Is it ever possible to act with a totally pure motive?

In many areas of theology and religious endeavour we are confronted by a tension and a need to compromise between sublime ideals on the one hand and the realities of practical human necessity on the other. One example of this conflict is the question of purity of motive when performing good deeds – a matter than Judaism Reclaimed explores in the context of this week’s parashah.

Commenting on Ya’akov’s request that his son, Yosef, perform true kindness (chessed ve’emet) in burying him, Rashi teaches that

“Kindness that is performed for the dead is kindness of truth [chesed shel emet] since one does not expect to receive a corresponding payment”

Rabbi S. R. Hirsch notes that Ya’akov was aware that this request would be deeply unpopular with his family, which was already looking to integrate into Egyptian society and seeking to demonstrate loyalty to its hosts. In his Meshech Chochmah, R’ Meir Simcha of Dvinsk comments that it was precisely for this reason that Ya'akov felt the need to trouble his sons with the task of carrying his body out of Egypt: so that neither their initial desire to integrate nor the subsequent years of exile and servitude would cause them to lose sight of their destiny of reaching the Promised Land.

These insights lend even greater meaning to Rashi's explanation: not only would those undertaking the burial journey go unrewarded for their efforts, but they would be acting against their own political judgment by displaying such overt identification with their land of origin. As the Midrash teaches, burying the dead is the most genuine chesed that one can perform since the recipient can neither know nor show gratitude. And the chesed is particularly altruistic in this case since the burial process involved Yaakov's sons placing the wishes and judgment of the deceased ahead of their own.

The principle of chesed shel emet forms part of a great emphasis which Judaism places on a person’s motive for performing mitzvot and studying Torah 'lishmah' (for its own sake) rather than in the expectation of receiving any reward.

In his Introduction to Chelek, Rambam writes that the concept of lishmah refers to a standard of conduct that is very difficult to understand, let alone achieve, since a person's natural inclination is to act only in a way that brings him tangible benefit. Nevertheless, we find that the sages expect that we perform commandments for the sake of ahavah (love), thereby condemning not only clearly negative motivations, such as honour and greed, but even more commendable stimuli such as the desire to receive reward in the World to Come or fear of punishment. This echoes the famous Mishnah of Antigonos Ish Socho (Avot 1:3) that we should not serve God "in order to receive a reward".

But is such a goal really practical and achievable? How should people go about trying to educate their children – and indeed themselves – in this matter?

Rambam is fully aware of the severity of this challenge, providing a sobering analysis of the realities of human behaviour and aspiration. He writes that in the absence of an intense and genuine effort to identify with and appreciate the Torah’s moral and spiritual goals, one is condemned to a perpetual cycle of selfish and worldly motivations in which the concepts of lishmah and ahavahremain well beyond one’s grasp.

In a pointed parable, Rambam starts by describing a child, whose Torah teacher provides sweets and treats as a form of bribery in order to attract the interest of his young student. While the child may learn and succeed in his studies, his motivation is far removed from the profound truths of the Torah and the perfection that this can confer upon him, being premised solely upon receipt of the confectionery that is dangled before him. As this child grows and matures, his tastes become more sophisticated, and the sweets and treats are gradually replaced by monetary prizes. Eventually, as an adult, this child may have now attained a degree of wisdom, but his motivation will be to attract a desirable marriage offer, gain renown, or receive a position of honour and prestige.

In this biting critique of those who amass such superficial wisdom without ever contemplating and achieving a deeper appreciation of its value, Rambam in effect equates the adult – even one who has attained great scholarship but is motivated to study by external benefits —with the young child whose teacher offers him a sweet in order to teach him to read. In neither case is the person in question inspired by the inherent truth and value of the Torah and connection to God, but rather by the lo lishmah of the side benefits available.

In order to escape the clutches of the jealousy, lust and honour-seeking which naturally govern a person’s interactions with the world, one must obtain a recognition and appreciation that the final purpose of wisdom and truth is knowledge and morality in their own right. It is for this difficult goal that the sages permitted one to engage in Torah and mitzvot initially for ulterior motives – mitoch shelo lishmah– since it is only through gaining and contemplating the Torah’s wisdom that one can gradually achieve a more mature and meaningful relationship with God and His Torah.

First posted on Facebook 1 January 2023, here.