Cut Through the Noise
Cut Through the Noise
The Art of Not Getting Sucked into Intelligent Stupidity
Question:
I posted something on social media that celebrated this past week’s attacks by Israel on hundreds of Hezbollah operatives in Lebanon, and got a ton of blowback from people telling me that I was insensitive to those injured and those who lost their lives…
Now, I’m confused. Am I wrong to be relieved that so many terrorists have been neutralized? These are people who have fired over 8,000 rockets at Israel in the last year alone, and have threatened to wipe it off the map?
Everything is just so complex in Israel…
Advice from the Sages:
I can totally relate to your sentiment.
The Middle East is complex. And Israel is, in many ways, extra-complex.
But, to be fair, the world is complex, people are complex, and life, in general, is complex.
Nevertheless, there are simple truths, which our lives depend on, that get obscured through over-complication.
In our post-post-modern reality, in which everyone has his or her own “truth,” and we are barraged incessantly with soundbites, opinions, testimonials, and evocative images and videos — our core beliefs must be clear in order to make meaningful decisions we are confident about.
Without this clarity, we are lost.
Put differently: our ability to successfully navigate our world’s complexity depends on our clarity regarding the simplest ideas.
My point here is not to reduce our discourse to Trumpist slogans or pithy Wokisms. However, I do want us to learn to think about complexity at its simpler roots.
Let me illustrate this with a common example:
People often find themselves debating push-button issues, like abortion, and proceed to talk, and eventually yell past one another until they are blue in the face, at which point they may agree to disagree, and promise themselves to never revisit the issue again.
No one walks away from these pointless exchanges smarter or better informed — just worn out and disillusioned with the notion of speaking to those who think differently from them.
Why does this happen? Is there a better way to communicate?
Yes there is.
I cannot think of a book that teaches the art of disagreement more effectively than the Talmud (here’s a short video explaining what it is).
Those who have studied Talmud in depth have no doubt encountered the methodolgy of identifying in any given debate its “nekudat hamachloket” — its “juncture of disagreement.”
It is axiomatic in Talmud study that any argument between Beit Hillel vs. Beit Shammai, or Rava vs. Abaye, or Rashi vs. Tosofot can only be properly understood once we have found the juncture at which the two perspectives diverge from one another. This juncture depends on the answers the answers to the following two questions:
What do they agree on?
and
Where, precisely, on the logic tree, does their disagreement begin?
Identifying this juncture allows us to say, “they agree on everything up until this point, and anything they disagree upon from here on out must be a function of their difference of perspective with respect to that point.”
This way of seeing disagreement as a branching out from simpler, more fundamental outlooks is incredibly clarifying, and one way to think about why the Torah is called a “Tree of Life.”
As we absorb this principle, we can learn how to engage in discussions more productively, by not wasting our breath on the “tiny twigs” of our disagreement, when our perspectives diverged way back on the level of “thick branches.”
It’s specifically at that juncture that we need to clarify our differences in position, and see if the other party can be convinced on the merits of our evidence and arguments. If we don’t address these apparently conflicting fundamental beliefs, we will, without a doubt, perpetually argue at the twig-level without many any progress at all.
While it is tempting to believe that someone who is Pro-Life is “anti-choice,” and his opponent who is Pro-Choice is “anti-life,” 30 seconds of sincere contemplation reveals how absurd this would be. Everyone is generally in favor of human life, and everyone is generally in favor of human choice. So, where, then does their disagreement begin?
The key to a meaningful debate is to getting to the bottom of their opinions. What underlies the pro-choice position? And more importantly, what underlies the particular pro-choice position of the person you are speaking to? Not all pro-choicers think the same. Before arguing, ask questions so that a) you can better understand the root of their position, and b) so you can have a more productive conversation about the root beliefs.
A skilled therapist does this. She’s able to listen to many, many stories, observations, feelings, thoughts, claims and accusations and ask cool-headed questions that allow her to get to the bottom of all of them.
While no detail is unimportant, no detail can be really understood out of context.
Sometimes, though, we encounter people whose fundamental beliefs are such anathema to our existence that there is Z E R O purpose to engaging in a debate with them.
Getting sucked into complex intricacies with someone who cannot agree with your most simple, working principles is simply not worth your time.
Be careful when you get into conversations about Israel that you don’t get drawn into the weeds about this or that military incident before you clarify whether or not the person you are speaking to justifies murdering Israeli civilians in their beds in the name of “liberation.”
If you don’t first confirm that you’re inhabiting the same conceptual tree, you could very easily find yourself spending hours researching the exact text of the warning leaflets dropped by the IDF before its bombing of a Hamas military base so that you can rebut the argument of an anti-Zionist activist who would just as happily see you dead.
The majority of the Talmud an intergenerational recording of legal debates that involve bringing evidence and building logical arguments. There is, however, another form of rabbinic literature called “Aggadah” or “Midrash,” which is entirely different, even though the Talmud seamlessly weaves it between its legal debates. Midrash is a form of parable that is meant to convey deep philosophical, mystical, and ethical truths in highly evocative imagery that stimulates curiosity and deeper thought.
It’s easier to show rather than tell what Midrash is, so here’s an adaptation of one that is highly pertinent to our topic:
When Jacob died in Egypt, the Pharaoh at the time wanted to afford Jacob the honor of allowing Joseph and his brothers to lead a royal funeral procession to the city of Hebron in Canaan (modern day Israel, just south of Jerusalem). He would be buried in the Machpela Cave, which was the burial site of Jacob’s wife Leah, his parents Isaac and Rebecca, and grandparents Abraham and Sarah. (All of these facts are from the actual text of the Torah. Here, is where the Midrashic parable begins.)
When they arrived to the Cave of Machpela, Esav, Jacob’s brother and archenemy came to stir up problems, announcing, “the Cave of Machpela is mine,” (which, of course, it wasn’t). What did Joseph do? He sent Naphtali to travel quickly back down to Egypt to bring up the deed of property ownership inherited by their father Jacob when he publicly purchased Esav’s birthright.
Meanwhile, Chushim, the son of Dan, who was impaired in his hearing and speech, gestured to his brothers, “Why are we just sitting here?!” He was pointing [at Esav] with his finger.
They said to him, “Because this man [Esav] will not let us bury our father Jacob.”
What did [Chushim] do?
He drew his sword and cut off Esav’s head, and took the head into the Cave of Machpela.
They sent his body for burial back to the land of his possession, Mount Seir.
A couple seemingly important questions:
Why is it relevant that Chushim was deaf?
What is the meaning of only Esav’s head being buried with the righteous patriarchs?
Again, keep in mind that Midrash is intended to be parable, not journalism. So, what then does are we supposed to get out of it?
Intelligent people are at risk of getting dragged into conversations that won’t go anywhere. The reason is because intelligent people are more prone to ask for details, and respond with logical arguments, often overlooking the simple truths that underly the discussion. Chushim, being deaf, could not hear any of the technicalities of Esav’s legal arguments in favor of delaying his father’s prompt burial after the long journey from Egypt in the Middle Eastern sun. Whereas his brothers felt compelled to defend their position, Chushim was all too clear that there was absolutely no basis for this discussion. We do not owe people answers if they are denying the most basic foundations upon which any conversation we would have would stand upon.
The meaning of him cutting off his head is because Esav was notoriously smart, and like a lawyer without scruples, could argue for anything or its opposite. His intelligence was disconnected from his integrity, and so his head was disconnected from his body. The Midrash encodes this idea with the evocative image of his head, possessing the abstract intellectual truths of the forefathers and foremothers, being fit to be buried with them. But his body, which didn’t live according to those principles was sent back to Esavland (i.e. Seir).
You do not need to argue with people with whom you possess no common ground to stand on.
Someone who denies your right to defend yourself — using the most pinpointed military techniques ever devised — is simply not worth your time or energy.
Most people in the world are worth talking to. Some are not.
Talk to those that are.