The Battle Over Jewish Tradition (2)

 

            Each generation and each individual experiences an existential state all its own.  Various thinkers have employed the parable as a means to express these conditions.  So far, we have seen two of these attempts; both the Rambam and Rihal have used the parable to describe existential states.

 

            Our generation has moved beyond the revolution of the modern world, beyond Newton.  It was in need of a new parable; this new vehicle of expression was supplied by Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav, in the parable entitled "The Clever Man and The Simple Man."  These two devote their entire lives to the resolution of an existential argument.  They wish only to know if the king indeed exists.  The wise man employs his great wisdom to form all kinds of theories which explain the functioning of society, without assuming the existence of the king.  The simple man reaches the opposite conclusion and feels certainty in the intuitive approach, discerning the presence of the king through the order in the kingdom.  He desires to meet the king, and rejects the clever man's repeated attempts to escape from this conclusion.          

 

            Rabbi Nachman describes the clever man as follows [the following translation was taken from "The Tales of Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav," by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz, published by Jason Aronson, 1993]:

 

            "Now when the letter from the king had been delivered to the clever man, he said to the clever messenger, 'Wait. Stay here overnight.  We shall discuss the matter and come to a decision.'

            That night the clever man made a grand dinner for the messenger, and over the meal he began to analyze the situation, using all his learning and philosophy.  'What can it mean,' he exclaimed, 'that such a great king sends for a lowly person like me?  Who am I that the king should send for me?  What can it mean?  He is a great king, who rules a vast dominion and wields much power, and I am as nothing compared with him.  Does it stand to reason that such a king would send for me?  One could say that he summoned me on account of my wisdom, but what am I to the king?  Has the king no wise men about him?  The king himself must surely be a great sage!  Why, then, should the king send for me?'

            The matter confounded the clever man.  As he wondered about it, he declared to the clever messenger, 'Do you know what I think?  There is no king, and everyone in the whole world is mistaken in believing that there is.  Listen, does it stand to reason that the whole world should submit itself to one person and make him king over everything?  No, it is clear that there is no king.'

            'But I brought you a letter from the king!' protested the messenger.

            'Did you receive it from him personally?' the clever man asked him.

            'No, someone else gave it to me.'

            'There!  You can see for yourself that I am right.  There is no king.  Now tell me.  You are from the royal capital, and you grew up there.  Have you ever seen the king?'

            'No.'

            'Now you can see that I am right.  There is no king, for even you have never seen him.'

            'If that is so,' returned the clever messenger, 'who governs the country?'

            'Ah, I can easily explain that.  I am an expert in such matters, so you've asked the right person.  I've traveled a great deal, and I spent some time in Italy, where I was able to learn the local customs.  The whole country is ruled by seventy counselors who remain in office for a limited period of time.  All the citizens of the country take turns holding office, one after another.'

            His arguments began to influence the clever messenger, and finally the two agreed that there was no king.

            The clever man goes from person to person and tries to convince them that that there is no king.  'Come, let us travel around the world!  I'll show you more examples of how everyone in the world is deluded by folly.'  They departed together and traveled around the world, and everywhere they went they found the world to be in error."

 

            Rabbi Nachman creates an ironic encounter between the clever man and a "Ba'al Shem" [holy personage] who is known for his wondrous deeds:

 

            "The clever man thought that this must be the residence of a physician.  As he was a great physician himself, he wanted to go in and make the other's acquaintance.

            'Who lives in there?' he inquired of the people.

            'A Ba'al Shem,' they replied.

            The clever man burst out laughing.  'This is another lie, a further folly,' he said to his companion."

 

            Rabbi Nachman wishes to create an encounter between the clever man and the miraculous.  The end of the story is an encounter with Satan, the epitome of evil.  Here Rabbi Nachman's irony reaches its peak.  The clever man desired to deny the existence of God, and this desire brought him to the very depths of evil.  In contrast, the simple man followed a different path:

 

            "'Why did he hit you?' asked the minister.

            'Because I was talking about the Ba'al Shem,' he replied.        'I said that he was a liar and that the whole thing is nothing more than a big swindle.'

            'So you still cling to your cleverness!' exclaimed the simple minister.  'Listen, once you said that you could easily reach my level, but that I could never reach yours.  Now look. I attained yours long ago, but you have not yet reached mine.  Now I can see that it is indeed more difficult for you to attain my simplicity.'  The clever man expounded his opinion that there was no king.

            'What are you saying?' cried the simple minister.  'I've seen the king myself!'

            'How do you know he is the king?' answered the clever man with a laugh.  'Do you know him, and his father and his grandfather who were also kings?  How do you know that he is really the king?  People told you that he was the king, but they deceived you.'

            It greatly angered the simple man to hear his friend deny the existence of the king."

 

            The faith that our generation needs, according to Rabbi Nachman, is simplicity.  This simplicity is not a childish faith.  It is the result of scrutiny, of discussion and of stirring debate with the philosopher within us and outside of us.  However, in addition to the great sophistication of the philosopher, an act of faith is expected of man as well.  He is commanded to achieve this simple faith.

 

            The simple man exemplifies more than faith alone; his simplicity has become a way of life.  Let us move backward in time, and discover the contrast between the clever man and the simple man:

 

            "After several years [the clever man] said to himself, 'Now the time has come to decide what I'm going to do with my life.'   He began to think philosophically about the profession he should take up ... he apprenticed himself to a cutter of precious stones, and since he was so clever, he mastered this craft, too, in a short time, about three months.

            Thereafter he reflected, 'I have mastered these two trades, but who knows, perhaps someday neither of them will be required.  It would be prudent to study a profession that will always be needed.'  Deliberating with all his understanding and philosophy, he decided to study medicine, which is always needed and important.

            In order to study medicine, one must first learn Latin, both to read and to write it, and philosophy as well.  Since he was so clever, he learned all this in a short time, just three months.  He became a great physician and philosopher, a master of all the sciences.

            After a while, he began to find the whole world worthless.  He was so clever, so skilled a craftsman, so wise a sage, and so great a physician, that everybody else in the world seemed of no account ...

            Let us now put aside the story of the clever man and begin to tell the story of the simple man.

            The simple man learned shoemaking.  Since he was simple, it took him a long time to acquire the skill, and even then he did not master it entirely.  He took a wife and made a living by his trade.

            Since he was a simple man and was not skilled at his craft, he earned his living with great difficulty.  He had to work all the time and had no time even to eat.  He would snatch bites of bread as he sat over his leather, piercing holes with his awl and sewing the heavy stitches.

            The simple man lived in great happiness.  He knew nothing but joy.  He had every kind of food and drink and clothing that he desired.  'My wife,' he would say, 'bring me something to eat.'  She would give him a piece of bread.  When he had finished eating it, he would say, 'Bring me some chicken soup with kasha.'  She would cut him another slice of bread, and he would eat it, praising its fine taste.  'How delicious and satisfying this soup is,' he would say.  Then he would tell her, 'Bring me some meat.'  Again she would give him bread, and as he ate it he would enjoy it and praise it handsomely.  'This meat is delicious!' he would exclaim.  Every time he asked her to bring him a fine dish, she would give him a piece of bread.  He would enjoy it immensely, praise its quality, and talk about how delicious it was, exactly as though he were really eating the fine dish he had asked for.  Because of his great innocence and happiness, he actually tasted in the bread he ate the flavor of any food he desired.

            After the meal, when he said, 'My wife, bring me a drink of beer,' she would bring him a glass of water.  'How delicious this beer is,' he would exclaim.  Next he would say, 'Bring me some mead.'  She would give him more water, and he would praise the fine quality of the mead.  'Bring me wine,' he would demand, or perhaps he wanted some other beverage - whatever it was, she always gave him water, and he would enjoy and praise it exactly as if he were really drinking the beverage he had requested.  And so it was with clothing ... and he was always filled with joy and happiness.  As he was not a master of his craft, it sometimes happened that when he finished a shoe it had three points instead of two.  He would take the shoe in his hand, praise it highly, and take great pleasure in beholding it.  'My wife,' he would say, 'how pretty and fine this shoe is, and how sweet.  It is a shoe of honey and sugar.'

            'If that is really so,' she would answer, 'why do the other cobblers take three kopecks for a pair of shoes, and you take only a kopeck and a half?'

            'What does that matter to me?  What they do is their business and what I do is my business ...'"

 

A Narrow Bridge

 

            The difference between Rabbi Nachman's approach and that of Rihal is significant.  Rabbi Nachman felt that whatever proofs one uses to support his position, the ultimate prop for our beliefs can be found only in faith.  The leap of faith is the only way to sustain our beliefs.  However, this holds true not only for us, the believers.  The position of every man, believer or dissenter, is based upon intuitions which cannot be proven.

 

            Faith is not the exclusive domain of the prophet; it is each individual's personal mission.  The individual who encounters the prophet must grapple with the prophet's message.  The Jewish people encountered God at Mt. Sinai.  This encounter dispelled any doubts entertained by that generation.  However, it is no accident that Rihal chose the Kuzari as his protagonist.  The Chaver responds to an individual with no experience or tradition of an encounter with the divine, who has as yet no faith in the reality of such an encounter.  The story frame of the Kuzari is significant.  The parable of the king of Persia teaches us that beyond the inner certainty created by the encounter with the divine, there is also an objective, public test of the truth of this encounter.  The authenticity of the historical encounter can be evaluated.  The Chaver turns to the Kuzari with this test in mind.

 

            The Rambam opens with the divine encounter in nature; Rihal claims that religious certainty can be achieved not through nature but through history.  Rabbi Nachman, however, maintains that doubt will continue to gnaw at our hearts, that we will must begin our spiritual journey with a leap of faith.  We must leap alone, into the unknown which lies beyond our own experience.  Spiritual attainment will always mean negotiating a very narrow bridge; and the main thing is not to fear the passage.

 

            What is the meaning of the "very narrow bridge?"  I reached an understanding of this famous Bratslav saying thanks to a childhood experience.  Many years ago, my father took me to a certain place across a certain river.  We couldn't return the way we had come, because rain had fallen in the interim, and the bridge was flooded.  The only option was to go up the mountain and cross a very narrow train bridge.  Someone took me by the hand and helped me across.

 

            Why couldn't I do it alone?  Neurologically, I certainly was capable of fulfilling such a task.  How is it that I easily walk between two close lines; yet, I cannot walk across a bridge much wider than that?  The answer is, because I am afraid.  It is not the impossibility of the task which stops me, it is the fear.  This is what Rabbi Nachman meant when he said, "The whole world is a very narrow bridge, and the main thing is not to fear."

 

            Man's greatest enemy is not outside himself; it lies within.  Man invests tremendous energy to repel powerful enemies; yet the most powerful enemies are inside of us.  This idea has psychological ramifications; however, we are interested in the philosophical aspect.  Philosophers have tried to teach us philosophically proven truths.  Rabbi Nachman teaches us that help will not come from the outside, but from within ourselves.  Just as I can cross the narrow bridge if I do not fear, so too can I  reach the truth if I choose to believe.

 

            We can add a continuation to Rabbi Nachman's story, a motif taken from cartoons.  Remember the fox chasing the rabbit?  The rabbit reaches the valley, where there is a  rope bridge.  We see the rabbit cross the bridge.  Then he loosens the ropes and the bridge falls down.  The fox does not know this, and he continues to run on the bridge as though it were there.  Only when he reaches the middle of the "bridge" does he stop, look down, see the bridge and then… he falls.  This is the continuation of Rabbi Nachman's story.  This is, in essence, the concept of faith.  Faith builds the bridge.

 

(This lecture was translated by Gila Weinberg.)

 

Copyright (c)1997 Prof. Shalom Rosenberg, Yeshivat Har Etzion.  All rights reserved.