On Defining Me

How do I define myself. As the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy states, “definitions have interested philosophers since ancient times” (https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/definitions/). In my favorite dialogue of Plato, Euthyphro, Plato attempts to define piety. In his most famous work, The Republic, he attempts to define justice. St. Anselm attempted to prove the existence of God, but to me, he only defined God, telling us basically “that for God to be God, God must be God”. As a teacher, it was essential for me to define my terms so that my students and I were on the same page, so to speak. But how do I define myself? Do I define myself by what I was paid to do, be a teacher? I am also a son, a brother, a cousin, an uncle, a husband, a father and a grandfather. I was not paid to be them, but are they still a part of my definition? I was captain of my high school basketball team my senior year.  Can I define myself as an athlete? I am in the process of writing this, so am I a writer? I have read works of philosophy and taught them. Does that make me a philosopher? My parents were both Jewish, so, by definition, that makes me a Jew. 

    As a teacher in a Jewish day school for 27 years, I attempted to define what being a Jew meant. I was born in America, so by definition, I am an American. Am I a Jew in America, a Jewish American, or an American Jew? Is the definition of a Jew someone who practices the Jewish religion? Or it is just the fact that someone’s mother was Jewish? What about someone’s father? What if you are not religious, does that make you a Jew but not Jewish? These definitions are all very particular qualities that define me. Are they a sub-specie of definitions, and the only true definition of me is that I am a homo-sapien, a human? I have more in common with all humanity than with my particulars. I was born, like every human is born. I have the same biological functions as all humans. And I will die, like all humans. 

Defining myself this way tells me there is nothing unique about me. From this perspective, I am an average human being. I come by it naturally. In 1964, when I was 12 years old, David Brinkley produced a documentary called “Election Year in Averagetown”. My hometown, Salem, NJ, was statically shown to be the most average town in America. I am of average height and weight. I have always thought of myself as having average intelligence, smarter than some, but not as smart as others. I felt the same way about my athletic ability, better than some, but not as good as others. But there is something inside me that would not settle for average. Something that drove me to be better. I have a certain curiosity that drove me to know more. College was not enough. It drove me to graduate school. It drove me to try to excel as a teacher. The more I taught, the more I wanted to learn. I was not satisfied with the same lessons year after year. I wanted to add something new, something I felt more enlightening, both for me and for my students. I do not know if my students realized this. Some I only taught for one year. Even if they had me for more than one year, the subject was different so they could not compare it to my lessons on that subject from previous years. Is the drive to excel part of my definition of myself? I played competitive basketball into my fifties. A hip replacement ended my career. If my body did not abandon me, I would still love to be playing. Unfortunately, today I only compete against myself—how far can I walk, how many weights can I lift, how can I keep my weight down. 

Rabbi Ben Zoma told me that to be a hero, I must conquer my own inclinations. Are they to be lazy and fat? Can I define myself as a hero in the struggle against myself? Do all humans have that drive to excel? If that is so, that I am not unique, but just another average human, struggling with the day to day, and trying to make the best out of what I can. Does competition derive from a basic struggle to survive? Our primitive ancestors clearly had it harder than we do today. We compete today for wealth, power, and prestige. They competed for the basic requirements of survival—food and shelter. Would they have defined themselves as survivors? The longer they lived, and apparently their life span was much shorter than ours, the more they survived the perils of their existence. Would they define themselves by the modes of their survivals? Would a hunter just define himself as a hunter? Or a farmer just as a farmer? I am a hunter as well. I hunt in the grocery stores for the best product at the lowest prices. Should I define myself by my likes and dislikes? I like meat, so do I define myself as a carnivore? I grew up eating meat every day. Now, for health reasons, I try to limit the amount of meat I eat. 

I also only eat kosher meat, so that too becomes part of the definition of myself. What drives me to keep kosher also drives me to be part of a community that follows this ritual and others as well. And so, I am back to defining myself as a Jew. I take pride in this definition of myself. There are many reasons for it. First, there is the historical. As an American living in suburban Philadelphia, I take pride in Philadelphia’s role in creating America. I still visit the historical sites—Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, and the Betsy Ross House. I feel I am part of tradition that spans hundreds of years. For my Jewishness, it spans thousands. I take pride in the intellectual accomplishments of my Jewish ancestors. It starts with the Hebrew Bible, the most influential text of Western Civilization. Without it, there would be no Christianity or Islam. Once Western Europe became enlightened, Jews were allowed to enter the secular world. It was a significant loss to the Jewish world. What if Einstein was a rabbi and not a physicist. I know this has been overstated, but Jews make up only .2% of the world’s population but have won 25% of the Nobel Prizes. If I define myself as a Jew, do I have a right to claim the accomplishments of Jews as part of my own? Can I take pride in the accomplishments of America? I, as the rabbis did before me, struggle with the paradox of my definition.

     On the one hand, I am just an average human, whose time in life makes up .0000000006% of the universe’s existence. If homo sapiens have been around for 200,000 years, then I make up .00045% of humanity's existence. The Book of Ecclesiastes describes this as hevel, our existence is a mist or a vapor, without substance, and is gone is a flash. And, according to Ecclesiastes, I am one of the billions and billions of average humans that have existenced, but whose existence will be forgotten. On the other hand, Mishna Sanhedrin 4:5 states, “the world/universe was created for me.” My life is the most important thing there is. I have no knowledge of the existence of the universe before my birth, and I have no guarantee that the universe will continue after my death. It is all here for me to explore and to learn and to experience all that life has to offer. There is so much to love in this world. Since this is my world, I want to fill it with love as well—love of myself, for as Rabbi Hillel stated, “if I am not for myself, who will be for me?”, my family, the beauty of nature, food, music. There is so much to love. So, I wonder, why is there hate.