An Etymological Drash from Rav Hirsch on Jewish vs. Pagan Priests

This week's Torah content has been sponsored by Sarah in celebration of the marriage of Rivkie and Dovi Siderson. Mazal tov!

Click here for a printer-friendly 2-page version of this article, and click here for the podcast version.

Artwork: Shadal and Rav Hirsch having a debate in a library
(generated using the "outpainting" tool on DALL-E)

An Etymological Drash from Rav Hirsch on Jewish vs. Pagan Priests

There are two types of linguistic analysis of the Hebrew language found in Torah commentaries. The first type takes into consideration all available data as the basis for its conclusions and follows the evidence wherever it may lead. This approach may be described as “scientific,” “evidence-based,” or “academic.” The second type of analysis avowedly does not factor in all the data but is guided by a particular set of assumptions, philosophical beliefs, and rhetorical objectives. This approach may be described as “poetic,” “imaginative,” or “homiletical.” The first type of analysis is “bottom-up” whereas the second is “top-down.” The first is a necessity for “pshat” whereas the second is a valuable a tool in the arsenal of “drash.”

Shadal (Samuel David Luzzatto, 1800-1865) exemplifies the scientific approach, as Daniel Klein writes in his preface to Shadal on Genesis: “In his investigation of word meanings, Luzzatto drew upon every means at his disposal” including “comparisons with the later (Mishnaic) Hebrew of the rabbis and with languages cognate to Hebrew, such as Aramaic, Syriac, and Arabic” (p.22) Shadal’s commentary is replete with philological analyses based on his understanding of the evolution of the Hebrew language.

Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808-1888), a grand master of the poetic approach, holds by a different set of premises from Shadal. According to Mattityahu Clark (ed. Etymological Dictionary of Biblical Hebrew Based on the Commentaries of Samson Raphael Hirsch), Hirsch believed that Hebrew “is not a language that has historically developed and grown by absorbing or adapting words and expressions from foreign sources. Rather, it is a single, integral unit with its own internal structure and grammar, its own logic and patterns, its own meanings and nuances” (p.x). Hirsch “states repeatedly that one should not look to foreign languages to find meanings of words in the Torah,” believing instead that “the Hebrew language is self-contained” (p.xi). Thus, “in his analysis, Hirsch makes no use of or references to other languages of the ancient Near East” (p.293), instead basing his conclusions on his idiosyncratic theory of three-letter roots.

Although there are hundreds of examples which illustrate the differences between these two approaches, the main reason I wrote this article is to showcase a single excerpt from Rav Hirsch’s commentary in Parashas Mikeitz. Yosef is overcome with emotion upon seeing his younger brother Binyamin. “Yosef hurried because נִכְמְרוּ רַחֲמָיו towards his brother, and he sought to weep; he went into the room and wept there” (Bereishis 43:30). The basic question is: What does נכמרו רחמיו mean in the context of this pasuk?

A second question arises from a more common use of this three-letter root in the word כומר, which is universally understood to mean “pagan priest,” as in “[Yoshiyahu] also dismissed the כומרים” (II Melachim 23:5), “for its people will mourn over it, as well as its כומרים” (Hoshea 10:5), and “I will cut off from this place any remnant of the Baal and the memory of the ministers with the כומרים” (Tzfanya 1:4). The second question is: What, if anything, is the relationship between the expression נכמרו רחמיו and the word כומר?

Shadal’s Italian translation of the pasuk in Mikeitz (rendered into English by Daniel Klein) reads as follows: “And immediately Joseph, pity having been kindled in him toward his brother, and wanting to weep, entered into the room and wept there.” Shadal elaborates on his reasoning in his commentary (43:30):

kindled (nikhmeru). Became hot and burning, as in, “Our skin is hot [nikhmeru], like an oven” (Eichah 5:10). In Rosenmueller’s opinion (and before him the Alexandrian translation), the original meaning of rahamim [here translated as “pity”] was “bowels,” just as [the singular form] rehem [means “womb”].

Shadal is not the first one to translate נכמרו as “hot and burning” Ibn Ezra, Avraham ben ha’Rambam, Ralbag, and others took the same approach, many of them citing the same pasuk from Eichah.

As for our second question, we – or at least, I – don’t have access to Shadal’s commentary on any of the three instances of the word כומר cited above. We do, however, have the commentary Hoil Moshe by Rabbi Moshe Yitzchak Ashkenazi (Moisè Tedeschi, 1829-1898), one of Shadal’s “informal” students, who employs a similar evidence-based linguistic approach to that of his teacher:

הכומרים. According to [Heinrich Wilhelm] Gesenius (1786-1842) in his lexicon, its meaning is “those who burn incense.” If so, one must assume that the letters ג,י,כ,ק were transposed and its origin is Aramaic or Syriac. Gachalei eish (fiery coals) is translated as gumrin d’iysha, and the priests raise up smoke with fiery coals on the firepan; accordingly, they are superior in rank to priests whose forms of service are not as significant.

Thus far the scientific approach of Shadal. Rav Hirsch’s poetic approach stands in stark contrast. He reads our pasuk as: “Yosef hastened, for his feelings toward his brother had been stirred up and he wished to cry, and he went into the room and wept there” (trans. Daniel Haberman). Rav Hirsch’s commentary begins with a pshat answer to our first question, then segues into a drash answer to our second question:

נכמרו רחמיו. For Yosef knew what he intended to do to Binyamin, the painful ordeal he intended to put him through, even if only briefly.

כמר, the stirring up of strong emotions, is also the root of מכמורת, a net. A כומר is a pagan priest. The Rabbinic term כמר של זיתים denotes laying fruit on top of one another so that they should heat up and ripen, or it denotes burying them in the earth for this purpose, sealing them off until they become ripe and tender. מכמר בשרא (Pesachim 58b) – initial spoilage in meat. ביב שהוא קמור תחת הבית (Ohalos 3:7) – a hidden drain.

The basic meaning of כמר, then, is to keep back something, shut it up and prevent it from going free, and thus to bring it to fermentation. Thus, on the one hand, a net, and on the other, the process of fermentation. Transposed to the emotional realm, כמר denotes pent-up feelings which, as a result of repression, reach an intense state of ferment. Compare  כִּי יִתְחַמֵּץ לְבָבִי (Tehilim 73:21), emotional ferment which can no longer be contained in one’s breast; intense emotional excitement.

For this reason, apparently, pagan priests are called כמרים as opposed to כהנים. The Jewish כהן is not dependent on devotion, emotion. Jewish Divine service is not designed to excite dark mysterious feelings. The Jewish Sanctuary appeals primarily to the intellect: התפלל means to rectify one’s judgment and to make clear to oneself one’s relationship to things in general, one’s duties. Feelings are very cheap. One can weep copiously before God in prayer, and then get up and be no better than one was before! The כומר counts on exciting the emotions. The כהן, however, has to be כן with himself and מכין, provide others with firm direction and a firm basis. Heathenism works on the emotions and thereby shackles the intellect. The emotions, however, are like a clock mechanism without hands, restless movement that knows not whence or wither, which can be exploited for any purpose. The כומר fans the flames of hell and arouses fanaticism; he celebrates his triumph when נכמרו מעים, when the innards of the believers reach a point of total ferment.

This is a beautiful example of what I call “etymological drash.” Rav Hirsch uses the Hebrew language to expound on a core idea about Judaism. The fact that his analysis of the root כ.מ.ר. may or may not be “scientifically accurate” by the standards of modern philology is immaterial. This is the way of drash.

Fortunately, we are not forced to choose between the approaches of Shadal and Rav Hirsch, just as we need not commit ourselves exclusively to either pshat or drash. Rabbi David Fohrman once likened the interrelationship between pshat and drash to that of melody and harmony: both play different roles – the parameters of which must be understood to be effectively used – but together, they result in beautiful music.

________________________________________________________________

If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you.

If you would like to sponsor a day's or a week's worth of content, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone.

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  Email me if you'd like to be added to my WhatsApp group where I share all of my content and public shiur info. 

Excessive Righteousness and Foolish Piety

Originally published in August 2012. This version has been toned down significantly.

Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post. 

Excessive Righteousness and Foolish Piety

My Shul Rabbi's Message to Congregants 

When my family and I were on our journey to Orthodox Judaism, we were fortunate to find the perfect shul with the perfect rabbi. The shul was filled with Jews from across the spectrum - Chasidish, Modern Orthodox, Zionist, Yeshivish - and the majority of the congregation was, and still is, comprised of baalei teshuvah (non-observant Jews who became observant).

As you might imagine, it might be very daunting for a shul rabbi to please such a diverse crowd - but our shul rabbi is a master. He is completely non-judgmental, and makes everyone feel welcome. His shiurim (classes) and his conversation are filled with enough explanation to make baalei teshuvah feel welcome, and sufficient references to advanced material to please the scholarly crowd.

But there is one message that is often reiterated by our shul rabbi which (I believe) is intended equally for baalei teshuvah and yeshivish students alike: "Don't be too religious." Yes, he says this partially in jest, but usually does so when a congregant inquires about a halacha which is actually just a chumrah (stringency).

I used to think that our rabbi coined this phrase on his own. It wasn't until the first time I read Koheles that I realized he was borrowing the language of the pasuk: "Do not be overly righteous or excessively wise - why should you make yourself desolate?" (Koheles 7:16).

We'll return to this at the end of the post.

Blurry Glasses 

A few years ago my chavrusa (learning partner) brought a short article to my attention:

Soon, it will no longer be necessary for charedi men to walk around while covering their eyes with their hands to avoid seeing women.

Recently, a new start-up company has begun marketing and selling special glasses in charedi neighborhoods such as Meah Shearim. The purpose of the glasses is to prevent charedi men from seeing immodestly-dressed women.

The glasses contain blurry lenses that obscure the wearer’s vision and do allow men not to (sic) see more than three meters. For those who already wear glasses, the company has designed stickers that can be affixed to the existing pair of glasses which will obscure the vision.

Yedioth Ahronot reports that the glasses, designed for the charedi community, are intended for charedi men who must go to places where women will be present. The new patent cost the inventors only NIS 25. The patent includes non-prescription glasses and the obscuring stickers. The glasses with the blurry lenses contain perforations at the bottom of the lenses enabling charedi men to look down at the ground through the perforation and still see where they are walking.

My chavrusa pointed out that the subject of this article is straight out of a Gemara (Sotah 22b) we once learned. When sitting down to write this blog post, I found myself paralyzed by the numerous directions it might take. But I think I'll just content myself with citing the text of the Gemara, drawing the connection, and making a few observations here and there - without attempting any grand theories or explanations.

The Scourges of Prushim Ruin the World

In order to fully appreciate the Gemara, we'll need to see it in the context of the Mishnah, which appears on 20a. The last clause of the Mishnah reads:

[R' Yehoshua] used to say: a chasid shoteh (foolish pietist), a rasha arum (cunning evildoer), an ishah prushah, and the scourges of prushim - these are the ruiners [or alternatively: "destroyers"] of the world.

The Gemara explains that each of these terms refers to a personality-type which expresses itself in specific behaviors. For instance, "chasid shoteh" is a man who refuses to save a the life of a drowning woman because he doesn't want to gaze at women. "Rasha arum" is a person who explains his argument to the judge before his fellow litigant arrives, which the Meiri universalizes to mean "someone who strategically harms others for his own benefit in undetectable ways." An "ishah prushah" is the subject of a machlokes (disagreement), which we won't get into now. We will focus on the last item in the list: "scourges of prushim," which is somewhat related to the first. 

I think it will be beneficial to read the Rambam's commentary on this Mishnah, since he gives us a better idea of the types of people we are talking about. The Rambam [1] first explains the term "chasid shoteh":

The Talmud explains that this refers to an individual who exhibits an exaggerated level of [halachic or pseudo-halachic] precaution and scrupulousness to the point where he becomes disgusting in the eyes of people, and he does actions which are not obligatory. It is as if the Mishnah said that he is "shoteh b'chasiduso" ("foolish in his piety"). The Sages said in the Gemara Yerushalmi that anyone who is exempt from something and does it anyway is considered a hedyot (ignoramus, probably related to the Greek idiōtēs).

Similarly, the Meiri [2] defines the chasid shoteh as "a person who makes himself excessively pious in a manner which causes harm, either to himself or to others." He adds a few more examples of this type of behavior: "someone who fasts every day ... someone who sees a baby drowning in a river and says, 'Let me take off my tefillin first' [before he jumps in to save him]."

Next, the Rambam addresses the ambiguity of the term "prushim" (lit. "those who are separated"). The difficulty is that "Prushim" (with an uppercase "P") refers to the Phraisees who opposed the Sadducees during the era of the second Beis ha'Mikdash, whereas "prushim" (with a lowercase "p") means "ascetics." The Rambam first explains the origin of the term and then how it is used in our Mishnah and the accompanying Gemara:

The Sages, of blessed memory, called themselves “Prushim” on account of their separating themselves from vices, abominations, and the pursuit of the phenomena of Olam ha'Zeh (This World) which preoccupy the rest of mankind; instead, they turn towards life in Olam ha'Ba (The World to Come) and lofty matters.

However, there is another type of person who decorates himself with these things and makes himself appear in other people’s eyes that he has separated himself from these lowly and abominable things, while at the same time, these very same things permeate his character, and he only separates himself from them on account of some worldly motive.

This is what the Sages are referring to when they say, “there are seven prushim [who ruin the world],” and they enumerate anyone who makes himself seem pious, due to one of these worldly motivations – for example, so that people should honor him, or that Hashem shouldn’t cause him to lose his money and bring harm to him. In the opinion of the Sages, there is no true parush except for one who serves God out of love, like Avraham Avinu; the other six are despicable, since they add onto their preexisting obligations and exaggerate their external superficialities in order to deceive people.

Therefore, because they add to the Torah and make it despicable, they are nicknamed “scourges” and the Sages refer to them as “the scourges of the prushim.” The Sages said that they are the “destroyers of the world (mechalei olam)” or “ruiners of the world (mevalei olam)” because these things are harmful to man’s existence. 

It should be noted that the Mishnah and Gemara are only condemning those "prushim" whose piety is a sham - not to those who have truly reached the true virtue of prishus, who are praised by Chazal and looked upon with favor in the eyes of Hashem. We'll refer to these as "bad prushim."

The Seven Types of Bad Prushim 

Now we are ready for the Gemara in Sotah 22b, which begins by quoting the braisa referenced by the Rambam above:

The Rabbis have taught in a Braisa: There are seven types of [bad] prushim: (1) the Shechemite Parush, (2) the Scuffed Parush, (3) the Bloodletting Parush, (4) the Pestle Parush, (5) the “What-is-my-obligation-that-I-may-do-it!” Parush, (6) the Parush out of Love, and (7) the Parush out of Fear.

The Gemara then goes on to define each of these terms. I will include the text of the Gemara, followed by Rashi's commentary [3] in brackets:

(1) the Shechemite Parush is one who does an act of Shechem. [Rashi: they circumcised themselves not for the sake of heaven; likewise, this parush's actions are for his own gratification - so that people should honor him - and they are not for the sake of heaven.]

(2) the Scraped Parush: he is the one who knocks his feet together. [Rashi: he walks in a lowly manner, heel to toe, and he doesn't lift his eyes from the ground; as a result of this, he scrapes his toes against the rocks.]

(3) the Bloodletting Parush: he is the one who causes his blood to flow against the walls. [Rashi: he makes himself like one who closes his eyes so as not to look at women, and as a result of this, he crashes his head into the wall and draws blood.]

(4) the “Pestle” Parush: Rabbah bar Shila said that he is one [whose head is] bowed like [a pestle in] a mortar. [Rashi: he walks hunched over.]

(5) the “What-is-my-obligation-that-I-may-do-it!” Parush: [Rashi explains this question to mean: "Teach me what my obligation is and I will do it."] 

[Based on this initial definition, the Gemara asks:] But isn't this is a virtue?! [The Gemara answers:] No, for this person says, “What further obligation is there for me, that I may do it?” [Rashi: "What more can I do that I haven't done?" - and he makes himself appear as though he has fulfilled everything.] 

(6) the Parush out of Love [Rashi: out of love of the reward of the mitzvos, but not out of love for the mitzvos of the Creator] 

(7) the Parush out of Fear [Rashi: out of fear of punishment; rather, what is incumbent upon a person? - To do the mitzvos of Hashem, blessed is He, out of love, as Hashem, our God, commanded us, and the reward will ultimately come.]

It would be very interesting to define all seven prushim and to understand the mentality of each personality type. It would be also be interesting to identify the modern day correlatives. Perhaps we'll do this in a subsequent post, if I can figure all of them out.

It seems clear which category our blurred-glasses-wearing brethren have stumbled into: the "Bloodletting Parush" category. Rashi's description fits perfectly: "he makes himself like one who closes his eyes so as not to look at women." I wonder whether Rashi's use of this somewhat awkward wording ("makes himself like one who closes his eyes") implies that type of parush only pretends to close his eyes. 

Either way, Rashi seems to learn the Gemara's criticism of Bloodletting Prushim to have something to do with the physical harm they bring upon themselves by their misguided attempts to eschew (what they regard to be) situations of sin. True, halacha must be followed no matter what the cost, but if a person's adherence to halacha routinely leads to physical injury, then one must wonder whether that person is actually keeping halacha, or if it is his yetzer ha'ra masquerading under the guise of religiosity. 

Lo Lishmah Exceptions

After mentioning the last two categories of prushim (i.e. the Parush out of Love and the Parush out of Fear), the Gemara comments:

Abaye and Rava said to the tanna [who was reciting the braisa:] “Do not mention the Parush out of Love and the Parush out of Fear [in the list of bad prushim], for Rav Yehuda said in the name of Rav: A person should always involve himself in Torah and mitzvos even she’lo lishmah (not for their own sake), because from she’lo lishmah, he will come to involvement lishmah (for their own sake).” 

According to Abaye and Rava, it was a mistake to include a Parush out of Love and a Parush out of Fear along with the other five individuals mentioned in the braisa. They argued that although it is not ideal to keep halacha out of love of reward or fear of punishment, these are nevertheless valid she'lo lishmah motivations which may lead a person to eventually keep Torah and mitzvos lishmah.

What I find interesting is that Abaye and Rava did not say this about the other five types of prushim. Apparently, their motivations for keeping halacha are not she'lo lishmahs which can lead to lishmah. What is the basis for this distinction? I do not yet have an answer for this. We'll leave it as a question.

Pious Garb

The last point we will consider in this post is about the retribution for this type of prushim behavior, which our Gemara goes on to state:

Rav Nachman ben Yitzchak said: “That which is hidden is hidden and that which is revealed is revealed, but the Great Beis Din will punish those who wrap themselves in gundei.” 

Rashi explains "gundei" to refer to taleisim (plural of "tallis" or "prayer shawl"). He explains the Gemara as follows:

That which is hidden is hidden from people and that which is revealed is revealed [to people]; nevertheless, to the Great Beis Din (i.e. the Heavenly Tribunal), everything is revealed, and it will exact retribution from those who wrap themselves in taleisos and make themselves appear to be prushim when they really are not prushim.

The Aruch, [4] however, learns that the word "gundei" refers to black cloaks. Apparently, even in the time of the Gemara, these types of "bad prushim" wore black in order to appear pious.

What idea is Rav Nachman ben Yitzchak teaching us in this statement? I can't say for certain, but I will take one speculative step. Why do Chazal need to reassure us that a certain aveirah will not go unpunished? Because it must be that on some level we feel that this aveirah will go unpunished. Why might we feel this way about prushim?

Perhaps the answer is simple: we are easily swayed by appearances. If we weren't easily swayed by appearances, everyone would easily see through the facades of these "bad prushim." Even those who know that wearing a black hat and a white beard has absolutely nothing to do with the state of a person's soul vis-a-vis God, it can sometimes be difficult to really feel that this is true. Perhaps this is why Rav Nachman ben Yitzchak emphasizes must tell us that our view is only partial: we only see the outward actions of these people, but not their inner state, and it is their inner state - their knowledge and their true values - which are the real basis of the Divine judgment.

Concluding Thoughts

There you have it: Chazal's diagnosis of "the scourges of prushim." There is much left to think about. But if there's one point that we walk away with, I think it should be this: that these are not new problems. The same personalities we see in the world around us were also walking around in Chazal's time. Chazal knew about them, discussed them, and recorded their thoughts in writing. If we, as a nation, ever hope to remove these ills from our society, we would be wise to understand their teachings on these matters.

And yet, for all of the insights yielded by Chazal's analysis, my shul rabbi's quip ("Don't be too religious") packs a pithier punch. Like Shlomo ha'Melech's warning ("Don't be overly righteous"), his statement prompts us to look at ourselves and examine what we mean by "religious." I'm sure Chazal would approve.

[1] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Commentary on the Mishnah, Sotah 3:4
[2] Rabbeinu Menachem ha'Meiri, Beis ha'Bechirah, Sotah Chapter 3
[3] Rabbeinu Shlomo ben Yitzchak (Rashi), Commentary on Talmud Bavli: Sotah
[4] Rabbeinu Nosson ben Yechiel (ha'Aruch), Sefer ha'Aruch

Mortimer Adler's Kryptonite

Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Mortimer Adler and his wife with Pope Paul VI

Mortimer Adler's Kryptonite

Readers of this blog will be aware of my love and admiration of Mortimer J. Adler (1902 - 2001). To him I owe my knowledge and familiarity with a host of philosophical ideas. Not only did he introduce me to the fundamentals, but he also steered me away from some pretty severe philosophical mistakes. He taught me how to read a book, and introduced me to The Great Books of the Western World. He greatly influenced my writing style, and his essay on learning and teaching became the foundation of my approach to teaching. 

And yet, like all superheroes, Adler had his weakness. Unfortunately, that weakness was religion. Specifically, Thomistic Catholicism.

This post is not intended to be a comprehensive treatment of Adler's views on Catholicism, or on theology in general. If that is of interest to you, read his book Truth in Religion: The Plurality of Religions and the Unity of Truth (1992), which will be discussed later in this blog post.

Instead, in this post I will present an email which I wrote to one of my rabbeim (whom we'll refer to as RJM) ten years ago, at the height of my Adler odyssey, inquiring about Adler's fall into Catholicism. 

Here is my email and RJM's response, minimally edited for publishing on this blog. Links and transliterations were added by me.

[Note: even though I say so clearly in my email, I want to emphasize that the third question was not asked by me, but by one of the younger yeshiva guys; I, myself, would have phrased the question differently - in a decidedly less "Christian" manner.]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kol ha'Seridim to RJM

Dear [RJM],

As a fellow reader of Mortimer J. Adler, I have three question about Adler and religion that I'd like to hear your thoughts (or opinions) on.

Question #1: What's up with his conversion to Christianity? I was just rereading the passage at the end of his second autobiography, which details his conversion: 

In March of 1984, after a trip to Mexico in February, I fell ill, probably from a virus that I had picked up there. The illness was protracted. I was in the hospital for five weeks and, after leaving the hospital, was in bed at home for several months or more. Though I underwent all the diagnostic tests and procedures that the physicians could think of, the illness was never adequately diagnosed; and the cure, when it finally came, involved numerous antibiotics and two blood transfusions that brought my red corpuscle blood counts back to normal.  

During this long stay in the hospital, I suffered a mild depression, and often when Caroline visited me I would, unaccountably, burst into tears. Father Howell, the Rector of Saint Chrysostom's Church, also visited me, and once when, at my bedside, he prayed for my recovery, I choked up and wept. The only prayer that I knew word for word, was the Pater Noster. On that day and in the days after it, I found myself repeating the Lord's Prayer, again and again, and meaning every word of it. Quite suddenly, when I was awake one night, a light dawned on me, and I realized what had happened without my recognizing it clearly when it first happened.  

I had been seriously praying to God. But had I not said at the end of How to Think About God, that no one who understood the God of the philosophers as well as I thought I did, would worship that God or pray to him. Only if, by the gift of grace, one made the leap of faith across the chasm to the God of religious Jews and Christians, would one engage in worship and prayer, believing in a morally good, loving, just, and merciful God.  

Here after many years of affirming God's existence and trying to give adequate reasons for that affirmation, I found myself believing in God and praying to Him ...

In your opinion, is this just another example of an otherwise rational mind being overcome by a powerful religious emotion at a time of insecurity and proximity to death? Or did Adler himself commit a severe philosophical mistake - no doubt originating in his preoccupation with Thomas Aquinas - of which we he was unaware? At the end of this chapter in the autobiography, Adler makes some statements about "the mystery of the Trinity." I find it baffling that the same mind who wrote How to Think About God can simultaneously embrace faith in the Christian doctrine, all on the basis of "grace" which was "received" during a bout of illness and a period of depression. 

Again, perhaps this is just another example of how we humans can compartmentalize, shutting off our minds in certain areas of our lives, no matter how rational we are in everything else. 

Question #2: What about the Torah mi'Sinai argument? From How to Think About God, it appears that Adler was completely unaware of the Sinai argument: 

A third point to be noted follows directly on what has just been said. In the three monotheistic religions of the West - Judaism, Christianity, and Islam - the proposition that God exists is not an article of faith or religious belief. The first article of faith in all three religions is that God has revealed himself to us in Holy Writ or Sacred Scripture. This, of course, entails the affirmation that God has revealed himself to us in Holy Writ or Sacred Scripture. This, of course, entails the affirmation that the God who has revealed himself exists. But it goes far beyond that proposition to something that can never be proved, or even argued about, something that is always and only an article of faith or religious belief: namely, the fact of Divine revelation ... 

It is in no way improper to argue about whether belief in God's existence can be established by reason alone, or at least thereby made reasonable. But it would be quite improper to argue about the reasonableness of the first article of religious faith, that Sacred Scripture represents God's revelation of himself to us. That belief can be neither proved nor disproved, nor is it really a proper subject of argument pro and con. 

Did he just not encounter Torah mi'Sinai in his reading? Does he have some argument against Torah mi'Sinai of which I am unaware? If so, I would love to hear it.

Question #3: What is the state of Adler's soul? This is a question that one of the other guys in yeshiva asked me. I don't really know enough about the soul to be certain that I understand the question, which is why I have turned to you. 

Any thoughts on these questions would be most appreciated. 

- [Kol ha'Seridim]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

RJM to Kol ha'Seridim

Dear [Kol ha'Seridim],

Great to hear from you. I hope you are well.

Response to Question #1: I think Adler had an unusual attitude to religion, inasmuch as he accepted the Thomistic distinction between matters of faith and matters of reason. He seems to have systematically excluded theological doctrines from genuine philosophical scrutiny, because of his assumption that their acceptance or denial is premised on faith and not rational analysis alone.

Adler has a whole book on the subject of religion, called "Truth in Religion", which, in my opinion, is the worst volume he ever produced, poorly reasoned and very obviously a "set up" designed to lead the interested person to the "leap of faith" into Catholic Christianity.

The book starts out rationally, seeking to demonstrate that we must reject relativism and seek objective truth even in the realm of religion. Nowadays, this is a major point that needs to be stressed, so kol ha'kavod to him for making it clear. He summarily dismisses polytheistic religions for good reason, but these are about the only meritorious aspects of the text. It is all downhill from there.

Adler argues, for example, that the mysteriousness of a religion is evidence for its veracity, because a purely rational religion wouldn't require revelation for its establishment. In these passages he is clearly arguing in favor of Christianity and against Judaism, although he is never so explicit. All in all, it is not an objective I don't recommend the book, although I am confident that you would not come to any harm in reading it ...

By the way, it is well known that a disproportionate number of Adler's Jewish students in the University of Chicago converted to Catholicism after studying Aquinas with him, although he waited till much later to do so.

Response to Question #2: I doubt if he was aware of the argument. Most philosophers aren't. For example, David Conway (ironically, a student of Antony Flew) authored a book called "The Rediscovery of Wisdom", in which he argues that the ultimate goal of philosophy should be the contemplation of God, and that generations of philosophers have been misled by the gross distortions of later thinkers. He basically shows that the purpose of philosophy was classically understood as a process of achieving yediat Hashem (knowledge of God) and ahavat Hashem (love of God), and also argues that many of the supposed "debunkings" of proofs for God's existence are fatally flawed and should never have gained the currency they now have in academia. He therefore reestablishes the existence of God as a fact and the goal of knowledge of God as the raison d'etre of all rational creatures.

Amazingly, he brings Judaism into this, looking at the varied interpretations of Maimonides and Spinoza vis a vis the purpose of mitsvot. Conway concludes that the Torah's objective is indeed what Maimonides states - the same as the objective of philosophy, to enable the Jewish nation to dedicate their lives to the contemplation of God. Keep in mind that this guy is a secular academic, so this is all pretty amazing already.

The problem emerges when he compares the relative merits of philosophy and Judaism, and questions the basis for belief in the revelation claim. He literally totally misreads the story and misrepresents the tradition, claiming that Jews themselves believe that the events were not written down until hundreds of years after the fact, etc. He doesn't even mention the mass revelation component because, as he states in the text, his impression is that Moses went up onto a mountain by himself to receive the laws!!! (I tried to contact and correct him, but I was unsuccessful and kind of gave up).

BTW, I also penned a letter to M.J. Adler, which he received and which was read to him, literally days before his death. The response I got from his assistant was that matters of religion are very personal. But I did argue for the rationality of belief in Judaism as opposed to Christianity quite passionately. Perhaps he had hirhurei teshuva (thoughts of repentance) before he died.

Response to Question #3: Ultimately, I don't think anyone but the Ribbono Shel Olam (Master of the Universe) can know the answer to this question in a definitive manner. We have no access to the recesses of anyone's soul, how they truly conceive of God, etc. So speculation is all we have.

Adler accepted an idolatrous religion but his sophisticated version of that religion precluded him from the gross philosophical materialism, emotionalism and infantile God-concept normally associated with it. So it would seem that the possibility exists that Adler's soul was sufficiently actualized and thus distinct from matter such that it could have survived his physical death. And from the standpoint of halakha he was certainly a tinoq shenishba (a "captured baby" i.e. a Jew who was raised without knowledge of Judaism) par excellence, so a halakhically mandated karet (spiritual excision) wouldn't be an issue. Plus, the remote chance exists that he may have recognized his error and repented in his last moments of life.

On the other hand, it is possible that his conception of God (the foundation of his understanding of reality) was not sufficiently purified of its material elements and thus his soul remained imprisoned in the shackles of physicality and perished.

In the end, whatever he was zocheh (meritorious) to, we can be sure he received it! 

I hope this speedily composed response is helpful. Feel free to continue the correspondence as you see fit.

Best Regards,

RJM

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I found RJM's response to be enlightening, since it provided a greater context for Adler's theological misstep. I was particularly intrigued by RJM's attempt to contact Adler on his deathbed, and the latter's response (via his assistant) that "matters of religion are very personal" - an uncharacteristic response from a man who was so committed to truth and precision in thinking.

In writing this blog post I came across an article by Deal Hudson about Adler's conversion, entitled The Great Philosopher Who Became Catholic. Hudson writes:

The more we talked the more I realized Mortimer really wanted to be a Roman Catholic, but issues like abortion and the resistance of his family and friends were keeping him away. I tried to show him that his own Aristotelian-Thomistic metaphysics of act-potency led him to understand the necessity of protecting unborn life. But just at that moment, Mortimer would uncharacteristically mutter, "It's all too complicated," and change the subject. But I knew that he knew he was being inconsistent. I didn't have to press him – because I knew he knew, and it was only a matter of time before he acquiesced.

At several of our seminars was the Catholic prelate of San Jose, Bishop Pierre DuMaine. The bishop and I would sometimes tag-team the philosopher on the Catholic Church, and we would all end up laughing about how Mortimer deflected the inevitable conclusion.

These reports of inconsistency and evasiveness on Adler's part in matters of religion are consistent with RJM's testimony about Adler's response to his letter. 

It would be easy to pass judgment on Adler and condemn him for this severe intellectual / philosophical / epistemological shortcoming. Indeed, when I first learned of this truth, I held it against him, and was almost angry at him for this failing. I felt: "How could MY Adler, whose views on all philosophical matters are backed by airtight reasoning and solid arguments - how could he hold such a stupid view? Arriving at a false conclusion through a mistake in reasoning is one thing, and I realize that no human being is infallible, but to accept an irrational belief system on the basis of an irrational 'faith experience'? That is unforgivable." 

Looking back at my reaction, I am reminded of one of my favorite passages from John Steinbeck's East of Eden:

When a child first catches adults out - when it first walks into his grave little head that adults do not always have divine intelligence, that their judgments are not always wise, their thinking true, their sentences just - his world falls into panic desolation. The gods are fallen and all safety gone. And there is one sure thing about the fall of gods: they do not fall a little; they crash and shatter or sink deeply into green muck. It is a tedious job to build them up again; they never quite shine. And the child's world is never quite whole again. It is an aching kind of growing.

Now, ten years after this email exchange, with an additional decade's worth of learning, maturity, and self-knowledge under my belt, my judgment of Adler has softened considerably. I have come to realize that we ALL have our blind-spots. Some people go through their entire lives without becoming aware of their blind-spots. Others, like Adler, actively resist the distortion in thinking which arise from these hidden biases, but ultimately succumb in moments of weakness. None of us is immune to this type of blindness, and we can never be sure that we won't succumb. 

Now I am at the point of maturity where I realize that it is possible to acknowledge that a great thinker can make a childish error, without this diminishing the emunas chachamim I have when reading his works, "for there is no man so wholly righteous on earth who does [only] good and never sins" (Koheles 7:20).

Every superhero has his kryptonite. 

Footnote 4

The following is a large excerpt the famous "Footnote 4" from Halakhic Man, by the Rav (a.k.a. Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik). It stands out in my mind as one of the most impactful footnotes I've read. The language and references are obscure, but there is still what to be gained, even if not all of it is comprehensible upon the first reading (or two, or ten). 

This excerpt deals with the nature of the religious experience and the religious journey. I present it here without further commentary, for you to take it in on its own terms.

Footnote 4

[T]he antinomic structure of religious experience, which was revised and refined by Rudolf Otto in his book, The Idea of the Holy, give[s] the lie to the position that is prevalent nowadays in religious circles, whether in Protestant groups or in American Reform and Conservative Judaism, that the religious experience is of a very simple nature – that is, devoid of the spiritual tortuousness present in the secular cultural consciousness, of psychic upheavals, and of the pangs and torments that are inextricably connected with the development and refinement of man’s spiritual personality. This popular ideology contends that the religious experience is tranquil and neatly ordered, tender and delicate; it is an enchanted stream for embittered souls and still waters for troubled spirits. The person “who comes in from the field, weary” (Gen. 25:29), from the battlefield and campaigns of life, from the secular domain which is filled with doubts and fears, contradictions and refutations, clings to religion as does a baby to its mother and finds in her lap “a shelter for his head, the nest of his forsaken prayers” [H.N. Bialik, “Hakhnisini tahat kenafekh”] and there is comforted for his disappointments and tribulations. This ideology is partially embedded in the most ancient strata of Christianity, partially rooted in modern pragmatic philosophy; but mainly it stems from practical-utilitarian considerations. The advocates of religion wish to exploit the rebellious impulse against knowledge which surges from time to time in the soul of the man of culture, the yearning to be freed from the bonds of culture, that daughter of knowledge, which weighs heavy on man with its questions, doubts, and problems, and the desire to escape from the turbulence of life to a magical, still, and quiet island and there to devote oneself to the ideal of naturalness and vitality. This Rousseauean ideology left its stamp on the entire Romantic movement from the beginning of its growth until its final (tragic!) manifestations in the consciousness of contemporary man. Therefore, the representatives of religious communities are inclined to portray religion, in a wealth of colors that dazzle the eye, as a poetic Arcadia, a realm of simplicity, wholeness, and tranquility. Most of the sermons of revivalists are divided in equal measure between depicting the terrors of hellfire and describing the utopian tranquility that religion can bestow upon man. And that which appears in the sermons of these preachers in a primitive, garbled form, at times interwoven with a childish naïveté and superficial belief, is refined and purified in the furnace of popular “philosophy” and “theology” and becomes transformed into a universal religious ideology which proclaims: If you wish to acquire tranquility without paying the price of spiritual agonies, turn unto religion! If you wish to achieve a fine psychic equilibrium without having to first undergo a slow, gradual personal development, turn unto religion. And if you wish to achieve an instant spiritual wholeness and simplicity that need not be forged out of the struggles and torments of consciousness, turn unto religion! “Get thee out of thy country,” which is filled with anxiety, anguish, and tension, “and from thy birthplace,” which is so frenzied, raging, and stormy, “to the land” that is enveloped by the stillness of peace and tranquility, to the Arcadia wherein religion reigns supreme. The leap from the secular world to the religious world could not be simpler and easier. There is no need for a process of transition with all its torments and upheavals. A person can acquire spiritual tranquility in a single moment. Typical of this attitude is the Christian Science movement.

It would appear to me that there is no need to explain the self-evident falsity of this ideology. First, the entire Romantic aspiration to escape from the domain of knowledge, the rebellion against the authority of objective, scientific cognition which has found its expression in the biologistic philosophies of Bergson, Nietzsche, Spengler, Klages, and their followers and in the phenomenological, existential, and antiscientific school of Heidegger and his coterie, and from the midst of which there arose in various forms the sanctification of vitality and intuition, the veneration of instinct, the desire for power, the glorification of the emotional-affective life and the flowing, surging stream of subjectivity, the lavishing of extravagant praise on the faustian type and the Dionysian personality, etc., etc., have brought complete chaos and human depravity to the world. And let the events of the present era be proof! The individual who frees himself from the rational principle and who casts off the yoke of objective thought will in the end turn destructive and lay waste the entire created order. Therefore, it is preferable that religion should ally itself with the forces of clear, logical cognition, as uniquely exemplified in the scientific method, even though at times the two might clash with one another, rather than pledge its troth to beclouded, mysterious ideologies that grope in the dark corners of existence, unaided by the shining light of objective knowledge, and believe that they have penetrated to the secret core of the world.

And, second, this ideology is intrinsically false and deceptive. That religious consciousness in man’s experience which is most profound and most elevated, which penetrates to the very depths and ascends to the very heights, is not that simple and comfortable. On the contrary, it is exceptionally complex, rigorous, and tortuous. Where you find its complexity, there you find its greatness. The religious experience, from beginning to end, is antinomic and antithetic. The consciousness of homo religiosis flings bitter accusations against itself and immediately is filled with regret, judges its desires and yearnings with excessive severity, and at the same time steeps itself in them, casts derogatory aspersions on its own attributes, flails away at them, but also subjugates itself to them. It is in a condition of spiritual crisis, of psychic ascent and descent, of contradiction arising from affirmation and negation, self-abnegation and self-appreciation. The ideas of temporality and eternity, knowledge and choice (necessity and freedom), love and fear (the yearning for God and the flight from His glorious splendor), incredible, overbold daring, and an extreme sense of humility, transcendence and God’s closeness, the profane and the holy, etc., etc., struggle within his religious consciousness, wrestle and grapple with each other. This one ascends and this one descends, this falls and this rises.

Religion is not, at the outset, a refuge of grace and mercy for the despondent and desperate, an enchanted stream for crushed spirits, but a raging clamorous torrent of man’s consciousness with all its crises, pangs, and torments. Yes, it is true that during the third Sabbath meal at dusk, as the day of rest declines and man’s soul yearns for its Creator and is afraid to depart from that realm of holiness whose name is Sabbath, into the dark and frightening, secular workaday week, we sing the psalm, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters” (Ps. 23), etc., etc., and we believe with our entire hearts in the ultimate destination of homo religiosis, not the path leading to that destination. For the path that eventually will lead to the “green pastures” and to the “still waters” is not the royal road, but a narrow, twisting footway that threads its course along the steep mountain slope, as the terrible abyss yawns at the traveler’s feet. Many see “the Lord passing by; and a great and strong wind rending mountains and shattering rocks . . . and after the wind an earthquake . . . and after the earthquake a fire” but only a few prove worthy of hearing “the still small voice” (1 Kings 19:11-12). Out of the straits of inner oppositions and incongruities, spiritual doubts and uncertainties, out of the depths of a psyche rent with antinomies and contradictions, out of the bottomless pit of a soul that struggles with its own torments I have called, I have called unto Thee, O Lord.

And when the Torah testified that Israel, in the end, would repent out of anguish and agony [cf. Maimonides, Laws of Repentance 7:5], “In your distress when all these things are come upon you . . . and you will return unto the Lord your God” (Deut. 4:30), it had in mind not only physical pain but also spiritual suffering. The pangs of searching and groping, the tortures of spiritual crises and exhausting treks of the soul purify and sanctify man, cleanse his thoughts, and purge them of the husks of superficiality and the dross of vulgarity. Out of these torments there emerges a new understanding of the world, a powerful spiritual enthusiasm that shakes the very foundations of man’s existence. He arises from the agonies, purged and refined, possessed of a pure heart and new spirit. “It is a time of agony unto Jacob, but out of it he shall be saved” (Jer. 30:7) – i.e., from out of the very midst of the agony itself he will attain eternal salvation and redemption. The spiritual stature and countenance of the man of God are chiseled and formed by the pangs of redemption themselves.

Mark Twain: On Olam ha'Ba

This was one of the first blog posts I ever wrote, way back in May 2007.

Mark Twain: On Olam ha'Ba

I can’t help but smile whenever I chance upon a fundamental Torah idea eloquently expressed by a non-Torah thinker. I'd like to share with you an idea from the uncensored collection of Mark Twain's writings entitled Letters from the Earth.

In his essay, The Damned Human Race, Mark Twain cynically portrays man as the most inferior and corrupt creature on earth:

I have been studying the traits and dispositions of the “lower animals” (so-called), and contrasting them with the traits and dispositions of man. I find the result humiliating to me. For it obliges me to renounce my allegiance to the Darwinian theory of the Ascent of Man from the Lower Animals; since it now seems plain to me that the theory ought to be vacated in favor of a new and truer one, this new and truer one to be named the Decent of Man from the Higher Animals.

In the last paragraph, after his cynical diatribe against human nature, Mark Twain makes a single concession to Man, which he follows with a related critique of religion:

He has just one stupendous superiority. In his intellect he is supreme. The Higher Animals cannot touch him there. It is curious, it is noteworthy, that no heaven has ever been offered him wherein his one sole superiority was provided with a chance to enjoy itself. Even when he himself has imagined a heaven, he has never made provision in it for intellectual joys. It is a striking omission.

Interestingly enough, the vision of the afterlife of which, according to Mark Twain, has never been envisioned by man is precisely the notion of the afterlife promised by the Torah. The Rambam (Hilchos Teshuvah 8:2) writes:

There are no physical bodies or physical things in Olam ha’Ba (the World to Come), but only the souls of tzadikim (righteous people), without a body – like the ministering angels. Since there are no bodies, there is no eating, drinking, or anything which human bodies require in Olam ha’Zeh (This World). None of the bodily occurrences which happen to bodies in Olam ha’Zeh can happen in Olam ha’Ba – such as sitting, standing, sleeping, death, pain, humor, and other things like that. This is what the Early Sages said: “In Olam ha’Ba there is no eating, no drinking, and no relations – rather, the tzadikim sit, with their crowns on their heads, and derive enjoyment from the radiance of the shechinah (divine presence).” 

It has been made clear to you that there are no bodies there, since there isn’t any eating or drinking there. That which was said, “the tzadikim sit” was said by way of metaphor; it means to say that the tzadikim exist there, without toil and without exertion. Likewise, that which they said, “and their crowns on their heads” means that the knowledge they know, by which they merited life in Olam ha’Ba, exists with them, and is their crown, as Shlomo said, “with a crown that his mother crowned him with” (Shir ha’Shirim 3:11). And it is said, “the eternal joy is upon your head” (Yeshayahu 35:10; 51:11) – and “joy” isn’t a physical object, such that it could rest on a head; thus, the “crown” which the Sages spoke about here is knowledge. 

And what is this which they said, “and derive enjoyment from the radiance of the shechinah”? – this means that they know and apprehend the reality of the Holy One, Blessed is He, in a manner which they could not know while they were in dark and lowly bodies.

According to the Rambam, the ultimate "reward" promised by the Torah is Olam ha'Ba: an entirely non-physical afterlife in which disembodied intellects derive pleasure contemplating the reality of Hashem. Even the Ramban, who argues with the Rambam and maintains that Olam ha'Ba is physical, nevertheless maintains that the essential reward is the intellectual contemplation of knowledge of Hashem (see Shaar ha'Gmul 357).

Mark Twain was right: Religious Man never envisioned an intellectual afterlife. But, as is often the case, Religious Man was wrong.

Parashas Pinchas: Torah Zealotry

Originally posted in June 2013. I'm posting this old dvar Torah blog post early in the week so that I'll be more motivated to write a new dvar Torah for Friday.

Artwork: Spear of Heliod, by Yeong-Hao Han

Parashas Pinchas: Torah Zealotry

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines “zealotry” as “fanatical devotion.” The WordWeb dictionary defines “zealotry” as “excessive intolerance of opposing views.” Dictionary.com defines “zealotry” as “undue or excessive zeal, or fanaticism” and “zealot.” These three definitions reflect the common notion of what “zealotry” means. According to all of these definitions, “zealotry” implies excessiveness, extremism, and a state of heightened emotion.

This week’s parashah opens with Hashem rewarding Pinchas for an act of zealotry. The Torah itself states that Pinchas was rewarded “because he was zealous for his God.” [1] Many divrei Torah have been given about how Pinchas took matters into his own hands and acted based on single-minded devotion to the execution of Hashem’s will, in spite of personal considerations. In this short dvar Torah we will examine whether or not Pinchas’s zealotry is in line with the common notion of "religious zealotry."

We will begin by reviewing the relevant events. At the end of last week’s parashah, Bnei Yisrael are seduced by the daughters of Moav. This leads to a surge of sexual promiscuity and idolatry which results in a plague sent from Hashem. These matters escalate to the point where Zimri ben Salu, prince of the tribe of Shimon, seizes Cozbi bas Tzur, a Moabite princess, and copulates with her in front of Moshe Rabbeinu and the entire nation. It is at this critical moment that Pinchas, grandson of Aharon, stands up and skewers the sinful couple, killing them both on the spot.

It would seem, based on a simple reading of Torah she’bi’Chsav, that Pinchas acted out of spontaneous religious fervor and outrage over the sinful behavior transpiring before his eyes. However, the Torah she’baal Peh sheds a different light on Pinchas’s actions. We have a mesorah that Pinchas was acting based on a halacha l’Moshe mi’Sinai [2] which he remembered upon seeing Zimri and Cozbi. This halacha l’Moshe mi’Sinai states that if a person sees a Jew and a non-Jew cohabiting in public (i.e. in front of at least ten other Jewish men), then “kanoim pog’im bo techilah” (“zealots may be the first to strike them dead”).

This mesorah is reflected in the Targum Yonasan’s Aramaic translation of the pasuk: “Pinchas … saw this, arose from the congregation, and took a spear in his hand” [3], which he translates as: “Pinchas … saw this and remembered the halacha, etc.”

The Rambam spells out the particulars of this halacha l’Moshe mi’Sinai [4]. For our purposes, there are three important details of the halacha that Pinchas remembered: 

1. The zealot is only permitted to kill the transgressors when they are in the midst of the sexual act. If he kills them even a moment beforehand or immediately afterwards, halacha considers him to be a murderer and he is liable for the death penalty.
2. This decision to act zealously must be arrived at independently by the zealot, without any influence from Beis Din. If the zealot asks for permission from Beis Din to kill the transgressors, they do not instruct him to do so. He must act on his own.
3. In general, whenever a person is chasing after someone to kill him, the would-be victim has a right to save his own life, even if it is necessary to kill his pursuer. This case is no different: the transgressor is permitted to save himself, even if this means killing the zealot. If this happens, and the zealot is killed before he kills the transgressor, then the transgressor is exempt from any punishment. 

Suddenly, Pinchas’s decision no long seems so spontaneous! He knew that he only had a specific window of time within which he could act, and that a second too late would make him a murderer. He knew that he couldn't ask Moshe whether this was the right thing to do; he had to act based on his own conviction in his knowledge. Not only that, but he had to act cautiously and strategically, knowing full well that Zimri had the legal right to fight back and kill him in self-defense.

Now we are in a position to appreciate the difference between the “religious zealot” and the Torah zealot. The religious zealot’s actions are dictated by his emotions, whereas the Torah zealot's actions are dictated by his mind, in spite of any emotions which threaten to prevent him from acting in accordance with halacha.

Pinchas was not acting out of unbridled emotional fervor. He remembered these halachos and carefully (but quickly) decided the proper course of action based on his knowledge of halacha. In spite of the risk to his own life, he leapt into action and did what halacha determined ought to be done – regardless of what other people thought, and in spite of his own emotions to the contrary. This is the type of zealotry valued by the Torah. 

[1] Sefer Bamidbar 25:11 

[2] Generally speaking, all Torah-level halachos must have a source in the Torah she’bi’Chsav – whether an explicit source or an allusion which is explained by Torah she’baal Peh. The only exception to this is a special category of halachos known as “halacha l’Moshe mi’Sinai.” These halachos are not stated or even alluded to anywhere in the Torah she’bi’Chsav. Some examples are: the structural requirements and color of tefillin, the recipe for the ink used to write a Torah scroll, and the minimum shiurim (halachic measurements). 

[3] Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Sefer Bamidbar 21:7 

[4] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer Kedushah, Hilchot Bios Assuros 12:4-5