On General Questions in Q\&A and Beyond (Column 560)

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.

A few months ago, Y.M. posted a short piece that asks how we ought to balance demands for talent and character in an elected official. In other words: do the candidate’s talents and abilities compensate for poor character and corruption—and to what extent? I answered that the question is too general, and when I was later asked to provide a roadmap for such a discussion, I said this would require some groundwork and that perhaps I would devote a column to it in the future. I now wished to write such a column, and I realized it would be better to use this opportunity to clarify an issue that often arises here following general questions that I find hard to answer.

On General Questions

From time to time the site’s Q&A receives questions I do not answer because they are too general or not well-defined. It’s important to understand that questions like “Which is preferable, talent or character?” depend on quite a few factors and require conceptual and moral analysis. Beyond that, it’s unclear what “corruption” and “talent” mean, how much corruption versus how much talent, what state the country is in, what alternatives lie before us, and so on. The problem is that it’s hard to answer such a question in general, and in many cases I’m not even sure it is well-defined, so that even providing a roadmap is difficult.

Sometimes one can suggest a general roadmap for such discussions even without referring to specific cases, but such a map usually requires terminology and detail unsuited to a Q&A answer—as opposed to a column. (One must remember that many questions come in; “the needs of Your people are many and my capacity is limited.”) I expect questioners to understand the medium’s limits, and in particular the limits of the person running it. Therefore, if someone wishes to ask such a question, they should at least do some initial work themselves, and not expect me both to formulate the question and to supply a comprehensive answer.

So what does work? You can try building such a roadmap yourselves as a basis for discussion, or present an initial attempt and then ask why and how, if at all, it fails. That is a more concrete question that perhaps can be addressed even in a Q&A format. Best of all is to present a specific question: in situation X, should we prefer option A or option B—while laying out relevant considerations on both sides. Of course, from there we might be able to move to the broader question.

Example: Does the End Justify the Means?

It’s hard to deny that such questions arise frequently in the world, and at first glance they even sound important and fundamental. Take the question “Does the end justify the means,” for example. It is a weighty question that comes up in many contexts, but precisely for that reason it is very difficult—if possible at all—to give it an answer. Perhaps one can distinguish between different situations and meanings, and then suggest different directions and applications for the various situations. But that’s doctoral-dissertation material, and perhaps a column can say something intelligent about it. It is certainly not a question for a Q&A, and it’s doubtful whether it is even properly defined.

If you were to ask about a specific situation, one could conduct the discussion and perhaps extend from it to other situations, distinguish between them, and sketch the contours of a more general model. Asking “Does the end justify the means?” sounds very clever, deep, and important, but on second thought it is almost content-empty. It’s not a serious question—certainly not for a Q&A medium.

A Talmudic Example: “Sinai” or “Uprooter of Mountains”?

Such questions also arise in the Talmud. Consider the Talmudic question of whether “Sinai” is preferable or an “uprooter of mountains” is preferable (see the end of Horayot and also Berakhot 64a). Anyone reading this thinks there is a profound and fascinating sugya here. But on closer inspection, I’m not at all sure the question is defined, and certainly one cannot give it a clear, sweeping answer. Incidentally, Berakhot asks who is preferable (though precedence is also mentioned there), while Horayot asks who comes first. That’s not necessarily the same question.

How does one begin to answer such a question? You must ask yourself: what exactly is “Sinai”? I assume it doesn’t mean someone who recites the entire Talmud by heart without understanding anything, nor even someone who merely understands the meaning of the words. Obviously, being a “Sinai” also requires some understanding and depth. But if so, is the concept “Sinai” defined? Perhaps everything is relative, and the question is whether more “Sinai-ness” is preferable at the expense of “uprooting mountains.” But again: how much preference are we talking about? And in general, when one says “preferable,” preferable for what purpose? Are we asking whom to appoint as a rabbi? Or whether to design an education that produces this model of Torah scholar or the other? Perhaps the question is who deserves more honor, or who is more beneficial? Incidentally, in that sugya it seems to concern appointing a head of the yeshiva.

The answer given there is that everyone needs a master of sin-cases (“mari ḥetaya”), meaning that information is the first priority. We can later reconstruct the dialectics ourselves. (See there in Horayot that halakhot le-Moshe mi-Sinai that were forgotten during the mourning for Moses cannot be reconstructed, whereas laws derived through hermeneutic principles can.) But that already depends on whether we have the information in writing, whether there are other experts to ask, and so on. Remember that in their period the Talmud and the Oral Torah had not yet been written (apart from the Mishnah). In such circumstances, “Sinai” weighs heavily; but that doesn’t say much about our times, when everything is written and information is readily accessible.

In short, the question does not seem well-defined. Nevertheless, the Gemara offers an answer and brings disputes about it. The halakhic authorities also discuss it de facto (see Maharik, shoresh 169; Rosh, Shabbat ch. 3 §23; Rashi on Avot 2:10; and others). It’s evident that everyone pulls this determination toward the circumstances they are addressing (whether a practical ruling is required, or whether we’re dealing with teachers, and so on). My impression is that no one truly treats this as a concrete, binding ruling. I don’t believe there is anyone under the sun who values “Sinai” who will change his mind because the Gemara said an “uprooter of mountains” is preferable, or vice versa. He will explain that it concerns another situation where it makes more sense to prefer “Sinai.” In the end, everything remains subject to our judgment according to the specific circumstances, and the sources are at most a constraint to be reconciled with our considered view. So what’s the point of dealing with such a sugya at all? Why does the Gemara try to decide it? Why do the halakhic authorities even relate to the Talmudic decision? I truly don’t know. To me, this is an aggadic-type sugya, and like any aggadic sugya I see no compelling reason to engage it—certainly not to debate the Gemara’s “ruling.” There is no operative ruling here, and it is not binding; each person will decide, when the question arises, according to reason and context.

Comparison with Another Talmudic Example: “One Benefits and the Other Does Not Lose”

There are Talmudic sugyot that pose general questions such as the rule of “one benefits and the other does not lose,” but they immediately translate the question into a concrete case (see column 431, and for a broader discussion of casuistry in the Talmud, see column 482). After translating to a concrete case, one can certainly discuss the question and a decision has meaning. After deciding the specific case, we can then ask how far the decision extends and in what cases it no longer applies. The answer, of course, depends on questions such as what types of benefit and what types of loss we are dealing with, the nature of the conflict, and so forth. That is, when moving from the case at hand to the general principle, it is better to go from the particular to the general (bottom-up, not top-down). If we were to ask only the general question, “What is the rule in one-benefits-and-the-other-does-not-lose?” the answer would have to be that the question is undefined and not worth discussing. Indeed, the Gemara there begins with the concrete question—“One who lives in his fellow’s courtyard without his knowledge: must he pay rent?”—and only afterwards translates it into the general principle (“one benefits and the other does not lose”). This is the advantage of the Talmudic casuistry noted in those columns.

At least by the principle of charity, I assume that when the question about “Sinai” and the “uprooter of mountains” was raised in the beit midrash, it likely concerned a particular situation where the question was defined well enough; the answer, then, related only to that situation. For example, such a question can arise when it is clear who the two candidates are, which position they are being considered for, what their abilities are in the relevant domains, how significant the differences between them are, what the needs were at that time and place, whether they were equal in all other parameters (e.g., pedagogic skill, attitude toward students, piety, the degree of public respect/affection for them), how acute the need for information was (were there written sources), and so on.

But if so, there is no point in seeing that determination as a sweeping, general directive. It is an answer to a specific question about a specific case. In short, this does not appear to be a particularly interesting discussion—at least not until we carefully ascertain the circumstances that obtained then (and needless to say, we generally have no reliable way to do so).

Back to the Question of Talent and Character

I will now nevertheless try to address the question of talent and character, while setting aside—for the sake of discussion—all the limitations described thus far (how corrupt candidate A is compared to B, and how talented he is in comparison; the degree of their impact and the dangers posed by them; the problems we face; and so on).

To answer this question we must first establish the framework of discussion. Just as with “Sinai” vs. “uprooter of mountains,” we must ask: “preferable” in what sense? Are we trying to determine what is more beneficial? Or what is more moral? You can see that once you answer that preliminary question, you have, in effect, answered the main one: from the standpoint of utility, talent seems preferable; from a moral standpoint, character is preferable. So—do we even have a question here?

Of course, one can translate the question to a deeper plane: Is it better to achieve less (less utility) while maintaining a higher ethical level, or is public utility the sole (or central) consideration in appointing leadership and political roles? Put more starkly: should the public take a candidate’s character into account at all, or should the only consideration be the benefit expected from him?

Again, we must neutralize cases where a candidate’s corruption would harm utility. If he is corrupt, then even if talented he may not deploy his talents for our sake but for his own interests. So of what use is his talent to us? That is not an interesting, principled discussion. For our purposes, then, we must assume a hypothetical situation where the candidate’s corruption has no effect on the benefit we can expect from him (otherwise we are back to measuring one kind of utility against another). Note that I am also speaking about educational consequences: if appointing a corrupt person will degrade public morals, or those of the youth, that itself is a utility-related consideration to be weighed. In other words, our discussion concerns a wholly hypothetical case in which the candidate’s corrupt character has no practical ramifications whatsoever—apart from the fact that the label “a corrupt person” hangs over him. Only now can I try to seek a principled, general moral answer not dependent on particulars.

Having thus defined the question, we can set some (very broad) boundaries. If the two options are equal, it is obvious we should appoint the honest person. In that sense we may conclude that there is indeed weight to the moral/character consideration in political appointments. But there is no dilemma here, and it is unlikely that this is what the question was aiming at. Conversely, if our situation is such that we will all be doomed because the honest person is utterly unqualified, it seems we should appoint a corrupt person simply to survive. Again, hardly a dilemma. Everything beyond that is subject to judgment and depends on many varied particulars. I therefore do not see how one can set principled boundaries for it. It depends on the gap in talents and in character, how acute the current situation is, and so forth.

The Questioner’s Example

Take the example the questioner himself proposed:

Suppose you are on an army base under attack. You have two commanders: one is a pleasant fellow whom everyone loves—always kind and polite—but inexperienced in battle. The second is a convicted murderer and rapist, but with extensive experience in such situations and a Medal of Valor for battlefield command. Whom would you want defending you—the first commander or the second?

You understand that when under attack and our lives are at risk, no one weighs moral considerations first. First we must survive; afterward we will deal with morality. But does that teach us anything about the broader question regarding a particular prime minister, whose abilities are hard to assess—let alone compare to others—and when we cannot know what will happen to us if we choose this one or that (there is no clear, immediate danger here)? How, then, does this example teach us anything about the general question?

If anything, I would choose an example depicting the exact opposite situation: no danger faces us and everything proceeds calmly and peacefully. We have two candidates: one is extraordinarily talented and extraordinarily corrupt; the other is a certified fool but an honest man. If I appoint the honest man, nothing will happen because we face no real dangers (cf. Switzerland—in columns 72 and 127). In such a case, it seems reasonable to choose the honest man. Alternatively, consider a case where real dangers loom and the two candidates are equally talented, but one is corrupt. Here too I would choose the honest man. These two cases may suggest that character has some significance in public appointments (otherwise, even in such neutral cases there should be no difference between the candidates).

From here one can ask how far this goes and what price I would pay to avoid appointing a corrupt person. I don’t know—but at least the question is defined and bounded. The example above teaches nothing about the substantive question. Of course, one could take his example, infer from it the conclusion that at least in principle utility matters even at the expense of morality, and then ask how far that goes. But that principled conclusion strikes me as more trivial than the one that follows from my examples (that morality matters—at least where there is no utility cost).

As you can see, an example that sounds very powerful, with a bit of conceptual analysis, proves hollow and content-less, and in fact teaches us nothing. Remember: an example is meant to illustrate and sharpen the issue, but here it actually obscures it and contributes little to the discussion.

A Commander Who Went into Exile

In Makkot 11b we find a halakhah that at first glance parallels the example the questioner brought, and therefore would seem relevant here:

He does not leave [the city of refuge] not for testimony in a mitzvah matter, nor for monetary testimony, nor for capital testimony—even if Israel needs him, and even if he is the commander of Israel’s army like Yoav ben Tzeruyah, he never leaves, as it is said “to which he fled”—there shall be his dwelling, there his death, there his burial.

This concerns a commander of Israel’s army (decorated with valor and distinction; a general of great expertise and merit) who killed unintentionally and went into exile in a city of refuge. He is not taken out even if the public needs him to succeed and win a war—seemingly even if this would save us from annihilation, or at least from the death of many soldiers and civilians.

I have always wondered about this mishnah. How is it different from the consideration of pikuach nefesh (saving life), which overrides the entire Torah? One could have said that the mishnah assumes that God will take care of us; that is, if halakhah prevents us from using the most capable commander, God will deal with our enemies and save us. But if that were so, why do we desecrate Shabbat to save a life instead of relying on God to save us because we are keeping Shabbat? That is the rationale of the rule that saving a life overrides prohibitions.

This reminds me of a story I cited in my article on civil law in the ghetto (here and here). The author of Dvar Avraham, who led the Kovno Ghetto during the Holocaust, instructed the yeshiva students there to refrain from eating legumes on Passover even though they were in real mortal danger. He argued that in their situation, in any case, most were likely to die, so perhaps the stringency would earn them God’s salvation. A very strange claim to me—even assuming (which I do not) that God is involved here—but this is not the place for that discussion.

Back to Yoav ben Tzeruyah. It would seem we learn there that appointing a capable yet corrupt person (a manslayer by accident—“light” corruption, essentially negligence) is illegitimate even in the extreme case of clear, immediate mortal danger. Will any of us derive a halakhah from there and apply it to our case? I very much doubt it. On the contrary, it is a question that demands resolution, and one certainly cannot build a halakhic edifice on such a puzzling law—understood or not. Indeed, several commentators grappled with this (see a brief survey here). Even though their answers do not satisfy me, the very fact they felt compelled to address it indicates that nothing definitive can be learned from here.

Were I not hesitant to say so (similarly to the Cheshek Shlomo there), I would suggest that the intent is not that he may never leave, but rather that there is a prohibition for him to leave or that it would be proper not to leave; but the prohibition is overridden by pikuach nefesh like any other. Alternatively, if he leaves, he must later return, for his obligation of exile has not ended. Or perhaps it concerns going out to ensure success in a war of conquest or for profit, not to save the public from real danger.

In any case, let us assume for the discussion that no such interpretation can be found. Anyone wishing to learn something from there should try leaving the armchair in the study hall for a moment and imagine actually being in such a situation. Can one conceive that the court would forbid Yoav ben Tzeruyah to leave the city of refuge, thereby sentencing all Israel to death and annihilation—and all because of a puzzling law learned (not very convincingly) from the verse “to which he fled” (Numbers 35:25)? A reasonable rabbi or decisor who finds himself in such a situation would surely not rule that way in practice. Whether or not he can find creative, reasonable, and sound readings of that verse, it seems clear to me that he must ensure our survival (see the discussion here).

A Challenge to Readers

I will stop here because I have nothing further and intelligent to add about this vague and ill-defined issue. I propose that interested readers suggest ways to move forward toward a roadmap for this question. Perhaps we will learn something new and sharpen the question. Even if not, at any rate this provides a good demonstration of the difficulty with general, ill-defined questions of this sort.