Before us is a criminal code. Even by present-day standards, it is much more liberal and merciful than the existing laws of many countries. Unpremeditated killing is not punished by death in it; vengeance cannot assert its rights over an involuntary killer. The guilty person can count on refuge, on payment of a fine. The existing rule of multiplying punishment is abolished.

The farther we move in studying the Law of the Old Testament, the more often we encounter the command to forgive the one who has caused harm. Only intentional murder is punished by death; according to the testimony of historical sources, the other offenses were gradually reduced to payment of ransom.

Everyone today knows the principle "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." For many people, the whole Old Testament, the whole Law, is reduced to it. The Torah was never limited to legislation alone, or even to a moral code alone; here the spiritual path connected with the relationship between a person and God always came to the foreground. This also applies to the principle "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."

Jesus, as we know, rejects it, saying so directly in the Sermon on the Mount. Yet He accepts the Torah, and as the inner Torah, equating intention with action: hatred, for example, with murder, or lust with adultery. Such equating of intention with action was fairly widespread in those days, and in this sense people often spoke of the inner Torah, written not on paper but in the human heart.

The heart is defined by the intentions born in it and by the values toward which a person is oriented ("where the treasure is, there the heart is also"). It is quite clear that in rejecting the principle "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," the Savior rejects revenge as such. At first glance, the Torah appears to justify it, since the corresponding norm is present in the legislation of the Book of Exodus. If it were the only one there, that would be so.

In reality, the Book of Exodus also offers a completely different principle for resolving the same problem: if, for example, a person injures someone, he must pay for the injured person's treatment and compensate, as we would say today, the lost benefit from his work. This principle is what the Torah prescribes: here there is compensation, but reasonable compensation, aimed at eliminating the harm that was done. The principle "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth" has its roots in pre-Yahwistic and pre-biblical antiquity, in the norms of customary law.

Here it is not so much a prescription as a concession to customs that had not yet entirely passed away: a demand that, if things reached the point of revenge, disproportionate harm not be inflicted on the offender. Revenge is bad, but in this case the Torah makes a concession to human hardheartedness. Jesus excludes such concessions, because from the time of Moses to the Gospel age, the people had already traveled an enormous path, both historical and spiritual. What was still permissible in Moses' time ceased to be permissible in the age when the Kingdom was already entering the world. The Torah always reflects the stage the people have reached on their path. It forms the people of God spiritually, changing them and, in turn, changing together with them.

The Torah treats intentional murder very, very harshly. Such a murderer, as can be seen, could not count on refuge even at God's altar. It should be noted that in the ancient world altars were everywhere regarded as refuges where a murderer could escape the vengeance of the victim's blood relatives (and blood vengeance in those days often proved to be a fully legitimate form of punishment for murder). The Torah by no means encourages blood vengeance, though it allows it as a concession to custom and human vengefulness. But it views it without sympathy and therefore commands that blood vengeance be avoided as far as possible. In particular, the Torah confirms the right of asylum at the altar for killers who committed their crime unintentionally or through negligence.

It should be noted that traditional pagan ideas about blood vengeance began above all from the very fact of the bloodshed committed by the murderer, which defiled his whole clan, so that the defilement could be removed only by shedding the murderer's blood. And if the murderer's kin refused to do this, the kin of the slain person took up the matter.

But the Torah is far from such an essentially semi-magical view of bloodshed. From the Torah's point of view, what matters above all is the sin committed, or its absence, and in this regard intentions and motives have fundamental significance. Therefore, for cases in which intent is absent, the Torah offers mechanisms that allow the criminal who committed the offense unintentionally or through negligence to avoid "automatic" vengeance, using, among other things, traditional ideas about altars as places of refuge. But when intent was present, even proximity to the altar could not save a person from punishment. After all, what saved someone from vengeance was not the altar itself with some unknown magical power, but the nearness of God, who did not want vengeance to become an end in itself. Yet in the case of an intentionally committed sin, such nearness turned out not to be protection, but exposure: sin and holiness are incompatible, and in God's presence a sinner who repents of nothing cannot count on defense or shelter.

Such is the logic of the Torah: it proceeds not from religious form, but from the spiritual meaning of what is happening. And it evaluates human actions accordingly.