Must Noachides believe in God?

The Torah’s opening parshiyot contain several divine instructions, within which the Gemara finds references to the Seven Noachide commandments. In some of my recent reading – possibly in preparation for a follow-up volume to Judaism Reclaimed – I came across an interesting discussion as to the nature and function of these Noachide Laws.

On the one hand these laws, which govern basic human interactions and societal cohesion, have been seen by some to represent a form of Natural Law; a set of rules which could essentially have been established by any civilised society. This approach minimises the religious dimension of Noachide Law, regarding the code instead as a safeguard against humanity repeating its descent to the sort of moral degeneration embodied by the generation of the Flood.

In chapter 8 of his Hilchot Melachim, Rambam appears to take a very different approach:

“Anyone who accepts upon himself the fulfilment of these seven mitzvot and is precise in their observance is considered one of 'the pious among the gentiles' and will merit a share in the World to Come.

This applies only when he accepts them and fulfils them because the Holy One, blessed be He, commanded them in the Torah and informed us through Moses, our teacher, that Noah's descendants had been commanded to fulfil them previously. However, if he fulfils them out of intellectual conviction, he is not a resident alien, nor of 'the pious among the gentiles,' nor of their wise men.”

For Rambam, it would seem, it is not sufficient for non-Jews simply to observe the seven laws. They must be motivated by (and therefore implicitly believe in) the existence of God and His revelation to Moshe. Setting aside Maimonidean complications regarding the role of such beliefs in meriting the World to Come, various commentators discuss what source Rambam may have relied on for this ruling.

Jewish philosopher Hermann Cohen objected that Rambam’s requirement effectively constituted an additional eighth Noachide commandment. Others view belief in God and revelation as a sort of ‘’meta-commandment’’ which transcends and provides the basis for all others. The Margoliot Hayam commentary to Tractate Sanhedrin argues that this required belief is implicitly contained within the Noachide prohibition against blasphemy.

On the basis of an idea discussed in Judaism Reclaimed, I would like to suggest that the very term “mitzvah” (commandment) used to describe these seven laws necessarily requires that the law has been legislated – and is therefore observed – as the result of a higher authority. If this is true, one who observes a law out of personal “intellectual conviction” alone cannot be said to be fulfilling a commandment.

This reading of Rambam is consistent with what he writes elsewhere concerning the concept of attributing reasons to mitzvot. While Rambam considers it praiseworthy to dwell upon the commandments and offer various rationales and possible benefits that they provide, it is fundamental for him that our relationship with the mitzvot is not limited to our subjective rationalisations. We may speculate upon and suggest reasons for the Torah’s laws regarding, for example, Niddah or prohibited foods. However, these speculations must be performed with recognition that the mitzvot are commandments from God, and not dependent therefore on our rationalisations for their legitimacy.

As Rambam expresses it in the conclusion of Hilchot Me’ilah:

“It is appropriate for a person to meditate on the judgments of the holy Torah and know their ultimate purpose according to his capacity. If he cannot find a reason or a motivating rationale for a practice, he should not regard it lightly…A person's natural inclination confronts him concerning…e.g., the prohibition of the meat of a pig, milk and meat, the calf whose neck is broken, the red heifer, and the goat sent to Azazel.”

And in Moreh Nevuchim 3:49 regarding laws for which we believe we know the reasons:

“…[J]ust as the things made by Him are totally perfect, so are His commandments totally just. However, our intellects are incapable of apprehending the perfection of everything that He has made and the justice of some of His commandments…What is hidden in both these areas is much more considerable than what is manifest.”

This need not be taken to the extremes proposed by Yeshayahu Leibowitz, who believed that reasons for religious commandments were beyond man's understanding, as well as irrelevant, and any attempt to attribute emotional significance to the performance of mitzvot was misguided and akin to idolatry.

Apparent reasons and benefits arising from mitzvot can certainly enrich their performance. We must never lose sight however of the meaning of the term “mitzvah”. Ultimately the law is a commandment from God and not contingent upon our understanding. Therefore, as Rambam teaches of the Noachide Laws, if one accepts and fulfils them merely out of “intellectual conviction” rather than as a revealed commandment of God, he or she has failed to observe a single Commandment.

First posted to Facebook 18 October 2020, here.

Sexual thoughts and mind control: the linguistics of Rambam and George Orwell

The chapters of Judaism Reclaimed which relates to parashat Vayigash explore Rambam’s strong legal and theological statements regarding sexual thoughts.

In both Mishneh Torah and Commentary on the Mishnah, Rambam requires that a man avoid all unnecessary interactions with women to whom he is not related. While these laws governing modesty and interactions between the genders are sometimes regarded as being intended solely to prevent actual immoral acts, Rambam, in both Moreh Nevuchim and Commentary to the Mishnah, emphasizes the importance of avoiding interactions which may arouse sexual thoughts. Moreh Nevuchim quotes in this context the Talmudic teaching that “thoughts of sin are more serious than the sin itself”. Why should this be?

Judaism Reclaimed addresses this question in the context of Rambam’s understanding that humanity’s “ultimate perfection” lies in transcending the subjective outlook dictated by our imagination and personal, selfish desires in order to relate to God and the world on the basis of “Divine truths”. The emphasis of Rambam’s ethical teachings is that by keeping one’s character traits in balance and under control, a person can minimise the distorting effect of any subjective or imaginative input when attempting to reach a rational understanding.

The category of subjective imaginative thoughts most likely to prevent a person from achieving this goal of an intellectual connection to God is that of sexual desire. It is a widely held belief, frequently utilized by marketing strategists, that a man’s imagination is immediately captured by and preoccupied with sexual thoughts. Advertising campaigns often attempt to exploit this neurological process by displaying a sexually suggestive image. The emotional faculties will instantly be activated by such an image, becoming unduly influential at the expense of the conscious rational element of the brain. The person’s mind will thus be subliminally drawn toward the message of the advertisement before the rational decision-making function of the cortex has become fully operative.

The gravity with which Rambam regards immoral thoughts may also hold the key to his much-derided and little-understood position that Hebrew is known as Lashon Hakodesh (the language of holiness) because no specific words describe sexual organs and the activities which they perform. Crucially, Rambam makes his claim regarding the significance of Lashon Hakodesh at the end of a long chapter dealing with the Torah’s attitude toward sexual thoughts and the dangers that they pose to a person trying to become more than “an animal in human form”.

In a theory associated with the linguist and anthropologist Franz Boas, language is understood to reflect the public thought and consciousness of the community in which it developed. Comparing the frequency of certain terms used by the Inuit of northern Canada with their English counterparts, Boas noted that, for example, “water” is expressed in numerous distinct terms in the English language including “water, lake, river, brook, and rain,” but only in variations of a single form by the Inuit. In contrast to this, Inuit languages contain multiple different roots for words describing various forms of the single English term “snow”.

Lashon Hakodesh’s unique status as the language of the Torah means that it reflects less the practical realities and attitudes of the Jewish community, and more the values and guidance of its Lawgiver. This is manifested in the fact that sexual organs and their activities, which weigh so heavily on the common thought-processes of the untrained human mind, do not merit even a single dedicated term in God’s holy language. As Rambam puts it:

Speech is among the properties of mankind granted by God through which he is distinguished from the animal kingdom…our language is termed “Lashon Hakodesh”…since this “Lashon Hakodesh” contains absolutely no term for the sexual organs, neither of males nor females, and not for the actual reproductive act…the intention with this is that these matters are improper to mention…

This connection between the functions of speech and thought permits the suggestion of an even more profound understanding of Rambam’s explanation of Lashon Hakodesh on the basis that language can influence and shape the thought processes of those who speak it. Accordingly, Rambam’s explanation reflects an approach to linguistics and human psychology which recognizes the possibility that a person’s thought patterns and ways of expression may be affected by his vocabulary, and more generally his language.

By limiting references to sexual activity and organs to euphemism, Lashon Hakodesh becomes a powerful weapon in the armoury of the Jew who is attempting to make his mind “holy”, by limiting the sexual thoughts and imagination which inhibit his intellect from perceiving God and His truths. Such an explanation for the significance of the Hebrew language is consistent with Rambam’s general view that the Torah’s greatness and holiness lie in its ability to relate to and elevate flawed human beings, rather than in mystical powers represented by the power or combinations of its letters.

Rambam’s explanation of the interplay between language and thought categories resonates with the later creation of “Newspeak” in George Orwell’s novel 1984. While the basic linguistic hypothesis underpinning Rambam’s understanding of Lashon Hakodesh and George Orwell’s Newspeak is similar, the ultimate aim of these two theories could not represent a greater contrast. In Orwell’s dystopian depiction, language is a tool of a totalitarian regime seeking to entrench its power by imposing a restrictive form of English in order to limit categories and capabilities of independent thought. For Rambam, however, the constraints of Lashon Hakodesh are intended to free the pure, rational intellect from the shackles of its imagination and emotive distortions, thereby enabling it to scale the heights of its true potential and achieve a Divine perspective and connection.

Rambam’s explanation of Lashon Hakodesh is taken to another level in the teachings of R Yosef Faur (Golden Doves With Silver Dots). Based upon these teachings his son, R Avraham Faur, argues that the Hebrew language forms and trains the mind subconsciously to think in divine terms ((https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C5aG-PhDVEY&ab_channel=ToratAndalus– from 16:25). Golden Doves is a work which emphasises the importance of reading the Torah and Rabbinic texts through a traditional Israelite mindset rather than a Western perspective. It argues that a person’s thought processes and how one therefore will interpret a Scriptural or Rabbinic statement is inescapably tied to one’s language. And that this obstacle must be recognised and surmounted if the Torah’s true wisdom is to be accessed and truly comprehended.

First posted on Facebook 27 December 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.

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.