Shalom and Menucha were a newlywed Hasidic couple. They were very happy. But there was one problem. Menucha worked very hard to make delicious Shabbos dinners. But Shalom was so exhausted on Friday night from working and learning Torah all week, that he said Shalom Alechem, Eshses Hayil, Kiddush, Hamotzi, Birkat Hamazon, and promptly collapsed in bed.
This made Menucha so sad that she couldn’t eat any of the food. She sadly put it all in the refrigerator and served it as leftovers during the week.
It went on like this for a few weeks. Then one day, Shalom came home with his face glowing. “My dear wife, you won’t believe it,” he said.
“My dear husband, what is it?” Menucha asked.
“The Rebbe has invited me to learn with him bechevrusa!”
“My dear husband, I am so happy for you!”
When the highly anticipated hour arrived, Shalom was bouncing off the walls with excitement. The Rebbe greeted Shalom warmly, took two Gemaras off the shelf, opened them to the page, and launched into the most brilliant shiur that Shalom had ever heard.
At first, Shalom sat riveted to his seat, drinking in the words of Torah. But after a few minutes, something very strange happened. Shalom began to feel sleepy. His eyelids started to droop, his head started to nod. Shalom didn’t understand. The shiur was so fascinating; why was he struggling to stay awake?
Then Shalom picked up his head and looked at the Rebbe. He realized that he had fallen asleep with his head in his arms on the Gemara. He was mortified. He didn’t know what rock to crawl under.
“What’s the matter, Shalom?” the Rebbe asked. “Are you embarrassed that you fell asleep in the middle of our chevrusa?”
“Yes,” Shalom admitted.
“If you felt embarrassed to fall asleep while I was feeding you Torah,” the Rebbe said, “how much more so should you feel embarrassed to fall asleep while your wife is feeding you dinner.”
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Why I am not a Third Person, Part 2: Papal Infallibility
In Chapter 4, Dennett presents an interesting objection to the first person perspective. Doesn’t the first person perspective award “papal infallibility” to peoples’ reports of their phenomenology? Since “introspection” would not seem to be infallible, shouldn’t we avoid it, and put our conclusions on firmer footing?
To answer this objection, first of all, I would distinguish between infallibility and reliability. It’s possible for a reporter, or a spy, or a research assistant to be extremely reliable but never, of course, infallible.
We treat the testimony of a reliable source differently from the testimony of an unreliable source. We rely on the testimony of a reliable source, though we are always prepared (in the back of our minds) to reject that testimony in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. We don’t ignore the testimony of an unreliable source -- the source may be unreliable, but he did say what he said -- instead, we treat it as data that can be accounted for or explained. Dennett is asking us to treat peoples’ reports of their experience as data, which means that he is asking us to treat people as unreliable witnesses of their own states of mind. But is that really a good idea?
I think a good analogy here would be memory. Memory is not infallible, but if we were not to rely on our memories, we would not be able to do anything; neither philosophy, or science, or surviving for more than a few hours. We know that memory is not infallible, but we assume it is reliable, and we rely on it.
To answer this objection, first of all, I would distinguish between infallibility and reliability. It’s possible for a reporter, or a spy, or a research assistant to be extremely reliable but never, of course, infallible.
We treat the testimony of a reliable source differently from the testimony of an unreliable source. We rely on the testimony of a reliable source, though we are always prepared (in the back of our minds) to reject that testimony in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. We don’t ignore the testimony of an unreliable source -- the source may be unreliable, but he did say what he said -- instead, we treat it as data that can be accounted for or explained. Dennett is asking us to treat peoples’ reports of their experience as data, which means that he is asking us to treat people as unreliable witnesses of their own states of mind. But is that really a good idea?
I think a good analogy here would be memory. Memory is not infallible, but if we were not to rely on our memories, we would not be able to do anything; neither philosophy, or science, or surviving for more than a few hours. We know that memory is not infallible, but we assume it is reliable, and we rely on it.
Why I am not a Third Person, Part 1: Loading the Dice
Chapter 4 of Consciousness Explained by Daniel Dennett is called “A Method for Phenomenology”. The essence of Dennett’s method is “the third-person perspective”.
The “third-person perspective” forbids the philosopher from drawing any conclusions from his own subjective experience. The idea is to study phenomenology by listening to people’s reports of their experience, and treat those reports as data to be accounted for, or explained.
Dennett’s third person perspective sounds clean and disciplined, but there’s something funny about it. Third person philosophy takes people’s accounts of their phenomenology and asks the following question: “Are the subjects actually experiencing the states of mind that they report, or are they storytelling machines who are designed to generate stories about states of mind?”
Once you ask the question that way, the answer is obvious. Option 2 is quite plausible (as long as you ignore the fact that you are experiencing similar states of mind). It’s consistent with our ideas about physics and computer science. It’s tidy and coherent. Option 1, on the other hand, seems to raise troubling questions.
As Dennett puts it in Section 4.6, “Isn’t it unimaginable that scientists might discover neurophysiological phenomena that just were the items celebrated by subjects in their heterophenomenologies?” This is a somewhat roundabout way of saying that materialism is incompatible with the idea that people are actually experiencing what they say they are experiencing; which is equivalent to saying that materialism is incompatible with the idea that I am actually experiencing what I “seem” to be experiencing.
Once you have chosen option 2, all that is left is to haggle over the price, that is, to explain why the designer (e.g. God and/or natural selection), would have designed people to appear conscious when they are actually not conscious. This is an inherently speculative task, and it’s not surprising that an imaginative person can come up with a compelling answer that’s hard to argue with.
If the materialist can convince the dualist to take the third-person perspective, the dualist has not just agreed to play in the materialist’s court, he has essentially conceded defeat. The third person perspective is not just a method, it’s a solution. It solves the problem simply by refusing to consider the problem.
The “third-person perspective” forbids the philosopher from drawing any conclusions from his own subjective experience. The idea is to study phenomenology by listening to people’s reports of their experience, and treat those reports as data to be accounted for, or explained.
Dennett’s third person perspective sounds clean and disciplined, but there’s something funny about it. Third person philosophy takes people’s accounts of their phenomenology and asks the following question: “Are the subjects actually experiencing the states of mind that they report, or are they storytelling machines who are designed to generate stories about states of mind?”
Once you ask the question that way, the answer is obvious. Option 2 is quite plausible (as long as you ignore the fact that you are experiencing similar states of mind). It’s consistent with our ideas about physics and computer science. It’s tidy and coherent. Option 1, on the other hand, seems to raise troubling questions.
As Dennett puts it in Section 4.6, “Isn’t it unimaginable that scientists might discover neurophysiological phenomena that just were the items celebrated by subjects in their heterophenomenologies?” This is a somewhat roundabout way of saying that materialism is incompatible with the idea that people are actually experiencing what they say they are experiencing; which is equivalent to saying that materialism is incompatible with the idea that I am actually experiencing what I “seem” to be experiencing.
Once you have chosen option 2, all that is left is to haggle over the price, that is, to explain why the designer (e.g. God and/or natural selection), would have designed people to appear conscious when they are actually not conscious. This is an inherently speculative task, and it’s not surprising that an imaginative person can come up with a compelling answer that’s hard to argue with.
If the materialist can convince the dualist to take the third-person perspective, the dualist has not just agreed to play in the materialist’s court, he has essentially conceded defeat. The third person perspective is not just a method, it’s a solution. It solves the problem simply by refusing to consider the problem.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Korach's Postmodern Tallis
(This dvar Torah is in memory of Tatyana bat Azriel, my mother-in-law of blessed memory, whose yahrzeit is today.)
In the beginning of this week’s parsha, Parshat Korach, the Torah introduces Korach as the son of Yitzhar, the son of Kehat, the son of Levi. Levi, of course, is the son of Yaakov, but the Torah neglects to mention that.
Rashi says that this is the fulfillment of Yaakov’s prophecy that he declares on his deathbed. In reaction to the attack on Schem carried out by Shimon and Levi, Yaakov declares, “may my honor not be mentioned in their congregation.”
Is Rashi hinting at a deeper connection between the attack on Schem and the rebellion of Korach?
The rebellion of Korach against Moshe Rabbenu is the paradigmatic story of the refusal to accept authority. The attack on Schem also represents a refusal to accept authority. Instead of carrying out such a significant act on their own, an act with drastic implications for the family, Shimon and Levi should have consulted their father, our forefather Yaakov, who was surely the rightful authority at the time.
The midrash records a pair of strange halachic discussions between Korach and Moshe Rabbenu.
First, Korach asks Moshe, "If a cloak is made of 100% pure techelet, does it still need a techelet thread on the tzitzit?" Moshe answers yes, and Korach ridicules him. "With all that techelet in the cloak itself, why does it need more?"
Second, Korach asks Moshe, "If a room is filled with sifrei Torah, does it still need a mezuza?" Moshe answers yes, and Korach ridicules him. "With all those psukim already in the room, why does it need more?"
These are strange questions. The midrash usually assumes that Korach is learned and intelligent. What is Korach's hava amina? Why would he think that the composition of a garment changes the requirement for tzitzit, or that the contents of a room changes the requirement for a mezuza?
This midrash tells a story of Korach making fun of Moshe Rabbenu. In the midrash, Korach poses as a clever satirist. But maybe Chazal are the real satirists. Maybe Chazal are putting these words in Korach's mouth as a way of making fun of Korach.
In the Torah, Korach says, "The entire nation is holy. Hashem is with them. Why do you, Moshe and Aharon, suppose to raise yourselves above them?" Chazal reply to Korach's argument by comparing the Jewish People to a cloak made of techelet, or a room full of books. The cloak is made of techelet, but of course it still needs a techelet thread in the tzitzit. So too, all Jews are holy, but of course we still need Torah authorities.
A Kezayit of Bracha
The third bracha of the birkat kohanim is, "May Hashem raise His face to you and give you peace." (Bamidbar 6:24 - 6:26) The Gemara (Brachot 20b) says that the angels objected to this bracha. They pointed out that elsewhere in the Torah, it says that Hashem "does not raise his face (that is, show favoritism) or accept bribes." (Dvarim 10:17) Hashem replied, "In the Torah, I commanded the Jewish People to say the birkat hamazon when they eat and are satisfied. However, they say birkat hamazon after any meal in which they eat a kezayit of bread, even if they are not satisfied. How can I not show them favoritism?"
This aggada draws a connection between the birkat kohanim and birkat hamazon. What is the meaning of this connection?
What does it mean that we say a bracha after eating an olive size of bread, even if we are not satisfied? It means that even if we are not satisfied with everything in our lives, or in the world, we still thank Hashem for every kezayit of bracha that He gives us. In response, Hashem focuses on every kezayit of mitzvot that we do, even though He may be unsatisfied with many aspects of our behavior.
This aggada draws a connection between the birkat kohanim and birkat hamazon. What is the meaning of this connection?
What does it mean that we say a bracha after eating an olive size of bread, even if we are not satisfied? It means that even if we are not satisfied with everything in our lives, or in the world, we still thank Hashem for every kezayit of bracha that He gives us. In response, Hashem focuses on every kezayit of mitzvot that we do, even though He may be unsatisfied with many aspects of our behavior.
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