Deriving Ta‘ama de-Kra: A. Why Don’t We Derive It? (Column 713)
In the previous column I discussed cultural influences that enter into Halakhah. In passing I noted that with respect to derashot we do in fact derive the ta‘ama de-kra (the “reason of the verse”), since the exegete’s reasoning always informs the derashah and therefore it is not correct to ignore the explanatory dimension that shaped it. In the comments I was asked about ta‘ama de-kra, and I said I would dedicate the next column to it. Here it is. This is the first column, to be followed by more. I will note that a very detailed discussion of ta‘ama de-kra appears in our book, Yishlach Shoreshav, in the essay on the Fifth Root.
Ta‘ama de-Kra
There is a Tannaitic dispute about whether we derive the reasons for the commandments or not. For example, we find in the Torah a prohibition against taking a widow’s garment as collateral (Deuteronomy 24:17–18):
“You shall not pervert the justice due to the stranger or the orphan, and you shall not take a widow’s garment in pledge. And you shall remember that you were a slave in Egypt and the LORD your God redeemed you from there; therefore I command you to do this thing.”
A simple reading suggests that the point of the prohibition is not to seize collateral from the poor and downtrodden. The widow is merely a salient example. This is also indicated by the context of the verse and by the reminder (which is not exactly a reason) that appears in the next verse. The Torah here appeals to our sense of justice and morality.
Now, in Mishnah Bava Metzia 115a the following law is brought:
“A widow—whether she is poor or rich—one does not take a pledge from her, as it says, ‘You shall not take a widow’s garment in pledge.’”
The Mishnah rules that the prohibition applies even to taking collateral from a wealthy widow, since the wording of the verse does not distinguish between a poor widow and a rich one. Somewhat surprising.
However, the Gemara there brings a baraita with a Tannaitic dispute on this matter:
“Our Rabbis taught: A widow—whether poor or rich—one does not take a pledge from her; these are the words of Rabbi Yehuda. Rabbi Shimon says: If she is rich, one may take a pledge; if she is poor, one does not take a pledge—because you are obligated to return it to her [at night], and you cause her ill repute among her neighbors.”
From the baraita it emerges that the Mishnah reflects the view of Rabbi Yehuda, but R. Shimon disputes him and holds that the verse indeed speaks only about a poor widow. He does not state the law regarding another poor person who is not a widow (a poor widower or simply a poor person).
Further in the Gemara it is explained that the basis of the dispute is whether we derive ta‘ama de-kra. Rabbi Yehuda does not derive the verse’s reason; that is, he interprets the verse as written without resorting to its rationale. R. Shimon, however, does derive its reasons and interprets the verse teleologically. In the article noted above I pointed out that Rabbi Yehuda is not opposed to seeking and proposing interpretations for the Torah’s commandments. Deriving ta‘ama de-kra is what the legal world calls “purposive interpretation,” namely drawing halakhic conclusions based on a hypothesis about the commandment’s purpose (its reason—what it seeks to achieve). It is this that Rabbi Yehuda objects to. In his view one may interpret the commandments, but we must not draw halakhic conclusions from that.
In practice, the poskim generally rule like Rabbi Yehuda, who does not derive ta‘ama de-kra.
A note about the reason brought here
We saw that R. Shimon does bring a reason and even employs it teleologically. He concludes from it that the law applies only to a poor widow and not to a rich one. Yet R. Shimon’s reason is surprising. I would have expected him to say that it is because we have compassion on the poor widow who has no garment for her use, and therefore we forbid taking it from her. But R. Shimon ties it to a concern for her reputation: because the Torah obligates returning the pledge to her at night so she can use it, her neighbors will gossip that men are visiting her at night. This concern exists only for a poor widow, since a rich one has another garment and there is no halakhic obligation to return it to her; thus for her, the gossip does not arise.
We see that instead of the moral and human reason we would expect, R. Shimon offers a “religious-legal” reason. The Torah is not sparing her because of her poverty, that she would lack a garment. The entire problem is that people will gossip about her modesty. What accounts for this apparent moral insensitivity? Even when the Torah says something that seems on its face humane and moral, and even R. Shimon—who is prepared to derive the reason and apply it halakhically—seems to extract the matter from its plain sense artificially and, for some reason, insists on distancing from moral reasons. Recall that Rabbi Yehuda is not prepared to consider the reason for the commandment at all; and even R. Shimon, who is ready to qualify the Torah’s law, to interpret it purposively and rule that it applies only to a poor widow, does not attribute it to a moral reason but to matters of modesty. Note that according to R. Shimon, the law that emerges from purposive interpretation would indeed not apply to an ordinary poor person, widower or not. It is stated only about a poor widow.
But on closer look this is a mistake. First, we must note that the Torah indeed obligates us to return a poor borrower’s pledge (Deuteronomy 24:10–13):
“When you make your fellow a loan of any amount, you shall not enter his house to take his pledge. You shall stand outside, and the man to whom you are lending shall bring the pledge out to you. And if he is a poor man, you shall not sleep with his pledge. You shall surely return the pledge to him at sunset, and he shall sleep in his garment and bless you; and it shall be righteousness for you before the LORD your God.”
There is an obligation to return the pledge at night so the poor person can use it. Here there is clearly human sensitivity. That is also evident from the first two verses here. But if indeed we return the pledge to a poor person so he can use it, then there is truly no need to spare the poor widow by not taking the pledge; the Torah has already ensured that in any case she will have a garment because we return it to her. What remains is only the concern that if it is returned to her at night she will acquire an ill repute. This reason really applies only to a (female) poor widow, not to other poor people or to a rich widow.
Similarly, I once brought Mishnah Bikkurim 3:7, which states:
“At first, anyone who knew how to recite would recite, and anyone who did not know how to recite would be prompted. When people refrained from bringing [bikkurim], they enacted that they would prompt both those who knew and those who did not.”
The Sages enacted that a person should not read the Bikkurim passage himself but be prompted, because there were those who did not know how to read. Again, at first glance I would interpret the reason for the enactment as a concern for the shame of those who cannot read—a lofty human and moral concern. But no; it is a “religious-legal” concern: that people would refrain from bringing bikkurim. And again a question arises about the moral sensitivity of the Mishnah.
On the face of it, we can explain this as we did regarding the pledge. Those illiterate people will in fact not be embarrassed, for they will not come to the Temple with their first fruits at all. Thus what remains is the concern for the mitzvah’s neglect, not the shame they would experience. Admittedly here the explanation is weaker, since it is certainly possible that righteous people would still bring bikkurim and then indeed experience shame. There would have been room to enact for their sake because of the shame. Perhaps, however, the Sages wished to present a general reason that works either way: either they will bring and be shamed, or they will not bring and then we have a problem with the mitzvah of bikkurim.
Let us now return to the question of ta‘ama de-kra.
Why not derive ta‘ama de-kra: the concern that the reason is wrong
In column 619 and in the article cited above, I brought the continuation of the sugya dealing with the prohibition for a king to multiply wives. The Gemara there says that when the reason appears in the verse, Rabbi Yehuda does derive it. Specifically R. Shimon, who usually derives ta‘ama de-kra, says that in such a case it is an additional command, not a reason. I showed there that, at least according to the Rambam, there is a third view in that Mishnah (the Tanna Kamma in Sanhedrin 21a) who holds that we do not derive ta‘ama de-kra even when it is explicitly written in the verse. It is a “reason-verse” with no halakhic significance.
In the article I expanded on the foundation of the Tannaitic dispute. It is commonly thought that the problem is the concern that we did not hit upon the correct reason, and therefore Rabbi Yehuda rules that we do not derive it. From here it would follow that if the reason is explicitly written in the verse—then there is no concern that we erred—and in such cases Rabbi Yehuda does derive it. But we saw that the Tanna Kamma does not derive even when the reason is explicit in the verse, and therefore it seems his explanation for not deriving the reason is different. I will add that the common explanation is problematic in another way. Suppose R. Shimon thinks that the reason one may not pledge a widow’s garment is the ill repute this causes among her neighbors, and Rabbi Yehuda worries that perhaps that is not the correct explanation and therefore applies the law also to a wealthy widow. Even if we do not derive ta‘ama de-kra, there remains the concern that we have erred—that the reason is indeed what R. Shimon proposed. If that reason is correct, then it is permitted to take a pledge from a wealthy widow. We must understand that in such a case we have harmed the lender’s rights: he risks his money by not taking collateral against his loan. Why then does Rabbi Yehuda prefer to act as though the reason is not correct and not worry that perhaps it is? Moreover, if I have a reasonable reason and the alternative is that perhaps I nonetheless erred and there is some unknown alternative reason, then choosing the reasonable reason as the correct one is far more sensible than deciding that it is not correct. Why abandon a reasonable possibility merely because of the concern that there is another possibility that our reason does not see at all? It is much more plausible that the reasonable reason is the correct one. And in general, since when do we worry that our reason is wrong? Reason is the tool we have; one can always wonder about any conclusion we reach—maybe we erred. “A judge has only what his eyes see,” and “a doubt does not overturn a certainty.” Therefore, even if Rabbi Yehuda is not convinced that this is the reason and indeed it is possible that we erred and the reason is something else, the choice between the two possibilities is to assume that this is the correct reason. That is the most rational path and its cost is minimal.
Why not derive ta‘ama de-kra: precision of the text (the concern for misapplying the reason)
In that article I proposed an explanation according to which we do not derive the reason because even if it is correct, we likely did not interpret it correctly. For example, when the Torah forbids a king to multiply wives “lest his heart turn aside,” the reason is that many wives turn his heart. R. Shimon believes this reason refers to wicked wives, and thus concludes that it is forbidden to marry wicked wives even if there are few of them. But the Tanna Kamma argues that here he is mistaken: even righteous wives will turn his heart if he has a whole harem of them. He will spend all his time with his wives and not on the matters his office demands. What happens with R. Shimon is a misapplication of a correct reason. So too with King Solomon, who multiplied wives assuming they would not turn his heart. In the end it turned out he erred: they did turn his heart. Did he err in interpreting the reason? Not at all—on the contrary, he was right that the reason is the turning of the heart. His error lay in application: he thought his heart would not be turned, and in that he was wrong. Therefore the Tanna Kamma in Sanhedrin holds that one should not multiply wives of any kind, for the verse is troubled only by the multiplication of wives, not their character or spiritual level. And as noted, this is also the Rambam’s ruling.
I explained there that the assumption underlying this explanation is that the Torah’s wording is entirely precise. It writes exactly what it wants. Therefore, if there is a difference between what emerges from the wording of the text and what emerges from deriving the reason (especially when the reason is written), it likely results from our misapplication of the reason. This is why, according to the Tanna Kamma, we do not derive the reason even when it is stated explicitly (and this is also the Rambam’s ruling).
However, even this explanation is far from perfect. We often depart from the plain sense of the Torah’s verses, so the assumption that the Torah always writes phrasing that exactly expresses what it wants from us does not really characterize the Sages’ thinking. It does not seem to withstand the factual record of the Talmud, and it is hard to assume this is truly their premise.
A new explanation: Halakhah and Morality
I have now thought of another possible explanation for the Tanna Kamma’s view and perhaps also for Rabbi Yehuda. I have often emphasized that Halakhah does not strive for moral goals, but for religious ones. On the other hand, the reasons we will usually find when deriving ta‘ama de-kra are moral (because that is where our reasoning leads us). If so, we are prone to err in deriving the reason because of the category to which we will assign it. Perhaps this is why we should follow the wording and not the reason. That, in brief—now I will elaborate.
In column 541 I sketched the general map of the relationship between Halakhah and morality. I distinguished there among three categories of mitzvot/halakhot: moral laws, anti-moral laws, and a-moral laws. From the very existence of the latter two it follows that Halakhah also strives for religious goals, not only moral ones. That is difficult to dispute (though some try). But I then argued something stronger: that Halakhah strives only (!) for religious goals and not at all for moral ones. I contend that there is a categorical, principled disconnect between Halakhah and morality; therefore even laws that appear moral do not strive for moral ends. Moral laws are those in which there is a correlation (but not identity) between what morality demands of us and what Halakhah demands of us. The same actions lead us to both the moral and religious goals. In a milder formulation, it is not really two different goals: the actions are the same and the desired outcome is the same (a healthy society). But the will for such a society can come from morality and from Halakhah. It has moral value and also religious value. That is with respect to moral laws. In the other two categories such a correlation does not exist, and thus tensions between Halakhah and morality arise.
I have often been asked how, on my view, I explain the extensive correlation that exists between Halakhah and morality. Is it reasonable that this is coincidental? I have also been asked about the reasons the Torah itself offers, which in the main appear blatantly moral. Given these two considerations, how can one argue for such a categorical and complete disconnect between Halakhah and morality?
My answer is that the Holy One created the world and wrote the Torah in a manner that allows us to implement them as well and as morally as possible, and therefore, to the extent possible, He did so such that there would be as few conflicts as possible between Halakhah and morality (for each such conflict forces us to harm either a religious value or a moral value). In principle there is no necessity that religious goals contradict moral goals on the practical plane. The goals are different but not necessarily contradictory. What is required of us halakhically can also align with actions that realize moral values. But since we are nevertheless dealing with two different types of goals and the alignment occurs only on the practical level, local misalignments can arise on the practical plane as well. These are situations in which behaving according to the halakhic requirement harms a moral value and vice versa.
The conclusion is that in most cases there will indeed be alignment between Halakhah and morality, but there will be cases in which a conflict will arise. This testifies that even when there is alignment, it is alignment between two different things, not identity. Halakhah and morality are two parallel and distinct planes of reference, though there is extensive alignment between them. Still, they are different, and the proof is those cases in which the alignment breaks. Below I will return to the two difficulties cited above, but first I will sharpen the logical claim.
On two kinds of alignment and on topological defects
From a quasi-mathematical perspective, such situations are almost inevitable. I previously explained this as “topological defects” that must appear in global alignments between parallel explanatory planes. I expanded on this in the second book of the quartet, That Which Is and That Which Is Not, in the section on parallel explanatory planes, and in several articles and columns here (see, for example, in this article, in column 243, and more). I will explain briefly here.
We know many situations in which we need multiple parallel planes of reference for the same event. For example, when someone becomes religious, his secular friends tend to attribute it to some psychological crisis. In contrast, his religious friends explain that he discovered the truth. That is, the religious are philosophers and the secular are psychologists. Conversely, when someone leaves religion, the roles reverse: the secular explain he discovered the truth—that is, they become philosophers—while the religious explain he wanted to permit forbidden pleasures to himself—that is, they become psychologists. Who is right? Of course, all of them are. When a person makes a decision, I can explain it on the psychological plane and I can explain it on the philosophical plane. The problematic part is the choice between the planes, for people tend to choose the explanatory plane that suits them. When it suits them they are philosophers; when it does not, they become psychologists. Here are two parallel explanatory planes, employing different language, different conceptual systems, and different principles to explain the same phenomenon—and both are right. I will now explain why I call such a state global alignment between these planes.
There can be local alignment between planes of reference, where each psychological principle has a philosophical correlate and vice versa. In that case, it is two different languages describing the same thing. In such a situation, mismatch between planes cannot occur, and everything we must explain psychologically will receive a parallel philosophical explanation and vice versa. But in the example of philosophy and psychology, there will not always be such alignment. Sometimes there will be cases in which one does something with no philosophical justification due to psychological influences, and vice versa (he overcomes his psychological tendencies because there is no philosophical justification). Such a state can occur only when there is global alignment between parallel planes of reference. In such a case there is no alignment between every psychological principle and a parallel philosophical principle and vice versa. These are two entirely different sets of principles, but for some reason almost every act we do can be described and explained in the terms of the philosophical set and also in the terms of the psychological set. In such a situation the two planes are not translations from one language to another, but truly two different explanations. In cases of global alignment, topological defects are expected to appear in the transition between languages—that is, cases in which there will be one explanation but not the other. This is where the alignment between the two planes breaks.
Consider two coordinate systems used to describe points in space. Two translated Cartesian systems have local alignment between them (I can translate each axis in one system into the terms of the axes of the other system and vice versa). In such a case any point described in one system can also be described in the other; one only needs to translate from the language of one to that of the other. But between a Cartesian system and a polar system there is no such alignment, or at least it is not complete. It is true that almost any point in the plane can be expressed using both systems, but at the origin the alignment breaks [in Cartesian the description of that point is (0,0), but in polar the description is (0, θ), i.e., an entire ray and not a point. The Cartesian point corresponds to a whole set in the polar description].
Another example of such broken global alignment is the Pardes of Torah interpretation. It is commonly thought that there is alignment between peshat and sod, for example. Any verse can be interpreted this way or that way. But there is no local alignment between a peshat principle and a principle in sod and vice versa. These are different systems that can explain the same set of phenomena (verses). Consequently, topological defects must appear; that is, laws that have an explanation in sod but not in peshat. We call such laws “gezeirat ha-katuv.”
A third example is Newton’s apple. Newton was a very devout Christian, yet when the apple fell on his head he did not suffice with a theological explanation (that it was God’s punishment for not turning the other cheek) but sought a scientific explanation (the law of gravitation). Why? Because he assumed there is an explanation in each of the two planes, and one does not displace the other. Thus, a believer can have a theological explanation for every event and, in parallel, a reasonable scientific-natural explanation for the same event. Except that there are situations in which we will not find a scientific explanation, such as the splitting of the Red Sea or the miracle of the cruse of oil. In such cases the alignment between the theological explanation and the scientific-natural explanation breaks. When does this happen? When God’s theological consideration leads to the conclusion that X must occur, but the laws of nature lead to Y. In such a case God must perform a miracle—that is, intervene and suspend the laws of nature for the sake of theology. He breaks the alignment. Even an omnipotent being cannot create two planes of reference with global alignment and no topological defects. Note that if the alignment were local—i.e., if every principle of natural law had a theological correlate and vice versa—no such defects would arise. It would be a mere translation from one language to another and nothing more. But the relation between natural laws and theological principles is not one of translation between languages. It is a global alignment, and therefore defects are expected to appear.
The conclusion is that just as a gezeirat ha-katuv is a topological defect in the (global) alignment between peshat-interpretation and sod-interpretation, so too a miracle is a topological defect in the (global) alignment between a theological consideration or explanation and a natural-scientific one. The same applies to the alignment between morality and Halakhah. As I suggested, God would want there to be complete alignment between the planes—i.e., when a person wishes to act morally this would fit Halakhah and vice versa. But since the alignment is not local (for it is not true that every moral principle has a halakhic correlate and vice versa), there is no choice but to make it a global alignment. God indeed succeeds in most cases, but in some a topological defect appears. These are the anti-moral laws (the a-moral laws are not related at all to the moral plane or to aligning with it). In these laws, the desire to achieve the religious goal necessarily contradicts moral conduct.
Back to the earlier difficulties: the broad alignment between Halakhah and morality and the Torah’s moral-seeming rationales
Above I noted two challenges to my view: (1) Why is there such broad alignment between Halakhah and morality if they are different systems? (2) Why do the rationales the Torah provides for various laws appear to be moral rationales?
I propose that the picture described in the previous section is the reason that many halakhot align with moral aims and values. This is God’s deliberate policy, and it is no wonder that this is the case in most instances (except for the topological defects—that is, the anti-moral laws). The flip side is that this alignment does not necessarily mean that the aim of these halakhot is moral. The aims are always religious, but in these cases (the great majority) there is no contradiction between achieving the religious aims and achieving the moral aims, and therefore a practical alignment between the planes is achieved. This resolves difficulty (1).
I brought an indication of this from the differences that exist between the moral halakhot and morality itself. For example, consider all the types of killing for which we exempt the killer from punishment and do not deem him a murderer in the full halakhic sense: mekarev davar etzel ha’esh (bringing something near the fire), sof chama lavo (its end is to come, e.g., eventual sun/heat), grama (indirect causation), metzamtzem, and many more. All of these are cases that, morally speaking, constitute full-fledged murder. The moral wickedness of the killer in these cases is complete, and there is no difference between it and the wickedness of one who murders directly. And yet, in Halakhah we determine that he did not violate “You shall not murder,” or at least is not liable for death. My explanation was that although regarding murder there is alignment between the moral and religious command (hence the prohibition of murder belongs to the moral halakhot), still this does not mean that the religious aim of the prohibition is the moral aim. Morally, a person must not take another’s life; religiously, what is required is not to perform the act of murder. That is not the same thing, hence the differences. Note that these differences appear in the moral halakhot. This indicates that even those halakhot are not really laws aimed at attaining moral goals and values. It is alignment, not identity.
This also explains why a command “You shall not murder” was needed when the prohibition is obvious by reason, and why God reproaches Cain for murdering Abel even before there was a command prohibiting murder. If everything is so clear and self-evident even without a command, why is a command needed? My claim is that the Torah comes to say that murder is not only a moral problem but also a religious one. It comes to add a religious dimension to the moral prohibition. It is the same act, but the Torah tells us that it injures not only moral values but also religious values. A murderer is not only an immoral person but also a religious offender.
Thus we can also understand the rationales that the Torah brings for various laws—for example, labeling certain things an “abomination,” or pointing to the evil inherent in a given act—rationales that seem to us moral. These are not necessarily moral rationales. They may be religious rationales that, in these cases, align with moral rationales. When I am told not to murder because it “defiles the land,” or not to take ransom for a murderer’s life because I “flatter the land,” the intent is not moral ruin of the land but its metaphysical/religious ruin. In these instances the Torah’s phrasing even strengthens my claim: it is metaphysical language, not moral. But even when it is said that homosexuality is an “abomination,” I argue that this is not necessarily to say that the act is immoral (in my view there is nothing immoral about it). It is a religious abomination. Even when the rationale seems to belong to the moral plane, I argue this is superficial resemblance; it is a religious rationale. And even where it truly seems like a moral problem—for example, the concern and prohibition against harming the stranger because “you were strangers in Egypt”—what seems patently like a moral rationale, I argue that this is not necessarily the case. That same moral problem has a religious dimension. Harming a person is evil, just as we felt when we were mistreated in Egypt, but the problem such harms create is not only moral but also religious.
We are now ready to return to the matter of the pledge. Consider first the parallel passage in which the Torah commands returning a poor person’s pledge (Exodus 22:24–26):
“If you lend money to My people, to the poor among you, do not be to him as a creditor; do not impose interest upon him. If you indeed take your fellow’s garment as pledge, you shall return it to him by sunset. For it is his only covering; it is his garment for his skin—what shall he sleep in? And when he cries out to Me, I will hear, for I am gracious.”
This appears to be a thoroughly moral rationale. But according to my proposal, this is not the case. Our emotions are aroused by this rationale and thus it seems to us a moral matter, but in fact it is a religious, not a moral, rationale. When you hold the pledge you injure a religious value, not only a moral one. The poor person’s pain and the prohibition to cause it are religious matters, not merely moral ones. Just as we saw that the command “You shall not murder” comes to add a religious value on top of the moral value. As noted, the alignment between Halakhah and morality in such cases is not accidental; it is God’s deliberate policy. The novelty is that this cannot always be maintained, and therefore there are also anti-moral halakhot.
Back to deriving ta‘ama de-kra
From here we can understand why we do not derive ta‘ama de-kra. If we were to derive the reason for returning the pledge, we might reach certain conclusions based on the assumption that it is a moral prohibition, and these would not fit the halakhic conclusions whose foundation lies in the religious prohibition. For example, we might conclude that one may not take collateral from any poor person, not only a widow—and certainly that this would apply to a male widower or any poor man whatsoever. Morally, there is no difference. But the religious prohibition exists only for a (female) widow (and according to Rabbi Yehuda, not only a poor one). I remind you that even regarding murder we could derive ta‘ama de-kra and make one liable for death also for grama or mekarev davar etzel ha’esh, for morally there is no difference. But the religious prohibition of murder has different parameters. This is a possible reason why we do not derive ta‘ama de-kra.
Incidentally, R. Shimon, who does derive ta‘ama de-kra, we saw that he too takes it into religious, non-moral realms (concern for modesty rather than compassion for the unfortunate widow). Perhaps for the very same reason (although with respect to the Bikkurim declaration—there it is an enactment, not an interpretation of a Torah law—this is less likely; enactments are indeed often based on moral considerations as well). He derives the reason of the verse but not on the moral plane. That is, he too agrees to the disconnect I described between Halakhah and morality; only that, in his opinion, we can understand the religious reason and derive it, and he sees no concern for error.
Still, one could wonder why Rabbi Yehuda prefers not to derive ta‘ama de-kra. Let him derive the religious reason like R. Shimon, for at least that is a reasonable explanation and preferable to an unknown possibility that there is some explanation we do not know. I think that once we have concluded that it is a religious reason, the priority of the “reasonable” reason plummets. With such a reason the concern that we have missed is indeed significant. We saw that even in the moral halakhot there may be no full alignment between what emerges from the moral reason and what emerges from the religious reason. For example, is it really so clear that the prohibition to pledge a widow’s garment is because returning the pledge would cause her ill repute among her neighbors? Even after R. Shimon says so, it still strikes me as quite odd. One can always rule that a woman should be sent to return the pledge to the widow, or that it be returned during the day, or any other solution. Therefore, R. Shimon’s explanation is indeed dubious.
Now I will take one more step. If indeed the “reasonable” explanation is not the preferred option, then it is not correct to describe the situation as a doubt. The Torah itself should have realized that we would be uncertain and would not necessarily infer the moral or religious reason; therefore it should not have left the phrasing ambiguous and confused us. If it left it that way, it apparently did not want us to derive the reason at all. This analysis suggests that our refraining from deriving ta‘ama de-kra is not a doubt but a certainty. Something similar is written in Birkas Shmuel at the beginning of Bava Kamma in the name of his teacher R. Chaim, concerning a doubt in the interpretation of a verse. Usually, a biblical doubt is treated stringently. But his claim there is that if the doubt is in the interpretation of a verse, this is not an ordinary doubt that we treat stringently. His claim is that the verse itself chose an ambiguous phrasing even though God surely understood we would be in doubt, and therefore He knew we would rule stringently. If He left the phrasing thus, it is clear that the stringent interpretation is the correct interpretation. Consequently, the instruction to act stringently in such a case is not from the laws of doubt but an instruction of certainty.
This approach may also explain another difficulty. Tosafot HaRosh writes in Bava Metzia 90 that where the reason is self-evident we do derive ta‘ama de-kra, even for Rabbi Yehuda:
“She was eating and becoming sickly—what is the law? Even according to the one who does not derive ta‘ama de-kra later, in Perek HaMekabel (115a), who says: ‘A widow, whether poor or rich, one does not take a pledge from her’—that is because the plain sense of the verse implies both poor and rich. But here it is obvious that the Merciful One warned only for the animal’s benefit, whether because it is salutary for her or so that she not suffer.”
Regarding the prohibition of muzzling (Deuteronomy 25:4), he assumes as self-evident that the reason for the prohibition is concern for the animal. Therefore it is clear to him that one may muzzle her out of concern for her wellbeing. It is not clear how he will explain Rabbi Yehuda’s refusal to derive the reason in the case of pledging a widow’s garment. Seemingly, there too the reason is compelling and self-evident, no less than the prohibition of muzzling which he discusses. Is it not clear from the context there that the reason is moral—on behalf of the unfortunate widow?
But according to what I have explained here, it is not self-evident at all. If we were dealing with the moral problem, then indeed it would look self-evident. But we saw that the moral problem is resolved even if we take a widow’s pledge (since we return it to her at night). What remains is only a religious problem of modesty, and this is by no means a self-evident purposive interpretation. Therefore here Rabbi Yehuda and the Tanna Kamma do not derive ta‘ama de-kra (for if we were to derive it we would reach erroneous conclusions: only a poor widow, and also a poor man—widower or not).
According to this, it seems that the Rosh’s words about deriving the reason when it is self-evident refer to a religious reason and not to a moral one. That is, he is effectively saying that there are cases in which even the religious reason is self-evident, such as the prohibition of muzzling. On my view one must say that there too the reason is self-evident, but not because the reason is moral (for Halakhah is disconnected from moral considerations). So how is it self-evident to us? Apparently it is a reason that seems clear from interpretive considerations and from the textual context (and not necessarily from moral reasoning). In the language common in yeshivot we could say that this is really the geder (definition) of the law rather than its “reason,” which brings us to the question of the relation between ta‘am and geder—to be discussed in the next column.
Discussion
When you say that God tried to create an alignment between religion and morality, and that the best He managed is the alignment we received in the Torah (because no better option is possible, so this is not really an inability), I do not understand what manipulation God performed here. After all, religious and moral values are independent of God; He did not choose them. He merely commanded us about them. So the question arises again: how does the magic happen that there is a correlation between two systems that are independent of God (He did not invent them arbitrarily)?
Regarding your famous distinction between religious values and morality, I am asking about the very attribution of this distinction to you, Michi.
The Torah is full of explanations that seem moral. Not once does the Torah explicitly say that the real purpose of all the commandments is some sort of religious value that is not even accessible to human understanding (like Rabbi Yehuda, for whom the halakhah is that we are incapable of understanding the religious rationale). Hazal never explicitly say that the purpose of all the halakhot is some religious category and that the moral discussion should be conducted separately. Nor do the commentators after the Talmudic period down to our own day say this explicitly (perhaps you will manage to find a commentator here and there who hints at your position).
You are like Josiah, suddenly finding a book that no one had ever heard of. I am asking how you explain the fact that this utterly fundamental distinction in the understanding of halakhah was lost to us.
Could God not have created a world in which the manifestation of halakhic values and the manifestation of moral values would be completely alien to one another? Such that, in this world, halakhic values would concern the colors of one’s socks, while moral values would concern the shape of one’s shoes? That is the simplest way to solve conflicts, and if there is no essential connection between the systems, then there is no conceivable reason why there should not be a way to separate them completely. Therefore, in my opinion, the extensive overlap does indeed prove that the Commander of halakhah intended it to be a single command encompassing all absolute obligations.
I think neither of them is His creation. Their skeleton is imposed upon Him by virtue of their very definitions. See post 457.
He created us and the world. The structure of the world dictates the forms of implementation. For example, if there were different creatures here, then the way to kill them might be by standing on one leg. And perhaps standing on one leg has religious value. So the Holy One, blessed be He, can create creatures in such a way that the realization of the halakhic value will fit morality.
Tirgitz, see post 457. In my view, both systems contain components that are imposed upon the Holy One, blessed be He, and not created by Him. Their realization depends on the structure of the world, and therefore depends on Him.
1. So according to your view, is the dispute between R. Yehuda and R. Shimon about whether we are capable of understanding and “seeing with the eyes of the intellect” the religious rationale clearly? After all, even R. Yehuda agrees that there are cases where it can be seen, so it is not clear to me what the normative implication is of the halakhah following R. Yehuda.
2. When Hazal determine that someone who kills indirectly is not considered a murderer, does that stem from the fact that they “saw” the boundaries of the religious value? Have we, in our sins, stopped seeing it because of the decline of the generations? When was it lost to us?
3. How do Hazal limit and define the law of a murderer? After all, the halakhah follows R. Yehuda, that we do not expound the rationale, and therefore we are ostensibly incapable of grasping the religious rationale. Would it not be better to leave it aligned with the moral definition, since there is usually a correlation?
4. “In the language commonly used in the yeshivot, one could say that this is actually the legal definition and not the rationale” – you yourself have written more than once that the Brisker preference for studying Kodashim and Taharot because there one has only the ‘what’ without the ‘why’ is fundamentally absurd. There is no legal definition without a rationale.
I accidentally replied under Boaz even though I had not seen his response when I came in and copied my comment. I remember post 457, and that is why I asked about the structure of the world, which is indeed in His hands, and on which the specific manifestation of the abstract values depends. https://mikyab.net/posts/79775/#comment-69871
The Torah can hardly base the commandments on religious values, since writing the reasons is meant to motivate us to act. The Torah plucks at our heartstrings. In fact, the Torah does not bother to give reasons for all the commandments, only for a tiny minority of them (that same minority for which one can offer a reason that seems moral and consonant with morality). The reason is that we have neither understanding nor motivation with respect to religious goals. And yet, as I mentioned, there are places where the Torah does indeed give reasons that appear religious, such as flattering the land or defiling the land.
Hazal certainly mention this in quite a few places. A prominent example is the mishnah, “May Your mercy extend to the bird’s nest” — and all these are nothing but decrees. Besides that, when they exempt from punishment someone who murders with his left hand, is that not a sufficiently clear statement? Note that Hazal decided on these exemptions on the basis of reasoning and without a source. Nothing compelled them to do so.
Moreover, in my opinion many throughout history understood things exactly this way, for I have brought clear proofs for what I say (the exemptions in murder, for example). The problem is that their analytical and conceptual ability apparently did not allow them to define religious values and their complex relation to moral values. For them, as for many today, everything that one ought to do is called morality. Even after I say all this, people refuse to accept it. It is hard to digest, although to me it is as plain as an egg.
I should note that this connects to the next post I will soon publish (714), where I will explain that in many cases people have a correct intuitive understanding, but when they try to conceptualize and formulate it they run into problems, contradictions, and weaknesses. It is connected to Kahneman’s Systems 1 and 2. People understood the distinction between halakhah and morality very well, but when they tried to speak about it explicitly they got tangled in mental loops because it seemed to them that every value is by definition part of morality.
Apparently not, otherwise He would have done so. I do not understand the problem.
1. I did not understand the question.
2. We have intuitions that accompany the Torah and halakhah. Even today we can see this. Still, had we not had a tradition about it, it is doubtful that we would have reached such conclusions. See my article on divine decree. I have mentioned more than once (I saw that later you brought it up) that the Briskers flee to Kodashim and Taharot so that they will not have “why” intuitions interfering with their description of the “what.” But to their dismay, it turns out that even there they have intuitions. See the next post.
3. This is a legal definition, not a rationale. See the next post.
4. See the next post.
In my view, the claim that “apparently it is impossible to create a world in which the two alien systems of halakhah and morality do not get mixed together in their concrete manifestations” is more problematic than all the difficulties people try to solve by means of it.
If so, then we have a disagreement. To my mind there is not the slightest problem here. It sounds very plausible to me.
1. You claim that the dispute between R. Yehuda and R. Shimon is a factual dispute: to what extent we have access to the religious rationale of the Torah’s commandments. There are clear cases where even R. Yehuda does expound. And there are cases where it is clear that we have no grasp, such that even R. Shimon would concede to R. Yehuda that we do not expound. I am asking what the halakhic normative implication is of the ruling in accordance with R. Yehuda in this context. That one may not decide Torah law on the basis of reasons unless the religious rationale is clear to us? That is very vague.
2. I cannot see today why one who kills indirectly does not blemish the sefirah of Netzah within Hod. Do you have to presuppose the sanctity of the Torah in order to see that?
According to your view, we have neither understanding nor motivation regarding religious values, and therefore the Torah gave us such motivation. Why is it necessary to give us motivation? Let it just explain to us that the goal is the eternity within splendor, without our understanding exactly what that is, and that would really help us understand the boundaries of the commandments. It would have saved thousands of years of confusion about how to understand the morality within halakhah. As for motivation, we have plenty of it throughout the Torah in the style of “that it may go well with you,” and afterward Hazal came along with Gan Eden.
A clearer explanation is needed than the quotations you brought, which can easily be explained as moral metaphor.
As for the bird’s nest, on the plain sense of the sugya it is really not clear that this is some kind of divine decree. On the contrary, if I remember correctly, it comes out from there that it is indeed moral.
Suppose they did not succeed in conceptualizing the distinction for themselves the way you do, and they saw everything as one moral category — what was the self-referential loop in which they got tangled? After all, there are contradictions and conflicts even within the purely moral sphere.
Bottom line: do you really believe that if we let the sages of the generations read your post about the orthogonality between halakhah and morality, most of them would bang on the table and shout “Bingo! That is exactly what we think and were unable to express”?
This distinction, that commandments have religious value and not moral value, was not invented by Rabbi Michi.
See, for example, the Maharal in Be’er HaGolah regarding a lost object after the owner has despaired, which one need not return: “And the reason for this is that civil law obligates something that is proper to do for the sake of the order of the world, even though intellect does not obligate that thing; rather, such is the order of the world. Therefore civil law is sometimes stringent about something, even though according to intellect and straight justice there would be no need to do so. And sometimes civil law is overly lenient, when that thing need not be done for the sake of the order of the world, even though according to intellect it is not proper, but only according to civil law. Therefore, according to civil law, one must return a lost object even after the owner has despaired, and this is a stringency. And conversely, if one found silver or gold vessels, and announced them once and twice, and no one claimed the lost object after a year or two, he keeps it for himself and uses that vessel. For there is no further order of the world in this after he announced it several times and waited a year or two or more; no one will come anymore. And this is not according to 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 until Elijah comes — he may never touch them. So you see that they were very stringent. And all this is because the words of the Sages are according to the Torah, for all words of Torah are measured by intellect. And whatever is proper according to intellect is proper to do. As the Torah says (Deuteronomy 4:6), ‘Observe them and perform them, for that is your wisdom, etc.’ And it is not civil law, for civil law leaves matters according to common sense and thought, whereas the Torah is wholly intellectual and does not turn to common sense.”
The Torah, according to his words, is divine, and therefore operates a different system from civil law (natural morality), which comes to repair the world. This is likewise how he explains several other halakhot, such as in the case of conspiring witnesses, ‘if they killed, they are not executed,’ and others.
Also see Ran, Derashot HaRan, discourse 11, regarding the distinction between the king’s law and the commandments of the Torah: “And I will explain this further, and say that just as our Torah is distinguished from among the laws of the nations of the world by commandments and statutes whose purpose is not political order at all, but rather what follows from them is the descent of the divine flow upon our nation and its cleaving to us — whether the matter appears to our eyes as with the sacrifices and everything done in the Temple, or whether it does not appear, as with the other statutes whose reason was not revealed — nevertheless there is no doubt that the divine flow cleaved to us and rested upon those acts, though they are far from the dictates of reason. And this is no wonder, for just as we are ignorant of many of the causes of natural phenomena, and yet their existence is established, all the more so should we be ignorant of the causes of the descent of divine flow and its cleaving to us. And this is what distinguishes our holy Torah from the aforementioned laws of the nations, which have no involvement in this at all, but only in regulating their social order.”
1. That is not what I am claiming. I am claiming that we have no grasp of the rationale of Scripture. We have intuitions that can understand certain things about it. Once we conceptualize it, we get tangled. Of course it is possible that sometimes we hit upon the truth, but if one has to establish a general rule, then it is right to establish that one does not expound the rationale of Scripture. But as I said, one must wait for the next post.
2. You will not see that it blemishes this sefirah or that one, assuming there are sefirot at all. “The slice within Hod” was just my sarcastic wording. My claim is that you can sense that in one case there is a religious problem and in another there is not. Again, the next post deals with this.
I have almost no doubt that this is what would happen — except for those who are locked into what they are used to. That is what I see today as well.
Indeed, I have brought those two sources more than once.
A number of questions following your remarks:
1. In light of your distinction that morality and halakhah are two different and independent categories, if a judge comes to adjudicate a Torah law case between two people, and according to the true law of the Torah a moral injustice will be done — does he, as judge, have any authority at all to rule according to the moral imperative as he sees it? Or is he obligated by virtue of his role to rule specifically according to the dry rules of halakhah?
2. In your opinion, when studying legal commandments that have a moral aspect, which according to your view have only religious value, is there room to interpret the commandment on the basis of reasoning derived from morality and thereby derive various laws? After all, these are two different categories. And if not, where do the sages’ reasonings come from regarding moral prohibitions?
3. When you say that the prohibition “You shall not murder” has religious value, and that therefore the Torah commanded it — did the Holy One, blessed be He, determine that it has religious value, or does the religious value exist and have force in its own right, like moral values and their force?
4. Do you extend your distinction regarding the Torah’s commandments and morality to rabbinic ordinances as well? For “the ordinance for penitents,” for example, seems to have a moral aspect of repairing society, not some religious value.
I have answered these questions several times in the past (the question of morality and halakhah is not the subject of this post). I will answer briefly:
1. A judge is supposed to rule according to halakhah. Compromises and rulings not in accordance with halakhah are problematic. A Sanhedrin can enact an ordinance to judge some matter beyond the letter of the law and not according to halakhah. The whole category of going beyond the letter of the law expresses what I am saying. If that is morality, then why did they not define it as the law itself? Why is it beyond the letter of the law? The king may judge according to morality.
2. Where the text can bear several interpretations, one may decide in accordance with morality. And I explained that this decision is not necessarily an interpretive one — that is, it is not necessarily the true meaning of the commandment in question. Rather, if I have two halakhically legitimate paths, there is nothing wrong with choosing the one that does not contradict morality. That is no worse than any other arbitrary choice between two paths. Especially since I explained here that the default assumption is that there should be a fit (even if not an identity) between halakhah and morality.
3. See post 457. I said this regarding morality, and I conjectured that it is so regarding halakhah as well.
4. No. With the sages it is clear that morality plays a role. That is part of their role (and of the king’s role, as Ran explains in discourse 11). But rabbinic ordinances are not Torah; they are a halakhic supplement. See my posts on the status and significance of rabbinic laws.
You mentioned here that someone who murders, but not in a way that meets the halakhic definition, is a moral criminal but not a religious one. There are other laws where there is no moral problem, and yet someone who violates them outside the precise halakhic boundaries is still considered an offender. For example, one who brings his produce in through roofs and courtyards to exempt it from tithes, or one who makes a meal outside the sukkah in a permitted manner. Maybe with a murderer too, the issue is religious, as in these cases?
First, your examples are not relevant here. Bringing produce in through roofs and courtyards is not a halakhic problem. It is a legal evasion. The sages condemn this on the plane of worship of God, not halakhah. The same applies to a meal outside the sukkah.
But in any case I did not understand your question.
Yes, after I sent it I saw that the question was not properly phrased. What I meant was that there is no proof that the prohibition of murder is religious and not moral from the fact that there are situations where there is a moral prohibition but no prohibition of murder. For there are situations where the reason for the prohibition applies and yet it is still not forbidden, like the situations I brought (as I understand them). I wanted to say that whatever explanation we give there, we should also give in the case of murder.
I understand what the rabbi answered regarding tithes. The problem is that he is evading the commandment. But with a meal outside the sukkah, what is the problem? The Torah did not command him to eat the meal in the sukkah.
Now I thought that perhaps the reason for the prohibition exists, but with lower intensity, and therefore it is not forbidden though it is not proper. In murder, there is no moral difference between killing indirectly and ordinary murder, so that cannot be the explanation.
The prohibition of murder is first and foremost moral. In places where I see halakhah deviating from moral definitions, it is reasonable to explain that it is aiming at religious goals. What does that have to do with the examples you brought?
What you wrote at the end is of course correct.
Just now I noticed in Sefer Ha-Ikkarim, article 1, chapter 7:
“Religion is of three kinds: natural, conventional, and divine. The natural is the same for every person, at every time, and in every place. The conventional is what is arranged by a wise man or wise men according to place and time and according to the nature of those governed by it, like the religions and laws arranged in certain states among the ancients, whether idolaters or worshippers of God, on the basis of the rational order required by human intellect without divine prompting. And the divine is what is arranged by God through a prophet, such as Adam or Noah, and like the conduct and religion that Abraham taught, habituating people to worship God and circumcising them by God’s command; or what is arranged by God through an emissary sent by Him to give religion through him, such as the Torah of Moses.
The aim of natural religion is to distance injustice and bring near uprightness, so that people will keep away from theft, robbery, and murder, such that society among people may endure and persist, and each person will be saved from the hand of the unjust oppressor. The aim of conventional religion is to distance the disgraceful and bring near the pleasant, so that people will keep away from disgrace as commonly understood; in this it has an advantage over the natural, for the conventional also regulates people’s conduct and orders their affairs suitably so that the political collective may be properly ordered, like the natural. The aim of the divine is to guide people toward attaining true success, which is the success of the soul and eternal persistence, and to show them the paths by which to attain it, and to make known to them the true good so that they may strive to attain it, and also to make known to them the true evil so that they may guard against it, and to habituate them to forsake imagined successes so that they will neither desire them nor be pained by their loss. It also lays down paths of justice so that the political collective may be fittingly and perfectly ordered, so that the bad ordering of their societies will not hinder them from attaining true success, nor prevent them from striving after the success and ultimate end of the human species, toward which the divine religion is directed; and in this it surpasses the conventional.”
Natural religion is morality. Conventional religion is convention (the “accepted notions” of the Rambam in Guide of the Perplexed, part II). And divine religion is religious values. There you have the doctrine of separation in a nutshell.
Regarding Rabbi Yitzhak’s exposition of why the Torah does not give reasons for commandments, because twice it did and Solomon stumbled:
1. Then why did it in fact give those reasons regarding wives and horses, if that adds nothing for us (and only misleads Solomon and people like him)?
2. How did Solomon err and think that the legal definition of the commandment did not apply to him? Morally speaking, he thought that a great man like himself would not have his heart turned astray, but in the religious category, where we have no grasp, surely it applies to him as well.
How did Hazal nullify the religious value obtained through stoning the stubborn and rebellious son? Did they “see” that the religious value is obtained only in such a hyper-precise constellation that in real life it could never actually occur?
1. I do not know. According to R. Shimon, it really is an additional command.
2. He thought his heart would not be turned astray, and then there is no religious problem either. He does not understand what religious problem there is in the turning away of the heart, but the problem is created by the heart turning away, and when that does not happen there is neither a moral problem nor a religious one.
By the way, the turning away of the heart is itself a religious problem, not a moral one.
There are expositions there. They did not simply abolish it just like that.
It is precisely about the expositions themselves that I am asking. How did they dare make a non-practical construal when they had no clear idea what the religious value was?
This is a religious problem that can be explained morally in the broad sense (they will cause him to worship idolatry, which has moral drawbacks for the functioning of society and the individual). The reason given for the horses too — that he should not take the people back to Egypt — is an “earthly” consideration. My difficulty is with the innovation that the consideration is always in fact heavenly and esoteric.
Likewise regarding the widow, where R. Shimon gives the reason that people should not gossip about her — that too is not a religious explanation. It is a moral explanation: that an evil reputation should not come upon her through no fault of her own in a way that could harm her.
When the Gemara asks, “Why do I need a verse? It is logical,” according to your view the question is not understandable. The Torah is adding for me the religious dimension.
“A global fit between halakhah and morality,”
“a topological flaw in halakhah,”
or “parallel explanatory systems between peshat and sod” —
are you using scientific language merely metaphorically, as an analogy? Or more than that?
A strange question. If you understood what is written, you can answer it yourself. If you did not understand what is written, then you should be asking that.
Regarding the definitional gap between moral murder and religious murder:
As you explain, God engineered the world so that there would be maximal fit between the moral category and the religious one. If, in the matter of murder for example, He had managed to create a perfect fit (local fit, in your terminology), He would not have needed to write “You shall not murder” in the Torah; the religious value would be fulfilled anyway. What interest would He have in informing us that there is a religious value if there is no practical difference? Seemingly that concerns only Him, not us.
Perhaps the very command “You shall not murder” teaches us a priori that there is a definitional gap between them, and now we have to search for what it is.
On my assumption, perhaps many more religious values are hidden inside our moral duties, with no way for us to know about them, because in those cases there is local fit.
Because there is a textual trigger (the hermeneutical rules). That is exactly the difference between an exposition and a plain-sense interpretation. The latter relies on reason and the text, while exposition begins with an exegetical rule that obligates us to expound. Reason only tells us what to expound.
All of these, on the face of it, do not look moral. With some strain one can interpret them as referring to morality. But even if they really did fit morality, there are clear considerations showing that halakhah is not morality, and so I interpret these that way as well.
This question really never arises with respect to a commandment such as “You shall not murder.” That is itself my claim. It arises only in places where one is seeking the details of evidentiary law (the burden of proof is on the claimant, or “the mouth that forbade is the mouth that permitted”), and there it serves as an interpretation of a verse. The claim is that we would have interpreted the verse that way on the basis of reason even without a special source. There is no moral matter here to which one must add a religious layer.
I did not understand. First of all, sometimes He writes things in order to inform us and not only to command us. So too with the reasons written in the Torah. But even if we assume that this would have been unnecessary, in practice it was written, so it is not unnecessary. It follows that there is a difference in definition between the religious and the moral, exactly as you wrote and as I wrote.
I did not understand your last sentence.
If I am not mistaken, regarding the obligation to recite blessings over enjoyment, the very obligation is learned from reason, and it sounds strange to say that there is really no halakhic obligation to recite a blessing.
On the contrary, this is evidence to the contrary. In truth there is no Torah obligation to recite a blessing. After all, in cases of doubt regarding blessings we are lenient, and from here it follows that this is not a Torah obligation. This is exactly what Penei Yehoshua asks in Berakhot 35, and Tzelach answers him there. See my article on the status of reasoning, where I explained this more fully.
If the assumption is correct — that God need not inform us of the religious value when it fully coincides with the moral obligation (that is, He managed to engineer the world in perfect coordination with morality in a given case), because this is a higher-order need with no practical significance for us — then the very fact that He commands us, say, not to murder is an a priori indication that we should search for where there is a gap between the definition of the commandment and the parallel moral duty (God did not manage to create perfect coordination, so He had to inform us). This also means that perhaps there are many hidden religious values that exist parallel to our moral duties and He simply did not inform us of them because they are not our concern (a higher-order need). For example, perhaps when I keep my commitment to someone else I am also fulfilling a religious value even though there is no such commandment, simply because God managed to engineer perfect fit there.
On the other hand, if this assumption is not correct and God does have an interest in informing us even when there is no practical difference, then why does the Gemara ask in so many places, “Why do I need a verse? It is logical”? God is informing me that there is a religious dimension in addition to the moral reasoning.
I now saw that you answered me regarding “Why do I need a verse? It is logical.”
And also about the rest.
So in the case of the law of compensation for benefit, or “your money is owed to him,” which have no source from the Torah but are matters of reasoning, is the obligation there moral and not religious? That is, do Hazal also discuss the boundaries of purely moral laws? This is very confusing, because from what you say it seems that the whole focus of their discussion is religious (except that they choose the moral option if there are several equally balanced ones).
“Your money is owed to him” and compensation for benefit are simple reasonings that derive from the very concept of property and ownership. Therefore they can have a moral aspect and a parallel juridical-ontological aspect, and that does not matter. The obligation itself follows from conceptual reasoning independently of those aspects. An obligation beyond the letter of the law to return a lost object after the owner has despaired is a good example of a moral obligation. And the fact that halakhah does not require this shows that halakhah is not morality.
I still did not quite understand several things:
1. What do you mean when you say that moral commandments have “religious value”? What is “religious value,” who determines it, and in what essential way is it different from “moral value,” such that certain commandments would need binding force twice over (the religious and the moral)?
2. You are presenting here the claim that all commandments, even when they seem moral to us, in fact have a religious purpose, even when the Torah itself gives a moral reason for the matter. But such a claim requires some strengthening and proofs from the Torah itself. Would you say the same thing about the commandments of charity (gleanings, forgotten sheaves, and the corner of the field), that they have religious value in addition to the moral one? Likewise commandments such as: the prohibition against ignoring another person’s fallen animal, muzzling an ox while it threshes, the commandment of a parapet, and many more? And in addition, it follows from your words that when the Torah commands, for example, in Parashat Shoftim, ‘Justice, justice shall you pursue,’ it is speaking only of justice with religious value? What exactly is justice that has religious value?
3. Above, you gave an explanation for why even R. Yehuda does not expound the rationale of Scripture, although it may still be that the rationale is in fact correct (and ‘a judge has only what his eyes see’). According to your explanation, it is not because we err about the rationale of the commandment, but because even when we hit the mark exactly we may give an incorrect application of the rationale and err. That is your explanation, but I do not understand how everything you challenged about the previous explanation (the concern that the rationale is incorrect) does not also apply to this second explanation that you gave. Here too one can ask: ‘So what if perhaps we err — after all, a judge has only what his eyes see’… (This question is less critical because you yourself rejected it and gave your new explanation.)
4. I did not really understand why you saw the reason R. Shimon gave for the prohibition of taking a widow’s garment as collateral as “religious.” The concern is not for her modesty but that a bad reputation might come out about her. The Torah wanted (at least according to R. Shimon) to spare the widow and not shame her. And there was no other moral reason, such as the concern that she would not have what to sleep with at night, for there is an explicit verse about every poor person that one must return his garment to him at night so that he has something to sleep in (as you yourself wrote)… You referred to R. Shimon’s reason as though he had a variety of moral reasons and he specifically chose the religious one; I did not quite understand what other moral reasons you saw there.
I still did not quite understand several things:
1. Religious value means a value that is not moral. The one who determined it is the Holy One, blessed be He, exactly as with moral values. For example, preserving the sanctity of the priesthood or avoiding ritual impurity is a religious value that is not moral.
2. I have brought the supporting arguments several times in the past. That is not the topic here.
3. I explained this in the post itself. The concern about error is based on our interpreting it morally, and that is not the correct rationale. Beyond that, Rabbi Yehuda’s view may perhaps be like the standard interpretation — that one does not expound reasons because one fears error. The Tanna Kamma’s view is different.
4. There is an obvious moral reason there: the harm to the poor widow if one takes a pledge from her, or if people do not lend to her because they cannot take collateral from her. That is the obvious reason that anyone would have said were it not for the Gemara.
Forgive me, but I still did not quite understand the first point…
What “religious value” is there in commandments such as returning the poor man’s garment to him at night, and how is it different from the moral value? In both cases the goal is to prevent suffering to the poor person, so what is the religious angle? It seems like just wordplay, saying the same thing twice.
I do not understand what kind of explanation you expect. That I should point to the sefirah in which this occurs? I do not know.
You do not need to point to any sefirah…
I can understand that commandments such as Shabbat and the festivals, and likewise holiness and purity, have religious value even without being versed in Kabbalah and the sefirot, because they have binding force and there is no moral system from which they derive; so what remains is the system of religious values to which I am obligated by the Holy One, blessed be He…
But you are claiming that even moral commandments, and even those for which a moral reason is given, really have a religious rationale and not a moral one, and I do not understand where you leapt to that conclusion without proving it. Especially when it is obvious to me from simple reasoning that the commandment to return collateral to a poor person is moral (and the Torah too, in the plain sense, says so).
Why can’t one say that the Torah commands us to be “religious” and keep religious commandments, and in addition demands of us that we be moral and keep moral commandments (even when they have no religious value)?
After all, you too hold that God is the binding authority of both these systems.
There are definitely proofs for this, and they are very strong. But here in this post that is not the topic. I referred to another post and to the third book in the trilogy, where I elaborated more.
So you claim that most of the sages throughout the generations would agree to the conceptual distinction. But today your categorical distinction is not accepted by most Torah scholars, even though we are the best conceptualizers who have ever existed. How does this miracle happen, that even today people do not agree with your thesis?
Only this morning I wrote in reply to someone that I do not deal with the question why others do not say what I say. Conservatism blocks a great many intelligent people. Just look at the Haredi justifications being offered today for all sorts of strange principles by minds of incomparable sharpness.
There is no problem at all with claiming that you disagree with everyone and that everyone else is wrong. But here, by contrast, you are claiming that you are exposing the intuition that all the sages of the generations had in understanding halakhah. Yet somehow, magically, precisely in our generation the Torah scholars do not agree with the categorical division.
Many thanks. I have a few questions, and I would be happy if the rabbi could answer.
– The rabbi challenged the accepted explanation, that if so then R. Yehuda should at least take the rationale into account. In my humble opinion this is not so difficult, for it is similar to the rule that when there are two equally plausible ways the verse can be interpreted, we expound both with certainty and not only out of doubt concerning a Torah law — ‘which of them would you exclude?’ The reason is that if the Torah wrote it in a way that can be interpreted equally in two directions, then it is effectively telling you to expound both. Accordingly, one can say the same in R. Yehuda’s view: since from the outset there is a concern of error in the rationale, the Torah is thereby telling you not to relate to the rationale and the concerns that emerge from it (similar to what the rabbi brought at the end in the name of Birkat Shmuel).
– After that the rabbi suggests that perhaps the issue is not mistaken interpretation but mistaken application, and I did not really understand why, with ‘concern over interpretive error,’ the rabbi objected that we generally rely on our own reasoning, etc., whereas from the rabbi’s words it seems that with ‘concern over mistaken application’ it is already understood that we do not rely on our own reasoning. I would appreciate an explanation.
– Regarding what the rabbi suggested according to the Tanna Kamma, that the Torah’s wording is entirely precise: in my humble opinion one can say the same thing also in R. Shimon’s view — that the Torah’s wording is entirely precise, and when the rationale is explicit, that itself is important as part of the Torah’s wording (something like an inclusion followed by an exclusion, etc., where the continuation explains the previous part).
– Regarding what the rabbi says, that there is a complete categorical separation between halakhah and morality, etc. Does the rabbi include in this also matters from the Prophets, such as ‘The remnant of Israel shall do no wrong,’ etc., or only Torah commandments? (At the end the rabbi referred to ‘ordinances,’ and it seems the same would apply to rabbinic commandments/prohibitions, at least in some cases.)
– ‘And everything that we managed to explain’ – should be ‘to succeed.’
– Regarding what the rabbi explained, that the Torah commanded things that are morally obvious in order to say that there is an additional value/purpose — does the rabbi think this also about the seven Noahide commandments?
– Regarding what the rabbi said, that flattering the land is a religious rationale, etc., and more generally this basic distinction between the planes: does the rabbi think one can say (not that the rabbi himself holds this, but that one can say it) that indeed there are two planes, but that even so the ultimate aim of the religious goals is also that it be good for us, for humanity (something like: this will bring about the revelation of God’s kingship, and then there will be happiness and prosperity for all humanity, etc.)? And indeed from the standpoint of our intellect this contradicts morality, but in principle it will lead to a better moral outcome. Somewhat like how unwillingness to make a deal to free hostages appears immoral, but that is because we have (or some of us have) a limited-range perspective (or one that is fundamentally mistaken), whereas in truth this act will lead to a better moral outcome overall. (I know the example is not precise; it is offered only for clarification.)
– The rabbi said that according to R. Yehuda the moral rationale regarding the widow is obvious, and therefore he wondered about Tosafot HaRosh. But in my humble opinion, once we see that there is already a verse requiring the return of collateral to a poor person, and therefore in the case of a widow there must be a special reason — then the rabbi’s question no longer seems so difficult to me. Indeed, understanding what the reason is specifically for a widow is not so simple. One need not reach what the rabbi said about there being two categories, etc.; even if this too were a moral category, it still is not so clear what the moral issue is here (for the Torah has already shown concern for the poor, as noted above).
I did not understand everything, and it is hard to address a pile of different questions all at once, especially when they are not numbered.
Because here this is not an interpretation of the text but of its purposes.
In application the concern is greater, especially when it runs contrary to the wording of the verse. See the example of “his heart shall not turn away.”
I have written at length elsewhere about halakhah and morality.
Also about the seven Noahide commandments.
You say that the Holy One, blessed be He, cannot make a local fit between religion and morality, though He generally tries to. Is that on the assumption that morality and religion are two independent systems, each created by the Holy One, blessed be He, for its own purpose? That each was created separately, and that the Holy One, blessed be He, wants to align the two?