The same principle applies to our subject: one who wants to break through the dullness of heart that comes from the yetzer hara should use the very same weapon that belongs to the yetzer hara itself.
Why does the Alter Rebbe need two examples?
The Alter Rebbe brings here both the first Gemara, "מיניה וביה אבא ניזיל ביה נרגא" ("from the forest itself comes the handle of the axe"), and also the expression "פגע בו כיוצא בו" ("he struck him with something of his own kind"). What is the difference between the two examples, and why is one of them not enough? The answer corresponds precisely to the two types of hisbonenus (contemplation) that we learned in chapter 29 and in chapter 30:
"מיניה וביה אבא ניזיל ביה נרגא": The axe that comes to chop the tree makes use of the tree itself, but the tree is not what does the chopping. The iron does the chopping, and the wood is only the handle to grip, an auxiliary tool. The wood does not strike the tree directly; it assists from a distance. This example corresponds to the contemplation of chapter 29, the contemplation of the hidden evil, which does not bring a person to outright sadness but only to a lowliness of spirit. One is not using the thing itself, only an indirect assist, like a handle.
"פגע בו כיוצא בו": Here the thing that strikes is the thing itself, direct contact with nothing in between. This example corresponds to chapter 30, where we point a finger at a person's revealed evil, at the fact that he is not struggling at all and that he is worse than the lightest of the light, until he becomes genuinely lowly of spirit, as we learned there at length. There a person arrives at an actually broken heart and at a more tangible sadness, because he is touching the thing itself.
Therefore, if a person feels lowliness of spirit and sadness even for a short while, there is nothing wrong in that. It is in the category of the first blow, which sets up the whole matter: when a person cannot manage to be aroused, he must use the yetzer's own technique. Sadness is not normally a weapon of holiness, for in holiness everything goes with joy; it is a weapon that comes from the side of the enemy, and with his own weapon and his own cunning we break him. That is why both examples were needed.
And about this it says: "בכל עצב יהיה מותר" ("in all sadness there is an advantage"). Shlomo HaMelech teaches that there is an advantage in sadness. What advantage? When it is used correctly, at the right time and in the right dose, it carries the advantage of beating down the yetzer, which opens the heart to arousal in davening and in avodas Hashem. And what is the benefit? "והיתרון היא השמחה הבאה אחר העצב כדלקמן" ("and the advantage is the joy that comes after the sadness, as will be explained"). After that blow, a person arrives at joy. As we will see later in the chapter, how does such a sharp transition from sadness to joy actually happen: how does a person who is crushed and sunk in sadness move, from one moment to the next, into joy? That is the key, and it will be explained in the second half of the chapter.
[It is worth emphasizing who is being spoken about here: not a person who is happy but is not an oved Hashem, but rather a person who is an oved Hashem, except that he cannot manage to be aroused because of the dullness and sealed-off state of his heart. To him the Alter Rebbe says: if the heart is sealed and the arousal does not come, that is a sign that the animal side is too coarse and needs to be beaten down. For this purpose various types of contemplation are brought, an entire chapter in chapter 29 and an entire chapter in chapter 30, and all of them have one goal: that a person should place himself in the right place and give himself an honest grade, until he sees himself as lower in spirit than the whole congregation davening with him. Even someone who is an oved Hashem and is joyful, in the moment that he gives himself an honest grade, not only will he not be joyful, he will be sad, low and broken. But there is a benefit in this brokenness, for it is the only way to teach a person. It is a descent for the sake of an ascent.]
The difference between atzvus and merirus:
Now we move to stage two. We said that the first stage really is sadness (atzvus), but the matter needs to be focused: what is atzvus? Even in Tanya, when the concept of atzvus is mentioned, it is only for a brief moment, and immediately one must move into the world of merirus (bitterness); and even merirus is not an ongoing order of avodah, since the normal order of avodah is joy. Sometimes the fine line between the two is lost and people do not even notice it:
Atzvus: the ultimate lowliness and descent, which leads a person to utter degradation. It is a feeling in which a person, as it were, enjoys his own wretchedness: "he feels good about feeling bad." It is not that he is looking for this state, but that he does not know how to get out of it, and the feeling drains all his strength until he sinks into himself. When people come to him and suggest that he do something, he answers that he does not want to do anything at all; he is submerged in gloom and in "feel sorry for me," and even if you put a few dollars in his hand to open a business with, he does not want to open anything and does not even want anyone to give him anything. From such a state there is no repair.
Merirus: the exact opposite, and it lifts a person up, builds him and brings him to joy. The person in merirus cries out inside himself: "Why am I in a state like this? What a shame that I am in it," and he does not sink into self-pity. There is chiyus (vitality) in him; he is angry at himself and he is searching: "How do I get out of this? How did I come to this? I have to leave this fast and run from here." He is not joyful at the moment, he is angry at himself, but he is full of energy and vitality, and he is not sunk in the gloom of the sad person who was compared in chapter 1 to earth: fallen and unmoving. The person in merirus is all movement, looking for any way out, and if someone offers him merchandise to start a business with he will jump at the opportunity, as long as he gets out of his situation.
A parable: a man is warned not to go into the sea. The sea is stormy, a red flag is flying and no one should go near. He answers that he knows how to swim, and in he goes. Once he is out there the waves begin to battle him, and another moment and he will drown. What is he feeling at that moment? "What a fool I was not to listen," and he is looking for how to get himself out of there. He does not sink; he begins to fight and grabs at every straw: where can I get out of here. He is not joyful, but he is also not in atzvus. He is in merirus over the situation he is in.
Such a person might indeed find himself in a hopeless situation, fighting the wind until he can fight no more. But in avodas Hashem there is no hopeless situation: it is always possible to rise, and it is always possible to repair. Therefore, when a person knows the truth of the matter, recognizes his situation, contemplates through an entire chapter (chapter 30), and admits to himself that he is not in a good place, but the conclusions he draws from that recognition are positive, then automatically he lifts himself up and looks for a way out of the whole matter.
And this is how the Tanya continues: "אך באמת אין לב נשבר ומרירות הנפש על ריחוקה מאור פני ה' והתלבשותה בסטרא אחרא נקראים בשם עצבות כלל בלשון הקודש" ("but in truth, a broken heart and bitterness of soul over its distance from the light of Hashem's countenance and its being clothed in the sitra achra are not called atzvus at all in lashon hakodesh"). A person who has a broken heart and feels bitter in his soul over having sinned and having done foolish things is not in atzvus at all.
What, then, is the precise definition of atzvus? "שליבו מטומטם כאבן ואין חיות בליבו" ("that his heart is dull like a stone and there is no vitality in his heart"). A sealed-off person who no longer wants anything, fallen and unmoving, lying at home all day, not wanting to go out or do a thing, and nothing interests him. Even if people call him to encourage him, it does not interest him, and he does not want to get out of his situation but wallows in himself. That is atzvus: there is no chiyus in his heart. Spiritually speaking he is dead, even though he breathes and eats.
But merirus and a broken heart are something else entirely. A person who is led through the gate of chapter 30, when there is no other choice, will not arrive, G-d forbid, at atzvus, but at a broken heart and at merirus, and that merirus is full of vitality and energy: "אדרבה הרי יש חיות בליבו להתפעל ולהתמרמר" ("on the contrary, there is vitality in his heart to be stirred and to feel bitter"). He is angry at himself and cannot find a place for himself: "How am I in this state? How did I come to this?" He is bitter over his situation, and he is searching for a way out of it. Merirus is not a standing path of avodah, but when a person needs it, this is the right path; and not only right, it is a necessary path.
"Gevuros of holiness":
The Alter Rebbe adds a precise point: "רק שהיא חיות מבחינת גבורות קדושות" ("except that it is a vitality from the aspect of holy gevuros"). As is known, among the sefiros there is chesed and there is gevurah: chesed is joy, openness and giving; gevurah is the opposite, contraction and closing in. A person in merirus is not in chesed and not in joy; he is in gevurah, but a gevurah of the world of holiness. Ultimately he will arrive at chesed, but right now he is using the world of gevurah, the world of merirus.
And how do we identify whether something belongs to holiness? If there is chiyus in it, it is holiness; and if it is dead, it is tumah. One who is full of vitality and force to search for a way out, that is holiness, and within holiness itself these are the "gevuros of holiness."
In summary: in this section we learned why the Alter Rebbe brings two examples for breaking the yetzer with its own weapon: "מיניה וביה אבא ניזיל ביה נרגא," corresponding to the contemplation of the hidden evil in chapter 29, which does not touch the thing itself but assists like a handle; and "פגע בו כיוצא בו," corresponding to chapter 30, where a person touches the thing itself and arrives at a broken heart and a tangible sadness. We looked at the verse "בכל עצב יהיה מותר," that the advantage in sadness is the beating down of the yetzer, and the benefit is the joy that comes after the sadness; and at the difference between atzvus, which is a heart dulled like a stone with no vitality in it, and merirus, which is full of chiyus and energy, a descent for the sake of an ascent and an aspect of "gevuros of holiness."
In the next section we will take up the second half of the chapter, and the Alter Rebbe's explanation of how a person moves from atzvus and merirus to joy.