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.

Rashi and the Hand of God: a body of proof?

“Ah yes. Of course. Rashi believed God has a body. After all, he writes that God has a physical hand!”

I still remember how these simplistic words irked me. Spoken by a fairly well-informed Jewish student. And it wasn’t an isolated conversation. More often than not, these forceful attributions to Rashi of belief in a physical deity would draw support from Prof. Marc Shapiro’s The Limits of Orthodox Theology, the early chapters of which claim that such a belief was prevalent in Rabbinic thought.

Judaism Reclaimed contains a lengthy critique of these chapters of The Limits, in which I seek to provide counter-arguments and crucial context to Prof. Shapiro’s claims. Of particular relevance to this week’s parashahis the discussion surrounding Rashi’s belief.

In his commentary to an earlier passage of Shemot “I will place my hand against Egypt” Rashi explains “yad mamash [His actual hand] is used to smite them”. Shapiro cites this as an example of Rashi attributing a real, physical hand to God. Almost concealed in a brief footnote, however, is an oblique reference to Rashi’s own figurative explanation of the term “yad mamash” which appears in parashat Beshalach, shortly before the Song of the Sea. Having again described God’s hand that the Israelites beheld as “yad mamash”, Rashi proceeds to explain that

Many terminologies can be represented by the term “yad” and they are all “yad mamash”; the interpreter should adjust the terminology to suit the context.

It emerges that the term “yad mamash” – actual hand – bears multiple possible interpretations in Rashi’s works. This flexibility is helpful when contemplating the implications of Rashi using “yad mamash” concerning God, particularly in light of his repeatedly stating in his commentary to the book of Yechezkel that

“all mentions of “yad Hashem” in prophetic works are a metaphorical expression of God’s power”.

Rashi’s explanation that there are many possible meanings of “yad mamash” may also assist perplexed readers elsewhere in the book of Shemot, where he employs the term “yad mamash” in an unambiguously figurative manner to describe the proximity of Pharaoh’s daughter’s maidens to the Nile.

Rashi’s terse and concise style, allied with the fact that his comments primarily seek to explain the text in question rather than broadcast his personal opinions, pose a great challenge to those attempting to prove definitively his philosophical position solely on the basis of his writings. Such difficulties are compounded by the fact that much of his commentary on the Torah takes the form of alluding to or paraphrasing (arguably mystical) esoteric Aggadic sources, whose anthropomorphic references to God I also analyse in Judaism Reclaimed.

Nevertheless, some further sources are worthy of consideration. The Machzor Vitri, written by a close student of Rashi, condemns as a heretic anyone who states that God has a body. One who claims that Rashi himself held such a belief must contend with the implications that his close student (who quotes him admiringly throughout his book) was issuing such a severe condemnation of his revered teacher.

The Jewish philosopher Yeshayahu Leibowitz notes in Accepting the Yoke of Heaven that, while Rashi’s commentary is commonly dismissed as representing “naive faith”, those who read his writings with a trained eye will notice a sophisticated philosophical comprehension of God. In one instance, Rashi contrasts the superior prophecy of Moshe to that of other prophets, saying:

All the prophets looked through a dark glass and thought they saw, and our teacher Moshe looked through a clear glass and knew that he had not seen Him to His Face. [Commentary to Yevamot 49b]

Rashi clearly understands that God’s essence is beyond comprehension, and that Moshe, who experienced an enhanced level of prophecy, perceived this more acutely than other prophets.

Furthermore, in a low-key remark at the end of parashat Naso, Rashi comments that the word “midaber”, which is used to describe God “speaking” to Moshe, really means God “speaking to Himself”; Moshe did not hear a voice but rather gained an inner awareness of God’s meaning. This pivotal comment is described by Leibowitz as “astounding.” He adds:

Rashi lived two generations before Maimonides, but in these few words Rashi gives Maimonides’ entire view on prophecy…We are not surprised at Maimonides, for this view of prophecy is in keeping with his entire system of faith. But Rashi, who is always considered to be of naive faith and far from philosophic thought and analysis, says the exact same thing.

Whether Rashi truly intended to encapsulate Rambam’s “entire system of faith” in these few words can surely be debated. Notwithstanding this, I believe that Leibowitz’s observations, allied with the sources highlighted in this post, powerfully challenge the simplistic position of those who condescendingly disparage Rashi as a naive and unsophisticated corporealist.

First posted to Facebook 24 January 2021, here.

Souls on fire: Rambam and Gehinnom

The chapters of Judaism Reclaimed which relate to parashat Ha’azinu explore Rambam’s understanding of core aspects of the afterlife such as Gehinnom and Resurrection of the Dead. We note the challenge of how the “fires of Gehinnom”, vividly depicted in Aggadic literature, can have any effect on, or relevance to, the metaphysical soul.

Ramban addresses this problem by explaining that “hell-fire” does not consist of earthly substances but rather is a special “quasi-physical” creation by God which is therefore capable of inflicting suffering upon the quasi-physical souls of sinners. This solution, however, is not available to Rambam, since he does not subscribe to the notion of a quasi-physical realm for the soul post death. (Further analysis of the contrasing conceptual frameworks within which Rambam and Ramban operate is available here at pp 60-62).

Rambam emphasises that upon death, the only element of the soul that remains is the pure intellect (sechel). In the opening chapters of Shemonah Perakim, he describes how the sechel transcends all other aspects of the person, such as emotions, which interact with the physical realm. One consequence of this is that the soul which remains after death is not equipped to experience any kind of physical pain which could be inflicted by a fiery Gehinnom.

Rambam’s difficulty in explaining posthumous punishment is deepened by a tradition which teaches that punishment in Gehinnom is time-limited: “judgment of the wicked in Gehinnom is 12 months”. This introduction of the concept of time into metaphysical matters is difficult to reconcile with Rambam’s understanding of the eternal and unchanging spiritual existence of the soul in the afterlife. This is because Rambam understands time to relate exclusively to the physical realm as a measure of its change and decay.

In addition to the difficulty of constructing a conceptual framework within which Rambam can explain Gehinnom, several statements which appear in Hilchot Teshuvah raise the further question of what function such a Gehinnom could fulfil within his worldview. In the 8th chapter, Rambam makes the following strong comments that appear to preclude the possibility of a “place of punishment” in the afterlife:

Anyone who does not merit this life [Olam Haba]…is cut off by his evil and lost like an animal…this is the “karet” [excision of the soul] which is described by the Torah… The greatest revenge that can be visited on a sinner is that his soul will be excised and he will not merit this eternal life. This is the destruction that the prophets refer to as be’er shachat [etc.] since it is destruction after which there is no subsequent resurrection, an irredeemable loss.

These statements troubled many Jewish scholars in the thirteenth century and added force to an attempt to ban Rambam’s works. Ramban, while bitterly opposed to many of Rambam’s ideas, wrote a lengthy and famous letter to the Rabbinic leadership in France in defence of Rambam,
pointing out that the apparently troubling passage of Rambam is paraphrasing a midrashic teaching in the Sifra that karet “is the loss of the soul”. Ramban then highlights other passages in Rambam’s work which make explicit reference to the sinner being judged for his sins, after which he can still achieve Olam Haba.

Ramban concludes that Rambam’s statements regarding ultimate punishment being the complete absence of the soul from any Olam Haba refer only to the soul’s subsequent fate once it has already undergone a temporary period of suffering. Ramban does not, however, attempt to explain how any such suffering could feature within Rambam’s broader understanding of the soul and the severe problems that this would entail.

After producing the initial draft for Judaism Reclaimed, I felt very uneasy about rejecting the interpretations of Ramban – along with all other Rabbinic commentaries I had found – of Rambam’s approach to punishment in the afterlife. I was therefore delighted to unearth Abarbanel’s lengthy analysis of the subject in which he explains Rambam on the basis of his clear statements in Hilchot Teshuvah that karet, the severest form of punishment, results in a total absence of existence. On this basis, Abarbanel points out, there cannot exist any form of gradation as between levels of different karet punishments. Abarbanel concludes forcefully that any other interpretation of Rambam is “a clear error in understanding his words”. I also discovered important precedent: several Tannaim cited in Avot d’Rabbi Natan expound verses to show that those such as the sinful inhabitants of Sodom and Korach’s assembly “were not living…were not judged…are not to be found even
among the congregation of the wicked, cease to exist in the world”.

Several questions remain:

• How, if at all, does Rambam interpret the copious and detailed aggadic material depicting a fiery Gehinnom?

• How are we to read Rambam’s own words in Hilchot Teshuvah that certain sinners receive Olam Haba after judgment and punishment?

• How is Rambam’s position reconciled both with broader concepts of justice and with the wider Maimonidean Jewish worldview?

Judaism Reclaimed attempts to develop an understanding of Gehinnom and Resurrection of the Dead which addresses these intriguing questions.

First posted on Facebook 23 September 2020, here.

Faith and doubt: imperfect belief in Judaism

In the dramatic build-up to the Sinai revelation, God informs Moshe that “the people will hear when I speak to you, and they will also believe in you forever".

Rambam distinguishes between the high level of belief (emunah) which the nation gained in Moshe at Sinai and the lower level of belief with which they were instructed to trust regular prophets. Writing in Hilchot Yesodei Hatorah (chaps 8-10), Rambam describes how divine endorsement of Moshe's mission was established not through mere signs and wonders which invite witnesses to assume divine involvement, but rather from participation in God's direct revelation to Moshe providing the nation with a clear and indisputable perception of the truth of his prophecy.

When it comes to belief in regular prophets however, Rambam teaches that the Torah instructs us to listen to them and act in accordance with their words even though we lack absolute proof and knowledge that they are genuine. This lower quality of ‘’belief’’ which he also terms leha’amin, seems to require a certain mode of action rather than an intellectual commitment to any stated truths or propositions.

These two levels of belief are of particular interest when we consider Rambam’s list of “Ikkrei Emunah” – fundamentals of faith –which he considers to be preconditions for membership of “Kelal Yisrael”. Much has been written about the precise requirement of Rambam’s Principles of Faith. At the start of Mishneh Torah Rambam requires a person to know certain propositions concerning God. In Hilchot Teshuvah, however, he only pronounces spiritual excision (karet) on someone who states that, for example, that there is no God. This could be understood to mean that while it is a positive commandment to analyse and eventually achieve ‘’absolute knowledge’’ of God, a person remains ‘’within the fold’’ as long as they remain loyal to the tradition even while harbouring certain doubts.

Rambam himself appears to pave the way for this approach in Moreh Nevuchim (1:34) where he writes that very few people, unaided, can achieve even an approximate understanding of God’s existence, essence or creation of the world. It is a lifetime’s work:

Accordingly, if we never in any way acquired an opinion through following traditional authority…this state of affairs would lead to all people dying without having known whether there is a deity for the world … much less whether a proposition should be affirmed with regard to Him.

For the vast majority of people, belief in God of the Torah must therefore initially be reliant upon Jewish tradition rather than a genuine personal understanding.

Rabbi S. R. Hirsch by contrast places far less emphasis on abstract knowledge of God and the professing of beliefs within Judaism. Whether such knowledge is derived from abstract reasoning, perceiving God in nature or seeing His hand in history, it must be acted upon in order for it to develop from “barren knowledge” into the guiding force with which to determine one’s course of action. It must be transferred from the mind to the heart and become the basis for one’s activity:

Emunah is the essence of Judaism; but to define Emunah as “belief” is to empty the term of its true content. Belief is an act of the mind, sometimes only an opinion. Every believer thinks his beliefs are true, based on the reasoning and assurances of someone else. Nowadays, religion is identified with belief, and belief is thought to be the essence of religion. A religious person believes in principles that cannot be grasped by the intellect. Thus, religion has been divorced from life and converted into a catechism of doctrines, a system of faith-slogans, required for admission to the hereafter…

Rather Emunah means to rely upon God in theory and in practice; to take strength in Him and to follow Him…One who replies “Amen” [related to Emunah]…devotes himself to this truth, accepts it in his heart, and vows to adopt it as the guide for his conduct.

In contrast to a commonly-held Christian emphasis on the adequacy of “faith alone”, R’ Hirsch places primary importance on ‘’practical belief’’. Not cold abstract formulations but the sort of faith that will guide and define one’s everyday life.

The value of falsely declaring that one holds a particular belief or pretending that one “knows” of God is unclear. According to Rambam such a pretence is not only empty but even dangerous, as it will hold a person back from striving towards genuine knowledge of the divine. Where does this leave people practically?

I would suggest that the basic level of Emunah that we have identified here (in the context of prophets other than Moshe) involves a practical obedience which can coexist with some level of doubt. It is not a ‘’blind faith’’, but one which is built up from sensing – though not necessarily knowing – God’s hand in nature, history or through some form of philosophical reasoning. Emunah then requires one to confirm and rely upon this initial position by actively living one’s life in accordance with its teachings. Nevertheless this ‘’lower-level Emunah’’ – at least from a Maimonidean perspective – is valuable but nevertheless insufficient. For Rambam a person must then undertake a life-long intellectual journey, carefully refining and clarifying one’s understanding of God and Judaism’s theological teachings until one can truly uphold the first command of Mishneh Torah: knowledge of God’s existence and uniqueness.

First posted to Facebook 3 February 2021, here.