Hashgacha Pratis: Shemini-Tazria 5782
Inspirational messages and contemporary stories of Hashgacha Pratis
Reprinted with permission.
Reprinted with permission.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Sheldon Richman
Following rules, such as the rules of language, of the market, or of just conduct, is more about “knowing how” than “knowing that.” This is a lesson taught by many important thinkers, among them, Gilbert Ryle (who used these terms in the title of chapter 2 of The Concept of Mind), F.A. Hayek, and Ludwig Wittgenstein. On many matters, we know more than we can say. Yet we are tempted to identify knowing with saying. It’s a temptation best resisted. (Wittgenstein distinguished between knowing the height of a structure and knowing how a clarinet sounds. We use the same word know, but we don’t mean the same thing. Do you know the height if you cannot say it?)
Language, economic activity, and law did not begin when someone published a grammar book, an economics text, or a political treatise that people then used to guide their actions. On the contrary, the books were written after the fact to codify what people had long been doing. And, importantly, the books could never fully describe what people had been doing or would do in the future. At best they were imperfect codifications (abstractions) that couldn’t possibly capture all the details involved in applying the rules to the varied circumstances of everyday life. In truth, they weren’t rules — in the formal, self-conscious sense that we usually define that term — until the books were written. Yet they governed behavior.
“For not only do we not think of the rules of usage — of definitions, etc. — while using language, but when we are asked to give such rules, in most cases we aren’t able to do so,” Wittgenstein writes. And elsewhere: “One learns the game by watching how others play. But we say that it is played according to such-and-such rules because an observer can read these rules off from the practice of the game — like a law of nature governing the play.” Think how children learn something as complex as language and social roles.
Rabbi Dovid Lichtenstein stresses throughout that the posthumous honor and legitimization granted to the criminal CW and his actions are completely against the Torah, of course.
His discussion with Rabbi Zalman Graus is worth listening to, though obtuse listeners clearly misunderstand his message to be the opposite of his intention (that’s how I heard of this episode).
Rabbi Aharon Sorscher describes his own outrageous experience with victim-blaming (“victim-and-family-revictimization” is more like it).
Note: Rabbi Dovid Lichtenstein, the show’s host, mentions in the intro he holds in his hand a Get that says “you are permitted to all except CW” (from a Beis Din in Petach Tikvah), but this is probably just a record, not the original. Even this is a chiddush.
You may have heard the old parable:
Good luck and bad luck create each other and it is difficult to foresee their change.
A righteous man lived near the border.
For no reason, his horse ran off into barbarian territory.
Everyone [people] felt sorry for him.
[But] His father spoke [to him]:
“Who knows if that won’t bring you good luck?”
Several months later his horse came back with a group of [good, noble] barbarian horses.
Everyone [people] congratulated him.
[But] His father spoke [to him]:
“Who knows if that won’t bring you bad luck?”
A rich house has good horses and the son mounted with joy/loved riding.
He fell and broke his leg.
Everyone [people] felt sorry for him.
[But] His father spoke [to him]:
“Who knows if that won’t bring you good luck?”
One year later the barbarians invaded across the border.
Adult men strung up their bows and went into battle.
Nine out of ten border residents were killed, except for the son because of his broken leg.
Father and son were protected/both survived.
Hence: Bad luck brings good luck and good luck brings bad luck.
This happens without end and nobody can estimate it.
Note: The “luck” part is nonsense, of course.