Halakha and Ethics – Lesson 5

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[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Last time, I finished the discussion about additional value systems beyond moral values, and what I really wanted to argue was that the concept of value is broader than the concept of a moral principle. There are other kinds of values. We spoke about human values, legal values, and so on, values of self-realization and things of that sort, which aren’t exactly moral values, but they seem to be something a bit different. And still, when we encounter some conflict between them and moral values, we’re supposed to make a decision. And the very fact that we do resolve such conflicts means that there is some broader or more general criterion that can measure or weigh values of all kinds. And about that I said that maybe this is the concept of the fitting, of appropriateness—the degree of appropriateness is like its height or its position on the general scale. And on that scale you can compare values of different kinds, where “the good” is one kind of appropriateness. Okay, that was basically the claim.

Then, right at the end, I started the next topic, and now I’ll do it in a somewhat more orderly way, because my goal now is to work toward discussing situations in which there is a conflict between morality and Jewish law, which is basically a conflict between two value systems, or a conflict between values that belong to two different systems. And as I said before, in principle this shouldn’t raise a different problem than a conflict between two values that belong to the same system. Meaning, in both cases we make decisions; in principle, decisions can be made in both cases, and in both cases it’s very hard to explain how that’s done. Meaning, we don’t have an algorithm that can guide us or direct us how to make that decision. But the fact is that we deliberate and somehow make such decisions.

The question that comes up in this context is whether such a thing is possible at all. Meaning, is it possible that we might find ourselves subject to two normative systems that can contradict each other? Isn’t that a logical contradiction? Is such a situation even possible? I’m saying: if such a situation exists, then it’s a conflict, and conflicts can somehow be resolved. The question is whether the very fact of being in that kind of conflict doesn’t itself create a problem. Meaning, isn’t it contradictory?

So my claim is that it isn’t. And to explain that a bit more, last time I began a discussion of how, in general, we arrive at obligation to any normative system whatsoever. And I gave a few examples, say, of obligation to the system of rabbinic laws. If I ask myself why I am obligated to the system of rabbinic laws, the answer can’t be: because the Sages said so. It’s nice that the Sages said so, but right now I’m asking why one should obey what the Sages said. So the fact that the Sages said so can’t be the explanation.

So what can? There has to be some principle that lies outside the system under discussion, something more fundamental than it. So in the context of rabbinic laws, for example, Maimonides—as opposed to Nachmanides—found the solution in “do not deviate.” Meaning, there is a verse in the Torah by virtue of which the rulings of the Sages, the rabbinic commandments or rabbinic prohibitions, have some force. So basically the more fundamental system, which is the Torah-level system, gives force to, or authorizes, the Sages to establish all kinds of enactments and gives them validity. But it has to be something outside the rabbinic system.

And I brought up there a few questions from later authorities: how can a blind person be obligated in these commandments? How can a minor be obligated in these commandments? Because if he is obligated only rabbinically, but he is not obligated in Torah-level commandments, then he also isn’t obligated to observe “do not deviate.” So if he isn’t obligated to observe that prohibition, then why is he obligated in rabbinic law? So I said there, I brought a few examples that sharpen this picture in which there is a more fundamental principle by virtue of which we are obligated in the normative system under discussion.

We ask ourselves, for example, why we are obligated to the Torah, to Torah-level laws—not rabbinic laws. Here too you can’t cite a verse in the Torah saying that you have to keep what is written in the Torah, exactly the same way that you can’t cite a rabbinic law saying you have to keep rabbinic commandments. So here again there must be some more fundamental principle by virtue of which we are obligated in Torah-level commandments. Whatever that principle is, everyone can ground it as he understands it, but it’s obvious that this principle is not a verse from the Torah. A verse from the Torah cannot serve as the basis for our obligation to obey the Torah.

Something a bit similar to this—I don’t remember if I mentioned it—the Mishneh LaMelekh in the laws of kings asks: how can it be that the Sages say a person is obligated to fulfill commandments because he is sworn and standing from Mount Sinai? As it says in the Talmud in several places. Meaning, our obligation to the commandments is understood, at least by the Sages—because in the Torah itself there isn’t even a hint of this—as deriving from an oath at Sinai. But the Sages’ conception, their model here, is an oath, as if we stood and swore at Mount Sinai.

And the question is: what is the meaning of that oath, if the entire obligation to keep oaths is itself part of the Torah? So how can the obligation to keep the Torah itself be based on an oath? As long as I haven’t received the Torah, the oath itself has no force either. My whole obligation to keep the oath is only because I’m obligated to the Torah. So how can you base the obligation to the Torah on the obligation to keep oaths? That’s the question asked by the Mishneh LaMelekh.

And he argues—he brings ideas—but he shows that oaths existed even before the giving of the Torah. Abraham swore to Abimelech; Eliezer swore to Abraham. Meaning, there were oaths even before the giving of the Torah. That means that the obligation to keep oaths is not based on the giving of the Torah, on what is written in the Torah. It’s apparently something more fundamental. And that something is probably some kind of reasoning that if a person swore, he must fulfill it, stand by his word, not profane his word—but not because of the verse “he shall not profane his word,” rather because of a moral principle, I don’t know, a legal one, however you want to call it. Whether this is an oath between a person and himself or between a person and another person—that’s open to discussion—but there is some meta-halakhic principle that obligates us with respect to oaths. And only because of that does it make any sense at all for us to be sworn to keep the Torah; otherwise it really makes no sense.

Rabbi Shimon Shkop really says this from another angle. In Gate 5 of Shaarei Yosher, he speaks there about all kinds of principles that somehow seem to obligate us even though they have no source in the Torah. For example, he brings the question of the Mahari Basan. The Mahari Basan asked: after all, the rule is that if there is a monetary dispute, the possessor has the upper hand; the burden of proof lies on the claimant. And if the claimant does not meet that burden of proof, then the possessor keeps the money, he wins the case.

So the Mahari Basan asks: but here there is really a doubt involving the prohibition of theft. Each one of them—if the other one is right, then the first is a thief; if the first is right, then the second is a thief. So since there is a possible prohibition of theft here, then apparently we ought to be stringent: in a Torah-level doubt, we rule stringently. So how can it be that we say to the possessor: leave the money with yourself—even though he has brought no proof for his position? He has no proof for his position; the claimant simply has not brought proof for his own. Why is that enough to leave the money in the hands of the possessor?

The question in itself is of course not difficult, because the possessor knows the facts; the court does not know. The court doesn’t know what happened there, but the possessor himself knows whether he lied or the other person lied. Meaning, he knows reality; the litigants know reality. So if the possessor knows that the truth is on his side, then he keeps the money. The fact that we don’t know—that is our doubt, not his. There is no reason for us to force him to be stringent because of a doubt that is not his doubt; only we are in doubt. So that’s not the question.

Where does this question arise? It arises where the claimant makes a definite claim and the defendant says “maybe.” A definite claim versus “maybe”: in principle, a definite claim is stronger—but that’s only when there is no presumption of possession. Suppose there’s a boat floating in the river, ownerless or something like that, and two people are arguing over whose boat it is. One says, “The boat is mine,” and the other says, “Maybe it’s mine, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s mine.” Then a definite claim beats “maybe.” So the one with the definite claim wins.

But what happens if the one who says “maybe” is holding the boat? There’s possession. The boat isn’t just floating in the river. I’m in possession of it, but I say: I’m not entirely sure it’s mine. I don’t remember, I don’t know, I have some doubt—maybe. And the claimant says the boat is his. In such a case, the Amoraim dispute it, and in practice we rule that a definite claim does not beat “maybe” when there is possession. Meaning, the one who possesses it—even if he has only a claim of “maybe”—wins the case. The other one who says “definitely” cannot extract it from him unless he brings proof, of course. And if he brings no proof, the mere fact that he says “definitely” and I say “maybe” is not enough for him to win. To extract property from someone in possession, you need proof; a claim is not enough.

Now regarding that, the Mahari Basan’s question really does exist. Because I am holding the boat. I don’t know whether it’s mine or not. I’m in a state of “maybe.” The other one claims and says: it’s mine. Now in such a case, I really am in doubt; it’s not only the court that is in doubt. Here I myself am in doubt. I don’t know whether the boat is mine or not. So the Mahari Basan asks: then why don’t I have to be stringent, since it may be that I am violating the prohibition of theft if I keep a boat that isn’t mine? Out of doubt I should give it to the other one. The other one who makes the definite claim, after all, knows for himself; he doesn’t need to be stringent about doubts. He himself knows. And since he knows, he’ll take the boat because he knows justice is on his side—or he’s a thief, whatever—but as long as he makes that claim, we can’t really say anything against him. So in a case of definite claim versus maybe, the Mahari Basan’s question really exists. Why indeed does the one making the definite claim not have the upper hand in such a case? Apparently I should have been stringent—I, the possessor who claims “maybe”—and give up this property, the boat or whatever it may be.

So Rabbi Shimon Shkop argues as follows. He says: generally, Torah prohibitions are constituted by command. Meaning, the command creates the prohibition. For example: why am I forbidden to eat pork? Because the Torah commanded not to eat pork. Why am I forbidden to desecrate the Sabbath? Because the Torah commanded not to desecrate the Sabbath. Why am I forbidden to steal? asks Rabbi Shimon Shkop. And he says: here it’s not because the Torah commanded it. Here it’s the reverse. The Torah commanded because it is forbidden; it is not forbidden because the Torah commanded it. Rather, here the Torah commanded because it is forbidden.

What does that mean? There is what he calls the laws of justice or the doctrine of justice; there is a given legal state, and it precedes the Torah. And on the basis of that legal state, the Torah comes and says that theft is forbidden. He says it like this: suppose the Torah said theft is forbidden. But in order to define an act as theft, you first need to define who owns each piece of property; you need to define the laws of ownership. Who is an owner, who is not an owner, how acquisition works, and so on. Almost none of that appears in the Torah. Tractate Bava Batra, which deals to a great extent—there is Bava Metzia too—but Bava Batra deals with this very extensively, the laws of acquisition. And as is well known in the yeshivas, it’s a tractate without verses. There are no verses, no textual sources. So the laws of acquisition are something that somehow gets determined without verses.

Now how can the Torah command “you shall not steal” when it hasn’t even defined the concept of ownership? It hasn’t defined who owns what and when. As long as you don’t know who the owner is, how can you determine that I or anyone else is a thief? To determine that I am a thief, you have to define who the owner is. So Rabbi Shimon Shkop says there is no choice but to say that if the Torah establishes the prohibition “you shall not steal” and does not enter into defining ownership, the laws of acquisition, then apparently the laws of acquisition precede the Torah. The Torah presupposes the existence of laws of acquisition at some prior level, and on top of that assumption it establishes the prohibition of theft.

Meaning, the Torah effectively recognizes social-legal determinations that define the laws of ownership: how one becomes an owner, how one acquires, how monetary relations among different people in society are arranged. And after that whole business is arranged on the legal level, the Torah comes and says that it is forbidden to violate the laws of acquisition. Meaning, if someone acts contrary to the laws of acquisition, he violates the prohibition of “you shall not steal.” In that sense, his claim is that the prohibition of theft is essentially different from the rest of the Torah’s prohibitions. In the rest of the Torah’s prohibitions, the command creates the prohibition; in the prohibition of theft, the prohibition creates the command. It’s a play on words, but not only that. The point is that the prohibition precedes the command and exists without it; the command comes on top of it.

Now here we have to sharpen one more point. The common understanding of Rabbi Shimon Shkop’s words—and I’ve had a few bitter arguments about this with various people—is that many people think Rabbi Shimon Shkop is explaining here that when the legal system determines the laws of acquisition, there was not yet a prohibition of theft, yes, before the giving of the Torah. Now when I take someone else’s money, have I done something prohibited? The common understanding of Rabbi Shimon Shkop is that no—I have not violated a prohibition. Rather, there is only a definition that this money belongs to him, but as long as there is no “you shall not steal,” there is no prohibition against taking his money. Only the prohibition of “you shall not steal” turns the legal state into a normative prohibition. Before the command “you shall not steal,” all there was was a set of definitions of ownership, not prohibitions. Definitions of ownership: who owns what, how one acquires, how one becomes an owner, all sorts of things like that. But this is not accompanied by a prohibition; the prohibition is created only with the command “you shall not steal.”

That is completely absurd, even though it’s the common understanding. It’s simply not true. There are various proofs in Rabbi Shimon Shkop that he doesn’t mean that, but even if he did mean it, it still couldn’t be true. It cannot be true. What do you mean, a definition? The Torah recognizes a legal definition and that legal definition is just a definition with no prohibitions? Then why define it? Obviously the legal system also imposes a prohibition against harming another person’s property; it doesn’t just define that this property belongs to the other person. What is the meaning of that definition? The whole point of defining it is to say that only he may use it and someone else may not use it without his permission. Okay? You can’t have one without the other.

So clearly Rabbi Shimon Shkop means something else. He means that there is also a prohibition against taking another person’s property even before the command “you shall not steal.” Not only is there a definition of which property belongs to whom, there is also a prohibition against taking another person’s property—a legal prohibition. On top of that legal prohibition, the Torah comes and says: besides that, there is also a religious prohibition here, a halakhic prohibition—“you shall not steal.” Two things.

One of the indications in Rabbi Shimon Shkop when he says this is that he mentions a dispute among medieval authorities (Rishonim) about whether stealing from a non-Jew is forbidden by Torah law or not. There are medieval authorities who argue that stealing from a non-Jew is not forbidden by Torah law. So Rabbi Shimon Shkop says: even according to the opinion of those medieval authorities, stealing from a non-Jew is forbidden as a legal prohibition. Meaning, it is forbidden to take the non-Jew’s property even according to the view that stealing from a non-Jew is not forbidden by Torah law. Why? Because although there may be no religious or halakhic prohibition here, there is still a legal prohibition. The very determination that the money belongs to the non-Jew means that I too am forbidden to take it; otherwise the determination is empty of meaning.

So clearly, when Rabbi Shimon speaks about these two layers, he is speaking about two normative layers—not about a definition and a normative prohibition, but rather a definition and a legal prohibition, and on top of that a halakhic, religious prohibition. When I take property from someone else, I have violated two prohibitions: a legal prohibition and a halakhic prohibition. The legal prohibition exists even where there is no religious prohibition. The religious prohibition exists only where there is a legal prohibition. Meaning, on top of the legal prohibition he says there is another layer: besides the fact that you violated a legal prohibition, you also violated a religious prohibition. But where there is no legal prohibition, or where the legal definition says it is not yours—then Jewish law also will not forbid it to you, because Jewish law only gives extra force to the legal prohibition. It says: now it is colored with a religious color as well, besides the legal one.

How does this resolve the Mahari Basan’s question? Let me remind you what the question was. I am holding property, and I claim “maybe” about it; facing me is someone claiming that property. And Jewish law says I may keep the property with me because he has not brought proof. But I myself do not know, and apparently I should be concerned about the possibility that maybe I am stealing, and I should be stringent and give it to him out of doubt—a Torah-level doubt ruled stringently.

Rabbi Shimon Shkop says no. Since on the legal level the rule is that the burden of proof is on the one trying to extract property from his fellow—that is his assumption, that on the legal level a definite claim against “maybe” is not enough to extract property—then since on the legal level I am permitted to keep this object, there is also no prohibition of “you shall not steal” here, because the prohibition of theft exists only where—if I am not violating the legal definitions, then there will be no prohibition of theft either. Therefore, he says, I may keep the money with me even though I only claim “maybe,” and there is no prohibition of “you shall not steal,” because once there is no legal determination that I need to give the money to the other person, the religious determination also does not obligate me to give the money to the other person. The religious determination only comes to give force to the legal one.

Now Rabbi Shimon Shkop, after all of this—and all of that was just an introduction—asks the following. At the beginning of Shaarei Yosher he says: perhaps you will say, why, or on what basis, can we obligate a person to obey something that is not written in the Torah, something the Torah did not command? By what right do you make demands of him? He doesn’t want to obey. What am I obligated to? I’m obligated to the Holy One, blessed be He. What does that have to do with why I should obey some legal system or another if not for the command of the Torah? Meaning, without the Torah’s command, why am I obligated to obey it?

First, just as an aside, notice that according to the common explanation of Rabbi Shimon Shkop, this question has no meaning at all. Because according to the common explanation, I really do not need to obey. There is no legal prohibition against theft; there is only a definition that this money belongs to the other person. The prohibition is entirely religious according to the common understanding, not according to the view I suggested. According to that, then what is the question of why one should obey? In fact, one need not obey; there is nothing to obey. Without the prohibition “you shall not steal,” I could have taken the object from him. Once there is a prohibition of “you shall not steal,” I can no longer take the object. But there is no duty here to obey something that is not found in the Torah; there is no duty of obedience here, only a definition.

The fact that Rabbi Shimon asks where the duty to obey comes from clearly shows that he understands that on the legal level this is not just defined as the other person’s property, but that I am also forbidden to take it from him. There is a prohibition, a normative matter. And about that he asks: why obey that prohibition? Where does that prohibition come from? It’s not a Torah prohibition, so why obey it? Okay? That is basically Rabbi Shimon’s question; I’m just noting it in passing.

So what does he say? Like a good Jew, he answers a question with a question. He says: before you ask me why obey prohibitions that do not appear in the Torah, first ask me why obey prohibitions that do appear in the Torah. If something does appear in the Torah, so what? Why obey that? So he says: obviously the reason is reasoning. Remember “sworn and standing from Sinai,” what I said earlier? The obligation to obey the Torah cannot be because it is written in the Torah, right? It has to be some principle that precedes the Torah, and only that can ground the obligation to the Torah. Just as the obligation to rabbinic law must be based on something outside the system of rabbinic law—in that case, the Torah-level “do not deviate.” But what is the Torah-level system itself based on? The obligation to Torah law must rest on some principle that precedes it or is more fundamental than a verse in the Torah, and that is what gives force to the verses of the Torah, by virtue of which I have to obey.

What is that principle? Some reasoning that says that if the Holy One, blessed be He, commands, then one should probably obey. It doesn’t matter; everyone can formulate it for himself however he wants. But that is the necessary basis; there can be no other basis for obligation to the Torah. Meaning, my obligation to what is written in the Torah is based not on the fact that it is written in the Torah—it cannot be based on that—but on the fact that one ought to obey God’s command. That reasoning is the basis for the obligation to obey the Torah.

So Rabbi Shimon Shkop says: if reasoning tells me to obey the laws of justice, then what kind of question is it to ask why obey them if they’re not written in the Torah? Even what is written in the Torah is obeyed only because there is reasoning that says one should obey. So here too, the reasoning says one should obey. Reasoning is something more fundamental than the Torah. The whole question—why obey if it isn’t written in the Torah—assumes that obedience to what is written in the Torah has some autonomous status, that it is not based on reasoning, not based on something outside the verses of the Torah. And that is absurd, of course; it cannot be true.

Obviously, the basis is the rational judgment that says that if there is a command from the Holy One, blessed be He, one should obey. So if reasoning can obligate me to obey what is written in the Torah, it can also obligate me in anything else it says. What’s the difference? In the end, whatever I keep is only because reasoning says so. So obeying the laws of justice is also what reasoning says. That is Rabbi Shimon Shkop’s claim.

Now what this basically means is that the obligation to obey what is written in the Torah is itself based on some principle that is outside the Torah, or prior to the Torah, and that is reasoning. Just like the reasoning that says to obey the laws of justice. But this is true of all Torah law: why obey Torah law? Once again, we see from a different angle, but it’s the same principle: at the base of every normative system there must stand some principle that gives it force, by virtue of which I am obligated to it. Without that, what is this obligation based on? A system cannot obligate me by means of a command found within it; that is ridiculous.

And therefore, as another aside, for example there is the passage in the portion of tzitzit, in Parashat Shelach, where it says, “And you shall not stray after your hearts and after your eyes.” Maimonides interprets that in a very broad way—he, of all people, which is a bit surprising. He interprets it very broadly. He says that it is forbidden to read or engage with any arguments, books, or things that lead you to heresy. Maimonides himself, of course, dealt quite a bit with such arguments and writings, and this is a question people have already asked about him in this context. But that is what he claims.

I’m saying, regardless of contradictions in Maimonides, I do not accept such a command—even if the Holy One, blessed be He, were to say it, and not only if Maimonides says it. Because such a command cannot hold water; it is an oxymoron. It cannot be that a system commands me to uphold it without checking it. On what basis am I supposed to keep the Torah? On the basis that the Torah itself tells me to keep it and not to examine it? What does that mean? If I haven’t examined it, then I also won’t keep the command not to examine it. In order to keep a system, I need to reach the conclusion that this system is binding on me. In order to reach that conclusion, I need to examine the options; I need to see the arguments, weigh the arguments in every direction, and then reach a decision, reach some conclusion.

How can it be that a system says to me: do not examine me; obey me without examining me? It is simply impossible logically. Therefore, quite apart from the question of what alternative interpretation I can find for those verses, that cannot be their interpretation. And if I don’t find another interpretation, then it requires further analysis. There is no such thing; such a prohibition cannot exist.

So, closing the parenthesis: this is exactly one of the implications of the claim I made earlier, that you cannot require a person to keep a system based on a command that belongs to that very system. The decision to uphold the system must always be based on some principle that lies outside that system. Okay.

Now, to that principle—at the end of the previous lecture I mentioned this briefly; here I’ve spelled it out more—that is what I called a “value principle.” That’s my terminology; you don’t need to know it, but I use it because it will serve us later. What I basically want to claim is that the principle that gives force to a particular normative system, no matter which one, I call the value principle of that system. And this is the principle on which the value or validity of that system is based.

So the value principle of rabbinic laws is “do not deviate.” The value principle of Torah-level laws is obligation to God’s command—that is, if the Holy One, blessed be He, commands, one should obey; that reasoning, okay? Whoever doesn’t have that reasoning really will not be obligated. There’s nothing to be done. It’s not that I can come to someone and say, wait, why don’t you obey that reasoning? If he has that reasoning, he has it; if not, he doesn’t. Of course, he has to be honest. Meaning, if he’s deceiving me and says he doesn’t have it even though inwardly he understands that one should keep it, then he’s deceiving me; that doesn’t matter, the Holy One, blessed be He, knows what is in his heart. But if he truly does not think one ought to keep it, then there is no basis for making claims against him. He is completely coerced, so to speak.

So basically, at the base of every system there is a value principle. Now this value principle can be of two kinds. And to illustrate this—wait, just a second, I was busy for the last half hour trying to see what to do with the internet, so I didn’t prepare everything I should have prepared. So just a second, I’ll put it up. There is a famous Talmudic passage in tractate Shabbat. Well, I’ll just say it from memory, because I see it’s stuck.

There is a midrash in tractate Shabbat 88a: Rava is speaking with some heretic who sees him while learning, injuring himself, chewing his fingers and nails and hurting himself, and that heretic says to him: “You impulsive people, who put your mouths before your ears.” Meaning, the Holy One, blessed be He, came to you and gave you the Torah, and you immediately said, “We will do and we will hear,” instead of first asking, first clarifying what’s in it, and then checking whether you’re willing to accept it or not, whether it seems reasonable to you or not.

And this of course comes against the background of another midrash, not there in the Talmud but in the midrash, that the Holy One, blessed be He, went around to all the nations and offered them the Torah before coming to the people of Israel. He came to one nation and they asked, what is written in it? You all know the familiar jokes, of course. What is written in it? He said to them, “You shall not murder.” Ah, that doesn’t suit us. He goes to another nation—what is written in it? “You shall not commit adultery.” That doesn’t suit us. A third nation—what is written in it? “You shall not steal.” That doesn’t suit us. Until he comes to the people of Israel, and contrary to the standard jokes, they don’t ask him anything—they immediately say, “We will do and we will hear.” They don’t ask what is written in it, nothing.

About that, that heretic says to Rava that you are an impulsive people. Logic says: first examine the deal, see what’s involved; if it seems reasonable to you, if it seems sensible to you, sign the deal. But what is this? Signing a blank check? Meaning, you didn’t examine this deal at all and you signed it without knowing what you were signing. What logic is there in that?

I think what lies behind this difference between the signing of the people of Israel and the signing of the nations of the world is basically two ways of taking on a normative system. After all, the nations of the world—the sensible method—what were they really saying? They wanted to see what was written there, go through the items, and if the deal looked good to them—and let’s give them credit, okay? They didn’t simply want to check whether it suited them or demanded too much of them. They really wanted to check whether this was a system that seemed reasonable to them, morally and in every other respect. It doesn’t fit the content of the midrash there, but in principle, what should you do before signing such a deal? You need to check what is written there, and if the deal seems reasonable to you, you go over all the details, everything it requires from you, everything promised to you, and then you sign. Sounds completely logical.

What did the people of Israel do? I think what they did was also logical. What they did was simply say: we trust the Holy One, blessed be He, and therefore we are willing to sign a blank check. We are willing to take on an obligation to whatever He requires of us, without examining each clause one by one. Meaning, there are two basic approaches to accepting a normative system.

One approach I call a particular value principle. This is the approach of the nations, who say: let’s examine the entire value system, say the moral world. Why do I accept the moral world? Because it is obvious to me that “you shall not murder” is a correct principle, “you shall not steal” is a correct principle, helping others is a correct principle, and so on. Therefore I am willing to take on the system. If there is some principle within it that doesn’t seem right to me, then of course I won’t accept it. Right? Because I accept these principles because they seem right to me. That is called acceptance through a particular value principle. I take on the moral system because each of the moral values seems reasonable to me, seems correct to me. Okay? That is acceptance based on a particular value principle.

But there is another kind of acceptance. For example, although this isn’t exactly a normative system, just as an example: I go to a doctor and ask him—I tell him that this and that is wrong, I’m sick, I have such-and-such symptoms. He diagnoses me and prescribes medicine. I take the medicine without checking whether it works or not. Why? Because I trust that the doctor probably checked, or knows those who checked, and he knows that this thing works. So why do I take the medicine even though I didn’t test that it works? Because I trust the one who gave it to me. Right? This is basically blank trust. Any medicine or medical procedure he suggests to me—in principle of course I’ll check a little here and there, but within reason—any medicine or medical procedure he suggests to me, I’ll accept. Why? Not because I examined the thing itself and it seemed reasonable to me, but because I trust the one who gave it to me.

Likewise, regarding a value principle, I am now speaking about a sweeping value principle, as opposed to a particular value principle. A sweeping value principle is a principle that tells me: I accept a system not because I checked each detail in it to see whether it seems right, moral, reasonable, or whatever, but because I trust the one who gave me this system, or the one who wrote the laws in this system. And once I have that trust, I take on this system as a blank check, whatever is written in it, no matter what.

Now, if that is really how we look at it, then there is nothing impulsive here and nothing irrational or improper. If you trust the giver of the system, there is no obstacle to taking on obligation to that system even without checking each one of its details. It is not true that the rational imperative says: check each of the principles and see. For example, in the Torah there are all kinds of principles of which I have no idea why they help. Later we’ll speak more about principles like that, some of which even seem morally problematic to me—not that I just don’t know why they are good; they seem bad to me—and nevertheless I take on the obligation to the system. Why? Because I’m irrational? No. Because I trust the giver of the system, the author of the system, that the content of the system is probably right, fitting to obey, fitting to act by.

This is what I now call, as opposed to the particular value principle I mentioned earlier, a sweeping value principle. And a sweeping value principle means that I take on a normative system containing many norms, prohibitions and obligations, whatever, norms of prohibition and norms of duty, and I accept it not because I examined each norm separately, but across the board. Because I trust the system or the one who wrote the system. That, as opposed to a particular value principle, a system accepted on the basis of a particular value principle—there, obviously, I accept the system only on condition that I checked each of its details and agreed to it, said that it is indeed correct, that it seems right to me. Okay?

Now I want to return from here to the question of multiple normative systems. I once called this poly-normativity—a multiplicity of normative systems. Can I be obligated to many normative systems? In principle, yes. How? Suppose each system—system A is based on value principle A, system B is based on value principle B, system C is based on value principle C. If all these value principles are acceptable to me, then I am obligated to all of those systems: system A, system B, system C—three systems. Let’s say the system of human values, which we discussed in the previous lecture; the moral system; the halakhic system; all kinds of things like that; the legal system, the laws of the state, whatever; the rules of the basketball association, whatever you want, the chess federation, and so on. There is no problem at all with multiplicity of systems as such. I can be obligated to many systems.

More than that: what happens if there is some contradiction or conflict between these systems? That is really where I’m heading. What happens in such a case? As I said at the end of the previous lecture and repeated at the beginning of this lecture, I basically have to rank the values against each other. And since in the previous lecture I said that although these are different value systems—one is morality, one is Jewish law, one is human values, and so on—still, apparently you can’t rank them because they aren’t measured by the same standard. I said that isn’t true. There is some general abstract standard, appropriateness, that can place them all on some scale and allow me to rank them against each other.

What happens if I have systems containing contradictory values? Systems where I have contradictory values. Is it possible at all for a person to be obligated to two value systems that contain contradictory values? In system A there is value X, and in system B there is value not-X. Can such a thing exist? Or is it obvious that if I am obligated to this system, I cannot be obligated to that system? And here the distinction I made earlier between a sweeping value principle and a particular value principle comes in.

If I took on both systems A and B on the basis of a particular value principle, then that cannot happen. Since I accepted system A, I went over all the norms in it, checked them one by one, and before deciding to take on the system I made sure I agreed with all of them. They all seemed right to me; I was willing to be obligated to all of them. The same with respect to system B. So if within system B there is value X, and in system A there is value not-X, then one of the two should not have passed my particular examination. It cannot be that I find myself obligated to two systems that contain contradictory values.

But if one of the systems—and by the way one is enough—if one of the systems was accepted by me on the basis of a sweeping value principle rather than a particular one, then there is nothing to prevent the state of affairs I described. Why? Think, for example, that I take on the moral value system, okay? And I accept that particularly. I checked that I identify with the prohibition against theft, I identify with the prohibition against hitting someone else, injuring someone else, causing suffering to another person. I identify with the prohibition against murder, of course, and all kinds of things like that. Therefore I am obligated to the moral value system, the system of moral values.

Now I examine Jewish law. I am obligated to Jewish law too. Then I look inside Jewish law and I see that I am commanded to kill Amalek, or to kill Sabbath desecrators, okay? How can it be that I am obligated to two systems that give me contradictory commands? The answer is that if I had accepted the Torah system the way the midrash describes the nations approaching it—on the basis of a particular value principle—then that indeed could not happen. Because they would have had to check all the Torah values and make sure that each and every one was acceptable to them. And then clearly they would not find there X, because after all they are already obligated to not-X. The moral system says not-X, “you shall not murder,” okay? And suddenly in the halakhic system they would see that one must kill Amalek. No, that is not acceptable to them, because they are committed to not-X. So value X we are not willing to take on ourselves. Once the examination is particular, it is impossible for me to accept X within system A and not-X within system B. It simply cannot be.

But if I accepted one of the two systems on the basis of a sweeping value principle, then that can absolutely happen. I took on obligation to God’s command, okay? God’s command without going into the details—a blank check. Meaning, whatever is written there I am willing to accept because I trust the Holy One, blessed be He, that whatever He says should be done. Fine. Now I open the bag—I bought a pig in a poke—and I want to look at the pig. I open the bag, and what do I discover? An obligation to kill Amalek. But wait—I was already obligated to the system of moral values, and I examined that system particularly, and in particular I took on the prohibition against murder.

So here I find myself obligated to the moral system, which tells me “you shall not murder,” and obligated to the halakhic system, which tells me “kill Amalek.” And there is no contradiction in that. Why? Because when I accepted the Torah system, I didn’t say that killing Amalek was acceptable to me in particular. I said that whatever the Holy One, blessed be He, says is probably fitting to do. I did not check the details of what He says. Now when I examine the details, I suddenly discover that He tells me to kill Amalek.

Of course, I can now decide that okay, if that’s the case, I’m withdrawing from the system; I was mistaken; apparently the Holy One, blessed be He, isn’t really as righteous as I thought. I withdraw; I issue a protest against the Torah; I do not accept the halakhic system. I can say that. Or I can say: no, I accept the halakhic system because I trust that what the Holy One, blessed be He, says should be done. True, it seems immoral to me, but it is still a religious obligation. Remember Rabbi Shimon Shkop, whom I cited earlier? It may be that there is a religious value in killing Amalek even though there is a moral problem in killing Amalek.

And then I can basically be obligated both to the moral system and to the religious system even though there is a contradiction between two particular values included in them. And there is no logical problem or philosophical problem in that. There is, of course, a conflict on the practical plane. Meaning: what am I supposed to do now? Kill Amalek or not kill Amalek? That is another discussion; we’ll talk about it. But the very fact that I am in conflict is not problematic in the least. I am in conflict. The religious command tells me to kill Amalek; the moral command says one may not kill Amalek. I am obligated to both these commands because I am obligated to both systems, the moral one and the religious one, and therefore I am in conflict. Being in conflict does not mean contradiction. There is no contradiction here, none whatsoever. I am obligated to this and obligated to that. This has religious value and that is a moral disvalue, that’s all.

Now I ask myself: okay, what should I do? That is already a practical question. What is incumbent on me in practice? But here again, what I said before: it is a conflict between values. I have to rank them, decide which value stands above which other value—the religious above the moral, or the moral above the religious. Or I’m talking about this specific religious value and this specific moral value. It does not have to be a general determination that religion is always above morality, or morality is always above religion. In every situation one has to discuss it on its own terms. In principle, I have to rank the values and decide the conflict just as I would decide an intra-moral conflict.

Remember Sartre and his student? In an intra-moral conflict too, I have to rank values to solve the problem, and no one imagines there is any problem in being in a situation where I am both obligated to fight evil and obligated to help my elderly mother. I have a practical problem of what to do, because in practice I cannot fulfill both of those instructions, and therefore I will have to decide which value is more important than the other. But that is only a practical question; there is no essential contradiction in being in such a conflict.

No one would come to someone and say: look, you’re probably not really obligated to morality if you’re in conflict. On the contrary. Precisely because I am obligated to morality, I am in conflict. And now notice: the same is true of conflicts between Torah and morality. When I speak about conflicts between Torah and morality—let’s take killing Amalek again—I have shown that on the principled level, being in such a conflict is not problematic philosophically. One can be in such a conflict as long as my acceptance of the Torah system is on the basis of a sweeping value principle and not a particular value principle. Again, if it is on the basis of a particular value principle, then I cannot be in such a conflict. But if I take on the Torah system on the basis of a sweeping value principle, some trust in the system as a whole or in the one who wrote that system, then a conflict can arise.

Now notice something very interesting. Although it is very simple once you think about it—again, but at first glance it can be a bit surprising—who is actually likely to find himself in conflicts between Torah and morality? Only the really religious people. Only the really religious people—meaning, only those willing to accept the Torah as a blank check just because the Holy One, blessed be He, said so, without checking. Only those really religious people can find themselves in a conflict between Torah and morality. Because someone who is not like that, but is obligated to the Torah only as long as he identifies with what it says, is of course in no conflict at all. The moment the Torah says to kill Amalek, he says: okay, that’s not acceptable to me, so here I’m not obeying. I’m obligated to morality, and this thing is not acceptable to me.

Meaning, someone who examined the Torah like the nations, according to a particular value principle, and checked each norm and norm to see whether it was acceptable to him, will never find himself in conflict. And the rational person cannot find himself in conflict—the “rational” person in quotation marks, yes? Rational like that heretic in the Talmud I mentioned before, or like those nations who check the deal before signing it. Whoever checks the deal before signing it is not supposed to find himself in conflict, unless he missed something in the checking. But someone who takes the deal as a blank check—he’s that really religious type—says: the Holy One, blessed be He, said it; “we will do and we will hear.” I take it on myself as a blank check. Precisely such a person can find himself in conflict, because suddenly I open the contract, look inside, and to my astonishment and disappointment I discover there the command to kill Amalek. But I am also obligated to morality, in addition to having committed to this deal as a blank check. So I am in conflict.

And being in conflict is not the lot of Reform Jews. Reform Jews are not in conflict. Reform Jews don’t accept what they don’t accept; they don’t do it. Reform Jews don’t do anything—Conservative maybe, I don’t know exactly how to define it. But someone who does not do what is unacceptable to him is not in conflict. To be in conflict means—usually the feeling is that if you are in conflict, then you are not religious enough. I’m saying it is exactly the opposite. Precisely if you are seriously religious, if you are truly obligated to the system, only then can you find yourself in conflict, because only then do you take it on yourself as a blank check and suddenly discover that you are in conflict. What to do? That is another question.

Some people will say: fine, maybe you can find yourself in conflict. But if you are truly religious, then the religious value will always prevail over the moral value. We’ll deal with that too, but that already belongs to the stage of resolving the conflict. First of all, I’m trying to show that being in conflict is in itself not surprising and not problematic at all. And not only does it exist—it exists precisely if you are really religious. Precisely if you are one of those who say “we will do and we will hear,” who take the system on themselves as a blank check, simply because the Holy One, blessed be He, said so. A real fanatic in that sense, without checking whether it seems right to me and what it says to me and whether it speaks to me, and all sorts of things like that. Anyone who checks things on the level of whether it speaks to me and seems right to me, like the nations in that midrash, will not find himself in conflict. That’s what they said: what is written there? The Holy One, blessed be He, says “you shall not steal.” That doesn’t suit me; as far as I’m concerned, my values include theft. So they don’t accept the system. They will never find themselves in conflict. The ones in conflict are only the really religious people. Okay?

Now the question is what being really religious says about resolving the conflict. But being in conflict does not contradict being really religious; exactly the opposite. Only serious religiosity makes being in conflict possible. Okay?

Now we have to see what happens with resolving conflicts. So okay, now I want to step back a bit and examine three possibilities for the relationship between Torah and morality. And here I am already speaking not only about being in conflict—we’ll see that this may involve both questions—but also about resolving the conflict.

One possibility is to say that Jewish law overrides morality categorically. Maybe I would say even more than that. Basically, I am obligated only to Jewish law. You can’t be obligated both to morality and to Jewish law. Anyone truly religious is obligated to Jewish law, and that’s it, nothing else. Or, in a more moderate formulation: even if you are obligated to morality, still it is obvious that morality is always set aside before Jewish law. You can see that the more extreme formulation forbids being in conflict, while the more moderate one says something about resolving the conflict. Meaning, you can be in conflict, but the resolution will always favor Jewish law and go against morality. Okay? So these are two directions that basically speak about the supremacy of Jewish law, or about the idea that Jewish law is the only obligation or at least the dominant one.

The opposite thesis says that morality is really what obligates. And if Jewish law contradicts morality, what do you do with that? Well, according to such a view, that simply cannot happen. If Jewish law contradicts morality, then we have to do what morality says, because I see morality as the dominant system or the more important one. Then the claim is that we identify Jewish law with morality. Basically we say—this is a thesis one might connect to Rabbi Kook—that Rabbi Kook in many places argues that Jewish law is the supreme morality, the perfected morality, basically Jewish law. Therefore his claim is that essentially there cannot be a conflict between Jewish law and morality. Even what appears to be a conflict is imaginary. It is an illusion. Such a conflict cannot exist.

Why can’t there be immoral Jewish law? Because the whole point of Jewish law is basically to achieve moral values in the optimal way, in the best way. Why do we need Jewish law? Because presumably without it we would not succeed in finding the optimal path to achieve the most moral results. So Jewish law is the path that guides us there. But fundamentally, the goals of Jewish law are really moral goals. There is an identification between Jewish law and morality. And therefore, according to Rabbi Kook, in principle there cannot be a conflict. If there is a conflict, it is only apparent. Either you did not understand morality properly, or you did not understand Jewish law properly, but there cannot be a conflict. That is the claim.

With the Chazon Ish, for example—at least in common presentations, and we’ll soon see that it’s not certain this is really what he says; probably not—but people often read him the opposite way. He says morality has no status at all; Jewish law is what determines things. Morality is, to put it in Leibowitz’s language, an atheistic category. Therefore, it is not of interest to servants of God. Someone obligated to Jewish law is obligated only to Jewish law. There are no conflicts.

So from one side, in Rabbi Kook there are no conflicts because morality clearly determines everything, and if Jewish law seems to contradict morality, then you missed something. In the Chazon Ish there are no conflicts because Jewish law always overrides morality. And here I mentioned two formulations: either Jewish law always overrides morality, or there is no such thing as obligation to morality at all. Jewish law includes morality, meaning what Jewish law says is what determines things.

This is thesis and antithesis, right? Although if you think about it a little, you’ll see that practically they seem like opposites, but in fact they say the same thing. Because in the end, when there is some dissonance between a halakhic ruling and a moral value, what will Rabbi Kook do? Either he will interpret Jewish law differently, but he will have to show that this really is not the halakhah, using halakhic tools, that in fact Jewish law says something that does fit morality. Then in practice he dissolves the conflict.

What will the Chazon Ish do? Either he will say that this is the Jewish law and therefore it overrides morality, or, if Rabbi Kook convinces him and says: you know what, your halakhic interpretation doesn’t seem right to me; in fact Jewish law doesn’t say what I thought, it says something else—then he will basically do what Rabbi Kook says as well, except that from his point of view what he is fulfilling is Jewish law. From Rabbi Kook’s point of view, what we are fulfilling is morality, with Jewish law only steering or guiding us as to how to fulfill it in the best way.

Okay? So on the practical level, these two opposite views can look pretty similar. For the Chazon Ish there is only Jewish law; for Rabbi Kook there is only morality. But in practice, both of them somehow recognize that there is both Jewish law and morality, and it does not always appear—at least—to align. Even if theoretically it must align, it does not always appear to align. And then both of them somehow have to show us how in fact it does align.

So Rabbi Kook will explain to us that the depth of morality actually leads to the halakhic command. You were simply mistaken when you thought morality said that; in fact it is not true—morality says what Jewish law says. And the Chazon Ish won’t bother saying that. He will simply tell you: fine, so morality says otherwise, but this is what Jewish law says, and therefore this is what must be done, let’s say. Okay? But in practice, in the bottom line, both of them will tell me to do what Jewish law says.

Only that for Rabbi Kook the reasoning will be that this is the best path to the best moral result, whereas the Chazon Ish won’t bother saying that. He’ll say: this is Jewish law, and I don’t care whether it’s morality or not, let’s say. But in practice, both of them will essentially tell me the same thing. Alternatively, if Rabbi Kook succeeds in convincing the Chazon Ish that there is another halakhic interpretation that tells me that Jewish law says something different than I thought, and that something else fits the moral imperative, then no problem: if he convinces the Chazon Ish that that is really what Jewish law says, then once again the Chazon Ish will go along with him.

Meaning, de facto, both of them are committed to Jewish law and committed to morality, and if they can bring them into harmony, then of course both will go with that. Where you cannot succeed in harmonizing them, I think both of them will follow Jewish law and not morality. Only Rabbi Kook will say: I failed to harmonize them because I’m not wise enough. But basically Jewish law is the depth of morality; it is some sort of higher morality, divine morality that we do not understand, I don’t know, terms of that sort. But basically he too will keep Jewish law even where it seems immoral to him. He will give explanations—sometimes a bit far-fetched—why it is still moral and things like that. But in practice, in the end, in most cases what the Chazon Ish and Rabbi Kook say will look pretty similar.

And again, we’ll still get into whether this really is the Chazon Ish and Rabbi Kook, but for now I’m just sketching the map.

A third possibility—and it seems to me this is what follows from the picture I’ve described up to this point, and that’s why I introduced all of this first—is to say: what do you mean? I’m not willing to lie to myself. I’m not willing to twist—with a “t,” yes, twist, not “hametz,” but twist—I’m not willing to bend halakhic interpretation, and where Jewish law contradicts morality, then as far as I’m concerned, this is a real conflict. I do not adjust Jewish law to morality or morality to Jewish law. I simply say: I am in conflict. I declare such a state to be a state of conflict.

And in a state of conflict, I have two values that truly do not fit one another; there is a conflict—contrary to what the Chazon Ish and Rabbi Kook say, who say that conflict is impossible. I say no: conflict is possible, and I explained earlier why there is no philosophical problem in that. Conflict is possible. What do you do in such a conflict? Good question. We’ll talk about that. But the very existence of conflict, as I showed earlier, is not contradictory at all. A person—on the contrary—the really religious person is exactly the one expected to find himself in such a conflict.

The halakhah tells me to kill an Amalekite baby—not an adult Amalekite, an Amalekite baby. That is apparently blatantly immoral. Morality says one may not kill, certainly not babies who have not sinned or done anything wrong. What are you doing killing them? So Rabbi Kook will explain why this Amalekite baby is, in fact, morally justified to kill—because when he grows up he’ll become a mass murderer and things like that. Maybe he’s right, I don’t know. But those are the kinds of explanations he will look for. The Chazon Ish will say you have to kill that baby even if it’s immoral, because that is what the Torah says. You are not wiser than the Torah. And I say: I don’t know, I am in conflict about whether to kill him or not. Morality says do not kill him; Jewish law says yes, kill him—and I am in conflict.

I’ll already say now that even if I am in conflict, Jewish law does not always prevail. Not at all. Sometimes morality will prevail; sometimes Jewish law will prevail. So for me, we’ll still discuss resolution, but for now I am declaring this state to be a conflict. This declaration, notice, is the solution to the philosophical problem of contradiction between Jewish law and morality. One solution says there is no contradiction because Jewish law is entirely morality. The second says there is no contradiction because morality is entirely Jewish law. My solution says no: morality is not Jewish law, and Jewish law is not morality. Jewish law aims at religious values, not moral values, as Rabbi Kook assumes. Morality aims at moral values. Therefore, conflicts between them can absolutely arise. And when there is a contradiction between the two, I cannot fulfill both simultaneously; I am in conflict. Sometimes this one will prevail, sometimes that one will prevail. I have to decide as I do in every conflict. Okay? That is the third approach. I support it. I think it is the correct approach.

And later I’ll expand on this much more, because it also says something about what Torah is altogether. This debate is much deeper than just what to do in a conflict between Torah and morality. It’s a question of what Torah is. Rabbi Kook claims—and I’ll already say this briefly here—that Torah is the best way to arrive at a moral society, a moral person, and a moral society. He says this in many places. I’m a very minor expert on Rabbi Kook’s writings, but even with my limited expertise I’ve encountered this in dozens of places in his writings. He says it very, very unequivocally. All of Jewish law is aimed solely at creating a moral world. That’s it. He does not recognize, in the language of the previous lecture, the existence of religious values. For him, all values are only moral values.

The Chazon Ish, as I described him earlier, says no: Jewish law may aim at religious values, and morality, whether he recognizes it or not, aims at moral values. When there is a conflict, Jewish law prevails, because I am not obligated to morality, at least not where it contradicts Jewish law. Okay?

And I argue that since Jewish law aims at religious values and morality aims at moral values, conflicts can certainly arise. And when there is a conflict, it is a real conflict. I don’t know what to do in such a situation; I’ll have to decide case by case. I don’t have some magic algorithm that solves all these problems. And it is not correct to say morality always prevails; nor is it correct to say Jewish law always prevails. It’s a dilemma, and dilemmas have to be resolved each on its own terms. That is the basic claim.

Before I go in—the next stages will be, first, to look at the Chazon Ish and Rabbi Kook inside and try to identify whether these really are their views. I’ll already say now that with the Chazon Ish I’m pretty sure this isn’t true, but people often attribute this view to him, so as a heading I call it the view of the Chazon Ish. With Rabbi Kook, I do think this is his view. And after that, of course, we’ll look at the practical side—what it means that we encounter conflicts, what do we do? And also what that says about what Torah is altogether. So that is the next stage.

But before that, what I want to do now is try to explain why such a view still sounds problematic to a religious ear, to an Orthodox ear committed to Jewish law—an ear that heard at Sinai. Why does this sound problematic to people, this claim? What I basically want to say is that morality says not to kill Amalek, Jewish law says to kill Amalek. What I would do in practice—I don’t know. I’m not sure I would kill Amalek. I don’t know, I’m in a dilemma, I’m in conflict. Resolutions will be resolutions, but later. So why does this bother people?

I think what bothers people is that they understand obligation to Jewish law as an absolute obligation. Meaning, if your obligation to Jewish law isn’t absolute, that doesn’t count as being obligated to Jewish law. Then regard Jewish law as a source of inspiration, or I don’t know, some spring from which you draw—but that is not obligation in the usual sense, not full obligation. Once I present a view like this, according to which sometimes I won’t keep Jewish law, the feeling is that you are not really obligated to Jewish law. But that is of course not true. It’s obviously not true.

Why? Here I return to what I mentioned before, the chocolate example—or if not, you’ve all surely heard it from me before—the chocolate example that goes like this: the argument over whether to eat chocolate or not. Reuven says eat chocolate because it tastes good, and Shimon says don’t eat chocolate because it makes you fat. Who is right? Both Reuven and Shimon are right. Chocolate both tastes good and makes you fat. Okay? So now, of course—now I, Levi, am there, and I say: wow, Reuven, you are right, and Shimon, you are right. Chocolate both tastes good and makes you fat. So what do we do now about the eating? First of all, I determine: I am in conflict. From the standpoint of taste, there is a reason to eat it. From the standpoint of weight gain, there is a reason not to eat it. I am in conflict. The value of pleasure versus the value of health, or aesthetics, whatever—everyone with his own reasons for dieting.

So I’m in conflict, and I don’t know what to do. Is it correct to say about me that I am not fully committed to health? I think not. I am fully committed to health, and I am also fully committed to pleasure. But what can I do? There are situations in which I cannot fulfill both commitments. So I need to decide.

It’s like life-threatening danger and the Sabbath. Someone will say to me: look, I’m in conflict—there’s life-threatening danger versus the Sabbath, I’m in conflict—like the Tannaim there, we saw the passage. So what will you say? That they are not fully committed to Sabbath observance or to the value of life? Of course not. They are fully committed to Sabbath observance and fully committed to the value of life. But reality presents us with situations in which I cannot fulfill these values even though I am totally committed to them. There is not the slightest hesitation. I am committed to both these values completely. It is not that I have a qualified commitment to one of them. No, no. I am fully committed both to the Sabbath and to saving life. Or in the chocolate example, I am fully committed both to pleasure and to health. Of course pleasure isn’t really a value; I’m only using it as a parable. I am fully committed to pleasure and fully committed to health. And what can I do? Precisely because I’m that “religious” person, I am fully committed to both sides. Precisely because of that I am in conflict.

And in the end I have to decide it—either to eat or not to eat. Suppose I decide to eat. Does that mean I am not fully committed to the value of health? I am fully committed—only I am also fully committed to the value of pleasure. And there is a scale that ranks them one above the other, and I have to appeal to some such scale in order to decide. This does not mean there is any hint of hesitation or any trace of lack of commitment on my part with respect to either of the two clashing values. I am fully committed to both of them. It is simply a mistaken view. Conflicts do not show that I am not fully committed. On the contrary, as I said before: precisely because I am fully committed to both sides, that is exactly why I am in conflict. If I were not fully committed to one of them, I would not be in conflict. I’m committed to this and not committed to that—so what conflict is there? There is no conflict at all. Conflict exists only when I am fully committed to both sides.

Therefore, when I say that killing Amalek versus the moral value of not killing is a conflict for me, there is nothing in that that indicates my halakhic commitment is not full. My halakhic commitment is full; my moral commitment is also full. And precisely because of that, I am in conflict.

Now there is a slightly different formulation of the difficulty I described earlier, which may clarify it more: why does it still trouble people? Because, as I said before, obligation to any normative system requires us, or rests on, some value principle. So the obligation to Jewish law is obligation to God’s will or God’s command, okay? The obligation to morality is some obligation to another system—I don’t know what—to my reasoning, okay? Which says that one ought to behave morally. Okay?

Now where does that reasoning come from? There has to be some source—we talked about ethical realism—there has to be some external source that gives force to moral values. I’m now using all the introductions I gave, yes? So there has to be some objective external source that gives value to moral principles. If moral principles are just a function of how I’m built, then that’s not morality. That’s good behavior, not morality. I discussed that and I won’t go back to it now; that was in the first lectures.

So there has to be some external source. And now here is the problem. The problem is that I am obligated to two external sources. One of them is the Holy One, blessed be He, who is the basis—the obligation to Him is the value principle at the base of the obligation to Jewish law. And the second is some other someone or something that stands at the base of the obligation to moral principles. Obligation to another authoritative factor, another authority that obligates me besides the Holy One, blessed be He—that is idolatry in partnership. Maybe that is what bothers people when they hear about some kind of double obligation that does not automatically give priority to Jewish law.

Maybe let’s formulate it differently, and I’ll put it this way: on the principled level, there is no obstacle to being obligated to two systems in parallel. But what happens if one of the systems demands exclusivity? Suppose halakhic obligation says, “You shall have no other gods before Me.” Meaning: only I am your God, only I obligate you. You are forbidden to be obligated to any external factor besides Me. Because otherwise that is idolatry in partnership. To be obligated to some other factor. That other factor is an idol; it doesn’t matter how abstract it is, but in the end it is an idol. It is some external factor that obligates me, and it is not the Holy One, blessed be He. Okay?

Now here we already have a problem. True, on the philosophical level, if one of the two systems is based on a sweeping value principle, there is no obstacle to being obligated to both despite the contradiction. But if specifically one of the systems demands exclusivity, then I can no longer be obligated to both. Because the moment I am obligated to both, then I am no longer fully obligated to the system that demands exclusivity. In that I have violated one of the principles of that system.

So specifically if there is some system that demands exclusivity, that can indeed create a problem for poly-normativity, for multiple obligations to several normative systems. And therefore here—and I am now closing the circle on another introduction I gave—when I said there that the external factor that must stand at the base of moral obligation ought to be the Holy One, blessed be He, not some other external factor. And I said there that without belief in God there cannot be moral obligation. I do not accept the idea of moral obligation in an atheistic world, certainly not in a materialist one. Okay? There cannot be such a thing. Moral obligation cannot exist in such a place. Again, I said: not good behavior. Good behavior can certainly exist, and in fact does exist, among people who do not believe in God, atheists and materialists. I am speaking at the philosophical level. My claim is that such people are not consistent, not that they are not moral. They are not obligated to morality; they simply do it because they do it. But moral obligation, in a world of thought like theirs, cannot exist.

And then my claim basically says the following: if I were like Leibowitz—and here I differ from Leibowitz—if I said like Leibowitz that morality is an atheistic category, then the option of being obligated both to morality and to Jewish law at the same time—which was basically Leibowitz’s option, contrary to how he is usually interpreted—people usually interpret him as having only Jewish law and no morality in his world, and then everyone asks him: so what about all your talk of Judeo-Nazis, and occupation corrupting, and all your concern about trampling moral values? If you don’t recognize morality, if morality is an atheistic category, and you are only religious, then how does that work?

So clearly that understanding is not correct. The conception is wrong. Leibowitz was obligated to the moral system even though it was an atheistic category. He was obligated to it as a human being, not as a religious human being. He was obligated to the halakhic system as a religious human being. And that is classic poly-normativity. And at the principled level there is no philosophical problem in being obligated to both those things.

But here I disagree with him in another sense. Philosophically I agree. The problem is that the religious system demands exclusivity. It is not willing to recognize an additional source of validity besides the Holy One, blessed be He. And if morality really were an atheistic category, then it would be impossible to be obligated both to it and at the same time to the halakhic system. That cannot be. “You shall have no other gods before Me.” In your obligation to morality, you violate the command “You shall have no other gods before Me.” By the way, I’ll go further than that: you violate it even where morality does not contradict Jewish law. If you recognize the existence of another source of validity that obligates you to do things that are acceptable from the standpoint of Jewish law—they do not contradict Jewish law, no problem—but it is another source of validity, then you are engaging in idolatry in partnership. Therefore it cannot be. There is no such thing. The very acceptance of an additional source of validity is a violation of “You shall have no other gods before Me,” even where there is no conflict between Jewish law and morality. That is the important point—not only because of the conflicts.

The problem is not that because of the conflicts maybe you won’t keep Jewish law. No. Even without the conflicts, the mere fact that you are willing to say—what is idolatry? For example, idolatry is to defecate before Peor, okay? There is no halakhic prohibition against doing that act as such. It’s a little repulsive on the human level, but there is no halakhic prohibition in the act itself. What is the halakhic prohibition there? That you are doing something because Peor obligates you. That is the prohibition. The act in itself contains no halakhic transgression. The prohibition is that you find yourself obligated to an idol or to someone or something other than the Holy One, blessed be He. That is the prohibition.

So in that sense, moral behavior is also idolatry, exactly to the same degree. The only way out that leaves us consistent—not only philosophically but also religiously—is only if we see morality as an expression of God’s will. Meaning, morality too is based on obligation to God’s will, not only Jewish law. Then my claim is the following, and with this I’ll finish, just to close the circle here.

Morality and Jewish law are two systems. And I’ll say more than that: independent systems. Morality comes to realize one kind of value, moral values. Jewish law comes to realize another kind of value, religious values—including the moral parts within Jewish law. I am claiming categorically: there is no connection; these are two independent systems. Okay? Obligation to both of them is possible. Why? Because I am obligated to the religious system on the basis of a sweeping value principle. Therefore the fact that there are contradictions between them poses no problem at all; being in conflict is possible.

My problem is not philosophical. Poly-normativity is the philosophical problem; that I solved. Because my halakhic value principle is a sweeping value principle. My problem is that specifically the halakhic system demands exclusivity. It demands that there be no obligation to any additional factor before the Holy One, blessed be He. Therefore, someone who sees morality as an atheistic category should repudiate it. He should not be obligated to morality at all, even when it does not contradict Jewish law. Because that is idolatry.

But if someone like me sees morality as God’s will—only not God’s will as it is expressed in Jewish law, but rather another system expressing another kind of will of the Holy One, blessed be He, the moral will—then He has His halakhic will and His moral will, and those two wills are realized in different normative systems. This one is realized in the moral system and that one in the halakhic system. But both are God’s will. Now this is no longer idolatry in partnership; now it is all service of God. But it is service of God that is not Jewish law. Torah is a broader concept than Jewish law; it includes morality too. In my view, by the way, nothing besides that. But it includes morality too. Or not Torah—leave Torah aside. God’s will. God’s will contains two things: God’s will includes the moral system—that is God’s will that we be moral—and God’s will includes the halakhic system, which is the will that we reach religious values, or the divine matter, as the author of the homilies of Ran calls it. Yes, the goal is a religious goal: to bring the Divine Presence to dwell among us. That is not a moral goal; it is another kind of goal. Okay? But both of these goals are demands that the Holy One, blessed be He, makes of us; they are desires of the Holy One, blessed be He.

Therefore there is no problem here. The problem of poly-normativity is solved because the value principle is sweeping, so there is no problem at all. The problem of exclusivity is also solved because I am not serving other gods; I am serving the Holy One, blessed be He. The Holy One, blessed be He, also told me “and you shall do what is upright and good,” meaning behave morally. And besides that, He also commanded me the halakhic commands. Now where there is a conflict—just as there is conflict within Jewish law and conflict within morality—there can be conflict between morality and Jewish law. Then you have to solve it. But it is only a conflict. There is no principled philosophical problem at all in the very fact of being in such a conflict. Okay? That is basically the general claim.

Next time I’ll expand on this a bit more, and we’ll go back into Rabbi Kook and Leibowitz and the Chazon Ish, and then we’ll see what these things also imply about Torah in general. Okay, I’ll stop here. If anyone wants to ask or comment.

[Speaker B] Your whole argument about accepting the yoke of the kingdom of heaven, that the Torah is from Sinai and hearing that it is the word of God, is an argument from plausibility. Meaning, it was plausible to assume—you laid out this whole process, for example, in the first book of the trilogy. Right? Meaning, we decide that we need to accept the yoke of the kingdom of heaven based on considerations of plausibility.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What do you mean by plausibility? Factual plausibility?

[Speaker B] Not exactly, no, it’s not a fact. Why believe that the Torah is from heaven? Because that’s plausible.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The Torah being from heaven is a fact. But why be obligated by a Torah that was given from heaven? That’s a normative claim; that’s something else.

[Speaker B] Someone could come and say—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I believe that the Torah was given from heaven and that there was the revelation at Mount Sinai, and I don’t see why I’m obligated by it.

[Speaker B] Okay, I believe. That belief is a belief based on considerations of plausibility. Right. Meaning, I didn’t see that there was a Torah from heaven; rather, it’s plausible to assume that if a Creator of the world exists, then He stated His word.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] He stated His word.

[Speaker B] Yes, He stated His word. But now I’m asking from that standpoint: how can it be that the Creator gave me commands that contradict morality?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, so you’re jumping ahead.

[Speaker B] We’ll talk about it. Natural morality. What?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You’re jumping ahead. We’ll talk about it.

[Speaker B] Okay. And also—I just want to sharpen the question. If we assume that my morality is mistaken—it could be mistaken—it could be that one needs to kill Amalek, as the Chazon Ish perhaps says. It’s okay to kill Amalek because he’ll grow up, or I don’t know, an infant will grow up and so on. But how can it be that my intuition, my natural intuition, is not like that? So how did I receive a command from heaven that contradicts natural intuition?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’ll answer you in one sentence, because basically I already answered that. We’ll get to it in greater detail, which is why I said you’re jumping ahead, but in essence I already answered it. What I said was that when the Holy One, blessed be He, gives a command that is not moral, He has a religious purpose. And therefore, just as chocolate can be tasty but not healthy, so too this act can be religiously right and morally wrong, or vice versa. That’s all. And since the Holy One, blessed be He, wants us to achieve the religious goals and also the moral goals, therefore He gave that command within the framework of Jewish law, and within the framework of morality He says: but know that this is not moral. And now we have to see what we actually decide to do. That’s another whole issue. But there’s no principled problem here. It’s like if the Holy One, blessed be He, were to tell you: look, I want you to enjoy life, but I also want you to be healthy. Okay? He can say that, right? Now I’m debating whether to eat chocolate. Wait—how can the Holy One, blessed be He, give me a command to enjoy life when He also wants me to be healthy? Well yes, I want both. It’s true that with chocolate I really won’t manage to achieve both, and then I have to decide which of them takes precedence. Same thing here. The Holy One, blessed be He, wants me to achieve the religious goals; He wants me to achieve the moral goals. There are sometimes situations in which there is a clash, and I can’t achieve both the religious goal and the moral goal, so I have to decide which of them prevails. But on the principled level, the existence of such a conflict is not problematic.

[Speaker B] But it is problematic in this sense: how can that even be a religious purpose?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why not? What do you know about what religious purposes are meant to accomplish? It could be that in order to repair whatever eternal aspect is in question, one has to kill Amalekite infants. Just as in order to bring the Divine Presence to dwell among the Jewish people, you have to slaughter tens and hundreds and thousands of animals in the Temple, right? What does He need all that madness for?

[Speaker C] Rabbi, so what really is the answer about—like… I didn’t really understand the place of the religious purpose.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What do you mean, the place? There are religious purposes and there are moral purposes. That’s all. What do you mean, place?

[Speaker C] Where—where did we get the idea that there are religious purposes?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] From the Holy One, blessed be He.

[Speaker C] But seemingly they don’t—they don’t rest on anything. If I were to say that all the commands have a reason to them, and that reason unites them with moral purposes, then…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why are you assuming that when commands have a reason, it has to be a moral reason? And I’m saying that’s not correct; there are several kinds of reasons. There is a moral reason and there is a religious reason.

[Speaker C] But when you say the word “religious,” what does that mean? What does it include? It sounds—it sounds like some kind of…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The meaning is what the Ran calls applying the divine matter—causing the Divine Presence to dwell among the Jewish people, the holiness of the Temple, the holiness of the priesthood, all kinds of things of that sort that have absolutely nothing to do with morality. But they do have religious value, and the Holy One, blessed be He, has religious purposes too, not only moral purposes. I think you can see that very clearly in Jewish law. This isn’t my speculation. Quite the opposite.

[Speaker C] Is this something like—do X, Y, Z so that such-and-such will happen?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So that—I don’t know—the world will be repaired from a religious aspect, not from a moral aspect. It’s a normative matter, not a factual one. But it’s a norm not of the ethical type but of another type: a religious norm.

[Speaker C] It’s hard to understand that kind of thing; it’s like a kind of magic.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Like, do all kinds of things, and you don’t understand—

[Speaker C] What stands behind it, only that God commanded it.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There’s no moral logic to it. So what? No, no, no—there’s a mistake here, in my opinion. There’s a mistake here. When—when you ask yourself what it means to understand, notice that all the time you’re expecting an explanation in moral terms. “Understand” means: come explain to me what moral value this advances. But that is exactly what I’m trying to tell you: that it cannot be explained in terms of moral values, because these are values of a different type. So you shouldn’t be troubled by the fact that you don’t find explanations in moral terms for these values, because by definition they are values of a different type. So it’s not that it has no explanation; it’s not correct to say that. It has no moral explanation.

[Speaker C] Maybe because what bothers me is that the only kind of explanation that exists for me in the world is a moral explanation, maybe.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s the explanation that is more intuitively accessible to you, but there are other things as well. We’ll talk about it; we’ll discuss that a bit more later on too. Okay. Anyone else? Okay, so we’ll stop here. Good night, goodbye.