Authority: why thought differs from halakha

Two kinds of consciousness

Anyone who has learned Torah knows the difference, even if he has not put it into words. Whoever learns halakha feels that he is interpreting something that was given to him. There are sources, rulings that have accumulated, and rules, and every decisor adds his own layer to a building that is being built from generation to generation. His interpretations are of course steeped in his worldview and his surroundings, but from his point of view he is interpreting, not inventing. And these interpretations, which are part of the world God created, can be seen as a completion of the giving of the Torah.

In thought the situation is different, and if we are honest we will admit it. Beyond a few very basic principles, belief in God and the giving of the Torah, each thinker created an entire world of concepts of his own. Rav Saadia Gaon and Maimonides, with the influence of Muslim-Greek philosophy. The Maharal and the Ramchal, who built worlds connected to Kabbalah. Hasidism in its various shades. These are not translations of the same ideas into different languages. They are different worlds of ideas, the creation of the thinker himself, and so it is hard to see them as interpretation of the tradition. Even the word “God” is not understood the same way by all of them. Each thinker is a kind of “monad,” a world closed in on itself.

Why is this so? Because thought arises in reason, and there are very few agreed assumptions that were received at Sinai. It follows that in the domain of thought there is no authority. And if so, an ordinary person too can, and perhaps should, add a “monad” of his own alongside the great ones of the world, without detracting from their honor. Whoever is convinced by him will accept his words, exactly as with any other thinker.

Only in recent generations, since “thought” began to be studied in yeshivas as a subject, did people start treating it as if it were halakha: with “rulings,” with “the rav’s view,” with “authority.” That is a mistake, and it stems from conservatism and the desire to protect the tradition. But this protection harms the tradition more than it helps it.

Substantive authority and formal authority

To understand why halakha has authority and thought does not, we need one distinction. There are two kinds of authority.

Substantive authority is the authority of an expert. When a doctor prescribes me a medication, I have no obligation to obey him. I listen to him because I am convinced he knows more than I do. If I become convinced he is wrong, I will not take the medication. Formal authority is the authority of an office. The laws of parliament bind me not because the members of parliament are the wisest, but because that is their role, and so one must obey even when I think they are wrong. A law professor is an expert, and he has no formal authority at all. The moment he is appointed a judge, he has it. The appointment did not add to his knowledge, only to his force.

In halakha there is formal authority, and there is a reason for it: halakha demands behavior, not thought. One can require a person to behave in a certain way even when he does not agree, just as one can require him to obey the law. But one cannot require a person to think something. A command “believe that…” cannot be fulfilled, as we saw. And so in the domain of facts and beliefs there is no formal authority at all.

And who received formal authority in halakha? The Torah gives it to the Sanhedrin (“you shall not turn aside,” Deuteronomy 17), and only in matters of halakha. Since there has been no Sanhedrin, the Sages have mainly substantive authority: we listen to them because they know more. (This too requires discussion, but it belongs to the domain of halakha.)

There is no authority over facts

This point is decisive for everything that follows. One cannot “rule” a fact. If a sage says the sun revolves around the earth, that does not make it true. And indeed, the Talmud contains scientific and mathematical errors. It contains a mouse that is generated from the soil, and even Maimonides still believed in it, on the basis of “testimonies” of his time. There is nothing surprising about this. The Sages were human beings who lived in the world of their time.

And what about “the holy spirit”? The Torah itself prescribes a special offering for a Sanhedrin that erred in its ruling, the “bull for a hidden matter of the community.” If the greatest court can err, all the more so a single sage. And there is no harm to halakha in this. The commitment to the rulings of the Sages rests on their formal authority, not on their being free of error.

From here one can sort the matters of thought into three kinds. The first, facts: is there one God? Does he exercise providence? Will the Messiah come? On facts there is no authority. The second, goals and ways: what is our role in the world, how to serve God. Here there may be room for guidance, but not for binding authority. And the third, morality: the Sages did not receive authority to determine what is moral. Only when they turn a moral norm into halakha does it bind, and then by force of halakha. And so too with what is called “da’at Torah”: the positions of Sages on political questions, peace agreements, war, policy. They have at most the substantive authority of a wise person, and no more.

And this has a consequence that should already be mentioned here, and we will return to it. If there is no authority over facts, what do we do with prayers that assume a certain fact, for example that God intervenes in the world and heals the sick? One cannot pray for divine intervention merely on the strength of authority, when deep inside we think it does not exist. This question will accompany us.

And what if there are facts that were handed down as a tradition from Sinai? Possibly. Then they have substantive authority: I accept them because it is reasonable that God knows better than I do. But that is true only of facts that were handed down as they are. Almost everything else, conceptions the Sages formed with the tools of logic and interpretation, requires examination, even if the Talmud presents it as self-evident. That is the meaning of “thin theology”: the skeleton that can be accepted with high probability, by force of tradition or of logic. The rest, if you wish, accept. And if not, reject.