Free will and the Philosophical Jew Podcast

Here's an interesting discussion on free will and the existence of evil on this exciting new podcast of Jewish Philosophy.

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The mysterious accompanying angels on Friday night

Responding to Yosef’s provocative telling of his dreams and in the broader context of fratricidal strife, Ya’akov’s response appears measured and controlled: “and his father shamar et hadavar”. But how exactly is this response to be understood?

The simplest meaning of the word “shamar” means to guard: that Ya’akov sensed that there was more to Yosef’s dream than youthful delusions of grandeur and leadership that the brothers attributed to him. Nevertheless, wanting to avoid further conflict (and perhaps being somewhat unsure as to the precise implications of the dreams), Ya’akov opted to remain silent at this juncture and to keep his thoughts to himself. His efforts do not appear to be wholly successful with the subsequent passage seeing an almost fatal escalation of his sons’ deep disagreement.

Rashi, however, does not pursue this line of interpretation. Instead, he provides biblical precedent for a rarer rendering of the term “shamar” – explaining it to mean “looked forward to” and “anticipate”. This approach carries a stronger implication that Ya’akov was fully aware of the message of Yosef’s dream – the primary reaction being excitement and anticipation rather than caution and concealment.

On a weekend away a few years ago in the north of Israel, I found myself unwittingly gatecrashing a Barmitzvah party at which the speaker linked Rashi’s interpretation to another biblical verse containing this term: Veshamru Benei Yisrael et HaShabbat La’asot et haShabbat ledoratam – The Jews shall guard Shabbat, making the Shabbat and everlasting covenant throughout the generations. The speaker suggested that the term “vashmru” in this verse can be interpreted as Rashi interprets Ya’akov’s response: How can the Jewish people ensure that their children and future generations observe the Shabbat covenant? By looking forward to it excitedly. By making it a focal point of their family’s activity and attention.

My initial thought was that this was a nice drash which allowed the speaker to tie together several disparate ideas that he wanted to mention in connection with the celebrating family. Reviewing a section of Rambam’s Moreh Nevuchim recently, however, I started to wonder if this suggestion might have firmer basis in our tradition.

The Talmud (Shabbat 119b) teaches that:

Rabbi Jose the son of Judah said, two ministering angels — one good angel, and one "evil" angel — accompany a person home on Friday night from the synagogue. When they arrive home, if they find a candle lit, the table set, and beds arranged nicely, the good angel says, "May it be G‑d's will that next Shabbat be the same," and the evil angel is compelled to respond, "Amen!" Otherwise, [if the home is not prepared in honour of Shabbat,] the evil angel says, "May it be God’s will that next Shabbat be the same," and the good angel is compelled to respond, "Amen”.

Comparing this passage to other similar accounts of accompanying angels, Rambam identifies these angels as none other than the good and evil inclinations which motivate people to act in a positive or negative manner.

This passage would appear to be underlining the great importance of preparing for and anticipating the Shabbat as well as a vital lesson in the nature of our free will and character training. Each time we make a correct choice, we have not only performed a single good act. Rather, as Rav Dessler teaches, we move along our future “window of choice” by training ourselves to act well on subsequent occasions.

What these angels may represent, therefore, is that if the person has suitably prepared for and anticipated the Shabbat, this will affect his character and the proper behaviour will become internalised as part of his nature. The “evil angel” will therefore be “forced” to answer Amen to the prediction that the person will be drawn to prepare properly again for the next Shabbat. If the pattern continues, this mode of conduct is likely to be observed by his children and become “an everlasting covenant throughout the generations”. The opposite of course is also true.

Finally, there are those who object – on Maimonidean grounds – to petitioning the angels to bless them in the Shalom Aleichem song. I wonder if a correct understanding of Rambam’s interpretation of this Gemara indicates that this is little more than a statement of hope that the Shabbat home and table has been prepared sufficiently to meet angelic approval – and that his good inclination will gain the upper hand ahead of the next weeks’ showdown.

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God only knows? Divine knowledge according to Rambam, Ralbag and Ibn Ezra

Guest post by Rabbi Dr Benjamin Elton, Chief Minister of The Great Synagogue, Sydney

The thorny theological challenge of relating to Divine knowledge – in particular as it can be reconciled with the doctrine of human free will – features in several chapters of Judaism Reclaimed. Perhaps the most radical position to be found in Jewish tradition is that of Ralbag (Gersonides), who concludes that God’s knowledge relates to “universals” of the various species but not to details – including details of specific human actions. Ralbag, writing in Book 3 of Milchamot Hashem, further claims that this was also the view of the famed Spanish sage Abraham Ibn Ezra.

When the Torah in this week’s parashah records God as saying “I will descend now and see, whether according to her cry, which has come to Me, they have done; [I will wreak] destruction [upon them]; and if not, I will know.”, Ibn Ezra appears to comment that God’s knowledge relates only to generalities (the Avi Ezer super-commentary by Rabbi Shlomo HaKohen of Lissa disputes this interpretation of Ibn Ezra’s words).

My intention here is not to advance the approach of Ralbag, which is certainly an outlier in Jewish thought, but rather to highlight the implications for our assessment of Rambam who people too-often attempt to characterise as a radical Aristotelian who allowed his Greek philosophy to dictate to his interpretations of the Torah. It is important to see how other Jewish thinkers of his era described him in this matter. Ralbag writes:

“It seems that Maimonides’ position on this question of Divine cognition is not implied by any philosophical principles; indeed, reason denies this view, as I will show. It seems rather that theological considerations have forced him to this view.”

In the essay below, Rabbi Dr Elton provides a fascinating insight into just how far Rambam strayed from Aristotelian thought on the subject of Divine knowledge. He explains in the process why it was repeated in Hilchot Teshuvah, despite having already been included in Hilchot Yesodei HaTorah where Rambam addresses the nature of the universe.

How does God think? Understanding Rambam H. Teshuva 5:5

I want to examine a passage in the Rambam’s Mishneh Torah which is regularly read and almost never understood. In the middle of Rambam’s Laws of Repentance he takes a philosophical detour and asks how it is possible to reconcile Divine foreknowledge with human free will. If God knows what we are going to do, how can we have the ability to choose whether to do it or not. Rambam answers:

Know, that the answer to this question is longer in measure than the earth and broader than the sea, and many great elements and ranking mountains are suspended thereon; but it is essential that you know this fundamental matter which I outline. In the second chapter of the treatise of Fundamentals of the Torah (2:9-10) it was already elucidated that the Holy One, blessed is He does not know of things with a knowledge which exists outside of Himself, like, for instance, people do, for they and their knowledge are two separate things; but, He, may His Name be exalted and his knowledge are One, and it is not within the power of the knowledge of man to attain this matter clearly, and even as it is not within the power of man to attain and find the truth of the Creator…

This being so, it is not within our intellectual power to know in what manner the Holy One, blessed is He knows all the creatures and their actions, but we do know without a doubt that man's behaviour is in the hand of man, and that the Holy One, blessed is He neither draws him nor issues edicts against him to do as he does. And, not solely because of having accepted the religion do we know that there is no predestination, but even by clear evidence of the words of wisdom. Because thereof it is said in prophecy that man is judged for his actions according to his actions, whether they be good or evil, and this is the very foundation upon which all the words of prophecy depend.

This is a difficult and perplexing passage. As Ra'avad noted, and protested against, Rambam’s explanation does not answer the question, it just raises a philosophical idea that by Rambam’s own admission no one can understand. Further, what is it doing in H. Teshuvah, especially when Rambam has already explained it earlier in the Mishneh Torah, in H. Yesodei HaTorah?

To understand this we have to look at the Aristotelian aspects of Rambam’s epistemology, and its connection with his theology. Aristotle (at least as understood in the Arabic philosophical tradition that Rambam inherited) saw that there was movement in the world and therefore posited a first mover which causes all the other movement. This mover (a sort of Aristotelian god) is entirely passive, eternal and perfect. As all things move towards perfection they are moving towards this first mover, which is the cause of all movement in the world. Part of its perfection is omniscience, but it is omniscience of a very particular type. It only knows universals, that is to say, the concept of a horse or a table. It does not know about particular horses and tables.

In that way, its knowledge is just like our knowledge, because our knowledge is also limited to the concepts of things but does not encompass the things themselves. Let us take an example. I have knowledge about horses in general, and I know some specific things about particular horses. But I don’t know everything about horses in general, or anything at all about every single horses that exists: everything they have ever done, and certainly not everything they will ever do. Furthermore, the knowledge I possess of these horses exists only in my head. I have taken sense data I have picked up in my encounters with horses, abstracted from that data and thereby created a piece of knowledge that resides inside my mind. What I know about horses is an abstract derived from all the data I have derived from real horses, that has been processed by my mind and exists in my mind. Thus in the case of myself and horses, and indeed every piece of knowledge that I have, the thing being thought about, the process of thinking, and the thinker, are all one. This is equally true of the Aristotelian first mover and of people.

But Rambam says explicitly that God and people do not think in the same way. That is because Rambam believes that God has knowledge that the Aristotelian first mover does not have. God knows every particular. What is more (and this is totally incomprehensible) God even has ‘knowledge’ of material things. That is an absurd concept to us, because a physical object cannot get into our minds. The idea of something exists in our mind, but obviously not the thing itself, that remains outside our mind. By contrast, all spiritual and material things exist in the mind of God. Indeed, they only exist at all because they exist in God’s mind. God did not acquire knowledge of them (if God ever acquired knowledge that would imply a change in God, and that is impossible), they exist because God ‘knows’ them. If that does not make sense to us, we should not be surprised. Rambam says explicitly that the human mind is incapable of comprehending such a notion. Therefore, while we and our knowledge are not one, because the horse or the table remains outside our minds, they are not outside the mind of God, because God and God’s knowledge are absolutely one. It is not within our ability to understand that concept, but it remains true.

Rambam expressed this in the Guide for the Perplexed (3:21)

Our knowledge is acquired and increased in proportion to the things known by us. This is not the case with God. His knowledge of things is not derived from the things themselves; if this were the case, there would be change and plurality in His knowledge; on the contrary, the things are in accordance with His eternal knowledge, which has established their actual properties, and made part of them purely spiritual, another part material and constant as regards its individual members, a third part material and changeable as regards the individual beings according to eternal and constant laws. Plurality, acquisition, and change in His knowledge is therefore impossible. He fully knows His unchangeable essence, and has thus a knowledge of all that results from any of His acts. If we were to try to understand in what manner this is done, it would be the same as if we tried to be the same as God, and to make our knowledge identical with His knowledge.

We can now see why Rambam included this point in H. Teshuvah 5:5. It is not an attempt at an answer at all, rather it is sharpening the question. It is easily possible to reconcile human free will with the sort of omniscience Aristotle’s first mover has. But the omniscience of God as Rambam understands it, seems totally incompatible, yet Rambam assures us that it remains the case. He tells us that it is ‘essential’ that we know that God’s knowledge of every details of past, present and future is absolute, and yet as he says at the end of the halakhah (in a statement which flows perfectly logically from what has come before) people have complete free will and are judged according to their exercise of it. That is why this brief discussion is repeated in H. Teshuvah, because it is the central concept that makes teshuvah compatible with Rambam’s concept of God.

I am grateful to the scholars I discussed this question with, especially Dr Daniel Davis.

First posted to Facebook 5 November 2020, here.

Free will, confirmation bias and miracles

The importance which Judaism attaches to the notion of human free will is the focus of several chapters of Judaism Reclaimed. We note how Rambam describes it as

“a great foundation and a pillar of the Torah…Were God to decree on any person to be righteous or wicked, or were there to be a matter that pulled a person’s heart…towards one of these paths…with what justice could God punish the wicked and reward the righteous?”

Yet at the same time we examine several challenges to this doctrine, both in terms of how to reconcile it with God’s foreknowledge, and from various passages of the Torah itself. One such challenge presents itself at the start of this week’s portion, with God declaring that he has “hardened Pharaoh’s heart” in order to arrange for him to be subject to miraculous punishments. What has happened to Pharaoh’s free will?

Rambam responds that sometimes God can withhold free will from a person as a punishment for an earlier sin. Pharaoh in this instance is being punished for refusing to obey God’s prior commands to release the Israelites. Ramban proposes a very different solution, suggesting that Pharaoh’s decision-making had already been skewed by the miraculous intervention of prior plagues. God’s hardening of his heart merely restored his ability to choose freely whether or not to obey.

In this guest post, Yael Shahar presents a fascinating alternative answer based on the psychological realities of the path taken by Pharaoh. In the process she also engages a fundamental question of how we can sense the miraculous within apparently natural causation – particularly with regard to the Torah’s miracles.

FREE WILL, CONFIRMATION BIAS AND MIRACLES

By Yael Shahar

One of the more perplexing aspects of the Exodus story is the repeated “hardening” of Pharaoh’s heart. This phrase—together with another that is equally mysterious—is the key to understanding the true miracle of the Exodus.

Variations on this enigmatic phrase appear nine times in the story of the Exodus; at times, Pharaoh is said to harden his own heart, while at others, God is the one “strengthening” the monarch’s resolve. Does this mean that Pharaoh has no free will? And if he does not, then why is he, his household, and the entire Egyptian society punished by plague after plague?

When Moshe and Aaron first approached Pharaoh, they didn’t request an end to the enslavement of the Israelites. Instead, they requested that the slaves be given time off for a religious festival—a seemingly modest request. Pharaoh’s answer was a firm “no”: “Pharaoh’s heart was hardened, and he did not listen to them.”

Pharaoh compounded this first mistake by becoming further entrenched in his determination not to let the slaves go free, even for a brief holiday. Each escalation led him to harden his resolve; his mindset had become his own prison. The fact that Aharon and Moshe started out with easily replicated tricks played into this entrenchment: once assured that his own magicians could reproduce their “signs and wonders”, Pharaoh had no reason to believe that anything unusual was afoot. The challenge to the status quo could be reasoned away.

Even when things escalated to a plague of lice, which Pharaoh’s court wizards were unable to reproduce, Pharaoh continued to “strengthen his heart”—habits of thought are hard to break. Only when a plague struck which the court wizards not only couldn’t reproduce, but from which they couldn’t even save themselves are we told that God strengthened Pharaoh’s heart.

"And the necromancers could not stand before Moses because of the boils, for the boils were upon the necromancers and upon all Egypt.But God strengthened the heart of Pharaoh, and he would not heed them, just as God had told Moses."

Midrash Rabbah, noting the change of language, says:

When God saw that Pharaoh did not relent after the first five plagues, He said: Even if Pharaoh now wished to repent, I shall harden his heart, in order to exact full punishment from him.

Pharaoh’s problem is known as confirmation bias: once a way of thinking becomes habituated, each time we resist change we further lose our ability to see contradictory facts. Or, in the words of our sages: “In the way that a person wants to walk, he is led.” (Makkot 12a)

Pharaoh’s dismissal of the evidence at hand, at first a conscious act, was now out of his hands; he had become a slave of his own stubbornness and could no longer see what was obvious to everyone else. There is a lesson here about how those in power can rationalize their decisions—even disastrous decisions—in order to avoid acknowledging past mistakes. Pharaoh continues to resist even to the extent where, with the court magicians themselves suffering from the plagues, his servants implore him:

"How long will this be a stumbling block to us? Let the people go and they will worship their God. Don't you yet know that Egypt is lost?"

So, returning to our initial question of whether Pharaoh did or did not have free will, we find that the answer is both “yes” and “no”. Pharaoh and his society were caught up in a process in which each ill-conceived decision bred another calamity, and yet they could find no way out of the cycle. Again and again, God “strengthens the hearts” of the Egyptians—first, so that they would refuse to free the slaves, and later so that they would pursue them to bring them back. The impression throughout is that no one was really acting from free will.

But how do we reconcile this seeming lack of free will with the Torah’s usual insistence that humans are free to choose? I think an answer is to be found in the Torah’s depiction of miraculous events. Consider how the Torah describes the splitting of the Reed Sea in next week’s parashah: Even though the text pictures the waters standing on either side like a wall, we are also told that God performed the miracle via a strong east wind that blew all night. The miracle might easily be ascribed to a natural—if freakish—occurrence.

So too, with the stiffening of the hearts of Pharaoh; had we not been told that God is “stiffening his heart”, we would see his disastrous decisions simply as spectacularly bad leadership brought about by confirmation bias and an arrogant nature incapable of admitting mistakes. However if we choose to see God’s hand in causality, including within the laws of psychology, then we can appreciate that confirmation bias was God’s method of actively leading Pharaoh.

In giving us the “inside scoop” the Torah is teaching us another way of seeing things: the same event can be viewed through more than one lens. We can see it as a natural phenomenon, which of course it is working within. Or we can see it “from the inside” as part of a larger plan. Both views are true; they each represent one aspect of a world whose Creator names Himself as “I will be as I will be”.

Yael Shahar has spent most of her career working in counter-terrorism and intelligence, with brief forays into teaching physics and astronomy. She now divides her time between writing, off-road trekking, and learning Talmud with anyone who will sit still long enough. She is the author of Returning, a haunting exploration of Jewish memory, betrayal, and redemption. You can find more of her writings at www.yaelshahar.com.

First posted on Facebook 21 January 2021, here.

Goats and good choices: a profound message from the Yom Kippur ceremony

The national Jewish atonement on Yom Kippur at the time of the Mikdash – one which is currently the focus of the daf yomi study – involves the bringing of two identical goats over which lots are drawn: one is thereby selected “LaHashem” as a korban, while the second “La’Azazel” is sent to its rocky death.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch offers a profound insight into the symbolic significance of the goats and their prominent place in the Yom Kippur atonement service. Focusing on the strict requirement that the two goats be identical in size, appearance, and value, R’ Hirsch sees their respective fates as representative of the opposing destinies between which all of mankind is free to choose.

The path of “LaHashem” is the self-sacrifice of renouncing a self-centered existence. What seems initially to be a loss of self, however, is in fact an entry into a higher and more genuine form of existence; what appears to be a renunciation is in fact a gain of the most sublime values.

[It should be pointed out that to R’ Hirsch the Mikdash is not simply a giant slaughterhouse but rather the materials, arrangement and ceremonial performance of the korbanot represent and embody the entire spiritual and moral calling of the Torah. Accordingly, some of his longest Torah commentary is centred around the parshiyot which recount these details – Terumah, Tetzaveh and Vayikra.]

The path of “La’Azazel” by contrast begins with an apparent preservation of freedom and independence, stubbornly rejecting all notions of sacrifice and devotion to a higher, holy authority. Ultimately, however, in his escape from the sacrifices demanded by the Sanctuary, he fails to see the abrupt precipice that opens behind him and dooms him to a sudden death.

These two paths of “LaHashem” and “La’Azazel” are open to each person to choose between. That the goats must be identical symbolizes the fact that no one can blame his standing, material circumstances, or position for his choices. A precondition for repentance and atonement is the realization that one must take full responsibility for one’s choices and actions, which is why the goats play a central role in the Yom Kippur atonement ceremony.

This explanation is consistent with R’ Hirsch’s approach to explaining the process of viduy (confession) which is so central to the Yom Kippur prayer. Rather than providing automatic absolution through the recitation of sins, the Jewish notion of viduy involves verbalizing, and thereby admitting to oneself that one has indeed gone wrong and taking full responsibility for one’s wrong choices. That acceptance of free will and responsibility is a central precondition to atonement is further reflected by the central position it occupies in Rambam’s Hilchot Teshuva.

[This passage is adapted from a chapter of Judaism Reclaimed: Philosophy and Theology in the Torah which looks at demonic and other apparent biblical references to a ‘dark side’ such as the Azazel goat].

First posted on Facebook 7 October 2019, here.

What if man was one of us? The most perplexing verse in the Torah

Parashat Bereishit contains one of the most perplexing verses in the entire Torah, the difficulty of which is compounded by the fact that two of our earliest sources read it in entirely different ways.

In the aftermath of Adam and Eve’s sin in Gan Eden, God declares:

הֵ֤ן הָֽאָדָם֙ הָיָה֙ כְּאַחַ֣ד מִמֶּ֔נּוּ לָדַ֖עַת ט֣וֹב וָרָ֑ע וְעַתָּ֣ה | פֶּן־יִשְׁלַ֣ח יָד֗וֹ וְלָקַח֙ גַּ֚ם מֵעֵ֣ץ הַֽחַיִּ֔ים וְאָכַ֖ל וָחַ֥י לְעֹלָֽם

"Behold man has become like one of us, having the ability of knowing good and evil, and now, lest he stretch forth his hand and take also from the Tree of Life and eat and live forever".

Or does He?

The above translation is favoured by Rashi and Ibn Ezra, and is consistent with the cantillation which is traditionally accorded to Ezra. Remarkably, however, Targum Onkelos – an Aramaic translation of the Torah from the Tannaitic era which the Talmud understands to trace back to Sinai – reads these words very differently:

הָא אָדָם הֲוָה יְחִידַי בְּעַלְמָא מִנֵּהּ לְמִידַע טַב וּבִישׁ

“Behold man has become unique in the world, by himself can know good and evil…”

Onkelos’s rendering of this verse is consistent with Rambam’s understanding of his agenda – not simply translating the Torah but also carefully ensuring that it cannot be mistakenly interpreted in a manner that he deems heretical. Rather than reading the verse as God describing Himself as a plurality which might include humanity, a meaning that introduces all sorts of theological complications, Onkelos places the sentence’s pause on the word “ke’achad”. Humanity is therefore described as unique among creatures in its ability to determine right and wrong.

Unsurprisingly, Onkelos’s reading of this verse is adopted by Rambam in Hilchot Teshuva (5:1), and cited as part of his discussion regarding human free will:

“Free will is granted to all men. If one desires to turn himself to the path of good and be righteous, the choice is his. Should he desire to turn to the path of evil and be wicked, the choice is his.

This is [the intent of] the Torah's statement: " Behold man has become unique in the world, by himself can know good and evil," i.e., the human species became singular in the world with no other species resembling it in the following quality: that man can, on his own initiative, with his knowledge and thought, know good and evil, and do what he desires. There is no one who can prevent him from doing good or bad. Accordingly, [there was a need to drive him from the Garden of Eden,] "lest he stretch out his hand [and take from the tree of life]."

Yet even once this verse is interpreted within the context of free will, its purpose and intent remain very unclear. Rambam proceeds to argue that free will is a fundamental pillar upon which the Torah relies. If people were compelled to act a certain way, he explains, there would be no place for God revealing a set of rules which would be the basis for reward and punishment.

But surely all that is required to justify commands, reward and punishment is that people are not compelled and can freely to choose whether to follow God’s word? Is it really necessary to bring in this verse to imply that humans also possess their autonomous moral compass to evaluate right and wrong? Would Rambam not expect a person to obey God’s law even in a situation in which he or she does not understand them to be morally correct?

One discussion that this verse might shed light on is the status of those who have not been exposed to the Torah or even the seven Noachide laws which are sometimes suggested to represent a basic universal moral code. There is no explicit mention of God revealing any set of laws to humanity prior to the Sinai revelation. Nevertheless, it is apparent that God expects certain minimal standards of moral conduct and punishes those such as the generation of the flood and citizens of Sodom for their corruption, cruelty and immorality. Indeed, Rambam in Hilchot Melachim (8:10) seems to consider Noachide laws to be binding upon all non-Jews. Perhaps the justification for this arises from Onkelos and Rambam’s interpretation of this verse to imply that humanity possesses its own moral compass and is therefore responsible for its own actions even without any form of divine command?

Many further perplexing questions remain. How, for example, do Onkelos and Rambam explain the cryptic continuation of the verse – that humanity’s newfound moral compass poses a danger “lest he stretch forth his hand and take also from the Tree of Life and eat and live forever”? And is this interpretation to be reconciled with Rambam’s interpretation of the Eden episode found in an early chapter of Moreh Nevuchim, in which “tov vera” represent the negative result of Adam and Eve’s sin – the corruption of their previous praised ability to perceive absolute truths (emet vasheker)?

One possible explanation is that, according to Rambam, humanity’s moral compass in its post-sin state could now also go very badly wrong due to it having internalised harmful imaginative and emotive elements. It is noteworthy that Rambam also follows Onkelos in rendering the Serpent’s promise to Eve as being that:

“on the day that you eat thereof, your eyes will be opened, and you will be like political leaders (ravravei), knowing tov vera."

In this new post-sin scenario, in which the human mind could concoct and persuade itself of the merits of destructive political philosophies such as communism or fascism, a safety valve of mortality had to be placed within its societies. No dictator could be allowed to enslave a society perpetually. God was now therefore concerned “lest he stretch forth his hand and take also from the Tree of Life and eat and live forever”.

First posted on Facebook 19 October 2022, here.