Rambam, Greeks and Chanukah: ideological battle or philosophical synthesis?

Earlier this week we explored the interplay between “Yafet” – representing the artistic and cultural faculties of humanity – and the religious dimension symbolised by “Shem”. We did so primarily through the perspective of Rabbi S. R. Hirsch who taught that the arts and aesthetics hold substantial positive value for humanity, but only when influenced by and “dwelling within” the tents of Shem.

This post will attempt to examine the dynamics of the ideological clash between Maccabees and Hellenists from the perspective of Rambam. This is of particular interest since Rambam – one of Judaism’s primary sources concerning philosophy and theology – is remarkably silent when it comes to the ideological battles of the Chanukah era. Even though such ideological divergences are emphasised in prior Rabbinic sources. Additionally, it is evident throughout his writings that Rambam possessed a healthy respect for many aspects of Greek philosophy, albeit as we will discuss, from an earlier era. What did he see as being the key differences between Greek thought and Judaism? And could any of these ideological tensions have been at play in the Chanukah story?

While it is true that Rambam enthusiastically embraced many aspects of Greek philosophy and science which represented in his day (and for many centuries after), the main framework and template for understanding the world, he does make some crucial qualifications.

At the conclusion of Rambam’s explanation of the concept of miracles as having been built into nature at the world’s creation, he presents a simple summary of his fundamental agreement and disagreement with Aristotle. Rambam explains that, with regard to the functioning of the physical world according to its natural order, he broadly follows the Aristotelian structure of fixed, immutable and eternal rules of nature – that God instituted the rules of nature and doesn’t plan to breach them. In fact, the wisdom contained within the functioning of the universe bears testimony to God’s supreme wisdom. Nevertheless, the same section of Moreh Nevuchim also firmly rejects Aristotle’s understanding of the world as having existed eternally in the past, with God merely ensuring its existence.

Aristotelian theory, as presented by Rambam, held that God cannot be said to have created the universe at any one specific point in time, but rather constantly and eternally causes the world to exist. According to Aristotle’s understanding therefore, God is not free to in any way influence the physical world which emanated from Him.

Rambam states strongly that such an Aristotelian understanding would render the Torah meaningless since it would relegate God to some kind of technical cause, unable to exercise (or grant) free will, perform miracles and all other aspects of providential interaction with the world. For this reason, Rambam emphasises creation in time as “the basis for the Torah”; if Aristotle were correct on this point, writes Rambam “the entire Torah would become void”. The reason for this becomes more apparent when we explore Rambam’s understanding of miracles.

Rambam addresses the concept of miracles in two of his works – both of which emphasise how all miraculous occurrences were built into the natural order at the time of creation – based on God’s knowledge of the future. In Moreh Nevuchim, Rambam cites a midrashic teaching to support his understanding that “When God created this existence and established all of its nature, He placed within the physical world that all miracles too would occur.”

Then in his commentary to Avot, he states further that the ten miraculous phenomena – such as Moshe’s staff and the mouth of the earth that swallowed Korach – were said to have been formed already during the days of creation because:

The Sages did not believe in the constant renewal of God’s will, but at the beginning of Creation [God] put the nature of things into the world, both the way in which things should act regularly—this is “nature”—or the abnormal manner in which they should act rarely—this is a “miracle.”

For Aristotle however, who opposed the very notion of creation in time by a freely-acting God, there is no scope within the rigid rules of nature for any miracles, providence or revelation. For this reason, Rambam considers that such an Aristotelian system renders the entire Torah void.

How might this relate back to Chanukah?

It must be borne in mind that Greek philosophical thought of the Hellenic Chanukah era had evolved somewhat from the Classical era of Aristotle. Nevertheless, and without wanting to get too involved, there were strong trends of similarity in the way that major Hellenist philosophical groups such as the Epicureans understood God as no longer involved in any meaningful way in the functioning of His Creation. Aristotle’s thought too remained highly influential right the way through to, and beyond, Rambam’s era.

As we explained in the previous Chanukah post, within the worldview of R Hirsch, Noach’s prophecy implies that the ideology of Yafet (of which the Greeks are a primary element) is not to be viewed as an entirely negative contribution to humanity – but rather as containing positive potential when correctly harnessed to the Torah’s teachings – ie when it “dwells in the tents of Shem”.

Similarly, we can suggest within Rambam’s worldview, that the Greek-Aristotelian conception of steady and unbreakable natural laws emanating from a single source is to be embraced. As Rambam writes, reflecting upon the beauty and wisdom inherent in the universe can lead one to fear and love of God and appreciation of His wisdom.

Rambam believed that Aristotle’s methodology for analysing the world was extremely beneficial, and could lead to recognition and knowledge of the Single God of the Torah. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks wrote how monotheism and the Torah’s description of God creating the world:

“made science possible. No longer was the universe seen as unpredictable. It was the work of a single, rational, creative will.”

Others have noted how science has particularly flourished in societies based on monotheistic belief. Only if one perceives the world as an organic whole designed by a single Creator, can one analyse and develop meaningful theories as to how it all functions together.

But this acceptance and approval of Yafet’s systematic understanding of the natural order is only proper when placed in the correct context of creation in time – an acceptance of God’s creation of the universe with all of the accompanying implications for providence and miracles. If this is correct, then for Rambam too the ideological conflict between the Jews and the Greeks was not a total rejection of Greek thought, but rather represented an attempt to reposition the beneficial aspects of Yafet firmly within the tent of Shem as the verse advises. So that, as Rambam demands, appreciation of the structure, wisdom and beauty of the universe can lead to the further comprehension of the Creator who freely designed it.

Perhaps this can explain the strong emphasis we find in Rambam’s Laws of Chanukah on publicising miracles. Particular attention is paid by Rambam at the start of his discussion of Hilchot Chanuka to the miraculous aspects both of the deliverance from the Greeks and its connection to the miracle of the oil. At the conclusion of these laws Rambam teaches that the mitzvah of the Chanukah light holds particular importance as it makes God’s miracles known.

According to the ideas highlighted in this post, it is the capacity of God to have introduced miracles into the natural order which represented the crucial distinction, for Rambam, between Jewish and Greek ideologies. For Rambam therefore, so-called “Greek” truths and appreciation of the wisdom and beauty inherent in the world can and must lead us towards understanding, appreciation and love of its Creator.

Devoid of Shem’s guidance this wisdom loses its deeper meaning and utility. Rather than leading to a warm appreciation of and relationship with the Creator, scientific and philosophical wisdom outside the tent of Shem becomes cold, detached speculation and knowledge. In such a system of thought, God can be relegated to an eternal but irrelevant and limited cog in the eternal wheel of existence – rather than the Source of the wisdom - who freely created and interacts with the world.

First posted to Facebook 16 December 2020, here.

How Judaism approaches pain and suffering

The hardest moments that any rabbi or religious figure have to deal with tend to relate to pain, grief and suffering of innocent people. Sometimes this can involve otherwise less-religious people who are trying to make some sort of sense of their devastating difficulties, but for many religious people too, witnessing such inexplicable suffering at close hand can present a significant challenge to their faith.

What range of responses does Judaism offer to people who find themselves in such an unfortunate situation – or to rabbis who are approached to advise them?

Perhaps the most important words of wisdom that Jewish tradition has for rabbis – and indeed anyone who finds themselves in a position of providing support – are taught in Pirkei Avot (4:23):

Rabbi Shimon ben (son of) Elazar said, do not appease your fellow at the time of his anger, do not console him at the time his dead lies before him…

A person’s profound suffering will sometimes express itself in the form of theological questions: “why is this happening?” “why is God doing this to me?”. Those numb with grief are unlikely to be genuinely seeking a deep philosophical response, and their minds are typically not settled enough to appreciate such a response anyway. At a particularly tragic shiva I attended a couple of years ago, the parents of the deceased stared blankly across the room – clearly uninterested in engaging any of the visitors in conversation. After what seemed like an interminable awkward silence, another family member told the gathered crowd that their very presence was providing support and comfort for the mourners – even if no words, conversation or advice were being sought.

While knowing when to remain silent and avoid theological discourses is certainly important, Judaism certainly does contain an interesting range of responses to why the innocent suffer. The closing section of Judaism Reclaimed’s chapter relating to parashat Vayeshev focuses primarily on Rambam’s approach to explaining human suffering in Moreh Nevuchim.

Rather than trying to explain and justify individual cases of suffering, Rambam seeks to provide a broader perspective on why an all-powerful perfect deity should have constructed a world which contains so much suffering and pain. His answer presents three primary categories of suffering experienced by humanity, all of which are necessary components of creation.

The first category is caused by the inevitable disintegration of all aspects of physicality. Only God and spiritual entities can be unchanging and eternal. Humanity’s purpose is to transcend mortal physicality, and for people to develop their souls in order to earn the eternity of the World to Come. Our physicality, indispensable to this fundamental purpose, automatically makes us subject both to mortality and to the illnesses generated by the process of decay, a natural consequence of the body’s temporal physical existence. Natural disasters are also included in this category, these being the inevitable result of the dynamic nature of the cycle of growth and decay which characterises the physical world.

According to this approach, God’s plan required a world which could operate by itself through perpetual, dynamic and self-regulating rules of nature. Humans, the sole bearers of the ‘tzelem Elokim’ divine intellect, possess the ability to transcend this mundane physicality by connecting to the metaphysical divine, thereby attracting hashgachah (divine providence) and the prospect of entering the World to Come.

[As an aside, Rambam’s proposition that illness and natural disasters are the result of a necessary process of decay is developed on the basis of modern scientific understanding by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks (The Great Partnership p 244). Rabbi Sacks finds support for this understanding from the dynamic conditions necessary for the emergence and evolution of life.]

The second category consists of the evil that humans are capable of inflicting on one another through the operation of their free will. Allowing free will to function is of fundamental importance to the purpose of the world, therefore God will rarely interfere with it.

Finally, Rambam considers that the most prevalent form of suffering in the world is self-inflicted through the choice of unwise and imbalanced conduct such as the pursuit of unhealthy lifestyles. Lack of control over one's desires for worldly pleasures not only has a negative impact on the intellect but can also lead a person towards illness and hardship

Rambam’s explanation certainly does not cover and explain all instances of suffering, and may well be too cold and detached to comfort many people. A more common approach to coping with grief and difficulty in this world seeks to place it in a wider perspective of the function and purpose which Jewish tradition attaches to our lives. As another Mishnah in Avot (4:16) teaches:

Rabbi Yaakov said: this world is like a corridor before the World to Come; prepare yourself in the corridor, so that you may enter the banqueting-hall.

The most far-reaching version of this approach explains suffering of innocents in terms of gilgulim, and each soul having its own specific mission and rectification that it needs to achieve. As someone put it to me earlier today, this is “surely the correct approach within Judaism as it is the only way to explain such suffering”. For those whose Judaism includes belief in gilgulim, this is probably correct. Its place within Jewish thought has been strongly challenged however by great figures such as Rav Sa’adiah Gaon, and it is notably absent from biblical passages – such as Job and Habbakuk – which address the suffering of innocents.

One final dimension to suffering of innocents emerges from a debate between Rabbi Akiva and Turnus Rufus, the Roman governor of Judaea. Turnus Rufus confronts Rabbi Akiva with the question: “If your God loves the poor so much why doesn’t He feed them?” Rabbi Akiva’s profound response is that it is of course within God’s power to feed the poor. But, in a perfect world which contains neither suffering nor poverty, there would be no real opportunity for humans to perform acts of kindness.

Reflecting further upon Rabbi Akiva’s response, one can ask which other forms of suffering it can be extended to cover. In a world in which there were no poor, suffering or sick people, what opportunities would there be for individuals to empathise with others and demonstrate the sort of self-sacrifice which really sets apart the greatest among us.

The Ramban, at the start of his commentary on the akeida, explains the concept of nisayon (a divine test): that God will sometimes test us in order to draw out the latent potential within us and thereby improve our character. But how far can such an argument be taken? There were certainly many Holocaust heroes including Raul Wallenberg, Oskar Schindler and many righteous people who risked their lives to protect others that they did not know. Had it not been for the Holocaust would these people still have pushed themselves to become great? Yet I’m not sure anyone would agree that the Holocaust was justified in order to produce such heroes.

While this approach may seem insufficient in its own right, taken in combination with some of the other ideas contained in this post, it may be able to provide a degree of comfort to those who are suffering (personally or their loved ones).

Ultimately, we cannot expect to fully understand or explain such events. One thing that we can take from the experiences of Ya’akov and Yosef in these parshiyot, is that years of painful and apparently pointless suffering can sometimes be part of a bigger picture and project that we are not aware of at the time.

The true prophetic response may therefore be contained in the words of Isaiah:

For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways, says the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts [higher] than your thoughts.

First posted to Facebook 28 November 2021, here.

Scholarly stretches and the search for fugitive heroes

By Daniel Abraham and Shmuli Phillips

The dramatic biblical description of Moshe’s early years and his rise to prominence as leader of the Jewish people at the Exodus has long fascinated biblical scholars. Attempts have been made to draw thematic and textual comparisons between the Torah’s account and those of other Ancient-Near-Eastern texts, with the strong implication that the Torah simply replicated earlier stories and literary themes when seeking to portray its heroic saviour. Last year, we examined the claim that Moshe’s birth story was copied from earlier Near-Eastern legends telling of the birth of Sargon (among others).

This year we address another scholarly theory (by Professor Edward Greenstein, linked below) which attempts to identify numerous commonalities between Moshe’s fleeing Egypt and subsequent rise to power, and those of other ancient heroes: Sinuhe the Egyptian, Idrimi the Syrian, Hattushili III the Hittite Esarhaddon of Assyria and Nabonidus of Babylon. By depicting the episode as a repurposed ancient myth, Greenstein seeks to deprive the biblical details of Moshe’s life of any historical significance. More subtly, in implying that the Torah uses these characters as its basis for the Moshe narrative, Greenstein is challenging traditional Judaism’s belief in the Torah’s revelation at Sinai – since some of these fugitive heroes lived many centuries after the era in which the Torah is believed to have been revealed.

We must therefore examine the strength of the features common to these five stories. Do they demand us to conclude that Moshe’s journey from fugitive-to-hero was built upon a clearly identifiable mythical motif?

Greenstein tells us that:

“all these texts share a common fugitive narrative pattern: They tell of a national leader or hero who is compelled to leave his homeland, spends a period in exile, receives an instruction or encouragement from a deity to return home, achieves leadership or fame at home, and founds or renews a cult or ritual”.

He then breaks down these common features into fourteen points of comparison.

As readers of history will confirm, such a narrative pattern is quite unremarkable given the political manoeuvering and machinations in ancient times. Unless the theory can be fortified by demonstrating the duplication of specific or unexpected details, it remains speculative and weak. Bearing this in mind, it is deeply disappointing that the single such distinctive feature in the list of fourteen commonalities – an exile of specifically seven years – is acknowledged not to have been replicated in the Moshe narrative.

Aside from this inconsistency, several of the other thirteen commonalities between the Moshe episode and its apparent ancient predecessors do not hold up to scrutiny. Moshe does indeed marry a daughter of his host Yitro – but this only features in two of the five ancient stories on which the Torah is allegedly based.

When Greenstein is unable to match up claimed common features between the narratives, he instead wrongly represents the evidence. Regarding the claimed commonality of the fugitive hero being protected by females he writes:

“When Moses reaches Midian, to the east, he is brought home by the daughters of the local priest, and probably the chieftain, Reuel/Jethro (Exod 2:18-20).”

This in stark contrast to the Torah’s actual narrative which describes Moshe rescuing Yitro’s daughters who then leave him to return home – it is only their father who subsequently insists on offering Moshe protection.

Several of the other elements of claimed similarity between the Torah’s account and the other stories from the ancient world demonstrate that Greenstein possesses a creative imagination. While the fugitive heroes fight off attacks from rival armies, Moshe is the subject of a mysterious divine visitation. And when Moshe, the proposed fugitive-hero, specifically fails to loot and enrich himself, his identity is conveniently melded with that of the Jewish people who claim their promised riches on their way out of Egypt.

Greenstein himself seems to sense the lack of a smoking gun – a remarkable or unexpected common feature or clear indication that the Torah’s narrative drew upon these other tales. He attempts to fill this void when describing Moshe’s meeting with Aharon prior to his return to Egypt (albeit at a different point to such meetings in other ancient tales).

“There is little if any real purpose to this encounter, prior to Moses’ arrival in Egypt, but it follows the elements of the fugitive hero pattern.”

The implication is that the inclusion of this meeting in the Torah’s account can only be explained in view of the fact that it is drawing on the ancient motif of fugitive hero stories. What this claim fails to recognise, however, is that Aharon’s joyous greeting of Moshe was earlier presented by God as a sign to Moshe – seemingly to reassure him that Aharon does not harbour any jealously or resentment over his ascent to leadership (see 4:14 and Rashi there).

Having satisfied ourselves that the comparison between Moshe and the other ancient stories struggles or fails entirely in several of the claimed fourteen features, and contains no remarkable unexpected commonalities, we now turn to a broader historical question. Taking a look at the political realities which prevailed throughout the ancient world (and indeed the Middle Ages), what options were available to a member of the royal or political elite who feared imminent death or imprisonment? Would he or she not be likely to seek refuge from nearby rival nations? Such nations might be happy to oblige because, if their investment paid off, they would have a powerful ally ruling a neighbouring nation.

Such patterns are evident later in the book of Kings I (chap. 11), with King Haddad of Edom fleeing his country, taking refuge with the King of Egypt and marrying the princess before returning with an army to reclaim his country. There is no suggestion there that the Edomite monarch is being depicted as a biblical returning hero.

But even looking at the history of the British monarchy in recent centuries, this motif can be seen to have occurred repeatedly. Princess Mary (born 1662) was exiled to Holland where she married her fellow Protestant cousin, William. She later returned together with William and an invading army to depose the Catholic King James in what has become known as the “Glorious Revolution” in which the Bill of Rights set the stage for the first constitutional monarchy in Europe. Two centuries earlier, Henry VII spent most of his life in exile in France before returning to England at the head of an invading army and securing a military victory which is generally regarded as heralding the beginning of the modern era.

Most of Greenstein’s fourteen features are contained within these British royal stories too. Could this, by any chance be coincidental? An expected feature of palace intrigue and the political machinations of bygone eras?

Original article can be read here.

First posted on Facebook 23 December 2021, here.

Shemot: a theological perspective on the Holocaust and Anti-semitism

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed that relates to parashat Shemot develops an approach to an extremely sensitive area of Jewish theology: the attempt to place anti-semitic hatred and violence – and the devastation of the Holocaust – in a theological context.

Much ink has been spilled by Rabbis and scholars far greater than I on this difficult topic. In the Modern Orthodox world, Rabbis Eliezer Berkovits and Jonathan Sacks have attempted to shift the focus from God to mankind. Since God’s plan for the world requires the unfettered functioning of human free will, the argument goes, His modus operandi involves the provision of moral and spiritual guidance rather than micro-managing human affairs. Accordingly, the real question that should be asked is not “where was God during the Holocaust”, rather “where was man”? While I find this approach attractive, and adopt it more generally in my chapters concerning providence and free will (see recent post on parashat Vayeshev), it does not seem sufficient when dealing with a tragedy of such magnitude inflicted upon the entire Jewish nation. Nor does it strike me as consistent with the Torah’s attitude to significant national events. Other Rabbis have adopted a perhaps more traditional approach which sees the Holocaust as heavenly punishment for sins. This understanding is also open to fundamental questions: as many such as Primo Levi have pointed out, an assessment of victims and survivors does not appear to reveal any obvious punishment-for-sin pattern.

Judaism Reclaimed seeks to place the Holocaust, as well as the broader phenomenon of antisemitism, in a biblical context starting with the first episode of brutal national enslavement and suffering for 210 years in Egypt. Our search for a theological explanation for this bitter servitude takes us back to the brit bein habetarim. This covenant, when the enslavement was first disclosed by God, links the suffering to the concept of a “chosen nation” and the role which God intended it to fulfil. In the conversation that takes place at the time of the covenant, Avraham asks God, “Bemah eida?”: “How can I know that my descendants will be worthy of inheriting the land? That they will fulfil the daunting task of standing apart from the other nations of the world as a leading light?” God responds that Avraham’s descendants will be enslaved in a strange land. The clear implication is that this suffering holds the key to their ability to succeed as the chosen nation.

We note historical precedents for the notion that collective suffering can forge a cast-iron collective identity, and cite Rav Soloveitchik’s suggestion, in Kol Dodi Dofek, that the Jews’ experiences in the ‘’crucible’’ of Egypt formed an intense unity (or Fate Covenant) and separation from other nations. This role of the Egyptian servitude in establishing an independent Jewish identity is underscored both by the Torah’s account (which repeatedly emphasises how the plagues will distinguish Jew from Egyptian) and copious Midrashic commentary as to both the extent of this separation, and as to how it was in the merit of Jewish identity (represented by the retention of names, clothing and language) that the Jews were redeemed. This theme is followed through to the symbolism of the carefully orchestrated commandments relating to the redemption, as the emerging nation approached the daunting challenge of succeeding as a lone island of monotheism surrounded by a raging sea of paganism.

In his Beit HaLevi, Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik draws upon some of these ideas as part of his analysis of antisemitism, a seemingly illogical phenomenon which has accompanied Jews around the world throughout the centuries. Initially, he is startled by a verse from Tehillimwhich includes Egyptian oppression among the acts of kindness that God performed for the Jewish People. He then notes midrashim that connect the start of the oppression to the Jews’ attempts to conceal their Jewish identity. His great-grandson and namesake, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, elaborates on a similar theme, that a history of persecution and martyrdom has had the effect of hardening attitudes toward any form of assimilation which could challenge the distinct identity and values of the Jewish People.

According to this approach, the key to understanding both the suffering in Egypt and continued antisemitism through the ages is to view them not as a punishment but rather as God’s tool to ensure that His promise to Avraham at the brit bein habetarim would be observed. It is only as a result of unabated antisemitism, particularly severe at times of heightened assimilation, that the Jews have survived as the chosen nation, retaining the ability to carry out their holy and extremely challenging mission. This idea is given full expression in Radak’s commentary to a passage in Yechezkel in which the prophet describes God’s refusal to countenance Jewish attempts to assimilate among the nations:

But when they disobey My commands, I will strengthen the nations against them… Israel, whom I took out from the house of slavery to be my treasured nation etc., and to them a God, My eyes will be constantly on them for good and bad, as it states in the prophecy of Amos: “Only you have I known from all of the families of the world, therefore I will be attentive to all of your sins.” And if you wish to depart from My worship, I will not grant permission for this. Even though you will be many years in exile, you will never cease to be a nation before me…and with force I will reign over you, and will purify you…

Rav Meir Simchah of Dvinsk, in his Meshech Chochmah, makes a similar connection between antisemitism and the preservation of Jewish identity. Writing in the 1920s, he concludes with an ominous warning: that the assimilation of European Jewry and attitudes such as “Berlin is the new Jerusalem” would necessarily lead to a “storm” against the Jews that would serve to preserve Jewish national identity. This dark prediction was based upon his answer to the fundamental question of where God was during the brutal Egyptian servitude. The response, it would appear, is located within God’s covenant to Avraham at the brit bein habetarim.

I would like to make it clear that this post is not intended to trivialise or belittle the indescribable suffering of the Holocaust, accounts of which are prone to reduce me to a flood of tears. Nor am I fully comfortable and at peace with the conclusion that it reaches. My agenda here is merely to share my exploration of biblical and rabbinic texts for a perspective on the devastation of the Holocaust which I find theologically convincing.

First posted on Facebook 15 January 2020, here.

Maimonidean miracles: providence and the Twilight Zone

As we approach Shabbat Bereishit, the first week of the parashah cycle, Maimonideans among us would be well served to celebrate the preceding twilight – a watershed moment in Rambam’s theological calendar. A Mishnah in the 5th chapter of Avot lists ten things which were created on the eve of the first Shabbat such as the ‘mouth of the earth that swallowed Korach’ and ‘Moshe’s staff’. Rambam, like Rabbi Yehuda Halevi before him, detected within this teaching a strong traditional support for his religious philosophy:

They (the sages) did not believe in the constant renewal of God’s will, but at the beginning of creation (God) put the nature of things into the world, both the way in which things should act regularly – this is ‘nature’ – or the abnormal manner in which they should act rarely – this is a ‘miracle’. All is equal.

As Judaism Reclaimed discusses at length, the popular religious notion of a miracle – in which God is understood to alter the rules of nature – presents a challenge to Rambam’s way of comprehending the universe. In Moreh Nevuchim (2:28) Rambam sets out his theory of the laws of nature. Quoting from a passage of Tehillim which relates God’s creation of the world, Rambam highlights the verse “And He set them up to eternity…He issued a decree, which will not change” (148:6).

The consistency of the natural order is not due to any lacking on the part of God, but because “a matter which changes, changes only because of an inherent lacking”. In contrast to this, God’s “work is perfect” (Devarim 32:4) – His absolute knowledge means that He does not need to keep fiddling with and adjusting His creation. Any subsequent requirement for adapting of the rules of nature can be foreseen by Him and placed within (or alongside) the natural order.

In the subsequent chapter of the Moreh, Rambam further elaborates upon his understanding of how biblical miracles can fit within this model:

For when God created this existence and established all of its nature, He placed within their natures that all miracles too would arise at the times of the … It states: “R’ Yonatan said “God made conditions with the sea that it should split before the Israelites…R’ Yirmiyah son of Elazar said: “Not only with the sea did God make conditions, rather with all that He created in in the six days of creation… I commanded that the sea split, and that the furnace should not injure Chananya, Mishael and Azariah, and that the lions should not damage Daniel, and that the fish should vomit out Yonah.” [Bereishit Rabbah 85]. From here one can draw an analogy to all the other [miracles].

These pre-conditions which God made with all aspects of the creation facilitate the miraculous phenomena which occur throughout the Torah. By depicting them as having been created “bein hashemashot” – in the twilight zone between the week of creation and Shabbat, the sages may have been implying that these exceptional miracles are set aside from the regular predictable natural rules, but still belong within the broader creation process.

From Miracles to Providence

Rambam’s standard approach to providence focuses on an individual, who has developed his or her relationship with God, thereby being the recipient of flashes of divinely-assisted insights and intuition. This approach thereby avoids any interference with God’s natural order. Does Rambam’s theory of miracles present an additional dimension through which his understanding of Providence can assessed?

As David Hartman has noted, once it has been proposed that God built miracles into the natural world from its origin, it makes no difference, from a strictly logical perspective, whether one admits to one or a thousand such miracles. This allows us to speculate more broadly as to which of the many manifestations of providence which appear in the Torah can be explained in this manner.

One possible example of ongoing miraculous providence, that Rambam appears to actively endorse, is the national covenant of blessings and curses in which God promises the Jewish people rewards and punishment such as abundance or scarcity of rainfall. The level of rainfall and other such promises which feature in the Torah are not easily explained through Rambam’s standard providential theory of intellectual inspiration or intuition. Perhaps we can suggest therefore that they too are contained within this category of ‘miracles built into nature’ at Creation. Such a suggestion can draw support from the closing stages of Rambam’s Iggeret Techiyat Hameitim where he writes: “…we believe that the blessings which come from obedience [to God] and the maledictions from disobedience, for this nation, become a sign and a wonder”.

Can this theory be stretched even further? The discussion thus far has focused primarily on miracles on a national scale – the providential relationship based upon God’s covenant with the Jewish people. There is an indication from the closing chapters of Moreh Nevuchim that this concept of inbuilt miracles, based on God’s infinite and timeless knowledge, can also apply to the manipulation of the laws of nature on behalf of exceptional individuals. Commenting on Tehillim (91:7-8), Rambam describes the righteous person who has developed a connection with God:

If you happen to pass through a battlefield of drawn swords, you will go on your way with thousands being killed at your left hand and myriads at your right hand, no harm will be inflicted upon you … as it says: “A thousand will fall from your side, ten thousand at your right, but (the evil) will not befall you”…This person’s great providential protection is “Because he has set his exclusive love upon me, therefore I shall rescue him, for he knows My Name.” We have already explained that ‘knowing God’s name’ refers to perceiving Him. The Psalm is therefore saying: that this individual is protected because he perceives and passionately loves Me.

The sort of divine assistance being described in this passage, which depicts a person being rescued from a raging battlefield, is not easily attributed to Rambam’s standard approach to providence of heightened intellectual awareness and inspired knowledge. Might it be taken to imply that, in certain situations, God may have built miracles into Creation in order to “manipulate” laws of nature even on behalf of individuals.

This discussion leaves us with several questions:

1. Modern scientific theories of Quantum mechanics understand there to be inbuilt randomness within certain aspects of atomic behaviour. Does this modern scientific knowledge make it easier to accept (or perhaps develop) Rambam’s theory of inbuilt yet undetected providence within the laws of nature?

2. If it is indeed correct to apply Rambam’s theory of miracles more broadly so as to include possibilities of individual providence, would this necessarily be limited to exceptional people (who Rambam is describing in that passage) or could regular people also be beneficiaries of some degree of miraculous input?

3. Some scholars interpret Rambam’s comments concerning the worthy individual being rescued from a raging battlefield to mean that the person will no longer be concerned about his fate, rather than miraculously rescued. While this may be easier to reconcile with other statements of Rambam elsewhere, is this really a satisfactory reading of his words?

First posted on Facebook 30 September 2021, here.