזק תכונת העזות בנפשו וחי השם לא כאבה נפשי למעשהו כלל ולא התעורר ממני כחי ושמחתי שמחה גדולה כשהגעתי לגבול שלא יכאיבני בזוי החסר ההוא ולא הרגישה נפשי אליו ואין ספק שזאת תכלית שפלות הרוח עד שיתרחק מן הגאוה:

In translation: And look, I saw in a book from the books on middot [i.e. personal qualities] that one of the important pious men was asked: "Which day is the one upon which you rejoiced more than any of your days?" He said: "The day that I was travelling on a ship and my place was in the lowest places of the ship, among bundles of clothing. There were also traders and men of means on the ship. I was lying in my place and one of the men on board the ship got up to urinate. I was insignificant in his eyes, lowly and of such insignificance in his eyes that he exposed himself and urinated on me. I was astonished by the sheer intensity of the brazenness in his soul. But, as God lives, my soul was not at all pained by his action and I did not bestir myself. I rejoiced with great joy that I reached the extreme in that the disgrace caused by this deficient person did not pain me and [that] my soul did not feel [anything] against him." There is no doubt that this is the very limit of lowliness of spirit, to the point of being distanced from arrogance.

 I do not know whether this episode actually happened or whether it was constructed for educational purposes. If readers can enlighten me as to its source, I shall be grateful. Be that as it may, I cannot help finding it unpleasant and objectionable and I find it hard to imagine that any sane and conscientious Jew today, finding himself or herself in the same situation, would react in similar fashion.

For one thing, Rabbi Akiva at Avot 3:18 endorses the principle that mankind is beloved of God because it is created in His image. Failing to stop this brazen act or at least to take evasive action is a passive condonation of the desecration of God’s image, as it were, and the dignity of one’s fellow humans.

Avot 6:6 reminds us that one of the ways of acquiring Torah is through loving rebuke. This does not exclusively mean receiving rebukes in good heart but also embraces rebuking others in a spirit of love and friendship. Where is the rebuke here? Even if the offending party had refrained from urinating on this pious man, the very act of exposing himself should itself earn rebuke.

As many earlier posts on Avot Today have affirmed, the Ethics of the Fathers holds humility to be an important component of the make-up of a practising Jew.  But is the conduct of the pious man in the Rambam’s story even correctly construed as humility? By his own admission he held no feelings towards the offending fellow traveller at all. But what has this to do with humility? It looks as much like an abrogation of any feelings of care or responsibility towards a fellow human being. Can this form of humility—if it even be humility—be truly a means by which a person is better equipped to learn Torah, to serve God and to be a useful contributor to the society of which he is part?

The problem of the prodigiously-praised professor

Over the past three years I have written on countless occasions of the importance of humility—one of the key middot in Pirkei Avot—and the correlative need to avoid pride. These priorities are not found exclusively in Avot. Rambam, in Hilchot De’ot, urges us not to seek out the middle path between humility and pride but to head as far as possible towards humility. The Maharal touches on a similar theme in his Netivot Olam, when he explains that only through cultivating humility to its furthest point can one truly make space for one’s Torah learning. This is all very well in theory, but how does one do this in practice?

Last week I was invited to speak at a celebration to mark the 20th anniversary of a phenomenally successful and much-loved weblog on a somewhat improbable subject: the law and practice relating to intellectual property as seen through the eyes of two fictitious cats. As a co-founder of this blog I was able to talk about its early days. The other speakers discussed a variety of legal topics, but they also had some very splendid things to say about me. At first I rather enjoyed this praise-laden attention, but as the afternoon continued I started to become rather uncomfortable. I was aware that I was filling up with pride, and I was troubled that this experience was so compellingly enjoyable. Indeed, rather against my will I found myself rating the various praises I had received in terms of quite how great or important they made me feel.

At this point I started to wonder how one should tackle pride when one feels it so powerfully. I decided to take a reality check in order to persuade myself that I did not deserve the praise I was receiving. Taking an objective view, I established the following points: (i) I was only the co-founder of the blog, not its exclusive originator; (ii) much of the content of the blog came from information and ideas sent in by readers, not from me; (iii) I had not contributed to the blog for nearly eight years, during which time it had become very much more successful and popular than it was when I contributed to it; and (iv) the blog was not indispensable since the world of intellectual property law existed quite happily before it came along and could easily continue to do so if it vanished tomorrow. This reality check did not however do the trick: I felt just as proud of its achievements as if I had written the whole thing myself and was about to be knighted for it. If there was a path from here to achieving humility, I could not see it.

After the event it occurred to me that, if I could not remove my feelings of pride, even though rationally I could challenge my entitlement to feel them, it might yet be possible to justify them. Perhaps this pride was not so dangerous because it related to something I had done in the relatively distant past and was never going to repeat, in a field of activity from which I had long since retired. This line of thought looked quite promising, even though it felt quite like an excuse. But are there in fact more than one type of pride? We learn from Tehillim that the possession of ge’ut, sometimes understood as pride or arrogance, is one of the qualities of God Himself (Tehillim 93:1), which suggests that—like every other quality that is generally bad when found in humans—it has its legitimate outlet, otherwise God would not have created it.

In English, when one speaks of a person “taking pride” in his handiwork, the real meaning is that that person has made some effort to do the best job possible. Rabbi Berel Wein, quoting Rabbi Yisrael Salanter, has described this state as one of acting leshem shamayim, “for the sake of Heaven”, as exemplified by the shoemaker who works hard to make sure that every shoe that receives his attention is made to the highest possible specification. On this basis, perhaps this sort of pride is acceptable because it is not inherently incompatible with humility. When I helped set up the blog and wrote for it, I did it to the best of my ability because I thought it would be useful for others as well as for myself. Is my pride in having done so a legitimate form of pride. I don’t feel that it has distanced me from God or from my Torah learning—but I cannot be sure that this feeling that I’m alright and can live with this pride is in fact a sign that it has already got a detrimental grip on me.

Thoughts, anyone?

Humility, Heep and a pile of baggage

The words “humble” and “humility” carry so much baggage in English that it can be uncomfortable to see them repeatedly appearing in translations of Pirkei Avot. The false, unctuous humility of Uriah Heep in Charles Dickens’ David Copperfield makes him one of the most vividly and instantly unlikeable characters to emerge from English literature, while association with the words “humiliate” and “eat humble pie” suggests that humility is not an inherent human quality but rather something that is inflicted painfully on others.

Some words in Hebrew can be reasonably stretched to bear more than one English meaning. Thus kavod (“honour”) and yirah (“fear”) can both be rendered as shades of “respect”, but shefal ru’ach and anav—the two Hebrew terms usually rendered as “humble”—offer little in the way of variation. Shefal ru’ach literally means “low-spirited”, but that conveys to the English ear a state of gloomy depression rather than humility.   

Our sages have in the past emphasised the link between humility and the need for each of us to believe—to convince ourselves—that we as humans are of no worth whatsoever and that it is only through the grace of God that we have any apparent merits at all. This position is rooted in midrashic and aggadic tradition. But the same tradition also points in other directions. Thus the sages also teach that we are to regard the world as if it was created specifically for ourselves and that we are the children of princes—and even the humblest of Torah scholars is entitled to “an eighth of an eighth” of pride. Pirkei Avot advocates a maximised form of humility (see e.g. Avot 4:4, 4:12) but also that we concede the truth (Avot 5:9), and the false modesty of scholars who repeatedly boast that they know nothing does nothing to promote the cause of humility among those who need to acquire it for themselves.

One way forward with humility is to explain it in terms that make it sound more accessible to ordinary people. Chanoch Levi’s English translation of Rabbi Chaim Volozhiner’s Ru’ach Chaim does that rather well in the course of the long, discursive essay in which Reb Chaim reviews the deeper significance of Avot 4:1. There he writes:

“It is important to realize that humility involves more than simply absorbing taunts and insults without exacting retribution. Humility is a state of mind, the recognition that one’s worth is no greater than that of any other man” (italics added).

This definition of humility is not only something that lies within the grasp of everyone; it is also compatible with the popular contemporary notion that all humans are equal. The statement that “I am no better than anyone else” is far easier to internalise than “I am of no worth when compared to anyone else”. However, “equal” is not the same as “identical”. We are all different and Reb Chaim acknowledges that too:

“For although a person may achieve great success, he may also suspect that perhaps he has failed to realize his true potential. Others might accomplish less, but may have maximized their potential; they are considered to be on a higher level”.

If we are honest with ourselves, we all recognise episodes in our lives in which we know that we could have done better, even if others do not see it. From my own years as a law teacher I can recall classes I gave which the students really enjoyed and thought were particularly good, though the high degree of enjoyment they derived and their consequently high rating of the class were as much attributable to the facts that they had insufficiently prepared for the class and that I, knowing that this would be the case, took less care in my own preparation for it than I could have done. In instances such as this, one has to resist the temptation to feel pride in a job less well done.

 

 

Arrogance and humility: the dream team?

It is fair to say that, on the whole, arrogance gets a pretty bad press at the hands of Jewish sages. It's a shame that there's not much demand for arrogance, since it is usually in plentiful supply. Humility, in contrast, is highly praised for its efficacy both in our dealings with God and for how we relate to our fellow humans—but it would regrettably appear to be in short supply.

In his work Elef HaMagen, Rabbi Eliezer Papo (better known as the Pele Yo’etz) tells the story of a man who, when rudely insulted by another, refused to respond to this provocation. When asked how he managed what must have looked like a huge feat of self-restraint, he explained as follows:

When the man insulted me, I was not alone. On one side of me stood Arrogance, and he said to me ”how can you find it within yourself to pay any attention to this person? Surely it is well beneath your dignity to retaliate against a meaningless attack by a worthless individual! Treat him with disdain and just ignore him”. To the other side of me stood Humility, who said to me “is this not the time to demonstrate how meek and humble you are, bearing in mind the wise words of our sages who say that it is far preferable to be among the insulted than to be classed among those who do the insulting”.

The Pele Yo’etz ties this in with the first two teachings of Yehoshua ben Perachya (Avot 1:6):

“Aseh lecha rav, ukoneh lecha chaver”: עֲשֵׂה לְךָ רַב, וּקְנֵה לְךָ חָבֵר

These words are usually translated along the lines of “make for yourself a teacher (or master) and acquire for yourself a friend”. The word rav has the additional meaning of “great”, so the first part of this teaching can be taken at a pinch as meaning “make greatness for yourself”, i.e. “make yourself arrogant”. As for kaneh lecha chaver, the word kaneh—which means “acquire”—has the same three-letter root (קנה) as kanah, a reed. The reed is a symbol of humility since it bows and bends in the breeze. So the man who faces insult and abuse but follows the path to which this Mishnah alludes is able to summon up both arrogance and humility in order to reach the right behavioural conclusion.

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Illustration from Thesaurus.plus

It doesn't take great brains...

In the past few years the Jewish world has lost two giants of Torah scholarship—Rabbi Aharon Yehuda Leib Shteinman ztz”l and Rabbi Chaim Kanievsky ztz”l. Obituaries have praised their virtually unmatched knowledge of Jewish law and their contributions to its further and deeper understanding, as well as their dedication and respective leadership roles within and often well beyond the confines of their traditional constituencies.

It is improbable that any reader of this post can equal the scholarship of these two remarkable men, but there is one aspect of their lives in which I believe there is a chance that we can match them. Let me explain.

It is universally agreed that both Rabbi Shteinman and Rabbi Kanievsky were humble. This quality is the subject of several teachings in Pirkei Avot:

• According to Rabbi Levitas ish Yavneh, a person should be extremely humble since the ultimate aspiration of the human is but the worm (4:4).
• Rabbi Meir emphasises that one should be humble towards all other people (4:12). He adds that, where a person studies Torah for its own sake and without ulterior motives, the Torah clothes him in humility (6:1).
• An anonymous Baraita lists humility among the 48 boxes that a person must tick in order to acquire mastery of the Torah (6:6).
  

While Pirkei Avot goes to considerable lengths to explain how one can acquire Torah and how best to learn it, there is no definition of humility—which makes it harder to know whether someone has it or not—and no explicit guidelines as to how to become humble.

In promoting the cause of humility we face a further problem. As children we learn a great deal about human qualities and characteristics, both positive and negative, and are thus easily able to recognise them. Even a small child will be familiar with concepts like fairness and unfairness, kindness and unkindness, happiness and anger, generosity and selfishness. The vocabulary relating to these traits is learned early too, as parents and teachers seek to reinforce good behaviour (“well done Moishe, that was so kind of you!”) and discourage that which is not (“You’ve had such a lovely long turn on the swing, Esti, so shouldn't you let your little brother have a turn now too?”). The concept of humility doesn’t seem to work the same way though. How often does one hear a child being told, “well done Moishe/Esti, that was a really humble thing to do”? Indeed, how old are most children today before they understand the word “humility”?

We should also consider whether, since "humility" is not a topic of daily conversation at home or at the workplace, whether it may be possible to assemble a sort of composite working definition of humility, based on compliance with several other provisions of Pirkei Avot that reflect aspects of the behaviour of a humble person. Thus we may hypothesise that such a person, for example, lets other people finish speaking instead of interrupting them (5:9), accepts that something is true rather than denying it (ibid.), gives others the benefit of the doubt (1:6), and greets people in a pleasant manner (1:15, 3:16, 4:20) both on the basis that they too are created in God’s image (3:18) and because God created no-one without some purpose (4:3). Moreover, a person should not consider himself entitled to act behind God’s back (2:1, 3:1, 4:5) and he should act in such a way that he should have no cause to regard himself as bad (2:17). Other provisions in Avot can also be marshalled into this composite identikit image of someone who is humble.

There is something inherently unsatisfying in describing humility only in terms of the aggregation of other human qualities, so readers’ thoughts are invited as to how they would describe someone as being humble in today’s terms. Meanwhile we can all take some comfort in the thought that, while none of us is ever likely to aspire to the pinnacle of Torah scholarship, it doesn't take great brains or years of study in order to be humble. All you need is the ability to behave properly towards your fellow humans, a large reservoir of will-power -- and a readiness to work hard at preserving your humility well beyond the point at which you feel so proud of having achieved it.

Fire, worms -- and a book that never came in from the cold

The fourth chapter of Avot contains one of its shortest and most powerful messages when Rabbi Levitas of Yavneh teaches: “Be exceedingly humble, since the hope of man is the worm” (Avot 4:4). Where does this salutary and sobering message come from?

Nearly 400 years before Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi included this teaching when compiling the Mishnah (c.180-200 CE), we find broadly similar words in the original Hebrew version of the Book of Ben Sira from which the Greek translation (a.k.a. Ecclesiasticus) was produced. This Greek translation adds a little heat to the Hebrew:

“Humble yourself to the uttermost, for the doom of the impious is fire and worms”.

The Book of Ben Sira never made it into the canon Jewish holy books (the “Tanach”). It is possible that this work was excluded from the canon because it contained no explicit endorsement of the notion of a World to Come—a fundamental tenet of Jewish belief. For readers of Ecclesiasticus, the worms may have appeared to be the final port of call for the dead, with nothing to come beyond them. If this is correct, the addition of “fire” in the Greek translation may have been an attempt to make Ben Sira’s teachings more palatable to Jewish readers, presumably on the basis that even a World to Come that was stoked by purifying fire was preferable to no such World at all.

By the time of Rabbi Levitas (c.100 CE) there was no longer any serious rabbinical argument over the existence of a World to Come, so his Mishnah would not have been considered a statement that had anything to do with it. Rather, it would have been read as a message regarding the imperative importance of shiflut ruach, “lowliness of spirit.”

Humble: what we want everyone else to be

Yesterday I spotted a comment by Rabbi Baruch Halevi Epstein (author of the Torah Temimah) in his commentary on the siddur, Baruch She'amar. Towards the end of his commentary on the Amidah, he picks up on the words "venafshi ke'afar lekol tihiyeh" ("and let my soul be like dust before everyone"). We say this formula at least three times a day, but what does it mean to us?  Do the good and the great in our communities actually want to be treated like dust? And as for those people who puff themselves up with their own self-importance -- do they even stop for a moment to consider that, with these words, they regularly petition God to burst their bubble and bring them down to earth?  When we think that these are the same people who object if we accidentally sit in their regular seat in shul, and who barge in front of us in queues or when seeking to access the delicacies at a laden kiddush table, we may well wonder what sort of thoughts, if any, they have when reciting this time-honoured formula.

From Avot we can see that humility is both recognised and strongly advocated as an essential element of human behaviour.  Shiflut ru'ach -- the opposite of self-importance -- is urged for example by Rabbi Levitas (Avot 4:4) and Rabbi Meir (Avot 4:12), while arrogance of spirit is identified as one of the tell-tale characteristics of an apparently frum individual who really follows the path of Balaam (Avot 5:22). And, for good measure, humility is listed as one of 48 things that enable a person to acquire Torah.  

We don't recite Avot three times a day and therefore have no excuse for routinely and thoughtlessly reciting it at the end of what might have been a long, heavy prayer session in which we bring more pressing matters before God: health, financial and political security, or whatever.  That's the advantage of Avot: we can learn and think about it in our own time, and in our own ways, which gives us a far better chance of being able to internalise its messages.