What's God Got to Do With It?Over the past few months I have been shifting my focus from defending Israel to a broader (possibly quixotic) project of promoting Jewish ethics as a universal moral language that would be accessible for all, believers or not. My thesis is that the Jewish moral framework is not only ancient and rich, but practical, humane and flexible enough to deal with the most modern and even theoretical challenges. It doesn't shy away from complexity, values dignity, expects responsibility, and makes room for disagreement. In a time when so many moral systems feel either rigid or hollow, I believe Jewish ethics has something real to offer the world.
A side benefit of this project is that the universal adoption of such a framework would eliminate antisemitism, which was my original impetus when this project started as an analysis of common themes of all the disparate strains of antisemitism, and which is, after all, the underlying theme of my writings.
Another fighter against antisemitism is Hussein Aboubakr Mansour, an Egyptian-American intellectual who received political asylum in the US in 2012. His critiques and analysis of Abrahamic religions are brilliant; his essays in his Substack are often over my head.
Yesterday I read his most recent essay titled "Desire After the Sublime." Mansour's basic argument is that modern life, with its constant stimulation and instant access to everything, has destroyed our ability to desire anything deeply. He calls this cultural state "pornographic reason" - not about sex, but about the way we now consume experiences, ideas, even people, without mystery, delay, or depth. In a world where everything is available all the time, nothing means anything. Desire collapses. The soul goes numb.
His argument seems to be that spirituality - particularly Abrahamic religious traditions with sacred prohibitions and rituals - is what once gave desire its shape. Religion, in his view, placed limits on human behavior, created distance between person and object and especially between the self and the Divine, and made certain things inaccessible or deferred. That distance wasn't oppressive; it was formative. It gave people a motive to reach, to aspire, to wait, to sacrifice. In the absence of religion - in a world where every boundary is erased and nothing is off-limits - desire loses its structure. We no longer yearn, we just consume. And consumption, by its very nature, cannot satisfy. It's not that people stop wanting; it's that their wanting becomes aimless, insatiable, and ultimately joyless. This, for Mansour, is the essence of the post-sublime world: a culture that no longer knows how to want meaningfully because it has forgotten how to live with limits.
The argument seems to hit home within Judaism and Jewish ethics. I want to frame Jewish ethics to appeal to the secular; but if morality is truly dependent on spirituality, then my project collapses. I wondered, what if Jewish ethics, once removed from its covenantal source, is just another set of gestures without ultimate meaning? Why would it attract anyone secular when faith appears necessary to provide the limitations that give life meaning?
But then I realized: Mansour's critique (if I am understanding it correctly - again, the guy is a genius) hinges on a false assumption: that because everything can be consumed, everything is available. Yet we ourselves are not infinite. Our time, our energy, our attention, are all tragically finite. Everything may be available but we have to still make choices. Meaning may be muted by abundance. but it is created by limits, and people have only so much time and energy to decide what to do with their lives.
Because we can't do everything, we have to choose what matters. And in that choice - to love, to serve, to grow, to take responsibility - we can rediscover the shape of a meaningful life. Mansour is right that consumption alone leaves us hollow. But our acts of giving, of choosing to give what little we have, we are confronted with moral reality.
Yes, knowledge is cheap now. But wisdom isn't. You can Google a fact, but you can't shortcut discernment, humility, or courage. Wisdom still takes time, experience, failure, and reflection. If anything, the flood of information makes the pursuit of wisdom more vital, not less.
I use AI a great deal nowadays - it helped me dissect Mansour's essay and to write this one (and Mansour is planning to extend his argument into AI as well) - but in the end I use generative AI as a study partner, not a Wikipedia. If it suggests something that doesn't sit well with me I argue back. Its seeming infinite knowledge does not necessarily cheapen the desire for acquiring wisdom; it can supercharge it.
For all the abundance available to us, we still have choices. Amazon.com can also be a force for good.
Mansour is not necessarily disagreeing with this. His essay centers not on belief but on form:
Before desire was reduced to appetite and stimulation, it was shaped by form. To desire something was not simply to want it, but to be drawn toward it through a structure that delayed, elevated, and transformed the wanting. Desire was not opposed to discipline; it required it. The soul had to be trained not only in what to desire, but in how to desire; how to suffer longing without collapsing into immediacy.
Here is where Jewish ethics, even when secularized, still shines. The great benefits of Shabbat - a weekly, conscious turning away from materiality and turning off of electronic connectivity in favor of family and community - do not depend on God. Modesty is part of Jewish ethics but it does not require belief to reap its benefits. Deciding not to cheapen speech with gossip and cynicism elevates the soul even in those who don't believe in souls.
The higher values of Jewish ethics - compassion, integrity, truth, humility, dignity, responsibility - are rewarding in and of themselves. They don’t require a belief in God to feel meaningful. Acting with integrity feels better. Treating others with dignity feels right. Choosing justice and kindness makes life richer. These aren’t just moral obligations. They are existential blessings.
Other philosophical traditions like moral intuitionism, virtue ethics, and humanism suggest that people are capable of recognizing and choosing the good simply because it feels right—because it aligns with something deep within us. You don’t need divine command to know that cruelty is wrong or that compassion heals. Even in a world without religion, there is still a moral compass that everyone feels even as they are distracted by the culture of plenty . The pursuit of what’s good can be intuitive, even joyful. And living with integrity, even when it’s hard, often brings more fulfillment than the easiest shortcut.
One may argue that the secular who consciously choose to put form into their lives, who on their own decide to add limits, are in a sense morally superior to those who do it out of blind faith. After all, in many religious systems - particularly Christianity and Islam - acting morally is often tied directly (if not exclusively) to the promise of reward in the afterlife. Judaism traditionally emphasizes a different approach: doing God's will is considered inherently valuable, regardless of the outcome. The highest level, according to the sages, is to do the right thing lishmah -for its own sake, without expectation of reward. This doesn't negate the afterlife or divine justice, but it places ultimate spiritual maturity in the realm of duty and love rather than transaction.
In this light, those who live morally without any belief in divine reward or punishment - who act justly simply because it is right and to make them into the best they can be - are enacting a deeply noble version of ethical responsibility. While Jewish thought doesn't claim such a path is superior to one grounded in faith, it does hold space to admire its courage and clarity. That kind of moral clarity deserves our respect, and perhaps even our reverence.
So, what’s God got to do with it? Perhaps everything. Perhaps not. But even if someone doesn't believe, they can still live meaningfully within this tradition. Those of us who do believe can appreciate those who do what is right without expectation of eternal reward. That path, walked without theological scaffolding, may in some ways be an even greater test of moral character - and a powerful testament to the enduring human hunger for meaning.
Tuesday, May 20, 2025
Elder of Ziyon
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