Since When Was Chassidus Meant to Be Self-Serving?

By Rabbi Yosef Y. Cohen

In the past few weeks, we have had three thoughtful articles wrestling with essentially the same question: What is Chassidus supposed to do to a person? Is it supposed to speak to our emotional lives? Should it be “relatable”? Can we have authentic Chassidus that also addresses the person sitting in the room?

The articles disagree with one another in important ways. But I think they all miss the most basic point.

Imagine we were having the same discussion about Gemara. “What is the point of learning Gemara if it doesn’t change you?” “Gemara has to lead to practical avodah.” “We need to make Gemara relatable to people’s lives.” “Learning Gemara is meaningless if the person remains exactly the same.” We would rightly respond: What kind of question is that?

We learn Gemara because it is Torah. Because this is what Hashem taught Moshe Rabbeinu. Because the chochmah of Torah is the chochmah of Hakadosh Boruch Hu. Certainly, the Torah changes a person. It is supposed to change a person. But that is not why Torah is Torah.

Nobody would suggest that a person who sits for three hours learning a sugya in Bava Kama has somehow failed because he cannot point to an emotional or spiritual benefit he received from it. He learned Torah.

So why do we suddenly need a different justification for Chassidus? Chassidus is Torah all the same.

But there is more to it. The Rebbe addresses this issue in the Kuntres “ענינה של תורת החסידות.”

The Kuntres discusses the many different maalos that are found in Chassidus. Chassidus enables a person to understand Elokus. It brings the deepest concepts of Torah closer to human understanding. It affects the person. It has implications for avodah. One could easily take all of these things and say: This is what Chassidus is for. But the Rebbe says precisely the opposite.

“מובן ופשוט כדלקמן, אשר תורת החסידות היא נקודה אחת שאינה מורכבת מפרטים שונים.”

The different maalos do not define what Chassidus is.

“מהותה של החסידות היא נקודה עצמית המופשטת מענינים פרטים, אלא – מצד נקודתה העצמית, נמצאות ומסתעפות ממנה מעלות הנ”ל.”

The various qualities of Chassidus are not its essence. They are הסתעפויות from its נקודה העצמית. They are extensions stemming from its quintessential point. And what is that נקודה עצמית? The Rebbe describes it as “המשכת בחי’ א”ס שנמצא ברדל”א.” And then comes the line that is especially relevant to our discussion:

“כי מכיון שהחסידות היא המשכת בחי’ א”ס, הרי מובן ופשוט אשר ‘אין סוף’ הוא העצמי, וכל שאר הענינים אינם אלא נמצאים ומסובבים ממנו.”

In other words, even when we speak about the many things Chassidus accomplishes, we must not confuse those things with what Chassidus essentially is. They are הסתעפויות. They are consequences. They come from the נקודה העצמית. They do not define it.

We have become used to asking what Chassidus is for. Is it for avodah? Is it for bittul? Is it for better middos? Is it for emotional health? Is it for meaning? Is it for personal transformation? But the Rebbe is telling us that even the greatest מעלות that we can name do not define the essence of Chassidus.

Chassidus certainly has to affect avodah. The Rebbeim demanded avodah. Chassidus is not meant to remain an intellectual exercise disconnected from a person’s life. But that doesn’t mean avodah is the reason that we learn Chassidus.

There is a difference between “Chassidus leads to avodah” and “I learn Chassidus in order to produce avodah.”

If I sit down to learn Chassidus because I want to become a better oved Hashem, I already changed the nature of the learning. I’m taking something that should be learned because it is Torah and making its effect on me the purpose. That’s a form of shelo lishmah. Chassidus should certainly make me a better oved Hashem, but I learn it because it is Torah. The avodah comes because of what Torah is.

And if that’s a subtle form of shelo lishmah, how much more so when the stated purpose is emotional well-being: “I’m learning Chassidus because it helps me feel better,” or “because it gives me emotional stability,” or “because it helps with my anxiety,” or “it helps me understand myself.” Now the Torah has become a means toward my own emotional state. The learning has turned toward me, and that’s the opposite of what Chassidus teaches.

This is especially relevant because we are living in a time when “wellness” has become almost a religion of its own: “How am I feeling? Am I okay? Am I fulfilled? Am I regulated? Am I healing?” And now even Torah is being asked to answer those questions: “What does Chassidus do for my anxiety? How does it help my self-esteem? How can it improve my relationships? How can it make me happier?”

There’s nothing wrong with being healthy. There’s nothing wrong with getting therapy when therapy is needed. There’s nothing wrong with dealing responsibly with genuine emotional difficulties. But there’s another phenomenon, and that is when the obsession is with emotional wellness itself. We can become anxious about our anxiety. We can become preoccupied with whether we’re sufficiently healthy.

We can spend our entire lives checking our internal dashboard: “Am I okay? Am I sufficiently happy? Am I processing my feelings properly?” At a certain point, the person has become completely preoccupied with himself.

One of the greatest things Torah can do for us is take us out of ourselves: Look at Hashem. Look at Torah. Look at another Yid.

The irony becomes particularly striking when this is done with Chassidus. Chassidus is the part of Torah that teaches bittul. It is the Torah that replaces the self (אני) with “אין עוד מלבדו.” And somehow we turn it into a sophisticated system for becoming more preoccupied with the “אני.”

Despite their thoughtful insights, the recent articles are all missing the same point. One warns against reinventing Chassidus through psychology and emphasizes that Chassidus is about Elokus and avodas Hashem. Another responds that the nimshal of Chassidus must ultimately reach the person and that Chassidus cannot leave the person behind. The third argues that perhaps we can have both authenticity and relatability.

These are important discussions. But all three are still largely taking for granted that the fundamental question is what Chassidus is supposed to do to the person.

Kuntres ענינה של תורת החסידות demands to take one step back. Before asking what Chassidus does to me, perhaps we should ask what Chassidus is. And the answer is not another function, not even “avodah.” The various מעלות we can identify in Chassidus do not define its essence. They all come from the נקודה העצמית.

That means that even “Chassidus changes a person” is not a definition of Chassidus – it’s a result. “Chassidus brings a person to avodah” is a result. Even the fact that Chassidus can illuminate a person’s inner life is a result. And certainly emotional wellness cannot become the definition.

This also changes the way we should understand the word “relatable.” If relatable means understandable, accessible, well taught, and properly communicated, absolutely. If it means that a mashpia should know how to explain a maamar to the person sitting in front of him, certainly. If it means showing how the truth of Chassidus actually enters into avodah, of course.

But if “relatable” means that the Torah must first become relevant to my psychological world in order for me to value it, we have gotten the order backwards. Perhaps I don’t need to make Chassidus relatable. I need to learn to relate to Chassidus.

Perhaps I need to encounter something that is bigger than my emotional world, something that does not exist to validate me or to make me feel better, something that simply is אמת.

I don’t have to walk into a maamar asking, “What am I going to get out of this?” I can walk into a maamar asking, “What does Torah have to tell me about Hashem?”

And then something remarkable may happen. I may become a different person. I may daven differently. I may become more battel to Elokus. I may become more sensitive to another Yid.

I may even become less anxious. But that’s not why I learned it. I learned it because it is Torah.

We’ve been arguing about whether Chassidus is about us or not about us, whether it should be authentic or relatable, whether it should change us or speak to us. Perhaps the answer is much simpler.

Chassidus isn’t something we were given to make our lives better. It is something we were given because it is Torah, because it is Elokus, because it is a גילוי of the deepest נקודה of Torah. And precisely because of what it is, all those other things can come from it. The avodah, the bittul, the refinement, the transformation, the ability to see another Yid differently, even the healing of parts of ourselves.

But let’s not confuse the הסתעפות with the נקודה. Let’s not turn Elokus into therapy or Torah into wellness. Let’s not make avodah the reason to learn Chassidus, and certainly not our emotional well-being.

Let’s learn Chassidus because it’s Chassidus. Because it is Torah. Because it is Elokus. Because “אורייתא וקוב”ה כולא חד.”

And then, please G-d, let it change us.