The First Cause Argument for God's existence has a lengthy and distinguished history. Like many of the classic metaphysical proofs, it is widely believed to have been "debunked" by David Hume and similar skeptics. However, the fact remains that many contemporary philosophers still take the First Cause Argument very seriously.
As most of the readers of this blog probably already know, I was involved in extensive blog-debates over the past couple of weeks, several of which revolved around the validity of the FC Proof. I defended the argument and maintained that most of the challenges raised against it were based upon misunderstandings of its premises. In order to clarify my position, I will present the traditional form of the proof and then offer some additional commentary. The proof runs as follows:
All material entities are dependent upon external causes that account for their existence. However, an infinite chain of dependent entities is impossible. Therefore, there must be an entity outside of the chain of material entities upon which the material chain as a whole is dependent. This entity would of necessity lie outside of the framework of space and time.
Two objections are typically lodged against this formulation:
1. It is not true that material entities all have causes. Although we see that the changes that occur to matter and energy are caused, that tells us nothing about the origin of matter itself. Maybe it was always here.
2. If we are going to posit that "something" is ultimately uncaused, why not simply say that the first material entity was uncaused? Why assume the existence of something outside of the material realm altogether?
Since I believe that I have already addressed the second objection satisfactorily in the past, I will set it aside for now and focus on the first. I may return to discuss the second issue in a future post.
The first objection is based upon a misconception that unfortunately plagues most discussions of these issues. The hidden assumption underlying #1 is that the definition of a "cause" is an agent that brings a certain object or entity into existence at a particular time. Therefore, if matter is eternal and therefore never "came" into existence, then this means that there is no need to assign it a cause.
This interpretation, however, is not what the philosophers intended when they proposed the First Cause proof. In fact, many of the thinkers who subscribed to the proof actually believed that the Universe was eternal! They simply employed the term "cause" differently than we do.
We tend to think of causes in a mechanistic, temporal sense. The bat causes the ball to fly through the air. Ingestion of the medicine causes the body to heal. This model of causality is derived from Descartes and is a product of relatively modern thought. It is not compatible with the framework in which the classical thinkers operated.
Causality, as understood in the classical context, means that upon which a thing's existence or nature depends. We are all the results of myriad "causes" that explain the fact that we exist and account for the way in which we exist. These factors may be genetic, environmental, or even cosmic in substance.
When we trace the chain of causality back far enough, we eventually hit a dead end. We come upon the most elementary entity, the basic building block that served as the cause for everything else in the Universe, yet the question remains - why does it exist and have the properties it has? By definition, in order to "explain" the first material entity's nature, we must make recourse to something beyond it.
This is why I would suggest that rather than utilizing the word "cause", we consider using the word "reason" instead. "Reason" doesn't have the same mechanistic overtones as "cause."
The proof would then run like this: Every material entity has a reason for its existence that is external to itself. That reason, in turn, has a reason for its existence. Yet an infinite chain of explanation is impossible. Therefore, we must conclude that there is a first entity whose reason for existence is inherent.
An example may clarify my point. The arrangement of molecules in a particular stone is attributable to numerous causal factors external to the stone. Those causal factors - local environmental conditions, for instance - wound up that way due to more fundamental, geological determinants that pertain to the makeup of the Earth's core. These geological determinants themselves are the product of broader astronomical determinants, etc.
But there is a limit to how far back we can trace the chain of "reasons" that account for the molecules in our stone. Ultimately, there must be a reason why the first determinant - the point from which everything else in the Universe initially emerged - existed precisely the way it did to begin with. The determinant of matter/energy itself can only be found outside of the framework of the material world.
It is important to note that, even if all of the causal factors or "reasons" existed simultaneously and from all eternity, the interdependence and hierarchical structure of the various entities would still be apparent. There would still be determining factors and determined factors. There would still be a need to account for the very first determined factor, by finding a determining factor external to space and time.
I feel that, by refining our use of language in this manner, our discussions of the First Cause Argument can proceed more thoughtfully and constructively.
Admittedly, this post is being completed off the top of my head rather late in the evening, so further installments will be necessary before any treatment of this subject can even approach comprehensiveness.
However, since I will be unable to post again until Wednesday at the earliest, I thought I should contribute something to the debate that can serve as food for thought in the interim.
Showing posts with label Philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Philosophy. Show all posts
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
Minor Delay
Sorry for the delay in posting my latest piece on the First Cause Argument...My schedule was unexpectedly complicated over the past two days, and this prevented me from finishing it.
I hope to post the final draft on Saturday night.
My belief is that the approach taken in the new piece has the potential to bring further clarity to the whole discussion.
Perhaps some of the misunderstandings will be laid to rest once and for all, and more fruitful analyses of the merits and limitations of the proof can begin.
Shabbat Shalom!
I hope to post the final draft on Saturday night.
My belief is that the approach taken in the new piece has the potential to bring further clarity to the whole discussion.
Perhaps some of the misunderstandings will be laid to rest once and for all, and more fruitful analyses of the merits and limitations of the proof can begin.
Shabbat Shalom!
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Erring By Design
The Argument from Design is one of the classic and most time-honored rational proofs for the existence of God. Yet its primary line of reasoning not only appealed to the ancient thinkers - indeed, it continues to enjoy popularity among a good number of contemporary scientists and philosophers to this day.
The essential thrust of the Argument from Design is this: The Universe exhibits a remarkable complexity, lawfulness, and order throughout. In the biological realm, the appearance of intentional design manifest in the harmonious functioning of living organisms is unmistakable. It seems profoundly unreasonable to attribute these phenomena to mere happenstance. Thus, we must infer that an intelligent Being is in fact responsible for them.
Enlightenment Period skeptics, beginning with David Hume, have challenged the Argument from Design on many counts, and their objections have been reviewed and rebutted by more recent thinkers. However, bad habits die hard, so moderns frequently declare that the Argument has been debunked, and tend to recycle even the most dubious of Hume's critiques as if they were beyond reproach. Perhaps the most talked-about contemporary atheist who has levelled Humean attacks against the Argument from Design is Richard Dawkins, whom our own favorite blogger-skeptic has borrowed from in his discussion of the topic.
The truth of the matter is that the objections to the Argument from Design are not very impressive philosophically. Many of them are flawed so seriously that they are naught more than chains of fallacy in disguise. In this post, we will confine ourselves to those counterarguments deemed by our friend to be worthy of an appearance on his blog. His anti-Argument-from-Design is formulated there as follows:
If you say you need an N+1 creator to design an N, then God is even more amazing than the universe, so you have simply pushed the question back one level, and now you have the problem of who designed God. And if you want to say that God doesn’t need to be designed for some incomprehensible reason, then you can say the same about the universe, for some incomprehensible reason.
Now, if you are philosophically inclined, reading this may already have given you a serious headache. But let's examine the argument he is presenting and attempt to define why it is flawed.
Basically, the counterargument proceeds like this: The Universe is incredibly complex, amazing, etc. This leads us to think a Creator must be behind it. But this Creator, in order to have produced such an amazing Universe, must Himself be even greater than that Universe. So, if we are going to ask how the Universe could be so intricate in the absence of a Creator, then we must ask the same about God - how could a Being so amazing possibly exist without a Creator?
The error in reasoning here is simple. When we observe the Universe's breathtaking harmony, we are faced with two options - either this order is a mere accidental grouping of blind material forces into lawful patterns, or it is an intentional design expressing itself through matter. The former seems terribly unlikely and forced, so we choose the latter.
But it is crucial to understand why the first option is counterintuitive - it is because we don't expect inert, brute matter to become organized into patterns of its own accord. There is nothing in pure physicality that suggests that it should have to or would tend to conform to any kind of intelligible principle whatsoever. So we naturally conclude that this must be the result of an external cause who designed the Universe on purpose.
God, on the other hand, is not something we believe to have emerged "by accident" from the chaotic motions of physical particles. He is a metaphysical Being devoid of any material properties - the source of order as opposed to an ordered entity. Wondering who designed God is like wondering who "designed" a concept - the term is simply inappropriate, since ideas are not constructed from raw materials; they are discovered or perceived. Attempting to apply the notion of design to God is ultimately an exercise in futility.
Considering an example of design drawn from our earthly experience will clarify this point. An architect formulates a coherent layout for the construction of a new home. That model is, so to speak, "imposed upon" the wood, brick, plaster, etc., by workmen who implement the instructions of the architect, and the result is a house that physically embodies the conceptual plan. Neither the materials alone, nor the architectural scheme alone, would ever bring anything particularly impressive into existence by themselves. It is only when the vision in the mind of the artisan finds expression in a physical medium that we see "design" manifesting itself.
So the question of the design of the Universe, which is comprised of matter, is legitimate, while the question "who designed God" is not.
Our good friend continues:
Now some people will argue that God is simple, and hence He fulfills the N-1 option above. But what kind of ‘simple’ is this? Not any kind of ‘simple’ that we can comprehend. Basically it’s just playing a word game, calling something simple when by any normal human standard we would call it complex.
This part of the argument betrays hazy thinking in the domains of theology and science. The premise underlying it is that whatever is responsible for the Universe must be as complicated, if not moreso, than the Universe itself.
Upon reflection, however, it should be obvious that this is not the case. Scientific theories aim to explain the complex phenomena observed in the world through the use of simple, general constructs that have the ability to account for an enormous number of particulars. Time and time again, science has revealed that what manifests itself to our senses as staggering complexity presents itself to our minds as the expression of a small set of fundamental principles. In fact, scientists' ultimate dream is to formulate a single Theory of Everything that will elegantly account for all observed phenomena in the material world.
If the skeptic's reasoning were correct, then this objective would be deemed absurd or even impossible from the get-go, since any theory of such grandeur would of necessity be more cumbersome and intricate than the subject matter it explains.
To summarize, then, we see that the concept of positing God as the ultimate source of the harmony in the Universe is actually quite logical - it is the natural culmination of the process of understanding our world. At first we take in a wealth of sensory information and feel overwhelmed by the sheer complexity of our environment. Then we slowly but surely move from the material details to the realm of the theoretical and conceptual, and begin to see myriad phenomena as expressions of an underlying set of rational principles or laws of nature. As we transition from experience to principle and from data point to concept, we similarly transition from complexity to simplicity and from chaos to order. This process of simplification and unification eventually leads us to the recognition of the Source of the majestic system of physical law itself - the Creator of the Universe.
The essential thrust of the Argument from Design is this: The Universe exhibits a remarkable complexity, lawfulness, and order throughout. In the biological realm, the appearance of intentional design manifest in the harmonious functioning of living organisms is unmistakable. It seems profoundly unreasonable to attribute these phenomena to mere happenstance. Thus, we must infer that an intelligent Being is in fact responsible for them.
Enlightenment Period skeptics, beginning with David Hume, have challenged the Argument from Design on many counts, and their objections have been reviewed and rebutted by more recent thinkers. However, bad habits die hard, so moderns frequently declare that the Argument has been debunked, and tend to recycle even the most dubious of Hume's critiques as if they were beyond reproach. Perhaps the most talked-about contemporary atheist who has levelled Humean attacks against the Argument from Design is Richard Dawkins, whom our own favorite blogger-skeptic has borrowed from in his discussion of the topic.
The truth of the matter is that the objections to the Argument from Design are not very impressive philosophically. Many of them are flawed so seriously that they are naught more than chains of fallacy in disguise. In this post, we will confine ourselves to those counterarguments deemed by our friend to be worthy of an appearance on his blog. His anti-Argument-from-Design is formulated there as follows:
If you say you need an N+1 creator to design an N, then God is even more amazing than the universe, so you have simply pushed the question back one level, and now you have the problem of who designed God. And if you want to say that God doesn’t need to be designed for some incomprehensible reason, then you can say the same about the universe, for some incomprehensible reason.
Now, if you are philosophically inclined, reading this may already have given you a serious headache. But let's examine the argument he is presenting and attempt to define why it is flawed.
Basically, the counterargument proceeds like this: The Universe is incredibly complex, amazing, etc. This leads us to think a Creator must be behind it. But this Creator, in order to have produced such an amazing Universe, must Himself be even greater than that Universe. So, if we are going to ask how the Universe could be so intricate in the absence of a Creator, then we must ask the same about God - how could a Being so amazing possibly exist without a Creator?
The error in reasoning here is simple. When we observe the Universe's breathtaking harmony, we are faced with two options - either this order is a mere accidental grouping of blind material forces into lawful patterns, or it is an intentional design expressing itself through matter. The former seems terribly unlikely and forced, so we choose the latter.
But it is crucial to understand why the first option is counterintuitive - it is because we don't expect inert, brute matter to become organized into patterns of its own accord. There is nothing in pure physicality that suggests that it should have to or would tend to conform to any kind of intelligible principle whatsoever. So we naturally conclude that this must be the result of an external cause who designed the Universe on purpose.
God, on the other hand, is not something we believe to have emerged "by accident" from the chaotic motions of physical particles. He is a metaphysical Being devoid of any material properties - the source of order as opposed to an ordered entity. Wondering who designed God is like wondering who "designed" a concept - the term is simply inappropriate, since ideas are not constructed from raw materials; they are discovered or perceived. Attempting to apply the notion of design to God is ultimately an exercise in futility.
Considering an example of design drawn from our earthly experience will clarify this point. An architect formulates a coherent layout for the construction of a new home. That model is, so to speak, "imposed upon" the wood, brick, plaster, etc., by workmen who implement the instructions of the architect, and the result is a house that physically embodies the conceptual plan. Neither the materials alone, nor the architectural scheme alone, would ever bring anything particularly impressive into existence by themselves. It is only when the vision in the mind of the artisan finds expression in a physical medium that we see "design" manifesting itself.
So the question of the design of the Universe, which is comprised of matter, is legitimate, while the question "who designed God" is not.
Our good friend continues:
Now some people will argue that God is simple, and hence He fulfills the N-1 option above. But what kind of ‘simple’ is this? Not any kind of ‘simple’ that we can comprehend. Basically it’s just playing a word game, calling something simple when by any normal human standard we would call it complex.
This part of the argument betrays hazy thinking in the domains of theology and science. The premise underlying it is that whatever is responsible for the Universe must be as complicated, if not moreso, than the Universe itself.
Upon reflection, however, it should be obvious that this is not the case. Scientific theories aim to explain the complex phenomena observed in the world through the use of simple, general constructs that have the ability to account for an enormous number of particulars. Time and time again, science has revealed that what manifests itself to our senses as staggering complexity presents itself to our minds as the expression of a small set of fundamental principles. In fact, scientists' ultimate dream is to formulate a single Theory of Everything that will elegantly account for all observed phenomena in the material world.
If the skeptic's reasoning were correct, then this objective would be deemed absurd or even impossible from the get-go, since any theory of such grandeur would of necessity be more cumbersome and intricate than the subject matter it explains.
To summarize, then, we see that the concept of positing God as the ultimate source of the harmony in the Universe is actually quite logical - it is the natural culmination of the process of understanding our world. At first we take in a wealth of sensory information and feel overwhelmed by the sheer complexity of our environment. Then we slowly but surely move from the material details to the realm of the theoretical and conceptual, and begin to see myriad phenomena as expressions of an underlying set of rational principles or laws of nature. As we transition from experience to principle and from data point to concept, we similarly transition from complexity to simplicity and from chaos to order. This process of simplification and unification eventually leads us to the recognition of the Source of the majestic system of physical law itself - the Creator of the Universe.
Friday, June 15, 2007
The Perils of Skepticism
Recently, in a discussion of his conflicts regarding religious beliefs, a well known skeptic in the blogosphere wrote the following:
Some things I am on the fence about. Some things I am off the fence. Sometimes I am on the fence and then get off. Sometimes I get off and then get back on. Sometimes I am off the fence, but then have a chnage of heart and jump over to the other side of the fence. Sometimes I am on the fence, and fall off unintentionally. Sometimes I am on the fence but think I'm off it, but really I'm on it. Sometimes I think I'm on the fence, but really I'm off it.
This reminded me of a famous statement in the second chapter of Maimonides' Laws of Idolatry:
Certainly the Rambam does not intend to discourage thinking. What he is emphasizing is that an individual who wishes to investigate the most basic questions of religious meaning must be a person of profound humility who possesses the requisite background knowledge and the necessary training to succeed in his quest. Even someone with all of these qualities will fail unless he exercises extreme caution throughout the process, and carefully distinguishes between issues he is prepared to tackle and those for which he is not yet ready.
One who doesn't have the prerequisite qualifications for this course of study is bound to fail. He will move back and forth between different ideas based on their intuitive appeal - "maybe it is true, maybe not" - and will be unable to arrive at secure conclusions. As Maimonides explains in several places in the Guide for the Perplexed, the reason for this flip-flopping is a reliance - conscious or unconcious - on untrained intuition.
A person with an extensive background of study in a field of knowledge will develop an intuition grounded in reality. His gut feeling about an idea will carry weight because it is rooted in authentic intellectual cognition. This is why great physicists, mathematicians and Talmudists often legitimately and successfully employ their intellectual intuition in the course of theorizing about problems in their respective subject areas.
In one famous incident, Rabbi Soloveitchik z"l, known as the Rav, was asked for evidence to support a legal ruling he had offered. He responded that his conclusion was intuitive; nonetheless, he observed, "my intuition is halacha." Having been immersed for countless years in the wisdom and methodology of the Talmud and Codes, the Rav harbored no doubt that, when a specific formulation of a Torah concept appealled to him, this appeal had a rational basis and was not merely subjective.
A novice, on the other hand, has only his imagination and his emotions from which to draw intuitive guidance. Naturally, these agencies are among the most fickle and unreliable in the human psyche. They can provide the appearance of certainty one moment, only to replace it with doubt and skepticism in the next. Unfortunately, our innate desire to arrive at the truth and to investigate the mysteries of existence often causes us to overestimate our competence and delve into subjects that are beyond our ken. With nothing but shaky intuition leading us, we have a very slim chance of success.
This is where the benefit of mesorah, authentic intellectual tradition, comes in. All human civilizations transmit a cultural mesora of some sort to their citizens. This tradition shapes the values, practices and beliefs of the members of that civilization from earliest youth. Similarly, the mesorah of Judaism provides us with a system of metaphysical principles and mitsvot that serve as a basic framework for a lifetime of intellectual and spiritual growth. In its absence, the vast majority of people would either spend their lifetimes in philosophical perplexity, or be overwhelmed by the pressures of instinct and devote themselves to hedonism or materialism.
Of course, skeptics will question the tradition and wonder why they should accept it to begin with. I have already discussed this point on Vesom Sechel in the past, and hope to revisit it again soon.
Here it is in a nutshell: Judaism offers a systematic, rational approach to meaningful living. Its principles and structure are unique, profound and coherent. And the authenticity of its mesorah is rooted in the historical experience of an entire nation rather than resting upon personal testimonials alone. I think this makes it by far the most reasonable choice available to a thinking individual who is interested in conducting his or her life prudently, consistently and reflectively.
Some things I am on the fence about. Some things I am off the fence. Sometimes I am on the fence and then get off. Sometimes I get off and then get back on. Sometimes I am off the fence, but then have a chnage of heart and jump over to the other side of the fence. Sometimes I am on the fence, and fall off unintentionally. Sometimes I am on the fence but think I'm off it, but really I'm on it. Sometimes I think I'm on the fence, but really I'm off it.
This reminded me of a famous statement in the second chapter of Maimonides' Laws of Idolatry:
We are commanded not to consider any thought that might lead us to uproot one of the fundamental principles of the Torah. We should not turn our minds to it, reflect and be drawn after the imaginings of our hearts. Because a person's mind is limited, and not all minds are capable of grasping the truth accurately. And if just any individual were to be drawn after the musings of his heart, he would end up destroying the world on account of his limited intellect.
How so? Sometimes he will occupy himself with idolatry, and other times he will reflect upon the oneness of the Creator - maybe it is true, or maybe not; [or he will muse about] what is above, below, before or after the Universe. Sometimes he will consider prophecy - maybe it is authentic, maybe not. Sometimes he will think about the Torah - maybe it is divine, maybe not. Yet he does not know the principles by which to judge these matters such that he should grasp the truth properly, thus he eventually becomes a heretic.
About this, the Torah states, "do not stray after your hearts and after your eyes." That is to say, everyone should not follow the inclinations of his limited intellect and imagine that his thinking process has led him to the truth.
Certainly the Rambam does not intend to discourage thinking. What he is emphasizing is that an individual who wishes to investigate the most basic questions of religious meaning must be a person of profound humility who possesses the requisite background knowledge and the necessary training to succeed in his quest. Even someone with all of these qualities will fail unless he exercises extreme caution throughout the process, and carefully distinguishes between issues he is prepared to tackle and those for which he is not yet ready.
One who doesn't have the prerequisite qualifications for this course of study is bound to fail. He will move back and forth between different ideas based on their intuitive appeal - "maybe it is true, maybe not" - and will be unable to arrive at secure conclusions. As Maimonides explains in several places in the Guide for the Perplexed, the reason for this flip-flopping is a reliance - conscious or unconcious - on untrained intuition.
A person with an extensive background of study in a field of knowledge will develop an intuition grounded in reality. His gut feeling about an idea will carry weight because it is rooted in authentic intellectual cognition. This is why great physicists, mathematicians and Talmudists often legitimately and successfully employ their intellectual intuition in the course of theorizing about problems in their respective subject areas.
In one famous incident, Rabbi Soloveitchik z"l, known as the Rav, was asked for evidence to support a legal ruling he had offered. He responded that his conclusion was intuitive; nonetheless, he observed, "my intuition is halacha." Having been immersed for countless years in the wisdom and methodology of the Talmud and Codes, the Rav harbored no doubt that, when a specific formulation of a Torah concept appealled to him, this appeal had a rational basis and was not merely subjective.
A novice, on the other hand, has only his imagination and his emotions from which to draw intuitive guidance. Naturally, these agencies are among the most fickle and unreliable in the human psyche. They can provide the appearance of certainty one moment, only to replace it with doubt and skepticism in the next. Unfortunately, our innate desire to arrive at the truth and to investigate the mysteries of existence often causes us to overestimate our competence and delve into subjects that are beyond our ken. With nothing but shaky intuition leading us, we have a very slim chance of success.
This is where the benefit of mesorah, authentic intellectual tradition, comes in. All human civilizations transmit a cultural mesora of some sort to their citizens. This tradition shapes the values, practices and beliefs of the members of that civilization from earliest youth. Similarly, the mesorah of Judaism provides us with a system of metaphysical principles and mitsvot that serve as a basic framework for a lifetime of intellectual and spiritual growth. In its absence, the vast majority of people would either spend their lifetimes in philosophical perplexity, or be overwhelmed by the pressures of instinct and devote themselves to hedonism or materialism.
Of course, skeptics will question the tradition and wonder why they should accept it to begin with. I have already discussed this point on Vesom Sechel in the past, and hope to revisit it again soon.
Here it is in a nutshell: Judaism offers a systematic, rational approach to meaningful living. Its principles and structure are unique, profound and coherent. And the authenticity of its mesorah is rooted in the historical experience of an entire nation rather than resting upon personal testimonials alone. I think this makes it by far the most reasonable choice available to a thinking individual who is interested in conducting his or her life prudently, consistently and reflectively.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Who is Mighty?
Remember to vote for this blog in the JIB Finals for Best Torah Blog!!!
In Pirqei Avot last week, we read the famous Rabbinic dictum "Who is mighty? He who conquers his evil inclination." Most people take this statement in a metaphoric sense. Really, they assume, the quality of "gevurah" (mightiness) means just that - the possession of brute, physical strength. But, they claim, the Rabbis transformed the concept into something spiritual in order to put a more positive spin on it, and to make it seem more worthy of admiration.
I disagree with this approach. I think that the Rabbis are providing us with a tremendous insight into gevurah that is intended quite literally.
The average person goes to great lengths to appear powerful and "in control" of his life. When we reflect upon the epitome of "coolness" in our culture, we envision an individual who is unswayed by environmental influences - he calls the shots, so to speak, and others carry out his bidding, while he remains consistently detached, calm and collected.
Yet beneath that veneer of mastery he exhibits in the outside world lies a turbulent inner life, dominated by passions and emotions that are very much in the "driver's seat" of that individual's decision making processes. He is not as powerful or well-put-together as he would like us to believe. His desire for instinctual and psychological pleasures of all kinds rages within him and influences his conduct on an almost constant basis. Whereas the external elements of his life appear orderly and well managed, his soul is a bundle of petty emotions that are his true "masters" in life. Only a person who has command over his internal world is really in control.
We encounter examples of this dichotomy in the media all the time. Recently, right here in the Washington, DC area, several high profile businessmen and politicians were disgraced when their names were found on the customer list of an upscale escort service. These purportedly mighty individuals are in reality putty in the hands of their instinctual drives. Once their indiscretions become public knowledge, it is difficult for them to regain the respect of the masses - respect that, it seems, was predicated on an illusion from the outset. These characters were admired because people believed they embodied genuine gevurah; the dispelling of this misconception is a source of great humiliation for all involved.
This insight into the concept of gevurah can also help us to explain a fascinating occurrence at the beginning of the Book of Joshua. When Joshua sends spies to Jericho to assess the morale of the locals, they stop in at the home of Rahav, the proprietress of an inn which also functioned as a 'house of ill repute'. The Midrash tells us that Rahav was not just any member of the world's oldest profession - she was the equivalent of the premiere "upscale" escort in Biblical times, who enjoyed relationships with all the rich and famous of Canaan.
The question is often raised - why did these righteous men see fit to lodge in a place of immorality and prostitution? Couldn't they have stopped in a more wholesome location?
In light of our analysis, the answer seems clear. The powerful leaders of Canaan had no problem maintaining a public image of coolness and detachment before their constituents. The common people may have been blissfully unaware of the private insecurities and deficiencies of their kings and princes. But Rahav saw these influential figures for who they really were - weak men, addicted to and enslaved by base pleasures and fantasies, who nonetheless sought to present themselves as larger-than-life heroes worthy of admiration.
Like many prostitutes and "adult entertainment" workers, Rahav had no respect for her customers and may even have despised them. She became disillusioned with the culture of falsehood and deception created and perpetuated by these lustful and immature men. Her recognition of the hypocrisy of the smooth-talking politicians of Canaan enabled her to appreciate the truth of the Torah's message and inspired her to cleave to the Nation of Israel.
We can see, then, that the Jewish spies selected their destination based upon a sound knowledge of psychological principles. They realized that the person who would be able to provide them with the most accurate assessment of the morale of the Canaanites would be Rahav. Because of her profession, the madame of Jericho had countless opportunities to interact with the most influential personalities in the region when their guard was down and their true colors were on display.
Although the leaders of Jericho appeared mighty on a superficial level, they lacked true gevurah. Their artificial image of confidence and control obscured the fact that, in truth, they were not the masters of their own destiny at all. These ostensibly powerful men allowed themselves to be enslaved by the most ignoble elements in the human psyche.
Visiting Rahav gave these men the chance to drop the charade, step out of character and be themselves for a while. And during these moments of weakness, they found comfort in sharing their hidden insecurities and fears with their professional paramour. Rahav was disgusted with the disingenuousness of the Canaanite power brokers and was more than happy to reveal what she learned from them to the invading Israelites.
The Rabbis teach us that mastery over one's environment is no substitute for gevurah. Only a person who rises above his passions and makes his decisions with wisdom and forethought is truly in control of his life.
In Pirqei Avot last week, we read the famous Rabbinic dictum "Who is mighty? He who conquers his evil inclination." Most people take this statement in a metaphoric sense. Really, they assume, the quality of "gevurah" (mightiness) means just that - the possession of brute, physical strength. But, they claim, the Rabbis transformed the concept into something spiritual in order to put a more positive spin on it, and to make it seem more worthy of admiration.
I disagree with this approach. I think that the Rabbis are providing us with a tremendous insight into gevurah that is intended quite literally.
The average person goes to great lengths to appear powerful and "in control" of his life. When we reflect upon the epitome of "coolness" in our culture, we envision an individual who is unswayed by environmental influences - he calls the shots, so to speak, and others carry out his bidding, while he remains consistently detached, calm and collected.
Yet beneath that veneer of mastery he exhibits in the outside world lies a turbulent inner life, dominated by passions and emotions that are very much in the "driver's seat" of that individual's decision making processes. He is not as powerful or well-put-together as he would like us to believe. His desire for instinctual and psychological pleasures of all kinds rages within him and influences his conduct on an almost constant basis. Whereas the external elements of his life appear orderly and well managed, his soul is a bundle of petty emotions that are his true "masters" in life. Only a person who has command over his internal world is really in control.
We encounter examples of this dichotomy in the media all the time. Recently, right here in the Washington, DC area, several high profile businessmen and politicians were disgraced when their names were found on the customer list of an upscale escort service. These purportedly mighty individuals are in reality putty in the hands of their instinctual drives. Once their indiscretions become public knowledge, it is difficult for them to regain the respect of the masses - respect that, it seems, was predicated on an illusion from the outset. These characters were admired because people believed they embodied genuine gevurah; the dispelling of this misconception is a source of great humiliation for all involved.
This insight into the concept of gevurah can also help us to explain a fascinating occurrence at the beginning of the Book of Joshua. When Joshua sends spies to Jericho to assess the morale of the locals, they stop in at the home of Rahav, the proprietress of an inn which also functioned as a 'house of ill repute'. The Midrash tells us that Rahav was not just any member of the world's oldest profession - she was the equivalent of the premiere "upscale" escort in Biblical times, who enjoyed relationships with all the rich and famous of Canaan.
The question is often raised - why did these righteous men see fit to lodge in a place of immorality and prostitution? Couldn't they have stopped in a more wholesome location?
In light of our analysis, the answer seems clear. The powerful leaders of Canaan had no problem maintaining a public image of coolness and detachment before their constituents. The common people may have been blissfully unaware of the private insecurities and deficiencies of their kings and princes. But Rahav saw these influential figures for who they really were - weak men, addicted to and enslaved by base pleasures and fantasies, who nonetheless sought to present themselves as larger-than-life heroes worthy of admiration.
Like many prostitutes and "adult entertainment" workers, Rahav had no respect for her customers and may even have despised them. She became disillusioned with the culture of falsehood and deception created and perpetuated by these lustful and immature men. Her recognition of the hypocrisy of the smooth-talking politicians of Canaan enabled her to appreciate the truth of the Torah's message and inspired her to cleave to the Nation of Israel.
We can see, then, that the Jewish spies selected their destination based upon a sound knowledge of psychological principles. They realized that the person who would be able to provide them with the most accurate assessment of the morale of the Canaanites would be Rahav. Because of her profession, the madame of Jericho had countless opportunities to interact with the most influential personalities in the region when their guard was down and their true colors were on display.
Although the leaders of Jericho appeared mighty on a superficial level, they lacked true gevurah. Their artificial image of confidence and control obscured the fact that, in truth, they were not the masters of their own destiny at all. These ostensibly powerful men allowed themselves to be enslaved by the most ignoble elements in the human psyche.
Visiting Rahav gave these men the chance to drop the charade, step out of character and be themselves for a while. And during these moments of weakness, they found comfort in sharing their hidden insecurities and fears with their professional paramour. Rahav was disgusted with the disingenuousness of the Canaanite power brokers and was more than happy to reveal what she learned from them to the invading Israelites.
The Rabbis teach us that mastery over one's environment is no substitute for gevurah. Only a person who rises above his passions and makes his decisions with wisdom and forethought is truly in control of his life.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
The Importance of Review
Since Pesah, many of us have spent our Shabbat afternoons reflecting upon Pirke Avot, The Ethics of Our Fathers. One of the key themes of Pirke Avot is the incomparable value of Torah knowledge and the importance pursuing it wholeheartedly. Although we all attach great significance to Torah wisdom, few people take the time to seriously consider practical strategies for acquiring it effectively. We have a tendency to simply "dive" into the texts of the Torah or Talmud without too much forethought.
In order to enjoy the most enriching Torah Study experience possible, we must turn to the masters of our tradition for guidance as to the proper method of learning. An examination of the words of our Sages reveals that they placed an unusually strong emphasis on the importance of hazara, review. Remarkably, the Talmud (Sanhedrin 99a) asserts that "anyone who learns Torah but does not review is considered like one who sows seeds but does not harvest his crop."
Obviously, no farmer who has spent long hours tilling, sowing and fertilizing his field would pass up the opportunity to profit from his investment. Indeed, the reason for all of his toil is his desire to eventually benefit from the produce of his land. If a farmer neglects to reap what he has sown, all of his efforts are retroactively rendered meaningless. Intriguingly then, the metaphor that the Rabbis employ suggests that one who diligently engages in the study of Torah but fails to review his studies has literally labored in vain.
Certainly no one would question the practical, mnemonic value of review - without review, one is likely to forget at least some of what one has learned. When a student reviews material, he revisits information and ideas that he has explored in the past so as to improve his capacity to remember them in the future. This repetition does not contribute anything to what he knows; he is simply making use of a strategy that will help him hold onto the knowledge he has already acquired. Nevertheless, the Rabbis maintained that if a person does not review his Torah studies, his process of learning itself is somehow incomplete. In their view, hazara does not simply reinforce our memories - it adds a crucial element to our understanding of Torah.
By definition, though, review involves the rehashing of facts and concepts we have already learned. How can this possibly contribute something novel to our body of knowledge?
The answer to this difficulty lies in a clarification of the Torah’s concept of review. A person who wishes to expand his Torah knowledge must begin somewhere. He selects a specific set of laws or halachic topic to research and analyze, and progresses carefully from one aspect of this subject to the next. The only way to explore a Torah topic systematically is to consider its component parts in detail, one by one. By the time he has concluded his investigation, he may have accumulated a vast array of meaningful insights - each fascinating in its own right - that have offered him a glimpse of the inscrutable depth of the Torah’s wisdom.
However, the collection of novel points he has discovered, as beautiful as it might be, remains just that - a collection, loosely knit and lacking unity. Unless the student opts to revisit these insights and synthesize them into a meaningful whole, he will not have reaped the ultimate benefit of his Torah study - the chance to perceive the magnificent conceptual structure that underlies all of the smaller hidushim he has toiled to develop and perfect. It is this search for the "big picture", this process of reevaluating and integrating the results of one’s Torah learning in order to reveal abstract principles of ever more stunning elegance, that constitutes genuine review.
With this in mind, we can better understand the value that our Rabbis attached to the review of Torah learning. What Hazal advocated was not the mechanical repetition of memorized facts or ideas but a fundamental transformation of the way we understand and conceptualize the knowledge we have acquired.
After we have thoroughly acquainted ourselves with a topic of Torah study and have subjected its details to careful analysis, we are presented with the chance to take our comprehension of the wisdom of Torah to an even more profound level. It is now the time for us to review the insights we have gained with the hope of identifying a broader, more penetrating theoretical formulation that will further integrate and illuminate them. We mull over our previous discoveries not as an aid to memory, but as a stimulus to qualitatively deeper intellectual breakthroughs.
Now it is clear why a person who learns but does not review is compared to a farmer who works tirelessly to plant but never harvests his crop. Through his toil, the student has placed himself in a position where he can avail himself of the most precious of opportunities - the opportunity to unlock a whole new realm of Torah wisdom and knowledge of God.
If he fails to review his learning and thereby move beyond his current level of understanding, his comprehension of Torah will never reach its zenith. In effect, he will have abandoned the most delectable fruits of his labor, leaving new vistas of Torah knowledge unexplored.
On the other hand, one who performs hazara in this unique manner experiences the breathtaking beauty of the Creator’s wisdom with an added dimension of clarity. From this new vantage point, the student gains a deeper awareness of the infinity of God’s knowledge as it is revealed in His Torah. Having perceived the untold richness, complexity and sophistication of the Torah’s wisdom in such an exquisite way, he is sure to echo the words of King David, "for every pursuit I have seen an end, but Your commandment is exceedingly vast."
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Of Children
"And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that
His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the Archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable."
From The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran.
(This passage never fails to bring tears to my eyes, and to remind me of the sacred responsibility that is parenthood.)
Friday, March 02, 2007
What is Tanach?
I had originally planned to post a great deal of material on Purim. Unfortunately, the exigencies of practical life over the past two weeks prevented that from happening. Be that as it may, I'd like to offer a few basic thoughts about the nature of Tanach in lieu of a more extensive presentation on the themes of Purim in particular.
It is well known that "Tanach" is not a monolithic entity. Its contents varied over time and were reconsidered and adjusted at several points in Rabbinic history. The Talmud tells us, for example, that the Rabbis debated whether or not to keep the books of Ezekiel and Ecclesiastes in the canon. They also argued about the precise status of some of the canonical books, such as the Book of Esther.
Many find this phenomenon troubling. After all, if a text is holy and presumed to be divinely inspired, why should it be excluded from Tanach? And if the holiness of the work itself is what is being questioned, how can logical argumentation in the Talmud serve to establish it? Jewish law cannot "rule" on an empirical fact, such as whether divine guidance played a role in the composition of a particular book!
We can sharpen our question further by asking what difference it makes whether a book is included or excluded from the canon. For example, did the Rabbis who maintained that the Book of Esther was not part of Tanach believe that reading Esther was a waste of time? Did the Rabbis that advocated removing Ecclesiastes or Ezekiel from the canon hold that studying these books would not be meaningful, or that their content was inaccurate or false? It is hard to accept such a conclusion, especially since, in the case of the Book of Esther, even those who held it was not part of the canon still agreed that it was a mitsvah to read it on Purim.
Study of the nature of Tanach leads us to another interesting problem. The Mishna in Masechet Megillah discusses the guidelines that must be observed in the preparation of Torah Scrolls, Megillot and books of the Prophets and Writings (Nach). All of these texts must be written on kosher parchment with kosher ink, etc. The difficulty is as follows: We know that there is a mitsvah to write a Torah scroll. Similarly, Megillot must be written in order to be used for the mitsvah of reading the Megillah on Purim. Therefore, it makes sense that there are halachic principles that dictate the mechanics of composing these texts.
However, there is no mitsvah at all to read most of the books of Tanach, at least not publicly. Being that there is no commandment to read from these volumes, and therefore no mitsvah to write them, how can there be halachic guidelines as to their preparation?
Indeed, the Rabbis themselves seemed ambivalent about the value of Tanach. Several statements of Chazal declare that the entirety of the Bible was given at Sinai, implying that its importance is on par with that of the Torah itself. Other statements suggest that the Prophets and Writings will be eliminated in the Messianic era, and that only the Torah and the Book of Esther will remain (this view is in fact codified by Maimonides at the end of Hilchot Megillah). How can we reconcile these contradictory perspectives on the Bible?
In order to resolve these difficulties, we must address the most basic question of all: Why does Tanach exist in the first place? We can understand the need for Torat Moshe, which provides us with a theological framework and a system of commandments to abide by. But what purpose is served by additional holy books?
I would suggest that the ultimate goal of all Jewish learning is the proper comprehension of Torah, i.e., the Five Books of Moses. It is the Torah of Moshe that includes, explicitly or implicitly, all of the ideas that comprise God's prophetic message to the people of Israel. However, bringing out the latent content of the Torah is no simple matter. In fact, its true meaning can be obscured by a variety of factors, such as the intellectual ability of its students, the influence of current cultural trends, etc. It is precisely to form a "bridge" between the comprehension of a given generation of Jews and the ideational content of the Torah that the Nach comes into existence. The books of the Prophets and Writings revolve around themes that are present in the Torah in some form but were deemed by the Baalei Hamesorah to require a "fleshing out", a separate "academic course" dedicated to them in their own right.
Examples of this kind of phenomenon abound in secular culture. Despite the bold proclamation that "all men are created equal", our country tolerated slavery and discrimination against women for hundreds of years. Many tracts were written detailing the incongruence and hypocrisy inherent in this state of affairs, until it was finally comprehended by the common man and a shift in cultural attitudes ensued. Nowadays, most of those important texts have become obsolete historical relics. They are no longer studied in depth because their message has already been internalized by the average person, who perceives their truths naturally in the simple words "all men are created equal".
Similarly, the Torah teaches the ideal of a wise life of prudence and justice. This is implicit in the Torah's narratives and commandments, and, in the proper cultural context, this overarching principle would be obvious to its readers. Nevertheless, King Solomon saw fit to author two books - Ecclesiastes and Proverbs - in which he expounded upon these themes at length. He understood that a separate "curriculum" was necessary for these ideas alone, and that such a study had to be completed in order for the average person to grasp the true import of the Torah's lessons.
Thus, the concept of Tanach is not a differentiation between meaningful/inspired books and meaningless or secular ones. Rather, a book is "inducted" into Tanach when the Baale Mesora determine that, if the Torah is to be understood properly, this additional book must have a separate course of study dedicated to it as well.
In this sense, becoming a book of Tanach is more a function of the laws of Torah Study than of a particular book's intrinsic value. A divinely inspired book may not demand a separate activity of learning and analysis just by virtue of its holiness. In some cases, it may be excluded from Tanach because the Rabbis think it will interfere with the correct understanding of Torah in their generation. Similarly, a non-inspired book like Proverbs may still be seen as an indispensible "course" in the Talmud Torah curriculum, despite its lack of "holiness".
The fact that these texts demand a process of learning in their own right is reflected in the halachic principle that they must be committed to writing in the same fashion as a Torah Scroll. They become an additional component of the Written Torah; therefore, although there is no specific commandment to write them, when they are written it must be done in a manner that demonstrates their special status.
What, then, is the status of a holy book that is rejected from Tanach? I would argue that, rather than robbing it of importance or significance, this merely relegates its contents to the status of Oral Torah, of useful commentary that may shed light on the meaning of other books in the canon. The Book of Esther is an excellent example of this. It is dedicated to a theme that is repeated numerous times in Tanach - the struggle with Amaleq. If it had not been officially accepted as part of the canon, it would have remained a very important, divinely inspired addendum to the presentations of this theme elsewhere in the Bible. It would have been read and studied, not as a course in its own right, but as a source of clarification and elucidation of the concept of Amaleq that is mentioned in the Torah and in the Book of Samuel. And, of course, it would have remained the central focus of the Purim celebration!
This also clarifies how the Rabbis could debate the inclusion or exclusion of particular works from Tanach. They were not engaged in arguments about the value of those texts, or their status vis a vis divine inspiration. What concerned the Sages was whether those books were necessary "courses" in the Torah curriculum of their generation. In some cases, the analysis revolved around whether involvement in certain texts would prevent people from attaining true knowledge of the Torah and its commandments. Whatever the case might have been, the Rabbis never questioned the accuracy or validity of any of the holy books in their possession. The issues they grappled with were halachic, not theological or empirical.
This approach is supported by the Rambam who, in his Laws of Torah Study, emphasizes that the Prophets and Writings are considered parts of the Written Torah. It is noteworthy that he establishes this classification in the context of the laws of learning Torah - and, specifically, while dealing with the correct Torah study schedule. This suggests that the distinction between Written and Oral Torah has more to do with the proper allocation of study time than with the intrinsic importance of the subject matter assigned to each category. Only texts that generate their own, independent obligation of Torah study are granted membership in the canon of Tanach. Other books, however profound and beautiful, are to be utilized as interpretive tools in the process of exploration of Biblical literature.
This is why the Rabbis can simultaneously claim that the entire Tanach was given at Sinai, and then state that all of the Prophets and Writings, save Esther, will one day be obsolete. The thematic principles of Tanach are all rooted in the Torah itself, they derive from Sinai. However, our need for separate courses of study to elucidate and deepen our grasp of these principles - that is, the fact that we cannot access them directly through study and interpretation of the Five Books of Moses - is a function of our spiritual weakness at this point in history. In Messianic times, the level of Torah study will be such that no other "Books" will be necessary - we will have Torat Moshe alone, and all other writings will serve as commentary.
In summary, aside from the Torah, the composition of Tanach is not divinely established, and inclusion or exclusion from Tanach is not a reflection of the truth or importance of any particular book. The structure of Torah literature - what attains the status of Written Torah and what does not - is purely a function of the educational needs of each generation, as determined by the Masters of the Torah Tradition. This determination impacts the process, order and format of Torah study, but not necessarily its scope.
It is well known that "Tanach" is not a monolithic entity. Its contents varied over time and were reconsidered and adjusted at several points in Rabbinic history. The Talmud tells us, for example, that the Rabbis debated whether or not to keep the books of Ezekiel and Ecclesiastes in the canon. They also argued about the precise status of some of the canonical books, such as the Book of Esther.
Many find this phenomenon troubling. After all, if a text is holy and presumed to be divinely inspired, why should it be excluded from Tanach? And if the holiness of the work itself is what is being questioned, how can logical argumentation in the Talmud serve to establish it? Jewish law cannot "rule" on an empirical fact, such as whether divine guidance played a role in the composition of a particular book!
We can sharpen our question further by asking what difference it makes whether a book is included or excluded from the canon. For example, did the Rabbis who maintained that the Book of Esther was not part of Tanach believe that reading Esther was a waste of time? Did the Rabbis that advocated removing Ecclesiastes or Ezekiel from the canon hold that studying these books would not be meaningful, or that their content was inaccurate or false? It is hard to accept such a conclusion, especially since, in the case of the Book of Esther, even those who held it was not part of the canon still agreed that it was a mitsvah to read it on Purim.
Study of the nature of Tanach leads us to another interesting problem. The Mishna in Masechet Megillah discusses the guidelines that must be observed in the preparation of Torah Scrolls, Megillot and books of the Prophets and Writings (Nach). All of these texts must be written on kosher parchment with kosher ink, etc. The difficulty is as follows: We know that there is a mitsvah to write a Torah scroll. Similarly, Megillot must be written in order to be used for the mitsvah of reading the Megillah on Purim. Therefore, it makes sense that there are halachic principles that dictate the mechanics of composing these texts.
However, there is no mitsvah at all to read most of the books of Tanach, at least not publicly. Being that there is no commandment to read from these volumes, and therefore no mitsvah to write them, how can there be halachic guidelines as to their preparation?
Indeed, the Rabbis themselves seemed ambivalent about the value of Tanach. Several statements of Chazal declare that the entirety of the Bible was given at Sinai, implying that its importance is on par with that of the Torah itself. Other statements suggest that the Prophets and Writings will be eliminated in the Messianic era, and that only the Torah and the Book of Esther will remain (this view is in fact codified by Maimonides at the end of Hilchot Megillah). How can we reconcile these contradictory perspectives on the Bible?
In order to resolve these difficulties, we must address the most basic question of all: Why does Tanach exist in the first place? We can understand the need for Torat Moshe, which provides us with a theological framework and a system of commandments to abide by. But what purpose is served by additional holy books?
I would suggest that the ultimate goal of all Jewish learning is the proper comprehension of Torah, i.e., the Five Books of Moses. It is the Torah of Moshe that includes, explicitly or implicitly, all of the ideas that comprise God's prophetic message to the people of Israel. However, bringing out the latent content of the Torah is no simple matter. In fact, its true meaning can be obscured by a variety of factors, such as the intellectual ability of its students, the influence of current cultural trends, etc. It is precisely to form a "bridge" between the comprehension of a given generation of Jews and the ideational content of the Torah that the Nach comes into existence. The books of the Prophets and Writings revolve around themes that are present in the Torah in some form but were deemed by the Baalei Hamesorah to require a "fleshing out", a separate "academic course" dedicated to them in their own right.
Examples of this kind of phenomenon abound in secular culture. Despite the bold proclamation that "all men are created equal", our country tolerated slavery and discrimination against women for hundreds of years. Many tracts were written detailing the incongruence and hypocrisy inherent in this state of affairs, until it was finally comprehended by the common man and a shift in cultural attitudes ensued. Nowadays, most of those important texts have become obsolete historical relics. They are no longer studied in depth because their message has already been internalized by the average person, who perceives their truths naturally in the simple words "all men are created equal".
Similarly, the Torah teaches the ideal of a wise life of prudence and justice. This is implicit in the Torah's narratives and commandments, and, in the proper cultural context, this overarching principle would be obvious to its readers. Nevertheless, King Solomon saw fit to author two books - Ecclesiastes and Proverbs - in which he expounded upon these themes at length. He understood that a separate "curriculum" was necessary for these ideas alone, and that such a study had to be completed in order for the average person to grasp the true import of the Torah's lessons.
Thus, the concept of Tanach is not a differentiation between meaningful/inspired books and meaningless or secular ones. Rather, a book is "inducted" into Tanach when the Baale Mesora determine that, if the Torah is to be understood properly, this additional book must have a separate course of study dedicated to it as well.
In this sense, becoming a book of Tanach is more a function of the laws of Torah Study than of a particular book's intrinsic value. A divinely inspired book may not demand a separate activity of learning and analysis just by virtue of its holiness. In some cases, it may be excluded from Tanach because the Rabbis think it will interfere with the correct understanding of Torah in their generation. Similarly, a non-inspired book like Proverbs may still be seen as an indispensible "course" in the Talmud Torah curriculum, despite its lack of "holiness".
The fact that these texts demand a process of learning in their own right is reflected in the halachic principle that they must be committed to writing in the same fashion as a Torah Scroll. They become an additional component of the Written Torah; therefore, although there is no specific commandment to write them, when they are written it must be done in a manner that demonstrates their special status.
What, then, is the status of a holy book that is rejected from Tanach? I would argue that, rather than robbing it of importance or significance, this merely relegates its contents to the status of Oral Torah, of useful commentary that may shed light on the meaning of other books in the canon. The Book of Esther is an excellent example of this. It is dedicated to a theme that is repeated numerous times in Tanach - the struggle with Amaleq. If it had not been officially accepted as part of the canon, it would have remained a very important, divinely inspired addendum to the presentations of this theme elsewhere in the Bible. It would have been read and studied, not as a course in its own right, but as a source of clarification and elucidation of the concept of Amaleq that is mentioned in the Torah and in the Book of Samuel. And, of course, it would have remained the central focus of the Purim celebration!
This also clarifies how the Rabbis could debate the inclusion or exclusion of particular works from Tanach. They were not engaged in arguments about the value of those texts, or their status vis a vis divine inspiration. What concerned the Sages was whether those books were necessary "courses" in the Torah curriculum of their generation. In some cases, the analysis revolved around whether involvement in certain texts would prevent people from attaining true knowledge of the Torah and its commandments. Whatever the case might have been, the Rabbis never questioned the accuracy or validity of any of the holy books in their possession. The issues they grappled with were halachic, not theological or empirical.
This approach is supported by the Rambam who, in his Laws of Torah Study, emphasizes that the Prophets and Writings are considered parts of the Written Torah. It is noteworthy that he establishes this classification in the context of the laws of learning Torah - and, specifically, while dealing with the correct Torah study schedule. This suggests that the distinction between Written and Oral Torah has more to do with the proper allocation of study time than with the intrinsic importance of the subject matter assigned to each category. Only texts that generate their own, independent obligation of Torah study are granted membership in the canon of Tanach. Other books, however profound and beautiful, are to be utilized as interpretive tools in the process of exploration of Biblical literature.
This is why the Rabbis can simultaneously claim that the entire Tanach was given at Sinai, and then state that all of the Prophets and Writings, save Esther, will one day be obsolete. The thematic principles of Tanach are all rooted in the Torah itself, they derive from Sinai. However, our need for separate courses of study to elucidate and deepen our grasp of these principles - that is, the fact that we cannot access them directly through study and interpretation of the Five Books of Moses - is a function of our spiritual weakness at this point in history. In Messianic times, the level of Torah study will be such that no other "Books" will be necessary - we will have Torat Moshe alone, and all other writings will serve as commentary.
In summary, aside from the Torah, the composition of Tanach is not divinely established, and inclusion or exclusion from Tanach is not a reflection of the truth or importance of any particular book. The structure of Torah literature - what attains the status of Written Torah and what does not - is purely a function of the educational needs of each generation, as determined by the Masters of the Torah Tradition. This determination impacts the process, order and format of Torah study, but not necessarily its scope.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Hukkim and Mishpatim
A post in honor of David Guttmann, whose thoughtful question motivated me to finally commit these ideas to writing.
It is well known that the commandments of the Torah are traditionally divided into two categories, "Hukkim" and "Mishpatim". Mitsvot that regulate social behavior and whose benefit to society is obvious are termed "Mishpatim". Examples of this include laws against theft and murder. By contrast, "Hukkim" are mitsvot whose purpose is not so easy to divine, such as laws against wearing wool and linen together or eating non-kosher foods.
On the surface, it is difficult to understand why this method of classification is justified. Does it make sense to categorize commandments simply based on whether we can provide a logical explanation for them or not? Isn't there a more meaningful criterion to use for grouping the mitsvot?
The Rambam, at the end of Hilchot Meilah, presents a lengthy discussion of the distinction between hukkim and mishpatim:
It is proper for a person to contemplate the laws of the Holy Torah and to grasp their purpose according to his ability. And something for which he cannot find a reason and he does not know a cause - it should not be light in his eyes...And his thinking about it should not be like his thinking regarding mundane matters. Look at how strict the Torah was with meilah (misappropriating items that were designated for the Temple.) Sticks, stones, dirt and ashes, once they had the name of the Master of the World called upon them, with words alone they become consecrated - and anyone who treats them as mundane commits sacrilege and even if he sins inadvertently, he requires atonement. How much more so a commandment that the Holy One, Blessed is He formulated for us...
Behold, it says in the Torah, "And you shall keep all of My statutes (hukkim) and My ordinances (mishpatim) and do them" The Rabbis said that this verse commands "keeping" and "doing" for the hukkim and mishpatim. "Doing" is obvious - it means performing the hukkim. And "keeping" means being careful with them, and not imagining that they are less than the mishpatim. And mishpatim are the commandments whose reason is obvious and the benefit of their fulfillment in this world is known, such as the prohibitions of theft, murder, and the commandment to respect parents. And the hukkim are commandments whose reason is not obvious...
And the inclination of man resists them, and the nations of the world argue against them - like the prohibition of pork or meat and milk, the commandment of the decapitated calf, the red heifer and the scapegoat. King David was terribly distressed over the fact that the heretics and idolaters rejected the hukkim. And the more they chased after him with false arguments that they formulated according to the frailty of the human intellect, the more King David became attached to the Torah...
And all of the sacrifices are included among the hukkim. The Rabbis say that it is because of the sacrificial service that the world continues to exist. For by virtue of the performance of the hukkim and mishpatim, the righteous earn a portion in the World to Come. And the Torah gave precedence to the fulfillment of the hukkim, as it says, "And you shall keep My statutes and My ordinances which a man does, and lives by them."
In these halachot, the Rambam seems to raise more questions than he answers. First of all, why does he launch into an elaborate analysis of hukkim and mishpatim at the end of Hilchot Meilah? Throughout the Mishneh Torah, the Rambam expounds upon every one of the 613 commandments - hukkim and mishpatim - yet he reserves his primary treatment of the topic of hukkim for this unusual context.
Second, what is the Rambam's essential point about hukkim? He mentions that they are scorned by the nations of the world, while at the same time emphasizing their overall superiority to mishpatim. It seems as if the Rambam maintains that the very fact that the gentiles ridicule the hukkim is proof of their importance. Why should this be the case?
And finally, if the arguments of the nations of the world against the hukkim are false, why doesn't King David refute them rather than ignoring them?
I believe that the concept the Rambam is identifying here is of crucial significance for a proper understanding of the Torah in general. Human beings have an intuitive sense of good and bad and right and wrong when it comes to matters of material importance. There is no question in our minds that these issues are very real and very serious. For this reason, all societies have laws that regulate commerce, prohibit murder and theft, and generally protect the physical welfare of their members. These laws - mishpatim - have a purpose that is manifestly obvious to the nations of the world, precisely because the values that mishpatim promote - i.e., material values - are acknowledged as significant by all people, everywhere.
This is what makes the hukkim seem so mysterious. Any search for a mundane explanation of hukkim would necessarily be in vain. This is because hukkim are not designed to promote the material welfare of the Jews and cannot be fathomed in that context. On the contrary, hukkim serve to facilitate intellectual and moral growth alone. Whether it is through restricting our instinctual gratification or directing our minds to the perception of God's hand in nature, the hukkim serve to move us closer to the philosophical goal for which we were divinely chosen.
From the perspective of the committed Jew, the hukkim are the very lifeblood of a meaningful, grounded, spiritually attuned existence. Yet they are rooted in ideals and principles that seem otherworldly and even counterintuitive to an outsider. Precisely because the benefit of hukkim cannot be explained in terms that make sense to a materialistic person, they are scorned and derided by the nations of the world.
Two examples will illustrate my point more clearly. The notion of an FDA that prohibits the sale of unhealthy or tainted food is comprehensible to anyone, because unhealthy food can harm the body, and all human beings value the condition of their bodies. By contrast, only individuals who strive for a good that transcends the physical can possibly appreciate the ideas exemplified in kashrut, which places a limit on hedonistic indulgence in order to increase spiritual growth.
Similarly, any person can grasp the benefit to be had from an education that prepares one to enter the workforce and make a living. However, only individuals who attach value to the metaphysical objectives of the Torah can possibly appreciate the beauty of Shabbat, a day dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake.
A pure pragmatist who thinks only in terms of physical pleasure, material gain and economic productivity will dismiss the hukkim as at best useless and at worst nonsensical. Within the framework of his value system, he simply cannot see the merit of rituals and restrictions that yield no concrete benefit whatsoever. This is why King David did not even try to defend the hukkim in the eyes of the world. He realized that the failure of his contemporaries to perceive the beauty of the hukkim was the result of the inherent poverty of their outlook on life. Their total commitment to materialistic priorities necessarily robbed the hukkim of any value in their eyes; they simply refused to attribute any substance to matters of the spirit.
Herein lies the connection between hukkim and meilah, or sacrifices in general. The concept of consecration is, by its very definition, a contradiction to materialistic sensibilities - it is an abstract, metaphysical phenomenon that nonetheless exerts a major influence on human behavior. The mere designation of an animal as a sacrifice suddenly removes a perfectly useful source of food or labor from the domain of human control, relegating it to Temple use. Thus, the very institution of sacrificial laws demands that we acknowledge the real existence of a realm of values and principles that transcends our personal and petty interests and even requires us to curb them - "once they have the name of the Master of the World called upon them...anyone who treats them as mundane commits sacrilege, etc."
We must recognize that there is a framework of tremendous significance and glorious beauty that lies totally outside of the world of the concrete and practical; namely, the framework of Divine Service. Once an item is consecrated and it enters that framework, it is placed outside of the reach of our pragmatic agendas, appetites and business plans. This makes the laws of sacrifices a perfect example of the ultimate objective of the hukkim - namely, to teach us that we must treat the spiritual with an even greater sense of reality and urgency than we typically associate with the physical.
Now we can fathom why the Rambam extols the hukkim above the mishpatim. Safeguarding the physical welfare of society is the most basic aim of any legal system; indeed, for most legal systems, it is the only aim. The Torah shares this objective and legislates mishpatim accordingly. However, with its introduction of the hukkim, the Torah demonstrates its uniqueness as a guide to human life. The hukkim do not enhance our mastery or our enjoyment of the physical world per se. If anything, they stand in the way of the endless pursuit of instinctual gratification and material wealth; indeed, their whole function is to contradict our natural inclination to measure goodness and substance in physical terms. They require us to pull our energies away from the concrete and channel them into the intellectual, metaphysical and transcendent.
This explains another unusual comment of the Rambam. In Pirkei Avot, we read:
Shimon the Righteous was one of the last of the Men of the Great Assembly. He used to say: On three things does the world stand: On Torah, on Divine Service, and on acts of lovingkindness.
The Rambam remarks:
He said that by virtue of knowledge (which is the Torah), and excellences of character (which are acts of lovingkindness), and fulfillment of the commandments (which are sacrifices), the design of the world and the harmony of its existence continues in the most perfect manner.
In light of our analysis here, we can understand why, for the Rambam, sacrifices are the ultimate example of "commandments" as distinct from "acts of lovingkindness." Acts of lovingkindness fall under the category of mishpatim - their benefit is understandable, even from a purely practical standpoint. After all, generosity of spirit and nobility of character foster peace, civility and harmony in society, and this is praiseworthy by any standard.
By contrast, hukkim ask us to break free from the narrow confines of the pragmatic and make the pursuit of knowledge, wisdom and sanctity our highest priority. This is best exemplified in the sacrifices. By definition, sacrifice involves the subordination of precious material resources to a metaphysical purpose that flies in the face of utilitarianism. As such, the sacrifices are the paradigm for all Divine Service. They differentiate the community of Israel, which strives to actualize its potential as a wise and understanding nation that sanctifies God's name from communities that measure their growth in terms of the Dow Jones industrial average and the Gross National Product.
A society that has mishpatim but lacks hukkim may develop wonderful methods for enhancing the "quality of life", all the while leaving its citizens in the dark when it comes to the purpose of life itself. This is a paradoxical situation that Einstein aptly described as a "perfection of means" coupled with a "confusion of ends."
It is well known that the commandments of the Torah are traditionally divided into two categories, "Hukkim" and "Mishpatim". Mitsvot that regulate social behavior and whose benefit to society is obvious are termed "Mishpatim". Examples of this include laws against theft and murder. By contrast, "Hukkim" are mitsvot whose purpose is not so easy to divine, such as laws against wearing wool and linen together or eating non-kosher foods.
On the surface, it is difficult to understand why this method of classification is justified. Does it make sense to categorize commandments simply based on whether we can provide a logical explanation for them or not? Isn't there a more meaningful criterion to use for grouping the mitsvot?
The Rambam, at the end of Hilchot Meilah, presents a lengthy discussion of the distinction between hukkim and mishpatim:
It is proper for a person to contemplate the laws of the Holy Torah and to grasp their purpose according to his ability. And something for which he cannot find a reason and he does not know a cause - it should not be light in his eyes...And his thinking about it should not be like his thinking regarding mundane matters. Look at how strict the Torah was with meilah (misappropriating items that were designated for the Temple.) Sticks, stones, dirt and ashes, once they had the name of the Master of the World called upon them, with words alone they become consecrated - and anyone who treats them as mundane commits sacrilege and even if he sins inadvertently, he requires atonement. How much more so a commandment that the Holy One, Blessed is He formulated for us...
Behold, it says in the Torah, "And you shall keep all of My statutes (hukkim) and My ordinances (mishpatim) and do them" The Rabbis said that this verse commands "keeping" and "doing" for the hukkim and mishpatim. "Doing" is obvious - it means performing the hukkim. And "keeping" means being careful with them, and not imagining that they are less than the mishpatim. And mishpatim are the commandments whose reason is obvious and the benefit of their fulfillment in this world is known, such as the prohibitions of theft, murder, and the commandment to respect parents. And the hukkim are commandments whose reason is not obvious...
And the inclination of man resists them, and the nations of the world argue against them - like the prohibition of pork or meat and milk, the commandment of the decapitated calf, the red heifer and the scapegoat. King David was terribly distressed over the fact that the heretics and idolaters rejected the hukkim. And the more they chased after him with false arguments that they formulated according to the frailty of the human intellect, the more King David became attached to the Torah...
And all of the sacrifices are included among the hukkim. The Rabbis say that it is because of the sacrificial service that the world continues to exist. For by virtue of the performance of the hukkim and mishpatim, the righteous earn a portion in the World to Come. And the Torah gave precedence to the fulfillment of the hukkim, as it says, "And you shall keep My statutes and My ordinances which a man does, and lives by them."
In these halachot, the Rambam seems to raise more questions than he answers. First of all, why does he launch into an elaborate analysis of hukkim and mishpatim at the end of Hilchot Meilah? Throughout the Mishneh Torah, the Rambam expounds upon every one of the 613 commandments - hukkim and mishpatim - yet he reserves his primary treatment of the topic of hukkim for this unusual context.
Second, what is the Rambam's essential point about hukkim? He mentions that they are scorned by the nations of the world, while at the same time emphasizing their overall superiority to mishpatim. It seems as if the Rambam maintains that the very fact that the gentiles ridicule the hukkim is proof of their importance. Why should this be the case?
And finally, if the arguments of the nations of the world against the hukkim are false, why doesn't King David refute them rather than ignoring them?
I believe that the concept the Rambam is identifying here is of crucial significance for a proper understanding of the Torah in general. Human beings have an intuitive sense of good and bad and right and wrong when it comes to matters of material importance. There is no question in our minds that these issues are very real and very serious. For this reason, all societies have laws that regulate commerce, prohibit murder and theft, and generally protect the physical welfare of their members. These laws - mishpatim - have a purpose that is manifestly obvious to the nations of the world, precisely because the values that mishpatim promote - i.e., material values - are acknowledged as significant by all people, everywhere.
This is what makes the hukkim seem so mysterious. Any search for a mundane explanation of hukkim would necessarily be in vain. This is because hukkim are not designed to promote the material welfare of the Jews and cannot be fathomed in that context. On the contrary, hukkim serve to facilitate intellectual and moral growth alone. Whether it is through restricting our instinctual gratification or directing our minds to the perception of God's hand in nature, the hukkim serve to move us closer to the philosophical goal for which we were divinely chosen.
From the perspective of the committed Jew, the hukkim are the very lifeblood of a meaningful, grounded, spiritually attuned existence. Yet they are rooted in ideals and principles that seem otherworldly and even counterintuitive to an outsider. Precisely because the benefit of hukkim cannot be explained in terms that make sense to a materialistic person, they are scorned and derided by the nations of the world.
Two examples will illustrate my point more clearly. The notion of an FDA that prohibits the sale of unhealthy or tainted food is comprehensible to anyone, because unhealthy food can harm the body, and all human beings value the condition of their bodies. By contrast, only individuals who strive for a good that transcends the physical can possibly appreciate the ideas exemplified in kashrut, which places a limit on hedonistic indulgence in order to increase spiritual growth.
Similarly, any person can grasp the benefit to be had from an education that prepares one to enter the workforce and make a living. However, only individuals who attach value to the metaphysical objectives of the Torah can possibly appreciate the beauty of Shabbat, a day dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake.
A pure pragmatist who thinks only in terms of physical pleasure, material gain and economic productivity will dismiss the hukkim as at best useless and at worst nonsensical. Within the framework of his value system, he simply cannot see the merit of rituals and restrictions that yield no concrete benefit whatsoever. This is why King David did not even try to defend the hukkim in the eyes of the world. He realized that the failure of his contemporaries to perceive the beauty of the hukkim was the result of the inherent poverty of their outlook on life. Their total commitment to materialistic priorities necessarily robbed the hukkim of any value in their eyes; they simply refused to attribute any substance to matters of the spirit.
Herein lies the connection between hukkim and meilah, or sacrifices in general. The concept of consecration is, by its very definition, a contradiction to materialistic sensibilities - it is an abstract, metaphysical phenomenon that nonetheless exerts a major influence on human behavior. The mere designation of an animal as a sacrifice suddenly removes a perfectly useful source of food or labor from the domain of human control, relegating it to Temple use. Thus, the very institution of sacrificial laws demands that we acknowledge the real existence of a realm of values and principles that transcends our personal and petty interests and even requires us to curb them - "once they have the name of the Master of the World called upon them...anyone who treats them as mundane commits sacrilege, etc."
We must recognize that there is a framework of tremendous significance and glorious beauty that lies totally outside of the world of the concrete and practical; namely, the framework of Divine Service. Once an item is consecrated and it enters that framework, it is placed outside of the reach of our pragmatic agendas, appetites and business plans. This makes the laws of sacrifices a perfect example of the ultimate objective of the hukkim - namely, to teach us that we must treat the spiritual with an even greater sense of reality and urgency than we typically associate with the physical.
Now we can fathom why the Rambam extols the hukkim above the mishpatim. Safeguarding the physical welfare of society is the most basic aim of any legal system; indeed, for most legal systems, it is the only aim. The Torah shares this objective and legislates mishpatim accordingly. However, with its introduction of the hukkim, the Torah demonstrates its uniqueness as a guide to human life. The hukkim do not enhance our mastery or our enjoyment of the physical world per se. If anything, they stand in the way of the endless pursuit of instinctual gratification and material wealth; indeed, their whole function is to contradict our natural inclination to measure goodness and substance in physical terms. They require us to pull our energies away from the concrete and channel them into the intellectual, metaphysical and transcendent.
This explains another unusual comment of the Rambam. In Pirkei Avot, we read:
Shimon the Righteous was one of the last of the Men of the Great Assembly. He used to say: On three things does the world stand: On Torah, on Divine Service, and on acts of lovingkindness.
The Rambam remarks:
He said that by virtue of knowledge (which is the Torah), and excellences of character (which are acts of lovingkindness), and fulfillment of the commandments (which are sacrifices), the design of the world and the harmony of its existence continues in the most perfect manner.
In light of our analysis here, we can understand why, for the Rambam, sacrifices are the ultimate example of "commandments" as distinct from "acts of lovingkindness." Acts of lovingkindness fall under the category of mishpatim - their benefit is understandable, even from a purely practical standpoint. After all, generosity of spirit and nobility of character foster peace, civility and harmony in society, and this is praiseworthy by any standard.
By contrast, hukkim ask us to break free from the narrow confines of the pragmatic and make the pursuit of knowledge, wisdom and sanctity our highest priority. This is best exemplified in the sacrifices. By definition, sacrifice involves the subordination of precious material resources to a metaphysical purpose that flies in the face of utilitarianism. As such, the sacrifices are the paradigm for all Divine Service. They differentiate the community of Israel, which strives to actualize its potential as a wise and understanding nation that sanctifies God's name from communities that measure their growth in terms of the Dow Jones industrial average and the Gross National Product.
A society that has mishpatim but lacks hukkim may develop wonderful methods for enhancing the "quality of life", all the while leaving its citizens in the dark when it comes to the purpose of life itself. This is a paradoxical situation that Einstein aptly described as a "perfection of means" coupled with a "confusion of ends."
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Maimonides and Spinoza on Prophecy I
We previously explored Spinoza's critique of the Maimonidean approach to reconciling Scripture with reason. In this installment of our series on Maimonides and Spinoza, we will examine their difference of opinion regarding the nature and purpose of prophetic inspiration.
It is fairly well known that the Rambam views prophecy as the most advanced level of intellectual apprehension that the human mind can attain. When an individual reaches a point of extraordinary depth in his comprehension of God's wisdom, a totally new dimension of Divine knowledge may open up to him. For Maimonides, a personal encounter with this dimension of Divine Wisdom is the very essence of prophetic inspiration.
Like all human understanding, prophecy operates via the cooperation of two agencies of the soul - the imagination and the intellect. Generally speaking, when we reflect upon a matter of interest, we manipulate images and impressions we have received through our senses in an attempt to uncover the pattern or principle that they display to us. The "Aha!" moment of discovery occurs when a rather confusing collection of sense data is suddenly illuminated and made coherent by an abstract concept. Once that unifying concept is brought forth, we look upon the information differently in light of it. The data now appear simple, well ordered and intelligible. Our very perception and recollection has been transformed by the introduction of a principle or idea.
A prophet's intellect and imagination are well attuned to God's wisdom and are thus highly receptive to profound "Aha" experiences. The imagery presented to the prophet in prophecy serves as a vehicle through which his mind can derive a deeper understanding of the Divine plan. As soon as the prophetic dream sequence appears to the prophet, his intellect apprehends the underlying message it is designed to convey.
What distinguishes prophetic insight from ordinary intellectual growth is threefold. First, prophecy requires the complete isolation of the imagination from any outside influence, so as to ensure that the only force shaping it is the reality of God's truth that is being disclosed. This is why all prophets, with the exception of Moshe, only receive prophecy while asleep, and find it to be quite overwhelming. This prevents any "interference" from the world of sense perception. Second, the certainty of prophecy is intrinsic - the prophet knows the truth of what has been revealed to him, but cannot necessarily demonstrate why it is true. Finally, prophecy can be withheld from a potential prophet, even if he is fully prepared for the experience.
Since Maimonides maintains that prophecy is really an elevated form of metaphysical insight, it is obvious why he holds that prophets are capable of receiving philosophical, theological and moral messages through inspiration. Spinoza takes issue with this view and argues that, in fact, the prophets are nothing more than passionate moralists with rich imaginations. In the second chapter of the Tractatus Theologico-Politicus, Spinoza writes,
It follows from the last chapter, as I have already stated, that the prophets were not endowed with a more perfect mind, but with a more vivid power of imagination...Those with a more powerful imagination are less fitted for purely intellectual activity, while those who devote themselves to the cultivation of their more powerful intellect, keep their imagination under greater control and restraint, and they hold it in rein, as it were, so that it should not invade the province of the intellect. Therefore, those who look to find understanding and knowledge of things natural and spiritual in the books of the Prophets go far astray...(p.21)
According to Spinoza, the Prophets are neither theologians nor philosophers; in fact, he argues, many of their ideas about God and angels are deficient and even contradictory:
…Prophecy varied not only with the imagination and temperament of each prophet, but also with the beliefs in which they had brought up, and that their prophesying never made the prophets more learned…God adapted His revelations to the understanding and beliefs of the prophets, who may well have been ignorant of matters that have no bearing on charity and moral conduct but concern philosophic speculation, and were in fact ignorant of them, holding conflicting beliefs. Therefore knowledge of science and matters spiritual should by no means be expected of them. So we conclude that we must believe the prophets only with regard to the purpose and substance of the revelation. (p.22, 33)
Thus, in Spinoza's view, the prophets are poetic souls whose message is divine not because of its metaphysical underpinnings, but because of its ethical content - that is, the fact that they preach to the people about the virtues of charity and justice is what makes their communications "holy" and "inspired". The subjects that concern the prophets are not philosophical; if they were, they would be more appropriately left to natural reason than to revelation.
Much of Spinoza's effort to limit the scope of prophetic influence was motivated by a desire to establish the legitimacy of independent philosophical inquiry, and to show that the analysis of metaphysical questions need not be influenced by the words of the prophets, who were not experts on these matters. He thus relegated the significance of the prophets to the realm of morality and virtue alone, and justified his dismissal of their philosophical opinions.
How would the Rambam respond to Spinoza's analysis of prophecy? Is it possible to demonstrate that the prophets were, in fact, competent theologians who taught us meaningful philosophical ideas as well as moral lessons?
To be continued soon in the next installment....
It is fairly well known that the Rambam views prophecy as the most advanced level of intellectual apprehension that the human mind can attain. When an individual reaches a point of extraordinary depth in his comprehension of God's wisdom, a totally new dimension of Divine knowledge may open up to him. For Maimonides, a personal encounter with this dimension of Divine Wisdom is the very essence of prophetic inspiration.
Like all human understanding, prophecy operates via the cooperation of two agencies of the soul - the imagination and the intellect. Generally speaking, when we reflect upon a matter of interest, we manipulate images and impressions we have received through our senses in an attempt to uncover the pattern or principle that they display to us. The "Aha!" moment of discovery occurs when a rather confusing collection of sense data is suddenly illuminated and made coherent by an abstract concept. Once that unifying concept is brought forth, we look upon the information differently in light of it. The data now appear simple, well ordered and intelligible. Our very perception and recollection has been transformed by the introduction of a principle or idea.
A prophet's intellect and imagination are well attuned to God's wisdom and are thus highly receptive to profound "Aha" experiences. The imagery presented to the prophet in prophecy serves as a vehicle through which his mind can derive a deeper understanding of the Divine plan. As soon as the prophetic dream sequence appears to the prophet, his intellect apprehends the underlying message it is designed to convey.
What distinguishes prophetic insight from ordinary intellectual growth is threefold. First, prophecy requires the complete isolation of the imagination from any outside influence, so as to ensure that the only force shaping it is the reality of God's truth that is being disclosed. This is why all prophets, with the exception of Moshe, only receive prophecy while asleep, and find it to be quite overwhelming. This prevents any "interference" from the world of sense perception. Second, the certainty of prophecy is intrinsic - the prophet knows the truth of what has been revealed to him, but cannot necessarily demonstrate why it is true. Finally, prophecy can be withheld from a potential prophet, even if he is fully prepared for the experience.
Since Maimonides maintains that prophecy is really an elevated form of metaphysical insight, it is obvious why he holds that prophets are capable of receiving philosophical, theological and moral messages through inspiration. Spinoza takes issue with this view and argues that, in fact, the prophets are nothing more than passionate moralists with rich imaginations. In the second chapter of the Tractatus Theologico-Politicus, Spinoza writes,
It follows from the last chapter, as I have already stated, that the prophets were not endowed with a more perfect mind, but with a more vivid power of imagination...Those with a more powerful imagination are less fitted for purely intellectual activity, while those who devote themselves to the cultivation of their more powerful intellect, keep their imagination under greater control and restraint, and they hold it in rein, as it were, so that it should not invade the province of the intellect. Therefore, those who look to find understanding and knowledge of things natural and spiritual in the books of the Prophets go far astray...(p.21)
According to Spinoza, the Prophets are neither theologians nor philosophers; in fact, he argues, many of their ideas about God and angels are deficient and even contradictory:
…Prophecy varied not only with the imagination and temperament of each prophet, but also with the beliefs in which they had brought up, and that their prophesying never made the prophets more learned…God adapted His revelations to the understanding and beliefs of the prophets, who may well have been ignorant of matters that have no bearing on charity and moral conduct but concern philosophic speculation, and were in fact ignorant of them, holding conflicting beliefs. Therefore knowledge of science and matters spiritual should by no means be expected of them. So we conclude that we must believe the prophets only with regard to the purpose and substance of the revelation. (p.22, 33)
Thus, in Spinoza's view, the prophets are poetic souls whose message is divine not because of its metaphysical underpinnings, but because of its ethical content - that is, the fact that they preach to the people about the virtues of charity and justice is what makes their communications "holy" and "inspired". The subjects that concern the prophets are not philosophical; if they were, they would be more appropriately left to natural reason than to revelation.
Much of Spinoza's effort to limit the scope of prophetic influence was motivated by a desire to establish the legitimacy of independent philosophical inquiry, and to show that the analysis of metaphysical questions need not be influenced by the words of the prophets, who were not experts on these matters. He thus relegated the significance of the prophets to the realm of morality and virtue alone, and justified his dismissal of their philosophical opinions.
How would the Rambam respond to Spinoza's analysis of prophecy? Is it possible to demonstrate that the prophets were, in fact, competent theologians who taught us meaningful philosophical ideas as well as moral lessons?
To be continued soon in the next installment....
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Creativity in Interpretation
Are there any parameters imposed upon the interpretation of Torah, or is it a free-for-all?
Many find it strange that passages in the Torah that Chazal once took literally are being read by moderns in less and less literal ways. Yet, these very same moderns are unwilling to question the authority of the Rabbis when it comes to halachic matters. On the surface this appears to be hypocritical on their part - either the viewpoints of the Rabbis should be treated as sacrosanct, or we should be able to challenge them across the board!
Furthermore, the very basis of our acceptance of the Torah is our reliance upon tradition. Once we begin to undermine the infallibility of Chazal with respect to the explanation of the Torah's text, isn't the tradition as a whole placed on shaky foundations?
In order to address these difficulties, we must first distinguish between matters of halacha and non-normative matters. The field of halacha is an autonomous, rigorous discipline that has its own methodology and is grounded in unique, indigenous legal principles that were received at Sinai. Halachic "science" was intended to be a living tradition of research and analysis. Rabbis formulate theories, test hypotheses, and seek to develop the most elegant understanding of the structure of each mitsvah and its relationship to the halachic system as a whole.
The process of in-depth Torah study is, then, not unlike scientific investigation, in the sense that it demands the use of abstract reasoning combined with careful attention to the nuances of "empirical" data. Where it parts ways with the physical sciences is in the source of the material it works with. The data that scientists analyze is primarily derived from sense perception and observation. By contrast, the "data" of the halachic system are received through tradition. Aside from this important difference, though, the standards employed in halachic research are quite similar to those enshrined in fields of scientific inquiry. Just as the validity of a theoretical construct in the sciences is dependent upon its compatability with all of the empirical evidence available, so too an halachic formulation's validity is contingent upon its compatability with all of the facts provided by the Oral Torah.
The primary function of the Baale Hamesora (Masters of the Tradition), then, is to interpret and transmit the factual information of the Oral Torah faithfully. In the process, the Rabbis develop a comprehensive vision of how the various laws and principles interrelate harmoniously, and apply the law to new cases according to this paradigm.
Sometimes the theoretical perspectives of some Rabbis may diverge from that of their colleagues or from the positions held in generations past. On the surface, this appears problematic. Doesn't difference of opinion undermine the sanctity and reliability of tradition? The reality is, though, that the Rabbis never act as mavericks, casting aside precedent and injecting their own innovative ideas into the realm of halachic discourse. Like scientific researchers who are accountable to the empirical data before them, the Rabbis remain beholden to the parameters of the halachic system and must exercise their creativity within that framework. As long as they abide by this basic rule, their theoretical formulations, and halachic decisions, retain their legitimacy and holiness.
When it comes to non-halachic aspects of Torah, on the other hand, a Rabbi is entitled to exercise almost unbridled creativity. He need not feel constrained by the teachings of tradition, because there is no formal tradition with regard to the interpretation of such passages. Since the explanation of the narrative portions of Scripture is not formulated as a rigorous, internally consistent "science" like halacha, there is much more leeway to be found in this area of study. We see evidence of this fact in the Midrashic literature, wherein the divergence of Rabbinic opinion is far more pronounced than in the Talmud.
Outside of the realm of halachic analysis, then, a scholar is permitted - and even encouraged - to develop an independent understanding of the Torah that appeals to his or her intellect. This allows our appreciation of the philosophical wisdom and subtlety of the Torah to grow continuously, generation after generation. Rather than compromising the tradition, this built-in flexibility guarantees the Torah's eternal relevance to our lives.
Many find it strange that passages in the Torah that Chazal once took literally are being read by moderns in less and less literal ways. Yet, these very same moderns are unwilling to question the authority of the Rabbis when it comes to halachic matters. On the surface this appears to be hypocritical on their part - either the viewpoints of the Rabbis should be treated as sacrosanct, or we should be able to challenge them across the board!
Furthermore, the very basis of our acceptance of the Torah is our reliance upon tradition. Once we begin to undermine the infallibility of Chazal with respect to the explanation of the Torah's text, isn't the tradition as a whole placed on shaky foundations?
In order to address these difficulties, we must first distinguish between matters of halacha and non-normative matters. The field of halacha is an autonomous, rigorous discipline that has its own methodology and is grounded in unique, indigenous legal principles that were received at Sinai. Halachic "science" was intended to be a living tradition of research and analysis. Rabbis formulate theories, test hypotheses, and seek to develop the most elegant understanding of the structure of each mitsvah and its relationship to the halachic system as a whole.
The process of in-depth Torah study is, then, not unlike scientific investigation, in the sense that it demands the use of abstract reasoning combined with careful attention to the nuances of "empirical" data. Where it parts ways with the physical sciences is in the source of the material it works with. The data that scientists analyze is primarily derived from sense perception and observation. By contrast, the "data" of the halachic system are received through tradition. Aside from this important difference, though, the standards employed in halachic research are quite similar to those enshrined in fields of scientific inquiry. Just as the validity of a theoretical construct in the sciences is dependent upon its compatability with all of the empirical evidence available, so too an halachic formulation's validity is contingent upon its compatability with all of the facts provided by the Oral Torah.
The primary function of the Baale Hamesora (Masters of the Tradition), then, is to interpret and transmit the factual information of the Oral Torah faithfully. In the process, the Rabbis develop a comprehensive vision of how the various laws and principles interrelate harmoniously, and apply the law to new cases according to this paradigm.
Sometimes the theoretical perspectives of some Rabbis may diverge from that of their colleagues or from the positions held in generations past. On the surface, this appears problematic. Doesn't difference of opinion undermine the sanctity and reliability of tradition? The reality is, though, that the Rabbis never act as mavericks, casting aside precedent and injecting their own innovative ideas into the realm of halachic discourse. Like scientific researchers who are accountable to the empirical data before them, the Rabbis remain beholden to the parameters of the halachic system and must exercise their creativity within that framework. As long as they abide by this basic rule, their theoretical formulations, and halachic decisions, retain their legitimacy and holiness.
When it comes to non-halachic aspects of Torah, on the other hand, a Rabbi is entitled to exercise almost unbridled creativity. He need not feel constrained by the teachings of tradition, because there is no formal tradition with regard to the interpretation of such passages. Since the explanation of the narrative portions of Scripture is not formulated as a rigorous, internally consistent "science" like halacha, there is much more leeway to be found in this area of study. We see evidence of this fact in the Midrashic literature, wherein the divergence of Rabbinic opinion is far more pronounced than in the Talmud.
Outside of the realm of halachic analysis, then, a scholar is permitted - and even encouraged - to develop an independent understanding of the Torah that appeals to his or her intellect. This allows our appreciation of the philosophical wisdom and subtlety of the Torah to grow continuously, generation after generation. Rather than compromising the tradition, this built-in flexibility guarantees the Torah's eternal relevance to our lives.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Spinoza and Maimonides on Interpretation II
In the previous post, we explored Spinoza's argument against Maimonides' method of interpreting Tanach. We saw that it is, in fact, a serious critique that seems to be well substantiated. We were left with the question of whether philosophically inclined Rishonim actually derived their theological positions from Scripture, or simply twisted the text to accord with conclusions that they reached independently.
I believe that, in order to answer the difficulty Spinoza raises, we must look more closely at its premises. One of Spinoza's theses throughout the TTP is that Tanach should be understood on its own terms as a self-sufficient body of literature. Of course, he is of the opinion that it is full of both internal and external contradictions. But he emphasizes that if we are to honestly comprehend the message of a given passage in the Bible, we need to ignore any preconceived notions we may have and allow the text to speak for itself.
At the same time, Spinoza vehemently rejects the notion that Tanach has anything to tell us about theological, metaphysical or scientific matters. When it discusses such topics, it represents nothing more than the crude opinions of the prophets on these issues. His view is that the Tanach is primarily designed to inspire people to pursue the virtues of charity and justice in their dealings with one another. (We will analyze this position further in a subsequent installment of this series.)
Taken as a whole, then, Spinoza's critique is founded on one fundamental principle: that the Bible is not an authoritative resource for metaphysical, scientific or philosophical insight. Therefore, it need not be reconciled with other information we discover or conclusions we reach about the external world. It is a guide to human action, nothing more and nothing less.
This is where Maimonides parts ways with Spinoza. In the minds of the Rambam and likeminded Rishonim, the Tanach is a source of knowledge about the world, albeit not the only source; we also have our senses and our powers of reasoning. Neither of these three entities provide us with a complete, independent account of the whole of reality. However, since each one does contribute a dimension to our understanding of truth, we must view them as complementary to one another rather than contradictory.
Thus, if through reasoning the Rambam arrives at certain conclusions about prophecy or angels, and he is confident that his conclusions are well-founded and accurate, he perforce assumes that the Tanach will fit in with his theory. Similarly, if the Ralbag posits a specific theory of Divine Knowledge and is confident in his analysis, he will naturally expect to find confirmation for it in Tanach. This doesn't necessarily mean that either the Rambam or the Ralbag would have formulated the positions that they did from the Tanach alone. It simply means that they expect Tanach, sense perception and human reasoning to converge and yield a single consistent, intelligible worldview.
An analogy to scientific research will bolster this point. When a physicist is confronted with experimental data that run contrary to a theory that is well-established based on other evidence, his first move will be to effect some reconciliation between the new findings and the old findings. Because he is convinced that one system of natural law manifests itself in all physical phenomena, he proceeds with the assumption that the data complement one another somehow, and that further investigation will show how they fit together. Sometimes, interpretations offered for the anomalous data may seem forced or stretched, but they are motivated by the premise that there is a pervasive unity in nature and that data from different sources must ultimately reflect that unity.
The Rambam and the Ralbag approach Tanach with the same attitude - it is one of several pieces of "evidence", all of which must be harmonized if they are to develop a comprehensive and consistent metaphysical theory. Thus, just as the wisdom, spirit and vision of the Bible influence the direction of their philosophical musings, so too, the conclusions they derive from those musings influence the way that they interpret and understand the content of the Bible.
I believe that, in order to answer the difficulty Spinoza raises, we must look more closely at its premises. One of Spinoza's theses throughout the TTP is that Tanach should be understood on its own terms as a self-sufficient body of literature. Of course, he is of the opinion that it is full of both internal and external contradictions. But he emphasizes that if we are to honestly comprehend the message of a given passage in the Bible, we need to ignore any preconceived notions we may have and allow the text to speak for itself.
At the same time, Spinoza vehemently rejects the notion that Tanach has anything to tell us about theological, metaphysical or scientific matters. When it discusses such topics, it represents nothing more than the crude opinions of the prophets on these issues. His view is that the Tanach is primarily designed to inspire people to pursue the virtues of charity and justice in their dealings with one another. (We will analyze this position further in a subsequent installment of this series.)
Taken as a whole, then, Spinoza's critique is founded on one fundamental principle: that the Bible is not an authoritative resource for metaphysical, scientific or philosophical insight. Therefore, it need not be reconciled with other information we discover or conclusions we reach about the external world. It is a guide to human action, nothing more and nothing less.
This is where Maimonides parts ways with Spinoza. In the minds of the Rambam and likeminded Rishonim, the Tanach is a source of knowledge about the world, albeit not the only source; we also have our senses and our powers of reasoning. Neither of these three entities provide us with a complete, independent account of the whole of reality. However, since each one does contribute a dimension to our understanding of truth, we must view them as complementary to one another rather than contradictory.
Thus, if through reasoning the Rambam arrives at certain conclusions about prophecy or angels, and he is confident that his conclusions are well-founded and accurate, he perforce assumes that the Tanach will fit in with his theory. Similarly, if the Ralbag posits a specific theory of Divine Knowledge and is confident in his analysis, he will naturally expect to find confirmation for it in Tanach. This doesn't necessarily mean that either the Rambam or the Ralbag would have formulated the positions that they did from the Tanach alone. It simply means that they expect Tanach, sense perception and human reasoning to converge and yield a single consistent, intelligible worldview.
An analogy to scientific research will bolster this point. When a physicist is confronted with experimental data that run contrary to a theory that is well-established based on other evidence, his first move will be to effect some reconciliation between the new findings and the old findings. Because he is convinced that one system of natural law manifests itself in all physical phenomena, he proceeds with the assumption that the data complement one another somehow, and that further investigation will show how they fit together. Sometimes, interpretations offered for the anomalous data may seem forced or stretched, but they are motivated by the premise that there is a pervasive unity in nature and that data from different sources must ultimately reflect that unity.
The Rambam and the Ralbag approach Tanach with the same attitude - it is one of several pieces of "evidence", all of which must be harmonized if they are to develop a comprehensive and consistent metaphysical theory. Thus, just as the wisdom, spirit and vision of the Bible influence the direction of their philosophical musings, so too, the conclusions they derive from those musings influence the way that they interpret and understand the content of the Bible.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Maimonides and Spinoza on Scriptural Interpretation I
First of all, I apologize for the delay in presenting this piece. I had every intention of posting it yesterday but I was sidetracked.
In the Seventh Chapter of TTP, Spinoza writes:
Maimonides took a quite different view; for he held that every passage of Scripture admits of various - and even contrary - meanings, and that we cannot be certain of the true meaning of any passage unless we know that, as we interpret it, there is nothing in that passage that is not in agreement with reason, or is contrary to reason. If in its literal sense it is found to be contrary to reason, then however clear the passage may appear, he maintains that it must be interpreted in a different way. This view he sets out most clearly in Chapter 25 of Part II of his book "Moreh Nebuchim", where he says:
"Know that it is not the Scriptural texts concerning the creation of the world that witholds me from saying that the world has existed from eternity. The texts that teach that the world was created are not more numerous than those that teach that God is corporeal. There are ways not barred to us, nor even difficult of access, by which we can explain those texts that deal with the world's creation. Our explanation could have followed the same lines as when we denied the corporeality of God; and perhaps this might have been much easier to achieve, and we might have explained the texts and established the eternity of the world more plausibly than when we explained Scripture in a way that removed corporeality from God, blessed be He...." [Note: Spinoza actually cites the full text.]
Such are the words of Maimonides, and they clearly confirm what we said above. For if he had been convinced on rational grounds that the world is eternal, he would not have hesitated to distort and explain away Scripture until it appeared to teach the same doctrine. Indeed, he would have been quite convinced that Scripture, in spite of its plain denials at every point, intended to teach this same doctrine of the eternity of the universe. (pp.100-101).
On the following page, Spinoza elaborates on his critique:
...He assumes that the meaning of Scripture cannot be established from Scripture itself. For scientific truth is not established from Scripture itself...And therefore, according to Maimonides, neither can Scripture's true meaning be established from itself, and should not be sought from it...Finally, he assumes that it is legitimate for us to explain away and distort the words of Scripture to accord with our preconceived opinions, to deny its literal meaning and change it into something else even when it is perfectly plain and absolutely clear...
In essence, Spinoza argues that Maimonides' approach to interpreting Scripture is nothing more than a process of reading his own philosophical convictions into the text. So, rather than attempting to understand what the Tanach is telling us, we end up shaping its message in light of our preconceived beliefs.
There is no doubt that Spinoza makes an excellent point here, and that, at least at first glance, it is difficult to defend Maimonides' interpretive method. In fact, we can contribute some additional data that seem to strengthen Spinoza's position - namely, the writings of Gersonides!
Gersonides, or Ralbag, was another rationalistic philosopher in the tradition of Maimonides. In many ways, he was more radical in his willingness to accept philosophical doctrine than the Rambam was. For example, he concludes that God has no knowledge of particulars and is only cognizant of universals. Similarly, he maintains that God does not have foreknowledge pertaining to the future actions of human beings; otherwise, he argues, free will would be impossible.
What is most striking about Gersonides, though, is that he utilizes the Tanach to substantiate his points. Both in his commentaries to the Torah and Nach, as well as in his magnum opus, the Milhamot Hashem, the Ralbag derives copious support for his untraditional doctrines from the words of Scripture.
The question is this: Does the Tanach teach theological principles, or not? If it does, then how can both the Rambam and Ralbag utilize the verses of Tanach to prove their diametrically opposed philosophic convictions?
Put differently, did the Rambam and Ralbag really develop their philosophical views from their study of Tanach, or did they formulate their views independently and then try to elicit confirmation from the words of the Prophets?
Clearly, Spinoza would have claimed that the latter option was in fact the case, and that, reality, the Rambam and Ralbag arrived at their own conclusions about theology and then forced the Tanach to corroborate them.
Of all of his critiques of Maimonides, this one is Spinoza's most formidable, in my opinion. How can we explain the Rambam's approach?
To be continued in the next post!!!
In the Seventh Chapter of TTP, Spinoza writes:
Maimonides took a quite different view; for he held that every passage of Scripture admits of various - and even contrary - meanings, and that we cannot be certain of the true meaning of any passage unless we know that, as we interpret it, there is nothing in that passage that is not in agreement with reason, or is contrary to reason. If in its literal sense it is found to be contrary to reason, then however clear the passage may appear, he maintains that it must be interpreted in a different way. This view he sets out most clearly in Chapter 25 of Part II of his book "Moreh Nebuchim", where he says:
"Know that it is not the Scriptural texts concerning the creation of the world that witholds me from saying that the world has existed from eternity. The texts that teach that the world was created are not more numerous than those that teach that God is corporeal. There are ways not barred to us, nor even difficult of access, by which we can explain those texts that deal with the world's creation. Our explanation could have followed the same lines as when we denied the corporeality of God; and perhaps this might have been much easier to achieve, and we might have explained the texts and established the eternity of the world more plausibly than when we explained Scripture in a way that removed corporeality from God, blessed be He...." [Note: Spinoza actually cites the full text.]
Such are the words of Maimonides, and they clearly confirm what we said above. For if he had been convinced on rational grounds that the world is eternal, he would not have hesitated to distort and explain away Scripture until it appeared to teach the same doctrine. Indeed, he would have been quite convinced that Scripture, in spite of its plain denials at every point, intended to teach this same doctrine of the eternity of the universe. (pp.100-101).
On the following page, Spinoza elaborates on his critique:
...He assumes that the meaning of Scripture cannot be established from Scripture itself. For scientific truth is not established from Scripture itself...And therefore, according to Maimonides, neither can Scripture's true meaning be established from itself, and should not be sought from it...Finally, he assumes that it is legitimate for us to explain away and distort the words of Scripture to accord with our preconceived opinions, to deny its literal meaning and change it into something else even when it is perfectly plain and absolutely clear...
In essence, Spinoza argues that Maimonides' approach to interpreting Scripture is nothing more than a process of reading his own philosophical convictions into the text. So, rather than attempting to understand what the Tanach is telling us, we end up shaping its message in light of our preconceived beliefs.
There is no doubt that Spinoza makes an excellent point here, and that, at least at first glance, it is difficult to defend Maimonides' interpretive method. In fact, we can contribute some additional data that seem to strengthen Spinoza's position - namely, the writings of Gersonides!
Gersonides, or Ralbag, was another rationalistic philosopher in the tradition of Maimonides. In many ways, he was more radical in his willingness to accept philosophical doctrine than the Rambam was. For example, he concludes that God has no knowledge of particulars and is only cognizant of universals. Similarly, he maintains that God does not have foreknowledge pertaining to the future actions of human beings; otherwise, he argues, free will would be impossible.
What is most striking about Gersonides, though, is that he utilizes the Tanach to substantiate his points. Both in his commentaries to the Torah and Nach, as well as in his magnum opus, the Milhamot Hashem, the Ralbag derives copious support for his untraditional doctrines from the words of Scripture.
The question is this: Does the Tanach teach theological principles, or not? If it does, then how can both the Rambam and Ralbag utilize the verses of Tanach to prove their diametrically opposed philosophic convictions?
Put differently, did the Rambam and Ralbag really develop their philosophical views from their study of Tanach, or did they formulate their views independently and then try to elicit confirmation from the words of the Prophets?
Clearly, Spinoza would have claimed that the latter option was in fact the case, and that, reality, the Rambam and Ralbag arrived at their own conclusions about theology and then forced the Tanach to corroborate them.
Of all of his critiques of Maimonides, this one is Spinoza's most formidable, in my opinion. How can we explain the Rambam's approach?
To be continued in the next post!!!
Spinoza and Maimonides - Introduction
In his Tractatus Theologico-Politicus, Baruch Spinoza presents a general critique of traditional Judaism and Christianity. A substantial portion of his work is directed against the views and methodology of Maimonides (the Rambam), who epitomized then - as he does now - the rational approach to Orthodoxy. This is the first in a (not necessarily consecutive) series of posts that will explore, evaluate and respond to the main problems that Spinoza raises with respect to Maimonidean theology.
The first area we will consider is Spinoza's analysis of the nature of prophecy, its objective and its reliability as a source of knowledge. This includes Spinoza's critique of Maimonides' general method of interpreting Scripture, which will serve as our point of departure in the post to follow.
Then we will look at Spinoza's dispute with Maimonides regarding the definition of Divine Law in general.
Finally, we will examine Spinoza's understanding of the Torah's commandments and their purpose, comparing and contrasting his approach with the religious vision of Maimonides.
Throughout the series, I will be referring to the translation of the Tractatus by Samuel Shirley, which is available from Hackett Publishing Company.
(Please note that I will not always present subtopics in the order in which they appear in the TTP.)
I hope to complete the first installment of this study today...So keep checking back!
The first area we will consider is Spinoza's analysis of the nature of prophecy, its objective and its reliability as a source of knowledge. This includes Spinoza's critique of Maimonides' general method of interpreting Scripture, which will serve as our point of departure in the post to follow.
Then we will look at Spinoza's dispute with Maimonides regarding the definition of Divine Law in general.
Finally, we will examine Spinoza's understanding of the Torah's commandments and their purpose, comparing and contrasting his approach with the religious vision of Maimonides.
Throughout the series, I will be referring to the translation of the Tractatus by Samuel Shirley, which is available from Hackett Publishing Company.
(Please note that I will not always present subtopics in the order in which they appear in the TTP.)
I hope to complete the first installment of this study today...So keep checking back!
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Literal and Conceptual Truth in Torah
In a comment to my most recent post, Yehuda pointed out a general methodological difficulty with the study of Midrash and, more broadly, with the literary approach to studying Tanach. Specifically, he mentioned that it is sometimes possible to read so many nuances of meaning into the text that we lose hold of what aspects of the narratives are intended literally and what aspects are metaphoric.
For example, the symbolic significance of Shechem and Dotan in the story of Yosef and his brothers has received much attention in Rabbinic literature from antiquity to the present. But does that mean that the brothers didn't literally travel to Shechem, or relocate to Dotan? Or are we to believe that it was a huge cosmic coincidence that the brothers went to places that were associated, in one way or another, with deeper metaphysical themes?
This question is a formidable and complex one. I believe that the essential answer to it lies, ironically, in a Midrash! In Samuel I 24:13, King David declares:
As the ancient proverb (Heb. Meshal Haqadmoni) states, "From the wicked shall issue wickedness..."
Rashi, basing himself on several Rabbinic sources (ex., Mechilta on Parashat Mishpatim, Makkot 10B, etc), writes:
"The ancient proverb": This is the Torah, which is the metaphor (mashal) of He Who preceded the world (Qadmono shel Olam.)
What Rashi is suggesting is that the Torah itself is a mashal, a metaphor. The Rambam also seems to allude to this concept in the beginning of Hilchot Yesode Hatorah (1:9). In the midst of a treatment of God's incorporeality, the Rambam explains that anthropomorphisms used in the Torah are not literal:
If so [that God is not corporeal], what is the meaning of that which is written in the Torah - "beneath His feet", "written with the finger of God", "hand of Hashem", "eyes of Hashem", "ears of Hashem", and similar expressions. All of this is in accordance with the minds of human beings who only recognize material bodies; and the Torah speaks in the language of man. For example, it is written, "I will sharpen My flashing sword " - does He have a sword, or kill with a sword? Rather, it is an allegory (mashal), and it is all an allegory.
The nuance of the Rambam's language here - "it is all an allegory" - is very instructive. Strictly speaking, he should have said something like, "and everything similar to it is an allegory". But he chose his words carefully and said "it is all an allegory". The Rambam is pointing out a general concept that is as applicable to Torah wisdom as it is to all branches of knowledge.
Human beings think through the medium of the imagination. Even in our discussions of abstract ideas, we utilize metaphor and analogy constantly, often without so much as realizing it. This is built in to our language (there you go - built in, a metaphor), our scientific models, and the way we experience our environments. All is mashal - we use concrete imagery to capture abstract concepts, and this is in fact the only method by which we can really handle them (capture and handle, two more examples!). And that, indeed, it what the Torah is all about - creating a mashal, a systematic presentation of concrete material, narratives and commandments, that help us gain insight into timeless principles of theology and morality that would otherwise be beyond our grasp (grasp, a concrete metaphor for an intellectual activity - get the idea?).
But this raises a serious problem. We routinely distinguish between mashal and empirical fact, and we consider mashal less "real". So how can we relegate the entire Torah to the realm of mashal, thereby implying that it lacks "reality"? Isn't the Torah a literal record of events that occurred in the past? In order to comprehend the precise relationship of Torah to metaphor, we must clarify what exactly a mashal is.
A metaphor/allegory is, by definition, something composed of two parts - a superficial, concrete component and an underlying conceptual component. Whereas a factual account is mainly concerned with the empirical details it is meant to communicate (i.e., it operates on only one level, the concrete one) a mashal is primarily designed to convey the deeper principle it contains. The material found in a mashal is nothing more than a vehicle for the expression of this principle.
That doesn't mean that we should automatically assume that the "manifest content" of a mashal is not true in a factual sense. It might be entirely accurate in every nuance. However, unlike an historical report, which is created to convey empirical knowledge, the factual truth of the material in a mashal is not significant - it is being introduced and utilized to teach a lesson.
Again, the difference between mashal and history is not necessarily in the accuracy of the information they contain. They may both be equally accurate in all respects. The difference between them will express itself in what they emphasize, in their ultimate objectives.
In this sense, it is quite clear that the entire Torah is indeed a mashal. It is an account the sole purpose of which is to edify and enlighten us. It was not written to provide us with trivia about goings-on in the ancient world. On the contrary, it was introduced to help us achieve philosophical and ethical insight through the medium of its narratives.
The notion of mashal can explain the Torah's writing style as well. Unlike the epic poems of the Greeks, for example, the Torah dwells very little on the personal appearance of its characters or the dramatic elements of its storytelling. We are not told how long Avraham's hair was or what color Yitschaq's eyes were. We do not hear the beating of Yaaqov's heart with passion when he first encounters his beloved Rachel, nor are we privy to the romantic daydreams that must have occupied him while he toiled for seven years to win her hand in marriage. Regarding the fashion sense of the Matriarchs we shall forever be in the dark.
What's more, colorful detail is sorely lacking. The sun's rays do not bathe any valleys. Clouds do not dance across the sky. Monologues and dialogues are brief and to the point. Overall, the focus of the Torah stories is invariably on the key theme that is being explored. Very little space, if any, is devoted to the concrete elements of the tale. Even when it comes to narratives that are powerful and dramatic, such as the Exodus and the Revelation at Sinai, the amount of concrete detail is still remarkably sparse.
This simplicity is a particularly striking feature of the Biblical narrative style, especially when we contrast it with what we know of other literature, ancient and modern. It is thoroughly understandable, however, if we take the view that the Torah's aim is pedagogical - its eye is on the principle, the idea, the message. Unlike other books - written, as they are, for entertainment purposes - the Torah makes every effort to avoid discussion of the trivial kinds of detail that titillate the average reader. Were the Torah to satisfy our curiosity about how Moshe Rabbenu liked his coffee in the morning, it would have had to compromise on its ultimate goal - namely, keeping us focused on what is truly important, in the world and in life. Obsession with the external features of a mashal can come only at the expense of reflecting upon its inner spiritual beauty.
The notion that the Torah is essentially mashal helps us appreciate the significance of the introductory segment of the Book of Proverbs:
Proverbs of Solomon, son of David, King of Israel. To know wisdom and discipline; to understand statements of understanding...A wise man will hear and increase in knowledge; and a man of understanding will acquire new strategies. To understand an allegory and a parable, words of the wise and their riddles.
Why is the skill of comprehending parables and allegories so essential? The Rabbis tell us that King Solomon was instrumental in bringing Israel's level of Torah study to a higher plateau. The Torah is, in essence, a mashal - a text that uses concrete examples and narratives to illustrate profound ideas. Thus, in order to accomplish his goal of drawing the Jewish people closer to the wisdom of their tradition, King Solomon had to teach them the proper way of appreciating allegories and parables, of extracting ideas from the material husk in which they are embodied. In so doing, he allowed them to gain access to the Meshal Haqadmoni, the Metaphor of the Creator Himself - our Holy Torah.
For example, the symbolic significance of Shechem and Dotan in the story of Yosef and his brothers has received much attention in Rabbinic literature from antiquity to the present. But does that mean that the brothers didn't literally travel to Shechem, or relocate to Dotan? Or are we to believe that it was a huge cosmic coincidence that the brothers went to places that were associated, in one way or another, with deeper metaphysical themes?
This question is a formidable and complex one. I believe that the essential answer to it lies, ironically, in a Midrash! In Samuel I 24:13, King David declares:
As the ancient proverb (Heb. Meshal Haqadmoni) states, "From the wicked shall issue wickedness..."
Rashi, basing himself on several Rabbinic sources (ex., Mechilta on Parashat Mishpatim, Makkot 10B, etc), writes:
"The ancient proverb": This is the Torah, which is the metaphor (mashal) of He Who preceded the world (Qadmono shel Olam.)
What Rashi is suggesting is that the Torah itself is a mashal, a metaphor. The Rambam also seems to allude to this concept in the beginning of Hilchot Yesode Hatorah (1:9). In the midst of a treatment of God's incorporeality, the Rambam explains that anthropomorphisms used in the Torah are not literal:
If so [that God is not corporeal], what is the meaning of that which is written in the Torah - "beneath His feet", "written with the finger of God", "hand of Hashem", "eyes of Hashem", "ears of Hashem", and similar expressions. All of this is in accordance with the minds of human beings who only recognize material bodies; and the Torah speaks in the language of man. For example, it is written, "I will sharpen My flashing sword " - does He have a sword, or kill with a sword? Rather, it is an allegory (mashal), and it is all an allegory.
The nuance of the Rambam's language here - "it is all an allegory" - is very instructive. Strictly speaking, he should have said something like, "and everything similar to it is an allegory". But he chose his words carefully and said "it is all an allegory". The Rambam is pointing out a general concept that is as applicable to Torah wisdom as it is to all branches of knowledge.
Human beings think through the medium of the imagination. Even in our discussions of abstract ideas, we utilize metaphor and analogy constantly, often without so much as realizing it. This is built in to our language (there you go - built in, a metaphor), our scientific models, and the way we experience our environments. All is mashal - we use concrete imagery to capture abstract concepts, and this is in fact the only method by which we can really handle them (capture and handle, two more examples!). And that, indeed, it what the Torah is all about - creating a mashal, a systematic presentation of concrete material, narratives and commandments, that help us gain insight into timeless principles of theology and morality that would otherwise be beyond our grasp (grasp, a concrete metaphor for an intellectual activity - get the idea?).
But this raises a serious problem. We routinely distinguish between mashal and empirical fact, and we consider mashal less "real". So how can we relegate the entire Torah to the realm of mashal, thereby implying that it lacks "reality"? Isn't the Torah a literal record of events that occurred in the past? In order to comprehend the precise relationship of Torah to metaphor, we must clarify what exactly a mashal is.
A metaphor/allegory is, by definition, something composed of two parts - a superficial, concrete component and an underlying conceptual component. Whereas a factual account is mainly concerned with the empirical details it is meant to communicate (i.e., it operates on only one level, the concrete one) a mashal is primarily designed to convey the deeper principle it contains. The material found in a mashal is nothing more than a vehicle for the expression of this principle.
That doesn't mean that we should automatically assume that the "manifest content" of a mashal is not true in a factual sense. It might be entirely accurate in every nuance. However, unlike an historical report, which is created to convey empirical knowledge, the factual truth of the material in a mashal is not significant - it is being introduced and utilized to teach a lesson.
Again, the difference between mashal and history is not necessarily in the accuracy of the information they contain. They may both be equally accurate in all respects. The difference between them will express itself in what they emphasize, in their ultimate objectives.
In this sense, it is quite clear that the entire Torah is indeed a mashal. It is an account the sole purpose of which is to edify and enlighten us. It was not written to provide us with trivia about goings-on in the ancient world. On the contrary, it was introduced to help us achieve philosophical and ethical insight through the medium of its narratives.
The notion of mashal can explain the Torah's writing style as well. Unlike the epic poems of the Greeks, for example, the Torah dwells very little on the personal appearance of its characters or the dramatic elements of its storytelling. We are not told how long Avraham's hair was or what color Yitschaq's eyes were. We do not hear the beating of Yaaqov's heart with passion when he first encounters his beloved Rachel, nor are we privy to the romantic daydreams that must have occupied him while he toiled for seven years to win her hand in marriage. Regarding the fashion sense of the Matriarchs we shall forever be in the dark.
What's more, colorful detail is sorely lacking. The sun's rays do not bathe any valleys. Clouds do not dance across the sky. Monologues and dialogues are brief and to the point. Overall, the focus of the Torah stories is invariably on the key theme that is being explored. Very little space, if any, is devoted to the concrete elements of the tale. Even when it comes to narratives that are powerful and dramatic, such as the Exodus and the Revelation at Sinai, the amount of concrete detail is still remarkably sparse.
This simplicity is a particularly striking feature of the Biblical narrative style, especially when we contrast it with what we know of other literature, ancient and modern. It is thoroughly understandable, however, if we take the view that the Torah's aim is pedagogical - its eye is on the principle, the idea, the message. Unlike other books - written, as they are, for entertainment purposes - the Torah makes every effort to avoid discussion of the trivial kinds of detail that titillate the average reader. Were the Torah to satisfy our curiosity about how Moshe Rabbenu liked his coffee in the morning, it would have had to compromise on its ultimate goal - namely, keeping us focused on what is truly important, in the world and in life. Obsession with the external features of a mashal can come only at the expense of reflecting upon its inner spiritual beauty.
The notion that the Torah is essentially mashal helps us appreciate the significance of the introductory segment of the Book of Proverbs:
Proverbs of Solomon, son of David, King of Israel. To know wisdom and discipline; to understand statements of understanding...A wise man will hear and increase in knowledge; and a man of understanding will acquire new strategies. To understand an allegory and a parable, words of the wise and their riddles.
Why is the skill of comprehending parables and allegories so essential? The Rabbis tell us that King Solomon was instrumental in bringing Israel's level of Torah study to a higher plateau. The Torah is, in essence, a mashal - a text that uses concrete examples and narratives to illustrate profound ideas. Thus, in order to accomplish his goal of drawing the Jewish people closer to the wisdom of their tradition, King Solomon had to teach them the proper way of appreciating allegories and parables, of extracting ideas from the material husk in which they are embodied. In so doing, he allowed them to gain access to the Meshal Haqadmoni, the Metaphor of the Creator Himself - our Holy Torah.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
An Inspiring Reflection
An inspiring reflection from a secular philosopher on some of the unique contributions that Judaism has made to the world:
"That the Old Testament must be read as a story of progress is not one of the results of the Higher Criticism but one of its dubious presuppositions. What is at stake is the question to what extent the conception of progress is applicable to religions.
In the case of the Hebrew Scriptures we do not know, to begin with, what is early and what is late; but, if there were overwhelming evidence in the case of other great religions that they rise gradually from humble beginnings and slowly get better in some sense, it would be reasonable to ask whether this same pattern might not be found in the Old Testament, too.
What we find in other great religions, however, is the very opposite of all this. Where we have data, we often find a towering figure, possibly never equalled since, in the beginning, and it is therefore entirely reasonable to suppose that some of the most impressive ideas of the Old Testament might have originated with Moses...
It does not detract from the glory of the prophets if we suppose that they meant it when they said: 'You have been told, man, what is good.' To have insisted so uncompromisingly and with such an utter lack of egotism on what their people had been told before and to have grasped so clearly the moral and social implications; to have insisted on them to the point of disparaging in no uncertain terms the cult and ritual - much more unequivocally than Jesus ever did - that would be original enough. The idea that war is evil, that nation should not lift up sword against nation, that swords should be made into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks, though it is implicit in the old idea that all men are brothers, descended from a single couple and made in the image of God, appears in any case to have originated with Micah and Isaiah; and to have seen and forcefully stated this implication, untutored by the horrors of two world wars with poison gas and atom bombs, shows as much moral originality as is to be found anywhere in recorded history."
(From Critique of Religion and Philosophy by Walter Kaufmann, Section 90, "Religion and Progress.")
"That the Old Testament must be read as a story of progress is not one of the results of the Higher Criticism but one of its dubious presuppositions. What is at stake is the question to what extent the conception of progress is applicable to religions.
In the case of the Hebrew Scriptures we do not know, to begin with, what is early and what is late; but, if there were overwhelming evidence in the case of other great religions that they rise gradually from humble beginnings and slowly get better in some sense, it would be reasonable to ask whether this same pattern might not be found in the Old Testament, too.
What we find in other great religions, however, is the very opposite of all this. Where we have data, we often find a towering figure, possibly never equalled since, in the beginning, and it is therefore entirely reasonable to suppose that some of the most impressive ideas of the Old Testament might have originated with Moses...
It does not detract from the glory of the prophets if we suppose that they meant it when they said: 'You have been told, man, what is good.' To have insisted so uncompromisingly and with such an utter lack of egotism on what their people had been told before and to have grasped so clearly the moral and social implications; to have insisted on them to the point of disparaging in no uncertain terms the cult and ritual - much more unequivocally than Jesus ever did - that would be original enough. The idea that war is evil, that nation should not lift up sword against nation, that swords should be made into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks, though it is implicit in the old idea that all men are brothers, descended from a single couple and made in the image of God, appears in any case to have originated with Micah and Isaiah; and to have seen and forcefully stated this implication, untutored by the horrors of two world wars with poison gas and atom bombs, shows as much moral originality as is to be found anywhere in recorded history."
(From Critique of Religion and Philosophy by Walter Kaufmann, Section 90, "Religion and Progress.")
Monday, October 30, 2006
You Have To Believe, There's No Magic
(Please excuse the reference to a terrible song from the early eighties.)
With Halloween just around the corner, I thought it would be appropriate to consider how our tradition addresses "the occult". Of course, practicing magic, conjuring up spirits and consulting astrologers are all strictly prohibited by the Torah:
There shall not be found among you one who passes his son through the fire; a diviner, an astrologer, one who reads omens or a sorcerer. One who charms animals, one who inquires of Ov or Yideoni, or one who consults the dead. For anyone who does these is an abomination of Hashem; and, because of these abominations, Hashem, your God, banishes the nations from before you.
Famously, Maimonides explains that these activities are forbidden because they are nonsensical:
And all of these things are matters of falsehood and lies, and they are the very means through which the idol worshipers fooled the nations of the world into following them. And it is not proper for the Jewish people, who are exceptionally wise, to follow after these vanities, nor to entertain the possibility that they have any benefit. As the Torah states, "there is no divination in Jacob, nor charming in Israel." And it is stated, "For these nations that you will inherit listen to the omen-readers and charmers; but you, not so has Hashem, your God, given you."
Anyone who believes in these things and things like them, and thinks in his heart that they are true and wise but that the Torah has prohibited them; he is one of the fools and those lacking knowledge, and is grouped among the women and children whose minds are imperfect. But those who possess wisdom and sound mind know by clear demonstration that all of these things that the Torah prohibits are not things of wisdom; rather, they are emptiness and vanity that fools stray after, and all of the paths of truth have been corrupted because of them. Because of this the Torah states, when it warns us about these vanities, "Perfect shall you be with Hashem, your God."
In the Rambam's view, which is shared by many other authorities, these behaviors lead to a way of thinking which is inimical to Torah. "Magical thinking" is, in fact, one of the key elements of idolatrous belief and worship.
At the same time, there were some Rabbis that maintained that the practices prohibited by the Torah are actually effective, but that Hashem forbade our involvement in them for a different reason. Most notable among proponents of this view is Nachmanides, the Ramban:
And now, know and understand regarding magic, that the Creator (may He be blessed) created everything from nothing and made the upper realms the guides of what is beneath them; and He placed the power of the earth and all that is in it in the stars and constellations according to their motion and direction, as has been demonstrated in the science of astrology...However, it was one of His great wonders, that He placed within the upper realms alternate ways, and forces by which one might change the governance of the realms beneath them...But it is the regular governance of the constellations that the Creator (blessed is He) desires, which He placed in them to begin with, and this would be the opposite. This is the secret of magic and its power, such that the Rabbis said regarding magical practices that they "contradict the Council Above"; in other words, they subvert the simple forces of nature, which is a contradiction to the upper realms to some extent. Therefore, it is proper that the Torah prohibit them so that the world will be left to its normal function and its natural state, which is the desire of the Creator...
There are many who belittle the reading of omens and say that they have no truth to them at all...But we cannot deny things that have been clearly demonstrated before witnesses.
Note that the Ramban is operating within the framework of God's Unity. He could not possibly have entertained the notion that magical activities tap into forces that are completely independent of Hashem. Rather, he believed that whatever could be accomplished through these rituals was "built in" to God's creation from the outset.
This concept must be stressed because the Ramban's position is so often misunderstood. People frequently assert that "the Ramban believed in magic", as if he acknowledged the existence of a separate realm of evil forces that could be harnessed against the will of the Creator. This perspective is not only wrong, it is heretical!
Close analysis of the words of our Rabbis offers an important clarification. Both Rambam and Ramban maintain that all of existence reflects the design and wisdom of the Almighty, and that no force can operate independently of that design. Their dispute revolves around whether the magical activities proscribed by the Torah are really effective or not.
According to the Rambam, anything scientific is ipso facto permitted. Therefore, if magical rites were actually efficacious, the Torah would have allowed them. The problem is that whatever impact they do have is only imaginary. This is why they are prohibited.
Ramban disagrees with the Rambam and asserts that not everything "real" is necessarily permitted. Activities that undermine or subvert the course of nature are forbidden, precisely because they really work. Ramban thought that the occult practices described in the Torah operated through "loopholes" in the Creation that enabled man to tamper with the Universe to an extent that is inappropriate. This is why, according to Ramban, we are not allowed to engage in them.
Genetic engineering and cloning afford us modern applications of these theories. It seems likely that the Ramban would view these procedures as unacceptable meddling with the course of nature, while the Rambam would argue that, since they have a scientific basis, they are permitted.
There is one more fundamental issue that must be explored here. From his commentary, it is clear that the Ramban's attitude toward the occult was based upon the scientific knowledge that was available to him. He felt that the power of magical practices and the reliability of astrological predictions had been confirmed experimentally. The question is - what would the Ramban say about magic, astrology, etc., today?
Modern science has systematically discredited astrology, superstition and magic. There is not a single shred of empirical evidence that supports their validity. Thus it is almost certain that, were he alive today, the Ramban would change his view of the occult and agree wholeheartedly with the Rambam.
With Halloween just around the corner, I thought it would be appropriate to consider how our tradition addresses "the occult". Of course, practicing magic, conjuring up spirits and consulting astrologers are all strictly prohibited by the Torah:
There shall not be found among you one who passes his son through the fire; a diviner, an astrologer, one who reads omens or a sorcerer. One who charms animals, one who inquires of Ov or Yideoni, or one who consults the dead. For anyone who does these is an abomination of Hashem; and, because of these abominations, Hashem, your God, banishes the nations from before you.
Famously, Maimonides explains that these activities are forbidden because they are nonsensical:
And all of these things are matters of falsehood and lies, and they are the very means through which the idol worshipers fooled the nations of the world into following them. And it is not proper for the Jewish people, who are exceptionally wise, to follow after these vanities, nor to entertain the possibility that they have any benefit. As the Torah states, "there is no divination in Jacob, nor charming in Israel." And it is stated, "For these nations that you will inherit listen to the omen-readers and charmers; but you, not so has Hashem, your God, given you."
Anyone who believes in these things and things like them, and thinks in his heart that they are true and wise but that the Torah has prohibited them; he is one of the fools and those lacking knowledge, and is grouped among the women and children whose minds are imperfect. But those who possess wisdom and sound mind know by clear demonstration that all of these things that the Torah prohibits are not things of wisdom; rather, they are emptiness and vanity that fools stray after, and all of the paths of truth have been corrupted because of them. Because of this the Torah states, when it warns us about these vanities, "Perfect shall you be with Hashem, your God."
In the Rambam's view, which is shared by many other authorities, these behaviors lead to a way of thinking which is inimical to Torah. "Magical thinking" is, in fact, one of the key elements of idolatrous belief and worship.
At the same time, there were some Rabbis that maintained that the practices prohibited by the Torah are actually effective, but that Hashem forbade our involvement in them for a different reason. Most notable among proponents of this view is Nachmanides, the Ramban:
And now, know and understand regarding magic, that the Creator (may He be blessed) created everything from nothing and made the upper realms the guides of what is beneath them; and He placed the power of the earth and all that is in it in the stars and constellations according to their motion and direction, as has been demonstrated in the science of astrology...However, it was one of His great wonders, that He placed within the upper realms alternate ways, and forces by which one might change the governance of the realms beneath them...But it is the regular governance of the constellations that the Creator (blessed is He) desires, which He placed in them to begin with, and this would be the opposite. This is the secret of magic and its power, such that the Rabbis said regarding magical practices that they "contradict the Council Above"; in other words, they subvert the simple forces of nature, which is a contradiction to the upper realms to some extent. Therefore, it is proper that the Torah prohibit them so that the world will be left to its normal function and its natural state, which is the desire of the Creator...
There are many who belittle the reading of omens and say that they have no truth to them at all...But we cannot deny things that have been clearly demonstrated before witnesses.
Note that the Ramban is operating within the framework of God's Unity. He could not possibly have entertained the notion that magical activities tap into forces that are completely independent of Hashem. Rather, he believed that whatever could be accomplished through these rituals was "built in" to God's creation from the outset.
This concept must be stressed because the Ramban's position is so often misunderstood. People frequently assert that "the Ramban believed in magic", as if he acknowledged the existence of a separate realm of evil forces that could be harnessed against the will of the Creator. This perspective is not only wrong, it is heretical!
Close analysis of the words of our Rabbis offers an important clarification. Both Rambam and Ramban maintain that all of existence reflects the design and wisdom of the Almighty, and that no force can operate independently of that design. Their dispute revolves around whether the magical activities proscribed by the Torah are really effective or not.
According to the Rambam, anything scientific is ipso facto permitted. Therefore, if magical rites were actually efficacious, the Torah would have allowed them. The problem is that whatever impact they do have is only imaginary. This is why they are prohibited.
Ramban disagrees with the Rambam and asserts that not everything "real" is necessarily permitted. Activities that undermine or subvert the course of nature are forbidden, precisely because they really work. Ramban thought that the occult practices described in the Torah operated through "loopholes" in the Creation that enabled man to tamper with the Universe to an extent that is inappropriate. This is why, according to Ramban, we are not allowed to engage in them.
Genetic engineering and cloning afford us modern applications of these theories. It seems likely that the Ramban would view these procedures as unacceptable meddling with the course of nature, while the Rambam would argue that, since they have a scientific basis, they are permitted.
There is one more fundamental issue that must be explored here. From his commentary, it is clear that the Ramban's attitude toward the occult was based upon the scientific knowledge that was available to him. He felt that the power of magical practices and the reliability of astrological predictions had been confirmed experimentally. The question is - what would the Ramban say about magic, astrology, etc., today?
Modern science has systematically discredited astrology, superstition and magic. There is not a single shred of empirical evidence that supports their validity. Thus it is almost certain that, were he alive today, the Ramban would change his view of the occult and agree wholeheartedly with the Rambam.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Proof of Sinai?
Earlier today, I noticed a comment from my friend Jake Adler on the "Authenticity of the Bible" post. He requested a further post addressing the so-called "proof" of revelation at Sinai. This proof has been elaborated convincingly by Rabbi Chait here, as well as by Rabbi Dovid Gottlieb here, here and here.
The Proof of Sinai, or Kuzari Principle, has also come under serious attack within the blogosphere, even at the hands of people who are, for all intents and purposes, 'believers'. Thinkers on both sides of the issue have adopted an all-or-nothing approach; with one side claiming that Sinai offers decisive proof of the Torah's divinity and the other claiming that it offers no evidence whatsoever.
I believe that many of the objections raised against the Sinai proof are themselves deeply flawed and rooted in basic misunderstandings. At the same time, though, overestimation of the value of the "proof" in the eyes of some of its proponents is partially responsible for the backlash against it. I would like to take the liberty of reproducing a segment of an email I wrote to David Guttmann, author of the Believing is Knowing blog, last week:
"Most religions stake their validity on the 'honesty' of a prophet or small group of leaders who claim to have received revelation. Judaism is unique in that it bases its authenticity upon the collective experience, by the Jewish people as a whole, of key events in their history. The nature of the events in question - i.e., their public character and profound significance - is such that accounts of their occurence are no more or less suspect than the essential elements of any other record of a nation's history. No nation has ever been accused of fabricating the accounts of the formative events in its collective historical experience. As a matter of course, we accept such reports as authentic until proven otherwise. The accounts of the Torah thus deserve the same respect. To question their validity is to necessarily introduce a conspiracy theory the magnitude of which has never been observed in human history."
In other words, I submit that the argument succeeds in demonstrating that the accounts of the Exodus and Maamad Har Sinai are a part of the national history of Israel, not the personal claims of a particular prophet or priest. As such, they should be considered empirically factual until evidence is adduced to the contrary.
( If these events were not a part of the collective memory of klal yisrael, then we will be hard pressed to explain the fact that the prophets constantly make reference to them in their polemics against the Jews. Does it make any sense to remind people of the implications of something that they deny ever happened?)
The fact that records of these events constituted the formative history of a nation gives the accounts of those events a qualitatively superior kind of reliability. This is the "evidence" that our mesora provides as to its authenticity.
As David posted this morning, it is a grave mistake to confuse standards of proof with one another. If we expect to demonstrate mathematically that the Exodus - or any other event, for that matter - in fact occurred, we will wind up concluding that it did not. Historical events are never "proven" to have happened in any absolute, logical sense of the term. Our views of the past are based upon an evaluation of whatever evidence is available to us and a determination of the most reasonable or likely explanation for it. In this framework, and in this framework alone, the Proof of Sinai is a compelling one.
Despite the fact that history is far from an exact science, we possess a fairly consistent and coherent model of the past. Only revisionist historians who are willing to consider the possibility of intricate conspiracy theories, etc., present us with radically different versions of the historical record. Legitimate historians - though they may differ on details of interpretation and other nuances - usually operate within a common framework of empirical knowledge that shapes the direction of their research.
Now, let us examine the facts. There is no alternative account of Israel's history that has even a shred of empirical data to support it. Yet, archaelogists and so-called Biblical scholars will accept the wildest conjecture and the most unfounded and groundless speculation as long as it contradicts and supplants the traditional viewpoint.
It is important to keep in mind the paucity of the archaeological evidence we have in our possession, relative to the number of hypotheses and interpretations that have been built upon it. Most experts estimate that only .5%-2% of the archaeological material in existence has actually been unearthed and studied. This is a modest amount of data on which to base a complete rewriting of ancient history. We must also consider the fact that many archaeological discoveries have confirmed Biblical accounts, and that not a single archaelogical finding has ever decisively contradicted them (of course, in some instances, this is a matter of interpretation - but the presence of disagreement about the implications of a finding renders that finding "indecisive").
In summary, when we approach the subject of history and the verification of historical records, we must clarify the standard of proof we will be employing. There is no question that the character of the events in Egypt and at Sinai is such that the Torah's account deserves to be accepted as a reliable national history.
If we choose to deny that the events that the Torah describes actually occurred, then we are forced to work out an alternative explanation for Jewish religious and political life that will have no evidence to back it up and will involve conspiracy theories galore. This will lead us down the path of purely speculative historical revisionism and far away from any rational assessment of the data at hand. We would not take this kind of fanciful reconstruction seriously in any other area of historical study; thus, we should be equally unwilling to accept it with regard to the Torah's accounts.
This is the essence of the "Proof of Sinai" as I understand it.
The Proof of Sinai, or Kuzari Principle, has also come under serious attack within the blogosphere, even at the hands of people who are, for all intents and purposes, 'believers'. Thinkers on both sides of the issue have adopted an all-or-nothing approach; with one side claiming that Sinai offers decisive proof of the Torah's divinity and the other claiming that it offers no evidence whatsoever.
I believe that many of the objections raised against the Sinai proof are themselves deeply flawed and rooted in basic misunderstandings. At the same time, though, overestimation of the value of the "proof" in the eyes of some of its proponents is partially responsible for the backlash against it. I would like to take the liberty of reproducing a segment of an email I wrote to David Guttmann, author of the Believing is Knowing blog, last week:
My understanding of the so-called Kuzari argument, even as presented by Rabbi Chait, is not as a demonstration, strictly speaking. I believe the thrust of his article can be summarized and reworded less hyperbolically as follows:
"Most religions stake their validity on the 'honesty' of a prophet or small group of leaders who claim to have received revelation. Judaism is unique in that it bases its authenticity upon the collective experience, by the Jewish people as a whole, of key events in their history. The nature of the events in question - i.e., their public character and profound significance - is such that accounts of their occurence are no more or less suspect than the essential elements of any other record of a nation's history. No nation has ever been accused of fabricating the accounts of the formative events in its collective historical experience. As a matter of course, we accept such reports as authentic until proven otherwise. The accounts of the Torah thus deserve the same respect. To question their validity is to necessarily introduce a conspiracy theory the magnitude of which has never been observed in human history."
In other words, I submit that the argument succeeds in demonstrating that the accounts of the Exodus and Maamad Har Sinai are a part of the national history of Israel, not the personal claims of a particular prophet or priest. As such, they should be considered empirically factual until evidence is adduced to the contrary.
( If these events were not a part of the collective memory of klal yisrael, then we will be hard pressed to explain the fact that the prophets constantly make reference to them in their polemics against the Jews. Does it make any sense to remind people of the implications of something that they deny ever happened?)
The fact that records of these events constituted the formative history of a nation gives the accounts of those events a qualitatively superior kind of reliability. This is the "evidence" that our mesora provides as to its authenticity.
Despite the fact that history is far from an exact science, we possess a fairly consistent and coherent model of the past. Only revisionist historians who are willing to consider the possibility of intricate conspiracy theories, etc., present us with radically different versions of the historical record. Legitimate historians - though they may differ on details of interpretation and other nuances - usually operate within a common framework of empirical knowledge that shapes the direction of their research.
Now, let us examine the facts. There is no alternative account of Israel's history that has even a shred of empirical data to support it. Yet, archaelogists and so-called Biblical scholars will accept the wildest conjecture and the most unfounded and groundless speculation as long as it contradicts and supplants the traditional viewpoint.
It is important to keep in mind the paucity of the archaeological evidence we have in our possession, relative to the number of hypotheses and interpretations that have been built upon it. Most experts estimate that only .5%-2% of the archaeological material in existence has actually been unearthed and studied. This is a modest amount of data on which to base a complete rewriting of ancient history. We must also consider the fact that many archaeological discoveries have confirmed Biblical accounts, and that not a single archaelogical finding has ever decisively contradicted them (of course, in some instances, this is a matter of interpretation - but the presence of disagreement about the implications of a finding renders that finding "indecisive").
In summary, when we approach the subject of history and the verification of historical records, we must clarify the standard of proof we will be employing. There is no question that the character of the events in Egypt and at Sinai is such that the Torah's account deserves to be accepted as a reliable national history.
If we choose to deny that the events that the Torah describes actually occurred, then we are forced to work out an alternative explanation for Jewish religious and political life that will have no evidence to back it up and will involve conspiracy theories galore. This will lead us down the path of purely speculative historical revisionism and far away from any rational assessment of the data at hand. We would not take this kind of fanciful reconstruction seriously in any other area of historical study; thus, we should be equally unwilling to accept it with regard to the Torah's accounts.
This is the essence of the "Proof of Sinai" as I understand it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)