Tazria: In Praise of Hypocrisy

Hypocrisy is the worst of all sins in the eyes of many. Anything else can be forgiven, other than advocating a standard that one personally does not live up to. There is, however, much to disagree with in this position, and in fact the very belief is the source of much moral harm.

To be fair, to a certain extent it is a question of semantics, how that word “hypocrisy” is being used. The above definition, failing to live up to one’s personal standards, is itself questionable. Nonetheless, it is the way the term is often used, and is a fair starting point.

Still, even that starting point itself is often unfairly assessed. Many accusations of hypocrisy are actually reflective only of arrogance and narrow-mindedness on the part of the accuser. That is to say, the allegation is sometimes that the accused opposes a specific action or attitude and yet is comfortable with his own indulgence in that attitude. Often, however, the claim of inconsistency is subjective; the accuser takes the two cases to be comparable, and thus it is hypocritical of the accused to treat his own beliefs differently than he does those of others; but the accused may simply disagree that the two indeed are comparable, and thus the allegation merely boils down to differing opinions as to what is or isn’t in the same category.

Still, there are occasions when the accused is genuinely guilty of subscribing to a double standard of one expectation from others and a different one of himself. Nonetheless, it is still unfair to paint him with the dreaded label of “hypocrite”, when, in truth, it is actually simple inconsistency.

True hypocrisy, if we are willing to define it differently, can be acknowledged as an egregious offense, actual fakery in the representation of one’s true beliefs and essence. The Rabbis condemned such behavior as not only false, but dangerous for society and demanded that such hypocrites (“chanafim”) be exposed and their harmful potential neutralized (Yoma 86b; see Resp. Mishpetei Uziel, II, YD, tinyana, 46).

But if inconsistency, or even blindness to one’s own double standard, is to be equated with hypocrisy, and termed the summum malum, the greatest evil, then humanity and morality are being severely undermined.

This is true because of both elements of the assertion: the labeling of “hypocritical” inconsistency as the worst of all crimes; and the downplaying of every other “non-hypocritical” offense: why should one be excused for egregious misbehavior simply because he has not taken a public stance against it? Limiting the condemnation of evil to only those who have expressed their own opposition to that behavior is the definition of subjective morality.

Inconsistency may be a flaw, but it is hardly evil; it is a deeply human attribute, and, in this regard, “There is no righteous man in the land who does good and does not sin.”

This is a point that has been asserted homiletically in a creative, multi-level play on words that is associated with this week’s Torah reading.

The portion this week deals with “negaim”, or blemishes on the body that are deemed ritually impure, and the rabbinic literature teaches that they are physical manifestations of spiritual failings. One who suspects he is carrying such an affliction is to be inspected by a Kohen, which is deemed “reiyah”, which literally translates as “seeing”. The mishnah (Negaim 2:5) teaches that the Kohen is authorized to inspect the blemish of any other person, but not one on his own body.

The Hebrew formulation of that rule is “Kol negaim adam roeh chutz mei-atzmo.” A Chasidic homiletic interpretation sees the application as more metaphorical, rendering the phrase as “one is able to recognize all (moral) blemishes, other than his own.”

Taking the interpretive license a step further, the founder of Chassidism, the Baal Shem Tov, is reported to have re-punctuated the phrase, putting a comma after the word “chutz”, and then rendering the message: “all blemishes that one sees in others are actually of his own.” (See Divrei Shalom, Korach, p. 56b). This is essentially a restatement of a more explicit Talmudic declaration: he who disqualifies others is doing so with his own disqualification (Yoma 70a).

Both of these interpretations, the first teaching of a tendency towards double standards, and the second describing the phenomenon psychologists call “projection”, speak to universally recognizable traits. In fact, among all the creative wordplay, one Hebrew word here may be the most significant: “kol”, all of the blemishes, all of the people, all of the time. What is being described here is a basic human tendency. To label this the worst of all sins is to indict all humanity.

Everyone has a natural bias towards themselves and their own self-image. Jewish law recognizes that “a person is a relative of himself” and no expectation of objectivity exists in one’s assessment of self.

This may be a flaw, and it certainly can be an impediment, but it is one that is natural and common to all. Not only is the hypocrisy label unfair when applied in this case; it creates a stigma and a resultant defensiveness that is harmful in its own way, in that it deprives us of a crucial teaching tool. One who appreciates the truth that his criticism stems from his personal failings is imbued with a new awareness that can lead to self-correction. (See Toledot Ya’akov Yosef, Pekudei, p. 74d)

In truth, the tendency towards internal inconsistencies need not even be termed a flaw, but rather a crucial element of humanity’s makeup, a feature rather than a bug. R. Chaim Yaakov Goldvicht (Asufat Ma’arakhot, Shemot, pp. 62-67) asserted that the contradictory instincts are not actually negating each other, but rather each reflects a reality being emphasized differently. The same emotional and psychological energies that drive one behavior are capable of generating its precise opposite, and this is not a defect to be corrected but the very mechanism through which meaningful moral life becomes possible. One can channel pride into humility, self-regard into regard for others, and self-interest into generosity, all from the same root impulse. The demand, then, is not to eliminate the tension but to become sufficiently self-aware to recognize which tendency is active at any given moment and to consciously redirect it toward its nobler expression. What makes this so difficult, R. Goldvicht notes, is that our habituated daily experience normalizes these contradictions and renders them invisible, so that the urgent question of how the heart sustains two opposing forces simultaneously never even registers, and the discipline of mussar, of ethical training, is necessary to make that question felt again.

He stresses that the problem is not “contradiction” as such, but unconscious contradiction. When a person is simply dragged by impulse, the self becomes fragmented and inconsistent. But when guided by moral discipline, those same opposing forces become a sign of depth. One can be exacting toward oneself yet generous toward others; one can feel one’s own obligations in full force while refraining from pressing another person harshly; one can preserve self-respect without letting it cancel love of one’s fellow. In that sense, the inner split is not hypocrisy but a structured moral complexity.

Acknowledging and confronting our inconsistencies is an incredibly productive path towards growth. It behooves us to embrace our humanity in this way and examine it for its vital lessons. If it is indeed true that we are most likely to be critical of failings that we possess ourselves, that very instinct can be a source of incredible insight.

When the biblical Joseph revealed himself to his brothers, who had until then known him only as the mysterious viceroy of Egypt, his words are, “I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?” The midrash saw in this simple statement an expression of devastating rebuke, despite its brief, non-accusatory character.

The Beit HaLevi pointed to the hidden rebuke in this case. Immediately prior to this statement, Judah had argued the case that basic decency demanded that Benjamin be returned to his brothers to be taken back home: How can we return without Benjamin? Our father will die of grief. The responsibility will be ours to bear. How can you countenance such cruelty?

Joseph’s response exposes the staggering blind spot in this argument. Throughout Judah’s speech, the brothers have positioned themselves as the ones who truly understand what it means for a father to lose a beloved son, and they have cast the Egyptian viceroy as the callous one, indifferent to such suffering. They speak as though the very idea of depriving Jacob of his child is a moral horror that any decent person should recoil from, implicitly condemning anyone who would inflict such pain.

“Ani Yosef”. I am the son you sold into slavery, the one whose absence has tormented our father for over two decades. “Ha’Od Avi Chai?” Is he even still alive after enduring that loss? You stand here in judgment of someone else’s supposed indifference to a father’s grief, while you yourselves are the ones who caused it.

This is the power of negiah, asserts the Beit HaLevi, the way self-interest distorts perception. We are quick to identify moral failings in others while remaining oblivious to identical patterns in our own conduct. We possess blind spots about our own behavior that can only be shattered when someone holds up the mirror with unflinching clarity.

Judah is not remembered as a “hypocrite”. On the contrary, the very name Yehudah is associated with his earlier courage to acknowledge failure. Here too, advocating a value one had not yet fully lived up to became the occasion for moral awakening.

This is similarly one of the major salutary impacts that emerge from parenthood. Many a parent has hesitated in admonishing their children for behavior that they themselves partook of in their own childhood, for fear of being labeled a hypocrite; or have not hesitated, and indeed found that epithet hurled at them. However, here as well, a vital opportunity is being lost. It is understandable and human that one first fully appreciates the nature of their own past behavior when put in a position to guide the behavior of others. This epiphany is a normal and beneficial element of the human experience, and it is far more important that it be allowed to be instructive, rather than be eschewed for fear of that dreaded accusation.

Similarly, this instinct can be helpful in the appreciation of others as well. The Torah (Lev. 19:18) exhorts us to love our fellow “as ourselves”, a clause that has prompted much analysis as to the nature of its demand. One illuminating explanation is provided by the HaKetav V’Hakaballah, who saw it in the context of judgment of others. He refers here to what is now known as the fundamental attribution error: judging others’ behaviors as reflective of their actual character, while the same behavior undertaken by the one doing that judgment would be seen as a function of circumstances rather than one’s essence. The suggestion, then, is that one can sensitize themselves to this human tendency, and harness the generosity with which they interpret their own actions and direct it toward those of their fellow as well.

There are additional benefits to de-stigmatizing this tendency towards inconsistency. The mishnah (Avot 4:1) teaches that one who is truly wise is one who “learns from every person”. There can be many targets of this dictum, but one of them may be the very common circumstance of an individual who refuses to accept constructive criticism from another, due to that person’s failure to live up to his own words, his “hypocrisy”. However, if we can let go of that stigma and separate the message from the messenger, we can be receptive to a correct lesson that comes from a flawed teacher.

(A similar point is made by R. Baruch Epstein in his Baruch She’amar and by the author of the Pardes Yosef in his introduction. Both reconcile this dictum with another Talmudic statement (Tamid 32a) that defines wisdom as ha-roeh et hanolad, which is often defined as anticipating future consequences. They argue for a different reading, seeing the theme as looking at the nolad, i.e that which is created, rather than the molid, the one who does the creating. In other words, being able to appreciate the truth of a message, despite the unimpressive messenger. Thus, both statements defining wisdom are talking about the same thing.)

Rabbi Norman Lamm, in a 1965 sermon focusing on the theme of hypocrisy (Derashot L’Dorot, Gen.;”Sincerely Yours”), also dealt with dispelling misunderstandings of the term, and with some possible positive elements. In that context, he quoted an article by George P. Eliot (Harpers, March 1965) to the effect that standards are necessary for society to be elevated, even when it is known that they will be violated behind the scenes. “A certain amount of official hypocrisy is one of the operative principles of a good society… Civilization behaves as though men are decent in full knowledge, but they are not.” Similarly, David Hume: “the common duties of society usually require it… It was impossible to pass through the world without it”.

Judith Shklar, in her book “Ordinary Vices”, devotes a chapter to considering hypocrisy as a candidate for the dominant offense against morality. Yet, she also acknowledges: “We assume that our public roles carry greater moral responsibilities than our private ones. We expect to behave better as citizens and public officials than as actors in the private sphere. The whole concern about corruption in government turns on that, and it does yield immense hypocrisy, but pretended virtue may curtail graft and similar license as well.”

The truth of the point becomes sadly evident when considering the next line, written more than forty years ago and, unfortunately, clearly not written today: “It is… no longer acceptable in the United States to make racist and anti-Semitic remarks in public.” Certainly, if that was hypocrisy, it is one that we long for today.

It can go even further than that. It can be asserted that not only is hypocrisy forgivable, but it is required. If one did indeed live up to the standards that he advocates, he would also be blameworthy for his limited moral aspirations. If, as the Vilna Gaon asserted, we are given life so that we can refine our character, it is necessary that we continuously set a standard that is beyond the one we currently satisfy. Living up to our standards means that we have aimed too low.

Perhaps this explains the mysterious “Kol Nidrei” ritual that is the opening event of Yom Kippur. This dramatic recitation, at least according to one opinion, asks for absolution for a failure to fulfill commitments in the previous year, while also declaring that one should not be bound to commitments undertaken in the coming year. An odd statement to make as one begins the process of trying to convince God to grant him absolution and to trust his dedication to righteousness in the coming year.

To turn to another sermon of Rabbi Lamm, on Yom Kippur Night of 1964, he spoke of what he called “the Royal Reach”. He described the need to always aspire to a level greater than one’s current stature. He quotes the poet Robert Browning: “a man’s reach should exceed his grasp”. On this premise, it is appropriate and necessary for one to deliberately set a standard for himself that is beyond what he can currently attain.

With this perspective, maybe there is some understanding that can be brought to the placing of Kol Nidre at the opening of Yom Kippur, perhaps even stated with some pride. Yes, we are declaring, it is true that we have failed to live up to the commitments we have made in the past year. However, there is a good reason for that: we had, as we were supposed to, set very lofty goals, that by design were beyond our grasp.

The fact that our aspirations have been beyond our capacities is actually an argument on behalf of our repentance and our potential for the future. And, yes, we can proudly say as well, that we expect to be here again next year, once again asking for release from our obligations. Anything less than that would be an inexcusable failure of religious ambition. Kol Nidre is about proudly acknowledging we set our sights too high, as we should, and if we are granted life, we will do it again next year.

The United States of America turns 250 years old this year. That original founding was accompanied by the Declaration of Independence’s announcement that “all men are created equal”, which brought with it accusations of hypocrisy, as many of those who signed that document, and notably Thomas Jefferson himself, owned slaves.

This contradiction endured for more than a hundred years; Frederick Douglass proclaimed that “for revolting barbarity and shameless hypocrisy, America reigns without a rival.”

No less an American patriot than Abraham Lincoln seemed to agree; in his 1855 letter to Joshua Speed, he wrote that the circumstances in America could lead him to prefer to live in a country like Russia, “where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocrisy.”

Yet, twelve score and ten years after that seemingly insincere declaration, how grateful are we for the standards set by those flawed framers, who laid down words that their future countrymen would strive to collectively honor, as a slow evolution as it was? As Yuval Noah Harari writes in his book Nexus (p. 59), the genius of the U.S. Constitution is that “it was able to provide mechanisms to reach agreement on amending itself and remedying its own injustices … Less than a century after the Constitution was written, the Thirteenth Amendment abolished slavery.”

Jefferson could have tried to minimize the contradiction, as George Mason did in the contemporaneous Virginia Declaration of Rights, using the language, “all men are created equally free and independent and have certain inherent natural rights when they enter into a state of society”, the last words amended for the purpose of excluding slaves. Jefferson’s draft said “all men are created equal and independent”, and then he deleted the word “independent.” He didn’t hold back from critiquing the practice that he himself perpetuated, writing in his original draft that “the slave trade was a cruel war against human nature”. He called slavery “a moral depravity” and “a hideous blot” in 1785, in his “Notes on the State of Virginia”.

In 1776, slavery was legal in roughly 95% of the inhabited world. The “hypocritical” declaration was the first major political crack in a global institution that had been “consistent” for millennia. Would history have been served better by more honest founders who had never reached beyond their current state?

Ultimately, this inconsistency, whether or not it is called hypocrisy, is certainly an imperfection and should be addressed. The question is which path does one take: remain in one’s lowly place so as not to be tarred with that label; or accept the stigma, seeking ultimately to escape the dreaded label while enduring it in the process.

Finally, it must be emphasized that there is a genuine hypocrisy that is indeed despicable. When an individual or group accuses others of behavior that they are themselves guilty of, that is a flaw, but an understandable one, in light of the human tendency to bias and self-deception. In contrast, when a third party, who has no such recourse to that universal human frailty, is grossly selective in their outrage, directing it at one party while sparing another party equally or even far more guilty, no defense is available.

In that case, there are only two explanations: The first is that the moral critique was never genuine; at best, empty virtue signaling and, at worst, utter fakery.

The second is even worse. The accusation is a function of aggression against a disfavored party, devoid of any moral character and exclusively defamatory . When parties who claim to stand up for women’s rights or oppose genocide relentlessly hurl accusations at Israel and spare or even defend Hamas, this is not flawed human behavior. This is moral absurdity, it is facilitating and enabling evil, and it amounts to evil itself.

There is “hypocrisy” that is, in truth, mere inconsistency and is understandable and even constructive. There is true hypocrisy that turns the world upside down. The actual egregious crime to be feared is not knowing the difference.