On Values and Oppositions (Column 638)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

This Shabbat, Parashat Tazria, I spoke in the synagogue about the meaning and importance of oppositions. I began with a discussion of the ritual impurity of a woman after childbirth, through which one can discern the uniqueness of the categories of holiness and impurity. From there I broadened the lens to oppositions in additional realms.

A Doubt of Impurity and a Doubt of Prohibition in a Parturient

As is known, the Torah in Parashat Tazria rules that there are days of impurity for a woman who has given birth (seven for a male and fourteen for a female). The moment that sets the beginning of impurity is the moment of birth. Yet there are doubtful cases in which part of the placenta emerges near the end of the day, but it is uncertain whether most of the fetus had already emerged within it. A doubt then arises whether to begin counting the days of impurity on that day or only on the following day.

The Gemara, Bava Kamma 11a, addresses such a case:

ואמר עולא א”ר אלעזר שליא שיצתה מקצתה ביום ראשון ומקצתה ביום שני מונין לה מן הראשון.

If part of the placenta came out on the first day and part on the second, there is a doubt whether most of the fetus was in it already on day one or whether the majority emerged only on day two. Ulla in the name of R. Elazar says that out of doubt one counts already from the first day.

Rava challenges this:

א”ל רבא מה דעתך לחומרא חומרא דאתי לידי קולא הוא דקא מטהרת לה מראשון אלא אמר רבא לחוש חוששת מימנא לא ממניא אלא לשני.

Rava says that indeed beginning the count on day one is a stringency, but it leads to a leniency: on the fifteenth day she would already not conduct herself as impure, even though it is possible that most of the fetus emerged on day two and thus she should be impure also on the fifteenth day. Therefore he rules that out of doubt one should be stringent and observe impurity for fifteen days, from day one through day fifteen.

The Gemara then asks:

מאי קמ”ל דאין מקצת שליא בלא ולד, תנינא…

The Gemara understands that the assumption here is that there is no “part of a placenta” without a fetus; that is, if part of the placenta emerged, it is clear that some of the fetus was within it. Therefore there is only one doubt—whether most of the fetus was there or not. By contrast, if in principle it were possible for part of the placenta to emerge with no fetus at all, we would have a double doubt (safek sefeika): a doubt whether any part of the fetus emerged, and even if so—another doubt whether it was the majority.[1] In such a case we should be lenient because it is a double doubt. If Rava and Ulla are stringent, it seems there is but a single doubt; hence the assumption is that there is no “part of a placenta” without a fetus. The Gemara merely claims there is no novelty in that, but we will not engage with that here.

Tosafot, s.v. “d’ein,” there, raise a difficulty on the Gemara:

דאין מקצת שליא בלא ולד – וא”ת לר”א דאמר חוששין משום דאין מקצת שליא בלא ולד אבל אם היה מקצת שליא בלא ולד לא היתה חוששת ה”ד אי ברה”ר אפי’ בחד ספיקא מטהרי’ ואי ברה”י אפי’ בספק ספיקא נמי טמא דהא תנן (טהרות פ”ו מ”ד) כל ספיקות שאתה יכול להרבות ברה”י אפי’ ספק ספיקא טמא.

The general rule is that a doubt in a Torah prohibition is treated stringently. But with ritual impurity the rules of doubt are different. The Mishnah in Taharot states that location is determinative: in a private domain, any doubt is impure—even a double doubt and even more; in a public domain, even a single doubt is pure. It follows that with doubts of impurity there is no difference between a single doubt and a double doubt: in the public domain both are pure, and in the private domain both are impure. If so, it is difficult that the Gemara distinguishes between a single doubt (if there is no such thing as “part of a placenta” without a fetus), in which we are stringent, and a double doubt (if there can be “part of a placenta” without a fetus), in which we should be lenient. In doubts of impurity such a situation cannot obtain—neither in the public domain nor in the private domain.

Tosafot answer:

וי”ל דשמעתין איירי לענין לאוסרה לבעלה.

That is, the discussion here concerns forbidding her to her husband, not her state of ritual impurity; and a doubt regarding her prohibition to her husband is judged as a doubt of prohibition, not as a doubt of impurity. Hence the Gemara can distinguish between a single doubt and a double doubt. Later authorities see in this Tosafot a source that the impurity of a parturient and her prohibition to her husband are two distinct and independent laws: there can be a case where she is impure yet permitted to her husband (a double doubt in a private domain), and a case where she is pure yet forbidden to her husband (a single doubt in a public domain). But there is a more fundamental difficulty in this Tosafot, and that is what I will now address.

The Sochatchover’s Words on Tosafot

In my article “On Sacred and Profane on Chanukah and in General,” I cited the publisher of Nefesh Yehonatan (R. Yonatan Eybeschutz’s novellae on the weekly portions), Parashat Chukat. There he brings a question and answer of his great-grandfather, the Sochatchover, on the above Tosafot:

And I heard from my master and teacher, our master and teacher, my revered grandfather, the holy gaon, head of the generation, our teacher R. A., shlita, rabbi of the holy community of Sochatchov, an explanation of the above Tosafot based on the Kuzari III:49: impurity applies only in a place of holiness, such as in sacrificial matters, terumah and tithes; whereas a niddah vis-à-vis her husband pertains to the profane, as stated in Chullin 31a. Therefore, what the Torah forbade—a niddah to her husband—is not on account of impurity but a simple prohibition. See there his words, precious as fine gold. And these are the words of Tosafot above: that in a doubt of niddah vis-à-vis her husband, the law does not follow the rules of doubtful impurity in a private or public domain, but is merely a doubt of prohibition.

He cites the Kuzari, who says that impurity applies only where there is holiness, whereas a niddah vis-à-vis her husband is a matter of the profane; therefore her prohibition to her husband is a prohibition, not impurity.

But he continues and argues that this appears puzzling:

והא דגמרינן ס”ט ברה”ר מסוטה לבעלה והא בעלה חולין ואיך חשוב ס’ טומאה.

The source for the laws of doubtful impurity (i.e., that they differ from ordinary doubts of prohibition) is the laws of the sotah (see Niddah 3a and parallels). But the discussion whether the sotah is “impure” or not is not about her ordinary impurity; rather it concerns her prohibition to her husband. It would then seem that a woman’s prohibition to her husband falls under the category of impurity and not of prohibition—contrary to Tosafot’s answer.

The Sochatchover explains:

The statement in the Gemara that “her husband is profane” applies only to the prohibition of niddah, for that prohibition does not stem from the betrothal (kiddushin)—after all, even with an unmarried woman the liability is karet. Thus the niddah prohibition is unrelated to kiddushin but only to the act of intercourse, and therefore her husband is rightly deemed “profane.” But a sotah, whose prohibition is solely to her husband, to whom she is consecrated—and “kiddushin” is a term of consecration that renders her forbidden to everyone like hekdesh; and the Gemara compares her to a sacrifice—since the sotah prohibition derives from holiness, it is rightly considered as a matter of impurity, for it is in a place of holiness, in accordance with the Kuzari. Hence, a sotah vis-à-vis her husband is treated under the rules of doubtful impurity, not merely as a doubt of prohibition. (See Tosafot, Yevamot, who write that one who remarries his divorcee after she married another falls under “other relations,” because the prohibition stems from the original kiddushin.) Therefore, it is indeed doubtful impurity and not simply a doubt of prohibition. By contrast, niddah, whose prohibition is not due to kiddushin but is a simple prohibition, is to be treated as a doubt of prohibition and not as doubtful impurity. He elaborates at length there.

The Relationship Between Holiness and Impurity

The conclusion that emerges is this: Most domains of halakhah are not tied to holiness or impurity. These are domains of the profane (chol), conducted in terms of prohibition, commandment, and permission. The concepts of holiness and impurity reflect the existence of a more sensitive sphere that is separate from the profane (where there are only prohibition, commandment, and permission). Within that sphere, the states are more extreme in a spiritual sense, and therefore they operate with a different conceptual system—holiness and impurity. It seems that the sons of Aharon, Nadav and Avihu, who acted incorrectly within the sphere of holiness, were punished most severely, because everything there is far more sensitive. On this distinction, see my article referenced above.

We see that impurity appears only where there is holiness. Seemingly holiness is the fundamental concept, and impurity is nothing but a breach in holiness. But it is more reasonable that the relationship is bidirectional: concepts of holiness apply only where impurity is also relevant. Holiness is the meticulous avoidance of impurity, and where impurity is impossible there is no place for holiness. Other stringencies are not “holiness,” but at most a mitzvah (or refraining from a transgression). Therefore it is hard to speak here of priority—holiness versus impurity. Holiness and impurity need each other and appear only together; each applies only where the other does as well. Where one cannot come to impurity, there is nothing to talk about in terms of holiness.

The phenomenon of oppositions—where a given value appears only in a place where its opposite is also relevant—is broader. I will bring now a few more examples (which I have discussed in the past) in which this can be seen. After that I will return to the phenomenon itself.

Tolerance and Pluralism

Several times in the past (see my article “The Price of Tolerance,” Column 626, and elsewhere) I have analyzed the relationship between these two confusing notions. On the surface they appear identical, but on closer inspection they are actually opposites. Tolerance is the forbearance of those who hold views different from mine—it is a value. Hence one who behaves tolerantly deserves moral credit. Pluralism, by contrast, is a philosophical stance, not a value. If you think there are many truths, you are a pluralist. That has nothing to do with values. Moreover, not only are they different and independent, to some extent they invert each other. To be tolerant you must contain those with different opinions—that is, those who, in your view, hold mistaken (even harmful) positions. But if you are a pluralist, then the other is as right as you are; there is thus nothing meritorious in your “tolerance” toward him. The surprising conclusion: to count as tolerant you must be a monist (i.e., hold philosophically that there is one truth and the other who thinks otherwise is mistaken).

This is another example of the need for the opposite in order to define and give value to one’s stance. Monism seemingly contradicts tolerance, for a monist upholds a single truth; if he concludes that this one truth is X, then anyone who thinks otherwise is wrong. He therefore has every reason not to be tolerant, since by acting against the other he prevents errors and possible harms. If nevertheless he adopts a tolerant posture, it is only because he upholds tolerance as a value. In the above article I explained this in terms of respecting the other’s autonomy, and I showed that any non-value-based explanation leads to conduct undeserving of moral credit. Respecting the other’s autonomy is the only motivation for tolerant behavior that merits moral credit.

The conclusion is that the presence of circumstances that would warrant opposite action is what confers value upon tolerance. Without them it has no value. Without other opinions—and without assuming they are mistaken—there is no possibility of being tolerant. As a pluralist you will of course “contain” them and not act against them, but that is not tolerance; it is behavior necessitated by your pluralist philosophical stance. Put differently: within a pluralist stance, there is room for tolerant behavior, but it will carry no moral value. When you have no reason not to be tolerant, your tolerance is value-less. It has value only where non-tolerance would have been the expected route. When there is a live option to be non-tolerant (i.e., when I am a monist and there is another view different from mine), only then does tolerance have value. The picture is very similar to what we saw concerning holiness and impurity. Holiness needs impurity, for without it holiness has no meaning. Tolerance needs circumstances that push toward non-tolerance, for without them it has no meaning.

Freedom and Liberty

In my series of columns on freedom and liberty (126 – 131) I noted a similar phenomenon regarding freedom. In our world, great value is ascribed to freedom. But as I explained there, freedom is not a value but an asset. Freedom is the absence of constraints. Of course none of us enjoys absolute freedom, but the fewer the constraints, the freer I am. My constraints are usually a given forced upon me, so the measure of my freedom is a kind of fact. That has nothing to do with value (a value is never a fact). What leads people to ascribe value to freedom is likely the recognition that depriving someone of freedom is wrong (a negative value). But note: this by no means implies that possessing freedom is a (moral) positive value. Consider taking money from its owner—certainly a wrongful act; but that does not mean that possessing money is a (moral) positive value. Just like money, freedom is an asset, not a value; and when a person has some measure of freedom or money, it is his asset, and therefore it is forbidden to deprive him of it.

Liberty, by contrast, is autonomous conduct within the system of constraints in which I operate. The more I chart my own path and autonomously choose my values and my mode of conduct, rather than allowing circumstances to dictate them, the more I am a free person (ben chorin). Unlike freedom, liberty and “free-person” conduct do have value. But precisely for that reason liberty is not freedom—indeed, it is the opposite of freedom. I can be considered truly free only where I am not free (i.e., only when constraints are imposed upon me). Without constraints, my autonomous conduct has no value. The constraints are what give it value.

I used as an analogy democratic elections. Elections in Syria are utterly “free”: no one tells you whom to vote for, or even tries to influence you. Except that in the Syrian ballot box there is only one slip, so the outcome is determined in advance. That “freedom” is illusory (somewhat analogous to what is called compatibilism regarding free will). By contrast, democratic elections in Switzerland are genuinely free: there are several slips in the ballot box, and no one compels you whom to choose. But in (metaphorical) Switzerland nothing depends on your choice; it has no problems to contend with. Therefore it makes no difference who is elected. In such a situation the decision is indeed free, but since it is not made within constraints and pressures, it has no significance; that freedom has no value. It is freedom, not liberty. Elections with value take place only where there are multiple slips in the ballot box and freedom to choose among them, and in addition there are constraints and problems that must be dealt with; if we choose wrongly, there will be a price. That is the situation in which our “freedom” has value—therefore it is not freedom but liberty: autonomous action within given constraints imposed upon me.

Note that we once again encounter the importance of the opposite. The existence of constraints is what gives value to “freedom” (or rather, liberty). Without them, it is freedom but not liberty—and freedom is not a value. Autonomous behavior without constraints may be autonomous, but it carries no value.

Artistic Value

In that series I brought another example from the arts. It is accepted that every artistic genre has genre-rules within and according to which the artist works. Why do we need such rules at all? Why not write a tragedy in seven acts rather than three or five? Why must the opening follow a particular pattern? This is especially puzzling if we recall that the fundamental component in art is the artist’s creativity. If we assess art by the degree of creativity, why shackle the artist in the irons of rigid genre rules (of course, in our post-modern times the rules are no longer rigid, and in my opinion this directly affects the value of art)? The answer is the same: creativity can be assessed only when there are constraints. Genre-rules create a template within which the artistic work arises. One can then assess how the artist handled the constraints and what novel path he forged within the rules. Without those binding rules, creativity loses meaning and cannot be evaluated; it collapses into meaningless nihilism. Just as running across an open field is not “creative,” whereas an escape from a well-guarded prison very much is.

Value in Ethical Conduct

In ethics as well, a person whose nature is to do good and who has no inclination pulling him otherwise does not deserve moral esteem. A sheep behaves pleasantly toward its fellows, but this has no value because it has no contrary drive or interest (nor choice). Moral choices have value only where a person has good reasons to act otherwise. Interest and inclination are the opposites of moral conduct, yet their presence in the background is essential for moral conduct to have value. A human and a sheep can perform the very same act; for the human it will have moral value, for the sheep it will not.

By the same token, modesty has value only where a person has qualities that could justify pride. A person devoid of merits—there is no value to his “humility” (though recognizing that one lacks merits may itself be a merit; that humility has intrinsic value). This is the meaning of the Kotzker’s well-known witticism about the midrash that explains that the Torah was given on Mount Sinai because it was the lowest and most humble of the mountains. The Kotzker asks: why not give the Torah in a valley, which is even lower and humbler than a low mountain? His answer: there is no virtue to the lowness of a valley. A mountain that possesses height yet remains humble—that has value. Without qualities, it is not humility but mere lowliness.

Thus, also in the moral sphere, a person’s conduct and learning have value only where there are circumstances that could lead to opposite conduct.

Summary

The common denominator of all these examples is that the states in question could in principle appear even without the presence of a threatening, limiting opposite. In principle a person can conduct himself as “holy,” be free, be a pluralist who treats his peers kindly, be moral (i.e., treat others well), and the like, without needing an opposite in the background. But without the opposite, none of these modes of conduct will have any value. Without a single truth, tolerance has no value (then it is pluralism, not tolerance). Without constraints, liberty has no value (then it is freedom, not liberty). Without interests, moral conduct has no value (then it is a pleasant sheep, not a moral human). Without merits, humility has no value (then it is lowliness, not humility). Without rules and constraints, creativity has no value (that is artistic “freedom,” not artistic creativity). And of course likewise for what we saw above: without impurity there is no value to holiness (at most it is a mitzvah, but not holiness).

What characterizes all these cases is that we ascribe value to them. When we give something value, it must be an act of human choice; and if such a choice requires overcoming a contrary background, then—and only then—does it deserve esteem. Without the contrary background, the state itself may exist, but it will not have value. The conclusion is that unlike the factual world, where one can apprehend facts even without an opposite nearby, in the axiological world every value must come with some sort of contrary background in order for us to ascribe value and/or credit to it. Each feeds the other, and without the other it has no value.

A Concluding Note: When Does Faith Have Value?

This brings me to another point. One can discuss faith in a similar way. Some define faith in God as a state: if a person believes in God, then he believes (as is said in the name of R. Chaim of Brisk, “A coerced heretic is still a heretic”). But such faith (or heresy) is merely a fact. Does such faith have value? If we wish to ascribe value to it, it must come against a contrary background. A person who has read and learned and weighed opposing arguments and then chose to believe—his faith has value. A person who “believes” by rote is perhaps a believer as a factual state (and even that I have questioned in the past),[2] but his faith has no value. My assumption is that faith is a task and not a state (perhaps this is the intent of Maimonides in his first positive commandment, and why he formulates it as a commandment). If so, only then can faith be seen as an act that has value. For faith to have value, it must arise from our decision; and such a decision has value only when there is a contrary background—i.e., familiarity with opposing positions and arguments and an autonomous decision in the face of them.

[1] A not-simple question: why isn’t this a case of “the same doubt,” which apparently does not invert? On these notions, see Column 613. Indeed, Rashi here in the sugya does not speak of a double doubt but of the degree of concern, and this is what he writes:

דאין מקצת שליא בלא ולד – ומש”ה חוששת שמא רוב מיחוי הולד יצא באותו מקצת ומכי נפק רוב הוי ליה כילוד כדאמרינן במסכת נדה (דף כח) יצא מחותך או מסורס עד שיצא רובו ומימנא ודאי לא מניא מראשון דשמא לא נפק רובא עד שני דאי יש מקצת שליא בלא ולד לא הוה חיישינן לטמא טהרות דכולי האי לא חיישינן דנימא תרי חומרי דלמא נפקא ורוב נפקא.

He speaks of “two stringencies” (trei chumrei) and not of a double doubt. But Tosafot treat it as a double doubt, and it is Tosafot’s view that concerns us here.

[2] See the introduction to my book The First Existent (HaMatzui HaRishon), Columns 6 and 576, and also here and here for a brief note on this point.