Halakha and Morality: The Theoretical Picture (Column 541)
About two weeks ago I watched the film “A Priest’s Wife” on the Ma’ale School of Television, Film & the Arts website. The film presents a situation in which the wife of a kohen (priest) is raped, and a discussion ensues as to whether she can be permitted to remain with her priestly husband. I often cite the rule that a raped priest’s wife must separate from her husband as an example of a head-on collision between halakha and morality, and I think this film has added value in that context. I will devote two columns to this topic. In this column I will sketch the picture of the relationship between halakha and morality as I see it, and in the next column I will turn to discuss the film and the issue of a raped priest’s wife through that prism.
Halakha and Morality: Three Halakhic Categories
I have already addressed the relationship between halakha and morality (see, for example, in Column 15, and in greater detail at the beginning of the third book of my trilogy), but to my surprise, when I looked now I saw that I have not yet done so systematically here on the site.[1] Therefore, at the outset I will present my view more systematically, albeit briefly.
In this context, halakha can be divided into three categories: moral laws, a-moral laws, and anti-moral laws. Moral laws are laws that accord with moral principles, such as “You shall not murder,” “Honor your father and your mother,” charity, and the like. A-moral laws are laws that have no connection to morality, such as most dietary prohibitions (pork, orlah, chametz, and the like), ritual purity and impurity, Shabbat, all matters of sacrificial rites, and land-dependent commandments (perhaps excepting gifts to the poor), and so forth. These laws appear morally neutral and seemingly do not belong to the moral sphere at all. Anti-moral laws are those that clash with moral principles, such as the obligation that a raped priest’s wife separate from her husband, the killing of Amalekite infants, not saving a gentile on Shabbat, and the like. I will note that there are not many such laws, and it is quite clear that this is the smallest of the three categories. Still, the very existence of this category is what arouses the difficulty and the discussion about halakha and morality.
From the very existence of laws of the third kind, it would seem that God is not moral and does not demand that we be moral. True, there is a category of moral laws, but that could be coincidental. If He were moral, we would expect a complete match between halakha and morality. One can also see a problem of sorts in the second category, since it, too, indicates that not only morality matters to God and to the Torah. And it seems that even in the first category one can identify problems, since there too there are differences between the directives of morality and those of halakha. For example, in the laws of homicide, halakha distinguishes between “what is closer to the fire or closer to the object,” and discusses a killer by indirect causation (grama), a “metzamtzem,” and the like—distinctions that have no moral significance. From a moral perspective, one who murders with his left hand or opens a door for water or fire to kill someone is fully a murderer; yet halakha makes such distinctions.
These claims are, of course, not new. For example, the Maharal in Be’er HaGolah, Second Be’er (pp. 31–32 in the standard edition of the Maharal’s works), points to a difference between halakha and morality regarding the laws of returning lost property—seemingly belonging to the first category. He brings one example where halakha is stricter than morality and another where morality is stricter than halakha:
In Bava Metzia ch. 2 (21b) they said there that one is not required to return a lost item after the owner has despaired (ye’ush). This seems far-fetched to people: that a person takes what is not his, for which he did not toil or trouble himself, and covets another’s property. This is not in accordance with the “religion of civility” (dat ha-nimusit), for that code obligates returning the lost item even after the owner has despaired of it.…
And at times the “religion of civility” is exceedingly lenient… Therefore, according to that code, one must return a lost item after the owner’s despair, and this is a stringency. Conversely, if one found silver or gold vessels and announced them once or twice and no one claimed the loss for a year or two, he keeps them for himself and uses them, for there is no “repair of the world” (tikkun ha-olam) in returning them after he has announced them several times and waited a year or two or more; no one will come. But this is not in accordance with the Torah, for if one found silver or gold vessels and announced them many times, they are forbidden to him forever. Rather they must remain deposited until Elijah comes; he must never touch them. See how very strict [the Torah] is…
Halakha allows a person to take a lost item after the owner’s despair, even though morality obligates returning it. That is a stringency of morality compared to halakha. Conversely, if a person found very valuable items with identifying marks before the owner despaired, then even if the owner does not appear for many years, he must guard the items and not use them. That is a halakhic stringency, since morality would say there is no point in wasting such valuable items; if it is clear the owner will not receive them, there is no reason to keep them, and there is even a consideration to allow their use so at least someone benefits from them.
Halakha and Morality: Basic Approaches
For our discussion, let us begin with the third category. Several approaches can be found to reconcile the tension between non-moral halakhot and morality. I would divide them into three principal directions:
- Morality is a category without authority. According to this approach, from a Torah perspective there is no place for another normative category beyond halakha, and therefore moral imperatives have no authority. We observe moral halakhot because halakha commands them, not because they are “moral,” but a moral command as such has no independent force. Halakha represents all our obligations. According to this view, one could even say that being obligated to morality alongside halakha is a kind of idolatry, for it is a commitment to another source of authority besides God.
Leibowitz wrote that morality is an atheist category, and that is apparently what he meant. Many have wondered, however, how he rebuked us for immoral behavior (the “occupation,” etc.) if this is an atheist category. As a believer he should not have been bound by it. I believe I once saw an article by Eliezer Goldman explaining that his intent was that this is a category not related to halakha and the divine will, but it obligates the religious person just like the secular one as a parallel category. Yet this is essentially a dualistic conception—commitment to two distinct sources of authority—what in halakhic jargon is called “shituf.”[2] I will return to the idea of parallelism below.
This approach seems very problematic. The Torah itself instructs us to “do what is right and good,” and it rebukes Cain for murder even before there was a command forbidding it. The Torah contains quite a few directives that clearly show morality matters to it.
- Halakha encompasses morality. According to this approach, behind every halakha that appears to contradict morality lies a deep moral explanation that we presumably do not grasp. Halakha is the true moral command, and if morality seems to contradict halakha, that is an error in our understanding of morality. One must understand that on this view, there may be halakhot of the second category, but there are no halakhot of the third (those that contradict morality—the contradiction results from misunderstanding). According to this view, halakha has moral aims that are expressed in laws of the first type, but laws of the second type pursue other values. Laws of the third type certainly do not contradict morality, but it may be that they, too, pursue other (non-moral) values.
This approach also seems problematic on its face. For example, halakha forbids saving the life of a gentile on Shabbat. What moral explanation could align with such a prohibition? Is there no value to human life, even that of a gentile? Similarly with the separation of a raped priest’s wife from her husband. The assertion that a deep moral principle unknown to us lies behind this sounds like empty evasion. Either one defines morality by halakha (see on the Euthyphro dilemma in Column 457), or one empties morality of content, because it is not really what we think it is. In that case it is merely an empty definition. Each of us knows what is moral and what is not, even in these situations. I do not see how one can claim that manifestly non-moral directives are the ultimate morality. It is reminiscent of Orwellian brainwashing: “Slavery is freedom, ignorance is strength,” etc.
In passing I will note that the implicit assumption here is that there is no such thing as “Jewish morality” or “divine morality.” Morality is morality is morality, and it is universal by definition. That does not mean there are no moral disputes, but in such disputes there is a right and a wrong answer; hence there is no meaning to adding an adjective like “Jewish morality” or “Christian morality.” There is morality, and we all understand what it says (save for marginal disagreements). See more on this in the appendix to this column.
- Halakha is morality. R. Kook apparently held such a view, and therefore in several places he went so far as to claim that all of halakha is nothing but morality. He essentially denies even the existence of the second category (a-moral laws). In his view, all that halakha seeks to achieve is morality, and in the latter two categories—those that seem disconnected from moral considerations or even to contradict them—that is merely our erroneous interpretation. At bottom there is a moral idea. In a sense, for him there is no halakha, only morality, and what we call “halakha” is ultimate (divine) morality.
This approach also seems problematic, since vast swaths of halakha appear unrelated to morality in any way. The moral explanations R. Kook proposes for various halakhot, for example in his LeNevuchei HaDor, seem very forced and far from satisfying as interpretation.
We therefore seem to face a broken cistern. How, nonetheless, can we understand the relationship between halakha and morality in a way that is both reasonable and convincing rather than forced, and also fits the facts (what we find in the Torah and halakha)?
Religious Values and Moral Values
I believe the solution lies precisely in reflecting on the second category, the a-moral laws. If we do not accept the speculations about hidden moral values underlying them, the natural conclusion is that the Torah has other aims—non-moral values—and these laws come to achieve them. Let us call them “religious values.” The prohibition against eating pork, or the laws of sacred offerings, do not come to achieve moral aims or realize moral values, but to achieve religious aims. What exactly are those aims? I do not know. For all I care, it could be “rectifying eternity in Hod,” or assisting God in some obscure spiritual matter. I truly do not know, but the existence of such laws indicates this is the case. At times it is easy to identify such aims; for example, the laws of sacrificial worship are intended to bring the Shekhinah to dwell among Israel. That is not a moral goal but a religious one, and the values realized by these laws are not moral values. Prohibitions like pork or orlah are harder to understand.
But even with regard to sacrifices, it is not clear why they are offered specifically in the ways halakha defines—that is, the details of the laws in these areas also remain unclear, apparently aimed at achieving religious objectives or values. I have often been accused that this conclusion is irrational or illogical, but I think that accusation is baseless. A rational person should accept conclusions that follow from facts and good arguments even if he does not understand them. Therefore, the fact that I do not understand those aims does not mean they do not exist. For example, we do not grasp quantum theory either, but the facts indicate it is likely correct. Should we reject it because it contains elements we do not understand?! I previously cited the story of a fellow from our yeshiva who suffered from hepatitis for about half a year; when they brought him a “witch” who placed pigeons on his navel, the pigeons died and after a few days he recovered and returned to the yeshiva. Should a person with a rational approach disbelieve the story? In my view, if the witnesses were reliable (and they were), one must accept the story and seek a rational explanation for what happened. That is a rational approach, as opposed to a rationalist approach that refuses to accept unintelligible phenomena even when they have a strong, reliable basis.
So too with a-moral halakhot. Their existence can be explained in two ways: either moral aims underlie them that I do not understand, or other types of aims underlie them. Since we understand morality well, saying there are unknown moral aims here is implausible. The natural conclusion is that there are other aims—namely, that the Torah strives toward religious values. This conclusion is not fully intelligible, but at least it is not absurd. As Sherlock Holmes said, after eliminating the impossible, what remains—however improbable—must be the truth. That is the meaning of the second category (the a-moral laws). We can now also understand the meaning of the remaining two categories.
The Meaning of the Third Category
I will begin with the third category. If indeed the Torah strives toward religious values, then there is no need to seek a moral reconciliation for the laws of this category. It may be that they, too, pursue religious values, except that in their case this pursuit harms moral values. Such conflicts do not constitute a logical—nor even a moral—problem. Often, striving for one value comes at the expense of another, and it is impossible to fully realize both. In such a case we must decide which value prevails and be prepared to pay in the coin of harming the other value.
Even when only moral values are involved, such conflicts exist. Often there are clashes between moral value A and moral value B, and we must decide which prevails. Therefore, if our arsenal of values includes both moral and religious values, there is no impediment to a clash arising between a religious value and a moral one, and there too we must decide which prevails. But the mere existence of a clash poses no problem—neither logical nor ethical. My well-known chocolate parable illustrates this: Reuven says it is worthwhile to eat chocolate because it is tasty, while his colleague Shimon says it is not worthwhile because it is fattening. Who is right? Both. There is no contradiction: chocolate is both tasty and fattening. Do you see a logical problem in that claim? Certainly not. The question is what to do in practice; that is a conflict, not a contradiction. A person must decide which value prevails for him—pleasure or health. The existence of such a conflict is not a logical or other problem, only a practical dilemma. Moreover, one who decides to eat the chocolate is not thereby indifferent to health, just as one who refrains is not necessarily indifferent to pleasure. Each can be fully committed to the “values” of pleasure and of health, but in practice he must choose what to do.
So too with a clash between a religious and a moral value. Consider the raped priest’s wife: the religious obligation to preserve priestly sanctity requires her to separate from her husband, even though moral values say that obligating them to do so is a moral wrong. Even if we decide to require them to separate, that does not mean the Torah or God is indifferent to moral values. Certainly morality is important in their eyes (“Do what is right and good,” etc.), but the religious value overrides the harm to the moral value. The same with saving a gentile on Shabbat: the religious value of Shabbat observance overrides the moral value of saving a life.[3] Does that mean the Torah is indifferent to moral values? Absolutely not. This is a complete solution to the halakha-and-morality difficulty, even if it does not resolve the practical conflict. I will not enter into that here; I will only say that in most cases halakha will prevail, but not in all. I discussed this extensively at the beginning of the third book of the trilogy and in my lecture series on halakha and morality (and a bit in Column 15, where I distinguished between incidental and essential conflicts. I will not enter into that here).
Sectarian (Secular) Critique
Yisrael Shach was a Jerusalem chemist who liked to level harsh critiques at halakha and the religious. Among other things, he published cases (at least some of them fictitious) about a gentile who was left to die so as not to desecrate Shabbat, or a raped priest’s wife who was compelled along with her husband to separate; these sparked a stormy debate and harsh criticism of halakha and its adherents.
The underlying assumption of these critiques was that such directives reflect indifference on the part of halakhists to moral values. As we saw above, this is a logical error. The religious arsenal includes religious values in addition to moral ones, and sometimes when a conflict arises between them we act in a non-moral manner. That does not mean we are indifferent to morality; it means that sometimes it is overridden by a religious value. A secular person has only moral values and no religious ones, so he does not understand that the religious person faces a conflict and interprets it as indifference to morality. But that is a mistake, since he judges the religious person by his own values (=the secular critic’s; see Column 372 on criticizing a person according to his own premises). One must understand that if the critic were attacking my commitment to religious values, that would be a legitimate debate like any other. But there the sense was that the secular critique did not attack my commitment to religious values but rather my lack of commitment to moral values. That is, there was a sense that the religious are immoral even by their own lights. This is, as noted, a logical error.
Let me now return to the halakhic categories and move to the first.
The Meaning of the First Category
The interesting question that remains is: what is the meaning of the first category (the moral halakhot)? From the existence of such a category one might conclude that halakha includes both morality and religious values. That is, apparently we arrive at the second approach, according to which halakha includes morality and therefore contains both moral and religious values. But I wish to argue something more radical: halakha and morality are two independent categories. There is no inherent link between them, and therefore morality is not included in halakha but is external to it. This, of course, leads us to the question of the meaning of the moral halakhot.
I already noted that even in halakhot belonging to this category there are differences between them and morality. As I understand it, this means that even these halakhot do not strive to realize moral values but religious ones. When the Torah forbids murder it does not intend to inform us that murder is morally reprehensible, but that it is halakhically prohibited. It was morally reprehensible even before the command (as I noted regarding Cain), and the Torah wished to say that one who murders transgresses also a religious prohibition and not only a moral one. Therefore there are differences between the moral judgment of one who murders and the halakhic judgment of him. If he killed by indirect causation (grama), he is morally a scoundrel no less than any ordinary murderer. But there is no religious transgression in such a case (at least not a full transgression of “You shall not murder”). There is some practical overlap between these two categories (both forbid the same acts, with certain differences), but there is no reason to assume that the overlap will be complete or that it indicates categorical identity. If halakha does not strive for moral values, there is no reason to think the halakhic parameters of the prohibition of murder must coincide with the parameters of the moral prohibition.
Thus, the differences in the parameters of the first-category prohibitions between halakha and morality prove that halakha is indeed indifferent to morality. That does not mean that the Torah or God is indifferent to morality. In Column 456 I showed that the authority of morality is based on divine legislation, and without it morality has no force. I noted here that the Torah itself writes “Do what is right and good,” meaning that one must act morally. But that verse is not counted among the commandments according to any of the enumerators I know. The meaning is that morality is indeed God’s will and the Torah’s will, but it is not part of halakha. The conclusion is that God’s will is divided into two distinct, independent categories: religious values (that is halakha) and moral values. This is very close to approach 2 above, except that here morality is external to halakha. It is an additional category, beyond halakha, within the divine will or the Torah’s will.
This returns us to an earlier remark. By definition, morality is universal. There is no Jewish morality and another morality. There is morality, and it obligates all people according to the same criteria and values. What is distinctive about Judaism is halakha—only halakha. The moral component in the Torah’s value-arsenal is universal, and only the halakhic component (the religious values) is particularistic. I will return to this in the appendix.
We can now answer a question many have asked: Why did the Torah need to command prohibitions such as murder, theft, and other moral prohibitions (the so-called “rational commandments”)? Seemingly, all these were known and binding even before the command; what does the command add? Recall that Cain was reproached for murder even before there was a command. To my mind, none of the proposed answers is convincing. In the picture I describe, however, the answer is very simple and natural: the command is needed to say that there is also a religious prohibition here and not only a moral one (and consequently a halakhic punishment). Without the command there would have been only a moral prohibition. In this picture the question does not arise at all. “Rational commandments” do not mean the command is superfluous; rather, that we would have performed the act even absent its definition as a command—but then it would not be a commandment, only a good deed (like the commandments the Patriarchs kept before the Torah was given).
The conclusion is that the motivation to perform these acts also changes: after the command, when I refrain from murder or help another, I am to do so also out of commitment to the halakhic command, not only from moral motive. Commandments require intention (kavanah), even the moral commandments. These too are commandments, not (only) moral values. Of course I do them also because of the moral imperative (which is also God’s will), and therefore I should have a double motivation. This does not necessarily address what should be in my consciousness at the moment of performance, but rather the principled motivation. There is nothing problematic in the claim that a person acts or refrains from acting on both motives together. The upshot is this: even if I were not committed to morality, I would do this; and in such a case, even if my conscious motive is moral, I am considered to have fulfilled a commandment. Conversely, if I would do it even if there were no halakhic command, then I can be seen as a moral person.
Yefat To’ar (The Captive Woman)
In Column 15 I dealt with the permission to rape a gentile captive woman in war (the law of “eshet yefat to’ar”). There I argued that the fact that there is no halakhic prohibition does not mean the Torah is indifferent to it on the moral plane. My claim was that this permission only means there is no halakhic prohibition, but morally the Torah’s attitude to such an act can be entirely negative. Hence a halakhic decisor asked about it should answer: indeed there is no halakhic prohibition here, but morally it is absolutely forbidden.
It would seem that the Sages already allude to this when they say the Torah spoke here “against the evil inclination”—that is, this is a reprehensible act permitted only because war must focus on the enemy and not on the soldier’s urges. The assumption is that prohibiting it would harm the soldiers’ ability to fight, and therefore the Torah permitted it. The natural conclusion for a situation in which we can demand restraint from soldiers, as is accepted today, is that there is certainly no place for such a halakhic permission. But that still does not say what I am saying here, because that argument addresses only the halakhic plane and does not address the moral question. On the contrary, one might infer that halakha does care about morality, and only here it permits this moral issue because of considerations of morale and warfare.
But that is a mistake. As I noted there, the Sages and the commentators in this passage are not addressing the rape of the captive. The problem of rape hardly troubles any of them. The problem they address is the halakhic prohibition of intercourse with a gentile woman. That is the problem the commentators see in this permission, and only of that do they speak when they say the permission was given post factum, “against the evil inclination.” The moral prohibition of rape does not arise in the passage there and does not trouble the Sages, commentators, or decisors. One could claim this shows indifference to morality (or prattle about a lofty “Jewish morality” no one understands), but to my mind it is more reasonable that this silence indicates an understanding that halakha deals only with the religious aspects and not with the moral ones. In the religious aspect (intercourse with a gentile), there is a permission against the evil inclination, but the moral aspect (rape) is left to our understanding and decision, and halakha does not address it. Not because it is unimportant, but because it is a different, extra-halakhic category.
Two Sources
This thesis seems to me simple as an egg—and in fact quite necessary. The alternatives do not sit well with the facts (halakhic) and with logic. For some reason, however, many people recoil from the conception I presented here, and so I will bring two sources that support it (see also here): the Ran in his Derashot, Derush 11, and the Maharal in Be’er HaGolah, whose main points I cited above with omissions I will now complete.
The Ran writes there, among other things, as follows:
But in my eyes the plain meaning of the verse is as follows. It is known that humankind needs a judge to judge among its members, for otherwise each person would swallow his fellow alive and the world would be ruined. Every nation needs a civil order for this, to the point that a sage said that even a band of robbers agreed among themselves to practice righteousness. Israel needs this no less than other nations. In addition, they also need it for another reason: to uphold the laws of the Torah, and to punish those liable for lashes and those liable for capital punishment who transgress the laws of the Torah, even though the particular transgression entails no loss to civil order at all. And there is no doubt that in each of these two aspects circumstances will arise—one requiring the punishment of a certain person according to true justice, and another where it would not be fitting to punish him according to true just judgment, but it would be necessary to punish him for the sake of maintaining civil order and according to the needs of the time. The Blessed One designated each of these aspects for a distinct office and commanded that judges be appointed to judge true just judgment, as it says, “They shall judge the people with righteous judgment,” meaning: the judges are appointed for this—what is the scope of their authority? Their whole purpose is to judge the people with true just judgment in itself, and their authority does not extend beyond that. And because civil order is not perfected by this alone, God completed its correction with the commandment of the king.
And we will further clarify this by positing one side of the matter: We learned (Sanhedrin 40b): “Do you recognize him? … Did you warn him? … Did he accept the warning? … Did he kill within k’dei dibbur?” There is no doubt that all this is appropriate from the perspective of just judgment: why should a person be executed if he did not know that he entered into an act carrying capital liability, transgressed it, and accepted upon himself the warning? Hence the requirement of accepting the warning and all the other matters taught in that baraita; this is true just judgment in itself, entrusted to the judges. But if transgressors would be punished only in this way, the civil order would be ruined entirely—murderers would multiply and not fear punishment. Therefore the Blessed One commanded, for the sake of the world’s maintenance, to appoint a king, as it is written (Deut. 17:14–15), “When you come to the land… you shall surely set a king over you,” which is a command that we appoint a king over ourselves, as received from our Sages (Sanhedrin 20b). And the king may judge without warning, according to what he deems necessary for the civil polity.
Thus, the appointment of the king is the same in Israel as in other nations who need civil order, while the appointment of judges is special and more needed in Israel—as it says, “They shall judge the people with righteous judgment,” meaning that the appointment of judges and their authority is to judge the people with judgments truly just in themselves.
And I further explain: just as our Torah is set apart from the codes of the nations by commandments and statutes that are not concerned with civil order at all, but whose outcome is the resting of divine influx upon our nation and its cleaving to us—whether this is visible to our eyes, as in matters of sacrifices and everything done in the Temple, or whether it is not visible, as with other statutes whose reasons have not been revealed—nonetheless there is no doubt that the divine influx adhered to us and rested upon those actions, even though they are far from rational grasp. Nor is this surprising, for just as we are ignorant of many natural causes, and yet their existence is certain, how much more should we accept that we do not grasp the causes of the resting of the divine influx and its cleaving to us. And this is what distinguishes our holy Torah from the codes of the nations, which have no business in this at all, but only in correcting their civil polity.
Therefore I hold—and it should be believed—that just as the statutes have no role in correcting civil order and are an essential proximate cause of the resting of the divine influx, so too the judgments of the Torah have a great role, as if they are shared between causing the resting of the divine influx upon our nation and the correction of our civil polity. And it is possible that they inclined more toward that which is loftier in value than toward the correction of our polity, for that correction the king whom we appoint over us will complete, whereas the judges and the Sanhedrin had as their goal to judge the people with truly just judgment in itself, from which the divine matter would cleave to us—even if our mass polity would be thereby completed or not completed. Consequently, it is possible that in some of the judgments and laws of those nations there is something closer to correcting civil order than is found in some of the judgments of the Torah. We lose nothing by this, for whatever is lacking in that correction the king will complete. But we have a great advantage over them, for since they are just in themselves—that is, the laws of the Torah, as Scripture says, “They shall judge the people with righteous judgment”—the divine influx will cleave to us.
The Ran explains that ordinary legal systems aim to achieve justice and morality and to create a proper society, whereas halakha also seeks the “resting of the divine influx,” i.e., the Shekhinah dwelling in Israel. In my terminology, that is what I called “religious values.” From this he infers that foreign legal systems can be more complete in the moral dimension than the halakhic system, since the latter operates under additional constraints (religious values). A system that strives to achieve more values will realize each of them less well than a system that strives for only some of them—as in “All my days I was defeated only by a specialist.” Likewise, a non-kosher restaurant need not be worse than its kosher counterpart: if the kosher dish is tastier, the non-kosher restaurant will serve it; but if the kosher dish is less tasty, the kosher restaurant cannot serve the tastier non-kosher dish. One who seeks both taste and kashrut will attain each less fully (given a fixed budget). So, religious values restrict the possibility of fully realizing moral values; hence in the case of a raped priest’s wife the halakhic outcome does not accord with morality, and similarly regarding saving the life of a gentile on Shabbat or the killing of Amalekite infants. All these are limitations that religious values impose on our moral conduct and do not allow us to implement it fully. But this does not indicate moral inferiority compared to other systems or to secular people or gentiles; rather, it reflects our commitment to a broader array of values. Our commitment to morality is complete—only that we are also committed to religious values.
A similar picture appears in the words of the Maharal cited above. We saw that he notes that in the laws of returning lost property—which belong to the first (moral) category—there are differences, sometimes leniencies and sometimes stringencies, vis-à-vis the moral norm of returning a loss. I will now complete the omissions (the underlined lines complete the gaps in the quotation above), and you will see that the explanation is precisely the picture I described here and that also emerged in the Ran’s derashot:
In Bava Metzia ch. 2 (21b) they said there that one is not required to return a lost item after the owner’s despair. This seems far-fetched to people: that a person takes what is not his, for which he did not toil or trouble himself, and covets another’s property. This is not in accordance with the “religion of civility,” for that code obligates returning the lost item even after the owner has despaired of it.
And the reason is that the “religion of civility” obligates what ought to be done for the sake of the world’s order, even if reason does not require that act—only that such is the world’s order. Therefore that code sometimes has stringency in a matter, even if according to reason and straight judgment it need not be done. And sometimes the “religion of civility” is very lenient when the matter need not be done for the world’s order, even if it is not fitting according to reason—but only according to that code.
Therefore according to the “religion of civility” one must return a lost item after the owner’s despair—and that is a stringency. Conversely, if one found silver or gold vessels and announced them once or twice and no one claimed the loss for a year or two, he keeps them and uses them, for there is no “repair of the world” after he has announced them several times and waited a year or two or more; no one will come.
But this is not in accordance with the Torah, for if one found silver or gold vessels and announced them many times, they are forbidden to him forever; they must remain deposited until Elijah comes; he must never touch them. See how very strict they were.
All this is because the words of the Sages are in accordance with the Torah. For all the words of the Torah are measured by reason, and what reason requires is what must be done. As the Torah said (Deut. 4): “You shall keep and do [them], for it is your wisdom….” It is not a “religion of civility” that leaves things to conventional opinion and thought; the Torah is entirely rational and does not turn to mere conventional reasoning.
In his confusing terminology, “reason” is Torah and “civility” is morality. The Torah turns to truth, even if it does not align with moral conventions. The truth he speaks of is what I called “religious values.” He claims, just like the Ran, that sometimes halakha is stricter than morality and sometimes more lenient. In any case, it is distinct and does not coincide with it.
His terminology is very confusing because he detaches morality from reason. Seemingly, his words imply that the Torah is reason and morality is emotion or convention (the “notorious,” not the “intelligible”—see Column 177 and the comments that follow). That is, of course, not correct, since morality’s source is in reason and not in emotion (one who thinks it stems from emotion is not speaking of morality but of various conditionings imprinted in us). This terminology likely rests on the fact that although morality’s authority does not derive from emotion, it indeed resides in our natural sentiments (including emotions), whereas halakha is an intellectual matter, cold and seemingly alien to natural feeling, and therefore sometimes requires overcoming our moral feelings. But in my understanding this is only terminology, not essence. In any case, note that these statements are made with respect to moral halakhot (returning lost property), where even there a dimension exists of the resting of divine influx beyond morality and social repair. The conclusions regarding halakha as a whole (the other two categories) seem self-evident.
Some Caveats to the Halakha–Morality Dichotomy
The absolute separation I drew between halakha and morality is correct on the theoretical, categorical plane. But moral considerations can touch halakha as well, and I think when we find statements by decisors that take moral considerations into account, they belong to one of the exceptions below. I must preface that I am not claiming all decisors agree with the picture I described here—certainly not consciously (in my view, subconsciously most of them agree, at least when speaking offhand). I claim that those who disagree are mistaken; but my concern here is to argue that even in my picture there is room for moral statements by decisors, at least in the situations I will describe. Of course, not every actual statement by a decisor will fit this, since there are decisors who hold a different stance regarding halakha and morality (and who, in my view, are wrong). I will try to outline these exceptions briefly:
As a rule, because of the disconnect between the halakhic and moral categories, I think that in principle we are dealing with moral statements rather than pure halakhic determinations. My claim is that when a decisor makes a moral statement, he does not mean that this is the halakha, but that this is how one ought to act because of the moral consideration despite the halakhic conclusion—though this can also enter the halakhic plane. This can happen in several situations:
- When halakha is lenient and morality is stringent, as in returning a lost item after the owner’s despair. There is no prohibition to take the item after despair—only permission for the finder to take it. Morality can prevail and dictate that we not take it. In such a case it is important to understand that this is not a halakhic directive but a moral one, and still it is obligatory for anyone loyal to the Torah.
- Even when halakha is stricter than morality, there can be cases where halakha allows several options and, absent the moral consideration, we would rule stringently (e.g., due to rules of doubt), but the moral consideration can tip the scales to act otherwise. This can be understood in several ways. For example: indeed the halakhic determination is stringency due to doubt, but in such cases morality overrides halakha. Alternatively, one can say that a determination “from doubt to stringency” is an instruction given in the absence of another deciding consideration; but if we have a deciding consideration by virtue of which we can choose one of the paths, the laws of doubt do not apply, and then halakha itself recognizes the path chosen for moral reasons. Something like this can explain leniency in times of great need (sha’at ha-dehak), even though, ostensibly, in a doubt involving a Torah law we should be stringent (I described this mechanism in detail in my article “On Leniency and Stringency”).
- At times such a statement can appear in “a transgression for its own sake” (aveirah lishmah; see Nazir 23b; Horayot 10b)—that is, in cases where the moral wrong is enormous compared to the halakhic transgression, and then halakha is set aside. This, too, is not a halakhic instruction but a case where moral values override halakha (see my article here).
It is reported in the name of the Chazon Ish that every decisor should be aware that there is a “fifth part” to the Shulchan Aruch. It is not entirely clear to me what he means. It is fairly clear he is speaking of extra-halakhic considerations that should influence the halakhic decision, but these can play out in several ways, as noted above. Usually the decision in such cases is not halakhic but moral (except for the second situation I described).
In addition to the above, there are situations where the Sages enact or decree rabbinic laws for moral considerations. In such a case they insert the moral principle into halakha—but only as a rabbinic law. These are cases like “coercing against the trait of Sodom” (Bava Batra 12a), or the ordinance for penitents and various other enactments. In such cases, an enactment by a competent body—that is, the Sanhedrin (but not a decisor)—can transform a moral principle into halakha. Note that the very need for an enactment proves the disconnect between the two categories and their dichotomy. In cases where there was no enactment by a competent body, the Sages can still recommend and even coerce, but that will not turn the norm into halakha. Thus, for example, regarding returning a lost item after despair, the Shulchan Aruch records an obligation to return and even coercion, yet it remains a standard “beyond the letter of the law,” not a law proper. The source is Bava Metzia 30b, and it is cited in the Shulchan Aruch and decisors as a duty beyond the letter of the law. For additional cases, see a review here.
So much for the picture regarding the relationship between halakha and morality. Along the way I repeatedly relied on the claim that there is no “Jewish morality,” and in the appendix I will elaborate a bit on that.
Appendix: Is There “Jewish Morality”?
I mentioned above the popular thesis of “Jewish morality.” Many use it to explain halakhot that seem contrary to morality and perhaps also the a-moral laws. Their claim is that underlying these laws stand moral principles that do not accord with accepted morality. This is a lofty, exalted “Jewish morality” not understood by us—only by the Master of the Universe. To my mind, this thesis is not only incorrect; it reflects conceptual confusion.
The intent is to a different morality that emerges from the Torah, as opposed to the morality accepted by “the wicked gentiles.” But this raises the question whether the gentiles themselves are also supposed to conduct themselves according to “Jewish morality,” or whether there are different moral directives for Jews and for gentiles. In other words: is this a Jewish moral theory that obligates every human being who is bound by morality, or is it a moral theory for Jews? Does the adjective “Jewish” refer to the morality’s source or to its addressees?
If gentiles are also supposed to act this way, then there is no “Jewish morality”; there is simply correct morality, and the claim is that the correct morality is that which emerges from the Torah (on the questionable assumption that anything of the sort truly emerges). That is no different from any moral dispute between people or groups. It is therefore hard to call such a thesis “Jewish morality.” But if the meaning is that truly there are different moral rules for Jews and gentiles, then we are speaking of a “Jewish morality” that stands opposed to the human conscience, for the conscience of Jews and gentiles is quite similar (with differences no greater than those among Jews themselves or among gentiles themselves). But if so, why call this “morality” rather than simply “halakha”? It is mere wordplay. In effect they are telling us that the Torah indeed runs counter to our moral conscience and its rules do not fit it, but still, as Jews, we must follow it. That is precisely what I described here—except that in my terminology this is halakha, whereas they call it “Jewish morality.” It is just semantics, for both they and I agree there is a contradiction between halakha and morality (i.e., what arises from our natural conscience).
Take, for example, one of the anti-moral halakhot mentioned above: the obligation that a raped priest’s wife separate from her husband. Does anyone seriously claim that “Jewish morality” obligates such a separation? Is anyone prepared to accept the claim that there is no moral problem with such an obligation? Any rational person agrees there is a problem here: a woman who suffered a horrific trauma through no fault of her own is now put, along with her family, through another trauma—perhaps worse. In my view, the religious value overrides the moral wrong; but what do the proponents of “Jewish morality” say here—that true morality dictates they separate? What does that have to do with “morality”? This approach simply labels religious principles as “morality,” without changing anything about their alienation from what is ordinarily called morality. The key question, beyond semantics, is whether we have here “override” (dechuya) or “permission” (hutrah): is the obligation of the priest’s wife to separate accompanied by a moral cost or not? To my mind, decidedly yes; I cannot understand a view that denies this.
Another example is the return of lost property discussed by the Maharal. The proponents of “Jewish morality” would say that lofty, hidden “Jewish morality” dictates that once the owner has despaired there is no moral value in returning his lost item—contrary to the moral imperative arising from our shared conscience that if something is his, it is right to return it. If so, this is simply an error of our conscience (and of the wicked gentiles), and how good that halakha corrects it. But how will they square this with the fact that the Sages and all the decisors agree that morality requires returning the item even after despair? The Talmud itself and all the decisors after it establish that there is a moral obligation to return a lost item after despair, and according to some even coercion—yet in the laws of returning lost property there is no such obligation. This obligation is defined as “beyond the letter of the law.” Why? If the law expresses “Jewish morality,” and if “Jewish morality” (assuming the Sages reflect it) tells us to return a lost item even after despair, I would expect that the laws of lost property would not address the owner’s despair at all. Why does halakha establish that there is no halakhic obligation to return a lost item after despair, while morally there is such an obligation? This is an excellent illustration that “Jewish morality” is not different from universal morality and does not coincide with halakha. The meaning is that Judaism is committed to universal human morality, and what is distinctive in Judaism is only halakha.
Note that the Torah tells us “Do what is right and good,” without specifying what that means. Is its intent merely to command us again to keep halakha? That sounds very strange. Not for nothing do the Ramban there and the Magid Mishneh at the end of Hilkhot Shekhenim explain that this is an obligation to act beyond the letter of the law—that is, according to morality beyond halakha.[4] Note two points regarding this command: (1) This obligation is not counted among the 613 commandments and therefore not part of halakha. (2) Nowhere is it detailed what “right and good” is. The assumption is that we all understand it, apparently by our conscience (cf. the Sages’ statement that had the Torah not been given we would have learned modesty from the cat, etc.—Eruvin 100b). And the obligation to the conscience—that is, morality—does not belong to halakha. It is an extra-halakhic obligation. The conclusion is that “Jewish morality” is nothing other than a commitment to universal human conscience, as R. Kook wrote in several places (prominently in his siddur Olat Re’iyah on the Akedah passage; see Columns 140 and 333, and also in our book Yishlach Shoreshav, in the article on the Fourth Root), though the point is self-evident without him as well.
Moreover, the very tension between halakha or Torah and morality indicates there is no “Jewish morality.” The “Jewish morality” thesis assumes there is a Jewish morality whose source is the Torah rather than our conscience, and it assumes that if it contradicts conscience we must adopt it as our moral principle (for it is the correct morality, at least for us). If so, however, dilemmas and tensions between Torah and morality should not arise. When we would encounter a Torah principle that contradicts morality, there would be no need to reconcile them: we would simply conclude we have uncovered another error in our morality (conscience’s delusions) and discovered another facet of the exalted “Jewish morality.” The very need to reconcile such difficulties tells us that universal morality (the voice of conscience) has independent authority and is not learned from the Torah.[5] It is no wonder that it is clear to all of us that when we see something in the Torah that contradicts our conscience, it requires resolution.
To speak of “Jewish morality” is roughly like speaking of Jewish physics, Jewish physiology, or Jewish logic (and no—the “auditory reason” of R. Ha-Nazir has universal authority and is “Jewish” only in its source). In Column 457 I argued that moral laws are on a footing similar to the laws of logic (as opposed to the laws of nature), and therefore even God is bound by them. If so, it is obvious there is no place for multiple moral theories—Jewish and other.
[1] Whenever I needed a more detailed link I referred to Column 15, so you can search the site for “Column 15” and find the places where I addressed the relationship between halakha and morality.
[2] I am not certain this truly constitutes idolatry, but neither am I certain it does not. The idol one worships can also be wood and stone—so why should one not be liable for serving an abstract idol? In Column 456 I explained that moral obligation cannot exist without a source of authority that grants it force; if that source is not God, then there is a second, parallel authority. Still, a person can err and be committed to moral rules without thinking there is an entity that gives them authority. That is indeed an error, but there is still room to argue that such a person is not engaged in idolatrous “partnership.”
[3] That is the view of most decisors. I disagree; in my view, today there is permission—and even an obligation—to save the life of a gentile on Shabbat. But here I am merely illustrating the logic.
[4] In this context, it is interesting to see the dispute between the Rambam in his Fourth Root and the Ramban in his glosses there regarding the command “You shall be holy.” The Rambam interprets it as a general command covering all the commandments, and what is not counted is due to redundancy; the Ramban counters that such redundancy is impossible, but he does not repeat his claim at the beginning of Parashat Kedoshim that it forbids being a “scoundrel with the Torah’s permission.” See on the “scoundrel paradox” in Column 528 and elsewhere, and in our book Yishlach Shoreshav, in the article on the Fourth Root.
[5] Yet God is needed to grant it authority. See Columns 456–457.
Discussion
Thank you for another excellent article.
I think all the perplexity and confusion stems from mistakes in basic concepts.
You have argued—though not here but in other columns as well—that our obligation to morality also derives from the basic assumption that God's will is that we be moral, and therefore when there is a contradiction, it is a contradiction between two commands of God—sometimes decided this way and sometimes that way according to judgment.
Many people recoil when they hear this concept of taking morality into account, because in their minds it sounds as though a person is saying: even if God forbade such-and-such or wants such-and-such, on the other hand there is also our human will, and we need to compromise. If one interprets things that way, it sounds as though there is idolatry by way of association here, as you yourself pointed out. And indeed the perplexity stems from a conceptual error. But it twists and continues because of a certain fundamental disagreement. After all, even the most fundamentalist scholar will admit that among the Rishonim and Acharonim too there are cases where human ethics override a halakhic prohibition (saving life on Shabbat; supporting the poor of the gentiles together with the poor of Israel so that enmity not break out—all this involves two principles of preserving Jewish lives that override halakhic prohibitions such as “you shall not show them favor” and the laws of Shabbat observance; searching for grounds to permit mamzerim, and the like). But what do they say? They argue that ethics can override a halakhic command when the greatest Torah or moral principle is one that God explicitly announced in the Torah itself. And they wonder about those to their left, where the big question is: why should we take moral doubts and moral hesitations into account when Rambam, Rashi, and Raavad were not troubled by them?! That would mean we are adopting foreign norms, not brought in the Torah, and from here it is rebellion against the kingdom of Heaven. This principled approach from the right, and on the other hand the apologetics from the left, prevent an objective discussion of moral norms that have arisen in recent times. In my humble opinion, the right way to discuss them is to classify them into two categories: if God did not express opposition, and nowhere throughout the Torah, Oral Torah, and halakha is there even a hint of opposition to some new ethical idea, it is very reasonable to define it as neutral from an ethical-religious standpoint, and to determine that if it is correct intellectually, then as human beings it is worth adopting. On the other hand, if there is opposition to a certain ethical idea in the Torah itself (equality, for example, is contradicted by the sources much more than it is supported), but there is reason to think that in some cases this is due to specific circumstances and not as an eternal principle, then each case must be examined on its own merits.
There is also a point once raised by Prof. Nadav Shenkar: one cannot truly, one hundred percent, connect to the concepts of the Sages and enter the minds of Amoraim and Tannaim. Interpretation necessarily happens, against our will, through the mindset we have become accustomed to thinking with. (That is, the very intellectual angle of vision—and not necessarily the intuitive or instinctive one as such—is also “tainted by the spirit of the times.”)
Two final comments:
A. In the view of many, there really is a difference between Jewish morality and gentile morality, and they do not mean a linguistic mistake, but the literal sense. Rav Shach, I heard, once wrote that the Enlightenment movement and liberation from religion are a wonderful thing for the gentiles, who need that, but on the other hand poison for the people of Israel. True, here we are speaking more about something religious than ethical, but still. And in the book Torat HaMelekh there is an explicit statement like this: we conclude that a gentile may not harm a gentile, and may not harm a Jew. Nothing can be concluded from this regarding the attitude of Israel toward gentiles, because the former are equal and the latter are not. And generally speaking, surely you too have heard people—whether more educated or less educated—who wish for a painful death upon Iranians, Ukrainians, and other historical enemies of Israel; who repeat the statement that it is morally impossible for a Jewish heart to express sorrow for them or help them even indirectly, and on the other hand are shocked to the depths of their souls when those same barbaric and cruel gentile rulers lose all human semblance and massacre their own civilians… (How can they sink to such a low point?!)
B. In my opinion, when Rav Kook, for example, speaks of a higher Jewish morality, he simply does not distinguish between the categories. He assumes that God's command is good, period. And therefore when there is some misunderstanding about that command, one simply has to know that in the end everything God does is for the good of the people of Israel, humanity, and justice—which is presumably true. And therefore, from a broader perspective, killing an Amalekite child, for example, is ethically just like helping an old woman cross the street.
Two observations for Michi:
A. Regarding the beautiful captive woman—
The reason there is no discussion in the Sages about the moral issue is that apparently in the past it was considered, by everyone, “relatively moral” compared to raping the enemy's female captives outright.
Just as in our day it seems to everyone “relatively moral,” for example, to perform very painful experiments on animals (say, for the sake of a vaccine), or to plunder the enemy's spoils during war.
In our day, what is called “human nature has changed,” and something like the rape of a female war captive is indeed horrifying.
Therefore, apparently the Torah also permitted it (in very, very specific situations), because they knew it would be hard for the human psyche to be weaned from it entirely.
B. Regarding the issue that there is a moral problem in separating a priest's wife who was raped from her husband: I don't understand your answer to someone who responds that there is a deeper moral layer.
You simply write, “it doesn't seem so,” or “it's an empty statement,” without explaining anything beyond that.
But precisely you, who believe that there are additional layers of reality, should find it easy to accept that there are other layers which naturally are not grasped by our intellect.
From my perspective, your statement that this is an empty argument (the claim that there is a deeper moral layer) is exactly like saying about the soul (that there is a deeper spiritual layer) that this is “an empty statement” or that “it doesn't seem right to you.”
Why is a deeper spiritual layer fine, but a deeper moral layer is an empty statement?
The Sages said: “Had the Torah not been given, we would have learned modesty from the cat and theft from the ant,” etc. But I heard in the name of the Rabbi of Brisk that he was precise and said that this was only “had the Torah not been given.” But now that the Torah has been given, we learn all character traits only from the Torah.
What do you think about that?
And what if halakha does not command us to murder Amalekite children or to rape the beautiful captive woman (as per the view of the Re’em)?
I do not oppose your move. On the contrary, I very much agree with it, but there is no need to multiply disputes.
Yesterday a guest from Africa landed at my house, a remnant of a magnificent cannibal tribe [he came here because some religious-Zionist rabbis are convinced that he is from the Ten Lost Tribes]. He read the article with great enjoyment, but at the end he asked me what morality is. Would the honor of the great rabbi kindly answer him [and me as well]?
And in a less serious tone…
You wrote that “it is clear to each of us what is moral and what is not.” Do you really believe that joke? Do you think that a hundred years ago it was clear to everyone that morality requires women's suffrage, that two hundred years ago it was clear to everyone that slavery is immoral, that five hundred years ago it was clear to everyone that it is immoral to kill heretics?
I was waiting to see when the question about the cannibals would finally arrive, and I also knew it would be phrased in a mocking, condescending tone, with complete confidence, as though some unexpected rabbit had just been pulled out of a hat. A real knockout. And so here it is—it came pretty quickly, to my disappointment. I thought that here on the site the readers were more intelligent. But still, since I assume there will nevertheless be a few more readers here who wonder about this (as I said, I anticipated in advance that this question would come), I will answer it anyway.
There is a very broad agreement regarding moral principles, such as murder, theft, helping others, and the like. This agreement cuts across places and periods. Even when there are disagreements, they are mainly about applications and not about the principles themselves. Every Nazi or cannibal will tell you that murder is forbidden. But they will make exceptions for creatures who, in their eyes, are not considered human beings (Jews and Gypsies), or those who threaten your existence (Jews), or enemies from neighboring tribes when they are hungry (the cannibals). Therefore, relying on differences between places and periods to prove moral relativism is ridiculous and demagogic, even if common and predictable. The very fact that moral arguments take place is the best proof that at the base there is very broad agreement. Otherwise there would be no point in arguing, because there would be no moral system at all and no basis for discussion.
But all this is irrelevant to the discussion. Whoever is troubled by problems of halakha and morality assumes that there are moral principles to which halakha ought to conform. This column is addressed to him. If someone like our master the great Rabbi Aryeh, may he live long, thinks that separating a woman who was raped from her husband, failing to save lives, or murdering babies are moral acts, then he is apparently not among the intended audience of this column.
By the way, if the first paragraph you wrote counts, in your view, as writing in a serious tone, I would not want to read a non-serious paragraph.
Good tidings.
By the way, according to your logic about women's voting rights and slavery, there is also no correct physics, since if you had asked someone two hundred years ago about relativity and quantum theory, he would have chuckled to himself dismissively.
I think we already talked about this. First, the overlap may be incidental. It is not all that great. Perhaps the inclusion is great, but not the overlap. Beyond that, when I say that the prohibition of “You shall not murder” is religious, that does not necessarily mean something that in practice differs from morality. It is entirely reasonable that a moral or anti-moral action in itself has religious consequences, and that is why there is overlap. That is exactly what creates for people the mistaken identification of religious values with morality.
Even if there is a contradiction between the morality of the Sages and ours, there is no necessity to accept their morality. Their authority is only in the realm of halakha. Of course, if they established a halakhic obligation, that is binding, and then one must see whether perhaps it can be circumvented if it is immoral.
Even from the Torah itself it is hard to learn values. Even equality—it is not true that it is contradicted. There are certain exceptions. But there are several hints in the Torah to the value of equality (“you shall not show deference to a poor man in his dispute,” and others). I have written more than once that one cannot learn very much from the Torah on this plane.
A. I did not understand that comment. Clearly there are those who think there is a different morality, but in my opinion they are mistaken and confused. Moreover, even someone who thinks there is a difference between Jew and gentile does not necessarily say that morality changes. In their view too, a gentile is forbidden to harm a Jew no less than another gentile.
B. Indeed, and this lack of distinction is a mistake. See the reasons he offers in To the Perplexed of the Generation, where he tries to explain moral reasons for the commandments of the Torah, and he does so in terms of what we call morality. But I think consistency in Rav Kook arises only among his interpreters, not in him.
A. It is certainly possible. I too suspected this. But of course morality remains what it is. I have written more than once that the morality of the Sages is not binding. Their authority is in the realm of halakha, not in the realm of morality.
B. I did explain it. The concept of morality is very familiar to us. To say that there are deeper layers of morality means that they are not the morality that we know. So that is what I call halakha, just with a different name. Mere word games. By contrast, when I speak of repairing deeper layers of reality, that is a logical result of the facts and does not contradict anything that I know. There is a difference between contradiction and lack of understanding/knowledge, or between a difficulty and a question. When I do not understand something, there is no problem in that. Clearly I do not understand and know everything. But when I do understand something and they tell me something contradictory, I do not accept it without clear proof.
It seems to me I just wrote a column about this, didn't I?
Exactly right. I gave examples for illustration. Indeed the commentators/decisors do everything they can to reduce the dissonance between halakha and morality, and that is perfectly fine. I wrote that. At least as long as it is persuasive on some level (holds water). I hope to touch on this in the next column.
I did not understand why you feel compelled to say that the Torah operates on a completely different plane from morality. You showed that there are commandments that “contradict” morality, and therefore there is a dimension in the commandments that is not “moral,” and you called it “religious.” But your proof from the fact that there are halakhic details within moral commandments that do not seem so right to you is a very weak proof (in my opinion) that there is no connection between Torah and morality.
Why can one not say that even the commandments that seem immoral are immoral in a specific, local way (a particular priest's wife will be harmed, one baby will die, etc.) but are still right and therefore also moral in the overall picture? Therefore, even if the commandment is not moral in itself, that does not mean it is “not moral,” because a more general need overrides it, as you yourself pointed out.
It is hard to think of a non-controversial issue, but suppose killing innocent people in order to prevent greater harm later on: that is doing something “immoral” for tactical considerations, and therefore I actually regard the act as moral. So what is the problem with saying that the commandments of the Torah include moral considerations within them (“halakha contains morality”), but when there are overriding considerations that does not mean the command is not moral, because it is moral in the overall picture?
I built the argument in stages, and therefore it is not right to focus on one detail within it. First of all, I proved (from the second category) that the Torah has values that are not moral but religious. Second, if so, there is no obstacle to there being a clash between these and those. On the contrary, it would be very surprising if there were not, since even among moral values there are clashes. From there I went on to argue that there is no need to find a resolution for the non-moral laws (the third category). And I concluded that even in the moral laws (the first category), the differences from morality can be explained in the same way, and therefore there is no need to resort to non-existent apologies.
For some reason, with regard to the third category you prefer the thesis that they want to achieve a moral value in a general sense even if the details contradict it (because they come to achieve a religious value), but there is no need for that at all (in light of the earlier stages of the argument), and it also does not stand the test of logic. What moral value is achieved by separating a priest's wife from her husband or by not saving a gentile on Shabbat? This is clearly a religious value.
To make general statements about an overall picture is obscurantism. If you have an alternative proposal, be concrete.
On the contrary, I very much agree with you that it may come to achieve a religious value and not a moral one. I just do not understand why there has to be an absolute distinction between them. It seems to me as though you are forcing a separation. Why not say that in every commandment all the moral and religious considerations were taken into account, and the conclusion sometimes comes out moral and sometimes religious, according to what God saw as more important in that commandment?
Think of it like my remarks about global correspondence. For example, correspondence between the plain meaning and midrash, or between the laws of nature and the laws of theology. God created the world to operate according to fixed natural laws. But He also has some theological goals (for example, that the righteous should not suffer), and the laws of nature are meant to achieve them. So why does that not always happen? Because global correspondences are prone to topological defects (local mismatches). It is impossible to achieve perfect global correspondence. I gave as an example the correspondence between a Cartesian and a polar coordinate system, where the correspondence breaks down at the origin (there are infinitely many polar points corresponding to the origin of the Cartesian coordinates). That is what creates a topological defect.
The same applies to the correspondence between moral values and religious values. God created His world with the aim that religious goals be achieved in a way that accords with the rules of morality. But this is a global correspondence (because not every moral law corresponds to a religious value or vice versa), and therefore mismatches necessarily arise. This is the deviation that we find in the moral laws, and it is also the source of the anti-moral and a-moral laws beyond the general correlation you described regarding morality. Small mismatches are enough to show that these are two different categories. The overlap stems from the divine will that there be a correlation between the categories, but not from their being the same category.
That is completely equivalent to what I wrote. Just a change of wording.
Is the claim that “it is entirely reasonable that a moral or anti-moral action in itself has religious consequences” not basically the claim that halakha contains morality? Then the questions return to their place from the cases where morality is stricter than halakha, like one who kills indirectly and is exempt, or exemption from returning a lost object after despair.
[The claim that the inclusion is incidental—that by mere chance all the important moral laws and world-repair principles (like do not murder, do not steal, do not commit adultery, do not bear false witness, honoring parents, food-clothing-conjugal rights, tort law, rape, fraud, bribery, charity, judges) found their way into halakha—seems to me completely implausible (far more problematic than all the problems in the other approach, namely the thesis that in the eyes of God and the Sages halakha contains morality). The earlier discussion you mentioned is here https://mikyab.net/posts/73558#comment-55131, but there no non-incidental explanation was offered for the connection between halakha and morality. One possibility that comes to mind is to say that halakha contains the laws of social order but does not contain the laws of morality—but if halakha bothered to go beyond the boundaries of purely halakhic values and decided to deal with additional subjects, then it is even stranger that it did not also decide to deal with morality.]
My comment below (beginning “Is the claim”) was sent before I saw this response of yours.
I understand that according to your view, the abstract principles of morality and halakha preceded the world, but God, within His freedom to choose the structure of the physical world, chose a world in which the principles would almost coincide in practice, and this is the best of possible worlds in terms of the fit between morality and halakha? (I have no direct arguments against this speculation, though I am not sure I have fully digested it yet.)
[I find it hard to accept the methodology you summed up with “small mismatches are enough to show that these are two different categories.” An explanation needs to explain the whole picture, both the correspondence and the mismatch. I understand that the idea is that explaining a mismatch between two identical categories is impossible, whereas explaining correspondence between two different categories is open to proposals; that I understand. But the correspondence really does need to be explained. And if there is no explanation for the correspondence, then all we can conclude is that something is defective—perhaps there is an error in halakha, perhaps we are mistaken in morality, perhaps the Sages erred, perhaps this and perhaps that.]
A. “This does not mean that the Torah or God are indifferent to moral values. Surely morality is important in their eyes (‘And you shall do what is right and good,’ etc.), but the religious value overrides the harm to the moral value.” But God, as an omnipotent, good, and perfect God—why would He not arrange things so that we could attain the religious value without harming the moral value?
B. Once action x is moral because God gave it validity, it follows that now that He wants action y (in order to attain the religious value in it), which contradicts action x, x no longer has validity—so can one still say that it remains moral?
Hello!
The full verse is “And you shall do what is right and good in the eyes of the Lord…” Why do you choose to turn the meaning of the words “right and good” into synonyms for morality as you understand it? In my opinion, the verse can be understood as “good in the eyes of the Lord,” meaning fulfillment of His commandments, and therefore one cannot assume there is here a command to be moral.
Since most of your reply concerns style, I will answer that first, and when I have time I will address the substance.
A. There is such a thing as emotional intelligence; for example, the ability to distinguish between humor and mockery is emotional intelligence.
B. Where did you see confidence and condescension in my words? I truly meant to say that the discussion lacks the initial definition of what morality is.
C. I accept the a priori assumption that one who disagrees with you or belittles your words is not intelligent [yes, that is mockery].
D. The fact that I ask what morality is does not mean that I do not recognize its existence or am not troubled by halakha's failure to match it, just as if I ask what physics is, that does not mean I do not recognize the existence of physics [that is already intellectual intelligence, and yes, that is mockery].
E. Regarding the “serious tone,” I already mentioned that there is a concept called humor. Besides, the wrapping was humorous, but the question itself was serious, namely: what is morality, which is the conceptual framework for the whole discussion? To that you answered that there is broad agreement on moral principles, but you did not answer what morality is. Let me sharpen my point: what is the moral imperative, not what does it command?
F. As far as my lack of intelligence reaches, it seems to me that the Nazis called universal morality degenerate Jewish morality, while they championed
natural selection in which the strong survive; that is, in their abominable opinion, the murder of the weak by the strong is moral.
H. To my surprise, it appears from your blunt response that you were hurt by my words, so I sincerely apologize; I truly did not intend that.
Not at all. The claim is that if a person murders, there are two problems in it: a moral one and a religious one. The moral one is the harm to society or to another person, and the religious one is damage to Netzach within Hod, as a metaphor. So this דווקא means there is no dependence between the categories.
I explained that there is no need to talk about incidental inclusion, so there is no point discussing that.
That is very logical. If the world is in His hands, why would He create a world with conflicts in which the same act is a religious problem and a moral value, or vice versa? Clearly there is an aspiration to minimize the differences as much as possible, to whatever extent possible.
The correspondence does not need an explanation, as I explained. God would certainly want as much correspondence as possible.
Ramban interpreted it that way, and that is accepted by many. That is enough for me. I am not in the business of interpreting verses. I mentioned that regarding “You shall be holy,” there is indeed a dispute about this, but clearly Ramban is much more logical.
A. There are things that are impossible even for God. That is why natural evil exists in the world. You can search here on the site for “natural evil”; I have explained this several times.
B. You assume that an action is moral because God wants it. That is one side of the Euthyphro dilemma, and the less logical side (see at length in column 457).
He could avoid conflicts by creating a world in which the halakhic commands would be completely alien to the moral commands, where halakha would deal with when and how it is permitted to scratch one's third nostril, and morality would deal with its own affairs. To find such a magical world in which abstract halakha (the one from column 379) is particularized in such a way that it almost entirely contains morality—and that this magical world is actually our messed-up world—sounds strange to me.
(I did not understand the first paragraph, but I understand that this line of questions is no longer relevant, because you explained above that the correspondence is neither incidental nor essential, but rather that God arranged the world so that in practice there would be maximal correspondence. If that was also the intention in the sentence I quoted, that an anti-moral action has religious consequences, then what I asked is not relevant.)
On second thought, the more defects there are in this world, the stronger your hypothesis becomes that God (who in your view is good) had more and more constraints requiring Him to achieve maximal correspondences in various different areas. It is still strange that the world with a minimum of conflicts came out as one in which halakha contains morality rather than one in which halakha is alien to morality, and that there exists at all a world in which halakha contains morality. But the emphasis on how immeasurably defective the world before us is in many other respects as well (in my eyes) actually weakens what I had come to argue.
The Gemara asks in several places about “its ways are ways of pleasantness,” and from that concludes several laws. Does that not indicate that the Sages understood that the tendency of halakha is indeed toward pleasantness and morality (or should one distinguish between pleasantness/convenience and moral values)?
We find among the Rishonim arguments from morality, such as that Rambam rules that in the city led astray one must kill even the children, and Ramah asks: would God do wickedness? According to your view is there no place for such questions?
Do you think that Sefer HaChinukh, Rambam, and others erred when they explained the reasons for the commandments in terms of human moral values?
I still did not understand why the Torah permitted the beautiful captive woman, even if there is no religious problem in it. In any case, God does not want us to do this. What difference does it make whether that is religiously or morally? Why would He write that it is permitted? Why permit it (religiously, of course) if it has no practical implication in reality because it is morally forbidden?
First, the Torah did not permit it. Halakha permitted it. Independently of that, you can ask what the point is of distinguishing between the categories at all: if some act is morally forbidden, what is the point of permitting it halakhically? But that is not a question. There is a difference between the categories, and it also has implications.
The difference between the categories is important because we need to know whether there is a halakhic prohibition and whether there is or is not a moral prohibition. The practical conclusions we will draw afterward. The Torah does not come only to tell us what to do, but to teach us what the halakha is (see on this in detail my article on obligations and rights and the nature of Choshen Mishpat). Why does the Torah write the passage of the rebellious son or the city led astray, according to the view that they never were and never will be? In order to tell us that this is the halakha (“study and receive reward,” in the language of the Talmud). The practical implementation is a different sugya.
As for implications: for a prohibition one must spend all one's money, and for a positive command one-fifth of one's money. In the moral context there are no such rules. If he has relations with her unnaturally, that is halakhically permitted and morally forbidden. If he kills indirectly, likewise. There are situations in which the moral consideration is set aside because of circumstances, but halakha has its own ways. This has practical implications: if it were halakhically forbidden, there would be no room to permit it under any circumstances (except direct life-saving). But if it is a moral matter, there is room to permit it in certain circumstances (when it is needed for the fighters' morale).
And beyond all that, I explained that the Torah is dealing with the prohibition of relations with a gentile woman, and that is not a moral problem. There is only a halakhic aspect here. The question of rape is entirely a moral question, and therefore it is not discussed at all in the Torah or the commentators.
There is another possible relation between Torah and morality that you did not mention, and perhaps some of those expressing views in this area mean this—among them Rav Kook, apparently. According to this possibility, the purpose of the commandments is also social repair in addition to attaining closeness to God. This is not a heavenly system detached from reality, but a social repair that can be understood. On the other hand, it is not a system meant to nullify morality or contain it within itself. For example, in the case of a priest's wife, the explanation would be that in order to distinguish the priestly status and grant it prestige, a priest's wife who was raped is disqualified. Such a law is not meant to enter a moral system that a person would implement on his own judgment, but only to be realized in the limited sphere where God knows it will benefit society. It may be that we cannot explain every such law, because we do not have a good estimate of the social consequences. Alternatively, there could be a scenario in which there is a conflict with a law that has social benefit but causes great suffering in some of its applications.
Do you think the verse “Its ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its paths are peace” has any binding significance? (I assume not, based on your approach in the new Tanakh trilogy.)
“Its ways are ways of pleasantness” is a principle applied to esoteric cases. I assume these are cases where there are several interpretive possibilities and this principle chooses between them.
Ramah's question is not from morality. Halakha does not kill one who is not guilty. All the more so from exemption in a case of coercion.
As far as I remember, they did not explain all the commandments this way. Not all of them are based on morality in their view. Beyond that, as I explained here, one can understand commandments on a moral basis, except that the commandment adds a religious layer to that. The prohibition “You shall not murder” stems from the value of human life, and the commandment adds a religious prohibition to the moral prohibition.
I did not understand the question.
Radvaz brought the verse “Its ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its paths are peace” in order to ground moral considerations in his ruling. In your opinion, can this verse be invoked in order to justify a ruling that would be more moral?
There is another possible relation between Torah and morality that you did not mention, and perhaps some of those expressing views in this area mean this—among them Rav Kook, apparently. According to this possibility, the purpose of the commandments is also social repair in addition to attaining closeness to God. This is not a heavenly system detached from reality, but a social repair that can be understood. On the other hand, it is not a system meant to nullify morality or contain it within itself. For example, in the case of a priest's wife, the explanation would be that in order to distinguish the priestly status and grant it prestige, a priest's wife who was raped is disqualified. Such a law is not meant to enter a moral system that a person would implement on his own judgment, but only to be realized in the limited sphere where God knows it will benefit society. It may be that we cannot explain every such law, because we do not have a good estimate of the social consequences. Alternatively, there could be a scenario in which there is a conflict with a law that has social benefit but causes great suffering in some of its applications.
Evidence in favor of this proposal may be brought from the evident relationship that exists between ancient culture and the laws of the Torah. For example: in the Code of Hammurabi it is written, “If a slave says to his master, ‘You are not my master,’ and they prove against him that he is his slave—his master shall cut off his ear.” But in Parashat Mishpatim it is written: “But if the slave shall plainly say, ‘I love my master, my wife, and my children; I will not go out free,’ then his master shall bring him to God, and shall bring him to the door or the doorpost, and his master shall bore his ear through with an awl, and he shall serve him forever.” It is hard to ignore the relation between the laws. On the assumption that the Torah's laws were intended to create a certain social structure, one can understand the need to create a different approach to slavery against the background of the accepted culture. But it is hard to say that the Torah's value, which is not aimed at repairing this world, points in just the same direction as Hammurabi's laws and other similar law collections.
I would be glad to read your opinion on this.
A question: how would you explain a daughter's inheritance—which is not inheritance—is this a religious command that a daughter not inherit? Does one violate the religious command by letting a daughter inherit? It sounds a bit far-fetched and implausible. Unlike returning a lost object, here the religious command also applies to the daughter, and ostensibly she is commanded not to inherit (in returning a lost object, the owner of the object supposedly has a moral claim on the object, and the religious command on its face merely allows the finder to take the object for himself; but in inheritance it seems that the religious command is that the firstborn receive a double share or that only the sons inherit, and if so it is also imposed on the party morally disadvantaged by it; otherwise it is completely emptied of content, like the rebellious son, which was only theoretical).
Just as there are prohibition and permission on the religious plane, there are right and obligation on the religious plane. A daughter has no right to inherit from a religious standpoint. So there is no commandment upon her here, and no prohibition upon me. She has no right to inherit. That is all. It is a definition, not a prohibition or commandment.
Morality, as I understand it, is not according to the understanding of most human beings. Definition of morality: right actions, and God knows what is right and what is not right, therefore everything is moral.
I read the column on Shabbat and wanted to note several things:
I think one should have added the insight you mentioned in the faith lecture series, that it is likely God wants to achieve something through creation that lies outside moral aims (otherwise why create something whose entire purpose is its own self-repair). That is, it is likely there are “religious” (or extra-moral) purposes to the world and to man even before we begin examining the Torah in relation to this question.
I think one can interpret the words of Maharal and Ran differently from how you presented them. It may be that they mean a distinction between legal reasoning and moral reasoning. That is, the laws of the Torah follow legal reasoning and not moral reasoning.
The daughters of a Canaanite maidservant are also maidservants, and it is forbidden to free them, as it is written: “you shall work them forever.” And with regard to such a daughter, it is understandable that there is in this “the tears of the oppressed,” etc. And seemingly one could free her by consensual injury to one of the extremities, such as a little finger. And from your approach it follows that halakha cannot permit moral prohibitions, but only obligate violating moral prohibitions; and where both can be upheld, the moral obligation remains. So in your opinion was there such an obligation to free them (subject to the other unknown factors there)? Presumably there were myriads of Canaanite maidservants whom people bequeathed to their sons (and one would need to check whether we have heard such good advice from the prophets and the Sages).
[There was the incident with Rabban Gamliel, who blinded the eye of his slave Tavi and was happy, etc., that “my slave Tavi is going free” (Rashi: he was a worthy slave and he desired to free him, except that one who frees his slave violates a positive commandment). And why did he not injure his finger with consent? If consensual injury does not free him, would a slave not desire to purchase himself with a finger? But as for the slave himself, one could say there is no moral obligation here because he sold himself lawfully; unlike his children.]
In principle, yes (except that in those days they did not think there was a moral value in that). Of course, it is not certain that they would be pleased with injury to their limbs.
By the way, I do not understand the distinction you found between the maidservant and her daughter. The maidservant did not necessarily sell herself. There is also war captivity, etc.
Not that this is a real difficulty, but if it were proper, then God would instruct the prophets to rebuke people for it like other sins—what difference does it make whether it is halakha or morality? In war captivity, does she become a maidservant against the master's will?
In that period it was not perceived as a moral sin.
War captivity is against the will of the slave. The master is the conqueror.
In column 479, the three passages of “study and receive reward” came to teach about the entire rule that study is not only an instrument for a commandment but also a commandment in itself. And you elevated study so much as a commandment (with also the side, relative advantage of study as an instrument for a commandment) that one wonders why (the world was created such that) all the rest of the Torah is practical, and the main thing was subordinated to the secondary. Is this too a matter of global correspondence with a tendency to defects? (By the way, perhaps this could explain your remark there about how three verses come as one and teach.) Or here there is no need for that, because it is obvious that God wanted also to gain the virtue of study as an instrument for a commandment (and who says that is only secondary, etc.)?
The whole idea is that this is an abstract wisdom that is supposed to be implemented in the world. The world was created so as to be its reflection. Therefore of course there is also value to study as an instrument for a commandment, in order to know what to observe.
Is the wisdom implemented in the world at the time the commandment is physically performed?
If the point is to derive practical instruction from the emanated halakha (as you said about a non-realistic practical implication), then almost all of the Torah need not deal with realistic things; it is enough that it be conceptually graspable.
I did not understand. The idea is that the wisdom be implemented. And even if it did not have to be, what is the difficulty with the fact that it was done that way?
I am the one who did not understand what the words “that the wisdom be implemented” mean. Does it mean that the commandments can be physically carried out?
The difficulty is that in almost the entire Torah we see that everything is realistic matters; that is, in almost the entire Torah, Torah study is specifically about things that contain practical instruction capable of being realized. Therefore the claim that there are really two entirely separate things here—Torah study as a commandment, and Torah study as an instrument for a commandment, and that the special virtue of Torah study which the Sages so highly exalted is study for its own sake—this is a claim that explains the exception (the three passages of “study and receive reward”) but harms the explanation of the rule (all the rest, where the study is also practical). How is it that most commandments do not deal with hypothetical cases of an elephant swallowing an Egyptian chicken, but rather with everyday scenarios like “when you reap the harvest of your land” and “you shall not make gashes for the dead.” Regarding halakha and morality, my conclusion is that this problem of incidental inclusion weighs very heavily against the disconnect approach. And regarding Torah study for its own sake, which for some reason is almost always done in practical commandments, I am trying to understand that here.
I will repeat again, because I do not understand what the discussion is and what the misunderstanding is.
My claim is that the Torah concerns a system of abstract principles that is supposed to be implemented in actions in the world. There is value in studying it because it is God's will, and studying it is our cleaving to His will. And of course there is also value in implementing it, because that is the right way to conduct oneself in the world. What is unclear here?
And I am asking about this connection between “supposed to be implemented” and “to study because it is God's will.” Does the same value in study also exist in wills that cannot be implemented, like the rebellious son (and today also the red heifer and the daily offering)?
The rebellious son is also for implementation, except that the conditions imposed on it lead you to conclude that it will probably not happen in practice. Exactly like wiping out Amalek or sacrifices in our time. Still, this is God's will (and if such a situation existed, we would also have to implement it), and there is value in studying it.
Out of despair I am trying simply to ask point by point without going back again over the whole question.
The rebellious son is a non-realistic commandment (in the terms of that column), meaning possible but only under extremely extreme conditions. Why are all the other commandments realistic? Is that accidental? Why is there not a great deal of non-realistic Torah (because of technical impediments) that we could study and thereby cleave to the will?
I am in despair because I am unable to understand the question, and even less its connection to my claims.
The halakhot are meant to be implemented. There are a few that did not succeed, like the rebellious son, the city led astray, and others. Apparently because it was not possible to create a world in which everything is implemented. Alternatively, perhaps they are meant only to convey an educational message and not to be implemented in practice.
But why is this connected to my positions? How do you yourself or anyone else explain those exceptional laws?
I am asking only about your approach (and Nefesh HaChayim, and apparently every Torah scholar in the last thousand years) which says that the central point of Torah study is to study the Torah for its own sake as a commandment and not only as an instrument for observance, and we learned this from the rebellious son according to R. Israel Salanter. And the question is: if the greatest thing is to study Torah for its own sake even in matters that do not come up and for which there is no technical possibility of fulfillment, then why are there not many commandments like the rebellious son that cannot be implemented in practice? The whole world and the commands are instruments for the commandment of practical implementation, but then the study of those instrumental commands suddenly becomes a commandment in itself. One must study for its own sake things whose whole point is almost entirely to be practically implementable. So you posit a complex, emotionally satisfying law that the higher wisdom one studies must be implemented concretely through shaking a lulav (perhaps her lips move in Heaven). But from the standpoint of Torah study, why should there not also be many commandments that are not implemented, through which one could fulfill the commandment of Torah study day and night? Obviously one can solve this with side additions, but my feeling is that such a large phenomenon (the phenomenon being that almost all the commandments one is to study for their own sake and not merely as an instrument for fulfillment are ones whose fulfillment was near at hand for us) ought to follow from the theory from the outset.
What I am musing is that the Sages up to the Amoraim placed the main emphasis in study on the expectation that one would soon have the chance to do it physically, and not study for the sake of recognizing the Creator's wisdom and cleaving to His will and knowing Torah, and the like. There is only a side and minor virtue also in study that is not so given over to action, and even there they merely say that the expositor receives a little reward, a consolation prize.
The Sages said: “At the time of a person's passing, neither silver nor gold nor precious stones nor pearls accompany him, but only Torah and good deeds,” etc. I heard in my own name that I had inferred and said this proves that good deeds are not part of Torah.
What do you think about that?
You remind me of the inference I once heard in my own name from “for the righteous and for the pious,” from which it follows that the pious are not righteous.
“Torah and good deeds” can also be interpreted as Torah study and commandment observance. And even if these are not acts of commandment but just plain good deeds, they are part of the Torah: “And you shall do what is right and good.” They are just not part of halakha.
And in general, why do the commandments not accompany a person? Why only Torah and good deeds?
Hello Rabbi,
I just read this amazing column with a slight delay, but better late than never…
I wanted to ask,
1. According to what you say—that our morality too is part of God's will in addition to the halakhic commands of the Torah—how then can there be a halakhic instruction that contradicts morality? It is, as it were, a contradiction within God's own will, He being the source of both.
Take for example returning lost property. If according to morality one should return a lost object even after the owner has despaired, then why does halakha instruct us that there is no need to return it in such a case, in a way that contradicts morality? And how can the divine element apply here (in the words of Ran) when you act against the moral will of God which He implanted in us?!
2. In all the examples you gave, seemingly one can say that there is no contradiction at all between Torah and morality, but only between the Sages' interpretation and morality. For example, regarding a priest's wife who was raped, the Torah commands: “They shall not take a woman who is a harlot or profaned,” and the Sages interpret “harlot” to mean any woman who had forbidden intercourse, whether under coercion or willingly, and according to this a raped woman becomes forbidden to a priest. But according to the plain understanding of the verse, a harlot is a promiscuous woman who willingly makes herself available for intercourse, and on that interpretation it is very understandable why the priest must divorce her also morally, because she behaved that way willingly and profaned herself! Likewise in the example of returning lost property: the Torah does not explicitly say not to return it if the owners despaired, rather this is the understanding of the Sages according to the reality of their time. There is seemingly no frontal contradiction between an explicit command of the Torah and morality itself directly, but only between the understanding and interpretation of the Sages and morality. And because of that, one could resolve things and say that there is indeed harmony between morality and Torah, except that the Sages interpreted the Torah according to the morality customary in their time, while we have only interpretation according to the morality customary in our time (except that we have side constraints of lack of authority and the like).
Thank you, and more power to you!
1. I do not understand the question. That is exactly what the whole column is about. My claim is that from the standpoint of religious goals one should do X, but this harms moral goals. Therefore a conflict arises. God's will is that we enjoy ourselves and that we be healthy. So why did He create chocolate? Does He want us to eat it or not? From the standpoint of health—no; from the standpoint of pleasure—yes.
2. I assume the Oral Torah and do not deal with the “naked” plain meaning of Scripture. It also will not work for all the examples: killing Amalekite babies, mamzer status, and the like.
1. What I mean to ask is about cases where there is no direct contradiction, as in returning lost property. According to halakha there is no need to return a lost object whose owners have despaired; morality comes and says that even in such a case one should return it. Seemingly such a law ought to have entered the Torah, because it does not directly contradict halakha (halakha merely does not require returning it, but does not forbid doing so), and it expresses God's will. This is unlike the law of wiping out Amalek, for example, where it is dichotomous—either kill the Amalekite baby or not. There the Torah decided that the halakhic command overrides the morality that contradicts it.
2. Right, thank you.
1. There is no difference at all. This too did not enter halakha because, as I explained, halakha is not interested in morality. If it does not fulfill or violate a halakhic value, it will not enter there but will remain in the realm of morality.
If there really is a disconnect between the planes, then we need to go back and explain how in practice there is almost complete inclusion, as you noted. Clearly all the main moral laws are included in the Torah, and the exceptions are edge cases and rabbinic enactments. According to the disconnect approach, it is quite astonishing that there is such a large overlap, and that the Torah as it stands already covers to a very great extent the conditions required for reasonable conduct and an adequate social order. That seems like a strong argument against the disconnect approach (in the eyes of one who accepts the commandments of the Torah and in the eyes of the Sages).
Regarding positive and negative commandments: when you separated categorically between the almost overlapping planes of positive commandment/negative commandment and arise-and-act/sit-and-refrain, then you did offer a certain idea for how in practice there is such a great overlap (namely, that in the physical world, achieving gains generally requires getting up and doing something). In the distinction between substantive and formal authority, the meaning of the practical overlap is self-evident. But in the distinction between halakha and morality, the dissonance remains.