Musings on the Inadequacy of Internet Research

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Artwork: Mind's Desire, by Minttu Hynninen

Musings on the Inadequacy of Internet Research

A student of mine told me he heard that the Sanskrit greeting “namaste” means “the god in me sees the god in you.” He wondered whether it would be problematic to use this phrase. I did some “Google research” on the translation and encountered a variety of opinions, ranging from the neutral “hello,” “salutations,” and “greetings to you” to the more colorful “my soul recognizes your soul,” “I honor the place in you where the entire universe dwells,” and “I bow to the place in you that is love, light, and joy.”

I remembered that I’m Facebook friends with Rabbi Dr. Alan Brill, scholar of religion and author of A Rabbi on the Ganges: A Jewish-Hindu Encounter. I figured he’d know what “namaste” meant and could weigh in on my student’s question. Here is his response, with my translations and additions added in parentheses:

Namah, the root of namaste, means “I bow to you,” basically meaning, "salutation." All of Asia bows to the other person as a greeting. It is halakhically like “adios” ("God be with you") or “goodbye” (“God be with you”). We pasken (rule) that you can say goodbye and adios. The Nesivos (Rabbi Yaakov Lorberbaum, 1760-1832 C.E.) makes it assur (prohibited) but our poskim (adjudicators), allow you to say “goodbye.” If you Google namaste you will find lots of derashot (homiletics) from Indian religions but they go beyond the peshat (literal meaning).

His response reminded me of how easy it is for concepts from different religions and cultures to get lost in translation [1], and how difficult it is for laypeople to conduct research on the internet. This, in turn, made me realize how difficult it is even for Jews to understand our own religion, and how easy it is for our own concepts to get lost in translation. This is certainly true for the layperson who, upon Googling any question about Judaism, will be confronted with a multiplicity of true and false opinions, and who will have no reliable means by which to independently assess or weigh the results. Sadly, this is also true of those who regard themselves as “intellectuals” but who are just as incapable of conducting responsible research, whether due to the lack of adequate training, or to the distorting influence of their personal biases intermingled with ideas and values from other cultures, or to intellectual hubris, dishonest, and laziness.

And yet, what can we expect people to do? Admit that they aren’t sufficiently qualified? Devote years of learning and training to becoming qualified? Forego the instant gratification of a Google search to engage in serious dialogue with experts? This problem isn’t new. Rambam (Moreh ha’Nevuchim 1:34) described the same phenomenon 800 years ago:

Now if you awaken a man, even though he were the dullest of all people … and if you were to ask him whether he desired at that moment to have knowledge of [the secrets of reality] … he would undoubtedly answer you in the affirmative … but he would wish this desire to be satisfied and the knowledge of all this to be achieved by means of one or two words that you would say to him. If, however, you would lay upon him the obligation to leave his job for a week in order to understand all this, he would not do it, but would be satisfied with deceptive imaginings through which his soul would be set at ease. He would also dislike being told that there is a thing whose knowledge requires many premises and a long time for investigation.

What alarmed me most about my “research” into namaste was how readily I fell into this trap. I would never content myself with such superficial research on a Jewish topic – and yet, with a non-Jewish topic, I was content with a simple search. Google might be trustworthy when it comes to checking simple facts, but true understanding is a different matter. Where does this leave us? How are we to go about researching questions of this nature? I honestly don’t know. We have limited time, and much to learn.

[1] Wolves. Ve’ha’mevin yavin.

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Am I Qualified to Write this Blog?

I have tried to cut down on the number of "personal" posts I write here, compared to the old blog. Nevertheless, I have found that "learning" and "my relationship with learning" are so inextricably bound together in my mind that I can't help but write posts on the latter. This is one of those posts.

Artwork: Reckless Scholar, by Steve Prescott

Am I Qualified to Write this Blog?

“Not everything that is thought should be said, not everything that is said should be written, and not everything that is written should be published.” 

I have seen this quotation attributed to Rav Chaim Soloveitchik, Rav Yisrael Salanter, Rav Menachem Mendel of Kotzk, and possibly others. But the last time I heard this was a couple of years ago, when someone gave me some unsolicited advice which basically amounted to: "you shouldn't be blogging." 

This fellow went on to explain that Briskers (read: "such as ourselves") were known for being extremely reluctant to commit any of their Torah to writing, and when they did, they only published it after much deliberation and countless revisions. Based on this, he then went on to chastise me for my prolific blogging and suggested that I only publish something after extensive and complete analysis, and thorough review (preferably by my peers), until I reach the point where I am absolutely certain about what I am writing. He certainly would not approve of my summer plan of publishing one blog post every weekday. 

It is at times like these that I question whether or not I should be blogging altogether. After all, I can't exactly say that this guy was wrong about any of his points. Am I too quick to write and publish? Should I really be "thinking out loud" in writing, or should I keep my ideas to myself until they are fully developed and refined? Am I really qualified to be writing on Torah topics? Maybe I should stop ...

But whenever I have moments of self-doubt regarding my decision to write, I recall the words of Rabbeinu Bachya ibn Paquda. In his introduction to Chovos ha'Levavos (Duties of the Heart) Rabbeinu Bachya recounts the train of thought which led him to write this book. After stating all the reasons why he should write the book, he tells us why he almost didn't write the book:

But when I thought of proceeding to carry out my decision to write this book, I saw that a man like myself is not fit to compose a work like this. I estimated that my ability was insufficient to properly divide its parts, for subject was too daunting in my eyes, my knowledge too inadequate, and my intellect too weak to grasp the concepts. Furthermore, I am not an expert in the subtleties of the Arabic language which it would need to be in, due to this being the easiest language for most of my contemporaries to grasp. I feared that I would be toiling excessively at a task and that I would thus be exceeding the proper bounds [of my own limitations]. I therefore, told my soul to retract the thought and to draw back from what it had resolved on. 

Rabbeinu Bachya deemed himself to be inadequate on multiple levels. He felt he was intellectually unqualified, that the subject matter was too vast and daunting, and that he lacked the proper skills as a writer. He worried that his efforts would be misplaced, and that he would be toiling in vain.

These doubts resonate with me as well. Although I do not share Rabbeinu Bachya's hesitation about writing in the native language of my country of residence, I definitely feel under-qualified as an authority on Torah. When I compare myself to my peers - and certainly my rabbeim - I cower in recognition of the paucity of my Torah knowledge and intellectual abilities. Who am I to represent Torah in a public venue? Is what I know worthy of sharing with the world? Am I doing more harm than good by expressing my thoughts and ideas in writing? 

And then I recall Rabbeinu Bachya's response to his own self-doubting:

When I then decided to relieve myself of the burden of this toilsome burden and give up my plan of composing this work, I again suspected my soul of having chosen tranquility, to dwell in the abode of laziness, in peace and quiet. I feared that perhaps this decision to abandon the project stemmed from the desire for pleasure, and that this is what had inclined me to the way of peace and tranquility, to decide to abandon this in order to sit in the company of laziness. 

I knew that many [works of] intelligence were lost due to fear, and many losses were caused by concern. I remembered the saying: "part of caution is not to be overly cautious." I told myself, if every person who ever composed a good work or who ever taught the upright and proper path had waited until all his wishes were fulfilled, no person would have ever uttered a word after the prophets, whom God had chosen as His agents and strengthened with His divine help. If every person who had wished to attain all good qualities but was unable to attain them, had abandoned whatever he could attain of them, then all human beings would be devoid of all good and lacking all excellencies. They would have been perpetually pursuing after false hopes, the paths of righteousness would have been desolate, and the abodes of kindness would have been abandoned.  

I understood that while men's souls lust greatly to attain evil ends, they are sluggish to toil in the pursuit of what is noble. They are lazy in seeking the good, and always walk in the paths of laughter and rejoicing. If a vision of lust appears to them and beckons to them, they invent falsehoods so that they may turn to it. They bolster up its arguments to make its deception seem upright, to strengthen its lies, to make firm its looseness. But when the light of truth invitingly shines before them, they make up idle pretexts to refrain from turning to it. They argue against it, declare its courses misleading and contradict its assertions, so as to make it appear inconsistent and thus have an excuse to part from it. Every man's enemy is between his own ribs, unless he has an aid from his God, a rebuker always ready for [rebuking] his soul, a powerful governor, that will harness his soul with the saddle of service, and will muzzle it with the bridle of righteousness, strike it with the stick of discipline; and when he resolves to do good, he should not delay, and if his heart entices him to a different path, he should scold it and overpower it.  

Therefore, I found myself obligated to force my soul to bear the task of composing this book, and resolved to expound its topics with whatever language or analogy would make the matters readily understandable. Among all the duties of the heart, I will only mention those which suggest themselves to me, and will not trouble to expound all of them, so that the book will not be too long. I will, however, cite among the things necessary for the clarification of each of its roots in the section allocated to it. And from God, the true Unity, may I receive aid. On Him, I place my trust and to Him I ask to teach me the right path which He desires, and which is pleasing and acceptable to Him, in word and deed, in inner and outer conduct. 

Rabbeinu Bachya realized that even if his reasons for not writing were valid, it is likely that he was just rationalizing his laziness and his pleasure-seeking. Despite his inadequacies, the work that he set out to do was extremely important, and it would be a tragedy if his abundance of caution prevented him from bringing this work to light. He recognized that if everyone with any deficiencies refrained from committing their Torah knowledge to writing, then we would be left only with the books of the prophets and nothing more. And with that, Rabbeinu Bachya threw caution to the wind (as an act of caution), trusted in God, and set himself to the task of writing the book he knew he had to write - in spite of his shortcomings.

The same is true regarding me and my blog. I am not the best writer, and I am nowhere near the most qualified Torah scholar or thinker. Nevertheless, I believe that I do have some meager Torah knowledge to offer the world, and if I refrain from writing on account of my feelings of inadequacy, this benefit will be lost. Enough people have expressed their appreciation for what I write to convince me that the good I am doing outweighs any of the harm, and as long as that remains true, I will continue to write.

If you are a reader of this blog, and have any thoughts to share on this topic, I would appreciate your input! Thank you for letting me vent my thoughts on this matter. 

Addendum

While we're here, there is one more point I'd like to make. For a while I struggled with what type of language to use in my blog, and what kind of audience to write for. Should I allow myself to use jargon and write for an advanced audience? Should I cater to those who know very little, and provide background information in detail? 

Ultimately, I settled on approach similar to the one Rabbeinu Bachya chose:

I propose to take the most direct (easiest) method of arousing, teaching, and instructing, using language clear, direct, and familiar, so that my words will be more easily understood. I will refrain from deep language, unusual terms, and the arguments in the way of "defeat" (nitzuach), which the logicians call in Arabic "Algidal", and likewise for remote inquiries which cannot be resolved in this work, for I only brought such arguments as are satisfactory and convincing according to the methods proper to the science of theology.

Likewise, I have decided to write in the plainest, clearest, and most direct manner possible for a lay audience, but on a range of topics that spans many different audiences. Some of my posts are on basic points and are geared towards beginners. Others are for the more enfranchised members of the Torah community. And some posts I write primarily for myself, because the ideas are of interest to me and I wish to clarify them by expressing them in writing. 

I hope that my decision to write in this manner has enabled me to reach the broadest audience possible, but to make my readers feel that I my blog posts are addressed to someone like them. 

Mishlei 18:9 - Destruction Through Laxity

משלי יח:ט

גַּם מִתְרַפֶּה בִמְלַאכְתּוֹ אָח הוּא לְבַעַל מַשְׁחִית:

Mishlei 18:9
Also one who is lax in his work is a brother to the master destroyer.

Major Questions / Problems

1. Who is this "master destroyer"?
2. What does it mean to be his "brother"?
3. Why focus on "one who is lax in his work"? 
4. What does the word "also" add? 
5. General Mishlei question: What is the subject of the pasuk? 

Artwork: Structural Collapse, by Sam Burley

Four Sentence Summary of the Main Idea

If “master destroyer” is someone who actively brings about destruction, then a “brother” to the master destroyer is someone who causes the same level of destruction in a different manner – in this case, through passivity. The audience of this pasuk is the person whose laxity causes the quality of his work to suffer, thereby resulting in a type of destructiveness. Such an individual tends to rationalize his laxity by defining himself as “a worker,” which allows him to reassure himself and other people, saying, “See? I’m working!” Perhaps this is why the pasuk doesn't specify the consequences of this person’s behavior, but instead, calls him out on his rationalization, as if to say, “You may wish to define yourself as a worker, but in truth, you are a destroyer.”