Another Look at Proofs, Faith, and Religious Language (Column 513)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

The subject of faith in God and its relation to philosophical proofs is discussed at length in my book The First Being. I believe I was quite cautious there regarding the transition from faith in God on the basis of a philosophical argument to religious faith. Even so, a podcast has now come my way, part of Jeremy Fogel’s series “The Metaphysical Circus”, in which Noam Oren critiques the relationship between my philosophical approach and religious faith. It is a kind of continuation of the pair of podcast episodes recorded with me in the previous season in this series (God I and God II), where I discussed proofs for the existence of God. He critiques them from the vantage point of the philosophy of religious language. I will note that there are two further episodes with me in this series in the current season as well (Physics and God 1 and Physics and God 2), episodes in which I hold a discussion on physics and God with the physicist Prof. Elam Gross (see also Column 506).

In Noam’s podcast several claims typical of scholars of the philosophy of religion come up, and I think they contain characteristic fallacies common among people in the philosophical discipline in general and this sub-discipline in particular. Noam also posted a Facebook post that includes a brief description and a link to the podcast, and the mostly sympathetic responses that follow that post—among them comments by intelligent people whom I highly esteem—repeat the same fallacies and misunderstandings over and over. This strengthened my sense that I should devote yet another column to this much-beaten topic.

My Basic Thesis: What Is Faith?

To sharpen the discussion, I will briefly summarize my positions as I have expressed them many times in the aforementioned book and also here on the site. A religious feeling in and of itself cannot be considered religiosity. There are thoroughgoing atheists who feel a religious (religiose) emotion (for example, from contemplation of the world, of science, of art, and the like) yet do not believe in God and of course do not worship Him. Moreover, religious feeling as such, even in a religious person, has no religious value. It is a mental state, a product of one’s psyche, and not a conclusion or the result of choice or decision. One can, of course, define the term “religiosity” differently, but that is merely semantics. In its essential sense, religiosity, in my view, is a decision regarding commitment to the worship of God and to His commandments. That’s all. Whether a person also has religious experiences or not does not essentially matter. It has no moral or religious significance.

Conversely, if a person worships God and is committed to His commandments but does not truly believe in Him (that is, does not think He exists in the factual sense), that too has no religious value. He is not a believer and therefore cannot be considered religious by my definitions. The example is Ahad Ha’am, who advocated observing the halakhah out of connection to our national culture and to previous generations. He saw in this a highly valuable tool for survival (his well-known saying: more than Israel kept the Sabbath, the Sabbath kept Israel). I have often explained that such observance has no religious value, since it does not constitute worship of God and commitment to His commandments as such. It is more accurate to call this culture rather than religion, and the practical similarity that exists between them in such a case is insignificant.

Faith in God means holding the factual position that God exists (regardless of the reasons). A sense of presence by itself is not faith. Experience and emotion likewise do not necessarily attest to faith. However, if any one of these is taken by someone as an indication that God indeed exists—that is, he concludes that if he has a religious feeling, then apparently God exists—then he can be regarded as a believer. The reason is that, as a matter of fact, he thinks God exists. I can agree or disagree with his reasons (and in this case I definitely disagree, since in my view emotion indicates nothing beyond the psychological makeup of the person in whom the emotion dwells), but I cannot disagree that he is a believer.

My Basic Thesis: The Proofs and Their Meaning

In my book I dwelt at great length on the gap between philosophical belief (deism) and belief in its religious sense (theism). I explained there that the proofs for the existence of God lead us to an intellectual faith in a philosophical God, but religious faith is something different. A person can be a believer in God in the philosophical sense (arriving intellectually at the conclusion that there exists such a being) yet not feel obliged to worship Him (and not even believe there was ever a moment of revelation and command), nor feel any religious emotion. Such a person is a deist but not a theist. Conversely, a person who worships God, that is, is committed to ritual and commandments (he is a theist), whether or not he also has a religious experience and feeling, is a religious person even if his faith and commitment are not necessarily based on philosophical arguments. One can arrive at faith on the basis of a primal intuition, and there is nothing wrong with that. One must remember that a philosophical argument is also based on certain premises, and these usually rest on primal intuitions. If so, for a person of “simple faith,” the argument that leads him to God is the trivial argument: faith in God itself is one of his premises.

I explained there that those who see the gap between deism and theism as unbridgeable are mistaken. On the contrary, arguments that philosophically prove the existence of a transcendent being of any sort bring us closer to religious faith (to theism). Why? Because if I know that there exists a transcendent entity in some philosophical sense, the claim that He revealed Himself and commanded us to do various things is now far less implausible. At this point one should no longer dismiss it out of hand but treat it seriously and examine it on its own merits (it is no longer a “celestial teapot,” in Russell’s terminology). Thus, although deism and theism are not identical, deism is a necessary (even if not sufficient) condition for theism. Moreover, in my book I showed that deism can lead us further to theism, even if not by a fully strict logical entailment. In this sense deism is also a sufficient—though not in the strong logical sense—condition for theism. Recall what I explained above: there can be no obligation to God without belief in His existence, that is, without holding the factual position that such an entity exists. If so, deism is a necessary and almost sufficient condition for theism.

In the fifth dialogue of that book I explained the route that leads from deism to theism (why deism is almost a sufficient condition and not merely a necessary one), and I will not enter into its details here because that is not our topic. For our purposes here we need only the claim about the connection between these two forms of belief.

Noam Oren’s Claims

In his remarks one can discern two shades of a claim against this picture: 1) Believers generally do not base themselves on philosophical arguments. If you ask a believer why he believes or why he is committed to the commandments, you will not receive philosophical arguments. He usually never thought about them and does not know them. Therefore one cannot claim that faith is based on philosophical arguments. This is essentially the gap between deism and theism. 2) Jeremy Fogel noted that I myself insist on this gap and explain that there is a connection between the planes. In response, Noam claims that my move from a philosophical God (deism) to a religious God (theism) does not convince him.

The Second Claim

I will start with the second claim, which arose only in passing and is not essential to my discussion here. From the picture Noam sketches, something very odd emerges. He believes in God in the philosophical sense and accepts my arguments for His existence. He also observes the commandments and is committed to them. And yet he insists that the connection between the two is unconvincing and therefore claims that his religious God describes subjective experiences and relations, not factual claims (see more below). As noted, this is, on its face, very strange. You can say that you are a deist and therefore do not observe commandments. But to say that you believe in God (as a deist) and are also committed to His commandments, but that this is not the same God—that is a bizarre claim that requires justification. Of course it is possible, but the burden of proof is on you. If you believe in the religious God and are committed to His commandments, why not identify Him with the philosophical God? Are there two Gods?

Noam, however, argues that he does not believe in a religious God in any factual sense, but then it is unclear why you worship Him. Does this not indicate an implicit belief in a religious God as well? Let us not forget that he also agrees that there is a philosophical God. So why not take the further step? Again, if my move does not seem convincing to him, that is legitimate (even if, in my view, mistaken), but then the conclusion should be that there is no religious obligation. But to adopt that very obligation that arises from those arguments, only for other reasons and with different meanings, is very odd. Moreover, as I will show below, the reasons for such adoption are highly suspect.

He offers explanations that seem to address this critique, and he explains there that this is what makes him feel comfortable in the world, or that this is his subjective worldview, and the like (see details below). But these explanations limp far more than my obvious explanation. Does the redemption of a firstborn donkey make you particularly comfortable? Does it flow from your subjective worldview? The same goes for refraining from eating pork, ritual impurity and purity, and more. In what sense is this part of your worldview? If, in the simple factual sense, there is no God who commanded this, I cannot understand those who invest an ounce of energy in all this. The only explanation I can think of is Ahad Ha’am-style traditionalism: a connection with prior generations, national folklore, and so on—but as I explained above, that is not religiosity. It is culture. Such a person does not worship God but engages in practices that have therapeutic or other value for him. He resembles someone who takes a pill, watches a film or an exhibit, or practices meditation. This is not religiosity in any essential sense that I can discern. It is a person whose psychology requires some odd set of practices in order to feel comfortable or to experience the world. That is a claim about him and his psychology, but certainly not about his values and conceptions. As noted, one can define even this as religiosity, but essentially I cannot see any religious value in it. He is simply like that, and that’s it. Incidentally, precisely for this reason I do not believe him. His commitment indicates that he does believe in the sense I mean. Because of a philosophical error (to be seen below) he fails to ground that belief, and so it is convenient for him to retreat to subjective realms and speak of a different religious language.

So much for my response to the second claim. Let us return to the first.

The First Claim

The first claim is very widespread, and I wish to focus on it. Jeremy Fogel mentioned the well-known story about Hermann Cohen, a believing Jew and neo-Kantian philosopher, who met a simple Jew in the street and expounded to him his complex philosophical doctrine regarding God. The Jew listened attentively, and when Cohen finished he asked gently and hesitantly, but with wonder: but what does this have to do with the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (the religious God)?! He saw no connection between Hermann Cohen’s sophisticated God, who dwells entirely in philosophical realms, and the God to whom he prays, acknowledges in all his ways, and worships all his life. To sharpen: this claim is directed at me, not at Noam. It says that although I reached the philosophical conclusion that God exists through sophisticated arguments, what has that to do with the religious God that religious people worship? This is another formulation of Noam’s charge against me.

But there is a very fundamental error here. Hermann Cohen presented a philosophical picture of the God in whom he believes. He described and characterized Him in a certain philosophical way. I, however, do not enter into His descriptions at all. I present arguments that prove His existence, and that is a completely different matter. Indeed, one can worship God without knowing all the philosophical niceties and subtleties of His descriptions. But if I believe in God, it is certainly reasonable to demand reasons why I believe in Him. Therefore one cannot sever belief in God (which, as stated, is a factual claim) from the arguments that prove it. True, these arguments are not sufficient, since they bring me only to deism, but that is a necessary step on the way to theism. After continuing along the path and reaching theistic conclusions, the deistic God whose existence I proved is the God I will worship.

Here we reach the critical point of this entire discussion. Noam is still right when he says that the simple person does not actually rely on this. To understand why that is irrelevant, think of a brilliant scientist who researches some scientific field—physics, biology, or even the so-called “gender studies,” long may they reign. Is that scientist aware of all the difficulties and the philosophical conceptions engaged by philosophers of science? Certainly not. I know the scientific world and those who operate in it well, and heaven is my witness that almost none of them knows what the philosophy of science is even about, not even the most basic principles of it.[1] He is certainly not aware of the assumptions he makes and the philosophical questions regarding their validity. Now a philosopher of science comes along, raises difficulties, and offers explanations that ground scientific methodology and its findings. Can one claim against him that he is speaking nonsense because scientists do not think about these difficulties and arguments at all? That is a gross misunderstanding. The philosopher of science explains the intellectual basis of the scientist’s activity—even if the scientist himself is unaware of it. It is very plausible that he implicitly assumes it and acts accordingly. That scientist has intuitions that guide him, and therefore he does not bother to articulate them explicitly for himself. Still, the philosophy of science correctly describes the scientist’s conceptions, even though he never gave them any thought. The very distinction between science and the philosophy of science assumes this identity. Otherwise, the philosopher of science would not be dealing with science but with what science ought to be. If we assume that the philosopher of science explains science and that the scientist also engages in scientific research, then at the base lies the assumption that the philosopher explains what the scientist does and what he assumes and thinks, even if only implicitly.

So too regarding the believer. Most believers do not give thought to the difficulties of their faith, and certainly not to the assumptions and arguments on which it is based. Does that mean that the philosopher of faith—the one who conceptualizes and formulates the arguments that constitute its basis—does not explain faith (but only what he thinks it ought to be)? Clearly not. He merely conceptualizes and formulates the arguments and assumptions that the believer holds at an intuitive, unarticulated level. But this explains what lies at the foundation of the believer’s faith, even if he is unaware of it. Awareness of the assumptions and justifications for what we do requires a sophistication that most people do not possess. But that does not mean they act incorrectly, nor that the one who explains them and their assumptions is mistaken. He conceptualizes what lies in them at a non-articulated intuitive level.[2]

It seems to me that if you ask a believer why he believes, many will tell you that contemplating the complex world we live in tells them it is unlikely that this came to be by chance, and therefore there must be One who created it. They are unaware of the difficulties and refutations of the physico-theological argument, and of the gap between philosophical deism and theism and religious obligation. For them it is quite clear that if there is a complex world, there is a God; and if there is a God, then there was also the event of Sinai and there is an obligation to observe His commandments. Many people do not notice that the philosophical discussion is not sufficient to decide the religious discussion. They are simply not sophisticated enough. Now I come and formulate a more precise philosophical argument (which, as noted, Noam himself found convincing), in which I show how the conclusion that God exists indeed follows from the world’s complexity. I present various difficulties and refutations of the argument and respond to them. I also try to bridge the gap between philosophical deism and religious obligation. All this, of course, is not done by the overwhelming majority of believers. Does that mean I am mistaken in saying that my picture explains religious faith—even the faith of simple believers? Noam says yes, but he is wrong. Just as the philosopher of science explains what science is and what scientific inquiry is, the philosopher of faith explains what faith is and what religious practice and obligation are. That some person did not conceptualize this for himself and was unaware of the difficulties and arguments only means that he is not sufficiently sophisticated or not sufficiently interested in such justifications. He operates intuitively, just like the scientist. Still, it remains true that these are his justifications. Without them, he is simply acting irrationally—and that is, of course, a less plausible thesis (see the “principle of charity”).

Noam often says he is merely describing the faith of the ordinary, reasonable person, and not entering the question of what a believer ought to do and think. But if you ask a believer whether, in his view, God exists or whether it is merely his subjective experience, you will generally receive the answer that in his view God exists. For him, it is a factual claim. He may not know how to justify it, and if you press him further—why does he believe if he lacks good arguments to ground it—and perhaps in the end he will be pushed into a corner and say it is a subjective experience. But precisely that statement stems from a lack of philosophical skill. If he were skilled, he would know to say that he has such an intuition, and that an intuition is sufficient as an argument. Alternatively, he would answer that he has a feeling and, in his view, the very existence of the feeling attests that God Himself exists. If he were even more sophisticated, he would formulate for you a more detailed argument that would justify his faith (and write The First Being himself).

Clearly, a believer is not playing subjective games as Noam and his colleagues in the discipline try to persuade him. He believes that God exists, and for him that is a factual claim. We now have two ways to interpret this: a) He is simply confused, and what he really means is merely that he has such a subjective conception of the world and finds it comfortable to live with it. b) He is not philosophically skilled or not interested in explicitly formulating the justifications for his faith, but there are such justifications. If I wish to describe the believer’s experience—and this is Noam’s starting point in his remarks (see below)—then it seems to me the second interpretation is the obvious one, and the first simply puts words in his mouth.

The conclusion is that it is Noam who fails to describe correctly the faith of the ordinary believer. He accuses me of that in which he himself is at fault. I merely explicitly formulate the believer-in-the-street’s implicit assumptions, but that is precisely the God in whom he believes.

Between Philosophy and Sociology

Now, for the sake of the argument, I will again assume that the reasonable person indeed believes only in the subjective sense (an assumption that is patently false). Even if I adopt that assumption, I still disagree with him. Noam’s starting point is that faith is what resides within the believing person. That is, in coming to define religious faith, he essentially examines people and what lies in their hearts, and not the inner logic of faith. That, of course, is the work of a sociologist, not a philosopher. A philosopher is supposed to define faith at the conceptual level, and only then decide which people are believers and which are not. People’s reports about their own positions are a starting point for a sociological discussion, not a philosophical one. As a philosopher, I am supposed to act in the opposite direction: to develop a conception of what faith is, and then to judge those reports and see whether people understand themselves and the concepts correctly, and to decide whether they truly are believers. The definition of concepts and the truth of claims cannot receive their force because that is what people say or think.

This is a well-known analytic malady, since an analytic philosopher relies primarily on conceptual analysis, but the concepts themselves and the assumptions about their definitions have nowhere to be drawn from except from the people who use them. Hence, in many cases, analytic philosophers are not philosophers but sociologists. They do not define what faith is but who is the person who says of himself that he believes. Sometimes it is right to act thus, but in our case—and many like it—this leads to serious errors. I am a great fan of analytic philosophy and recognize its value, but I strongly oppose the analytic stance, namely the position that sees analytic analysis as the be-all and end-all. In our case, Noam’s analysis of people’s faith is erroneous, and from there he proceeds to err regarding the definition of faith altogether. If he had examined it in itself and not through sociology, he would easily have noticed this. If from your (mistaken) analysis of what people believe you reach the conclusion that faith is not a factual claim, that in itself should hint to you that you have gone wrong. They themselves will tell you that it is a fact—even if they lack sufficient justifications for it. In other words, religious faith is not a branch of our psychology or sociology but of philosophy.

So from where should we draw the meaning and definition of concepts? In my series of columns on philosophy (155 – 160) I showed that it is a kind of empirical science. Contemplation with the mind’s eye (of concepts that, by my assumption, have some Platonic existence) yields the understanding and definition of the concept. That is what we should do with respect to faith as well: not ask people, but intellectually clarify the idea of faith. Contemplation of it and of our relation to it tells us that it is a factual claim. This belongs to philosophy and not to sociology (though there are, of course, sociological aspects—but that is not the root of the matter, unless you are an atheist and in your view it has no rational or factual root).

All the talk about the different, non-factual meaning of religious language—usually anchored in Wittgenstein and his heirs (including Avi Sagi and Moshe Halbertal, for example)—is sheer nonsense, in my view. It suffers from the analytic fallacy that what cannot be justified empirically or logically is not true and of course does not exist—at least not in the ordinary sense of “true” and “exists.” Then one naturally moves on to talk about “language games” and other absurdities, which are really the escape hatch of academics when faced with what looks to them like a broken trough. If one cannot philosophically justify a religious God and/or religious obligation, then one must interpret and understand religious language differently. When we speak of the “existence” of God, the meaning is “experience,” and every religious factual claim must be interpreted in mythical or allegorical terms, and everything collapses into subjective psychology. I can dedicate my life to this nonsense, and at the same time believe that there is nothing in it beyond a kind of meditation (and in my estimation it lacks any meditative value as well). These are noodles you sell yourself because of a lack of skill or intellectual laziness. If you kept thinking, you could find a real justification, and if you do not find it you should be honest and give up and admit that you erred in your belief and religious commitment. But all this is inconvenient for you, so you invent baseless (albeit consistent) intellectual contrivances to give your soul some repose—continuing to utter the same sentences while assigning them a different meaning.

Take, for example, the question of providence (God’s active involvement in the world). I think a thinking person will usually reach the conclusion that he does not believe in it. Factually, it seems that it does not really occur. Let us assume for the sake of the discussion that this is the conclusion (this is not the place to debate it). What now? There are three ways to address this difficulty:

• Simple believers will tell you that God is involved but hides Himself. They will ignore or sidestep the difficulties with a declaration (“effort,” “faith above reason,” and the like) or a quote or two, and that suffices for them.
• Analytic academics, like Noam and his colleagues, will explain that they believe in providence, but that this “belief” is a language game. It is not belief in any factual sense. They pray to God and ask Him for healing even though they do not believe that it will, in fact, come as a result (Noam says this explicitly in the podcast). Why? Just because. Not rational? So what?! Games need not be rational.
• I, by contrast, think that if it is not true, then I do not believe it. For me the term “believe” has its ordinary factual meaning, without language games or other games.

If you truly ask believing people about their sense of things, as Noam and his colleagues purport to do, you will find that all this is vanity and striving after wind. Fictional-psychological faith and language games are an intellectuals’ pastime, but they are in no way close to the faith of ordinary believers (those who are not academics). As someone once said: only intellectuals can utter such great nonsense. The believer in the street believes in the existence of God as a factual claim. He believes in providence as a fact (mistakenly, in my view), not as a language game. He believes in the revelation at Sinai as a historical event (without it there is no justification for commitment to this entire bizarre system; no language game can justify such foolishness). But our intellectuals explain to the person what he really thinks: that he is merely playing games and does not believe in the factual sense. And then they return and explain to me that sociology—empirical examination of what people believe—leads to the conclusion that it is a language game. They project their own flaw, see their reflection in the mirror, and derive conclusions from it. This, as noted, when the facts say precisely the opposite. To present this detached thesis as a critique of my “detached” arguments and philosophy is one of the most detached things I have seen.

Understand that, for a philosopher with an analytic stance (as opposed to a mere analytic philosopher), any consistent set of claims is a legitimate worldview. He maintains that we have no way to judge such pictures or decide regarding their truth (when there is no empirical access or logical contradiction). Thus philosophers of that kind arrive at bizarre religious conceptions, in which a person worships himself without believing that there is any object of his faith and worship. He prays even though he knows it does not help, and he performs all the religious practices without their having any meaning for him—save, perhaps, a therapeutic meaning (and, factually, there is not even a command that commanded them). You will not find a contradiction to this, apart from its utter irrationality. But reason plays no role in the analytic world; consistency is the name of the game. Rabbi Shagar’s “circle of differences” is so beloved to them, since if everyone does as he chooses to play, there is no way to critique it and demand justifications. Thus we can hold any position we wish, and we are exempt from giving an account to ourselves and others for all its difficulties and oddities. No one can ask what the logic is in some rule of a game like chess or Go. That is how it is defined, and that is that. So too with the religious language game. I have noted more than once that postmodernism and New Age are the result of an analytic stance. I will emphasize again: the use of analytic tools is important and welcome, but seeing analyticity as the be-all and end-all leads to rather bizarre places.

In his remarks, Noam brings several specific arguments, and in the last part of this column I wish to address them as well.

1. Defining God

Noam opens by saying that the philosophical arguments lead us to the existence of some transcendent entity (in the book I explained that each argument proves the existence of a differently defined entity), but that all these do not tell us much and therefore the discussion of them is unimportant. For example, the ontological argument proves the existence of the perfect being. Let us assume we have proven its existence. So what?! What does that say? Or if we have proven the existence of the creator or designer of the world (the cosmological and physico-theological arguments), why is that interesting or important at all? That is not the relevant topic.

If you listen closely you can discern that this wonder is interpreted there in two different ways: 1) So long as we have not defined well the being whose existence was proven, this conclusion is not very meaningful. Why does the claim that there exists some undefined being tell us anything or solve any problem? We can sharpen this: using an undefined concept is like an English-English dictionary (that explains one non-understood word by means of ten other non-understood words). It is of no use at all and is doubtful whether it is even claiming anything. 2) Such a transparent, thin God is a detached philosophical God. What has He to do with the religious God (theism)? With Noam the intent was apparently to (2) and with Jeremy to (1).

I have answered claim (1) in detail elsewhere. See, for example, the discussion moderated by Jeremy Fogel at Alma (see Column 456 and the link to the discussion there; this point arose even more sharply in the recorded discussion), and this emerges even more explicitly in the two podcasts with Elam Gross mentioned above. The conclusion that there exists a being who created the world is a valid and true conclusion regardless of what I can say about that being. If it is not plausible that a complex world arose by chance, the conclusion is that there was something that created it. This is true even if I cannot say a thing about that something. In the first podcast with Elam Gross I offered the following example: if I see footprints in the sand, I conclude that someone passed here. That is a correct conclusion even if I can say almost nothing about him (save that he leaves footprints behind). Incidentally, at the end of my book, The First Being, after all the arguments and proofs, we do indeed arrive at quite a bit of information about Him. But as noted, that is not really necessary for the argument itself.

One may still ask why this is important or interesting. That is claim (1), but I already answered it above in detail. Proving the existence of a deistic God is a significant step on the way to theism. In a certain sense, after the philosophical conclusion that there exists some abstract being, theism, grounded in revelation, paints Him in more concrete colors. Now we can also say all kinds of things about Him.

2. The Changing Face of God

Next, Noam argues that in any other position we hold (like a scientific theory), if it is proven false, we abandon it. But regarding belief in God, that is not the case. God constantly changes His face. Whenever we encounter a difficulty or acquire a new way of thinking or a new insight, the God we speak of changes. People do not give up faith in light of difficulties but define it ad hoc anew so that it remains valid and relevant despite the difficulties. This, in Noam’s view, shows that belief in God does not function in our language like belief in a scientific theory.

But here too he is mistaken, and on several planes. The fact that the object of our faith receives different descriptions only says that we are advancing and refining our description of Him all the time. Refinement in light of difficulties is entirely consistent with what happens in science. Take, for example, the law of conservation of energy. Every time we discover that it does not hold, we define yet another kind of energy to balance the equation. Thus, when kinetic energy changes, we merely say it was converted to potential energy, and vice versa. Thus, conservation of energy refers only to the sum of the two energies. But even those two are not conserved, and then we add to the balance heat energy, spring potential energy, and more and more. Is the conclusion that the law of conservation of energy does not say something about the world but only about us? It changes with the growth of our scientific knowledge and skill. In this respect, faith in God functions exactly like our belief in the laws of nature.

Add to this the understanding that if there is something about which we are very convinced, then when we encounter difficulties that challenge it, naturally we will be ready to add different epicycles ad hoc just to leave it in place. Incidentally, this is also the reason for the changes I described in the conservation of energy and in other laws of nature. Thomas Kuhn already noted the naivete of the Popperian view that when there is a difficulty in an existing scientific theory we immediately discard it and replace it with another. It takes a very large quantity of difficulties before we replace a successful theory (I pointed this out in my article on Occam’s razor and more). Everything is a function of the level of trust we have in the matter. Therefore, the fact that the definition of God changes and is updated over time indicates that our level of trust in Him is very high, and thus we are unwilling to give it up even when there are difficulties. We prefer to update our definitions and conceptions regarding Him. Incidentally, when the quantity of difficulties truly crosses the critical threshold (a crisis that requires a paradigm shift, in Kuhn’s terms), there are quite a few people who abandon religious faith—exactly as happens with regard to any other position. The amount of difficulty required for such a step depends on the level of trust we have in our religious faith, just as in every other domain.

If so, the linguistic thesis—that faith in God does not function in our language in the same sense as knowledge of facts in ordinary contexts—is simply untrue. In any case, there is certainly no way to infer it from the mutability of the concept of God when faced with difficulties. On the contrary, in light of what I have described above, this process can also indicate that our faith in Him is very strong—stronger than beliefs about other facts. One can, of course, simply argue that faith is not a factual claim, but to regard the existence of mutability as evidence of that is simply an error.

I will add in passing that the description Noam brings—as if this were a “death by a thousand corrections,” usually attributed to believers (since every difficulty brings a correction to the concept of God until in the end nothing remains of Him)—is more accurately applied to the stance of linguistic theorists like Noam himself. Because of the difficulties, they continue to “believe” in God, but for them He is only an empty linguistic-experiential concept devoid of any factual content. You will not find a greater vacuum or death by corrections than this. By contrast, the process of refining faith (in its ordinary factual sense) is precisely the opposite: it refines the concept because it refuses to empty it of content. As our conceptions improve and become more sophisticated, our view of abstract concepts and entities becomes more complex and precise. This is true in science and also with respect to faith.

3. Miracle as an Example

Noam offers an example: a friend told him that he believes in miracles, because for him every event that happens to him is a miracle. Sunrise or sunset is a kind of gift and therefore, for him, it is a miracle. A friend’s smile is a miracle. So too waking up in the morning, or any other moving event. Note: he does not mean Nahmanides at the end of Parashat Bo (see, for example, Column 279), who argues that all these events are indeed miracles because there are no laws of nature in the world, but the thesis that “miracle” is not a claim about the world but about my relation to the world. For me, it is a miracle. This is an example of a different linguistic use of the term “believe in _” or “think there is.” When I say “I think there are miracles,” it is not like the statement “I think there are thirty people in this building.” The first describes only a mental state and experience—my relation to some fact—whereas the second describes a fact (admittedly unverified, but clearly a claim about the world). His claim is that faith is a similar kind of claim to the one about miracle. Faith in God does not describe something in the world but reports a mental state—my relation to the world. To say that God was involved in something is like saying that, for me, the sunrise is a miracle. These are claims about me and not about the world or about God (see a similar fallacy and a similar distinction in C. S. Lewis, in Column 371 and elsewhere).

He explains that the desire to say that the world is not random and not arbitrary is the meaning of faith. This is a claim about me and my longings, not about the world. But the essential question is whether, factually, the world is random or not. Your experiences are a matter for psychology, not philosophy. A person who experiences the world as guided and non-random is a dyed-in-the-wool atheist—only his terminology is religious. Only someone who thinks that the world itself is not random but guided is a religious person.

This is an example of emptying by corrections performed by the linguistic approach of Wittgenstein and his heirs. In truth, such a person believes in nothing, but he uses the term “to believe” in a figurative sense. That, in itself, is legitimate, but he must admit that in practice he is not truly a believer. He has religious experiences or “belief in miracles” in the experiential sense. What has that to do with faith? It is only a mental state that stems primarily from his psychological makeup and says nothing about the world. As noted, one can call this “faith,” but to claim that this is the meaning of religious faith is nothing but saying: I am an atheist, and in my opinion you believers are as well. You are merely atheists in disguise using confusing jargon. This is a psychological projection that the philosopher performs from himself to all believers.

4. The Argument from Evil

Later Noam explains that the argument from evil (if there is evil in the world, then there is no God) is very relevant even in the picture of the world that he holds. In his picture, it is, in fact, most relevant, since logical refutations of God’s existence do not interest him as he is not making a factual claim. If faith is merely the way it is comfortable for me to see the world, and when I say that there is a God I actually mean that the world is governed and not arbitrary, then the argument from evil indeed disturbs this pastoral picture. But that is again the same fallacy. Clearly, evil disturbs me psychologically. But what has that to do with the question whether God exists or not in the factual sense? Abandoning God’s existence is done only because it disturbs me, not because I reached the conclusion that there is no God. If so, faith and disbelief are nothing but subjective psychology—that is, faith is atheism in disguise.

I cannot avoid a revealing personal confession here. For me, the entire religious and halakhic system disturbs me—no less than evil does. It is an unintelligible, irrational system, and I see no reason to be committed to it and no benefit that will accrue to me from that commitment. For me it is not even an opium for the masses. Noam suggests seeing religion as an opium for the masses, himself included. But this is an opium that does not even give me a high. What is this if not atheism disguised in religious terms?!

A Note on Traditionalism

One cannot avoid here a brief reference to the phenomenon of traditionalism. One can distinguish several shades of traditionalism. There are traditionalists who in fact believe in God and are fully committed, but it is difficult for them or they are not inclined to observe everything. There are traditionalists who believe in God but do not think that the entire halakhah is binding (perhaps because it—or part of it—is a human creation). There are also traditionalists who do not believe in God but are connected to religious folklore to one degree or another (cf. Ahad Ha’am). The last two types can indeed fit Noam’s description. These are people for whom the system suits them and who seek a connection to prior generations and to the people, even if they do not believe that the Holy One, blessed be He, indeed commanded (and perhaps does not provide providence, and so on). Such a person can act in accordance with halakhah, at least in some situations (of his choosing), without believing in God or in the command. If such a person tells me that he “believes” only in the subjective sense described here, I have no problem. That is even true regarding some traditionalists. But I would not call him a committed person (it is better not to use the term “believer,” since he may believe in some God, at least in the philosophical sense), and I certainly would not attribute such an approach to the ordinary religious person. Indeed, that is precisely the difference between certain types of traditionalists and the fully, commonly understood religious person.

Conclusion: Atheism in Disguise

According to Noam, the difference between a believer and an atheist is not related to facts but to one’s psychological makeup and to what is more or less comfortable for me. An optimistic temperament is faith (in miracles or in God), and a pessimistic temperament is atheism. But that is a difference of personality, and therefore, by his account, religious faith should be a matter for psychology (and perhaps sociology) but certainly not for philosophy. To make philosophical claims on the basis of what is comfortable or not comfortable for me is a pragmatist fallacy. The “ought” does not determine the “is” (alas). And if you are not making philosophical claims but remain in the realm of psychology—what has that to do with philosophy?!

There is no reason to invest energy and effort in this, or to invest in an intellectual analysis of these phenomena. Take a pill and change your feelings, and everything will sort itself out more comfortably and satisfactorily. In any case, none of this is related to a world of values—of good and evil—or of true and false. So what are all the quarrels and wars about? Are all the religious wars and polemics conducted only because of confusion in discourse? Is it simply a matter of different temperaments? Does that sound serious to you? Are you really trying to claim that people do not truly believe but are ready to kill and be killed for this fiction? It may sound sophisticated, but it is, in fact, a bizarre claim (cf. “intellectuals”). Note that here I do not accept his sociology either (that is, the description of what people in the field believe), and not only his philosophy (whether faith is subjective).

Near the end of the podcast, Noam says that he is not an atheist in disguise, but he does not explain why. He presents an atheistic picture disguised as religious discourse, and then says that he is not an atheist in disguise. If this is not atheism in disguise, I do not know what is. If a person reads a novel or repairs a shoe and explains that he is engaged in mathematics, that calls for hospitalization, not philosophical analysis. A linguistic explanation—that he is using the term “engaged” in a different sense—may perhaps be correct, but it is highly doubtful. Usually we do not accept it. Similarly, a person who thinks himself to be Napoleon—the linguistic approach would tell us he has no psychological problem, since he uses the term “I think myself” in a different sense (“it pleases me to be Napoleon,” and so on). Do you think such a person does not require treatment?! I wonder whether he is sane in disguise or insane without disguise.

To say that I believe the world is non-arbitrary merely because that is how I experience it is essentially to say that the world is indeed arbitrary (Kafka-esque) but I choose not to treat it as such. That is Kafka in disguise. I see no difference between this and the linguistic approach to the phenomena of faith.

[1] See Column 60 and elsewhere for the story about criminology studies.

[2] See Column 440 and elsewhere for the dispute between Seridei Esh and Rabbi Yehoshua Hutner regarding the commentators on Maimonides.