The Maggid of Mezrich asks a question fundamental to Chassidic doctrine. A man can compel himself to perform a physical act. Thus, he can force his hand to give charity even though his heart is not in it. He may compel his mind to study or to meditate even though he may have no real desire to do so, and he does it only because he considers it the proper or necessary thing to do. But how can one force himself to love, or to fear, or to refrain from hatred on command? If one feels love within his heart, then he has that feeling, but if he does not, what good could a commandment do?

This brings us to another basic Chabad doctrine – the relationship between intellect and emotion. Chabad asserts that man is capable of controlling every aspect of his life. Just as he can control his actions, so, too, he can control his thoughts and his emotions. Thoughts and feelings are no more products of chance than are deeds.

The concept of moach shalit al ha-lev, the mind has dominion over the heart, is rooted in the Torah, but the Alter Rebbe explains it as the basis for a system of serving G-d. Man may relinquish his mastery over his emotions, and permit himself to become their pawn, but that is a decision on his part, not something which he "cannot help" because it is "part of his nature." He may not be able to control his heartbeat, but he can control his heart’s feelings if he so desires. The key is his intellect. Appropriate meditation on G-d’s greatness will lead man to feelings of awe and reverence; thoughts of G-d’s kindness will inspire him with sentiments of love and gratitude.

The verb ve’ahavta, "you shall love," is used to introduce both the mitzvah of loving G-d (Deut. 6:5) and that of loving one’s fellow (Lev. 19:18). The key to generating both kinds of love is the same - the use of the mind, and development of the intellect in such a manner that the heart will reflect the conclusions of the mind, that thought and feeling will be harmonious, both of them having been developed by man as a free being.

Love of another is not necessarily spontaneous. Some people are eminently unlovable. Nevertheless, they, too, are re’acha, "your fellow," flesh of your flesh, or, better, soul of your soul.

Hillel said to the prospective convert to Judaism, "Whatever is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow man. That is the entire Torah, The rest is interpretation. Now go and study." (Parenthetically the last sentence frequently gets lost in the shuffle of quotation.) How could Hillel say that all the other commandments in the Torah are "commentary" on the one mitzvah of not doing to others what one would not like to have done to oneself? Obviously, mitzvot involving relationships between human beings can be classified as "commentary" to this commandment. For instance, we do not want to be robbed ourselves, so we also should not rob others. But can mitzvot pertaining to relationships between man and G-d be called "commentaries" to mitzvot governing inter-human relationships? How do the mitzvot of, say, wearing tefilin every morning or eating matzot on Passover, offer comment on "love your neighbor"?

The explanation lies in the attitude toward body and soul and the relationship between the two. In chapter 32 of the Tanya, the Rebbe declares: There can be no genuine feelings of love and brotherliness among those who stress the body and regard their souls as secondary. They can attain no more than a love that is dependent on some (external) factor." The man-G-d relationship requires an acceptance of the soul and its values. Without this acceptance of the soul, the Tzemach Tzedek (R. Menachem Mendel, grandson of the Alter Rebbe) explains, the physical body is at least dominant if it is not the totality of man, and in that case, what deep bond can there exist between man and his neighbor? Except, perhaps for utilitarian considerations ("I’ll stop when I get the red light, and I hope you’ll stop when you do"), man has no identification with another, no reason to sacrifice his welfare or even his personal comfort for another, for he is a separate entity, with no link to his fellow man. So the man-to-man mitzvot are contingent on accepting the soul.

The common soul is the only bond that joins people, for physically they are separate, unconnected. The soul, then, is the basis for man-to-man mitzvot, just as it is the basis for man-to-G-d mitzvot.

Of course, there are many "non-religious" individuals who are highly moral and ethical. But they did not create their own ethical codes; they inherited them. There is a moral and cultural reservoir, as it were, of which some partake even though they deny the wellsprings of that reservoir. The point here is that the ultimate reason for the stress placed on the mitzvah of loving one’s neighbor is not mere sentimentality. Mathematicians, I understand, can "create" entire universes with laws different from our own, and so it is not surprising that moralists can articulate ever more noble ethical declarations. The Torah presents us with a consistent system, which places man and his fellow into a definite context, gives meaning to life and to human relationships, and is powerful enough to inspire man to place something other than himself at the center of his universe. The "non-religious" person is not independent of religion.

In Ahavas Yisrael we have a core principle presented as the basis for all mitzvot, in essence eliminating categories such as "man-man relationships" and "man-G-d relationships" except for purpose of convenience. Neither category of mitzvah can exist without the other, nor, in fact, is either truly distinct from the other. One’s relationship with G-d is dependent on one’s love for his fellow. When man’s love for another is determined by "external factors," then when these factors fall away, the two individuals must clash. An interpersonal relationship can survive external changes only if it is an encounter of soul with soul.

But "soul" is a tenuous concept, impalpable and invisible to the naked eye. Human encounters involve "external factors" that conceal the soul. Let us review a Chabad concept that should lead us to an understanding of the soul.

Chabad differentiates between etzem (essence) and hispashtus (extension). The former is irreducible, concealed, incorruptible, and constant. The second is obvious, manifest, and in a perpetual state of flux. When speaking of a "thing" of any kind, we must remember to distinguish between etzem and hispashtus; if we do not do so, we may become confused, or assume a conflict where none exists.

For example, in discussing G-d, the authors of classic Rabbinical literature describe Him in different terms, and often seem to disagree with each other, sharply at times. Recognizing the distinction between etzem and hispashtus largely eliminates what appear to be conflicts. The Sages who seem to disagree are simply describing different aspects of hispashtus, the "external" aspect of G-d, and each author is correct.

When we speak of G-d’s hispashtus, we might understand it better by studying man. Man, being created in the image of G-d, gives us insight into G-d, and whatever we can perceive of G-d’s "nature" will give us insight into ourselves.

Let us examine etzem and hispashtus in man. Chassidus frequently refers to the three "garments" of the soul: thought, speech and deed. It is primarily on the basis of these three that we relate and respond to others. We are attracted, or repelled, by the thoughts, words and acts of the other.

Man’s thoughts, however, are not identical with his self. Chassidus maintains that intellect and thought are virtually identical with etzem, because thought is directed inward; no other person is aware of what you are thinking at any given moment. Also, thought is constant – appearances to the contrary notwithstanding, no mind is ever truly blank. The activity of thought would seem to be identical with that of the soul, for both activities go on unceasingly. However, soul is not mind. The individual has thoughts, but he is not synonymous with thoughts. Thoughts change. What was not understood yesterday is clear today; what was accepted yesterday is challenged today. Man’s intellect grows. "Man" and "intellect," "man" and "thought" are not synonymous.

Speech is further removed from man than is thought. While thought is self-contained and can flourish in isolation, speech is a form of communication to the outside and presupposes the existence of another individual. And since, as Koheles puts it (3:7), there is a "time to keep silent and a time to speak," speech is not constant but intermittent. Actions, of course, are quite distinct from the person. Take the table before you. Whoever made this table may be long dead, but this does not affect the existence of the table, which is the product of his actions. Thought, speech, and action, then, the manifestations of soul, are "externals"; nevertheless, we predicate our relationships on them.

Here Chassidus presents us with an abstraction that has tremendous possibilities for practical application. Do not be misled by hispashtus, the "externals," we are told. Rather, look to etzem, the incorruptible core, or, to put it more precisely, the soul. We may approve or disapprove of the soul’s "garments," but we must not confuse them with the person himself. We may detest his ideas, his language, or his actions; if so; let us teach him something better, but let us not look down upon him. His etzem is soul, and soul in turn is nothing less than a spark of G-d. Therefore, if you reject an individual you reject G-d, and that cannot be.

The challenge is twofold; it goes out to both the "observer" and the "subject." The observer is challenged to penetrate the subject’s shell, the husk and the chaff – the hispashtus – which are not the real person, and call forth the pristine soul, the spark of G-d within man. The subject, in turn, is challenged to bring his externals, the "garments" in which his soul is clothed, into harmony with his soul, to eliminate any contradiction that may exist between the essence of his soul and his way of life. That is what Torah is all about.

How can we acquire the quality of Ahavas Yisrael? If we recognize that the reality of the individual is not what we see, but what he is, and if we address ourselves to the neshama, the inner core, rather than to the outer shell, we will obtain a response. It is not enough for one who seeks to acquire Ahavas Yisrael to speak with his mouth alone. It is only when soul calls, that soul answers.

Reprinted from Think Jewish

Rabbi Zalman I. Posner is the author of Think Jewish.
He is the emissary of the Lubavitcher Rebbe to Nashville Tennessee.

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