Two Moral Axes (Column 266)

With God’s help

This past Sabbath I read in Reinhold Niebuhr’s book, The Children of Light and the Children of Darkness, published by Shalem Press. Niebuhr was an American theologian who had a great influence on various thinkers, mainly American ones, in the middle of the twentieth century. He dealt extensively with theology, faith, and human destiny, but toward the end of the Second World War he wrote several works that also deal with politics and current affairs. The book The Children of Light and the Children of Darkness is a defense of democracy, but it presents a complex picture of democracy and of the struggles surrounding it. At that time democracy was threatened mainly from two directions: Nazi fascism on the one hand and Soviet communism on the other. Niebuhr himself moved, over the course of his life, among different worldviews. At certain periods in his life he supported communism and socialism, and later renounced them. His support for democracy is also complex and not fanatical, and he points to its shortcomings. He sees it as the lesser of evils (which today is no great novelty), and therefore he defines it in a rather minimal and flexible way, so that it will not unnecessarily restrict individual freedom and will not place too much power in the hands of the government.

In this column I would like to discuss the fundamental distinction at the beginning of his book, which prompted in me several reflections regarding the nature of moral obligation and its connection to the relation between the individual and the collective. These are issues I have addressed in several places in the past, and here I will try to bring a bit of order to the relations among them (though of course I will not arrive at an algorithm).

A centrifugal definition of the good

Despite the complex picture that Niebuhr presents, at the basis of his remarks lies a sharp and simple dichotomous distinction (simplistic?) between "children of light" and "children of darkness" (p. 8):

If we further clarify this important distinction, we may well be able to assign to moral cynics, who know no law higher than their own will and selfish interest, a scriptural title: "children of this world" or "children of darkness." Those who hold that self-interest ought to be subjected to the yoke of a higher law may accordingly be called "children of light."

This is not merely an arbitrary slogan, for evil is always the insistence on some selfish interest without regard for the whole, whether that whole is conceived as the immediate community, or the inclusive community of the human race, or the total order of the world. Good, by contrast, is always the harmony of the whole on different planes. Devotion to a secondary and prematurely privileged "whole," such as the nation, may of course become evil from the standpoint of a larger whole, such as the human community. We may therefore define the "children of light" as people who seek to subject self-interest to the yoke of a law that is more universal and in harmony with a good that is more universal.

Later in the book one can see that the applications of this simplistic distinction are tangled and twisted. His definition of different groups and ideologies constantly oscillates between simplistic (and even foolish) children of light and children of darkness, and it is very difficult to classify groups and people according to these categories. It is therefore no wonder that as the book goes on, the picture becomes increasingly complicated. After some thought, I reached the conclusion that there is one main point already in the fundamental definition itself (the one in the passage quoted above) that causes most of the complication that comes afterward.

Niebuhr here ranks the degree of a person’s or an ideology’s "light" according to the scope of the group to which they relate. This is a centrifugal criterion (moving outward from the center), according to which the more you are focused on a broader group, the more you belong to the children of light, and vice versa. If a person sacrifices his own interests for the sake of the collective, he is a moral person. Therefore, when Niebuhr discusses fascism, for example, he explains that the evil inherent in it lies in the fact that it ignores the interests of a broader group (the human species or the universe as a whole). Thus the nation becomes a kind of broader individual, concern for whose interest comes at the expense of the broader group. This is why, for him, fascism belongs to the "children of darkness."

A centripetal definition of the good

But Niebuhr ignores the fact that part of the problem with fascism lies specifically in its relation to the individuals included within it, and not only in relation to the groups around it. The problem with fascism is not only the trampling of the interests of other nations, but also the trampling of the interests and rights of the individuals within its own nation for the sake of the collective interest.

The meaning of this is that there is a kind of evil that is not connected to narrowing the reference group in comparison to a broader group, that is, not based on a centrifugal definition of the good, but precisely the opposite: placing the interest of the broader group above that of the narrower group or the individual within it. This is a centripetal definition (from the outside inward) of the good. On the centrifugal axis described by Niebuhr, the good is defined in proportion to the scope of the group to which you relate. The more you see before you and take into account a broader group, the better you are (the more you belong to the "children of light"). But in defining the good one must not ignore the centripetal axis as well, according to which placing the interest of the broader group above that of the smaller group included within it, or above the individual, can also be a form of evil (or conduct characteristic of the "children of darkness," in his terminology).

If we move to a higher resolution, a war by one people against another people that threatens them is also concern for my group at the expense of other groups. Alternatively, a person’s concern for his household, for the people of his city, or for the members of his community, before concern for the rest of humankind, is also not usually perceived as "dark" conduct. Is a person supposed to scatter all his money to save the miserable across the universe at the expense of his own household? Should a state take care of all the people of the world before, or together with, its own citizens? That is an unreasonable demand. Moreover, it is unreasonable not only because we compromise with human nature and its capacities. It seems to me that most people would regard overly universalistic conduct as immoral, since The poor of your own city take precedence. (the poor of your own city take precedence). Not for nothing do we distinguish between human rights and civil rights. There are rights conferred on every human being as such, and with respect to them one may not prefer the poor of one’s own city over others (I may not kill a stranger in order to save myself or one of my family members). But civil rights are granted first and foremost to citizens (no one would demand that a state provide education and health care to every needy person in the global village).

And yet, a centrifugal perspective

Of course, the centripetal perspective also does not present a complete picture. The centrifugal definition certainly fits the basic moral intuition. Niebuhr is right that placing the collective above my own interest generally characterizes a moral approach. Thus, for example, the sacrifice of the individual for the sake of the group to which he belongs is usually considered an act worthy of appreciation. This is precisely the good according to the centrifugal criterion, which places the collective above the individual. But as we saw above, this is not the only axis. The good is defined across both axes (the centrifugal and the centripetal), with different weightings. Beyond that, a person’s commitment to another at the expense of his own private interest is in many cases a commitment to another individual, and not only to a broader public (this is the well-known saying that "your this-world is my world-to-come"). Here it is difficult to tie good conduct to decisions in a conflict between the interest of the individual and that of the collective.

If we look again at the matter of sacrifice, sacrifice for the sake of the collective is a moral act when it comes on the initiative of the individual, but not when the public forces it upon him. The individual who places the public interest above his own is indeed worthy of appreciation. But coercion by the public of the individual to sacrifice himself is a kind of centripetal fascism (in its negative sense). Seemingly, we have here a complex but clear criterion: there is an individual who is included within the public, and neither of the two sides may demand sacrifice from the other. But it is fitting that each should sacrifice for the sake of the other on his own initiative.

Except that this picture too is not so simple. The public certainly does demand some sacrifice from the individual, such as the payment of taxes or military service for the common good, and these demands are legitimate, although seemingly there is here evil in the centripetal sense (the subjugation of the individual for the sake of the general interest, as in fascism). Yet at the same time it is clear that the public cannot demand that the individual sacrifice his life in a situation of certain mortal danger (a military suicide mission. See below, at the end of the column). That is, there is some measure of demands that the public may legitimately make of the individual, but not every demand is legitimate. If we are speaking of too great a sacrifice of the individual for the sake of the public interest, it seems that even if it is undertaken on the initiative of the individual, we will not always see it as correct or morally excellent. There is value in the autonomy of the individual, and it is not right, even as an act of piety beyond the letter of the law, to demand that he be subjugated to the needs of the collective (see columns 34 and 240, especially regarding the issue of "If he is to study and his son is to study, he takes precedence over his son." (if he must study and his son must study, he takes precedence over his son)).

The ontic basis of this model: the model of multiple circles

In column 188, which is dedicated to my nephew Uri Poterzail (and also a bit in column 51), I discussed the dispute between universalism and particularism. These two conceptions, which seem utterly opposed, meet on the other side of the circle. If one takes both of them to the end, what one gets is one great humanity without intermediate circles (families, nations, communities, religions, and the like). The feeling shared by proponents of both these conceptions is that if the particular circles were erased and we were left with one big happy humanity—everything would be wonderful. The universalists, who are the ultimate "children of light" according to Niebuhr’s definition, believe that in such a world there would be no wars and no persecutions, and morality would reign supreme. But the particularists as well, who are the ultimate "children of darkness," believe that in such a state there would be no interference by the outer circles with the freedom of individuals.

As I explained there, in my opinion this is a naive feeling, and it would probably lead to a less moral world. I argued that the intermediate circles, despite their shortcomings, are necessary in order to build a healthier and more moral world. If everyone cares more for the circles closer to him than for the whole world, then in the final analysis most individuals will be better off. But here I want to focus on the ontic plane. According to the collectivist conception, a people is not a fiction but an entity that has existence (ontic status), and of course so do individuals. The full ontic model sees the person as belonging to a collection of different circles around him: himself, his nuclear family, his extended family, his community, his city, his country, his people, and all humanity (and perhaps even the universe as a whole, not necessarily only the human beings within it).[1]

This ontic picture is described in note 15 in my book Shtei Agalot. There I showed a number of implications of this perspective. For example, Maimonides writes in the Laws of Repentance 3:2:

A person whose sins outweigh his merits dies immediately in his wickedness, as it is said: “because of your many iniquities”; likewise, a city whose sins outweigh its merits is immediately destroyed, as it is said: “The outcry of Sodom and Gomorrah is great,” etc.; and likewise, the entire world—if their sins were to outweigh their merits, they would immediately be destroyed, as it is said: “And the Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great…”

He writes that a person is judged on Rosh Hashanah in several circles of different scope. Some of his commentators wondered how it is possible to judge the city after all its inhabitants have already been judged individually, each on his own, for life or death. What remains to be judged? I explained there that each person is judged in all the circles to which he belongs. He can be righteous in his private judgment but guilty in the communal judgment, or vice versa. Even with respect to the communal plane, he can be judged in two aspects: in the private dimension relative to the community (to what extent he personally contributed to the character of the community), or in the communal dimension itself (he is judged as an individual within the community on the basis of the state of the community as a whole). This picture describes the person’s condition in human society in a complex way. He has several facets, and he can be judged on each of them independently. But there is no discussion there of the question of how he himself ought to relate to the different circles, certainly not regarding conflicts between the circles.

I described a similar picture also in my article in Tzohar 14, which dealt with the relation between collective and individual. The discussion there concerned the justification for harming innocents in order to achieve military objectives (harming terrorists or terror infrastructure). I argued there that viewing the collective as possessing ontic status independent of the individuals has moral implications. The main implication is permission to harm uninvolved persons on the other side if this is necessary to achieve the desired military result.

In that article, beyond the description of the metaphysical picture itself, implications of it also arise on the normative plane. A person has obligations to all the circles in descending order. A person is obligated to himself, then to his family, his community, his city, his people, the inhabitants of his country, and human beings throughout the world. Seemingly, the picture presented there is centripetal, since the status of the individual is derived from his belonging to the collective. But I showed that he also has an independent status regardless of his affiliations (for example, although in his collective capacity he has the status of a rodef (pursuer), there is no permission to harm him if that is not necessary for victory). I showed there several implications of the model of multiple circles (with respect to targeted killings, harm to innocents, and collective punishment).

In all these places only the model of the circles and its implications are presented, in terms of a complex view of the human being as possessing multiple and independent facets. But as noted, there is no direct discussion there of conflicts between the circles, except perhaps indirectly. For example, in the article in Tzohar I assume, without explicitly placing it on the table, that a person’s obligation is first and foremost to the members of his own people, and therefore protecting them justifies harming the rights of members of enemy peoples. Again, this seems at first glance to be centripetal. But one should note that I spoke there about enemies, and I even remarked that if we are dealing with members of other peoples there is no justification for harming them. There you have a shard of centrifugality. But those articles do not directly address conflicts in the relations among the circles (the centrifugal–centripetal question).

Adding a normative layer

The picture described up to this point is only partial. In fact, it is the ontic framework for the full discussion of the good. The framework for the discussion is a conception of the person as belonging to several different circles. One can now discuss conflicts concerning the relation between the circles. Is it proper to sacrifice the inner circle for the sake of the outer one, or vice versa, and under what conditions? This is the plane with which Niebuhr’s remarks are concerned.

The discussion we conducted above about the good in fact implicitly assumes the model of circles as an ontic framework, and upon it one must build centripetal and centrifugal principles that determine priority in the relations among the different circles. As we have seen, the relations among the circles do not move in a single direction. Basically, moral conduct gives greater value to the interest of the broader circle (a centrifugal definition of the good), but there are also centripetal components. Absolute domination of the broader circle over the narrow one (or the private one), or vice versa—both are moral distortions. We must not erase the status of the individual person, but neither may we see others, or even society, merely as a servant of individuals. One circle cannot completely enslave another circle, whether from the outer circles or from the inner ones. Moreover, a person’s obligation is first and foremost to the inner circles, as emerges from the centripetal picture, but Niebuhr is right that a person’s moral standing is higher the more he is willing to be obligated also to the more external circles (not at the expense of the inner ones). And that is the centrifugal axis.

Beyond that, as I already noted above, the normative layer is even more complex. This model deals with relations among circles, and with conflicts between a person’s interest and his obligation to a broader or narrower circle around him. But there are also ethical questions that concern one’s relation to another individual from a different circle. In such situations the person is in conflict between his own interest and the interest of a person from another circle, not between himself and some circle. This is a conflict between two private persons, not between an individual and a circle.

This additional normative layer becomes sharper in light of what is described in my article on the duty of the individual in a public role. There I dealt precisely with this point, and to conclude the discussion I will bring the main example I discussed there.

The duty of the individual in a public role

In the above-mentioned article I showed that according to certain halakhic positions, a judge is obligated to place himself in possible mortal danger in order to render judgment. Thus, in situations where a violent person threatens to kill him if he rules against him, the judge is obligated to rule according to his understanding and may not withdraw from the case. I asked there two questions: 1. Where do we find an obligation of self-sacrifice for something that is not one of the three cardinal transgressions? 2. We do not find in Jewish law a case in which there is an obligation to act despite possible mortal danger, but not in the face of certain mortal danger. Anything that mortal danger overrides, possible mortal danger also overrides (this is explicit in the Yoma 85 passage).

I answered question 1 in terms of the model of circles. A person is obligated to give up his life for the functioning of the public circle. In this sense, the perspective is indeed centrifugal, that is, the life of the individual is subordinated to the functioning of the collective. Of course, this is only where there is a real threat to the existence of the collective (I showed there that this is considered a case of danger to the life of the public), and only where the individual bears an official role (a judge without official appointment is not obligated to place himself in possible mortal danger in order to decide). I answered question 2 in terms of the normative plane (the double axis): the judge, as a private person, has a status as an individual, and one cannot completely subordinate him to his public role (a centripetal view). Therefore one may demand of him that he enter into possible mortal danger, but it is not right to demand that he die.

I brought an example of this from IDF ethics. In the Battle of the Mitla during the Sinai Campaign, the paratroopers under Raful’s command ran into an ambush at the Mitla Pass. The Egyptians were dug in, and it was necessary to expose their location so that it would be possible to deal with them. Raful asked for a volunteer to drive in a jeep so that the Egyptians would shoot at him and thereby reveal their position. This was a certain suicide mission, and IDF ethics does not allow giving a soldier an order that obligates him to do such a thing. Yehuda Ken-Dror volunteered for the mission and drove exposed in a jeep toward the firing positions. Indeed, the firing positions were exposed, but he was mortally wounded. The paratroopers managed to extricate themselves because of him, and after about two months Ken-Dror died of his wounds. In such a case of certain mortal danger one may ask for a volunteer, but one may not issue an order (a centripetal aspect). This is despite the fact that going into battle itself falls under the category of possible mortal danger, and there it is clear that the public has the authority and the right to demand that a citizen of the state go out to battle as a soldier (a centrifugal aspect).

These two are examples of the complex relation between the circles. The private individual is subordinated to the existence of the collective, but not absolutely. He has an independent status, and one cannot demand of him that he give up his life in a situation of certain danger. Incidentally, his volunteering for such a mission in such a case is indeed an act worthy of great appreciation. In this case he decided to give up his life for the existence of the collective, and from his side this is a heroic act. But the public has no right to demand it of him. If what is at stake is a lesser matter, then even volunteering would be an improper act. A person ought not so belittle the value of his life and subjugate it absolutely for the sake of the public.

These are, of course, extreme examples, and in milder cases the decision is less clear and unequivocal. But here one can clearly see an example of the complex relation between the centrifugal axis and the centripetal axis. I do not think I have clear criteria—an algorithm—that would guide me in determining the proportions between the two axes, and when and how much it is right to take each of them into account. Here we have arrived at the annoying word that always returns in these discussions: "proportionality."

[1] The circles are not necessarily concentric. For example, religious, familial, and national affiliations can partially diverge.