Shaming, Disagreement & Purposeful Difference

Aug 31

A Talmudic Teaching
Christine Hayes

Christine Hayes is the Sterling Professor of Religious Studies at Yale University and a senior fellow of the Kogod Research Center at the Shalom Hartman Institute of North America. She is the author, among other books, of What’s Divine about Divine Law? (winner of a National Jewish Book Award in Scholarship), and editor of The Cambridge Companion to Judaism and Law (2017).

Brothers, if you care for true piety, let us not feign agreement where diversity is evidently the plan and purpose of Providence. None of us thinks and feels exactly like his fellow man; why then do we wish to deceive each other with delusive words?

–Moses Mendelssohn, Jerusalem

Over the course of his lifetime, the 18th-century Jewish Enlightenment philosopher Moses Mendelssohn was subject to repeated calls to follow the dictates of universal reason and accept the “truth” of Christianity. Reluctant to engage in religious disputation, Mendelssohn finally gave a public statement of his views in Jerusalem (1783). In this treatise, like other philosophers of the era Mendelssohn espouses the virtues of religious tolerance. What is unusual about Mendelssohn’s case for tolerance, however, is the empirical argument that surfaces in its final pages. In response to his Christian “brothers” who romanticized a single faith uniting all humankind, Mendelssohn pointed to diversity as the evident “plan and purpose of Providence”—a feature, not a bug, of creation. Its opposite—uniformity on matters of belief—is not only an infringement of liberty of conscience; it is an outright delusion that can be conjured only through coercion.

Few would quarrel with the empirical observation that diversity is a given of the human condition. But Mendelssohn makes a stronger claim: diversity is not merely a fact, not a chaotic imperfection to be overcome; it is a positive value. If the differences among humans are an inherent and purposeful element of the human condition, we would be foolish not to embrace and cultivate them.

“If the differences among humans are an inherent and purposeful element of the human condition, we would be foolish not to embrace and cultivate them.”

Are we up to the challenge? Sometimes the encounter with difference piques our curiosity and our delight. Too often, however, we respond to difference with fear and hostility. Evolutionary biology offers a solid basis for this. The unfamiliar and different can be a source of physical danger and generate fear. Early humans developed a defensive response to the fear inspired by physical danger. Controlled by the amygdala at the base of the brain, this fight-or-flight response is automatic, requiring no thought. At the same time, fear stimulates the pre-frontal cortex, where thinking, planning, and judgment occurs. Under our conscious control, this part of the brain processes our experiences to determine whether a threat is real and how best to respond. The deliberative and pro-social pre-frontal cortex can override the automatic and anti-social response of the amygdala. Alternatively, the amygdala can “hijack” the frontal lobes, hindering our ability to think clearly, make rational decisions, or control our responses. Maintaining the delicate balance between these biological mechanisms is exponentially more difficult when technology gives the quick-draw amygdala an unfair advantage over the slower pre-frontal cortex, locking us into cascading cycles of reflexive—and unreflective—outrage.

Given that humans are hard-wired to respond reflexively to certain kinds of difference with fear, and given that human psychology is unlikely to change anytime soon, what can we do as citizens, teachers, parents, community leaders, board members, rabbis, trustees, and dialogue partners to turn sites of anti-social fear and confrontation into sites of pro-social encounter and conversation? What habits of thought, speech, and action can empower the pre-frontal cortex and reduce maladaptive and anti-social responses to difference so that we might realize its constructive purpose? What combination of practices and principles will enable our communities to harness the productive potential of their diversity? How can we ally ourselves to our own “better angels”?

I want to explore these questions by examining two episodes in the long-running conflict between two 1st–2nd century rabbinic sages, Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Joshua. I want to linger over each step in that conflict and ask: what practical options were available to each of the protagonists at each stage of the unfolding drama? What practice among their options did they choose? What principle informed that choice? Did that choice exacerbate or relieve the conflict? And finally, can these stories help us to identify specific practices and principles that can minimize anti-social behaviors and maximize the constructive potential in situations of difference?

Reckoning the calendar

Our first episode is told in the Mishnah (Rosh HaShanah 2:8–9):

Once two witnesses came and said, “We saw it [the new moon] in the morning in the east and in the evening in the west” [an astronomical impossibility]. Rabbi Yoḥanan b. Nuri said, “They are false witnesses.” But when they came to Yavne, Rabban Gamliel accepted them [i.e., their testimony]. Once two witnesses came and said, “We saw it at its proper time but on the next night it was not seen” [also astronomically impossible] and R. Gamliel accepted their evidence. Rabbi Dosa b. Harqinas said, “They are false witnesses. How can men testify that a woman has given birth to a child when on the next day we see her abdomen still distended?” R. Joshua said to him: “I see your point.” Thereupon Rabban Gamliel sent to him saying, “I order you to appear before me with your staff and your money on the day which according to your reckoning should be the Day of Atonement.”

R. Akiva went [to R. Joshua] and found him greatly distressed. He [R. Akiva] said to him, “I can cite [Scriptural] proof that whatever R. Gamliel has done is valid, for it says: ‘These are the appointed seasons of the Lord, holy convocations, which you shall proclaim in their appointed seasons’ (Lev. 23:4)—[meaning] whether they are proclaimed at their proper time or not at their proper time, I have no appointed seasons except these.”

He [R. Joshua] then went to R. Dosa b. Harqinas, who said to him, “If we call into question [the decisions of] the court of Rabban Gamliel, we must call into question the decisions of every court which has existed since the days of Moses up to the present time...”

Thereupon he [R. Joshua] took his staff and his money and went to Yavne to Rabban Gamliel on the day on which the Day of Atonement fell according to his reckoning. R. Gamliel rose and kissed him on the head and said to him, “Come in peace, my teacher and my disciple—my teacher in wisdom and my disciple because you have accepted my decision.

Over the objections of his colleagues, Rabban Gamliel relies on patently false testimony to establish the date of the new year. The dispute is hardly trivial. Leviticus requires Jews to refrain from eating, working, and traveling on Yom Kippur on pain of death. Some believe that if the court errs in establishing the first of the year, the holidays will likewise be established incorrectly, and Jews will fail to observe Yom Kippur in its proper time, with devastating consequences. Because of the high stakes, calendar disputes were the stuff of sectarian division in Jewish late antiquity. We know of one group of ancient Jews who withdrew to the Judean desert rather than abide by the errant calendar of the larger community. Among the scrolls they deposited in the caves at Qumran is a Community Rule requiring the sect’s members to take an oath not to advance or delay the dates of the festivals, as well as writings that assume an invariant 52-week calendar established by God at the time of creation. In short, late ancient calendrical disputes were serious business and Rabban Gamliel’s insistence on establishing the calendar on the basis of false testimony threatens to divide the community.

Rather than passing judgment on any of the characters in this story, I am interested in slowing down the action in order to identify the inflection points, the moments when a different choice might have led to a different outcome or to the same outcome but without the psychic trauma.

First, Rabban Gamliel takes unilateral action on a controversial matter that generates disagreement and distress. His motivations remain somewhat obscure. Perhaps he is simply ignorant of his error or, if cognizant of his error, perhaps he is ignorant of the disagreement and distress his actions will cause. Less charitably, we might suppose that he is aware of the distress his actions will cause, but indifferent to it for reasons that may range from a confidence in the rightness of his own position to simple callousness. Even less charitably, Rabban Gamliel may be a provocateur who delights in intentionally inciting disagreement, or an autocrat who derives pleasure from the power to bend others to his will.

It did not have to be this way. Rabban Gamliel could have taken steps to build consensus. He could have consulted with his colleagues instead of acting unilaterally. Even if he was determined to act unilaterally, he might at least have laid out the basis for his controversial decision. He chooses instead to act unilaterally and with an opacity that invites conflict rather than conversation.

“Recognizing that one’s opponent has a point of view opens the door to constructive engagement through a healthy debate over principles.”

R. Dosa focuses solely on the error at the heart of Rabban Gamliel’s declaration and narrates his decision as foolish or ignorant. He chooses to mock Rabban Gamliel for doing the unthinkable: can Rabban Gamliel be so foolish as to think that the testimony is correct? The remainder of the story reveals another more charitable narration of Rabban Gamliel’s actions. But R. Dosa chooses a narration that, in his view, allows him to dismiss Rabban Gamliel’s action out-of-hand. Again, it did not have to be this way. R. Dosa might have held his reflexive and uncharitable narration of Rabban Gamliel’s actions in check, until he had a chance to inquire into Rabban Gamliel’s own account. He might have asked Rabban Gamliel whether he was aware that the eye-witness testimony was impossible and if so, why he nevertheless established the calendar on its basis? Was it an arbitrary ruling or a principled decision? And if the latter, what was the operative principle? R. Dosa may not be persuaded to accept Rabban Gamliel’s view, but he will at least have recognized that Rabban Gamliel has a view. Recognizing that one’s opponent has a point of view opens the door to constructive engagement through a healthy debate over principles. Dismissing one’s opponent with ad hominem mockery precludes engagement.

In the continuation of the story, R. Akiva serves as the foil to R. Dosa. While R. Dosa narrated Rabban Gamliel’s decision as foolish or ignorant, and on that basis felt “justified” in mocking him,
R. Akiva narrates Rabban Gamliel’s decision as principled. He cites biblical support for the principle that the calendar and festivals are determined by human authorities rather than the movements of the heavenly bodies. On this narration, Rabban Gamliel can be argued with but he cannot be summarily (and conveniently) dismissed as foolish.

Between these two sages stands Rabbi Joshua, who seems unsure how to characterize R. Gamliel’s decision. At first, he accepts R. Dosa’s characterization of Rabban Gamliel’s decision as an ignorant error to be dismissed out of hand. But later, R. Joshua proves willing to consider R. Akiva’s characterization of Rabban Gamliel’s decision as a biblically authorized exercise of the court’s power to establish the calendar. Ultimately, he finds this construction of Rabban Gamliel’s decision more persuasive—or at least, a convenient solution to the dilemma he finds himself in—and he returns to R. Dosa to explain why he has changed his view on the matter.

Our episode belongs to a set of rabbinic stories that exhibit a simple three-part structure: a rabbi gives a ruling that is surprising or even shocking; the rabbi’s colleagues or disciples express astonishment and objection; the rabbi or another figure provides an explanation that renders the ruling both reasonable and acceptable and the potential conflict is diffused. Our story follows this tri-partite pattern: Rabban Gamliel issues a ruling; R. Dosa and R. Joshua find it incomprehensible; R. Akiva explains it to the satisfaction of R. Joshua at least.

But our story’s rendition of this common narrative structure is complicated by the superimposition of a tense exchange between Rabban Gamliel and R. Joshua. Let us return, then, to Rabban Gamliel, beginning with the opening scene.

Rabban Gamliel unilaterally establishes the calendar on the basis of patently false testimony. R. Dosa dismisses this action as foolish or ignorant, and R. Joshua sees R. Dosa’s point. We do not know whether R. Dosa’s mockery and R. Joshua’s concurrence were expressed publicly. But when word reaches Rabban Gamliel, he chooses to create a conflict out of this (privately expressed?) disagreement by narrating R. Joshua’s acceptance of R. Dosa’s point as a dangerous threat to his own authority. On the basis of that narration—which may or may not be R. Joshua’s self-understanding—he feels “justified” in demanding from R. Joshua a public and deeply humiliating display of subjugation to his authority. He demands that R. Joshua violate the sanctity of the day that on R. Joshua’s calendrical reckoning would be Yom Kippur. And R. Joshua’s distress is extreme.

It did not have to be this way. As in the many other stories that follow this pattern, Rabban Gamliel could have provided R. Joshua with an explanation for his decision either directly or by referring him to a colleague. After all, R. Joshua accepted such an explanation when it was provided by R. Akiva, rendering Rabban Gamliel’s cruel and humiliating treatment of him entirely gratuitous. But Rabban Gamliel does not give R. Joshua an opportunity to express his objection, to receive an explanation of Rabban Gamliel’s decision, to revise his initial reaction, or to come to an agreement of any kind. Rabban Gamliel forgoes these less confrontational (and clearly effective) options and instead converts what may have been a private disagreement into a public conflict. This suggests that his goal was never consensus or even co-existence, but a public demonstration of his supreme authority followed by a self-serving demonstration of his magnanimity towards those who comply with his demands—a clear abuse of power. In his every encounter with R. Joshua, Rabban Gamliel treats him as a means to an end, cruelly instrumentalizing him in a performance in two acts—R. Joshua’s ritual of submission followed by Rabban Gamliel’s display of munificence.

We are not told how R. Joshua responds to Rabban Gamliel’s performative embrace of him as his teacher in wisdom and his disciple for accepting his authority. Rabban Gamliel evidently believes that this forced and somewhat one-sided “reconciliation” will redound to his glory. But it is difficult to imagine that R. Joshua was not scarred and embittered by the ordeal to which Rabban Gamliel subjected him.

How can the living contradict the living?

Indeed, according to a second and even more dramatic story, the coercive and humiliating tactics employed by Rabban Gamliel in this episode created a lingering resentment within the general rabbinic community, with devastating consequences. We turn to the account of this second episode of conflict in the Talmud (Berakhot 27b–28a) and consider the two opening scenes:

Our sages have taught: Once a certain student came before R. Joshua. He asked him, “The evening prayer—is it optional or obligatory?” He said to him, “It is optional.” He came before Rabban Gamliel. He said to him, “The evening prayer—is it optional or obligatory?” He said to him, “It is obligatory.” He said to him, “But didn’t R. Joshua tell me it is optional?” He [Rabban Gamliel] said to him, “Wait until the shield-bearers [the sages] enter the academy.”

When the shield-bearers entered, the questioner stood up and asked, “The evening prayer—is it optional or obligatory?” Rabban Gamliel said to him, “It is obligatory.” Rabban Gamliel said to the sages, “Is there anyone who disagrees on this matter?” R. Joshua said to him, “No.” Rabban Gamliel said to him, “But didn’t they tell me in your name, ‘It is optional’?” He said to him, “Joshua! Stand on your feet that they may bear witness against you!”

R. Joshua stood on his feet and said, “If I were alive and he [the student] dead—the living could contradict the dead. Now that I am alive and he is alive—how can the living contradict the living?”

“Rabban Gamliel is bent on humiliation to satisfy a deep desire to reclaim the power he believes has been threatened.”

This second story centers on an ordinary halakhic dispute which, unlike the calendrical dispute in our first story, does not threaten to divide the community. Rabban Gamliel learns from a student of R. Joshua’s different halakhic opinion on this matter. The student’s reason for identifying R. Joshua in this way is unclear, leaving us to imagine a range of motivations. Perhaps the student is genuinely perplexed by the contradictory answers he has received and hopes for a clarification from Rabban Gamliel. If so, could he not have indicated that he had heard a different teaching without implicating any particular rabbi by name? Why, then, did he choose to “out” R. Joshua? Perhaps the student was innocently unaware of the response it would elicit from Rabban Gamliel. This seems unlikely. As the narrative will confirm, earlier episodes of conflict between Rabban Gamliel and R. Joshua and the authoritarian wrath of the former were common knowledge. Perhaps, then, the student-provocateur relishes the inevitable conflict that his revelation will occasion, as suggested by his willingness to play a part in the trap that Rabban Gamliel sets for R. Joshua in the assembly.

Consider now the options that lay before Rabban Gamliel. He learns in a conversation with a third party that R. Joshua holds a different view on a point of halakhah. Rabban Gamliel chooses to use this information to stage a public conflict with R. Joshua. He interprets R. Joshua’s adoption of a different halakhic position as a threat to his authority—which may or may not be R. Joshua’s self-understanding—and on that basis feels “justified” in instrumentalizing R. Joshua in a humiliating public demonstration of his power.

Once again, it did not have to be this way. Rabban Gamliel might have spoken directly and privately to R. Joshua. He might have invited an open exchange of ideas or agreed on a fair process for deciding between their different views. Even should this fail, Rabban Gamliel might simply inquire into R. Joshua’s intentions. Does R. Joshua intend publicly to oppose Rabban Gamliel’s ruling on this question, or does he intend to accept his ruling as the operative halakhah, even as he privately holds a different opinion? If, as the story goes on to indicate, he does not intend to publicly oppose Rabban Gamliel, then perhaps the two can work out some mode of co-existence in the absence of consensus.

But Rabban Gamliel responds reflexively to a “perceived” threat, and when that threat does not materialize, he goes out of his way to conjure it. He asks R. Joshua point blank: do you disagree that the evening prayer is obligatory? R. Joshua answers in the negative. Why R. Joshua chooses to lie is not explained, but given Rabban Gamliel’s reputation for shaming his opponents, it is unsurprising that he is reluctant to tell the truth. Or perhaps he is not lying, since the publicly proclaimed halakhah is frequently at variance with the private views of individual teachers, who nevertheless support it as the operative halakhah? Either way, it is clear that R. Joshua is not looking for a fight. Whether coerced or willing, he signals his acceptance of R. Gamliel’s ruling as the operative halakhah even though he disagrees with it.

These narrative details portray Rabban Gamliel’s actions as gratuitous and cruel, his outrage manufactured and performative. If Rabban Gamliel’s goal was consensus (and we ignore for the moment the unethical nature of the tactics used to achieve it), he has “succeeded.” R. Joshua’s public disavowal of his view and (coerced) submission should have ended the matter. But Rabban Gamliel does not allow R. Joshua to act as Rabban Gamliel himself has demanded that he act! Rabban Gamliel is out for blood. If he can’t punish R. Joshua for his present stance, he will punish him for a past stance which R. Joshua is powerless to change. This focus on R. Joshua’s past teaching, rather than his present co-operative stance, makes clear that Rabban Gamliel is bent on humiliation to satisfy a deep desire to reclaim the power he believes has been threatened. Understanding this, the members of the beit midrash revolt.

Rabban Gamliel was sitting and expounding while R. Joshua stood on his feet, until all the people murmured and said to Hutspit the turgeman [an interpreter who served as a kind of human microphone for Rabban Gamliel’s lecture], “Stop!” and he stopped. They said, “How long will he [Rabban Gamliel] go on distressing [R. Joshua]? He distressed him last year on Rosh HaShana. He distressed him over the firstling, in the incident involving R. Zadoq. Now he distresses him again. Come, let us depose him. Whom will we raise up [in his stead]? [After some consideration, they decide upon R. Eleazar b. Azariah]…

The “people” (the assembled sages? lay onlookers?) object to Rabban Gamliel’s naked abuse of power and humiliating treatment of a colleague who in the past merely disagreed with Rabban Gamliel and who in the present had sought to avoid conflict by accepting the ruling of Rabban Gamliel. They cut Rabban Gamliel’s mic, so to speak, depose him from his position of authority, and open the doors of the academy to individuals previously excluded by Rabban Gamliel. This democratic move yields a positive result, for “there was not a single law pending in the academy that they did not resolve.”

In the non-authoritarian environment of the newly expanded assembly, a chastened Rabban Gamliel finally learns how to deal with difference. When he and R. Joshua square off again, this time on equal terms, Rabban Gamliel adopts a deliberative approach.

On that day Judah the Ammonite, a resident alien, stood before them in the academy. He said to them, “Am I permitted to enter the congregation of Israel [i.e., may I convert]?” Rabban Gamliel said to him, “You are forbidden.” R. Joshua said to him, “You are permitted.” Rabban Gamliel said, “Is it not written, ‘No Ammonite or Moabite shall be admitted into the congregation of the Lord” (Deut. 23:4)? R. Joshua said to him, “And are Ammon and Moab in their [original] places? Sennacherib King of Assyria has since come up and mixed up all the nations, as it says, ‘I have erased the borders of peoples; I have plundered their treasures and exiled their vast populations’ (Isa. 10:13). And whatever separates, [we deem it to have] separated from the majority.” Rabban Gamliel said to him, “Has it not already been said, ‘I will restore the fortunes of the Ammonites—declares the Lord’ (Jer. 49:6), and they have already been restored”? R. Joshua said to him, “Has it not already been said, ‘I will restore my people Israel’ (Amos 9:14), and they have not yet been restored”? Immediately they permitted him to enter the congregation.

Stripped of power, Rabban Gamliel can no longer narrate R. Joshua’s view as a threat to his power and thus “justify” its suppression. Nor can he abuse his power to shame R. Joshua into coerced acquiescence. Instead, Rabban Gamliel must engage R. Joshua’s view according to established rules of engagement. Rabban Gamliel presents the Scriptural bases for his view, R. Joshua counters with the Scriptural bases for his view, and the assembled find R. Joshua’s position to be more persuasive. This simple exchange rocks Rabban Gamliel’s world, perhaps confirming publicly what he feared all along: that R. Joshua is indeed his teacher in wisdom who would prevail in a fair fight. The days when he could abuse his power to avoid a fair fight are over. It is no accident that in the reconciliation scene that follows, Rabban Gamliel visits R. Joshua’s home, sees him—perhaps for the first time—for who he really is, and apologizes face to face.

“A chastened Rabban Gamliel finally learns how to deal with difference.”

A great deal of ink has been expended on the remaining elements in this rich story, especially its themes of hereditary vs. meritocratic leadership, authoritarian vs. democratic communal norms, the value of inclusiveness over exclusiveness, the power differentials that distort human relationships, and much more. These themes, however vital, do not directly speak to our analysis of the anatomy of conflict. To conclude that analysis, let me identify three concrete practices that generated and sustained conflict in the two episodes reviewed here, and the unethical principles they assume. I then consider how we might avoid these practices in our own negotiations of difference.

Narrating the Other

The first and fundamental practice that underwrites conflict in these stories is the rush to narrate the actions and intentions of the other in a negative light. Hearing of R. Gamliel’s calendrical decision, R. Dosa immediately mocks it as foolish or ignorant without reflecting for one moment on the fact that Rabban Gamliel is assuredly neither foolish nor ignorant and may have a reasonable explanation for his ruling. Hearing of R. Joshua’s approval of R. Dosa’s snarky remark, Rabban Gamliel immediately orders R. Joshua to submit to his authority in a public and humiliating fashion without considering for one moment that R. Joshua may be willing to entertain and accept Rabban Gamliel’s reasons for acting as he did. Similarly, in the second story, when Rabban Gamliel learns that R. Joshua has expressed a halakhic view at variance with his own, he immediately characterizes R. Joshua as an intolerable threat who must be shamed into submission. He does not consider that R. Joshua’s adoption of an alternative halakhic position is par for the rabbinic course and may be more reasoned than rebellious.

False narrations of the other render any kind of constructive engagement impossible. I cannot engage with you if I refuse to see you as you know yourself to be and insist instead on characterizing you in a manner that you neither recognize nor own. False narrations foreclose debate because we cannot even agree on who it is we are debating.

We see this move today in the claim that “Black Lives Matter” means “Only Black Lives Matter” rather than “Black Lives Matter too”; in the claim that any criticism of the Israeli government is inherently anti-Semitic; and in the tendency to equate unintentional offenses and micro-aggressions with intentional and egregious harms. Those of us whose actions or intentions have been misconstrued know the helplessness, frustration, and distress such erasures can engender.

What informs this practice is the solipsistic principle that denies any obligation to construe the other as they construe themselves; as though nothing matters beyond the boundaries of my perceptions, and I do not need to take a person’s self-understanding or self-presentation into account in interpreting their actions or intentions. Narrations that pre-empt the other’s self-presentation are unethical for the simple reason that they deprive the other of a good that one would not be willing to surrender for oneself: agency and self-determination. The ability to determine and control our presentation to the world is an integral part of what it is to be a self. Its erasure is experienced as a humiliating violation.

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Shaming and Humiliation

A second practice in these narratives—parasitic on the first—fuels a destructive form of conflict: the recourse to shaming and humiliation. Narrating the actions and intentions of the other in as negative a manner as possible generates outrage and serves as a pseudo-justification (or cover) for retaliatory shaming. Narrating Rabban Gamliel’s ruling as foolish or ignorant, R. Dosa bought cover for mocking him; narrating R. Joshua’s divergent opinion as a rebellious threat to his authority, Rabban Gamliel bought cover for publicly humiliating him. Moreover, his gratuitous and traumatic shaming of R. Joshua in the first story sowed seeds of resentment among his colleagues that boiled over into open revolt in the second story.

“The ability to determine and control our presentation to the world is an integral part of what it is to be a self.”

For several reasons, shaming shifts disagreement into amygdala territory and erodes the possibility of constructive engagement. First, the fear of being shamed makes it difficult for us to acknowledge difference (witness Rabbi Joshua’s reticence in the second story), unintentional harms, and errors, and all the more so to apologize for intentional harms. The acknowledgement of harm—whether unintentional or intentional—is a necessary step on the path to reconciliation. Those who would discourage it are opting for retaliation and ongoing conflict. Second, as violent assaults on the self, shaming and humiliation activate reflexive mechanisms of defense and entrenchment that further inflame conflict. Third, the psychic trauma inflicted by public humiliation offers fertile soil for acts of retaliation. In short, shaming and humiliation disincentivize the actions that can defuse conflict, exacerbate existing conflict, and invite renewed cycles of conflict.

We see this dynamic, too, all around us: if “Black Lives Matter” is mischaracterized as “Only Black Lives Matter” which is in turn characterized as racist, then, the argument goes, BLM supporters, like all racists, are fair game for shaming and humiliation. They have only themselves to blame, because they have acted in a manner that invites and justifies their abuse. The same logic drives “stranger-shaming,” a phenomenon described in a 2017 article by Phoebe Maltz Bovy₁ as the shaming of “ordinary people…who’ve become notorious for a momentary lapse in judgment that, thanks to smartphones and social media, ends up making the news.” These lapses are narrated as grievous harms that must be outed and punished through shaming. Bovy notes that shamers cover their cruelty by pointing to “some supposedly noble cause like honoring personal space, treating strangers with dignity, or respecting solemn occasions or locations.” While these are indeed noble causes, the pursuit of a noble end through ignoble means is self-defeating.

The intentional weaponization of shame in the context of simple difference and disagreement often justifies itself by masquerading as whistleblowing. Whistleblowing, however, is undertaken not for the purpose of shaming but for the purpose of bringing malefactors to justice through the workings of due process. The discovery and punishment of wrongdoing inevitably incurs a measure of shame. But the whistleblower’s goal is justice, not humiliation; the whistleblower’s “weapon” must be truth, not shame. Nor, as Bovy points out, is shaming to be confused with legitimate criticism—of politicians, CEOs, public intellectuals, or other powerful figures—that focuses on substance and eschews threats and abuse.

What informs the practice of shaming is an unethical principle: a person’s bad behavior licenses or even compels their mistreatment by others, commonly known as “two wrongs make a right.” I would counter that if the misbehavior of others obligates us in any way at all, then surely it obligates us to virtue, lest we be drawn into a mutually destructive race to the bottom.

Mistreatment of others is never licensed. A person whose actions or views offend me is not exempt from my ethical regard and is not fair game for shaming and humiliation. International law insists that protections of basic human dignity cannot be forfeited, not even by enemy status, and legal systems everywhere extend the protections of law to everyone, even to those who have broken the law. Rabbinic Judaism similarly affirms that those convicted of a capital crime must be treated in a non-degrading fashion (mMakkot 3:14; bSanhedrin 52b); their sexual privacy must be respected at the moment of execution (mSanhedrin 6:3), and even the corpse of the executed must be handled with respect (in keeping with Deuteronomy 21:23). If protection from humiliation and degradation extends to enemies, murderers, rapists, and corpses, how much the more so to those with whom we simply, albeit passionately, disagree?

Some seek to absolve those who shame of responsibility and to hold the shamed responsible for their own mistreatment (otherwise known as “they asked for it”). Even if we were to suppose for a moment that a person did “ask” to be shamed, the responsibility for fulfilling that invitation and the liability for any damage that follows still lies with the person who chooses to shame. Unlike ancient Roman law, rabbinic sources are unequivocal in asserting that no one can voluntarily waive their intrinsic human dignity or assume liability for their own abuse. Indeed, according to the rabbis, the responsibility for abuse lies with the abuser even if the abused explicitly requests the abuse and even if they specify that they will not hold the abuser liable (mBava Qamma 8:7). Nor does participation in one’s own degradation acquit others of responsibility for their role in that degradation. As R. Akiva astutely notes, a man cannot shame a woman by uncovering her hair in the market only to claim exemption from liability on the grounds that the same woman uncovered her own hair in the market on another occasion (mBava Qamma 8:6). These and other considerations inspire the talmudic rabbis to declare shaming to be the moral equivalent of bloodshed (bBava Metsia 58b).

Instrumentalizing the Other

A third practice—again parasitic on the first—contributes to the conflict in these stories: the instrumentalization of one party by another to further a personal or political agenda. R. Dosa instrumentalizes Rabban Gamliel, mocking his ruling in order to appear rational by contrast. Rabban Gamliel instrumentalizes R. Joshua, casting him as a rebellious dissenter, in order to establish his own authority. Neither sees the other for who he is. When Rabban Gamliel finally does encounter R. Joshua on equal terms and face to face, he apologizes for mistreating him.

Instrumentalization of the other obliterates any possibility of constructive engagement. If using you to establish my virtue, or achieve my political or partisan purpose, depends on a narration of you as the enemy, then I cannot offer you an opportunity to reconsider your position, to recant, to apologize, to learn, to change, or to grow. By definition, I require you to play the role I have constructed for you until my end is achieved.

In our second story, Rabban Gamliel could not allow R. Joshua to accept Rabban Gamliel’s opinion on the obligatory nature of evening prayer; to do so would have robbed him of the rebellious dissenter he required in order to perform and establish his authority. He therefore “outs” R. Joshua by shining a light on his privately held dissenting opinion, despite R. Joshua’s willingness to publicly support R. Gamliel’s view.

The unethical principle that underwrites this practice is the belief that humans can be treated as means when in fact humans are always ends. Instrumentalization erases the moral agency and self-determination of the other and is experienced as a profoundly traumatizing violation of the self.

I’ve identified the unethical practices and principles that can turn difference and disagreement into devastating conflict. How does thinking with these stories help us identify practices and principles that are likely to minimize anti-social behaviors and maximize the constructive potential in situations of difference? What can we do, concretely, to harness what Mendelssohn saw as the productive potential of our diversity?

Allowing others to narrate themselves

First, we must allow others to give an account of themselves rather than narrate their actions and intentions for them, especially if that narration would be unrecognizable to them. If the other’s self-presentation appears disingenuous or faulty, we are free to point out the ways in which it is not supported by the facts or appears differently to us and invite further exchange.

How does this ensure that difference and disagreement will serve the useful purpose that Mendelssohn envisioned? Difference and disagreement are productive when we engage with the best versions of those with whom we disagree. My colleague Nancy Levene, professor of religious studies at Yale, argues that construing our “opponent” (whether a person, a text, a prevailing ideology, or a canon) as a strong thinker not only secures a more civil argumentative landscape but bolsters our own thinking. “I am liable both to reduce and to magnify otherness,” Levene writes, “to freeze it into a logic of opposition where it asks nothing of me, the either/or of disengaging from or killing off” my opponent.₂ But nothing is gained and much is lost, she goes on to note, in constructing a weak and easily vanquished opponent.

The Talmud describes R. Yohanan’s reaction to the loss of his “strong opponent,” Resh Lakish:

Resh Lakish died, and R. Yohanan grieved for him greatly. The rabbis said, “What can we do to restore his peace of mind? Let us get R. Elazar b. Pedat and place him before him [R. Yohanan], for his traditions are ready.” They brought him and seated him before him. For every issue that R. Yohanan mentioned he said, “There is a teaching that supports you.” He [R. Yohanan] said to him, “Do I need this? When I made a statement, Resh Lakish would object with twenty-four objections and I would solve them with twenty-four solutions, and thus our traditions expanded. But you say, ‘There is a teaching that supports you.’ Don’t I know I speak well?” He tore his clothes and went crying at the gates, “Where are you, son of Lakish? Where are you, son of Lakish?” until he lost his mind. The sages prayed for him and he died.

R. Yohanan asks: Do I need this? Is there any purpose or virtue in speaking to one who only confirms me and does not challenge me? He knows that allowing, indeed, enabling our opponents to be the strongest—most coherent and ethical—versions of themselves enables us to realize the strongest versions of ourselves.

Refusing to play the shame game

“Enabling our opponents to be the strongest—most coherent and ethical—versions of themselves enables us to realize the strongest versions of ourselves.”

Several rabbinic tales underscore that shaming and humiliation are not only unproductive but counterproductive. Rabban Gamliel fails to curb his colleagues from shaming R. Eliezer for holding an unpopular but divinely sanctioned view. God is moved by R. Eliezer’s outpouring of pain to strike Rabban Gamliel dead (bBava Metsia 59a). R. Joshua ben Perahya takes offense at a statement by Jesus, humiliates Jesus with an astonishing four-hundred trumpet blasts, and refuses his attempts to explain or apologize, driving him to despair and ultimately to sin and apostasy (bSotah 47a). These stories and others point to the alienating and disintegrative effect of shaming someone who simply disagrees, or errs, or is perceived to behave or speak offensively. Why not offer the other an opportunity to understand the harm they have caused, to explain or recant, to apologize, to change, to do the right thing—an opportunity we would want for ourselves, were the situation reversed?

Shaming is precluded both by the basic principle of an inalienable human dignity and by utilitarian considerations: schadenfreude and snark raise questions about one’s motives, undermine one’s credibility, and even generate sympathy for one’s opponent, as Rabban Gamliel learned to his chagrin. When shaming is adopted as a strategic move to hasten some desired result, it fuels the cynical belief that truth is not enough. At a time when purveyors of falsehood threaten democracies everywhere, trusting that truth is enough—indeed, insisting on it—is urgent. Finally, when the public square is policed by shame, it is quickly abandoned by all but the shameless. A society governed by those incapable of feeling shame is a society no one wants to inhabit.

Resisting the urge to shame and humiliate may also mean disengaging from the technologies that encourage these habits. To realize the purpose of difference—asserted with such confidence by Mendelssohn—means cultivating practices of interaction that are currently disincentivized by modern technologies of communication. Any technology that “rewards” reflex responses to disembodied and faceless others entrenches the habits that fuel destructive conflict. Replace the amygdala-inflaming outrage machine known euphemistically as “social” media with the slower rhythms and deliberative exchanges of actual social encounters. Trade in the solipsistic performances of the inaptly named “Face”book for encounters with actual faces. The French-Jewish ethicist Emmanuel Levinas reminds us: “The face resists possession, resists my powers… the face speaks to me and thereby invites me to a relation” (197-8).₃ By truly (not virtually) facing me, the Other “puts me in question and obliges me” (207), for in front of the face “I always demand more of myself.”₄ If we lose sight of the living face and embodied reality of our opponent, we lose sight of their humanity. If we lose sight of their humanity, we lose sight of the ethical obligations their humanity imposes on us.

Treating others as ends not means

All human beings have an intrinsic value. To recognize others as ends in themselves requires honesty—not only in our narration of their actions and intentions, but in our representation to them of our actions and intentions. Treating others as ends rather than as means precludes lying, evasion, and other forms of manipulative dishonesty designed to achieve some personal or political goal. Long before Kant, the talmudic teachers asserted the intrinsic value of humans and the prohibition against sacrificing humans to some other end. Even the divine law must be violated in service of preserving human life (bYoma 85b). And God himself is said to allow the obliteration of his own divine name, if doing so will restore marital harmony (bChullin 141a; Leviticus Rabbah Tzav 9:9).

When all is said and done, the practices and principles outlined here are informed by a single overarching and almost maddeningly simple talmudic principle: don’t do to others what you would not have them do to you (bShabbat 31a). You would not want others to narrate your actions and intentions, especially not falsely or uncharitably. You would not want to be shamed (in excess of the inevitable shame arising from a just due process), and certainly not for errors or unintentional harms. You would not want to be denied an opportunity to give an account of yourself, to learn, to apologize, to change, to grow; and you would not want to be instrumentalized. The conclusion is obvious: don’t treat others in these ways.

We live in a world of difference. We can choose to be destroyed by our differences or be nourished by them. I’ll wager that the latter plots the better course. Educating ourselves and others to embrace the practices and principles of strong, diverse communities is not a “one and done” effort. It requires compassion and patience. Each dawning day sees the birth of new humans who must learn to manage disagreement and recognize that difference is the undeniable plan of Providence. The labor that lies before us is unending. It is the labor—and the purpose—of a lifetime.

This article appears in Sources, Fall 2021