We will begin by recapping the gist of our last shiur.  We argued that there are two attitudes which may be called "pride," but which in reality are totally different from one another: self-esteem and arrogance.  When the sources denigrate "gaava," we claimed, they are referring only to the second; the first, upon examination, turns out to be the basis of humility.  Conversely, praiseworthy humility is always associated with healthy self-esteem.  Lack of self-esteem leads to the damaging feeling of worthlessness.

I would like to cite a few more statements made by Rav Kook in Midot Ha-Re'iya which illustrate this.  The first example contrasts the psychological effects of the two types of anava (Anava 11):

Genuine humility and lowliness increase health and vitality, whereas the imaginary (humility) causes illness and melancholy.  Therefore, one ought to choose for oneself the traits of humility and lowliness in their clear form, and thus become strong and valiant.

Here we are given a rule of thumb for distinguishing true humility from its bogus look-alike (ibid.  7):

Whenever humility brings about melancholy, it is invalid.  But when it is worthy, it engenders joy, courage and inner glory.

Rav Kook has this to say about the relation of self-esteem and humility (8):

At times we should not be afraid of the feeling of greatness, which elevates man to do great things.  And all humility is based on such a holy feeling of greatness.

Let us now take the discussion further.  The groundwork we have laid requires us to elaborate on two problems our approach seems to arouse.  The first is an apparent paradox implicit in our definitions of anava and gaava.  We diagnosed gaava (arrogance) as stemming from lack of self-esteem - the wallowing pre-occupation with one's past achievements, which is needed to compensate for the missing conviction of self-worth.  Yet, on the other hand, lack of self-esteem can also lead to the opposite pole: a person lacking self-esteem is wont to conclude that he really is without worth as a person.  Shouldn't that, at least, be considered humility? Can such an individual be faulted with gaava?

The answer is that when self-esteem is gone, the addiction to praise is virtually unavoidable.  It is certainly there, even in the supposedly humble man.  The fact that a person is convinced of his "nothingness" doesn't commend him as an "anav," to whom honor is meaningless; it merely means that he has despaired of getting the adulation he sorely wants, from others and/or himself, on the basis of positive accomplishment.  Therefore, he seeks refuge in the one illusion of achievement which is within his grasp: being an "anav."  The distorted mind thinks that humility - one of the highest virtues - can be had easily.  In this view, one need not even attempt to actually do anything worthwhile, for the mark of the "humble" person is that he does not have the "arrogance" to believe himself capable of anything.  Cowardice masquerading as virtue, obsession with honor configurated to resemble lowliness of spirit, the hollow illusion of effortless achievement paraded as a substitute for true self-worth - these are the characteristics of one who facilely declares himself as "nothing."

Genuine anava, on the other hand, says, "I am capable of doing much more, and therefore - I must." Illustrations from the lives of gedolei Yisrael abound.  Think of the Chafetz Chayyim, a man of legendary humility.  Does it seem anomalous to you that a humble person would consider himself worthy of writing the encyclopedic Mishna Berura, in which he takes upon himself to decide for Klal Yisrael in all Halakhic matters pertaining to daily life, and to be the arbiter between all previous authorities, such as the Magen Avraham and the Pri Megadim? In fact, we possess the personal record of Rabbenu Bachaye ibn Pakuda, author of the ground-breaking Chovot Ha-levavot, who writes (in the introduction) that he found himself facing this anomaly:

When I planned to execute my decision to write this book, I saw that one like me is unworthy of writing a book such as this.  I surmised that my ability would not suffice to analyze all the necessary aspects, owing to the difficulty which I perceived and to my wisdom being insufficient and my mind being too weak to grasp all of the issues, and that I am not fluent in the Arabic language in which I wrote it (that being the language best understood by most people today).  I feared that I would toil at something which would evidence my inability, and that it would be a presumptuous undertaking, so that I considered changing my mind and abandoning my previous decision.

Rabbenu Bachaye, very frankly, tells us that his "humility" at this point was really concerned with "how will it look" ("something which would evidence my inability").  Fortunately for all succeeding generations, he was perceptive enough to overcome his "modesty:"

But when I designed to remove this laborious burden from myself and desist from composing the work, I reconsidered and became suspicious of myself for having chosen to rest and to dwell in the abode of laziness in peace and tranquility, and I feared that it was the desire of the (evil) passion which was placing this thought (within me), and that it was he who was diverting me to the way of composure and peace... and I knew that many minds were lost out of apprehension, and many losses have been caused by fear.  And I remembered what someone said: "Vigilance dictates that one not be excessively vigilant." ...And I said, if all those involved in good causes and teachers of the straight and correct path were to remain silent and still until they could completely attain their ideal, no man would ever say a word after the Prophets of blessed memory who were chosen by God and strengthened by His help... And I realized that people have a great natural desire for ill purposes, and are negligent in the ways of kindness, and behave with laziness when it comes to advancing good... And when they see an object of desire, they invent falsehoods in order to justify their inclination to it, and they rely on those arguments to sustain and strengthen their (natural) inclination...

Rabbenu Bachaye's account of false modesty unmasked, speaks for itself.

The second issue which needs to be clarified has to do with another of the central concepts of Jewish ethics: guilt.  When I use this term, I am of course referring not to the objective fact of guilt (so-and-so is guilty of theft, etc.), but to guilt as a subjective feeling.  Unlike the modern view which sees guilt feelings as unnecessary psychological baggage, our tradition views them as an essential component of teshuva (repentence).  Rabbenu Yona, an early Mussar (and halakhic) authority, claims that the quality of teshuva is a function of the depth of guilt (Sha'arei Teshuva 1.12):

The level of the penitence and its merits are in relation to the degree of the bitterness and the force of the agony (felt by the penitent).  This is the penitence that comes by way of purity of the spirit and clarity of the mind.  For the greater the mind - the more the eyes are opened - the agony of thought should likewise increase exceedingly ...For agony (over sin) comes from the the purity of the uppermost soul, and the soul becomes accepted again (by God) more than it would have been as a result of physical suffering and pain. 

If we are to consider profound feelings of guilt ethically desirable, we should then ask: what are the thoughts and attitudes which bring them about?  I suspect that many people would answer that the "guilty" person is the one who thinks that his life is devoid of worthy accomplishment, ridden with iniquity, and above all - he takes the foregoing as proof of his total worthlessness as a person.  The depth of guilt is taken to be in direct relation to the attitude of self-nullification.  Doesn't the self-esteem, which we have been advocating, preclude genuine guilt?

While the interpretation of guilt as a declaration of "nothingness" has a superficial, melodramatic appeal, it is just as deceptive as the same interpretation with respect to humility.  The truth is that a person without self-esteem is completely incapable of genuine guilt.  Can a cripple be faulted for not running a marathon?  How can I blame myself for any shortcoming, after having convinced myself of my impotence?

Rav Soloveitchik ztz"l once pointed out that Chazal had an odd term for the declaration which the Halakha requires to be made every three years, after having discharged the duty of tithes: they called it "vidui ma'asrot," literally meaning "confession regarding tithes." The content of the declaration is:

I have removed the sacred produce from my home, and have given it to the Levi, the stranger, the orphan and the widow, in exact accordance with Your commandment of me; I have not transgressed Your commandment, and I have not forgotten it... I have done all that You commanded me. (Devarim 26:13-14)

Hardly what one could call a "confession!" The Rav suggested that by calling this a "vidui," the Sages wished to impress upon us that any confession of sin must include, in order to be meaningful, the realization that I am a spiritual being with spiritual achievements.  Only then can I really feel the weight of sin.  Only then can I honestly say, as is customary on Yom Kippur eve, "temehim anu al nafshotenu" - we are astonished at ourselves, how could we possibly have behaved in a way that so un-becomes us.

I believe that the barrier which self-nullification poses to self-rectification is at the core of one particularly dramatic Biblical episode, which I will try to analyze (Shemuel I, chap. 15).  Judgmental treatment of such a great figure as Shaul is not to be engaged in without trepidation.  However, the Biblical account was written for us to learn from; let us proceed in that spirit.

Shaul has returned from his successful battle against Amalek.  He is met by the prophet Shemuel, who at God's bidding had sent Shaul on the mission.  Shaul is exultant:

"Blessed are you unto God - I have upheld God's word!"

In this jubilant atmosphere, Shemuel is faced with the unpleasant task of pointing out the reality: Shaul's failure to do his duty.  Shemuel tactfully tries to change the mood:

"And what is that sound of sheep in my ears, and the sound of cattle that I hear?"

Shemuel is trying to conjure up the words that he had used to send Shaul on his way.  Shaul had been commanded to "have no mercy," and kill all the Amalekites and their livestock, "every ox and sheep, every camel and donkey."  However, Shaul, evidently oblivious to the allusion, answers:

"The men brought them from the Amalekites, for they had mercy on the best of the sheep and the cattle, in order to sacrifice them to the Lord your God; and the rest, we destroyed."

The dialogue unfolds as follows:

And Shemuel said to Shaul, "Be silent and I will tell you what God has said to me this night;" and he said to him, "Speak."

And Shemuel said, "See, though you are small in your eyes, you are the head of the tribes of Israel, and God has anointed you as king over Israel.  And God sent you on a path, saying, 'Go and wipe out the sinners, Amalek, and fight them until you have destroyed them.' Why didn't you heed God's voice, but went after the spoils, and did evil in the eyes of God?"

And Shaul said to Shemuel, "Truly I heeded the voice of God, and I went on the way which God has sent me.  I brought Agag the king of Amalek, and Amalek I destroyed.  And the men took from the spoils sheep and cattle, the best of the take, to sacrifice to the Lord your God at Gilgal."

And Shemuel said, "Does God desire burnt offerings and sacrifices as much as he desires the heeding of His voice?  Now obedience is better than sacrifice, harkening than the fat of rams.  For disobedience is as sinful as witchcraft, and obstinacy is as evil as idolatry.  Since you have despised the word of God, He has despised your kingship."

And Shaul said to Shemuel, "I have sinned, for I transgressed the mouth of God and your words, for I feared the men, and I heeded their voice."

The most puzzling aspect of this dialogue is Shaul's prolonged insistence that he is blameless.  Not only does Shemuel's first remark fail to elicit a confession, but even his explicit rebuke merely prompts Shaul to once again claim that he had faithfully discharged his mission.  Only after Shemuel tells him that God no longer wants him to reign, does Shaul break down and admit the truth.  Why?

I think we can understand this if we notice the diagnosis of Shaul's sin as recorded in this conversation.  Shaul says of himself, "I feared the men, and I heeded their voice."  Shemuel says to him, "Though you are small in your eyes, you are the head of the tribes of Israel."  One is the outgrowth of the other.  Shaul feared the men, because he was small in his eyes.

Imagine one who is small in his eyes, who is unsure of his self-worth, who is appointed king of Israel.  How does he relate to this office?  The right way is to set aside all self-doubt.  There can be no greater personal assurance than the fact that God Himself has chosen him for this unique position.  With his self-esteem affirmed and strengthened, with his ego unthreatened, the king sets out to perform his appointed task "for the sake of Heaven."

But there is a wrong way, the way for which Shaul is now being chastised.  He allows the evil inclination towards self-doubt to persist, even after becoming king.  Now the kingship means something else altogether - the king who is small in his eyes must use his kingship to PROVE himself, to protect his insecure ego.  The allegiance of the people becomes his addiction.  He is not motivated to serve in his capacity for the benefit of his people or to do God's will.  Rather, he holds on to his crown for dear life, for without it he is worth nothing.

Shaul was faced with the prospect of mutiny among his troops.  He was aware that the order to refrain from all despoiling would be a test of his leadership.  If Shaul were relating to the monarchy, as he should have, he would have had the self-confidence to do all he could to enforce discipline.  He would have been willing to risk failure, because God expects him only to do what he can.  But Shaul feared the men, because he NEEDED to be king.  If they flouted his will, he would no longer be the king, and the peg on which he had hung his self-worth would be gone.  He could not afford to put himself to the test.

But now Shaul found himself in a bind.  For while he could not bring himself to risk the disobedience of his troops, neither could he admit, to himself or to anyone else, that he was afraid to take that risk.  For that very fear was itself the cruelest evidence that Shaul was, in fact, not the king.  A true king enforces his decisions, and does not worry about disgruntled subjects.  Facing up to his fear would mean admitting that he was ruled and manipulated by his soldiers.  The crown on his head would be exposed as hollow and meaningless.  That is why he could not accept responsibility, even when the facts were placed plainly before him. 

If our understanding is correct, it also clarifies what ultimately enabled Shaul to confess.  It was the discovery that his behavior had caused God to desire the cancellation of his reign.  Now he saw futility of all the maneuvering to maintain the facade of rulership, and he was at last enabled to face the truth openly.

Shaul, then, symbolizes the tragedy of self-nullification.  It is a soul-paralyzing state, which thrusts one into a dream world of false values, and renders the true challenges of life invisible.  Grappling with guilt, taking responsibility - the things which require courage, and without which repentance is out of the question - are within our reach only if we believe in ourselves, as possessing the powers of those created in the Divine image.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] At this point I call attention once more to the problematic aspect of partial quotations.  I raised this matter in the footnote to lesson no. 2.  In this case, however, I do believe that Rav Hess's position is rather well-represented by the passages quoted here.