Of Musk And Men
Negative comandments are underrated!
Bein Hazmanim has allowed me some time to keep up with the latest in current affairs. Two stories have captured much coverage of late, the increasingly urgent warnings of global warming and Elon Musk's much-mocked move to rebrand his social media platform Twitter as X. Though worlds apart, both stories prompted me to reflect on how Judaism stresses integrating both restraint and proactivity in our lives. Having trouble understanding the connection? I don't blame you. But don't look away just yet!
I've been intrigued by the language we use to discuss climate change. When bringing attention to the crisis, activists and politicians frequently invoke our responsibility to protect the environment. And their endlessly repeated slogans have permanently shaped the public consciousness. At one point or other, all of us have been implored to 'save the planet', 'protect mother earth', 'live in harmony with nature' or 'help maintain bio diversity'.
Ok, I hear you ask, but what's weird about any of that? You are right; there is nothing inherently illogical with any of these moral claims. But, and there's a critical but here. A vast swath of those vigorously adopting such emotive phraseology are atheists who understand humanity as homo natura -creatures of nature. From this perspective, the very idea of man altering the natural world, for better or worse, becomes unintelligible wordplay. For if we strictly comprehend mankind in naturalistic terms - as brute products of blind evolution governed by bio-mechanical laws - then our destruction of the environment cannot meaningfully be set apart from nature itself.
Once materialists deny any non-physical essence, our actions - however destructive - represent mere fluctuations in the arrangements of atoms, forces and fields. No different in kind from the energy conversions that drive all physical change or the development-decline cycle of any other species. George Carlin, the atheist nihilist comedian, was far more honest when he quipped that "the earth doesn't share our prejudice towards plastic", given that ultimately, even our so-called synthetic materials come from it. No one condemns volcanoes for wrecking nature because they are nature! But if volcanoes had opposable thumbs and could pick up a hammer and chisel, they'd probably be in deep trouble!
What is clear, then, is that, at least subconsciously, most people identify with an aspect of man independent of the natural world. As Jews, we understand this explicitly, with free will being essential to our faith. In contrast to certain strains of redemptive Christianity, Judaism sees man as actively creating the change necessary for achieving earthly perfection. We are not mere spectators at someone else's show, for our deeds form the rungs upon which Divine light descends. Like much of Devarim, this week's Parsha is crammed with commandments.
The Torah reveals a way to rise above nature by proactively intertwining our acts with holiness. Its hundreds of positive commandments seek not passive belief but deliberate, meticulous, almost obsessive conduct to bridge earth and heaven, time and eternity. But what about all those Torah prohibitions? Their role does not appear expansive. And if man is truly a being of change, what purpose is there in saddling him with such crushing restriction? It seems equally unrealistic as expecting disgraced prime minister Boris Johnson to comply with Covid guidelines.
The following cryptic Talmudic passage in Makos holds the keys to answering our question:
Rav Simlai taught: There were 613 commandments stated to Moses in the Torah, consisting of 365 prohibitions corresponding to the number of days in the solar year and 248 negative commandments corresponding to the number of a person's organs...
When our sages connect concepts on account of their numerical values, they are not just pulling a cheap party trick1. And so, in his signature style, the Maharal of Prague reveals how their words here are pregnant with insight. He explains that the sun and man are archetypes of two distinct modes of existence: permanence and constant change.
The sun encapsulates the consistent natural order. As Shlomo HaMelech puts it:
"there is nothing new beneath the sun". {Koheles 1:9}
Like everything else in creation, man is endowed with an essential nature. And this essence is what the Torah's prohibitions are designed to maintain. Thus by showing the required restraint, we can preserve and protect our baseline spiritual state.
Man as an archetype stands for unrelenting change. In fact, humanity is the only created entity capable of initiating any transformation whatsoever - a truth the previously mentioned environmentalists unwittingly concede to. Therefore humankind parallels God's positive commandments, those very tools through which we can effect change in the world and within ourselves.
Now if you guys are generous, your probably thinking, "Nice idea Yaacov but you promised us you'd tie Twitter into all of this?" Well, wait no longer. Twitter's heavily critiqued rebrand is an excellent analogy for why we need both negative and positive commandments. Elon Musk has explained that he wants his newly named X to be an 'everything app'. He wants to transform it into a service that handles communications, payments, banking, content creation, entertainment, e-commerce, and more. Basically, he plans to turn Twitter into the Swiss Army Knife of apps, which is cool... I guess 🤷🏻♂️. 2
The problem is, and this has been pointed out by almost everyone, Musk has spent the last year abysmally failing to even maintain Twitter's basic functionality. Not being a Twitter user, I admittedly have no clue what those functionalities are. But needless to say, it sounds terrible. And X's current valuation is less than half of Musk's $44 billion Twitter purchase in 2022. At first, glance, aiming high and shaking up the status quo sound like brilliant ideas. But as Elon is kindly reminding us, without tending to the nitty gritty fundamentals, lofty plans and radical shifts often end up awry. Solid footing is the prerequisite to any subsequent radical expansion.
God has blessed us with two types of law: the positive and the negative. The positive commandments capture our imaginations, for they urge us to build, plant and heal -to change the world by serving God. Yet we must also honour the prohibitions, the "thou shalt nots," for they set the boundaries within which we find our true selves. They are humble helpers, keeping our defaults in check with divine design. They are the silent safeguards, letting the righteous flower even as they repel evil. Without them, all our positive actions are built on shifting sands. And through our watchful attention, they will enable each of us as individuals and a community as we journey ever closer to our creator's loving embrace.
Good Shabbos, and Keep Pondering!
Disclaimer - my father-in-law wrote a fantastic book on the topic, so I’m probably biased: https://artscrollisrael.co.il/en/product/jewish-wisdom-in-the-numbers/ I receive no royalties
It’s probably uncool if you aren’t a fan of dystopian tech monopolies
Great piece Yaacov! Loved the part at the end about positive and negative commandments and how it applies to X!
Re: the beginning part about it being contradictory to speak about climate change when one doesn’t believe in anything beyond “nature”, I don’t necessarily know if I agree with that. One could technically believe that man came about from natural processes and evolution and that it just happened, but I don’t think the logical next step is, well let’s just let nature continue taking its course. I think that as evolved people we can recognize that we are in a situation that may lead to the demise of the planet and we can either try to change it, or not.
This is not my stance on climate change, I personally believe that G-d will take care of the planet and it’s our job to work on the things he actually tells us to do. I’m just saying that I don’t necessarily think it’s illogical for an atheist to say “let’s save the planet.”
Love your writing as usual 🙏🏻
Very nice: “No one condemns volcanoes for wrecking nature because they are nature! But if volcanoes had opposable thumbs and could pick up a hammer and chisel, they'd probably be in deep trouble!”
Some reflections on the question of commandments in general.
When we interpret moral commandments it is still only our interpretation that we ‘hear’. Everything given can be misinterpreted, turned upside down relative to the intended meaning, so ultimately it is always us individually who are morally responsible, and every commandment and scriptural pronouncement is bound to be interpreted according to our character and moral conscience, which is in turn conditioned by countless moral choices made in the past. Every moral error, once normalised, integrated into our understanding of the world, distorts our capacity for future moral discernment, making future errors more likely. Conversely, everything we do right improves our capacity for moral discernment. It is indeed like a ladder on which we can climb up, towards moral perfection and meaning or down, towards the animal realm.
If we would accept a commandment dogmatically, we relinquish our own moral authority, deny the moral challenge that the world is presenting us with, but this is already a moral transgression, because we endorse a judgment of another without knowing it to be right, we merely assume it to be right without a sufficient reason, which entails a contradiction. In this light, moral dependency is always wrong. If, on the other hand, we preserve a degree of uncertainty about what is right, accept that interpretations may differ, we consciously assume moral responsibility for the present choice, and we act consciously as moral beings. Yes, we may still be wrong, but then we can only blame ourselves and can learn from the experience.
History shows that even the most basic prohibition “Thou shalt not kill” means little unless we understand why we ought not to kill, otherwise invalid exceptions or excessive inclusions are bound to be made. Should the commandment be taken absolutely, kill nothing and ever, not even a plant, or does it apply only to conscious rational beings, or just to my tribe, or just to my friends, or just to me, or just on Tuesdays? Should we not kill enemies, should we not kill in self-defence, should we not kill wrongdoers, should we not kill those who kill? However we interpret the scope of this commandment depends on us individually, and unless we can derive it from a fundamental principle we are probably wrong.